Chapter Nineteenth.
"Revenge at first though sweet,Bitter ere long, back on itself recoils."--MILTON.
George Boyd, who was of most vindictive temper, had laid his plans forthe night of the raid upon Ion, to wreak his vengeance not upon Travillaonly, but also upon the woman on whose clothing he had left the impressof his bloody hand.
With this in view, he went first to the kitchen department where, as hehad learned through the gossip of the servants, she now passed thenight, intending afterward to have a hand in the brutal flogging to bemeted out to Mr. Travilla. He headed the attacking party there, and itwas he who received upon his person the full broadside from Aunt Dicey'sbattery of soap ladles.
The pain was horrible, the scorching mass clinging to the flesh andburning deeper and deeper as he was borne shrieking away in the arms ofhis comrades.
"Oh take it off! take it off! I'm burning up, I tell you!" he yelled asthey carried him swiftly down the avenue; but they hurried on,seemingly unmindful of his cries, mingled though they were with oathsand imprecations, nor paused till they had reached the shelter of thewoods at some little distance on the opposite side of the road.
"Curse you!" he said between his clenched teeth, as they laid him downat the foot of a tree, "curse you! for keeping me in this agony. Help meoff with these--duds. Unbutton it, quick! quick! I'm burning up, I tellyou; and my hands are nearly as bad as my face. Oh! oh! you fiends! doyou want to murder me outright? you're bringing all the skin with it!"he roared, writhing in unendurable torture, as they dragged off thedisguise. "Oh kill me! Bill, shoot me through the head and put me out ofthis torment, will you?"
"No, no, I daren't. Come, come, pluck up courage and bear it like aman."
"Bear it indeed! I only wish you had it to bear. I tell you it can't beborne! Water, water, for the love of heaven! carry me to the river andthrow me in. My eyes are put out; they burn like balls of fire."
"Stop that yelling, will you!" cried a voice from a little distance,"you'll betray us. We're whipped, and there's troops coming up too."
"Sure, Smith?"
"Yes, heard their tramp, tramp distinctly ramble of artillery too.Can't be more'n a mile off, if that. Hurry, boys, no time to lose! Who'sthis groaning at such an awful rate? What's the matter?"
"Scalded; horribly scalded."
"He ain't the only one, though maybe he's the worst. And Blake's killedoutright; two or three more, I believe; some with pretty bad pistol-shotwounds. Tell you they made warm work for us. There's been a traitoramong us; betrayed our plans and put 'em on their guard."
He concluded with a torrent of oaths and fearful imprecations upon thetraitor, whoever he might be.
"Hist!" cried the one Boyd had addressed as Bill, "hist boys! the buglecall! they're on us. Stop your noise, Boyd, can't you!" as the latter,seized, and borne onward again, not too gently, yelled and roared withredoubled vigor: "Be quiet or you'll have 'em after us in no time."
"Shoot me through the head then: it's the only thing that'll help me tostop it."
Mr. Lilburn, keeping well in the shadow of the trees, had hurried afterthe retreating foe, and concealing himself behind a clump of bushesclose to the gate, caused his bugle note to sound in their ears as ifcoming from a point some half a mile distant.
Convinced that a detachment of United States troops were almost uponthem, those carrying the dead and wounded dashed into the wood withtheir burdens, while in hot haste the others mounted and away, neverdrawing rein until they had put several miles between them and the sceneof their attempted outrage.
Meantime those in the wood, moving as rapidly as possible under thecircumstances, were plunging deeper and deeper into its recesses.
There was an occasional groan or half suppressed shriek from others ofthe wounded, but Boyd's cries were incessant and heart-rending, till ahandkerchief was suddenly thrust into his mouth with a mutteredexclamation, "Necessity knows no law! it's to save your own life andliberty as well as ours."
At length, well nigh spent with their exertions, the bearers paused,resting their burdens for a moment upon the ground, while they listenedintently for the sounds of pursuit.
"We've baffled 'em, I think," panted Bill, "I don't hear no more ofthat--tramp, tramp, and the bugle's stopped too."
"That's so and I reckon we're pretty safe now," returned another voice."But what's to be done with these fellows? where'll we take 'em?"
"To Rood's still-house," was the answer. "It's about half a mile furtheron, and deep in the woods. And I say you, Tom Arnold, pull off yourdisguise and go after Dr. Savage as fast as you can. Tell him to come tothe still-house on the fleetest horse he can get hold of; and bringalong everything necessary to dress scalds and pistol-shot wounds. Saythere's no time to lose or Boyd'll die on our hands. Now up with yourload, boys, and on again."
The voice had a tone of command and the orders were instantly obeyed.
The still-house was an old, dilapidated frame building, whose rudeaccommodations differed widely from those to which, save during his armylife, Boyd had been accustomed from infancy.
They carried him in and laid him down upon a rough pallet of strawfurnished with coarse cotton sheets and an army blanket or two, not overclean.
But in his dire extremity of pain he heeded naught of this, and hisblinded eyes could not see the bare rafters overhead, the filthyuncarpeted floor, the few broken chairs and rude board seats, or thelittle unpainted pine table with its bit of flickering, flaming tallowcandle, stuck in an old bottle.
His comrades did what they could for his relief; but it was not much,and their clumsy handling was exquisite torture to the raw, quiveringflesh, and his entreaties that they would put him out of his misery atonce, by sending a bullet through his brain, were piteous to hear. Theyhad taken his arms from him, or he would have destroyed himself.
The room was filled with doleful sounds,--the groans and sighs of men insore pain, but his rose above all others.
Dr. Savage arrived at length, but half drunk, and, an unskillful surgeonat his best, made but clumsy work with his patients on this occasion.
Yet the applications brought, in time, some slight alleviation of evenBoyd's unendurable agony; his cries grew fainter and less frequent, tillthey ceased altogether, and like the other wounded he relieved himselfonly with an occasional moan or groan.
The doctor had finished his task, and lay in a drunken sleep on thefloor. The uninjured raiders had followed his example, the candle hadburned itself out and all was darkness and silence save the low, fitfulsounds of suffering.
To Boyd sleep was impossible, the pain of his burns was still verygreat; especially in his eyes, the injury to which he feared must resultin total blindness. How could he bear it? he asked himself, to gogroping his way through life in utter darkness? Horrible! horrible! hewould _not_ endure it; they had put the means of self-destruction out ofhis way now, but on the first opportunity to get hold of a pistol, hewould blow his own brains out and be done with this agony. The Biblewas a fable; death an eternal sleep; he had been saying it for years,till he thought his belief--or more correctly unbelief--firmly fixed:but now the early teachings of a pious mother came back to him and hetrembled with the fear that they might be true.
"It is appointed unto men once to die, but after that the judgment.""Every one of us shall give an account of himself to God." "These shallgo away into everlasting punishment." "Where their worm dieth not, andthe fire is not quenched." Fire, fire! oh how unendurable he had foundit! dare he risk its torment throughout the endless ages of eternity?Self-destruction might be but a plunge into deeper depths of anguish:from which there could be no return.
For days and weeks he lay in his miserable hiding place, almost untendedsave for the doctor's visits, and the bringing of his meals by one oranother of his confederates, who would feed him with a rough sort ofkindness, then go away again, leaving him to the solitary companionshipof his own bitter thoughts.
He longed for the pleasant society and gentle
ministrations of his aunt,and he knew that if sent for she would come to him, and that his secretwould be safe with her; but alas, how could he bear that she should knowof his crime and its punishment? She who had so earnestly besought himto forsake his evil ways and live in peace and love with all men: shewho had warned him again and again that "the way of transgressors ishard," and that "though hand join in hand, the wicked shall not beunpunished." She who had loved, cared for, and watched over him withalmost a mother's undying, unalterable tenderness and devotion.
How ungrateful she would deem his repeated attempt against the home andhusband of one whom she loved as her own child. She would not reprovehim, she would not betray him, but he would know that in her secretheart she condemned him as a guilty wretch, a disgrace to her and allhis relatives; and that would be worse, far worse to his proud spiritthan the dreary loneliness of his present condition, and the lack of thebodily comforts she would provide.
No, he would bear his bitter fate as best he might, and though he hadproved the truth of her warning words, she should never know it, if hecould keep it from her.
Troops had arrived in the neighborhood the day after the raid on Ion; soto Boyd's other causes of distress was added the constant fear ofdetection and apprehension. This was one reason why the visits of hisconfreres were few and short.
The Klan was said to have disbanded and outrages had ceased, but aninvestigation was going on and search being made for the guilty parties;also United States revenue officers were known to be in quest of illicitdistilleries; to which class this one of Rood's belonged.
"What's the news?" asked Boyd one morning while Savage was engaged indressing his hurts.
"Very bad; you'll have to get out of this at once if you don't want tobe nabbed. A jail might be more comfortable in some respects, eh, oldboy? but I s'pose you prefer liberty.
"'Better to sit in Freedom's hall,With a cold damp floor, and a mouldering wall,Than to bend the neck or to bow the kneeIn the proudest palace of Slavery.'
"Fine sentiment, eh, Boyd?"
The doctor was just drunk enough to spout poetry without knowing orcaring whether it was exactly apropos or not.
"Very fine, though not quite to the point, it strikes me," answeredBoyd, wincing under the not too gentle touch of the inebriate's shakinghand. "But how am I to get out of this? blind and nearly helpless as Iam?"
"Well, sir, we've planned it all out for you--never forsake a brotherin distress, you know. There's a warrant out for Bill Dobbs and he hasto skedaddle too. He starts for Texas to-night, and will take charge ofyou."
Savage went on to give the details of the plan, then left with a promiseto return at night-fall. He did so, bringing Dobbs and Smith with him.Boyd's wounds were attended to again, Dobbs looking on to learn the_modus operandi_; then the invalid, aided by Smith on one side and Dobbson the other, was conducted to an opening in the woods where a horse andwagon stood in readiness, placed in it, Dobbs taking a seat by his sideand supporting him with his arm, and driven a few miles along anunfrequented road to a little country station, where they took the nighttrain going south.
The conductor asked no questions; merely exchanged glances with Dobbs,and seeing him apparently in search of a pin in the inside of his coat,opened his own and handed him one, then passed on through the car.
Boyd was missed from the breakfast table at Ashlands on the morningafter the raid upon Ion. His aunt sent a servant to his room to see ifhe had overslept himself.
The man returned with the report that "Marse George" was not there andthat his bed had certainly not been occupied during the night.
Still as his movements were at all times rather uncertain, and theladies, having had no communication with the Oaks or Ion on theprevious day, were in ignorance of all that had transpired there, hisabsence occasioned them no particular anxiety or alarm. The meal wenton, enlivened by cheerful chat.
"Mamma," said Herbert, "it's a lovely morning: do give us a holiday andlet's drive over to the Oaks; we haven't seen Aunt Rose and the rest forever so long."
The other children joined in the petition; grandma put in a word ofapproval, and mamma finally consented, if the truth were told nothingloth to give, or to share the treat.
The carriage was ordered at once, and they set out shortly after leavingthe table.
Arrived at their destination they found Mrs. Murray on the veranda,looking out with an eager, anxious face.
"Ah!" she said, coming forward as the ladies alighted, "I didnaexpect--my sight is no so keen as in my younger days, and I thocht tillthis moment 'twas Mr. Dinsmore's carriage, bringing them hame againafter their dreadfu' nicht at Ion."
Both ladies turned pale, and old Mrs. Carrington leaned heavily upon herdaughter-in-law for support. Her lips moved but no sound same from them,and she gasped for breath.
"Oh tell us!" cried Sophie, "what, what has happened?"
The children too were putting the same question in varying tones andwords.
"The Ku Klux," faltered the housekeeper. "An' ye hadna heard aboot it,my leddies?"
"No, no, not a word," exclaimed Sophie, "but see, my mother is fainting.Help me to carry her into the house."
"No, no, I can walk: I am better now, thank you," said Mrs. Carrington,in low, faltering tones, "Just give me the support of your arm, Mrs.Murray."
They led her in between them, and laid her on a sofa.
"And that's where George was!" she sighed, closing her eyes wearily.Then half starting up, "Tell me, oh tell me, was--was--Mr. Travillainjured?"
"No, my leddy, he had been warned, and was ready for them."
"Thank God! thank God!" came faintly from the white quivering lips, asshe sank back upon her pillow again, and two great tears stealing frombeneath the closed eyelids rolled slowly down the furrowed cheeks.
"You have heard the particulars then?" said Sophie, addressing thehousekeeper. "And my brother and sister were there?"
"Yes, ma'am, and Master Horace, and Miss Rosie too. Yes; and some of themen-servants. Mr. Dinsmore's man John was one o' them, and he's comeback, and frae him I learned a' was richt with our friends."
"Oh call him in and let me hear all he can tell!" entreated the oldlady.
The request was immediately complied with, and John gave a graphic andin the main correct account of the whole affair.
His tale was to all his auditors one of intense, thrilling, painfulinterest. They lost not a word and when he had finished his story theold lady cross-questioned him closely. "Did he know who had warned Mr.Travilla? were any of the raiders recognized?"
Both of these questions John answered in the negative. "At least," hecorrected himself, "he had not heard that any one was recognized: theywere all completely disguised, and they had carried away their dead andwounded; both the shot and the scalded."
At that moment Mr. Dinsmore's family carriage drove up, and John bowedand retired.
There were tearful embraces between the sisters and other relatives, andbetween Rose and the elder Mrs. Carrington.
"I feel as if you had been in terrible danger." said Sophie, wiping hereyes. "John has just been telling us all about it. What a mercy that Mr.Travilla was warned in time!"
"By whom, Horace? if it be not an improper question," asked the oldlady, turning to Mr. Dinsmore.
"By a detective, Mrs. Carrington, who was secretly present at theirmeeting and heard all the arrangements."
"He then knew who were the members appointed to be of the attackingparty?"
Mr. Dinsmore bowed assent.
"Was George one?"
"My dear madam I did not see the detective, but their raids are usuallymade by men coming from a distance."
"You are evading my question. I implore you to tell me all you know.George did not come down to breakfast; had evidently not occupied hisbed last night, and this seems to explain his absence. I know, too, thathe has bitterly hated Travilla since--since his arrest and imprisonment.Will you not tell me? Any certainty is to be preferred to this--thish
orrible suspense. I would know the worst."
Thus adjured Mr. Dinsmore told her George had been appointed one of theparty, but that he could not say that he was actually there. Also hesuppressed the fact that the appointment had been by George's ownrequest.
She received the communication in silence, but the anguish in her facetold that she felt little doubt of her nephew's guilt. And as days andweeks rolled on bringing no news of him, her suspicions settled into asad certainty; with the added sorrowful doubt whether he were living ordead.
Elsie's Motherhood Page 19
