CHAPTER XXII
A NEW DANGER AT RIVERVIEW
But Dorothy was not so near as I had thought, for next morning came a message from my aunt. It was delivered almost as soon as I was out of bed by a negro boy who had ridden over at daybreak. It was dated but two days before, and began very formally.
"Sir," it ran, "since you no doubt will wish to recuperate from the fatigues of the campaign so unfortunately ended, and as there is no place where you can do this so well as at Riverview, I hasten to assure you that the place is entirely at your service."
I paused a moment to get my breath. Her reference to the campaign was intended as a stab, of course, yet could it be she was relenting? But hope fell as I read on.
"In order that you may feel at liberty to avail yourself of this invitation," the note continued, "my daughter and I have accepted one of long standing to spend a month, or perhaps two months, at the home of a relative. James is at Williamsburg, so that you may be entirely free to occupy your leisure at Riverview as best pleases you. Do not think that you have driven us from the place, for that is not at all the case. I have long felt the need of rest, and take advantage of this opportunity, while there is little doing on the plantation, to secure it. I trust to your sense of honor to make no inquiries as to where we are stopping, nor to attempt to see my daughter, who, I believe, has already discovered that any fancy she may ever have seemed to entertain for you was more imaginary than real."
Here was a blow, straight from the shoulder, and I winced under it.
"I could never consent," the note concluded, "to any attachment of a serious nature between you, having quite other views for my daughter, which, I am sure, will be for her happiness and well-being."
I read the note through a second time before I realized what a blow it gave to all my hopes. I had had little cause to anticipate any other treatment, it is true, and yet I have often observed that men hope most who have least reason for it, and this was so in my case. As I read the note again, I could not but admire the adroitness of its author. She had placed me upon honor—without my consent, 't is true—to make no effort to see Dorothy. I stood biting my lips with anger and vexation, and then, with sudden resolve, turned back to the messenger.
"Go around to the kitchen and get something to eat, if you are hungry," I said to him. "I shall be ready to ride back with you in half an hour;" and as he disappeared around a corner of the house, agrin from ear to ear at the prospect of refreshment, I sought Mrs. Washington and told her that I had just received a note from my aunt and would ride to Riverview at once. How much she suspected of my difference with my aunt, I do not know, but if she experienced any surprise at my sudden departure, she certainly did not show it, saying only that she regretted that I must go so soon, and that I must always consider Mount Vernon no less my home than Riverview,—an assurance which Colonel Washington repeated when the moment came to say good-by, and I rode away at last with a very tender feeling in my heart for those two figures which stood there on the steps until I turned into the road and passed from sight.
"And how is everything at Riverview, Sam?" I asked of the boy, as we struck into the road and settled our horses into an easy canter. He did not answer for a moment, and when I glanced at him to see the cause of his silence, I was astonished to find him rolling his eyes about as though he saw a ghost.
"What's the matter, boy?" I asked sharply. "Come, speak out. What is it?"
He looked behind him and all around into the woods, and then urged his horse close to mine.
"Mas' Tom," he said, almost in a whisper, "dere's gwine t' be hell at d' plantation foh long. Youse stay 'way fum it."
I looked at him, still more astonished by his singular behavior. A full-blooded negro does not turn pale, but under the influence of great terror his skin grows spotted and livid. Sam's was livid at that moment.
"See here, Sam," I said sharply, "if you have anything to tell, I want you to tell me right away. What are you afraid of?"
"D' witch man," he whispered, his eyes almost starting from his head, and his forehead suddenly beading with perspiration.
"The witch man? Has a witch man come to Riverview?"
He nodded.
"And what is he doing there, Sam?"
"He says d' French dun whopped d' English, an' a-comin' t' set all d' niggahs free. He says we mus' holp, an' dere won't be no mo' slaves. All ub us be free, jus' like white folks."
It took me a minute or two to grasp the full meaning of this extraordinary revelation.
"He says the French are coming to set all the niggers free?" I repeated.
Sam nodded.
"And that the niggers must help them?"
Again Sam nodded.
"Help them how, Sam?"
He hesitated.
"By killing the English, Sam?"
"I reckon dat 's it," he said reluctantly.
"And burning down their houses, perhaps?"
"I 'se hearn dat talked erboat, too."
I drew my horse in with a jerk, and catching Sam's by the bridle, pulled it to me.
"Now, boy," I said, "you must tell me all about this. I promise you that no one shall harm you."
He began to whimper.
"I'll tell yo', Mas' Tom," he stuttered, "but yo' mus' n' hurt d' witch man."
"Who is this witch man?" I demanded.
"Ole uncle Polete."
"Polete's no witch man. Why, Sam, you 've known him all your life. He's nothing but an ordinary old nigger. He's been on the plantation twenty or thirty years. All that he needs is a good whipping."
But the boy only shook his head and sobbed the more.
"Ef he's a-killed," he cried, "his ha'nt 'll come back fo' me."
I saw in a moment what the boy was afraid of. It was not of old Polete in the flesh, but in the spirit. I thought for a moment. Well, I had no reason to wish Polete any harm, yet if it were discovered that he had been inciting the slaves to insurrection, there was no power in the colony could save his life. If his owner did not execute him, the governor would take the matter out of his hands, and order it done himself.
"I tell you what I'll do, Sam," I said at last. "You tell me everything you know, and I'll do all I can to save Polete. I believe I can stop this thing without calling in any outside help."
He agreed to this, and as we jogged along I gradually drew the details of the plot from him. The news of our defeat had, it seemed, stirred up the negroes at the plantation, and in some way the wild rumor had been started that a great force of French was marching over the mountains to conquer Virginia and all the other English colonies; that emissaries had come to the negroes and promised them that if they would assist the invading army, they would be given their freedom and half of the colony to live in. It was at this time that old Polete, crazed, perhaps, by working in the tobacco fields under the blazing sun, had suddenly developed into a witch man, and proclaimed that he could see the French army marching, and urged the negroes to strike a blow at once in order to merit their freedom when the French should come. Meetings were held almost nightly in the woods some miles from their cabins, whence they stole away after dark by twos and threes. Just what their plans were Sam did not know, as he did not belong to the inner council, but he believed that something would happen soon because of the increasing excitement of the older negroes who were acquainted with the plans.
I rode on for some time in silence, thinking over this story and trying to decide what I would better do. I did not know until months later that signs of unrest had been observed among the slaves all over the colony, and that the governor had considered the situation so serious that he had sent out many warnings concerning the danger. It was as well, perhaps, that I did not know this then, for I might not have thought my own portion of the problem so easy of solution. At the time, I had no thought but that the outbreak was the result of old Polete's prophecies, and was confined alone to Riverview.
Sam was cantering along behind me, his face still livid with terror, and as I caught sight of it again, I wondered what impulse it was had moved him to confide in me, with such fancied peril to himself.
"I would n' tole nobody else," he said, in answer to my question, "but you tole a lie fo' me oncet, an' saved me a lickin'."
"Told a lie for you, Sam?" I questioned in astonishment. "When was that?"
"Don' yo' 'membah boat d' whip, Mas' Tom, what I stole?" he asked.
I looked at him for a moment before that incident of my boyhood came back to me.
"Why, yes, I remember it now," I said. "But that was years ago, Sam, and
I had forgotten it. Besides, I didn't tell a lie for you. I only told old
Gump that I wished to give you the whip."
"Well," said Sam, looking at me doubtfully, "yo' saved me a lickin' anyhow, an' I did n' f 'git it," and he dropped back again.
Well, to be sure, an act of thoughtfulness or mercy never hurts a man, a fact which I have since learned for myself a hundred times, and wish all men realized.
We were soon at Riverview, and I ordered Sam to ride out to the field where the men were working, and tell the overseer, Long, that I wished to see him. Sam departed on the errand, visibly uneasy, and I wandered from my room, where I had taken my pack, along the hall and into my aunt's business room while I waited his return. I stood again for a moment at the spot on the staircase where I had kissed Dorothy that morning,—it seemed ages ago,—and as I looked up, I fancied I could still see her sweet face gazing down at me. But it was only fancy, and, with a sigh, I turned away and went down through the hall.
There were reminders of her at every turn,—there was the place where she had sat sewing in the evenings; over the fireplace hung a little picture she had painted, rude enough, no doubt, but beautiful to my eyes. With a sudden impulse, I ran down the steps and to the old seat under the oaks by the river. Nothing had changed,—even the shadows across the water seemed to be the same. But as I ran my hand mechanically along the arm of the seat on the side where Dorothy always sat my fingers felt a roughness which had not been there before, and as I looked to see what this might be, I saw that some one had cut in the wood a T and a D, intertwined, and circled by a tiny heart. Who could have done it? I had no need to ask myself the question. My heart told me that no one but Dorothy could have done it, and that she knew that I should come and sit here and live over again the long evenings when she had sat beside me. It was a message from my love, and with trembling lips I bent and kissed the letters which she had carved. As I sat erect again, I heard footsteps behind me, and turned to see Long approaching.
"You sent for me, Mr. Stewart?" he asked. "I saw you sitting here, and decided you were waiting for me."
"Yes," I said, and I shook hands with him, for he was an honest man and a good workman.
"I am glad to see you back again, sir, though looking so ill," he added. "I trust the air of Riverview will soon bring you around all right," and from his eyes I knew he meant it.
I thanked him, and bade him sit beside me. Then, in a few words, I told him what I had learned of the negro meetings, and saw his face grow grave.
"'Tis what I have always feared," he said, when I had finished. "There are too many of them in the colony, and they feel their strength. If they had a leader and a chance to combine, they might do a great deal of harm. However, we shall soon knock this in the head."
"How?" I asked.
"Make an example of Polete," he answered decidedly. "That's the best way, sir. Put him out of the way, let the other niggers see us do it, and they'll quiet down fast enough."
"Undoubtedly that is the easiest way," I said, smiling, "but, unfortunately, I had to promise the person who gave me the information that Polete should not be harmed."
Long stared at me for a moment in amazement.
"It would be unfortunate if any of the other planters should hear of that promise, Mr. Stewart," he said at last. "They would probably take Polete's case into their own hands."
I laughed at his evident concern.
"No doubt," I said, "but they are not going to hear of it. I intend telling no one but yourself, for we two are quite sufficient to stop this thing right here, and it need go no further."
"Perhaps we are," he answered doubtfully. "What is your plan, sir?"
"Polete will hold a meeting to-night over there in the woods. Well, we will be present at the meeting."
He looked at me without saying a word. "Our visit will probably not be very welcome," I continued, "but I believe it will produce the desired effect. Will you go with me?"
"Certainly," he answered readily, "but I still think my plan the best, sir."
"Perhaps it is," I laughed, "but we will try mine first," and he went back to the field, agreeing to be at the house at eight o'clock.
I covered with my hand the tiny letters on the arm of the bench, and, looking out across the broad river, drifted into the land of dreams, where Dorothy and I wandered together along a primrose path, with none to interfere.