I had concluded that the wounded man still lay at the house on the other side of the Swamp, to which he had first been carried; and had it not been for an accident, we should have had a long ride for no purpose. Just as we approached what they called the new place, my horse began to go lame; and seeing an old negro standing at the door, I beckoned to him to come and take out the stone which I was sure had got jammed into the beast's hoof. The old man name up at a slow pace; and, as he approached, to my surprise, I found it was that very remarkable person, Uncle Jack. Between him and me, the stone was soon removed, and I happened to ask him, just as I was re-mounting, what he was doing there.
"I am waiting to see Mr. Thornton again, sir," he said; "Mr. William Thornton. His son Robert, you know, is dead."
"Do you mean to say the old man has been brought over here?" I exclaimed.
"Yes, sir; he would be brought over last night, in spite of all remonstrance, and I fear he has killed himself thereby," was Uncle Jack's answer. I called to Mr. Wheatley, who had ridden on, and beckoned him back; and while he was returning, I proceeded to ask Uncle Jack what he meant by saying that he was waiting to see Mr. Thornton again.
"Why you see, sir," answered the old negro-preacher, "I knew the gentleman whom you call the old man, when he was quite a little boy; and much used I to talk to him at that time, so that even when he had grown up to be a lad and did things which I hope God will forgive, I had much influence over him--very much for a poor ignorant negro to have over a well-educated white man. He would listen to me when he would listen to nobody else; and, more or less, has done so all his life. So I came here as soon as I heard what had happened. I found him very rash and raving last night; but this morning he is down, sir--down, down, very low indeed--down in mind, and body, and heart; but it is by the blessing of God it is so, for I trust yet to bring his mind into a better frame to meet his Maker; and you know, sir, we must never despair, after the thief on the cross. This morning he listened to me quite willingly; and seemed to take comfort when I told him of mercy and pardon. Last night, he would not hear at all, but cursed and blasphemed till I was glad to get away." The concatenation of a black teacher and a white neophyte had probably not occurred since the days of the apostles; still I was very glad to avail myself of any circumstances which would enable me to obtain light in a matter where the whole feelings of my own heart and that of another were so deeply interested. There are some cases in the world were we know no compromise--where, for the sake of our own peace, we must know all, see all distinctly--really--as it is, lest there be, somewhere in the dark outskirts and corners of the den of circumstances, some incubus which may swell and grow, and oppress the heart till it crushes us to death. Such seemed the case with me. I determined to know all, if it could be known--I determined that there should be no dark and cloudy spot, no storm upon the edge of the sky, the course and nature of which I did not know; and, although the future, the dark predestined future, no man can truly divine--the past, upon which the seal of destiny was set, the true, irrevocable past, might well be scanned, till the real gold of truth should be separated from the dross of doubt and falsehood.
"We want much," I said, addressing the old negro, "to see Mr. William Thornton upon business of great importance--business which has even reference to the hour of death, and which must not be postponed. Indeed, this gentleman must see Mr. Thornton in order to spare him greater discomfort at this sad and perilous moment. I may have more personal views; but at the same time, my good friend, I cannot help thinking that he who parts from this world with a free confession of his errors in it, and some expression of regret, sets forth for the wide future with more comfort and more hope."
"Assuredly," replied the negro; "and I will try to bring him to receive you as tranquilly and as willingly as may be. But I cannot answer for success; perhaps he may refuse--perhaps you may have to force your way to him whether he desires it or not, as I had last night; but at all events, I will do my best. Wait here, and I will return to you presently. He was somewhat drowsy when I left him; and I was glad to give him a little repose; for the words which I had read to him from the Great Teacher had tortured him like the first effect of a strong medicine for the cure of a terrible disease." The old man paused; and, after a moment or two of silent thought, went back into the house, telling some of his dark brethren to take care of our horses. We followed him into one of the lower rooms; and the contrast was certainly very sad between the aspect of his dwelling and that of his cousin Mr. Henry Thornton. They had set out in life very nearly equal in fortune--perhaps, of the two, William Thornton was the more wealthy; yet the one had surrounded himself with family ties: had lived in comfort, if not in splendour, had done right and justice to all men; had preserved a high and unspotted name; and, in moderation, had continued in peace and competence. Probably his household presented no difference from the state in which it existed twenty years before; he had sought for nothing higher, he had fallen no lower. On the contrary, in the house wherein we now stood, we could trace the footsteps of dishonest ambition, disappointment, and decay. It was the latter stage, indeed, which was altogether visible. Misery and dilapidation--neglect, and the consequences of neglect, made their abiding place in this dwelling. Yet, every here and there, were slight indications of the steps by which the consummation had been arrived at--a velvet sofa worn through to the sacking--a rich carpet trodden out to the warp--window-frames long unpainted, with the glass rattling in the shrunken wood-work--many a pane cracked and not repaired--chairs broken and unserviceable--tables wanting castors, and leaning, like cripples, on one side--everything, in short, which could display the careless apathy of minds either occupied by eager schemes for the future, or crushed by the disappointment of the past. In that melancholy parlour the black preacher left us, saying,--
"I will go up to him again and see what progress I can make. He is in the room just above; and if I stamp with my foot, it is to show that you had better come up to the door, where I will give you some sign when you shall come in. It is better that you should present yourselves quietly, than run the risk of rousing him into one of his fits of fury, when nothing on earth is to be done with him." Thus saying, he left us; and Mr. Wheatley and I remained a quarter of an hour or more very nearly in silence. He was more impatient than I was, for I think he is naturally of a more irritable disposition. He would sit for a few minutes, and then rise and walk about the room. Then he would open the window-blinds and look out; and then he would sit upon another chair and listen. We could hear, during the greater part of the time, a murmur of low voices; but it was impossible to distinguish who was speaking. At length, Mr. Wheatley, with his whole patience exhausted, jumped up, exclaiming,--
"Come, we had better go up and see what is taking place. We may be kept here all day; and you have business, and so have I, to attend to." Without waiting for reply or assent, he opened the door, went out, and mounted the staircase; but at the top we heard the murmur of voices from a room on the left; and putting my hand upon his arm, I stopped him just as he was about to enter.
"Stay a moment," I said. "It is cruel to intrude upon a dying man. That voice sounds very differently now."