University of Virginia Library

21. CHAPTER XXI.
THE DESERT.

There is no study in human nature more interesting than
the aspects of the same subject seen in the points of view
of different characters. One might almost imagine that
there were no such thing as absolute truth, since a change
of situation or temperament is capable of changing the whole
force of an argument. We have been accustomed, even
those of us who feel most, to look on the arguments for and
against the system of slavery with the eyes of those who
are at ease. We do not even know how fair is freedom, for
we were always free. We shall never have all the materials
for absolute truth on this subject, till we take into account,
with our own views and reasonings, the views and reasonings
of those who have bowed down to the yoke, and felt
the iron enter into their souls. We all console ourselves
too easily for the sorrows of others. We talk and reason
coolly of that which, did we feel it ourselves, would take
away all power of composure and self-control. We have
seen how the masters feel and reason; how good men feel
and reason, whose public opinion and Christian fellowship
support the master, and give him confidence in his position.
We must add, also, to our estimate, the feelings and reasonings
of the slave; and, therefore, the reader must follow
us again to the fastness in the Dismal Swamp.

It is a calm, still, Indian-summer afternoon. The whole
air is flooded with a golden haze, in which the tree-tops
move dreamily to and fro, as if in a whispering revery.
The wild climbing grape-vines, which hang in thousand-fold

festoons round the enclosure, are purpling with grapes.
The little settlement now has among its inmates Old Tiff and
his children, and Harry and his wife. The children and
Tiff had been received in the house of the widow whose
husband had fallen a victim to the hunters, as we mentioned
in one of our former chapters. All had united in building
for Harry and Lisette a cabin continguous to the other.

Old Tiff, with his habitual industry, might now be seen
hoeing in the sweet-potato patch, which belonged to the
common settlement. The children were roaming up and
down, looking after autumn flowers and grapes.

Dred, who had been out all the night before, was now
lying on the ground on the shady side of the clearing, with
an old, much-worn, much-thumbed copy of the Bible by his
side. It was the Bible of Denmark Vesey, and in many a
secret meeting its wild, inspiring poetry had sounded like a
trumpet in his youthful ear.

He lay with his elbow resting on the ground, his hands
supporting his massive head, and his large, gloomy, dark
eyes fixed in revery on the moving tree-tops as they waved
in the golden blue. Now his eye followed sailing islands
of white cloud, drifting to and fro above them. There were
elements in him which might, under other circumstances,
have made him a poet.

His frame, capacious and energetic as it was, had yet
that keenness of excitability which places the soul en rapport
with all the great forces of nature. The only book which
he had been much in the habit of reading — the book, in fact,
which had been the nurse and forming power of his soul —
was the Bible, distinguished above all other literature for
its intense sympathy with nature. Dred, indeed, resembled
in organization and tone of mind some of those men of old
who were dwellers in the wilderness, and drew their inspirations
from the desert.

It is remarkable that, in all ages, communities and individuals
who have suffered under oppression have always
fled for refuge to the Old Testament, and to the book of

Revelation in the New. Even if not definitely understood,
these magnificent compositions have a wild, inspiring
power, like a wordless yet impassioned symphony played
by a sublime orchestra, in which deep and awful sub-bass
instruments mingle with those of ethereal softness, and
wild minors twine and interlace with marches of battles
and bursts of victorious harmony.

They are much mistaken who say that nothing is efficient as a
motive that is not definitely understood. Who ever thought
of understanding the mingled wail and roar of the Marseillaise?
Just this kind of indefinite stimulating power has
the Bible to the souls of the oppressed. There is also a
disposition, which has manifested itself since the primitive
times, by which the human soul, bowed down beneath the
weight of mighty oppressions, and despairing, in its own
weakness, seizes with avidity the intimations of a coming
judgment, in which the Son of Man, appearing in his glory,
and all his holy angels with him, shall right earth's mighty
wrongs.

In Dred's mind this thought had acquired an absolute
ascendency. All things in nature and in revelation he
interpreted by this key.

During the prevalence of the cholera, he had been pervaded
by a wild and solemn excitement. To him it was the
opening of a seal — the sounding of the trumpet of the first
angel. And other woes were yet to come.

He was not a man of personal malignity to any human
being. When he contemplated schemes of insurrection and
bloodshed, he contemplated them with the calm, immovable
firmness of one who felt himself an instrument of doom in a
mightier hand. In fact, although seldom called into exercise
by the incidents of his wild and solitary life, there was
in him a vein of that gentleness which softens the heart
towards children and the inferior animals. The amusement
of his vacant hours was sometimes to exercise his peculiar
gifts over the animal creation, by drawing towards him the
birds and squirrels from the coverts of the forest, and

giving them food. Indeed, he commonly carried corn in
the hunting-dress which he wore, to use for this purpose.
Just at this moment, as he lay absorbed in revery, he heard
Teddy, who was near him, calling to his sister.

“O, Fanny, do come and see this squirrel, he is so
pretty!”

Fanny came running, eagerly. “Where is he?” she said.

“O, he is gone; he just went behind that tree.”

The children, in their eagerness, had not perceived how
near they were to Dred. He had turned his face towards
them, and was looking at them with a pleased expression,
approaching to a smile.

“Do you want to see him?” he said. “Stop a few
minutes.”

He rose and scattered a train of corn between him and
the thicket, and, sitting down on the ground, began making
a low sound, resembling the call of the squirrel to its young.
In a few moments Teddy and Fanny were in a tremor of
eager excitement, as a pair of little bright eyes appeared
among the leaves, and gradually their owner, a brisk little
squirrel, came out and began rapidly filling its chops with
the corn. Dred still continued, with his eyes fixed on the
animal, to make the same noise. Very soon two others
were seen following their comrade. The children laughed
when they saw the headmost squirrel walk into Dred's hand,
which he had laid upon the ground, the others soon following
his example. Dred took them up, and, softly stroking
them, they seemed to become entirely amenable to his will;
and, to amuse the children, he let them go into his hunting-pouch
to eat the corn that was there. After this, they
seemed to make a rambling expedition over his whole person,
investigating his pockets, hiding themselves in the
bosom of his shirt, and seeming apparently perfectly fearless,
and at home.

Fanny reached out her hand, timidly. “Won't they come
to me?” she said.

“No, daughter,” said Dred, with a smile, “they don't

know you. In the new earth the enmity will be taken
away, and then they 'll come.”

“I wonder what he means by the new earth!” said
Fanny.

Dred seemed to feel a kind of pleasure in the admiration
of the children, to which, perhaps, no one is wholly insensible.
He proceeded, therefore, to show them some other
of his accomplishments. The wood was resounding with
the afternoon song of birds, and Dred suddenly began
answering one of the songsters with an exact imitation of
his note. The bird evidently heard it, and answered back
with still more spirit; and thus an animated conversation
was kept up for some time.

“You see,” he said, “that I understand the speech
of birds. After the great judgment, the elect shall talk
with the birds and the beasts in the new earth. Every
kind of bird has a different language, in which they show
why men should magnify the Lord, and turn from their
wickedness. But the sinners cannot hear it, because their
ear is waxed gross.”

“I did n't know,” said Fanny, hesitatingly, “as that
was so. How did you find it out?”

“The Spirit of the Lord revealed it unto me, child.”

“What is the Spirit?” said Fanny, who felt more
encouraged, as she saw Dred stroking a squirrel.

“It 's the Spirit that spoke in the old prophets,” he said.

“Did it tell you what the birds say?”

“I am not perfected in holiness yet, and cannot receive
it. But the birds fly up near the heavens, wherefore they
learn droppings of the speech of angels. I never kill the
birds, because the Lord hath set them between us and the
angels for a sign.”

“What else did the Spirit tell you?” said Teddy.

“He showed me that there was a language in the leaves,”
said Dred. “For I rose and looked, and, behold, there were
signs drawn on the leaves, and forms of every living thing,
with strange words, which the wicked understand not, but

the elect shall read them. And, behold, the signs are in
blood, which is the blood of the Lamb, that descendeth like
dew from heaven.”

Fanny looked puzzled. “Who are the elect?” she
said.

“They?” said Dred. “They are the hundred and forty and
four thousand, that follow the Lamb whithersoever he goeth.
And the angels have charge, saying, `Hurt not the earth
till these are sealed in their forehead.'”

Fanny instinctively put her hand to her forehead. “Do
you think they 'll seal me?” she said.

“Yes,” said Dred; “such as you are of the kingdom.”

“Did the Spirit tell you that?” said Fanny, who felt
some considerable anxiety.

“Yea, the Spirit hath shown me many such things,” said
Dred. “It hath also revealed to me the knowledge of the
elements, the revolutions of the planets, the operations of
the tide, and changes of the seasons.”

Fanny looked doubtfully, and, taking up her basket of
wild grapes, slowly moved off, thinking that she would ask
Tiff about it.

At this moment there was a rustling in the branches of
the oak-tree which overhung a part of the clearing near
where Dred was lying, and Harry soon dropped from the
branches on to the ground. Dred started up to receive
him.

“How is it?” said he. “Will they come?”

“Yes; by midnight to-night they will be here. See
here,” he added, taking a letter from his pocket, “what I
have received.”

It was the letter which Clayton had written to Harry. It
was remarkable, as Dred received it, how the wandering
mystical expression of his face immediately gave place to
one of shrewd and practical earnestness. He sat down on
the ground, laid it on his knee, and followed the lines with
his finger. Some passages he seemed to read over two or
three times with the greatest attention, and he would pause,

after reading them, and sat with his eyes fixed gloomily on
the ground. The last part seemed to agitate him strongly.
He gave a sort of suppressed groan.

“Harry,” he said, turning to him, at last, “behold the
day shall come when the Lord shall take out of our hand
the cup of trembling, and put it into the hand of those that
oppress us. Our soul is exceedingly filled now with the
scorning of them that are at ease, and with the contempt
of the proud. The prophets prophesy falsely, the rulers
bear rule by their means, and the people love to have it so.
But what will it be in the end thereof? Their own wickedness
shall reprove them, and their backsliding shall correct
them. Listen to me, Harry,” he said, taking up his Bible,
“and see what the Lord saith unto thee. `Thus saith the
Lord my God, Feed the flock of the slaughter; whose possessors
slay them, and hold themselves not guilty, and they
that sell them say, blessed be the Lord, for I am rich. And
their own shepherds pity them not. For I will no more
pity the inhabitants of the land, saith the Lord. But, lo, I
will deliver the men, every one into his neighbor's hand,
and into the hand of his kind. And they shall smite the
land, and out of their hand I will not deliver them. And I
will feed the flock of slaughter, even you, O ye poor of the
flock. And I took unto me two staves: the one I called
beauty, and the other I called bands. And I fed the flock.
And I took my staff, even beauty, and cut it asunder, that
I might break my covenant which I had made with all the
people. And it was broken in that day, so the poor of the
flock that waited on me knew it was the word of the Lord.
Then I cut asunder mine other stave, even bands, that I
might break the brotherhood between Judah and Israel.
The burden of the word of the Lord for Israel, saith the
Lord, which stretcheth forth the heavens, and layeth the
foundations of the earth, and formeth the spirit of man
within him. Behold, I will make Jerusalem a cup of trembling
to all the people round about. Also in that day I
will make Jerusalem a burdensome stone for all people.

All that burthen themselves with it shall be cut to pieces.
In that day, saith the Lord, I will smite every horse with
astonishment, and every rider with madness. And I will
open mine eyes on the house of Judah, and will smite every
horse of the people with blindness. In that day I will
make the governors of Judah like a hearth of fire among
the wood, and like a torch of fire in a sheaf, and they shall
devour all the people on the right and the left.'

“Harry,” said he, “these things are written for our
learning. We will go up and take away her battlements,
for they are not the Lord's!”

The gloomy fervor with which Dred read these words of
Scripture, selecting, as his eye glanced down the prophetic
pages, passages whose images most affected his own mind,
carried with it an overpowering mesmeric force.

Who shall say that, in this world, where all things are
symbolic, bound together by mystical resemblances, and
where one event is the archetype of thousands, that there
is not an eternal significance in these old prophecies? Do
they not bring with them “springing and germinant fulfilments”
wherever there is a haughty and oppressive nation,
and a “flock of the slaughter”?

“Harry,” said Dred, “I have fasted and prayed before
the Lord, lying all night on my face, yet the token cometh
not! Behold, there are prayers that resist me! The Lamb
yet beareth, and the opening of the second seal delayeth!
Yet the Lord had shown unto me that we should be up and
doing, to prepare the way for the coming of the Lord! The
Lord hath said unto me, `Speak to the elders, and to the
prudent men, and prepare their hearts.'”

“One thing,” said Harry, “fills me with apprehension.
Hark, that brought me this letter, was delayed in getting
back; and I 'm afraid that he 'll get into trouble. Tom
Gordon is raging like a fury over the people of our plantation.
They have always been held under a very mild rule;
and every one knows that a plantation so managed is not
so immediately profitable as it can be made for a short time

by forcing everything up to the highest notch. He has got
a man, there, for overseer — Old Hokum — that has been
famous for his hardness and meanness; and he has delivered
the people, unreservedly, into his hands. He drinks,
and frolics, and has his oyster-suppers, and swears he 'll
shoot any one that brings him a complaint. Hokum is to
pay him so much yearly, and have to himself all that he
makes over. Tom Gordon keeps two girls, there, that he
bought for himself and his fellows, just as he wanted to
keep my wife!”

“Be patient, Harry! This is a great christianizing institution!”
said Dred, with a tone of grave irony.

“I am afraid for Hark,” said Harry. “He is the bravest
of brave fellows. He is ready to do anything for us. But,
if he is taken, there will be no mercy.”

Dred looked on the ground, gloomily. “Hark was to be
here to-night,” he said.

“Yes,” said Harry, “I wish we may see him.”

“Harry,” said Dred, “when they come, to-night, read
them the Declaration of Independence of these United
States, and then let each one judge of our afflictions, and
the afflictions of their fathers, and the Lord shall be judge
between us. I must go and seek counsel of the Lord.”

Dred rose, and, giving a leap from the ground, caught on
the branch of the oak, which overhung their head, and,
swinging himself on the limb, climbed in the thickness of
the branches, and disappeared from view. Harry walked
to the other side of the clearing, where his lodge had been
erected. He found Lisette busy within. She ran to meet
him, and threw her arms around his neck.

“I am so glad you 've come back, Harry! It is so dreadful
to think what may happen to you while you are gone!
Harry, I think we could be very happy here. See what a
nice bed I have made in this corner, out of leaves and moss!
The women are both very kind, and I am glad we have got
Old Tiff and the children here. It makes it seem more
natural. See, I went out with them, this afternoon, and

how many grapes I have got! What have you been talking
to that dreadful man about? Do you know, Harry, he
makes me afraid? They say he is a prophet. Do you think
he is?”

“I don't know, child,” said Harry, abstractedly.

“Don't stay with him too much!” said Lisette. “He 'll
make you as gloomy as he is.”

“Do I need any one to make me gloomy?” said Harry.
“Am I not gloomy enough? Am I not an outcast? And
you, too, Lisette?”

“It is n't so very dreadful to be an outcast,” said Lisette.
“God makes wild grapes for us, if we are outcasts.”

“Yes, child,” said Harry, “you are right.”

“And the sun shines so pleasant, this afternoon!” said
Lisette.

“Yes,” said Harry; “but by and by cold storms and
rain will come, and frosty weather!”

“Well,” said Lisette, “then we will think what to do
next. But don't let us lose this afternoon, and these
grapes, at any rate.”