[CHAPTER XX.]
It was a beautiful night and a beautiful morning, calm and sweet and peaceful; contrasting strangely and painfully with the dreadful scenes which had been enacted within the last few hours. In our flight from the house, and the long walk we had taken with real dangers on every side, and all those which imagination never fails to supply in moments of agitation and peril, I had had no time for thought. But now, as I rested here, with Bessy in my arms, and the tranquil change going on above from night to morning, the mind seemed hurried on with wild rapidity, as if by a runaway horse. Thought thrust upon thought; memories, expectations, fears, hopes, doubts, questions, all trod upon each other's heels; and before one had time to obtain full possession of the ground, it was gone, displaced by another. What a multitude of incidents had occurred since, a few months before, I had laughingly taken my departure from Norfolk, feeling life and the world to be great jests, and hardly believing in the reality of anything! What a multitude of incidents! I speak not of mere material facts, but of mind and heart facts. What new friends, what new enemies had arisen! What perils, what pains, what hopes, what happiness, what new objects, purposes, desires, had crowded upon me! What new thoughts had entered the brain, what new feelings had been born in the heart! It seemed almost a life-retrospect--like one of those pageants of past existence, which, I am told, sweep before the eyes of a drowning man in the last expiring blaze of consciousness. For some time, this great and strange impression--for it was more a general impression than a sequence of ideas--kept possession of my mind; but then I forced my thoughts away, and fixed them upon the more important facts of the present. What had become of Mr. Stringer and his family? Were they all dead, all slaughtered? What had become of poor Zed, who had so heroically risked his own life to secure to me and Bessy a few moments more for escape? Was it to be expected that, in the rage and excitement of the moment, the furious savages, drunk with blood and murder, would spare any one who opposed them, of whatever colour he might be? Then, again--how far had the insurrection spread? With the little information I possessed, it seemed to me that this revolt must have been long planned and deliberately arranged. I remembered the horrible massacres of St. Domingo; and how silently and secretly the first outbreak of that great and bloody insurrection had been arranged by the negroes--how confidently, carelessly, and securely the planters had reposed on their own strength till their self-reliance was drowned in blood and flames. That such might be the case in the present instance was clear. Whether it was actually so or not, I had no means of judging; yet I could not help fearing that the insurrection had been very general. The negroes could have no particular motive for attacking the house of Mr. Stringer more than any other--indeed less; for there being more white men in it than in numbers of others in the neighbourhood, the assailants were likely to encounter more vigorous resistance. Mr. Stringer had given no special cause of offence; and in his house was staying one of the apostles of the abolition party. The more I thought of the whole, the more probable it seemed to me that the insurrection had been very general. I knew and had seen how rapidly and secretly the negroes communicate with each other--how unaccountably the most trifling piece of news would pass amongst them, from house to house, over a wide space; and, surely, I thought, in a case of such terrible importance as this, the same means of communication must have been brought into operation. Then came the terrible question--"If such is the case--if revolt and massacre are stalking abroad over the land, where shall I find shelter and safety for this dear girl?" I had no means of forming a sane opinion. My knowledge of the country was but scanty. I knew, generally, the direction in which the county-town, Jerusalem, lay; but I knew not how to reach it by the shortest and most secure road; and the only resolution I could form was, to lay all the conclusions I had arrived at before Bessy when she awoke, and trust to her better knowledge of the people and the district. While these reflections had been passing through my mind, the faint gray of the morning had brightened into a rosy glow, and the rising sun poured streams of light across the little open space in which we were. There she lay, dear girl, with her head still resting on my bosom, looking still more beautiful, it seemed to me, than ever. I had fancied that one great charm of her countenance was in her eyes; but now, veiled by the pale lids, with their long black fringes sweeping her cheek, those eyes could add nothing; yet, how lovely she looked! A soft glow was upon her cheek; and, indeed, the rosy light of morning coloured her whole face, while the slightly-parted lips showed the pearly teeth, and her bosom heaved gently and regularly with the breathing of calm and quiet sleep. I could have lain there and gazed at her for ever. For more than an hour after sunrise, it seemed as if fatigue, I might say utter exhaustion, had obliterated all trace of the dreadful scenes we had passed through, and the perilous situation in which we were. It was evident she dreamed not at all; but, at length, she moved a little. A broken word or two came from her lips.
"Oh, Richard!" she said, and then came something that was indistinct; then she spoke again more plainly. "Your father, you know it was your own father--do not, do not press me." Then she awoke with a start, and gazed around her wildly. She would have sprung up, but I still held her in my arms, saying,--
"Bessy, you forget." And, looking into my face for a moment, she seemed to recall the past with sensations which must have been strangely mingled. First came a look of terror; then a bright smile, and then her whole face and forehead were overspread with a burning blush, and she buried her eyes for a minute or two on my bosom. I tried to soothe and quiet her, and she was soon conversing with me, anxiously, but calmly, upon the circumstances in which we were placed.
"We had better, in the first instance," she said, "go on to the house of Mr. Travis. He is so good and excellent a man, so kind to his servants and to all the people around him, that he would be the last to be attacked. Then again, from the edge of the wood, we can see the house quite plainly; and if we perceive anything unusual, or that indicates danger, we need not go on."
"It is too far, however," I answered, "for you to go on without some refreshment, Bessy. If you will go a little further amongst the trees, so as to be hidden from the road, I will seek some wild fruits, such as I have seen growing round, and we will make our breakfast, like two hermits, here. I will not go beyond call." She had some little hesitation at letting me depart; but we found a place where she could conceal herself completely, and I went on my foraging expedition, which produced some supply, though not a very abundant one. Many of the wild fruits, of which, through this country, there is generally a large quantity, were now nearly over; still, in the shady places, I found some strawberries and raspberries unwithered, and two or three other kinds, looking like plums and cherries, which were fair enough to the eye, though whether they were edible or not I could not tell. I judged, however, that in her young days Bessy must have made acquaintance with them; and at the end of about a quarter of an hour, I went back with both my hands loaded. Some I found were bitter, some poisonous: but the rest served in some degree to refresh her; and, as we sat and took our humble fare, the strange situation in which we were placed seemed to present itself more strongly than ever to her eyes.
"I can hardly believe all this, Richard," she said. "It seems to me like a dream. Are we really living and waking on this earth? or are we the sport of some strange mad fancy?"
"The facts are too stern to be disbelieved, dearest girl," I answered. "Indeed, I almost dread to think how many dark and terrible realities there may be around us even now."
"And yet, amidst them all, Richard," said Bessy, with tears rising in her eyes--what sweet and beautiful things are eyes!--"how can I ever thank you, not alone for saving my life a second time, but for all the tenderness and brotherly delicacy you have shown me. When I spoke so ill of men, Richard, some months ago, I did not know there was, in the world, such a man as you." She wiped the drop of emotion from her cheek, and then added,--
"But what are these darker things you apprehend? Those we know are dark enough. I hardly dare to let my mind rest upon them." I explained to her, as well as I could, the reasons there might be to suppose that the insurrection of the slaves might have been general throughout all that part of Virginia, or even further; and I dwelt especially upon the difficulties which we might encounter in seeking some place of safety, hoping that her better knowledge of the country might enable her to suggest something, where I, in my ignorance, was at fault.