I could not help thinking, as we rode along, now through deep woods,
now across small pieces of cultivated ground, what a favourable
country this would be for a desultory guerilla sort of warfare; and I
easily conceived how the Indians, in former days, had maintained their
woody fastnesses against all the advantages of European discipline.
Indeed, had the insurgents, on the present occasion, but known how to
profit by the opportunities the country afforded--had they kept their
hands from any indiscriminate massacre, and contented themselves with
picking off their assailants from behind the screen which the forest
afforded in every direction, they might, and certainly would, have
been beaten at last, but they would have been much more successful in
the beginning, and maintained the contest for a greater length of
time.
I did not feel at all sure that they would not have a shot at us from
the denser parts of the forest, as we passed along through the narrow
paths which we had to thread in order to reach the high road; and I
kept my gun upon my knee, to give it back again in case of need.
But the great highway to Suffolk was reached at length, and on we went
in more security. A large, lumbering, heavy stage-coach passed us,
with its tall springs and huge body, looking like a great solitary
capon, and quite unlike the neat, compact, dashing vehicles which roll
along with such tremendous speed over our smooth English roads. It
stopped for a moment, to give time for the passengers and driver to
ask us--"What news?" and then went on again, rolling and wallowing
through the sand, and the ruts, and the holes, like a porpoise in a
rough sea.
About two miles farther on, just as we were coming to the opening of
another road branching to the left, I heard a well-known voice
exclaiming,--
"Hi, massa, hi!"
Looking round, I saw Zed just starting up from a large log on which he
had been sitting. He ran as quickly towards us as his crooked leg
would admit; and, coming close to my horse, he said, in a low,
mysterious, and important voice,--
"Got news of Miss Bessy, massa. Saw an ole woman in her cabin,
half-way between Doctor Blunt's and Mr. Hiram Shield's; and she tell
me that she saw four men and two women, a-horseback, pass by last
night just as it was growing dark. They were all white men, and one
was a white woman. She says, she swears, she was Miss Bessy. T'other
woman's face she could not see; but she says she was mighty fat, so
that must be aunt Jenny."
"Which way did they take?" I demanded, though I did not exactly see
why there should not be other fat women in the world besides aunt
Jenny.
"Oh, they have gone to Jerusalem, of course," cried Billy Byles. "It
was some of Halliday's party, depend upon it. Very likely they split
into two; but they have all taken to Jerusalem, you may be sure of it.
You see, in the crowd and confusion last night, no one could find
anything, and the search for Bessy was like looking for a needle in a
pottle of hay.
"Ole woman thinks they took t'other way," said Zed; "but you see,
massa, her cabin just stand at de corner, where you can see no way at
all; for they could turn either right or left when they got a hundred
yards farther; and she only judge by the sound of the horses' feet."
"Oh, they've gone to Jerusalem," said Billy Byles. And turning to Zed,
he added, "She was quite sure they were white men?"
"Oh, she swore by gorry dey was white men," answered Zed. "No doubt of
dat."
"Then she is safe, at all events," answered Billy Byles; "and we had
better make the best of our way on to town and seek for her. So that
she hasn't fallen into the hands of these devils, we have no occasion
to be afraid."
Zed's intelligence certainly was a great relief to my mind; yet I was
not entirely at my ease; for there were various points which seemed
strange to me, and I could not feel satisfied till they were accounted
for. Nevertheless, Billy Byles's plan seemed the only feasible one for
the moment. Therefore, telling Zed to follow as fast as he could, I
rode towards Jerusalem.
We found the town somewhat more orderly and quiet than it had been on
the preceding day, although it appeared that several parties of
military had arrived during the night and that morning, and two pieces
of artillery were planted in the square. Provisions had arrived
likewise; and breakfast was going on with great zeal in the inn and
the different houses which had given shelter to the fugitives.
In the inn we found Mr. Thornton and all his family; but his first
question showed me that he himself had obtained no satisfactory
information.
"What news do you bring?" he said. "Do aunt Bab's people know anything
of our poor girl?"
"Nothing whatever," I replied; "but we have since got some important
intelligence."
And I told him all we had heard from Zed.
"That is satisfactory, at all events," he said, with a brighter look.
"We shall hear more soon, and most likely see her come trotting in in
the course of the day. I dare say she has gone to some plantation
where the people are on their guard, and feel secure. At all events,
she is safe, and our worst fears are allayed."
He then went on to inform me that he had spoken with the young ladies
whom Colonel Halliday had brought in, and found that Bessy had
certainly never been with them. He had brought them, however, Mr.
Thornton said, from a house quite close to the high-road after having
made a tour with his party through the woods in search of the
insurgents. He had returned on his search, immediately after having
lodged them in safety, and he might have met with Bessy either before
or afterwards.
"The only strange thing is," continued Mr. Thornton, "that Halliday
himself has never returned; but I trust he will appear very soon."
Mrs. Thornton, who always was rather of a despondent disposition, here
expressed a hope--which, with her, generally meant a dread of an
exactly opposite event--that Colonel Halliday had not met with a
superior party of the negroes, and been defeated.
A friend of mine, who was somewhat of a susceptible and apprehensive
character himself, but who took especial care never to express any
gloomy forebodings, used to declare that he always eschewed, the
society of what he called _dread-ful_ people; "for when I am in a
fright about anything myself," he said, "they are sure to drive me
half mad with all sorts of possibilities."
Now, though I do not intend to apply the term _dread-ful_ to my
excellent friend, Mrs. Thornton, yet I did wish she had spared me this
suggestion. I had argued myself into believing that there was no doubt
of Bessy's safety, although, of course, I could not be altogether easy
till I saw her again; and though the phantom which Mrs. Thornton
conjured up was not very tangible, it made me uncomfortable. If it was
not probable, it was within the range of possibility; and upon it my
mind rested with very unpleasant sensations.
"Pooh! nonsense, mamma!" said Louisa Thornton. "Mr. Halliday had too
many men with him for anything like that. Did you not hear how they
were all scattered and dispersed at Doctor Blunt's? In the meantime,
Sir Richard is getting no breakfast and must be half starving."
"And so am I too," said Billy Byles; "but you don't care whether _I_
starve or not, Miss Louisa."
"Oh, I have no fears about you," she answered. "You will never starve
when there's anything to be got to eat. You had better make haste,
however, and get down to the dining-room, for there is a famishing
multitude round, which will leave not a morsel if you do not fight for
it."
What she said was literally true. The breakfast we got was very
scanty, although Billy Byles did almost fight for it; but it served,
at all events, to appease our hunger; and, what was perhaps of more
consequence to me, to fill up some short space of time in which I had
nothing else to do. Active exertion was indeed most necessary for me;
but for the time, the opportunity was wanting.
Zed had not yet returned to the town; and my horse was too tired, what
with the morning's ride and the fatigue he had undergone during the
preceding night and day, to go any farther without some repose.
Nothing was to be done, then, but to wander about amongst the various
groups in the town, to converse with those whom I knew, and to gather
the scattered pieces of intelligence which were brought in from the
country.
All seemed agreed that the negroes had been completely dispersed the
night before; that they had lost heart and hope; and that the
insurrection was at an end. Several families who had taken refuge in
the town moved back to their own dwellings, and some parties of the
militia and volunteers marched out to return home.
Still Colonel Halliday did not appear, and still no farther
intelligence came of Bessy Davenport.
Zed came in about two hours after Billy Byles and I reached the town,
although the distance he had to walk was not more than four miles; but
he assured me he had been making all sorts of inquiries, and I doubt
not but what he said was true; for where is the negro who can pass
another without stopping to ask him some question? After I had heard
his excuse for the delay, I told him to get the horse he usually rode,
ready for me, adding,--
"He must be rested by this time; and if Colonel Halliday doesn't come
in in an hour, I shall go out to talk with this old woman, you
mention, myself."
"You had better take me with you, massa," said Zed. "You'll not find
out much by yourself. People will tell ole Zed when they won't tell
you. But dere's dat free yellow man looking after you, I think, where
you sleep last night."
I looked round in the direction to which his eyes were turned, and saw
good old Jacobus standing at a little distance, apparently waiting
respectfully till my conversation with Zed was over.
"What is it, Jacobus?" I said, approaching him. "Have you anything to
tell me?"
"Yes, sir," said the man, speaking in a low and mysterious tone.
"There's a boy on the bridge wants to see you. He won't come into the
town, for he seems afraid of the soldiers and the cannon; but he says
he has a message for you."
I turned hastily away, and walked towards the bridge. There were two
or three people at the nearer end, but no one was upon it except a man
driving a cart, and a young boy of perhaps thirteen years old, who was
mounted upon the rail and swinging himself backwards and forwards over
the water. He was as black as ebony; and I had no recollection of
having seen him before. But he grinned from ear to car as I came up,
evidently recognizing me; and, dismounting from his rail, he ran
forward, saying,--
"Hercules say, mas'r, he got news already ob Miss Bessy. You don't
leave de town till you hear from him again."
"And who is Hercules, my good friend?" I asked.
"Oh, our Hercules," answered the lad, with a look of wonder at my
ignorance. "De great big nigger. You saw he dis mornin'."
"And has he got intelligence already?" I inquired. "He must have been
very quick. It is hardly four hours since I saw him."
"Ah, dis nigger run all de way," cried the boy, "right troo de
woods--neber stop for noting."
"Then you must need something, my good boy," I replied. "Come into the
town with me, and I'll see if I can get you some breakfast."
"O no, mas'r," answered the boy. "Had good drink out there," and he
pointed to the river. "But mind you now, you wait till Hercules come.
He can want you in a minute, he say. He am very fierce about someting,
and get half de nigger together and went away again, so soon he sent
me off."
I tried to get some further information from the boy, but it was in
vain. He evidently knew nothing more than the message with which he
had been charged; and giving him some pieces of silver for his
trouble, with which he seemed mightily delighted, I let him go.
On returning to the inn, I found the dining-hall occupied by a party
of gentlemen arranging their plans for a very melancholy duty. This
was to divide the district in which the massacre had taken place into
sections, and in parties of sufficient force, to visit the houses
which had suffered, in order to take the necessary steps to dispose
decently of the bodies of the victims. A good-looking military man was
in the chair, with a calm and intelligent countenance. I found
afterwards it was General Eppes, the commandant of the district. He
was just addressing a few words of advice and exhortation to those who
were about to set out.
"I believe, gentlemen," he said, "that all danger may be considered
over. The insurrection may be said to be at an end, though several of
the leaders have escaped as yet. I would advise you, however, to go
well armed, and five or six in a body, lest you should fall in with
any scattered party of these unfortunate people. I would beseech you,
however, should you meet with any of them, to be calm, and to forbear
from anything like violence or cruelty. Let them be brought in to
await the action of the law; but do not permit indignation and anger
to move you to acts as barbarous as their own. You may think it
strange, and perhaps improper, that I should address such advice to
you at all; but I have just received intelligence of a most brutal
outrage committed upon some unoffending negroes by persons who should
know better. My good friend, the sheriff, has just set out to inquire
into the whole matter, and I trust will bring the offenders to
punishment. For it is dangerous and intolerable, on an occasion like
this, when the restoration of tranquillity depends as much upon
justice and forbearance as upon courage and activity, that the
peaceable and well-disposed should be treated like the malcontent and
the guilty, especially," he added, in a very marked tone, "where
private malevolence may be suspected as the motive for a cruel and
unjustifiable act. This is all I wish to say; but I think it is worth
your attention, for I know that many who hear me must set forth with
feelings highly irritated, which will be naturally increased by the
sad spectacles they will have to witness."
His tone was calm, firm, and dignified, and he was listened to with
evident attention and respect. Some, indeed, wished that he would give
farther explanations in regard to the particular case of outrage to
which he had alluded. But he replied, after a moment's thought,--
"Gentlemen, my information is vague, and I do not like to give
circulation to rumours affecting the character and conduct of any
gentleman in the neighbourhood. We have had too many rumours already,
and, until the particulars are well ascertained, I shall say no more.
The matter is in the hands of the sheriff, whose energy and activity
you all know, and it will be thoroughly investigated."
The meeting then began to break up, organizing itself into different
parties to perform the mournful duty they had undertaken. Each
selected its particular little district to act in, and each chose a
leader for itself to direct its proceedings.
This spirit of organization is one of the most peculiar and
serviceable traits of the American character. In other countries, a
mob is a mob; every one strives for the lead; every one tries to cram
his own opinion down the throats of others. But no sooner do a number
of Americans meet for any purpose whatsoever, than the first thing
they do is to organize; they choose their leaders and their officers,
and thus, very often, the most disorderly acts are performed in the
most orderly manner. This is one of the ancient characteristics of the
Anglo-Saxons, showing itself amongst their remote descendants. Our
pagan, piratical, barbarous, bloodthirsty ancestors, had no sooner
taken possession of Great Britain, than they devised, and carried out,
one of the most beautiful systems of organization ever conceived; and
if both Englishmen and Americans have, as I am afraid is the case,
inherited some of the piratical propensities of our worthy
forefathers, they have come in for their share of the better qualities
also.
Mr. Henry Thornton was placed at the head of one party, Billy Byles of
another, and I think about seven little bodies of men were formed to
visit the different houses where massacres had been committed. I was
asked by Mr. Thornton to join his party; but I explained to him that I
wished to remain in the town till Colonel Halliday made his
appearance, and I besought him, if he obtained any intelligence of
Bessy, to let me know at once.
"Halliday's absence is very strange," said Mr. Thornton; "but let me
advise you, Sir Richard, if I may do so without seeming impertinent,
to deal with him calmly when he does come in. There are various
circumstances which may make him irritable in regard to any matter
where Bessy is concerned, and I think we have had pistols and bullets
enough for some time to come."
Thus closed our conversation, and when the various parties had set out
on their way, I betook myself to the open space before the inn, not
alone to be ready for whatever might occur, but to dissipate my
impatience, as it were, in a way that could not be annoying to others.
I ought, perhaps, in politeness, to have gone to sit with Mrs.
Thornton and her daughters in the balcony; but I felt that I was not
fit for society, and that my company could not be very desirable to
any one in the mood which was then upon me.