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DRED
A
TALE OF THE GREAT DISMAL SWAMP
BY
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
AUTHOR OF "UNCLE TOM'S CABIN"
"Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds:
His path was rugged and sore,--
Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds,
Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds,
And man never trod before.
And when on earth he sunk to sleep,
If slumber his eyelids knew,
He lay where the deadly vine doth weep
Its venomous tears, that nightly steep
The flesh with blistering dew."
[Illustration: Logo]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1892
Copyright, 1856 and 1884,
BY HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
_All rights reserved._
_The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A._
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Company.
PREFACE.
The writer of this book has chosen, once more, a subject from the scenes
and incidents of the slave-holding states.
The reason for such a choice is two-fold. First, in a merely artistic
point of view, there is no ground, ancient or modern, whose vivid
lights, gloomy shadows, and grotesque groupings, afford to the novelist
so wide a scope for the exercise of his powers. In the near vicinity of
modern civilization of the most matter-of-fact kind exist institutions
which carry us back to the twilight of the feudal ages, with all their
exciting possibilities of incident. Two nations, the types of two
exactly opposite styles of existence, are here struggling; and from the
intermingling of these two a third race has arisen, and the three are
interlocked in wild and singular relations, that evolve every possible
combination of romance.
Hence, if the writer's only object had been the production of a work of
art, she would have felt justified in not turning aside from that mine
whose inexhaustible stores have but begun to be developed.
But this object, however legitimate, was not the only nor the highest
one. It is the moral bearings of the subject involved which have had the
chief influence in its selection.
The issues presented by the great conflict between liberty and slavery
do not grow less important from year to year. On the contrary, their
interest increases with every step in the development of the national
career. Never has there been a crisis in the history of this nation so
momentous as the present. If ever a nation was raised up by Divine
Providence, and led forth upon a conspicuous stage, as if for the
express purpose of solving a great moral problem in the sight of all
mankind, it is this nation. God in his providence is now asking the
American people, Is the system of slavery, as set forth in the American
slave code, _right_? Is it so desirable, that you will directly
establish it over broad regions, where, till now, you have solemnly
forbidden it to enter? And this question the American people are about
to answer. Under such circumstances the writer felt that no apology was
needed for once more endeavoring to do something towards revealing to
the people the true character of that system. If the people are to
establish such a system, let them do it with their eyes open, with all
the dreadful realities before them.
One liberty has been taken which demands acknowledgment in the outset.
The writer has placed in the mouth of one of her leading characters a
judicial decision of Judge Ruffin, of North Carolina, the boldness,
clearness, and solemn eloquence of which have excited admiration both in
the Old World and the New. The author having no personal acquaintance
with that gentleman, the character to whom she attributes it is to be
considered as created merely on a principle of artistic fitness.
To maintain the unity of the story, some anachronisms with regard to the
time of the session of courts have been allowed; for works of fiction
must sometimes use some liberties in the grouping of incidents.
But as mere cold art, unquickened by sympathy with the spirit of the
age, is nothing, the author hopes that those who now are called to
struggle for all that is noble in our laws and institutions may find in
this book the response of a sympathizing heart.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
THE MISTRESS OF CANEMA 1
CHAPTER II.
CLAYTON 11
CHAPTER III.
THE CLAYTON FAMILY AND SISTER ANNE 22
CHAPTER IV.
THE GORDON FAMILY 31
CHAPTER V.
HARRY AND HIS WIFE 50
CHAPTER VI.
THE DILEMMA 66
CHAPTER VII.
CONSULTATION 77
CHAPTER VIII.
OLD TIFF 82
CHAPTER IX.
THE DEATH 101
CHAPTER X.
THE PREPARATION 106
CHAPTER XI.
THE LOVERS 116
CHAPTER XII.
EXPLANATIONS 129
CHAPTER XIII.
TOM GORDON 145
CHAPTER XIV.
AUNT NESBIT'S LOSS 162
CHAPTER XV.
MR. JEKYL'S OPINIONS 172
CHAPTER XVI.
MILLY'S STORY 178
CHAPTER XVII.
UNCLE JOHN 193
CHAPTER XVIII.
DRED 205
CHAPTER XIX.
THE CONSPIRATORS 213
CHAPTER XX.
SUMMER TALK AT CANEMA 224
CHAPTER XXI.
TIFF'S PREPARATIONS 235
CHAPTER XXII.
THE WORSHIPPERS 242
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE CAMP-MEETING 255
CHAPTER XXIV.
LIFE IN THE SWAMPS 285
CHAPTER XXV.
MORE SUMMER TALK 293
CHAPTER XXVI.
MILLY'S RETURN 307
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE TRIAL 313
CHAPTER XXVIII.
MAGNOLIA GROVE 321
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE TROUBADOUR 336
CHAPTER XXX.
TIFF'S GARDEN 348
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE WARNING 357
CHAPTER XXXII.
THE MORNING STAR 362
CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE LEGAL DECISION 368
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE CLOUD BURSTS 379
CHAPTER XXXV.
THE VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS 391
CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE EVENING STAR 395
CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE TIE BREAKS 403
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE PURPOSE 410
CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE NEW MOTHER 418
CHAPTER XL.
THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT 424
CHAPTER XLI.
THE CLERICAL CONFERENCE 436
CHAPTER XLII.
THE RESULT 448
CHAPTER XLIII.
THE SLAVE'S ARGUMENT 457
CHAPTER XLIV.
THE DESERT 468
CHAPTER XLV.
JEGAR SAHADUTHA 477
CHAPTER XLVI.
FRANK RUSSEL'S OPINIONS 488
CHAPTER XLVII.
TOM GORDON'S PLANS 497
CHAPTER XLVIII.
LYNCH LAW 502
CHAPTER XLIX.
MORE VIOLENCE 515
CHAPTER L.
ENGEDI 521
CHAPTER LI.
THE SLAVE HUNT 530
CHAPTER LII.
"ALL OVER" 535
CHAPTER LIII.
THE BURIAL 542
CHAPTER LIV.
THE ESCAPE 547
CHAPTER LV.
LYNCH LAW AGAIN 556
CHAPTER LVI.
FLIGHT 569
CHAPTER LVII.
CLEAR SHINING AFTER RAIN 576
APPENDIX I. 580
II. 587
III. 596
DRED.
A TALE OF THE GREAT DISMAL SWAMP.
CHAPTER I.
THE MISTRESS OF CANEMA.
"Bills, Harry?--Yes.--Dear me, where are they?--There!--No. Here?--Oh,
look!--What do you think of this scarf? Isn't it lovely?"
"Yes, Miss Nina, beautiful--but"--
"Oh, those bills!--Yes--well, here goes--here--perhaps in this box.
No--that's my opera-hat. By the bye, what do you think of that? Isn't
that bunch of silver wheat lovely? Stop a bit--you shall see it on me."
And, with these words, the slight little figure sprang up as if it had
wings, and, humming a waltzing-tune, skimmed across the room to a
looking-glass, and placed the jaunty little cap on the gay little head,
and then, turning a pirouette on one toe, said, "There, now!"
"There, now!" Ah, Harry! ah, mankind generally! the wisest of you have
been made fools of by just such dancing, glittering, fluttering little
assortments of curls, pendants, streamers, eyes, cheeks, and dimples!
The little figure, scarce the height of the Venus, rounded as that of an
infant, was shown to advantage by a coquettish morning-dress of buff
muslin, which fluttered open in front to display the embroidered skirt,
and trim little mouse of a slipper. The face was one of those provoking
ones which set criticism at defiance. The hair, waving, curling, dancing
hither and thither, seemed to have a wild, laughing grace of its own;
the brown eyes twinkled like the pendants of a chandelier; the little,
wicked nose, which bore the forbidden upward curve, seemed to assert its
right to do so with a saucy freedom; and the pendants of multiplied
brilliants that twinkled in her ears, and the nodding wreath of silver
wheat that set off her opera-hat, seemed alive with mischief and motion.
"Well, what do you think?" said a lively, imperative voice,--just the
kind of voice that you might have expected from the figure.
The young man to whom this question was addressed was a well-dressed,
gentlemanly person of about thirty-five, with dark complexion and hair,
and deep, full blue eyes. There was something marked and peculiar in the
square, high forehead, and the finely-formed features, which indicated
talent and ability; and the blue eyes had a depth and strength of color
that might cause them at first glance to appear black. The face, with
its strongly-marked expression of honesty and sense, had about it many
careworn and thoughtful lines. He looked at the little, defiant fay for
a moment with an air of the most entire deference and admiration; then a
heavy shadow crossed his face, and he answered, abstractedly, "Yes, Miss
Nina, everything you wear becomes pretty--and that is perfectly
charming."
"Isn't it, now, Harry? I thought you would think so. You see, it's my
own idea. You ought to have seen what a thing it was when I first saw it
in Mme. Le Blanche's window. There was a great hot-looking feather on
it, and two or three horrid bows. I had them out in a twinkling, and got
this wheat in--which shakes so, you know. It's perfectly lovely!--Well,
do you believe, the very night I wore it to the opera, I got engaged?"
"Engaged, Miss Nina?"
"Engaged!--Yes, to be sure! Why not?"
"It seems to me that's a very serious thing, Miss Nina."
"Serious!--ha! ha! ha!" said the little beauty, seating herself on one
arm of the sofa, and shaking the glittering hat back from her eyes.
"Well, I fancy it was--to him, at least. I made him serious, I can tell
you!"
"But is this true, Miss Nina? _Are_ you really engaged?"
"Yes, to be sure I am--to three gentlemen; and going to stay so till I
find which I like best. May be, you know, I shan't like any of them."
"Engaged to three gentlemen, Miss Nina?"
"To be sure!--Can't you understand English, Harry? I _am_ now--fact."
"Miss Nina, is that right?"
"Right?--why not? I don't know which to take--I positively don't; so I
took them all on trial, you know."
"Pray, Miss Nina, tell us who they are."
"Well, there's Mr. Carson;--he's a rich old bachelor--horridly
polite--one of those little, bobbing men, that always have such shiny
dickies and collars, and such bright boots, and such tight straps. And
he's rich--and perfectly wild about me. He wouldn't take no for an
answer, you know; so I just said yes, to have a little quiet. Besides,
he is very convenient about the opera and concerts, and such things."
"Well, and the next?"
"Well, the next is George Emmons. He's one of your pink-and-white men,
you know, who look like cream-candy, as if they were good to eat. He's a
lawyer, of a good family,--thought a good deal of, and all that. Well,
really, they say he has talents--I'm no judge. I know he always bores me
to death; asking me if I have read this or that--marking places in books
that I never read. He's your sentimental sort--writes the most romantic
notes on pink paper, and all that sort of thing."
"And the third?"
"Well, you see, I don't like _him_ a bit--I'm sure I don't. He's a
hateful creature! He isn't handsome; he's proud as Lucifer; and I'm sure
I don't know how he got me to be engaged. It was a kind of an accident.
He's real good, though--too good for me, that's a fact. But, then, I'm
afraid of him a little."
"And his name?"
"Well, his name is Clayton--Mr. Edward Clayton, at your service. He's
one of your high-and-mighty people--with such deep-set eyes--eyes that
look as if they were in a cave--and such black hair! And his eyes have a
desperate sort of sad look, sometimes--quite Byronic. He's tall, and
rather loose-jointed--has beautiful teeth; his mouth, too, is--well,
when he smiles, sometimes it really is quite fascinating; and then he's
so different from other gentlemen! He's kind--but he don't care how he
dresses; and wears the most horrid shoes. And, then, he isn't polite--he
won't jump, you know, to pick up your thread or scissors; and sometimes
he'll get into a brown study, and let you stand ten minutes before he
thinks to give you a chair, and all such provoking things. He isn't a
bit of a lady's man. Well, consequence is, as my lord won't court the
girls, the girls all court my lord--that's the way, you know; and they
seem to think it's such a feather in their cap to get attention from
him--because, you know, he's horrid sensible. So, you see, that just set
me out to see what I could do with him. Well, you see, I wouldn't court
him;--and I plagued him, and laughed at him, and spited him, and got him
gloriously wroth; and he said some spiteful things about me, and then I
said some more about him, and we had a real up-and-down quarrel;--and
then I took a penitent turn, you know, and just went gracefully down
into the valley of humiliation--as we witches can; and it took
wonderfully--brought my lord on to his knees before he knew what he was
doing. Well, really, I don't know what was the matter, just then, but he
spoke so earnest and strong that actually he got me to crying--hateful
creature!--and I promised all sorts of things, you know--said altogether
more than will bear thinking of."
"And are you corresponding with all these lovers, Miss Nina?"
"Yes--isn't it fun? Their letters, you know, can't speak. If they could,
when they come rustling together in the bag, wouldn't there be a muss?"
"Miss Nina, I think you have given your heart to this last one."
"Oh, nonsense, Harry! Haven't got any heart!--don't care two pins for
any of them! All I want is to have a good time. As to love, and all
that, I don't believe I could love any of them; I should be tired to
death of any of them in six weeks. I never liked anything that long."
"Miss Nina, you must excuse me, but I want to ask again, is it right to
trifle with the feelings of gentlemen in this way?"
"Why not?--Isn't all fair in war? Don't they trifle with us girls,
every chance they get--and sit up so pompous in their rooms, and smoke
cigars, and talk us over, as if they only had to put out their finger
and say, 'Come here,' to get any of us? I tell you, it's fun to bring
them down!--Now, there's that horrid George Emmons--I tell you, if he
didn't flirt all winter with Mary Stephens, and got everybody to
laughing about her!--it was so evident, you see, that she liked him--she
couldn't help showing it, poor little thing!--and then my lord would
settle his collar, and say he hadn't quite made up his mind to take her,
and all that. Well, I haven't made up my mind to take him, either--and
so poor Emma is avenged. As to the old bach--that smooth-dicky man--you
see, he can't be hurt; for his heart is rubbed as smooth and hard as his
dicky, with falling in love and out again. He's been turned off by three
girls, now; and his shoes squeak as brisk as ever, and he's just as
jolly. You see, he didn't use to be so rich. Lately, he's come into a
splendid property; so, if I don't take him, poor man, there are enough
that would be glad of him."
"Well, then, but as to that other one?"
"What! my lord Lofty? Oh, he wants humbling!--it wouldn't hurt him, in
the least, to be put down a little. He's good, too, and afflictions
always improve good people. I believe I was made for a means of grace to
'em all."
"Miss Nina, what if all three of them should come at once--or even two
of them?"
"What a droll idea! Wouldn't it be funny? Just to think of it! What a
commotion! What a scene! It would really be vastly entertaining."
"Now, Miss Nina, I want to speak as a friend."
"No, you shan't! it is just what people say when they are going to say
something disagreeable. I told Clayton, once for all, that I wouldn't
have him speak as a friend to me."
"Pray, how does he take all this?"
"Take it! Why, just as he must. He cares a great deal more for me than I
do for him." Here a slight little sigh escaped the fair speaker. "And I
think it fun to shock him. You know he is one of the fatherly sort, who
is always advising young girls. Let it be understood that his standard
of female character is wonderfully high, and all that. And then, to
think of his being tripped up before me!--it's _too_ funny!" The little
sprite here took off her opera-hat, and commenced waltzing a few steps,
and, stopping midwhirl, exclaimed: "Oh, do you know we girls have been
trying to learn the cachucha, and I've got some castanets? Let me
see--where are they?" And with this she proceeded to upset the trunk,
from which flew a meteoric shower of bracelets, billets-doux, French
Grammars, drawing-pencils, interspersed with confectionery of various
descriptions, and all the et ceteras of a school-girl's depository.
"There, upon my word, there are the bills you were asking for. There,
take them!" throwing a package of papers at the young man. "Take them!
Can you catch?"
"Miss Nina, these do not appear to be bills."
"Oh, bless me! those are love-letters, then. The bills are somewhere."
And the little hands went pawing among the heap making the fanciful
collection fly in every direction over the carpet. "Ah! I believe now in
this bonbon-box I did put them. Take care of your head, Harry!" And,
with the word, the gilded missile flew from the little hand, and opening
on the way, showered Harry with a profusion of crumpled papers. "Now you
have got them all, except one, that I used for curl-papers the other
night. Oh, don't look so sober about it! Indeed, I kept the pieces--here
they are. And now don't you say, Harry, don't you tell me that I never
save my bills. You don't know how particular I have been, and what
trouble I have taken. But, there--there's a letter Clayton wrote to me,
one time when we had a quarrel. Just a specimen of that creature!"
"Pray tell us about it, Miss Nina," said the young man, with his eyes
fixed admiringly on the little person, while he was smoothing and
arranging the crumpled documents.
"Why, you see, it was just this way. You know, these men--how provoking
they are! They'll go and read all sorts of books--no matter what _they_
read!--and then they are so dreadfully particular about us girls. Do you
know, Harry, this always made me angry?"
"Well, so, you see, one evening Sophy Elliot quoted some poetry from Don
Juan,--I never read it, but it seems folks call it a bad book,--and my
lord Clayton immediately fixed his eyes upon her in such an appalling
way, and says, 'Have you read Don Juan, Miss Elliot?' Then, you know,
as girls always do in such cases, she blushed and stammered, and said
her brother had read some extracts from it to her. I was vexed, and
said, 'And, pray, what's the harm if she did read it? _I_ mean to read
it, the very first chance I get!'
"Oh! everybody looked so shocked. Why, dear me! if I had said I was
going to commit murder, Clayton could not have looked more concerned. So
he put on that very edifying air of his, and said, 'Miss Nina, I
_trust_, as your friend, that you will not read that book. I should lose
all respect for a lady friend who had read that.'
"'Have you read it, Mr. Clayton?' said I.
"'Yes, Miss Nina,' said he, quite piously.
"'What makes you read such bad books?' said I, very innocently.
"Then there followed a general fuss and talk; and the gentlemen, you
know, would not have their wives or their sisters read anything naughty,
for the world. They wanted us all to be like snow-flakes, and all that.
And they were quite high, telling they wouldn't marry this, and they
wouldn't marry that, till at last I made them a curtsey, and said,
'Gentlemen, we ladies are infinitely obliged to you, but _we_ don't
intend to marry people that read naughty books, either. Of course you
know snow-flakes don't like smut!'
"Now, I really didn't mean anything by it, except to put down these men,
and stand up for my sex. But Clayton took it in real earnest. He grew
red and grew pale, and was just as angry as he could be. Well, the
quarrel raged about three days. Then, do you know, I made him give up,
and own that he was in the wrong. There, I think he was, too,--don't
you? Don't you think men ought to be _as_ good as we are, any way?"
"Miss Nina, I should think you would be afraid to express yourself so
positively."
"Oh, if I cared a sou for any of them, perhaps I should. But there isn't
one of the train that I would give _that_ for!" said she, flirting a
shower of peanut-shells into the air.
"Yes, but, Miss Nina, some time or other you must marry somebody. You
need somebody to take care of the property and place."
"Oh, that's it, is it? You are tired of keeping accounts, are you, with
me to spend the money? Well, I don't wonder. How I pity anybody that
keeps accounts! Isn't it horrid, Harry? Those awful books! Do you know
that Mme. Ardaine set out that 'we girls' should keep account of our
expenses? I just tried it two weeks. I had a headache and weak eyes, and
actually it nearly ruined my constitution. Somehow or other, they gave
it up, it gave them so much trouble. And what's the use? When money's
spent, it's _spent_; and keeping accounts ever so strict won't get it
back. I am very careful about my expenses. I never get anything that I
can do without."
"For instance," said Harry, rather roguishly, "this bill of one hundred
dollars for confectionery."
"Well, you know just how it is, Harry. It's so horrid to have to study!
Girls must have something. And you know I didn't get it all for myself;
I gave it round to all the girls. Then they used to ask me for it, and I
couldn't refuse--and so it went."
"I didn't presume to comment, Miss Nina. What have we here?--Mme. Les
Cartes, $450?"
"Oh, Harry, that horrid Mme. Les Cartes! You never saw anything like
her! Positively it is not my fault. She puts down things I never got: I
know she does. Nothing in the world but because she is from Paris.
Everybody is complaining of her. But, then, nobody gets anything
anywhere else. So what can one do, you know? I assure you, Harry, I am
economical."
The young man, who had been summing up the accounts, now burst out into
such a hearty laugh as somewhat disconcerted the fair rhetorician.
She colored to her temples.
"Harry, now, for shame! Positively, you aren't respectful!"
"Oh, Miss Nina, on my knees I beg pardon!" still continuing to laugh;
"but, indeed, you must excuse me. I am positively delighted to hear of
your economy, Miss Nina."
"Well, now, Harry, you may look at the bills and see. Haven't I ripped
up all my silk dresses and had them colored over, just to economize? You
can see the dyer's bill, there; and Mme. Carteau told me she always
expected to turn my dresses twice, at least. Oh, yes, I have been very
economical."
"I have heard of old dresses turned costing more than new ones, Miss
Nina."
"Oh, nonsense, Harry! What should you know of girls' things? But I'll
tell you one thing I've got, Harry, and that is a gold watch for you.
There it is," throwing a case carelessly towards him; "and there's a
silk dress for your wife," throwing him a little parcel. "I have sense
enough to know what a good fellow you are, at any rate. I couldn't go on
as I do, if you didn't rack your poor head fifty ways to keep things
going straight here at home for me."
A host of conflicting emotions seemed to cross the young man's face,
like a shadow of clouds over a field, as he silently undid the packages.
His hands trembled, his lips quivered, but he said nothing.
"Come, Harry, don't this suit you? I thought it would."
"Miss Nina, you are too kind."
"No, I'm not, Harry; I am a selfish little concern, that's a fact," said
she, turning away, and pretending not to see the feeling which agitated
him.
"But, Harry, wasn't it droll, this morning, when all our people came up
to get their presents! There was Aunt Sue, and Aunt Tike, and Aunt Kate,
each one got a new sack pattern, in which they are going to make up the
prints I brought them. In about two days our place will be flaming with
aprons and sacks. And _did_ you see Aunt Rose in that pink bonnet, with
the flowers? You could see every tooth in her head! Of course, now
they'll be taken with a very pious streak, to go to some camp-meeting or
other, to show their finery. Why don't you laugh, Harry?"
"I do, don't I, Miss Nina?"
"You only laugh on your face. You don't laugh deep down. What's the
matter? I don't believe it's good for you to read and study so much.
Papa used to say that he didn't think it was good for"--
She stopped, checked by the expression on the face of her listener.
"For _servants_, Miss Nina, your papa said, I suppose."
With the quick tact of her sex, Nina perceived that she had struck some
disagreeable chord in the mind of her faithful attendant, and she
hastened to change the subject, in her careless, rattling way.
"Why, yes, Harry, study is horrid for you, or me either, or anybody
else, except musty old people, who don't know how to do anything else.
Did ever anybody look out of doors, such a pleasant day as this, and
want to study? Think of a bird's studying, now, or a bee! They don't
study--they live. Now, I don't want to study--I want to live. So now,
Harry, if you'll just get the ponies and go in the woods, I want to get
some jessamines, and spring beauties, and wild honeysuckles, and all the
rest of the flowers that I used to get before I went to school."