 | CHAPTER IV. The wigwam and the cabin |  |
4. CHAPTER IV.
There is a fatality about the wicked that, sooner or later, whatever
may be their precautions and their adroitnesses, invariably
brings about their confusion and defeat. The criminal in the
present instance, was one who had enjoyed a long swing of good
fortune—using these words only to mean that he had been able
to gratify his wishes, of whatever sort, without yet having been
made to pay the usual penalties. This very success is most
commonly the source of final disaster. The fortunate man is apt
to presume upon his good fortune—to hold himself, like Sylla, a
sort of favourite with the capricious goddess, until he loses himself
irrevocably in the blind presumption which his confidence
provokes. Edward Stanton, for so we shall continue to call
him, had been too often in straits like the present, and had too
often emerged from them with profit, to fancy that he had much
at hazard in the new game that he had determined to pursue.
He had been temporarily daunted by the complete exposure of his
career which had been made by Lamar, and felt, from all he
saw and all he heard, that the chances were entirely up with
him where he then stood. But he had not long gone from sight of
his enemy, before his mind began once more to recover, and to unravel
new schemes and contrivances for the satisfaction of his selfish
passions. He was a person soon to cast aside his apprehensions,
and to rise with new energies after defeat. It is a very
great misfortune that this admirable quality of character should
be equally shared, upon occasion, by the rogue and the ruffian,
with the honest man and the noble citizen. Stanton was resolved
to make the most of the forty-eight hours which were allowed
him. He took for granted that, having attained his object, Lamar
would be satisfied;—he may have discovered, indeed, that the
latter would return in another day to Georgia. We have seen,
from the revelations of Abram, what direction his scheming mind
was disposed to pursue. His plans were laid in a few minutes,
village generally, were raising the simple head board over the
grave of his injured wife, the miserable wretch, totally insensible
to all honourable or human feeling, was urging the ignorant
negro to a desertion of the ancient homestead, in the vain
hope of attaining that freedom with which, when acquired, he
knew not well what to do. Of course, this was all a pretext of
the swindler, by which to get the property within his grasp. He
had but to cross the Tombeckbe with his unsuspecting companions,
and they would have been sold, by public outcry, at the
first popular gathering. His plans laid, his artifices all complete,
he waited with anxiety the meeting with the negro. He had already
taken his leave of the family with which he lodged, had
mounted his horse, and turned his head towards the west, using
particular care that his departure should be seen by several. He
little fancied that his return to the neighbourhood by another
route, and after night had set in, had also been perceived. But
the vigilance of Lamar had arranged for this. Young Atkins
had volunteered to observe the movements of Stanton, and, born
a hunter, and familiar with all the woods for twenty miles round,
he was able to report on the return of the fugitive, within half
an hour of the moment when it took place. Concealing his
horse in a neighbourng bay, ready for use in the first emergency,
Stanton proceeded, at the appointed time, to the place of rendezvous.
Meanwhile, the preparations of Lamar were also in progress.
The sheriff had been brought, after night-fall, to the house of old
Ramsay. The coarse garments of the negro had been provided
for himself and his deputy—for Lamar and the younger Ramsay.
Young Atkins also insisted on going as a volunteer, and old Ramsay
could with difficulty be persuaded to forbear accompanying
the party. The blood of the veteran blazed up as fiercely as it
had done twenty years before, when he heard the call for volunteers,
from the lips of Andrew Jackson, to avenge the butcheries
of Indian warfare. The good sense of Lamar succeeded in
persuading him to leave the affair to younger men. Abram was
of the party, and, with his assistance, a greasy preparation was
procured, in which soot and oil were the chief ingredients, by
the dark and glossy outside of the African. Prime stout
fellows were they—able field hands—such as would delight the
unsuspecting eye of the kidnapper as soon as he beheld them.
They were all armed with pistols—all but Abram, who carried
however the knife—a formidable couteau de chasse, which had
been one of the bribes of Stanton, presented to him with the
bank note and tobacco, at their first interview. Abram undertook
the conduct of the party. They were led forth secretly, in
profoundest silence, by a circuitous path, to the swamp thicket, in
the neighbourhood of which the meeting was to take place. It
is needless to describe the route. Suffice it that they were there
in season, snugly quartered, and waiting with due impatience for
the signal. It was heard at last;—a shrill whistle, thrice repeated,
followed by the barking of a hound. To this Abram answered,
going forth as he did so, and leaving the party in the
close covert to which he had conducted them. The night was a
bright star-light. The gleams, however, came but imperfectly
through the thick foliage; and our conspirators could distinguish
each other only by the sound of their voices. Their faces shone
as glossily as the leaves, when suddenly touched by the far light
of the stars. Gradually, they heard approaching footsteps. It
was then that Lamar said, seizing the hand of young Ramsay,—
“No haste, now,—no rashness,—we must let the fellow hobble
himself fairly.”
Deep silence followed, broken only by the voice of the negro
and his companion.
“You have brought them?” said Stanton.
“Da's ya!” replied the black.
“How many?”
“Some tree or four, 'side myself.”
“Could you bring no more?” asked the eager kidnapper.
“Hab no chance—you no gib me time 'nuff. Ef you leff 'em
tell Saturday night now, and Sunday, I get 'em all.”
“No!—no! that's impossible. I dare not. These must do.
Where are they?”
“In de bush! jes' ya! But look ya, Mass Ned, you sure you
gwine do wha' you promise?”
“On my honour, 'Bram.”
“You will take you Bible oat', Mass Ned?”
“I swear it.”
“Dis ya nigger I bring you is no common nigger, I tell you.
Mossa hab heaby loss for lose 'em. Wha' you 'spose he gwine
say,—wha' he tink, when he get up to-morrow mornin', and can't
find 'Bram and de rest ob 'em. Wha' he gwine do?”
“What can he do? We will have the start of him by twenty-five
miles, and in one day more you will be free, 'Bram,
your own master, and able to put him at defiance. I will see
to that.”
“He will push arter us, Mass Ned,—and dese ya nigger in de
bush—look ya, Mass Ned, dese all prime nigger. Da's one on
'em, a gal ya, most purty nuff for white man wife. You 'member
little Suzy, Mass Ned?”
“Don't I, 'Bram? Little Suzy is a pretty girl—pretty enough
to be the wife of any man. Bring her out, bring them all out,
and let us be off. We understand each other.”
“Suzy is good gal, Mass Ned. I want for see 'em doing prime
when he git he freedom. You will marry 'em yourself, wid
parson?”
“If she wishes it.”
“He will wish 'em for true! But wha' dis I yer 'em say
'bout you habing tree wife a'ready?”
“No more of that, 'Bram.”
“Wha'! he aint true, den?”
“A lie, 'Bram! a black, a bloody lie!”
“What for den you let dat Georgy man run you out ob de
country?”
“Ha! who told you this?”
“I yer dem house sarbant talk ob 'em.”
“They do not understand it. I am not driven. I choose to
go.”
“Well! you know bes', but dat's wha' I yer dem say.”
“No more, 'Bram! Where are the people?”
“Let de dog bark tree time, and dey come. You kin bark
like dog, Mass Ned. Try for 'em.”
The imitation was a good one. Sounds were heard in the
They looked natural enough, and the kidnapper approached
them with some interest.
“These are all men, are they not? Are there no women?
Where's Little Suzy?”
“Ha! Mass Ned,—I speck its true wha' dem people say. You
lub gal too much. I call little Suzy now, him take you 'bout de
neck. Come ya, my people. Mass Ned hab make 'greement
wid me to carry us all to fine country. He swear Bible 'oat to
make we all free, and gib we plenty whiskey and tobacco. I tell
'em you's ready to go. You ready, eh?”
There was a general grunt of assent.
'Bram was disposed to be satirical. His dry chuckle accompanied
every syllable.
“Gib um you hand den on de bargain. Shake hand like
brudderin. Ha! ha! I nebber bin speck to be brudder ob my
young mossa. Shake hands, niggers, on de bargain.”
“You have heard what 'Bram has said, my boys. I promise
the same things to you. You shall go with me to a country where
you shall be free. I will give you plenty of whiskey and tobacco.
Here is my hand. Who is this—Zeke?”
The hand was clutched by Lamar, with a grasp that somewhat
startled the criminal. The voice of the supposed negro in the
next moment, terribly informed him of his danger.
“Villain!” exclaimed the Georgian, “I have you! You are
sworn for the gallows! You shall not escape us now.”
A short struggle followed—the doubtful light, and their rapid
movements, not suffering the other persons around so to distinguish
between them as to know where to take hold. The criminal
put forth all his strength, which was far from inconsiderable.
The combatants were nearly equally matched, but in the struggle
they traversed a fallen tree, over which Lamar stumbled and fell,
partly dragging his enemy with him to the ground. To save himself
only did he relax his hold. Of this Stanton nimbly availed
himself. He recovered his feet, and, before the rest of the party
could interfere, had gained a dozen paces on his way to the thicket.
Once within its shadows, he might, with good heart and good fortune,
have baffled their pursuit. But this was not destined. He
suddenly like a huge ball in the path of the fugitive, and
thus broke the fall which yet precipitated him to the ground.
In the next moment, the negro had caught him by the leg, yelling
at the same time to the rest of the party to come to his succour.
“Ah! dog it is you then to whom I owe all this.”
Such was the speech, muttered through his closed teeth, with
which Stanton declared his recognition of the assailant. His
words were followed by a pistol shot. Abram gave a cry, released
his hold, and leapt to his feet. Stanton had only half risen
when the whole weight of the negro was again upon him.
“You shoot, eh! You shoot!” were the words of the black,
shrieked rather than spoken. The party interfered. The whole
affair had passed in a moment, quick as thought, and in far less
time than has been occupied with the recital.
“Where is he, 'Bram?” demanded Lamar.
“I hab em ya, Mossa—he safe,” responded the other with a groan.
“You are hurt?” said young Ramsay, inquiringly.
“One arm smash wid he pistol, Mass Jack.”
His young master helped the fellow up, while Lamar and the
sheriff, with young Atkins, prepared to secure the criminal.
“What is this! He is lifeless!” said the former, as he touched
the body. “What have you done, 'Bram?”
“I don't know, Mossa. I hab my knife in my han', and when
he shoot me, I so bex and I so scare, I don't know wha' I do wid
em. I gib um he knife, I speck. It's he own knife.”
Sure enough! the weapon was still sticking in the side of the
criminal. The one blow was fatal, and his dying groan, if any
was uttered, was drowned in the furious exclamation with which
the negro accompanied the blow.
“It is a loss to the gallows,” said Lamar, with an expression
of chagrin.
“Better so!” replied young Ramsay.
“It saves me a very dirty job!” muttered the sheriff. We
may add that he took care to pay the usual fees to Abram, who
was otherwise well provided for by the Ramsay family, and still
lives to relate the events of that night of conflict with the Snake
of the Cabin.
| CHAPTER IV. The wigwam and the cabin | |