THE DESERT.
There's no study in human nature more interesting than the aspects of
the same subject seen in the points of view of different characters. One
might almost imagine that there were no such thing as absolute truth,
since a change of situation or temperament is capable of changing the
whole force of an argument. We have been accustomed, even those of us
who feel most, to look on the arguments for and against the system of
slavery with the eyes of those who are at ease. We do not even know how
fair is freedom, for we were always free. We shall never have all the
materials for absolute truth on this subject, till we take into account,
with our own views and reasonings, the views and reasonings of those who
have bowed down to the yoke, and felt the iron enter into their souls.
We all console ourselves too easily for the sorrows of others. We talk
and reason coolly of that which, did we feel it ourselves, would take
away all power of composure and self-control. We have seen how the
masters feel and reason; how good men feel and reason, whose public
opinion and Christian fellowship support the master, and give him
confidence in his position. We must add, also, to our estimate, the
feelings and reasonings of the slave; and, therefore, the reader must
follow us again to the fastness in the Dismal Swamp.
It is a calm, still, Indian-summer afternoon. The whole air is flooded
with a golden haze, in which the tree-tops move dreamily to and fro, as
if in a whispering reverie. The wild climbing grape-vines, which hang in
thousand-fold festoons round the inclosure, are purpling with grapes.
The little settlement now has among its inmates Old Tiff and his
children, and Harry and his wife. The children and Tiff had been
received in the house of the widow whose husband had fallen a victim to
the hunters, as we mentioned in one of our former chapters. All had
united in building for Harry and Lisette a cabin contiguous to the
other.
Old Tiff, with his habitual industry, might now be seen hoeing in the
sweet-potato patch, which belonged to the common settlement. The
children were roaming up and down, looking after autumn flowers and
grapes.
Dred, who had been out all the night before, was now lying on the ground
on the shady side of the clearing, with an old, much-worn, much-thumbed
copy of the Bible by his side. It was the Bible of Denmark Vesey, and in
many a secret meeting its wild, inspiring poetry had sounded like a
trumpet in his youthful ear.
He lay with his elbow resting on the ground, his hands supporting his
massive head, and his large, gloomy, dark eyes fixed in reverie on the
moving tree-tops as they waved in the golden blue. Now his eye followed
sailing islands of white cloud, drifting to and fro above them. There
were elements in him which might, under other circumstances, have made
him a poet.
His frame, capacious and energetic as it was, had yet that keenness of
excitability which places the soul _en rapport_ with all the great
forces of nature. The only book which he had been much in the habit of
reading--the book, in fact, which had been the nurse and forming power
of his soul--was the Bible, distinguished above all other literature for
its intense sympathy with nature. Dred, indeed, resembled in
organization and tone of mind some of those men of old who were dwellers
in the wilderness, and drew their inspirations from the desert.
It is remarkable that, in all ages, communities and individuals who have
suffered under oppression have always fled for refuge to the Old
Testament, and to the book of Revelation in the New. Even if not
definitely understood, these magnificent compositions have a wild,
inspiring power, like a wordless yet impassioned symphony played by a
sublime orchestra, in which deep and awful sub-bass instruments mingle
with those of ethereal softness, and wild minors twine and interlace
with marches of battles and bursts of victorious harmony.
They are much mistaken who say that nothing is efficient as a motive
that is not definitely understood. Who ever thought of understanding the
mingled wail and roar of the Marseillaise? Just this kind of indefinite
stimulating power has the Bible to the souls of the oppressed. There is
also a disposition, which has manifested itself since the primitive
times, by which the human soul, bowed down beneath the weight of mighty
oppressions, and despairing, in its own weakness, seizes with avidity
the intimations of a coming judgment, in which the Son of Man, appearing
in his glory, and all his holy angels with him, shall right earth's
mighty wrongs.
In Dred's mind this thought had acquired an absolute ascendency. All
things in nature and in revelation he interpreted by this key.
During the prevalence of the cholera, he had been pervaded by a wild and
solemn excitement. To him it was the opening of a seal--the sounding of
the trumpet of the first angel. And other woes were yet to come.
He was not a man of personal malignity to any human being. When he
contemplated schemes of insurrection and bloodshed, he contemplated them
with the calm, immovable firmness of one who felt himself an instrument
of doom in a mightier hand. In fact, although seldom called into
exercise by the incidents of his wild and solitary life, there was in
him a vein of that gentleness which softens the heart towards children
and the inferior animals. The amusement of his vacant hours was
sometimes to exercise his peculiar gifts over the animal creation, by
drawing towards him the birds and squirrels from the coverts of the
forest, and giving them food. Indeed, he commonly carried corn in the
hunting-dress which he wore, to use for this purpose. Just at this
moment, as he lay absorbed in reverie, he heard Teddy, who was near him,
calling to his sister,--
"Oh, Fanny, do come and see this squirrel, he is so pretty!"
Fanny came running, eagerly. "Where is he?" she said.
"Oh, he is gone; he just went behind that tree."
The children, in their eagerness, had not perceived how near they were
to Dred. He had turned his face towards them, and was looking at them
with a pleased expression, approaching to a smile.
"Do you want to see him?" he said. "Stop a few minutes."
He rose and scattered a train of corn between him and the thicket, and,
sitting down on the ground, began making a low sound, resembling the
call of the squirrel to its young. In a few moments Teddy and Fanny were
in a tremor of eager excitement, as a pair of little bright eyes
appeared among the leaves, and gradually their owner, a brisk little
squirrel, came out and began rapidly filling its chops with the corn.
Dred still continued, with his eyes fixed on the animal, to make the
same noise. Very soon two others were seen following their comrade. The
children laughed when they saw the headmost squirrel walk into Dred's
hand, which he had laid upon the ground, the others soon following his
example. Dred took them up, and, softly stroking them, they seemed to
become entirely amenable to his will; and, to amuse the children, he let
them go into his hunting-pouch to eat the corn that was there. After
this, they seemed to make a rambling expedition over his whole person,
investigating his pockets, hiding themselves in the bosom of his shirt,
and seeming apparently perfectly fearless, and at home.
Fanny reached out her hand, timidly. "Won't they come to me?" she said.
"No, daughter," said Dred, with a smile, "they don't know you. In the
new earth the enmity will be taken away, and then they'll come."
"I wonder what he means by the new earth!" said Fanny.
Dred seemed to feel a kind of pleasure in the admiration of the
children, to which, perhaps, no one is wholly insensible. He proceeded,
therefore, to show them some other of his accomplishments. The wood was
resounding with the afternoon song of birds, and Dred suddenly began
answering one of the songsters with an exact imitation of his note. The
bird evidently heard it, and answered back with still more spirit; and
thus an animated conversation was kept up for some time.
"You see," he said, "that I understand the speech of birds. After the
great judgment, the elect shall talk with the birds and the beasts in
the new earth. Every kind of bird has a different language, in which
they show why men should magnify the Lord, and turn from their
wickedness. But the sinners cannot hear it, because their ear is waxed
gross."
"I didn't know," said Fanny, hesitating, "as that was so. How did you
find it out?"
"The Spirit of the Lord revealed it unto me, child."
"What is the Spirit?" said Fanny, who felt more encouraged, as she saw
Dred stroking a squirrel.
"It's the Spirit that spoke in the old prophets," he said.
"Did it tell you what the birds say?"
"I am not perfected in holiness yet, and cannot receive it. But the
birds fly up near the heavens, wherefore they learn droppings of the
speech of angels. I never kill the birds, because the Lord hath set them
between us and the angels for a sign."
"What else did the Spirit tell you?" said Teddy.
"He showed me that there was a language in the leaves," said Dred. "For
I rose and looked, and, behold, there were signs drawn on the leaves,
and forms of every living thing, with strange words, which the wicked
understand not, but the elect shall read them. And, behold, the signs
are in blood, which is the blood of the Lamb, that descendeth like dew
from heaven."
Fanny looked puzzled. "Who are the elect?" she said.
"They?" said Dred. "They are the hundred and forty and four thousand,
that follow the Lamb whithersoever he goeth. And the angels have charge,
saying, 'Hurt not the earth till these are sealed in their forehead.'"
Fanny instinctively put her hand to her forehead. "Do you think they'll
seal me?" she said.
"Yes," said Dred; "such as you are of the kingdom."
"Did the Spirit tell you that?" said Fanny, who felt some considerable
anxiety.
"Yea, the Spirit hath shown me many such things," said Dred. "It hath
also revealed to me the knowledge of the elements, the revolutions of
the planets, the operations of the tide, and changes of the seasons."
Fanny looked doubtfully, and, taking up her basket of wild grapes,
slowly moved off, thinking that she would ask Tiff about it.
At this moment there was a rustling in the branches of the oak-tree
which overhung a part of the clearing near where Dred was lying, and
Harry soon dropped from the branches on to the ground. Dred started up
to receive him.
"How is it?" said he. "Will they come?"
"Yes; by midnight to-night they will be here. See here," he added,
taking a letter from his pocket, "what I have received."
It was the letter which Clayton had written to Harry. It was remarkable,
as Dred received it, how the wandering mystical expression of his face
immediately gave place to one of shrewd and practical earnestness. He
sat down on the ground, laid it on his knee, and followed the lines with
his finger. Some passages he seemed to read over two or three times with
the greatest attention, and he would pause after reading them, and sat
with his eyes fixed gloomily on the ground. The last part seemed to
agitate him strongly. He gave a sort of suppressed groan.
"Harry," he said, turning to him, at last, "behold the day shall come
when the Lord shall take out of our hand the cup of trembling, and put
it into the hand of those that oppress us. Our soul is exceedingly
filled now with the scorning of them that are at ease, and with the
contempt of the proud. The prophets prophesy falsely, the rulers bear
rule by their means, and the people love to have it so. But what will it
be in the end thereof? Their own wickedness shall reprove them, and
their backsliding shall correct them. Listen to me, Harry," he said,
taking up his Bible, "and see what the Lord saith unto thee. 'Thus saith
the Lord my God, Feed the flock of the slaughter; whose possessors slay
them, and hold themselves not guilty, and they that sell them say,
blessed be the Lord for I am rich. And their own shepherds pity them
not. For I will no more pity the inhabitants of the land, saith the
Lord. But, lo, I will deliver the men, every one into his neighbor's
hand, and into the hand of his king. And they shall smite the land, and
out of their hand I will not deliver them. And I will feed the flock of
slaughter, even you, O ye poor of the flock. And I took unto me two
staves: the one I called beauty, and the other I called bands. And I fed
the flock. And I took my staff, even beauty, and cut it asunder, that I
might break my covenant which I had made with all the people. And it was
broken in that day, so the poor of the flock that waited on me knew it
was the word of the Lord. Then I cut asunder mine other stave, even
bands, that I might break the brotherhood between Judah and Israel. The
burden of the word of the Lord for Israel, saith the Lord, which
stretcheth forth the heavens, and layeth the foundations of the earth,
and formeth the spirit of man within him. Behold, I will make Jerusalem
a cup of trembling to all the people round about. Also in that day I
will make Jerusalem a burdensome stone for all people. All that burden
themselves with it shall be cut to pieces. In that day, saith the Lord,
I will smite every horse with astonishment, and every rider with
madness. And I will open mine eyes on the house of Judah, and will smite
every horse of the people with blindness. In that day I will make the
governors of Judah like a hearth of fire among the wood, and like a
torch of fire in a sheaf, and they shall devour all the people on the
right and the left.'
"Harry," said he, "these things are written for our learning. We will go
up and take away her battlements, for they are not the Lord's!"
The gloomy fervor with which Dred read these words of Scripture,
selecting, as his eye glanced down the prophetic pages, passages whose
images most affected his own mind, carried with it an overpowering
mesmeric force.
Who shall say that, in this world, where all things are symbolic, bound
together by mystical resemblances, and where one event is the archetype
of thousands, that there is not an eternal significance in these old
prophecies? Do they not bring with them "_springing_ and _germinant_
fulfilments" wherever there is a haughty and oppressive nation, and a
"flock of the slaughter?"
"Harry," said Dred, "I have fasted and prayed before the Lord, lying all
night on my face, yet the token cometh not! Behold, there are prayers
that resist me! The Lamb yet beareth, and the opening of the second seal
delayeth! Yet the Lord had shown unto me that we should be up and doing,
to prepare the way for the coming of the Lord! The Lord hath said unto
me. 'Speak to the elders, and to the prudent men, and prepare their
hearts.'"
"One thing," said Harry, "fills me with apprehension. Hark, that brought
me this letter, was delayed in getting back; and I'm afraid that he'll
get into trouble. Tom Gordon is raging like a fury over the people of
our plantation. They have always been held under a very mild rule, and
every one knows that a plantation so managed is not so immediately
profitable as it can be made for a short time by forcing everything up
to the highest notch. He has got a man there for overseer--Old
Hokum--that has been famous for his hardness and meanness; and he has
delivered the people, unreservedly, into his hands. He drinks, and
frolics, and has his oyster-suppers, and swears he'll shoot any one that
brings him a complaint. Hokum is to pay him so much yearly, and have to
himself all that he makes over. Tom Gordon keeps two girls, there, that
he bought for himself and his fellows, just as he wanted to keep my
wife!"
"Be patient, Harry! This is a great christianizing institution!" said
Dred, with a tone of grave irony.
"I am afraid for Hark," said Harry. "He is the bravest of brave fellows.
He is ready to do anything for us. But if he is taken, there will be no
mercy."
Dred looked on the ground, gloomily. "Hark was to be here to-night," he
said.
"Yes," said Harry, "I wish we may see him."
"Harry," said Dred, "when they come, to-night, read them the Declaration
of Independence of these United States, and then let each one judge of
our afflictions, and the afflictions of their fathers, and the Lord
shall be judge between us. I must go and seek counsel of the Lord."
Dred rose, and, giving a leap from the ground, caught on the branch of
the oak, which overhung their head, and, swinging himself on the limb,
climbed in the thickness of the branches, and disappeared from view.
Harry walked to the other side of the clearing, where his lodge had been
erected. He found Lisette busy within. She ran to meet him, and threw
her arms around his neck.
"I am so glad you've come back, Harry! It is so dreadful to think what
may happen to you while you are gone! Harry, I think we could be very
happy here. See what a nice bed I have made in this corner, out of
leaves and moss! The women are both very kind, and I am glad we have got
Old Tiff and the children here. It makes it seem more natural. See, I
went out with them, this afternoon, and how many grapes I have got!
What have you been talking to that dreadful man about? Do you know,
Harry, he makes me afraid? They say he is a prophet. Do you think he
is?"
"I don't know, child," said Harry, abstractedly.
"Don't stay with him too much!" said Lisette. "He'll make you as gloomy
as he is."
"Do I need any one to make me gloomy?" said Harry. "Am I not gloomy
enough? Am I not an outcast? And you, too, Lisette?"
"It isn't so very dreadful to be an outcast," said Lisette. "God makes
wild grapes for us, if we are outcasts."
"Yes, child," said Harry, "you are right."
"And the sun shines so pleasant, this afternoon!" said Lisette.
"Yes," said Harry; "but by and by cold storms and rain will come, and
frosty weather!"
"Well," said Lisette, "then we will think what to do next. But don't let
us lose this afternoon, and these grapes, at any rate."