Oriana, after awaiting till a late hour the return of her brother and
his friend, had retired to rest, and was sleeping soundly when the party
entered the house, after their remarkable adventure. She was therefore
unconscious, upon descending from her apartment in the morning, of the
addition to her little household. Standing upon the veranda, she
perceived what she supposed to be her brother's form moving among the
shrubbery in the garden. She hastened to accost him, curious to
ascertain the nature of the excitement in Richmond on the preceding
afternoon. Great was her astonishment and unfeigned her pleasure, upon
turning a little clump of bushes, to find herself face to face with
Harold Hare.
He had been lost in meditation, but upon seeing her his brow lit up as a
midnight sky brightens when a passing cloud has unshrouded the full
moon. With a cry of joy she held out both her hands to him, which he
pressed silently for a moment as he gazed tenderly upon the upturned,
smiling face, and then, pushing back the black tresses, he touched her
white forehead with his lips.
Arthur Wayne was looking out from his lattice above, and his eye chanced
to turn that way at the moment of the meeting. He started as if struck
with a sudden pang, and his cheek, always pale, became of an ashen hue.
Long he gazed with labored breath upon the pair, as if unable to realize
what he had seen; then, with a suppressed moan, he sank into a chair,
and leaned his brow heavily upon his hand. Thus for half an hour he
remained motionless; it was only after a second summons that he roused
himself and descended to the morning meal.
At the breakfast table Oriana was in high spirits, and failed to observe
that Arthur was more sad than usual. Her brother, however, was
preoccupied and thoughtful, and even Harold, although happy in the
society of one he loved, could not refrain from moments of abstraction.
Of course the adventure of the preceding night was concealed from
Oriana, but it yet furnished the young men with matter for reflection;
and, coupled with the exciting intelligence from South Carolina, it
suggested, to Harold especially, a vision of an unhappy future. It was
natural that the thought should obtrude itself of how soon a barrier
might be placed between friends and loved ones, and the most sacred ties
sundered, perhaps forever.
Miss Randolph, Oriana's aunt, usually reserved and silent, seemed on
this occasion the most inquisitive and talkative of the party. Her
interest in the momentous turn that affairs had taken was naturally
aroused, and she questioned the young men closely as to their view of
the probable consequences.
"Surely," she remarked, "a nation of Christian people will choose some
alternative other than the sword to adjust their differences."
"Why, aunt," replied Oriana, with spirit, "what better weapon than the
sword for the oppressed?"
"I fear there is treason lurking in that little heart of yours," said
Harold, with a pensive smile.
"I am a true Southerner, Mr. Hare; and if I were a man, I would take
down my father's rifle and march into General Beauregard's camp. We have
been too long anathematized as the vilest of God's creatures, because we
will not turn over to the world's cold charity the helpless beings that
were bequeathed into our charge by our fathers. I would protect my slave
against Northern fanaticism as firmly as I would guard my children from
the interference of a stranger, were I a mother."
"The government against which you would rebel," said Harold,
"contemplates no interference with your slaves."
"Why, Mr. Hare," rejoined Oriana, warmly, "we of the South can see the
spirit of abolitionism sitting in the executive chair, as plainly as we
see the sunshine on an unclouded summer day. As well might we change
places with our bondmen, as submit to this deliberate crusade against
our institutions. Mr. Wayne, you are a man not prone to prejudice, I
sincerely believe. Would you from your heart assert that this government
is not hostile to Southern slavery?"
"I believe you are, on both sides, too sensitive upon the unhappy
subject. You are breeding danger, and perhaps ruin, out of abstract
ideas, and civil war will have laid the country waste before either
party will have awakened to a knowledge that no actual cause of
contention exists."
"Perhaps," said Beverly, "the mere fact that the two sections are
hostile in sentiment, is the best reason why they should be hostile in
deed, if a separation can only be accomplished by force of arms."
"And do you really fancy," said Harold, sharply, "that a separation is
possible, in the face of the opposition of twenty millions of loyal
citizens?"
"Yes," interrupted Oriana, "in the face of the opposing world. We
established our right to self-government in 1776; and in 1861 we are
prepared to prove our power to sustain that right."
"You are a young enthusiast," said Harold, smiling. "This rebellion will
be crushed before the flowers in that garden shall be touched with the
earliest frost."
"I think you have formed a false estimate of the movement," remarked
Beverly, gravely; "or rather, you have not fully considered of the
subject."
"Harold," said Arthur, sadly, "I regret, and perhaps censure, equally
with yourself, the precipitancy of our Carolinian brothers; but this is
not an age, nor a country, where six millions of freeborn people can be
controlled by bayonets and cannon."
They were about rising from the table, when a servant announced that
some gentlemen desired to speak with Mr. Weems in private. He passed
into the drawing-room, and found himself in the presence of three men,
two of whom he recognized as small farmers of the neighborhood, and the
other as the landlord of a public house. With a brief salutation, he
seated himself beside them, and after a few commonplace remarks, paused,
as if to learn their business with him.
After a little somewhat awkward hesitation, the publican broke silence.
"Squire Weems, we've called about a rather unpleasant sort of business"
"The sooner we transact it, then, the better for all, I fancy,
gentlemen."
"Just so. Old Judge Weems, your father, was a true Virginian, squire,
and we know you are of the right sort, too." Beverly bowed in
acknowledgment of the compliment. "Squire, the boys hereabouts met down
thar at my house last night, to take into consideration them two
Northern fellows that are putting up with you."
"Well, sir?"
"We don't want any Yankee abolitionists in these parts."
"Mr. Lucas, I have no guests for whom I will not vouch."
"Can't help that, squire, them chaps is spotted, and the boys have voted
they must leave. As they be your company, us three've been deputized to
call on you and have a talk about it. We don't want to do nothing
unpleasant whar you're consarned, squire."
"Gentlemen, my guests shall remain with me while they please to honor me
with their company, and I will protect them from violence or indignity
with my life."
"There's no mistake but you're good grit, squire, but 'tain't no use.
You know what the boys mean to do, they'll do. Now, whar's the good of
kicking up a shindy about it?"
"No good whatever, Mr. Lucas. You had better let this matter drop. You
know me too well to suppose that I would harbor dangerous characters. It
is my earnest desire to avoid everything that may bring about an
unnecessary excitement, or disturb the peace of the community; and I
shall therefore make no secret of this, interview to my friends. But
whether they remain with me or go, shall be entirely at their option. I
trust that my roof will be held sacred by my fellow-citizens."
"There'll be no harm done to you or yours, Squire Weems, whatever
happens. But those strangers had better be out of these parts by
to-morrow, sure. Good morning, squire."
"Good morning, gentlemen."
And the three worthies took their departure, not fully satisfied whether
the object of their mission had been fulfilled.
Beverly, anxious to avoid a collision with the wild spirits of the
neighborhood, which would be disagreeable, if not dangerous, to his
guests, frankly related to Harold and Arthur the tenor of the
conversation that had passed. Oriana was on fire with indignation, but
her concern for Harold's safety had its weight with her, and she wisely
refrained from opposing their departure; and both the young men, aware
that a prolongation of their visit would cause the family at Riverside
manor much inconvenience and anxiety, straightway announced their
intention of proceeding northward on the following morning.
But it was no part of Seth Rawbon's purpose to allow his rival, Hare, to
depart in peace. The chastisement which he had received at Harold's
hands added a most deadly hate to the jealousy which his knowledge of
Oriana's preference had caused. He had considerable influence with
several of the dissolute and lawless characters of the vicinity, and a
liberal allowance of Monongahela, together with sundry pecuniary favors,
enabled him to depend upon their assistance in any adventure that did
not promise particularly serious results. Now the capture and mock trial
of a couple of Yankee strangers did not seem much out of the way to
these not over-scrupulous worthies; and Rawbon's cunning
representations as to the extent of their abolition proclivities were
scarcely necessary, in view of the liberality of his bribes, to secure
their cooperation in his scheme.
Rawbon had been prowling about the manor house during the day, in the
hope of obtaining some clue to the intentions of the inmates, and
observing a mulatto boy engaged in arranging the boat for present use,
he walked carelessly along the bank to the old boat-house, and, by a few
adroit questions, ascertained that "Missis and the two gen'lmen gwine to
take a sail this arternoon."
The evening was drawing on apace when Oriana, accompanied by Arthur and
Harold, set forth on the last of the many excursions they had enjoyed on
James River; but they had purposely selected a late hour, that on their
return they might realize the tranquil pleasures of a sail by moonlight.
Beverly was busy finishing some correspondence for the North, which he
intended giving into the charge of his friend Arthur, and he therefore
remained at home. Phil, a smart mulatto, about ten years of age, who was
a general favorite in the family and an especial pet of Oriana, was
allowed to accompany the party.
It was a lovely evening, only cool enough to be comfortable for Oriana
to be wrapped in her woollen shawl. As the shadows of twilight darkened
on the silent river, a spirit of sadness was with the party, that vague
and painful melancholy that weighs upon the heart when happy ties are
about to be sundered, and loved ones are about to part. Arthur had
brought his flute, and with an effort to throw off the feeling of gloom,
he essayed a lively air; but it seemed like discord by association with
their thoughts. He ceased abruptly, and, at Oriana's request, chose a
more mournful theme. When the last notes of the plaintive melody had
been lost in the stillness of the night, there was an oppressive pause,
only broken by the rustle of the little sail and the faint rippling of
the wave.
"I seem to be sailing into the shadows of misfortune," said Oriana, in a
low, sad tone. "I wish the moon would rise, for this darkness presses
upon my heart like the fingers of a sorrowful destiny. What a coward I
am to-night!"
"A most obedient satellite," replied Arthur. "Look where she heralds
her approach by spreading a misty glow on the brow of yonder hill."
"We have left the shadows of misfortune behind us," said Harold, as a
flood of moonlight flashed over the river, seeming to dash a million of
diamonds in the path of the gliding boat.
"Alas! the fickle orb!" murmured Oriana; "it rises but to mock us, and
hides itself already in the bosom of that sable cloud. Is there not a
threat of rain there, Mr. Hare?"
"It looks unpromising, at the best," said Harold; "I think it would be
prudent to return."
Suddenly, little Phil, who had been lying at ease, with his head against
the thwarts, arose on his elbow and cried out:
"Wha'dat?"
"What is what, Phil?" asked Oriana. "Why, Phil, you have been dreaming,"
she added, observing the lad's confusion at having spoken so vehemently.
"Miss Orany, dar's a boat out yonder. I heard 'em pulling, sure."
"Nonsense, Phil! you've been asleep."
"By Gol! I heard 'em, sure. What a boat doing round here dis time o'
night? Dem's some niggers arter chickens, sure."
And little Phil, satisfied that he had fathomed the mystery, lay down
again in a fit of silent indignation. The boat was put about, but the
wind had died away, and the sail flapped idly against the mast. Harold,
glad of the opportunity for a little exercise, shipped the sculls and
bent to his work.
"Miss Oriana, put her head for the bank if you please. We shall have
less current to pull against in-shore."
The boat glided along under the shadow of the bank, and no sound was
heard but the regular thugging and splashing of the oars and the voices
of insects on the shore. They approached a curve in the river where the
bank was thickly wooded, and dense shrubbery projected over the stream.
"Wha' dat?" shouted Phil again, starting up in the bow and peering into
the darkness. A boat shot out from the shadow of the foliage, and her
course was checked directly in their path. The movement was so sudden
that, before Harold could check his headway, the two boats fouled. A
boathook was thrust into the thwarts; Arthur sprang to the bows to cast
it off.
"Don't touch that," shouted a hoarse voice; and he felt the muzzle of a
pistol thrust into his breast.
"None of that, Seth," cried another; and the speaker laid hold of his
comrade's arm. "We must have no shooting, you know."
Arthur had thrown off the boathook, but some half-dozen armed men had
already leaped into the frail vessel, crowding it to such an extent that
a struggle, even had it not been madness against such odds, would have
occasioned great personal danger to Oriana. Both Arthur and Harold
seemed instinctively to comprehend this, and therefore offered no
opposition. Their boat was taken in tow, and in a few moments the entire
party, with one exception, were landed upon the adjacent bank. That
exception was little Phil. In the confusion that ensued upon the
collision of the two boats, the lad had quietly slipped overboard, and
swam ground to the stern where his mistress sat. "Miss Orany, hist! Miss
Orany!"
The bewildered girl turned and beheld the black face peering over the
gunwale.
"Miss Orany, here I is. O Lor'! Miss Orany, what we gwine to do?"
She bowed her head toward him and whispered hurriedly, but calmly:
"Mind what I tell you, Phil. You watch where they take us to, and then
run home and tell Master Beverly. Do you understand me, Phil?"
"Yes, I does, Miss Orany;" and the little fellow struck out silently for
the shore, and crept among the bushes.
Oriana betrayed no sign, of fear as she stood with her two companions on
the bank a few paces from their captors. The latter, in a low but
earnest tone, were disputing with one who seemed to act as their leader.
"You didn't tell us nothing about the lady," said a brawny,
rugged-looking fellow, angrily. "Now, look here, Seth Rawbon, this ain't
a goin' to do. I'd cut your heart out, before I'd let any harm come to
Squire Weems's sister."
"You lied to us, you long-headed Yankee turncoat," muttered another.
"What in thunder do you mean bringing us down here for kidnapping a
lady?"
"Ain't I worried about it as much as you?" answered Rawbon. "Can't you
understand it's all a mistake?"
"Well, now, you go and apologize to Miss Weems and fix matters, d'ye
hear?"
"But what can we do?"
"Do? Undo what you've done, and show her back into the boat."
"But the two abo"--
"Damn them and you along with 'em! Come, boys, don't let's keep the lady
waiting thar."
The party approached their prisoners, and one among them, hat in hand,
respectfully addressed Oriana.
"Miss Weems, we're plaguy sorry this should 'a happened. It's a mistake
and none of our fault. Your boat's down thar and yer shan't be
merlested."
"Am I free to go?" asked Oriana, calmly.
"Free as air, Miss Weems."
"With my companions?"
"No, they remain with us," said Rawbon.
"Then I remain with them," she replied, with dignity and firmness.
The man who had first remonstrated with Rawbon, stepped up to him and
laid his hand heavily on his shoulder:
"Look here, Seth Rawbon, you've played out your hand in this game, now
mind that. Miss Weems, you're free to go, anyhow, with them chaps or
not, just as you like."
They stepped down the embankment, but the boats were nowhere to be seen.
Rawbon, anticipating some trouble with his gang, had made a pretence
only of securing the craft to a neighboring bush. The current had
carried the boats out into the stream, and they had floated down the
river and were lost to sight in the darkness.