CHAPTER V.

There was no remedy but to cross the woodland and cornfields that for

about a league intervened between their position and the highway. They

commenced the tedious tramp, Arthur and Harold exerting themselves to

the utmost to protect Oriana from the brambles, and to guide her

footsteps along the uneven ground and among the decayed branches and

other obstacles that beset their path. Their rude companions, too, with

the exception of Rawbon, who walked moodily apart, seemed solicitous to

assist her with their rough attentions. To add to the disagreeable

nature of their situation, the rain began to fall in torrents before

they had accomplished one half of the distance. They were then in the

midst of a tract of wooded land that was almost impassable for a lady in

the darkness, on account of the yielding nature of the soil, and the

numerous ruts and hollows that were soon transformed into miniature

pools and streams. Oriana strove to treat the adventure as a theme for

laughter, and for awhile chatted gaily with her companions; but it was

evident that she was fast becoming weary, and that her thin-shod feet

were wounded by constant contact with the twigs and sharp stones that it

was impossible to avoid in the darkness. Her dress was torn, and heavy

with mud and moisture, and the two young men were pained to perceive

that, in spite of her efforts and their watchful care, she stumbled

frequently with exhaustion, and leaned heavily on their arms as she

labored through the miry soil.

One of the party opportunely remembered a charcoal-burner's hut in the

vicinity, that would at least afford a rude shelter from the driving

storm. Several of the men hastened in search of it, and soon a halloo

not far distant indicated that the cabin, such as it was, had been

discovered. As they approached, they were surprised to observe rays of

light streaming through the cracks and crevices, as if a fire were

blazing within. It was an uninviting structure, hastily constructed of

unhewn logs, and upon ordinary occasions Oriana would have hesitated to

pass the threshold; but wet and weary as she was, she was glad to

obtain the shelter of even so poor a hovel.

"There's a runaway in thar, I reckon," said one of the party. He threw

open the door, and several of the men entered. A fire of logs was

burning on the earthen floor, and beside it was stretched a negro's

form, wrapped in a tattered blanket. He started up as his unwelcome

visitors entered, and looked frightened and bewildered, as if suddenly

awakened from a sound sleep. However, he had no sooner laid eyes upon

Seth Rawbon than, with a yell of fear, he sprang with a powerful leap

through the doorway, leaving his blanket in the hands of those who

sought to grasp him.

"That's my nigger Jim!" cried Rawbon, discharging his revolver at the

dusky form as it ran like a deer into the shadow of the woods. At every

shot, the negro jumped and screamed, but, from his accelerated speed,

was apparently untouched.

"After him, boys!" shouted Rawbon. "Five dollars apiece and a gallon of

whisky if you bring the varmint in."

With a whoop, the whole party went off in chase and were soon lost to

view in the darkness.

Harold and Arthur led Oriana into the hut, and, spreading their coats

upon the damp floor, made a rude couch for her beside the fire. The poor

girl was evidently prostrated with fatigue and excitement, yet, with a

faint laugh and a jest as she glanced around upon the questionable

accommodations, she thanked them for their kindness, and seated herself

beside the blazing fagots.

"This is a strange finale to our pleasure excursion," she said, as the

grateful warmth somewhat revived her spirits. "You must acknowledge me a

prophetess, gentlemen," she added, with a smile, "for you see that we

sailed indeed into the shadows of misfortune."

"Should your health not suffer from this exposure," replied Arthur, "our

adventure will prove no misfortune, but only a theme for mirth

hereafter, when we recall to mind our present piteous plight."

"Oh, I am strong, Mr. Wayne," she answered cheerfully, perceiving the

expression of solicitude in the countenances of her companions, "and

have passed the ordeal of many a thorough wetting with impunity. Never

fear but I shall fare well enough. I am only sorry and ashamed that all

our boasted Virginia hospitality can afford you no better quarters than

this for your last night among us."

"Apart from the discomfort to yourself, this little episode will only

make brighter by contrast my remembrance of the many happy hours we have

passed together," said Arthur, with a tone of deep feeling that caused

Oriana to turn and gaze thoughtfully into the flaming pile.

Harold said nothing, and stood leaning moodily against the wall of the

hovel, evidently a prey to painful thoughts. His mind wandered into the

glooms of the future, and dwelt upon the hour when he, perhaps, should

tread with hostile arms the soil that was the birthplace of his beloved.

"Can it be possible," he thought, "that between us twain, united as we

are in soul, there can exist such variance of opinion as will make her

kin and mine enemies, and perhaps the shedders of each other's blood!"

There was a pause, and Oriana, her raiment being partially dried,

rested her head upon her arm and slumbered.

The storm increased in violence, and the rain, pelting against the cabin

roof, with its weird music, formed a dismal accompaniment to the

grotesque discomfort of their situation. Arthur threw fresh fuel upon

the fire, and the crackling twigs sent up a fitful flame, that fell

athwart the face of the sleeping girl, and revealed an expression of

sorrow upon her features that caused him to turn away with a sigh.

"Arthur," asked Harold, abruptly, "do you think this unfortunate affair

at Sumter will breed much trouble?"

"I fear it," said Arthur, sadly. "Our Northern hearts are made of

sterner stuff than is consistent with the spirit of conciliation."

"And what of Southern hearts?"

"You have studied them," said Arthur, with a pensive smile, and bending

his gaze upon the sleeping maiden.

Harold colored slightly, and glanced half reproachfully at his friend.

"I cannot help believing," continued the latter, "that we are blindly

invoking a fatal strife, more in the spirit of exaltation than of calm

and searching philosophy. I am confident that the elements of union

still exist within the sections, but my instinct, no less than my

judgment, tells me that they will no longer exist when the

chariot-wheels of war shall have swept over the land. Whatever be the

disparity of strength, wealth and numbers, and whatever may be the

result of encounters upon the battle-field, such a terrible war as both

sides are capable of waging can never build up or sustain a fabric whose

cement must be brotherhood and kindly feeling. I would as soon think to

woo the woman of my choice with angry words and blows, as to reconcile

our divided fellow citizens by force of arms."

"You are more a philosopher than a patriot," said Harold, with some

bitterness.

"Not so," answered Arthur, warmly. "I love my country--so well, indeed,

that I cannot be aroused into hostility to any section of it. My reason

does not admit the necessity for civil war, and it becomes therefore a

sacred obligation with me to give my voice against the doctrine of

coercion. My judgment may err, or my sensibilities may be 'too full of

the milk of human kindness' to serve the stern exigencies of the crisis

with a Spartan's callousness and a Roman's impenetrability; but for you

to affirm that, because true to my own opinions, I must be false to my

country, is to deny me that independence of thought to which my country,

as a nation, owes its existence and its grandeur."

"You boast your patriotism, and yet you seem to excuse those who seek

the dismemberment of your country."

"I do not excuse them, but I would not have them judged harshly, for I

believe they have acted under provocation."

"What provocation can justify rebellion against a government so

beneficent as ours?"

"I will not pretend to justify, because I think there is much to be

forgiven on either side. But if anything can palliate the act, it is

that system of determined hostility which for years has been levelled

against an institution which they believe to be righteous and founded

upon divine precept. But I think this is not the hour for justification

or for crimination. I am convinced that the integrity of the Union can

only be preserved by withholding the armed hand at this crisis. And

pray Heaven, our government may forbear to strike!"

"Would you, then, have our flag trampled upon with impunity, and our

government confessed a cipher, because, forsooth, you have a

constitutional repugnance to the severities of warfare? Away with such

sickly sentimentality! Such theories, if carried into practice, would

reduce us to a nation of political dwarfs and puny drivellers, fit only

to grovel at the footstools of tyrants."

"I could better bear an insult to our flag than a deathblow to our

nationality. And I feel that our nationality would not survive a

struggle between the sections. There is no danger that we should be

dwarfed in intellect or spirit by practising forbearance toward our

brothers."

"Is treason less criminal because it is the treason of brother against

brother? If so, then must a traitor of necessity go unpunished, since

the nature of the crime requires that the culprit be your countryman.

How hollow are your arguments when applied to existing facts!"

"You forget that I counsel moderation as an expediency, as even a

necessity, for the public good. It were poor policy to compass the

country's ruin for the sake of bringing chastisement upon error."

"That can be but a questionable love of country that would humiliate a

government to the act of parleying with rebellion."

"My love of country is not confined to one section of the country, or to

one division of my countrymen. The lessons of the historic past have

taught me otherwise. If, when a schoolboy, poring over the pages of my

country's history, I have stood, in imagination, with Prescott at Bunker

Hill, and stormed with Ethan Allen at the gates of Ticonderoga, I have

also mourned with Washington at Valley Forge, and followed Marion and

Sumter through the wilds of Carolina. If I have fancied myself at work

with Yankee sailors at the guns, and poured the shivering broadside into

the Guerriere, I have helped to man the breastworks at New Orleans, and

seen the ranks that stood firm at Waterloo wavering before the blaze of

Southern rifles. If I have read of the hardy Northern volunteers on the

battle-plains of Mexico; I remember the Palmetto boys at Cherubusco,

and the brave Mississippians at Buena Vista. Is it a wonder, then, that

my heartstrings ache when I see the links breaking that bind me to such

memories? If I would have the Government parley awhile for the sake of

peace, even although the strict law sanction the bayonet and cannon, I

do it in the name of the sacred past, when the ties of brotherhood were

strong. I counsel not humiliation nor submission, but conciliation. I

counsel it, not only as an expedient, but as a tribute to the affinities

of almost a century. I love the Union too well to be willing that its

fate should be risked upon the uncertainties of war. I believe in my

conscience that the chances of its reconstruction depend rather upon

negotiation than upon battles. I may err, or you, as my opponent in

opinion, may err; for while I assume not infallibility for myself, I

deny it, with justice, to my neighbor. But I think as my heart and

intellect dictate, and my patriotism should not be questioned by one as

liable to error as myself. Should I yield my honest convictions upon a

question of such vital importance as my country's welfare, then indeed

should I be a traitor to my country and myself. But to accuse me of

questionable patriotism for my independence of thought, is, in itself,

treason against God and man."

"I believe you sincere in your convictions, Arthur, not because touched

by your argument, but because I have known you too long and well to

believe you capable of an unworthy motive. But what, in the name of

common justice, would you have us do, when rebellion already thunders at

the gates of our citadels with belching cannon? Shall we sit by our

firesides and nod to the music of their artillery?"

"I would have every American citizen, in this crisis, as in all others,

divest himself of all prejudice and sectional feeling: I would have him

listen to and ponder upon the opinions of his fellow citizens, and, with

the exercise of his best judgment, to discard the bad, and take counsel

from the good; then, I would have him conclude for himself, not whether

his flag has been insulted, or whether there are injuries to avenge, or

criminals to be punished, but what is best and surest to be done for

the welfare of his country. If he believe the Union can only be

preserved by war, let his voice be for war; if by peace, let him counsel

peace, as I do, from my heart; if he remain in doubt, let him incline to

peace, secure that in so doing he will best obey the teachings of

Christianity, the laws of humanity, and the mighty voice that is

speaking from the soul of enlightenment, pointing out the errors of the

past, and disclosing the secret of human happiness for the future."

Arthur's eye kindled as he spoke, and the flush of excitement, to which

he was habitually a stranger, colored his pale cheek. Oriana had

awakened with the vehemence of his language, and gazing with interest

upon his now animated features, had been listening to his closing words.

Harold was about to answer, when suddenly the baying of a hound broke

through the noise of the storm.

"That is a bloodhound!" exclaimed Harold with an accent of surprise.

"Oh, no," said Oriana. "There are no bloodhounds in this neighborhood,

nor are they at all in use, I am sure, in Virginia."

"I am not mistaken," replied Harold. "I have been made familiar with

their baying while surveying on the coast of Florida. Listen!"

The deep, full tones came swelling upon the night wind, and fell with a

startling distinctness upon the ear.

"It's my hound, Mister Hare," said a low, coarse voice at the doorway,

and Seth Rawbon entered the cabin and closed the door behind him.

Fort Lafayette or, Love and Secession: A Novel · 第 5 / 30 章