"Dat Nat Turner is de head of it all," she continued. "He tinks himself a prophet; but I tink him a devil; for who but a devil would murder poor innocent babes and young children?" Here our conversation paused for a moment or two; and then Bessy inquired the names of the other four women who were with her brown companion. She repeated them severally, and at the mention of one of them, I could see that Bessy's countenance fell.
"Why, how came you with her, Minerva?" she inquired. "I have heard she is a very bad woman."
"Ah, well, dat's true," answered the girl; "she is a bad woman, Miss Bessy, and beat her own children, and get drunk, and all dat; but then she was master's slave, and she is so nearly white dat all de niggers hate her, and Nat Turner once said he would kill her if she didn't mind. Dat was when she break her husband's head wid de stone bottle--so we could not refuse to take her wid us, for dey would kill her, certain sure." This seemed a very reasonable account of the matter; but we had no time to consider much farther, for while she was speaking, another mulatto woman, considerably older, whose approach I had not remarked, suddenly appeared in the brake before us, and Bessy started up with a look of pleasure, exclaiming--
"Ah, Jenny, is that you? I am very glad to see you."
"Ah, Miss Bessy, Miss Bessy!" cried the woman, taking her in her great fat arms, and giving her a kiss, while the tears ran over her cheeks. "Thank God you have, escaped! I thought that noble gentleman would take care of you. And when I went over the house--that terrible house--and all the corpusses lying about, and the poor boys with their brains dashed out, and that McGrubber at the top flight of the stairs, all hacked and hewed with the axes, and found your room empty, though the door was all broken to pieces, I did hope you had got away. Yet my heart failed me to think what would become of the dear child."
"This is the cook at Beavors, Richard," said Bessy; "she was dear aunt Bab's cook too."
"Oh, I remember I have seen her," I replied, "the day we went over and took possession of the house in Mr. Stringer's absence. Jenny, I am very glad to see you here. But did anything happen to make you quit the house after you had stayed so long?"
"Dear, yes, sir," answered the good woman. "I heard they were killing all the yellow people as well as the white, and I thought it better to get out of the way; though, afterwards, as I walked along, I called myself a great fool for my pains, and I don't believe the story now; I think it's all a lie. But as I passed by here, I saw smoke in the woods, and heard women's tongues, and that made me come up. But you must not think, Sir Richard, that all the black people are as bad as Nat Turner and his gang. Only two of all the men at Mr. Stringer's would join them, and I will take my oath that none of my dear old missus's servants would lift a hand against a white man after all you did, and got them out of the hands of the dealer, and had to fight and be wounded to prevent them being taken to Orl[ee]ns." I could not help smiling at the curious version she had got of my quarrel with Mr. Robert Thornton; but I found afterwards that the general notion of the poor people was, that their remaining in Virginia had entirely depended upon the result of my duel with that worthy gentleman. If he had killed me, they thought they would have all been sent away at once to a place of which they seemed to have a particular dread. But other considerations pressed strongly for attention; and, after musing for a moment, I said,--
"I fear that smoke may betray us to some of the wandering parties which may be about. What have they lighted a fire for, Minerva? They cannot want a fire on this hot day."
"Oh, but dey want something to eat," replied the girl; "and old Lou is roasting a rabbit she snared."