Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  The pale and wretched countenance of Edward most sadly checked the current of such gay talk as this, and immediately all that one short moment before had made her so very happy was as completely forgotten by Lucy as if it had never been spoken.

  Lotte rose and resigned her place to Edward, which he took without seeming to know who had left it: but as he listened to the narrative of his sister, and perceived by all she said, as well as by the remarks of Frederick Steinmark on it, that his position was become one of positive and immediate danger, his haggard countenance gradually resumed its usual expression, and even a smile revisited his lip as he sought to throw ridicule upon the terror his sister expressed concerning him.

  “Your devotion to the needle, Lucy,” said he, “seems to have lowered your courage most lamentably. You are a sort of heroine, you know, and stand pledged to endure evil report and good report without shrinking from the cause to which we have devoted ourselves.”

  “As to the good or evil report to be obtained from the slave-holders of Natchez, Edward, I suspect that our newly-found Lucy cares for it quite as little as the rest of us: but for the matter of martyrdom, it is another thing, and—”

  “You are quite right, quite right,” said Edward, suddenly changing his tone; “Lucy must have nothing to do with that — nor need she with such friends as you are.”

  “And with a brother to boot,” observed Steinmark, “who certainly thinks vastly more of her than of himself. But, if you please, my dear friend, we will dispense with the honours of martyrdom altogether: we have settled all your plans for you, Edward, and this distinction makes no part of them. Lucy is to be the adopted daughter of my wife, and to take the place of Lotte when Sigismond runs away with her, as he threatens to do; and you, Edward, are to—”

  “Pray for you with my latest breath!” exclaimed Bligh, clasping his hands fervently, and looking as if he would willingly fall at the feet of his benefactor. “Will you indeed,” he continued, “let this poor orphan be one of you?”

  He took her trembling hand as he spoke and placed it in that of Steinmark.

  “It is all settled, Bligh,” replied Frederick, more affected than he chose to appear by the solemnity of Edward’s words and manner: “but not your sister only — you also must be one of us. You have done all that you could do to benefit the unhappy victims of the sinful tyranny — you will have saved the valued servants of your father from the misery which threatened them, and you have sown the good seed of faith and hope in the minds of many whom we have neither of us the power to redeem, but who may bless your precepts and your name even when they see you no more.”

  “I trust in God that they may!” replied Edward: and then, as if to turn the conversation from himself, he added, “When, my dear sir, do you think of sailing for Europe?”

  “Before you could well believe such a difficult undertaking possible,” replied Steinmark. “Our preparations are already in great forwardness. My business with Colonel Dart respecting the sale of my farm and all that is on it will be completed to-morrow; and then, in truth, nothing remains but to lock our trunks and take our passage to New Orleans.”

  “Do you think you shall be gone before the next Sabbath?” said Edward eagerly.

  “I hardly know; but I think my wife told me, that to prepare the linen for the voyage would keep us till Tuesday or Wednesday. Is it not so, Mary?”

  Mary answered in the affirmative; adding, however, that if it were safer that Mr. Bligh should retreat before the day for which the forest meeting had been fixed, she thought his doing so might very easily be arranged, by leaving two of the servants to complete the work, and follow them a day or two later to New Orleans.”

  “Oh no!” said Edward, again assuming a cheerful aspect; “You quite mistake me. These people, if they purposed, as you suppose, to interrupt the meeting of the Sabbath night, will now be deterred from doing so by the escape of Lucy. They will think, of course, that we shall fear to hold the meeting.”

  “That is possible, certainly,” replied Steinmark; “but it will not do to reckon on this too surely. In short, my dear fellow, I am clearly of opinion that the sooner you put yourself out of the way of them the better.”

  “I hope you think so too, Mr. Bligh?” said Lotte kindly.

  Excepting at the moment of general salutation as he entered, these were the first words she had addressed to him, and their effect was very painful. He rose from his chair, and seemed preparing to approach her, and then sat down again without returning any answer; and then he rose again, saying, “Good night! — good night!” but had so evidently lost his self-possession, that Lucy, quite terrified, rose too, and, laying her hand on his arm, looked up into his face with so much uneasiness depicted on her own, that it restored his recollection in a moment; and with quiet but fond affection he kissed her cheek, saying, “Will you indeed, kind friends, shelter this poor girl here for to-night? She does not look fit to set off upon another night-walk through the forest.”

  “You will never get your sister to Fox’s clearing again, Mr. Bligh,” said Mary, “do not think of it. During the short time that remains before we all set off together for the Old World, Lucy must be Lotte’s bed-fellow.”

  “May the God of the Old World and the New bless you now and for ever!” exclaimed Edward fervently: “my sister is no longer a houseless wanderer, a frail and friendless thing, that one blow might crush to the dust at once. You may know sorrow, my poor Lucy,” he added, again kissing her, “but you can never know such hopeless desolation more, as we have passed through together: and when sorrow comes, you must bear it, Lucy, as a Christian woman should; but it will pass like a cloud of the spring, and your day of innocent life will be happy. Farewell! — farewell to all! I have not been very well of late, and ought not to be a late wanderer myself. Good night!”

  “Do not go home to-night, Mr. Bligh,” said Mary, in the cordial tone of genuine hospitality. “I am indeed sure that you are not well, and Lucy and the rest of us must nurse you. Fritz is gone, you know, and his bed shall be got ready for you immediately.”

  But there was something in this proposal which seemed to endanger anew the composure he had regained.

  “Oh, no, no!” he cried, very hastily making his way, towards the door. “You know not — it is quite impossible!” And even before Lucy could stop him for a last “good night!” he was gone.

  Notwithstanding the deep and impressive gratitude which he had expressed for Lucy’s amended prospects, and his evident satisfaction at everything which had been proposed concerning her, Edward’s manner had left a painful impression on them all.

  Lucy, as of late she had always done when Edward manifested emotions that she could not understand, believed that his mind had been overwrought, and that his fine intellect was shaken. This terrible idea checked all her new-sprung joy, and almost made her guilty in her own eyes, that, with such a terror before her, she could find pleasure at even consolation in anything. Frederick feared that he had still some too exalted and enthusiastic ideas upon the sacrifices he was called upon to make for the poor slaves who had been wont to listen to him, and the rest of the family sighed to think that the charming Lucy should have the happy cheerfulness of her disposition weighed upon by the melancholy temperament of her brother; but no one guessed that poor Edward carried an arrow in his heart that poisoned his life-blood, and made all the other misfortunes which had fallen upon him seem utterly harmless by the comparison.

  “The mirth of the good meeting,” however, was quite “displaced;” and after one or two vain efforts on the part of Karl and Sigismond to restore it, the circle broke up, and sought in sleep a respite from their busy joy, and an oblivion of the sorrow that had crossed it.

  On the following day much important business was finally arranged. Phebe was transferred from the possession of Colonel Dart to that of Frederick Steinmark; and the estate of Reichland, with all the buildings, stock, farming implements, and household furniture upon it, was, within the same
hour, conveyed from Frederick Steinmark to Colonel Dart.

  The pretty wonder and delight of Phebe at learning, as she speedily did from Cæsar, that she was in a few days to be carried away to a land where negroes were never slaves, and that her darling Miss Lucy was to go there too, renewed through the whole house that spirit of light-hearted merriment which had reigned amongst them from the hour their departure for Fatherland had been announced.

  Even Lucy, though conscious of a heavy sorrow that seemed ever to hang suspended over her, could not resist the influence of Phebe’s raptures, and the infectious happiness seized upon her spirits, and made her laugh with a gaiety long a stranger to her feelings.

  While all the junior part of the family were wasting their time by laughing at the sallies of Phebe, instead of soberly attending to the duties of packing, a sudden stop was put to their mirth by the entrance of Clio, who, in a state of great agitation, and out of breath from the speed she had made, desired to speak to them “all at once,” ‘cause the store was waiting for her, and sister Whitlaw would be mad.

  “Sit down, Clio, at any rate,” said her constant friend Lotte, setting a chair for her. “It will not take you at all more time to speak sitting than standing; and here we are all, quite ready to listen to you.”

  “All indeed!” said Clio, looking round her. “Why, what a sight of you there is altogether! And a black nigger gal too amongst you! So you’re come to about the having niggers after all? — But that’s not altogether what I come for: ’tis to warn you, dear good people, that you are — My Jonathan’s been out to me this day, to give me warning of the most horriblest thing as ever my ears heard tell, and says ’tis you all as is in the biggest danger; for if you don’t shut your doors against ’em, you’ll have your house pulled down by the virtuous and enraged populace of Natchez, he says: and so, as in duty bound for all your kindness, I’m just run across to tell you.”

  Clio stopped for want of breath, and with her apron removed the abundant moisture which the rapidity of her course and the heat of the noon-day sun had produced. But great as her efforts had been, and eager as she certainly was to give them some very important information, there was not one of those who listened to her that had been able to comprehend the meaning of a single word she had uttered.

  “What is it we have to fear, my good Clio?” said Frederick Steinmark, who had followed her into the room from the wish of saying farewell to the only one of his neighbours whom he greatly respected. “What is it that is going to happen to us? — We have lived here very safely for many years, and it will be strange indeed if at the moment of departure we are to be visited by the virtuous mob of Natchez. Do pray explain yourself, Clio.”

  “Ah! that’s jest what I don’t dare to do if I could, Master Steinmark,” replied Clio. “But, thank the Lord, I don’t know how; and so I can do no mischief to the darling what trusted me. But this I will tell you for all your long kindness, that if you lets a certain dreadful bad woman darken your doors, you’ll have mischief more than I can say, or dare.”

  “A dreadful bad woman, Clio!” exclaimed Karl, laughing: “what dreadful bad woman are we likely to have?”

  “Why, the horrid unnatural monster, Master Karl, has been having a nigger sweetheart. Am’t that horrid? — And my Jonathan says that she’s the sister of one that’s unaccountable great friends with you all here, and one that I know summat of too. The Lord keep me from seeing any of ’em again! — but their name’s Bligh.”

  On hearing this, Karl rose from his seat, and approached Lucy as if to comfort and sustain her under this dreadful attack; but to his great surprise she appeared not to feel any emotion beyond astonishment, and perhaps a little curiosity; for in truth it never occurred to her that such wild, unmeaning nonsense could really threaten danger.

  “My name is Bligh,” said Lucy very innocently, “and I have a brother who has been often here; so I have no doubt that I am the person you have heard mentioned. Besides, it is exactly the same thing that was said to me by some woman at Natchez, who saw me speaking to a negro that had brought a message to me; but I do assure you he was not my sweetheart.”

  Clio had started from the chair on which she was seated the instant Lucy proclaimed her name, and going up to Lotte, besought her in a whisper not to be beguiled into letting that bad woman bide with her; adding in a lower whisper still, “I dare not, Lotte, tell all! — my Jonathan would kill me. But all they want is to know that you and they hangs all together; and if they do find it out, Lotte, — why then we shall have Lynch-law at Reichland as sure as here you be. But never let my Jonathan know that I told you even so much as that.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Clio wrung her hand and disappeared.

  Lotte immediately repeated to her father this threat of a visitation of Lynch-law; a species of outrage which they had often heard of, but without ever imagining that it could reach them, the quiet regularity of their manner of living being such as might well set all such attacks at defiance. And so, were the young men inclined to treat it now, declaring that it was really to be regretted that their speedy departure was likely to prevent their seeing this singular administration of justice with their own eyes. But Frederick, though probably not much more alarmed than themselves, treated the threat more seriously. “I assure you, boys,” he said, “I am well pleased at having so promptly settled my business with Colonel Dart. I suppose you know that this gentleman is already in possession of my house and lands — yea, even of my chairs and tables, and that we are now only here by his especial grace and favour? But I really think it will be but prudent for us to depart with our friends as speedily as may be. My old shepherd has often told me that Whitlaw the father is not kindly disposed towards me; and now it seems that Whitlaw the son is ready to declare war likewise: — and it certainly is by no means improbable that if there be a riotous movement at Natchez, the virtuous populace, as Clio calls them, may chance to turn their steps this way.”

  “Do you really think so, father?” said Lotte, looking very much frightened. “Then we must not mind the linen or the books or anything else, but get away as fast as possible.”

  “With all respect for the courage of these young gentlemen,” said Steinmark, “I confess myself very much of the same opinion. A mob is a tremendous animal in any country, and I am not inclined to believe that it is at all better behaved here than elsewhere, — not to mention that they have unquestionably less reason to have the wholesome fear of the laws before their eyes than the mob of any other region on the face of the earth. THEREFORE, I do think, that as we have really nothing of any real importance to detain us, the wisest course will be to depart without waiting for the visit which these Lynch folks promise us.”

  “We are all ready enough to set off, father, give the word when you will,” said Karl; “but I confess that I heard nothing from poor good Clio that occasioned me any feeling of alarm, though part of it certainly made me very angry.”

  “I think differently, Karl. Clio is desperately afraid of betraying the secrets of her nephew, and perhaps not very clear-headed on the subject of the threatened inroad; but I am quite sure she would not hazard the indignation of ‘sister Whitlaw,’ by running to warn us, as she called it, at this busy hour of the day, unless she knew there was some real cause of alarm. At any rate, we shall acquire no laurels by remaining; and therefore I decidedly vote for our adopting the safer part of valour on the present occasion. Besides, putting ourselves and Colonel Dart’s house and furniture out of the question, I think our friends Edward and Lucy had much better be on board a steam-boat going to New Orleans as part of my family, than remaining here with nothing but their own goodness to protect them — which very goodness is in fact the real cause of all the ill-will they have excited.”

  The result of this conversation was the despatching Lucy and Phebe to summon Edward with all speed to Reichland, for the purpose of arranging the manner of their immediate departure. It had been proposed in the first instance to send Cæsar on
this embassy, but Lucy requested to be herself the messenger. She felt doubtful as to the inclination at least of Edward to retreat thus suddenly from the scene of his self-imposed labours; and though she did not believe it possible that he would propose her going to Europe without him, still the idea haunted her that he had answered only to that part of the proposal which regarded herself, evading to speak of his own share in it altogether. Phebe accompanied her because she knew the way — and because she too had business in the forest of her own.

  CHAPTER X.

  GREATLY were the destinies of these two young girls changed since last they walked together through the dark solitudes of that forest. They had then neither of them ever seen Reichland, and had no more hope or chance of being borne across the ocean to that other world which was thought of with a sense of vague mystery by the one, and the hopeless longing of an imprisoned spirit by the other, than the old trees that waved above their heads.

  Now they were both anticipating this strange transition; and though with widely different feelings, it was perhaps with equal delight. In both it seemed as if the sorrows that had too deeply stained their young lives were about to be quitted for ever; and Phebe, in addition to the exquisite feeling of enjoyment which the prospect of novelty ever excites in the young, had the additional joy of knowing that she was about to leave her hereditary chain behind her — that her dear Cæsar would do so too — and what if possible is dearer still to the bosom of a female slave, she should not, if she gave birth to children, give them at the same time the galling yoke of eternal thraldom.