ESCAPE.
The night gathered apace, and the usual hour of repose had come. Lucy
retired to her apartment with a trembling heart but a courageous spirit,
full of a noble determination to persevere in her project. Though full
of fear, she never for a moment thought of retreat from the decision
which she had made. Her character afforded an admirable model for the
not unfrequent union that we find in woman, of shrinking delicacy with
manly and efficient firmness.
Munro and Rivers, having first been assured that all was quiet, by a
ramble which they took around their hiding-place, returned to the little
chamber of the latter, such as we have described it in a previous
portion of our narrative, and proceeded to the further discussion of
their plans. The mind of the landlord was very ill at ease. He had
arrived at that time of life when repose and a fixed habitation became
necessary; and when, whatever may have been the habits of earlier
manhood, the mind ceases to crave the excitements of adventure, and
foregoes, or would fain forego, all its roving characteristics. To this
state of feeling had he come, and the circumstances which now denied him
the fruition of that prospect of repose which he had been promising
himself so long, were regarded with no little restlessness and
impatience. At the moment, the colleagues could make no positive
arrangements for the future. Munro was both to give up the property
which, in one way or other, he had acquired in the neighborhood, and
which it was impossible for him to remove to any other region; and,
strange to say, a strong feeling of inhabitiveness--the love of home--if
home he could be thought to have anywhere--might almost be considered a
passion with his less scrupulous companion.
Thus situated, they lingered on in the hope that the military would soon
be withdrawn from the neighborhood, as it could only be maintained at
great expense by the state; and then, as the country was but nominally
settled, and so sparsely as to scarcely merit any consideration, they
felt assured that they might readily return to their old, or any
practices, and without any further apprehension. The necessity, however,
which made them thus deliberate, had the effect, at the same time, of
impressing them with a gloomy spirit, not common to either of them.
"Let us see, Munro," said the more desperate ruffian; "there is, after
all, less to apprehend than we first thought. In a week, and the court
will be over; in another week, and the guard will be withdrawn; and for
this period only will it be necessary that we should keep dark. I think
we are now perfectly safe where we are. The only persons who know of our
retreat, and might be troublesome, are safe in our possession. They will
hardly escape until we let them, and before we do so we shall first see
that they can give us no further necessity for caution. Of our own
party, none are permitted to know the secrets of our hiding-place, but
those in whom we may trust confidently. I have taken care to provide for
the doubtful at some distance in the adjoining woods, exaggerating so
greatly the danger of exposure, that they will hardly venture to be seen
under any circumstances by anybody. Once let these two weeks go over,
and I have no fears; we shall have no difficulties then."
"And what's to be done with the pedler and the fool? I say, Guy, there
must be no more blood--I will not agree to it. The fact is, I feel more
and more dismal every day since that poor fellow's death; and now that
the youngster's taken, the thought is like fire in my brain, which tells
me he may suffer for our crime."
"Why, you are grown parson. Would you go and save him, by giving up the
true criminal? I shall look for it after this, and consider myself no
longer in safety. If you go on in this manner, I shall begin to meditate
an off-hand journey to the Mississippi."
"Ay, and the sooner we all go the better--though, to be plain, Guy, let
this affair once blow over and I care not to go with _you_ any longer.
We must then cut loose for ever. I am not a good man, I know--anything
but that; but you have carried me on, step by step, until I am what I am
afraid to name to myself. You found me a rogue--you have made me a--"
"Why do you hesitate? Speak it out, Munro; it is a large step gained
toward reform when we learn to name truly our offences to ourselves."
"I dare not. The thought is sufficiently horrible without the thing. I
hear some devil whispering it too frequently in my ears, to venture upon
its utterance myself. But you--how you can live without feeling it,
after your experience, which has been so much more dreadful than mine, I
know not."
"I do feel it, Munro, but have long since ceased to fear it. The
reiteration takes away the terror which is due rather to the novelty
than to the offence. But when I began, I felt it. The first sleep I had
after the affair of Jessup was full of tortures. The old man, I thought,
lay beside me in my bed; his blood ran under me, and clotted around me,
and fastened me there, while his gashed face kept peering into mine, and
his eyes danced over me with the fierce light of a threatening comet.
The dream nearly drove me mad, and mad I should have been had I gone to
my prayers. I knew that, and chose a different course for relief."
"What was that?"
"I sought for another victim as soon after as I conveniently could. The
one spectre superseded the other, until all vanished. They never trouble
me now, though sometimes, in my waking moments, I have met them on the
roadside, glaring at me from bush or tree, until I shouted at them
fiercely, and then they were gone. These are my terrors, and they do
sometimes unman me."
"They would do more with me; they would destroy me on the spot. But, let
us have no more of this. Let us rather see if we can not do something
towards making our visions more agreeable. Do you persevere in the
sacrifice of this youngster? Must he die?"
"Am I a child, Walter Munro, that you ask me such a question? Must I
again tell over the accursed story of my defeat and of his success? Must
I speak of my thousand defeats--of my overthrown pretensions--my blasted
hopes, where I had set my affections--upon which every feeling of my
heart had been placed? Must I go over a story so full of pain and
humiliation--must I describe my loss, in again placing before your eyes
a portraiture like this? Look, man, look--and read my answer in the
smile, which, denying me, teaches me, in this case, to arm myself with a
denial as immutable as hers."
He placed before his companion the miniature of Edith, which he took
from his bosom, where he seemed carefully to treasure it. He was again
the envenomed and the excited savage which we have elsewhere seen him,
and in which mood Munro knew well that nothing could be done with him in
the shape of argument or entreaty. He went on:--
"Ask me no questions, Munro, so idle, so perfectly unnecessary as this.
Fortune has done handsomely here. He falls through _me_, yet falls by
the common hangman. What a double blow is this to both of them. I have
been striving to imagine their feelings, and such a repast as that
effort has procured me--I would not exchange it--no--not for worlds--for
nothing less, Munro, than my restoration back to that society--to that
place in society, from which my fierce passions, and your cruel
promptings, and the wrongs of society itself, have for ever exiled me."
"And would you return, if you could do so?"
"To-morrow--to-night--this instant. I am sanguinary,
Munro--revengeful--fierce--all that is bad, because I am not permitted
to be better. My pride, my strong feelings and deeply absorbing
mood--these have no other field for exercise. The love of home, the high
ambition, which, had society done me common justice, and had not, in
enslaving itself, dishonored and defrauded me--would, under other
circumstances, have made me a patriot. My pride is even now to command
the admiration of men--I never sought their love. Their approbation
would have made me fearless and powerful in their defence and for their
rights--their injustice makes me their enemy. My passions, unprovoked
and unexaggerated by mortifying repulses, would have only been a warm
and stimulating influence, perpetually working in their service--but,
pressed upon and irritated as they have been they grew into so many wild
beasts, and preyed upon the cruel or the careless keepers, whose gentle
treatment and constant attention had tamed them into obedient servants.
Yet, would I could, even now, return to that condition in which there
might be hope. The true spectre of the criminal--such as I am--the
criminal chiefly from the crimes and injustice of society, not
forgetting the education of my boyhood, which grew out of the same
crimes, and whose most dreadful lesson is selfishness--is despair! The
black waters once past, the blacker hills rise between, and there is no
return to those regions of hope, which, once lost, are lost for ever.
This is the true punishment--the worst punishment which man inflicts
upon his fellow--the felony of public opinion. The curse of society is
no unfit illustration of that ban which its faith holds forth as the
penal doom of the future. There is no return!"
The dialogue, mixed up thus, throughout, with the utterance of opinions
on the part of the outlaw, many of which were true or founded in truth,
yet coupled with many false deductions--was devoted, for some little
while longer, to the discussion of their various necessities and plans
for the future. The night had considerably advanced in this way, when,
of a sudden, their ears were assailed with an eldritch screech, like
that of the owl, issuing from one of the several cells around them.
The quick sense of Rivers immediately discerned the voice of the idiot,
and without hesitation he proceeded to that division of the rock which
contained the two prisoners. To each of these apartments had been
assigned a sentinel, or watch, whose own place of abode--while covered
completely and from sight, and in all respects furnishing a dwelling,
though rather a confined one for himself--enabled him to attend to the
duty assigned him without himself being seen. The night had been fairly
set in, when Bunce, with the aid of Chub Williams, with all due caution
proceeded to his task, and with so much success, that, in the course of
a couple of hours, they had succeeded, not only in making a fair outlet
for themselves, but for Lucy Munro too.
The watchman, in the meantime, holding his duty as merely nominal, gave
himself as little trouble as possible; and believing all things quiet,
had, after a little while, insinuated himself into the good graces of as
attractive a slumber as may usually be won in the warm summer season in
the south, by one to whom a nightwatch is a peculiarly ungracious
exercise. Before this conclusion, however, he looked forth every now and
then, and deceived by the natural stillness of earth and sky, he
committed the further care of the hours, somewhat in anticipation of the
time, to the successor who was to relieve him on the watch.
Without being conscious of this decision in their favor, and ignorant
entirely of the sentinel himself, the pedler fortunately chose this
period for his own departure with the young lady whom he was to escort;
and who, with probably far less fear than her gallant, did not scruple,
for a single instant, to go forth under his guidance. Chub took his
instructions from the lips of Lucy, and promised the most implicit
obedience.
They had scarcely been well gone when the sentinels were changed, and
one something more tenacious of discipline, or something less drowsy
than his predecessor, took his place. After muttering at intervals, as
directed, for the space of an hour, probably, from the time at which his
companion had departed, Chub thought it only prudent to sally forth too.
Accordingly, ascending to the break in the wall, through which his
companion had made his way, the urchin emerged from the cavern at the
unlucky moment, when, at some ten or fifteen paces in front of him, the
sentinel came forth from his niche to inspect the order of his watch.
Chub saw his adversary first, and his first impulse originated the
scream which drew the attention of Rivers, as already narrated. The
outlaw rushed quickly to the scene of difficulty, and before the
sentinel had well recovered from the astonishment occasioned by the
singularly sudden appearance and wild screech of the urchin.
"Why, what is this, Briggs; what see you?" was the hasty inquiry of
Rivers.
"There, sir, there," exclaimed the watch, still half bewildered, and
pointing to the edge of the hill, where, in a condition seemingly of
equal incertitude with himself, stood the imbecile.
"Seize upon him--take him at once--let him not escape you!" were the
hasty orders of the outlaw. Briggs set forward, but his approach had the
effect of giving determination also to Chub; who, just as the pursuer
thought himself sure of his captive, and was indeed indirectly upon him,
doubled himself up, as it were into a complete ball, and without effort
rolled headlong down the hill; gathering upon his feet as he attained
the level, seemingly unhurt, and with all the agility of the monkey.
"Shall I shoot, sir?" was the inquiry of Briggs, as the urchin stood
off, laughing wildly at his good fortune.
"Now, don't"--was the cry--"Now, don't"--was the exclamation of Chub
himself, who, however, trusting nothing to the effect of his entreaty,
ran vigorously on his way.
"Yes, shoot him down," was the sudden exclamation of Munro; but Rivers
struck the poised weapon upward in the hands of the sentinel, to the
astonishment, not less of him than of the landlord.
"No--let him live, Munro. Let him live. Such as he should be spared. Is
he not alone--without fellowship--scorned--an outcast--without
sympathy--like myself. Let him live, let him live!"
The word of mercy from his lips utterly confounded his companion. But,
remembering that Rivers was a monster of contradictions, Munro turned
away, and gave directions to see after the other prisoners.
A few moments sufficed for this, and the panic was universal among the
inmates of the rock. The secret was now lost, unless immediate pursuit
could avail in the recovery of the fugitives. This pursuit was
immediately undertaken, and both Rivers and Munro, taking different
directions, and dispersing their whole force about the forest, set off
on the search.
Apprehensive of pursuit, the policy of Bunce, to whom Lucy gave up the
entire direction of their flight, was determined upon with not a little
judgment. Assured that his pursuers would search chiefly on the direct
route between their abode and the village, to which they would
necessarily surmise the flight was directed, he boldly determined upon a
course, picked sinuously out, obliquing largely from the true direction,
which, while it would materially lengthen the distance, would at least
secure them, he thought, from the danger of contact with the scouring
party.
By no means ignorant of the country, in and about which he had
frequently travelled in the pursuit of trade, he contrived, in this way,
completely to mislead the pursuers; and the morning found them still
some distance from the village, but in a direction affording few chances
of interruption in their contemplated approach to it.
Lucy was dreadfully fatigued, and a frequent sense of weariness almost
persuaded her to lay down life itself in utter exhaustion: but the
encouraging words of the pedler, and the thought of _his_ peril, for
whose safety--though herself hopeless of all besides--she would
willingly peril all, restored her, and invigorated her to renewed
effort.
At the dawn of day they approached a small farmhouse, some of the
inmates of which happened to know Lucy; and, though they looked somewhat
askant at her companion, and wondered not a little at the circumstance
of her travelling at such a time of night, yet, as she was generally
well respected, their surmises and scruples were permitted to sleep;
and, after a little difficulty, they were persuaded to lend her the
family pony and side-saddle, with the view to the completion of her
journey. After taking some slight refreshment, she hurried on; Bunce,
keeping the road afoot, alongside, with all the patient docility of a
squire of the middle ages; and to the great satisfaction of all parties,
they arrived in sight of the village just as Counsellor Pippin, learned
in the law, was disputing with the state attorney upon the
non-admissibility of certain points of testimony, which it was the
policy of the former to exclude.