The next morning he took his leave, and the two women, left alone with the servants, looked forward with dread to what the days might bring them. But before long their hearts were cheered by news from the North; that news which, in the never-to-be-forgotten words, “We have met the enemy and they are ours,” announced Perry’s victory to a grateful people. Report after report of victories at sea had come, but none that matched in importance that which was won by Perry on Lake Erie. All over the country bells were set ringing, cities were illuminated, toasts were drunk to the young hero, and odes were addressed to him; and those who before had felt very dubious, now began to place unlimited faith in the success of the American side.
Even Aunt Martha and Rhoda rejoiced openly, for the former still obstinately refused to leave the plantation, and the latter felt it her “dooty” to remain likewise. She was a very sweet and gentle Rhoda these days, and Lettice grew more and more fond of her.
Lettice, it may be said, was not long in recovering her usual health and spirits. One of the first visits she made was to Aunt Hagar. She bore her a gift from Mr. Baldwin, and the old woman was greatly puffed up by the possession of a five dollar gold piece. She made mysterious incantations, and consulted teacups and cards, and used other means of reading Lettice’s fortune. The fair man and the dark man, and the fair woman that came between, and the surprise that was partly agreeable and partly disagreeable, were all there, but the most impressive of all was a prophecy which seemed greatly to disturb the old woman herself.
“Sorrow an’ trouble,” she said, “to you an’ yo’ house. Law, honey, law, honey, I is sholy distu’bed to see dat. From across water comes black death, an’ here is weepin’ an’ wailin’ an’ gnashin’ of teef. Dey is meetin’ an’ partin’, an’ ’live is daid, an’ daid is ’live. Dat is de mos’ cur’os fortune I has fo’ many a day. I wisht I ain’ seen it, I sholy is. I dat hu’t in mah min’ I can’t sleep dis night. What dis? I lak to know who dat. Go long home, honey. I so ’stracted I dunno what I sayin’.” And after Lettice left, until late in the night, the old woman pored over her pack of cards, shaking her head and muttering, “Sorrow an’ trouble.”
The next day came a messenger in the person of a small, kinkey-headed darkey. “Mammy Hagar say will Miss Letty come see her. She turr’ble sorry to trouble her, an’ she ain’ meanin’ no disrespec’, but she got sumpin’ to tell her, an’ please, miss, come by yo’sef.”
Lettice donned her cloak and hat and set off, wondering what was meant by this. It was early afternoon, and the scene was fair and peaceful. One could scarce realize that war ravaged the land. She sauntered along through the woods, stopping every now and then to pick a leaf which had reddened early, or to watch a partridge hurry to cover. At Aunt Hagar’s door she knocked. The latch was lifted, and the wrinkled face of the old woman appeared. She whispered mysteriously, “Come in, honey,” and shutting the door carefully, she beckoned her visitor to one corner of the room which was screened off by an old quilt. Here, on a rude pallet, lay a man.
Lettice started back. “Who is it?” she cried.
“Dat what I say.”
“Where did he come from?”
“He layin’ out in de holler o’ de ole house what got burnted, an’ I gits him here, an’ he cl’ar outen his haid an’ stupefy. He one o’ dem Britishers, yuh reckon?”