LETTER XXII.
Dear Charles,—The mention of your African reminds
me of a providential deliverance Mrs. C. and myself experienced
many years ago, in one of our journeys across the
Alleghany Mountains.
We were travelling from Kentucky to Philadelphia. We
rode in our own carriage (?), as my lady persisted in calling
the vehicle, to her fashionable friends. And yet, that carriage
was a simple Yankee wagon. As we were returning,
however, to the lordly East, our “women bodies” had
persuaded me “to do it up” with flashy curtains and brass
nails, and with cords and tassels to match: the effect of which
“fixins” was to give the machine no faint likeness to a clock-vender's
cart. And to that semblance was, in all probability,
owing our adventure.
One day, at the base of the Chestnut Ridge, we overtook
a very genteel negro man, who begged we would carry his
heavy saddle-bags some twenty miles; which request obtained,
he stepped off at a brisk pace and was soon out of
sight. But hereby hangs
not the tale. It was the story of
your black friend which reminded me of this man, and he,
of course, brought to recollection the day and its incident.
When we overtook our dusky neighbor, the adventure was
over.
At two o'clock P. M. we began the ascent of Laurel
Hill. Our horse went up at the usual snail-pace; and
hence, as the sky was veiled with clouds, and a mist was
oozing out, our minds became gloomy and foreboding. And
that was not unnatural, as robberies, even on a large scale,
were then frequent; and a remnant of Lewes' gang lurked
yet among the mountains. We became in fact ominously silent.
I do not think it wrong to carry weapons for defence in
perilous journeys, although they often seem to be useless; and
for that and other reasons I had always travelled unarmed,
and was unarmed then.
About one mile of the ascent now remained, when, on
turning a sharp angle in the road, about one hundred paces
in front, as if our forebodings had become embodied, there
stood two ruffian-looking men; and each armed with a heavy
bludgeon! Our thoughts were, at the sight, simultaneously
uttered in suppressed tones—robbers!
I had frequently tried to imagine what one's feelings
would be in such a crisis. My imaginings proved very unlike
the reality. The first pang of fear, I do believe, was
even worse than the attack itself could have been: and it
seems possible, that men sometimes rush into real dangers to
escape the imaginary.
The fellows, after a brief conference between themselves,
came forward; the one a tall man with foul whiskers, the
other, short, robust, and with an expression of countenance
combined of cunning and recklessness. Towards our right
towered the mountain, the shadow of which concealed my
wife, so that the men doubtless mistook me for an itinerant
merchant and alone. The crisis approached. Engaging in
an intense mental prayer, I was suddenly inspired with some
courage. I resolved to make an effort, which, if it did not
save our lives, might leave a mark to aid in the discovery of
the assassins, in case of murder. In my pocket was a large
knife used to cut our provisions. This I opened in my
pocket, and grasping the handle firmly with my right hand,
I determined, if a demand was made for my money, to stab
the villain in the eye, instead of handing out my pocketbook.
I did not expect such a blow would actually kill him.
I expected the deep gash in his face would lead to his subsequent
apprehension. This all was, as you will know, the
thought and act of a moment. The men were now only
a few yards distant. There seemed some hesitation in their
purpose; for they slackened their pace; and the small man,
in reply to some refusal on the part of the other, who shook
his head, replied, “Well, I will then.” Both then changed
their clubs into the left hands; and the tall fellow inclined
towards my horse's head; while the short one advanced
towards the side of the wagon. Lifting my soul, as I believed
in my last prayer, I became nerved with a coward's
desperation; when, like a flash of inspiration, came into my
mind a story told by a college chum once in my room. His
uncle was startled by a negro, who sprang from the hedge
and seized his bridle; on which the gentleman bowed politely,
and said, “Good morning, Cæsar!” when the slave relinquished
his hold, and bowing politely in return, leaped
back into the bushes. I resolved to do the same. Looking
steadily in the man's face as he approached, I said, “How
do you do, sir?”
Whether my seeming coolness—or the coward-like desperation
in my manner—or the discovery that I was not
alone, the nearer view having shown my wife on the next
seat behind—I cannot tell what—but the fellow instantly
changed his purpose, and with a bitter and snarling tone returned
the salutation. The next moment both, turning away,
hurried down the mountain.
Mrs. C. may tell her part of the story; and how heroically
I attempted to run over a suspicious looking chap at
the entrance of a dark bridge over a deep ravine at the foot
of the mountain; and how, a little beyond, we met travellers
who said it was unsafe to be travelling so late, and advised
us to stop at the next house—but I have told all that
seems sufficient to show a providential deliverance.
To confirm our opinion of the character of the men, our
host said that three men, such as I have described, had
passed his house that morning; that one returned, saying he
was afraid to travel with the others, who were armed with
deadly weapons. The landlord's son, too, had been recently
robbed on the mountain. And besides, some gentlemen in
central Pennsylvania, to whom our fright was told, said they
recognized in my description one, if not both the men, as
highwaymen belonging to Lewes' gang.
However, one thing is plain enough, that your humble
servant is not as brave a man as Julius Cæsar: and yet,
perhaps, if other heroes were equally honest, many would
acknowledge a little pat-pat of the heart in times of supposed
or real danger.
