University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II

As we approached the sun-illumined city, I was standing beside Genevieve
and Louise on the light columned verandah, called `the Guard,'
which surrounded the boat and formed a commodious and agreeable
place of promenade. She had in her hand a volume of Bryant's Poems,
and had just finished reading aloud his superb address to `The Water
Fowl,' and for the last ten minutes had been speaking in a most animated
and sprightly manner, giving a just and sensible, yet playful critique
upon the styles of thought of the different poets of America. If
I was delighted at the sparkling wit and humor she evinced, I was
charmed to discover in her a deep vein of sentiment which, as she alluded
to some `holy passages of holy thought,' as she expressed it, in
Willis' earlier pieces, softened into that tenderness of feeling which
has ever been to me proof that a true woman is religious by nature.
What is taste in man, is in her elevated religion; ever presenting a
grateful and promising soil for the immortal germ of Christianity to
take root and grow heavenward.

Louise Claviere, however, was absorbed in contemplating the glories
of the sunset, and gave no heed to the eloquent words of her cousin,
which my ears received like a revelation. I could not help mentally
comparing them as they stood together. The beauty of Louise was
intellectual and physical; its effects intoxicating; its power most dangerous
both to its possessor and its victim. The beauty of Genevieve
was grace and spirituality, a divinity seemed to breathe through her
form; its effect was touching and tender, acting on the finer sensibilities
of the heart of the observer; its power was to elevate and purify.

But enough of the poetry attached to our heroines. I have written
the above descriptions, in the vein they are given, at the suggestion of
a fair creature, scarce less beautiful herself than Louise, scarce less

divine than Genevieve, who insists that the description would be untrue
if anything was taken from it; and as she was a fellow passenger
and saw them, and well knew them both, her opinion is entitled to
reverence. I shall therefore leave the pictures as they are, and go into
the action of my story.

We were about a leauge from the town, when the captain, who was
a fine hearted gallant gentleman, came aft to the `guard,' where we
stood, and bowing courteously, said with a smile:

`We are now at Vicksburg, ladies, and the mystery of our state-room
will be solved.'

`You shall be put down in my journal, Captain Wardham,' said Genevieve,
laughing, `as a very obstinate and self-willed captain, and I'll
make the printers be sure and put those words in italics! Will you tell
me, now, who is coming on board here?'

`I do not know, fair lady,' answered the polite officer, bowing low,
`it was engaged by a person in New Orleans, who said it was by the
directions of the governor of Virginia. This is the extent of my
knowledge, but you will soon know.'

`I wonder if it be true the governor of Virginia is to be the passenger
with us from this place?' said Louise, suddenly speaking in a voice
the richness of the tone of which thrilled the ear. `I should like it
very much if he were—for he is young and intellectual I am
told.'

`Is he married, cousin?' archly asked Genevieve.

`No.'

`What then can he want of a state-room in the ladies' cabin? I
shall insist on his not occupying it, particularly if he is so elegant and
youthful withal,' answered Genevieve, laughing in a manner that showed
her resistance was not very much to be feared, if he should prove young
and handsome, `all governors,' she added, `should be old and married
too.'

`He belongs to one of the noblest cavalier families,' said Louise
with animation, speaking rather to herself than to her cousin. `I
would like to see one of the blood of the Stanleys, to which it is said
he belongs.'

`I care more for the heart, than the blood that heaves it,' said
Genevieve. But look! we are close by the town! The mystery of
the state-room will soon be cleared up!'

The steamer rapidly approached the city of terraced roofs, and at

length touched the pier as the shades of evening deepened the purple
drapery of the skies. After half an hour's detention, during which,
night, with its `lesser lights,' had taken the place of day, there was
heard the wheels of a carriage rapidly driven to the pier-head. The
ladies were all standing out upon the `guard,' anxiously listening.

`They are come,' cried the captain in the tones of a man who had
been a long time impatiently waiting to start, get ready to cast off
there, men.'

`Ay, ay, sir,' was the cheerful response of the mate; and a man
with a lantern in his hand sprung to each of the hawsers that confined
the boat.

The carriage steps were now heard rattling, as they were thrown sharply
down. By the faint and uncertain glimmer of lanterns moving to
and fro, we could discern three persons alight and advance towards the
boat. One of them seemed to be an invalid, as he was wrapped in an
ample cloak, and was supported by two others. They advanced to the
gangway plank forward, and we lost sight of them, hidden by the intervening
wheel-house.

`Now we will know,' cried Genevieve, retiring from the guard to
the ladies' saloon through which the strangers were to pass.

It was already, in part, occupied by the female passengers whom cu
riosity had drawn thither to get a sight of the personage who had preengaged
the best state-room in the ladies' cabin, as he passed through
to take possession of it.[1] Louise took an easy and graceful position
quite at the extremity of the saloon, where her eye could command the
approach for its whole length. Genevieve seated herself at her feet on
an ottoman, with as innocent a look as if she had no curiosity in her.

At length they beheld approaching, through the magnificent cabin,
two gentlemen arm in arm, preceded by the captain, whose face wore
a serious expression, which Genevieve could not believe could have
existed there. As they advanced, every eye was turned enquiringly.
A general gloom seemed to be left behind them as they
moved.

`What can be the cause of the silent and earnest gaze with which
all regard him!' asked Genevieve breathlessly, of her cousin.

`Hush,' said the other with extraordinary energy, `I have no sense
but sight!'

The captain entered now the ladies' cabin, bowed silently and gravely
to the ladies, and the two gentlemen followed him. One leaned upon
the other. He who supported, or seemed to support his companion,
was a large, heavily built man, with a cool, determined look and
an eye of piercing blackness. He was wrapped in a white dreadnought
over-coat buttoned across his breast, and wore a fur hat with a
broad and flapping brim. He looked like a man of the world, and his
manner was sufficiently gentlemanly; yet, evidently, he was not a gentleman.
The other was a tall, elegant young man, not more than
twenty-four years of age. His face was exceedingly handsome, dark,
intelligent, and with an eye blazing with intellect. He was pale, very
pale; yet it was not from illness; his looks were sad to a painful and
touching degree. No eye that fell upon him was turned away without
the observer feeling an indefinable interest in him.

He walked slowly and with great difficulty beside his companion.
As he approached the spot where Louise stood, he lifted his hat with
a melancholy air without scarce raising his eyes, as if conscious of the
presence of beauty. Genevieve shrunk lest her own a second time
should meet his, and she dropped them to her feet; for she had caught
one full deep glance of his eyes as he entered, and it had penetrated
her soul; it was so full of sorrow, despair, and of voiceless yet eloquent
grief. From that moment, how intense and exciting was the interest
awakened in her virgin bosom for the unknown. She felt that
he was unhappy—how wretched she dared not ask herself. As he was
passing, Louise, whose dark eyes sought his, as she proudly and gratefully
felt in her inmost heart the homage he had offered her beauty, she
thought she heard beneath his cloak, as he put down his hand which
was closely enveloped in it, a sound, the idea of which made her heart's
blood leap. The man beside him addressed a sharp word at the same
time to him. She cast a suspicious glance at him. Half the truth
flashed upon her mind. The young man bowed his head and walked
forward, for he had insensibly stopped before her, and for a moment it
seemed (his whole form sank so depressingly) as if he would have
knelt at the feet of the cousins. They thought he would do so. Why,
they knew not. They pitied him. The first step he made, Louise
heard again the sound! It grated, too, on Genevieve's ears, it pierced
her very heart! She could have shrieked, but her voice, her life was

paralyzed! It was the clank of chains! Louise sprung forward, and
laid her hand upon his arm. He turned and looked in her face with
his large pitiful eyes full of gratitude. He read sympathy in her intense
gaze of eager inquiry and horror. She held him so that he
could not advance. With one hand she grasped him hard by the arm,
with the other she wildly threw open his collar! the cloak fell to the
ground! The pale and intellectual young stranger stood before her
chained and manacled like a felon!

(See Engraving.)

`What has he done?' she cried, commandingly, fixing her eyes upon
the other in whose custody he was. `Speak!'

`Committed a forgery,' answered the officer.'

`Oh, God! Oh, God!' she cried with impassioned and bitter feelings;
`that the divine form I have seen mingling in my dreams from
childhood, the reality of which I have sought in vain among mankind,
should at length appear to me as a chained criminal! Mysterious
dream of life! Why hast thou cast a spell over my heart, by
presenting ever this face and form for me to worship and love, yet
hiding these chains?'

`Cousin,' cried Genevieve, alarmed at the wild impassioned pathos
of her look and language, `what has come over you? Come with me.
This is no scene for either of us.'

Louise suffered herself to be led to her room by her cousin, and the
manacled young man who had produced upon her mind such an extraordinary
effect, was led to the state-room prepared for him in the
after cabin, as well for its privacy as for its greater security.

`Dearest cousin, what could you mean by exposing yourself in such
a way?' said Genevieve, kissing her forehead as she reclined her burning
and throbbing temples on her shoulder. `Poor young man,' and
Genevieve sighed.

`Do you know, Genevieve,' said Louise, lifting her head and looking
full upon her cousin with a bright and almost unearthly gaze—so
brightly beautiful and glorious were her eyes at this moment, `do you
know that I have seen that same face and figure in my dreams since I
was a child! I know not what led me, as he came on board, to expect
some extraordinary event, but I did so. I have felt ever since I
left New Orleans an indescribable sensation that my happiness was in
some mysterious way connected with the person who was to occupy

that state-room. I see now that my presentiments were not unfounded.
Did you see him, how suffering he looked when he first came in?
I felt, as I gazed upon him, that my heart was breaking. I felt the
moment had come when all my dreams were to be realized. I had
seen him in the same cloak, too, and with him the same stern looking
man.'

`In your dreams, cousin?'

`Yes—no longer than last night I thus beheld him; but in the dream
he smiled upon me, but I heard no clanking of chains. If I had died
for it, I could not have resisted casting aside his cloak.'

`Why did you do it, cousin? My heart bled for him as he stood exposed
in chains before all eyes through your cruel act.'

`I had seen him in my dreams,' she said hoarsely, and with strong
feeling, `cast aside this cloak and beneath was his bridal garb. I beheld,
too, the stern man changed to a priest, and instead of the saloon
of this steamer, I was in a church before an altar which was enwreathed
as if for a bridal. I flung aside his cloak, for I would know the
worst, and I beheld chains instead of bridal wreaths—a manacled felon
instead of a happy and glorious bridegroom.'

`And did you love him in your dreams, cousin?'

`Yes—with all a woman's love. I do believe, sweet Genevieve,
there were correspondences between our spiritual natures. Did you
see, he would have knelt to me as to one his soul held kindred ties
with, but for him who dragged him onwards.'

`And if you loved him—I mean, cousin, in your strange dream—
you now hate him that you find the reality is unworthy of your love?'

`Cousin Genevieve, you little know me or the strength of woman's
affection! I have learned to love the same pale handsome youth in my
dreams till my heart, waking, has assented to that it gave and pledged
while in sleep. Day by day my mind has dwelt upon his image, till I
had no love but for him, whether it were to be he was ever to remain
visionary or prove real!'

`And did you ever expect the form of your dreams would prove to be
a real person, cousin Louise?' asked Genevieve, whose wonder was excited
by this narration.

`Yes, oh yes! I have long fed my love with hopes, that it would one
day be rewarded!'

`And this night you have seen him in truth?'

`But oh, in what guise manacled and fettered!' she cried, burying
her face in her hands.

`'Tis strange you have had such a dream! I tremble, there seems
something supernatural about it. You were always a strange girl,
cousin. And this is the secret of your repeated refusals of such numerous
and desirable offers of marriage!'

`No other reason, Genevieve. I firmly believed I should one day
see the real individual whom I never dreamed without communing
with!' she said with animation.

`Wonderful!' said Genevieve, shuddering.

`It is to you wonderful, sweet cousin, but not to me,' she said sadly.
`It is a peculiarity of our race to dream of events personally interesting
to us. My grandfather, Colonel Claviere, foretold the time and minute
circumstances of his own death, and that of Louis XIV. My
grandfather saved his own life by placing men to arrest an assassin,
whom he had seen in a dream, approaching his chamber to take his
life! The assassin came at the hour named, and was slain at the door
as he was entering. My father was not only a seer, but foretold by
dreams the exile of his family to America, and the hour and mode of
his own death, which took place four years afterwards by a cannon-ball,
at the battle of New Orleans. Is it wonderful, then, that I should
dream of one whom I was destined one day to see?'

`'Tis strange! I have heard something of all this! I fear for myself,
for I share the same blood!' said Genevieve, with a sad expression.

`It will do thee no harm.'

`I tremble at the idea,' she replied, shuddering, and turning pale.

`Nay, be not childish; I need your aid!' said Louise with animation,
speaking in a low impressive tone.

`How?'

`This young man's fate and mine are united by destiny; and he
must not lie degraded in chains.'

`He is guarded—a prisoner.'

`I will free him!'

`He is guilty.'

`Never! but were he guilty, were his hands stained with blood, I
love him, and will share his fate, or make him free! Do you believe
him guilty?'

`I cannot; but—'

`Bless you, Genevieve, for that! He is not guilty; I will ask him,
and he will say nay! Truth and innocence are written on his forehead.
The being my soul has loved, with whose spirit my own has
been in communion for years, guilty? no! I spurn the thought! Genevieve,
he must be freed!'

`I would help you, cousin; but he is chained and closely guarded.'

`I care not. I will seek him. I will question him. I will fathom
his soul. I will prove him innocent. I will know from his own lips
wherefore he is manacled and held thus a prisoner. Genevieve, watch
up with me to-night!'

Genevieve pressed her cousin's hand in silent assent, and Louise,
kissing her, remained a few moments buried in deep thought. Genevieve
also sat thoughtful, her mind awed by the revelation of the mysterious
dream which had given cast and character to her cousin's whole
life. She looked at her dark and beautiful face, and felt a superstitious
fear at being alone in her presence. This feeling, however, reflection
enabled her to throw off from her spirit, when she remembered that,
save her singular power of dreams, she was in all else like herself. They
remained in their state-room till near midnight together; during which
Louise related to her more in detail the history of her spiritual love!

The young stranger was taken to the reserved state-room, and placed
there by the stern officer who held him in custody. A heavy chain was
then passed over the two transverse chains that connected his manacles
and his fetters, and secured to a strong iron bolt in the deck The
officer then took his station outside without securing the door, knowing
that his escape, thus heavily chained, was impossible; besides the boat
was under way in mid-river.