When we approached the little semicircle of huts which I have
described before, and in which poor Aunt Bab's negroes were lodged,
there appeared no crowd round any of the doors, such as I had seen
there on a preceding visit. On the contrary, all was now still and
silent; and I could not but fear that the wounded man was dead.
Mr. Thornton, however, judged better.
"Oh, no!" he answered, when I expressed my apprehension; "they are
most likely out in the field. If he were dead, you would hear noise
enough. It is only with people educated to control their feelings that
grief is silent. With these poor childlike creatures it is always
noisy. But there is a horse's head between two of the huts. Perhaps
Christy is with him."
So it proved. The good surgeon was there, seated on a little stool by
the poor man's side, with his fingers on the pulse, and his eyes half
closed, almost as if he were dosing. A woman and a child were also in
the cabin, standing at a little distance behind the surgeon. Though
she was the man's wife, she was quite a young creature--almost a child
herself--and she looked quite bewildered with grief and apprehension.
We had opened the door without Doctor Christy moving or unclosing his
eyes; but the moment Bessy Davenport entered, he started and looked
up.
"I knew it!" he cried. "I felt it in the poor devil's pulse. Miss
Bessy, you have no right to make any one's pulse gallop so, has she,
Sir Richard? Squire, your very humble servant. You have all come just
in the nick of time, for I want help here. All the people are out in
the field, and this poor girl is hardly able to help herself."
"Oh, dear Miss Bessy, I'se so glad to see you, and with your own
people too," cried the poor man. "You'se very good to come and see
poor Ercles."
"Hush!" said the doctor, "not a word, if you would have me save your
life."
"Oh, I knows I'se going to die any how, Mas'r Christy," said the man.
"You shall die if you talk, and I won't try to save you," answered the
doctor.
"How hot his hand is!" said Bessy, who had gone up and taken the
gigantic black hand in hers.
"Yes," said the doctor, oracularly; "he has had great irritation all
night, and is now somewhat low. But I have made up my mind to two
things, since I have been sitting here, in the hope that some sensible
person would come to help me. The first is, that no vital organ has
been touched, though, as so often happens in wounds, all sorts of
mortal places lay in the way. The second is, that two balls were in
the gun, fired so near that they did not spread at all, and that one
of them is still in the wound."
"I feel it burning here, close to my back, mas'r," said Hercules,
"I dare say you do," answered the doctor; "nothing else could produce
the symptoms which I perceive. Now, I must get that bail out; and I
want some one to hold his right arm down while I operate; for
yesterday he _would_ move it. The poor fellow could not help it
indeed--it was involuntary when he felt the pain."
"Can I do it?" asked Bessy, in a low timid tone.
"No, I thank you, Miss Davenport," replied the doctor, with a quaint
smile. "When I have a robin to operate upon, I will ask you to hold
it, but not Goliath of Gath. Sir Richard, perhaps, or Mr. Thornton,
will hold the arm; and we will reserve for you an easier task. Here,
Miss Bessy, take the second bottle out of that little black-leather
case there, and put about a teaspoonful in some water. Then stand
here, while I seek for the ball; and give him the draught if you think
he is likely to faint. We must guard against fatal syncope. Now,
Hercules, if you are quite quiet, you shall have relief in a minute or
two; and if you keep quiet you shall get well. Why, old Jenny, I did
not see you. You can hold the hartshorn-and-water."
"No, _I_ will do it, Doctor Christy," said Bessy. "I never have
shrunk, and never wish to shrink, from that which is needful to help a
fellow-creature."
"I know you don't," answered the surgeon; and, baring his arm, he
proceeded to place his patient in the proper position, and remove the
bandages from the wound. Bessy turned her eyes away at first, and I
could see her lip quiver a little with agitation; but I would not
interfere; and Mr. Thornton, who was watching her face also, walked
round and stood behind her, evidently believing that _she_ might faint
sooner than the patient.
The moment the operation began, however, she fixed her eyes upon the
poor negro's face, and seemed to watch for any change. At the end of a
minute or two (for the operation was a somewhat long one), she
suddenly put the little cup to the man's lips, saying--
"Drink some of this, Hercules."
He drank; and, almost at the same moment, Doctor Christy exclaimed,--
"I have got it! I have got it fast."
"Oh, that is comfortable! Oh, that is cool!" cried the poor fellow, as
the surgeon drew out the forceps, with the ball in their gripe.
"Ay, and you will do well now, Hercules," said the surgeon. "That
fellow must have been a bloody-minded scoundrel, to put two balls in
the gun. You will do well now, I tell you."
"Dar say I shall, Mas'r Christy," answered the negro; "I feels quite
easy like, and I do think I could fall asleep if Missy Bessy would but
sing just a little bit. Many a time I'se stood to hear you a' singing
under the window at old Beavors."
"That I will, Hercules, if it can do you any good," answered Bessy.
And, sitting down on the little stool, with a voice that trembled, but
was yet exquisitely sweet, she sung the negro song I have mentioned
before--
"The shocking of the corn."
The poor man's young wife crept round, as she sang, and, kneeling at
her feet, gently kissed her hand: the negro's eyes closed drowsily,
opened, and closed again, in the sleep of exhaustion and relief; and
Bessy, suffering her voice gradually to die away, closed the song at
the end of the third stanza. The surgeon wiped something like a tear
from his eye, and we all stole quietly out of the cabin.
"Well, I do think you are an angel, after all," said the good doctor,
addressing Bessy, when we were in the open air.
"Hush, doctor, hush!" answered she almost sadly. "I never felt myself
more completely mortal than at this moment--more weak--more
worthless."
"Well, then, what is perhaps better than an angel," added the
enthusiastic old gentleman, "you are the best specimen of a right,
true-hearted Virginia girl. God bless them all! I never could get one
of them to marry me; but it was not my fault, and their good luck."
"But tell us about the other men," said Mr. Thornton. "I heard there
were three wounded."
"Oh, mere flesh wounds," answered the surgeon; "they will get well
without much doctoring, when negroes or labourers are in the scrape.
They are very serious, of course," he added with a comical smile,
"when rich gentlemen and baronets from foreign lands are under our
hands. With _them_, the cases are all very peculiar; and we get as
much credit and as many fees out of them as we can. I have no
patience, however," he continued, "with this Robert Thornton, for
putting two bullets in his gun, to shoot a poor negro. I am sorry I
helped to cure the bloody-minded scoundrel, and I shall tell him so
the next time I see him."
"You will never see him more, Doctor Christy," replied Mr. Henry
Thornton. "He was shot dead this morning, by Nat Turner, near the
State-line."
The good surgeon actually gasped with surprise; but he soon recovered
his facetious mood; for sometimes doctors, like undertakers, become so
habituated and familiar with death, that they can joke with the "lean
abhorred monster," as if he were a boon companion.
"Nat Turner! again Nat Turner!" he cried. "Why, this fellow is
ubiquitous. But I suppose his killing Bob Thornton will be a good
thing for him; for, though a jury may condemn him for his other
murders, of course the governor will pardon him in reward for this. I
am sorry for the old man, however; he won't know what to do without
his son. By his help, he had got three-quarters of the way to the dogs
already; and now he will have no one to show him the remainder."
"He will find it easily enough," said Mr. Thornton, drily.
And, mounting our horses again, we were about to ride on to the house
of the sheriff, when Bessy perceived that old Jenny was not with us.
On inquiry, we found that she had remained in the cabin; and when
the surgeon beckoned her out, she approached Mr. Thornton's horse,
saying,--
"Please, Mas'r Henry, I think I'll stay here, if you'se no objection."
"What for, Jenny?" asked Mr. Thornton; "are you too tired to go on?"
"No, dat's not it at all," answered the good woman; "but I wants to
help Pheme to nurse poor Ercles. You see, Mas'r Henry, Pheme's no more
nor a child in such matters; and she don't know how to nurse her
husband at all. So I'd better stay."
"A capital good thought, auntie," said the surgeon; "you and I have
nursed many a one through a bad illness before, and you're a handy old
girl."
"Then," said Jenny, "we are close by ole Will's house, and that er
hoss belongs to him. So, if you just take him off the hook, he'll go
way home."
"I'll see to that," said Doctor Christy. "You ride on to the sheriff,"
added he, addressing Mr. Thornton, Bessy, and myself, "and leave me
and Jenny to manage the sick man, and the well horse, too."
The sheriff's habitation was different from any Virginian house I had
seen, both in site and appearance. It was a low, cottage-looking
structure, extending over a considerable space of ground, with its
pleasant verandah all round it, and not seated, as usual, upon the
very edge of the cleared part of the plantation, but still sheltered
by the original wood. It was raised upon a little knoll in the forest,
perhaps two hundred yards wide, and that space only had been cleared
in the vicinity of the house. It looked dry and comfortable, yet cool
and shady, with the large trees devoid of underwood, forming a sort of
grove all around it, and giving it much the aspect of an English
forest-lodge.
The sheriff himself came out to receive us as we rode up, followed by
his sister, of whom he had spoken; the very reverse of himself in many
respects; for, whereas he was fully six feet, two or three, in height,
she was very diminutive in stature, and certainly made up for the
sheriff's occasional taciturnity by her own good-humoured volubility
of tongue. In her dress she was a perfect model for elderly ladies in
a state of single blessedness. It was the perfection of trim neatness,
from the beautiful little white apron to the small Quaker-looking cap.
No superfluous ribbon--no gaudy colour--no fantastic ornament was
there; but she put me in mind of some of those neat little brown
birds, which are generally the sweetest songsters.
We were all welcomed heartily; and a good deal of hospitable bustle
took place to make arrangements for getting some more becoming clothes
for Bessy and myself; the little old lady justly remarking that we
looked more like fugitives from the penitentiary than anything else.
Mr. Thornton, however, speedily set her anxieties on that score at
rest.
"I will just stay to take some dinner with you," he said, "and then
ride on to my own house. As soon as I get there, I will send over some
of my people, Bessy's maid, and her own clothes; for these she has
evidently stolen somewhere. I took the liberty, Sir Richard, of
bringing your man Zed over to my house; and as I had the melancholy
task yesterday of making all the sad arrangements at Beavors, I and
Zed brought away your baggage from the room you occupied there.
Perhaps I had better send poor Zed over with such articles of apparel,
et c[ae]tera, as his taste and judgment may select. He will then have
the opportunity of assuring himself, with his own eyes, that you are
safe and well, for the poor man went about all yesterday evening
mourning after you, with a voice as melancholy as a whip-poor-will."
"But, my dear sir," I answered, "you take it for granted that I am
going to stay here when I have not even been asked."
"Oh that's of course," cried the sheriff. "Nobody thinks of asking his
friends in this country; they always come when they like, and the
invitation is understood."
"Pray do stay, Richard," said Bessy, laying her head on my arm. "I
have a great deal to talk to you about to-morrow; for I am so tired,
and feel so weak, that I shall go to bed soon this evening--do stay."
"Assuredly," I replied. "I was only putting on a little mock-modesty
about the invitation, Bessy."
"Well, well, go and wash your hands and faces," cried the sheriff. "We
shall allow you time for no other toilet; for you have lingered so
long on the road, that I fear the dinner has spoiled, and I hear
certain sounds issuing from the back of the house, which indicate that
fried chickens are on their way to the dining room. Listen, and you
will presently hear a terrible crash, announcing that a large dish
has fallen in the stone passage, and that Ham has tumbled out of the
ark--a daily occurrence in Virginian houses, Sir Richard."
"No, brother Harrisson, I do declare," cried the sister. "It never
happened in this house. Come away, Bessy, he's a libeller. Come away,
Sir Richard, and I will show you both your rooms, quite snug, side by
side."
"With a chink in the wall, like Pyramis and Thisbe's?" asked the
sheriff, with a funny smile.
Bessy shook her finger at him with the rose bright in her cheek; and
then we both followed his sister to two very neat little rooms, which
looked charmingly comfortable and tidy, after the strange, wild scenes
in which some of our nights had lately been passed.
When I returned to the parlour, I found Mr. Thornton and the sheriff
in somewhat eager conference.
"We shall need you over at my house, and perhaps, at Jerusalem
to-morrow," said Mr. Thornton, as I entered. "We would not, it is
true, break up so pleasant an arrangement as Bessy has made for you;
but business must be attended to, Sir Richard."
"What, in _Virginia?_" I asked with a smile, remembering his own
description of the business habits of the people. "However, my dear
sir, I will not promise to be over before two o'clock, for Bessy and I
have really a great deal to talk of. She is my devisee, you know, Mr.
Sheriff; and, of course, our business is very important--though I have
some suspicion, my good friend," I continued, turning to Mr. Thornton,
"that the clever arrangement we made for conveying all my right,
title, interest, et c[ae]tera, to one Bessy Davenport, spinster, will
have to be remodelled."
"We shall see," answered Mr. Thornton, quite gravely.
"At all events, our business is important," I urged.
"Not half so important as that which waits us in the next room," cried
the sheriff impatiently, "if these two women would but come. Now, I'll
answer for it, that excellent sister of mine is making our dear little
friend give her a true, full, and particular account of all that has
occurred to her during the last week; totally forgetting those fried
chickens we were talking of. Jack," he shouted aloud from the door,
"go and throw down a large china dish at your mistress's door, to let
her know that dinner is ready. Mind you break it all to pieces with a
good smash."
"Brother, brother, I am coming," cried his sister, who, of course, had
heard the whole. "Don't be so foolish; the man might misunderstand
you. Come, Bessy, my love, these voracious men are ravenous for their
dinner."
I must acknowledge that I certainly was ravenous for mine. Poor Bessy
had every right to be hungry also; for we had not tasted any food
since the preceding night. It is, indeed, wonderful, how agitation,
alarm, or the eager activity of the mind, exercised in any way, will
stay the cravings of appetite; and, at all events, it is not till a
certain point is reached that hunger is at all felt when we are
earnestly and vigorously employed. Oh, those two strange twins of
Leda, mind and body, the godlike and the earthly! Though the one may
rise when the other sets, the power of the one can always dominate
over the other.
In fear for her china dishes, the lady of the house very speedily
entered the parlour, followed by Bessy, and we were soon seated at a
comfortable and well-supplied country table, where everything that
farm, garden, stream, and woodland could supply, was found in
abundance. Nor to our appetites, purified by fasting, did anything
seem over-cooked or under-cooked, although the sheriff, with less than
his usual tact, decried some of the dishes as being too much done.
"Well, my good friend," rejoined Mr. Thornton, "we have only to
apologize to your sister, by saying we have spoiled her dinner by
deviating a little from the straight road on our errand of charity. We
went to see that great, big fellow, Hercules, who was shot by Robert
Thornton yesterday morning; and when once there, Doctor Christy kept
us to aid in all sorts of operations."
"How is he, how is he?" asked the sheriff. "Had I thought of it, I
would have passed that way myself; but I have so many matters jostling
each other in my mind just now, that one half of them escape notice or
remembrance in the crowd."
"The man, I hope, is likely to do well," observed Mr. Thornton. "The
good doctor extracted a second ball just now; but I think Bessy was
the best doctor of the two, for she sang him to sleep, though he had
not been able to close an eye for the last twenty-four hours. It was
not the best compliment to your song, my dear niece, to fall asleep
over it; but I dare say it will do him a great deal of good."
"It was the best compliment I could wish him to pay me," replied
Bessy; "for it was that at which the song was aimed. But you
gentlemen, my good uncle, often think that we women are seeking for
compliments when nothing is less in our thoughts. Besides, I would
never think of seeking one in your presence, being sure that you would
spoil it before it reached me."
In such conversation, with the agreeable accessories of eating and
drinking, and the pleasant, soporific sort of consciousness of
being once more in a comfortable chair in a comfortable house, and
safe amidst all the charming little luxuries of civilized life,
three-quarters of an hour passed away very quietly, and then Mr. Henry
Thornton rose to depart.
I walked by the side of his horse for some way along the road,
pretending to myself to desire much to know what were the matters of
business which he wished to discuss with me the next day; but, in
reality, much more anxious to ascertain what was the cause of a
certain gravity which had tinged his manner, when I had vaguely hinted
at the possibility of Bessy Davenport becoming my wife. He did not
easily take my hints; but, at length, I came so nearly to the plain
question, that he could neither mistake, nor affect to mistake, my
meaning.
"The truth is, my friend," he said, "Bessy believes that there are
insuperable obstacles; and depend upon it, she does not think so
without cause. She is very tenacious in her resolutions; but she
always believes, at least, that they are founded on good motives and
sound reasons; for, lively and playful as her manner is, I know nobody
who is at heart less of a coquette than Bessy Davenport. Before
deciding in this instance, she put several questions to me by letter;
in answer to which I was obliged to tell her the truth, although she
did not conceal from me, that the reply which I was forced to make
might greatly affect her own happiness."
"Would there be any objection to your telling me the question she put
to you?" I asked.
"I think that would be hardly fair, my dear young friend," answered my
companion. "But it seems you are to have a conference to-morrow, and
then, doubtless, all will be explained to you by herself. All I can
say is, I wish you success with all my heart; and I trust that the
various scenes you have lately gone through together, and the vast
services and kindnesses you have rendered her, will be found to
outweigh all objections. Yet I will tell you fairly, Sir Richard, that
I entertain considerable apprehensions--and I grieve to entertain
them--in regard to the result to her own health, whether she marries
you, or whether she does not."
"What you say puts all my conjectures at sea again," I replied; "for
you, at least, must be well informed as to the events of preceding
years; and I fondly fancied, up to this moment, that she had made a
great mistake, which I could easily rectify. However, I would rather
hear the whole facts from her lips, than from any other's; and, as she
has already promised to leave the decision to me, I assure you. Mr.
Thornton, I will try to decide as may be most for _her_ happiness,
rather than for my own."
"Do so, do so, I beseech you, Sir Richard," replied Mr. Thornton. "To
break such a heart as hers, would be worse than a murder; it would be
a sacrilege."
There we parted; and walking back to the sheriff's house, I found
Bessy still in the parlour with himself and his sister, although, by
this time, it was growing dark.
"I have stayed to wish you good night, Richard," she said: "but I must
really go to bed now, for I am fairly worn out. When shall our
conference be? to-morrow, Richard? Before breakfast, had it not better
be? You know my early hours, and I can never sleep after five if I
try."
"I will be down before then," I answered; "and we will make a regular
appointment to meet here, dear Bessy, if we do not shock too much our
kind host and hostess."
"O no, do as you like," cried the sheriff; "you are beyond my
competence."
Bessy had spoken perfectly calmly and quietly throughout, with not the
slightest trace of doubt or agitation. And when she had wished the
sheriff and his sister good night, I walked with her to the door, and
into the passage.
"I wish I could be as calm as you are, Bessy," I said, with a sigh.
She looked up in my face, and put her hand upon mine, gazing at me
with an earnest, steadfast gaze.
"I am calm, Richard," she answered, "because the decision of my fate
and of him whom I love best on earth is entirely in his own hands, and
because I have such faith and trust in his judgment, that I have
almost taught myself to believe his decision will satisfy my
conscience whatever pre-conceived opinions I might now entertain. But
let us not enter on it now. Let us decide all to-morrow. Good night,
dear Richard, good night!"
"Stay a moment," I said, holding her hand. "I have got something in
trust for you here. These papers were found upon your table at Beavors
by Nat Turner, and he gave them to me. Believe me, dear Bessy, when I
tell you, that although I knew they contained a clue to all the
painful mystery, which, within the last week or so, has made our
intercourse one of doubt and anxiety instead of joy and hope, I have
not read one word."
"Oh, you might have read them," she said; "but never mind; you shall
read them to-morrow, and then tell me what I am to do. You are the
lord of my fate, and I will obey you as--as my----"
"Husband," I added, hope springing up anew. "I must have one kiss
before we part, after such scenes. If to-morrow I find I am wrong in
taking it, I will give it back again."
She gave it readily, murmuring,--
"Oh, Richard, if such are your bargains, I know already how you will
decide."
Then, freeing herself from my arms, she ran away, and left me.
At the end of little more than an hour, Zed and Julia, Bessy's maid,
made their appearance, with a quantity of goods and chattels,
sufficient to half-fill the cart in which they came.
Soon after their arrival, I, too, went to bed, and only feared that,
in the unwonted softness of my couch, I might oversleep myself on the
the following morning.