The partisan a tale of the revolution |
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| 15. | CHAPTER XV. |
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 | CHAPTER XV. The partisan |  |
15. CHAPTER XV.
To an o'ercoming evil—venomous, vile,
Snake-like, that hugs the bush and bites the heel.”
The troopers had not been well gone, before the
fugitive they had so vainly pursued stood upon the
very spot which they had left. He rose from the mire
of the creek, in which he had not paused to imbed
himself when the search was hottest and close upon
him. The conjecture of Humphries was correct, and
Goggle or Blonay was the person they had chased.
He had left his post in the bivouac when the storm
came on, and was then upon his way to his mother's
cabin. From that spot his farther course was to the
British garrison with his intelligence. His determination
in this respect, however, underwent a change, as
we shall see in the progress of the narrative.
Never had better knowledge of character been
that of the deserter. Goggle was as warped in morals
as he was blear in vision; a wretch aptly fitted for the
horse-thief, the tory, and murderer. His objects were
evil generally, and he had no scruples as to the means
by which to secure them. Equally indifferent to him
what commandment he violated in these practices; for,
with little regard from society, he had no sympathy with
it, and only obeyed its laws as he feared and would
avoid their penalties. He hated society accordingly
as he was compelled to fear it. He looked upon it as a
victim to be destroyed with the opportunity, as a spoil
to be appropriated with the desire for its attainment;
and the moods of such a nature were impatient for
exercise, even upon occasions when he could hope no
addition to his pleasure or his profit from their indulgence.
Squat in the ooze and water of the creek, while the
horse of Singleton at one moment almost stood over
him, he had drawn breath with difficulty through the
leaves of a bush growing upon the edge of the ditch
in which his head had found concealment; and in this
perilous situation his savage spirit actually prompted
him to thrust his knife into the belly of the animal.
He had drawn it for this purpose from his belt, while
his hands and body were under water. Its point was
already turned upward when Singleton moved away
from the dangerous proximity. Here he listened to
the dialogue which the two carried on concerning
him; and, even in that predicament of dirt and danger
in which he lay, his mind brooded over a thousand
modes by which he should enjoy his malignant appetite,
that craved for revenge upon them both. When
they were fairly gone, he rose from the mire and ascended
cautiously to the bank; shook himself like a
water-dog, while he almost shivered in the saturated
garments which he wore; then rubbed and grumbled
over the rifle which he had taken with him into the
mire, and which came out as full of its ooze and water
as himself.
“So ho!” said he, as he shook himself free from
the mud—“So ho! they are gone to old Moll's to
look after me, eh! Now would I like to put this bullet
into that Dorchester skunk, Humphries, d—n him.
I am of bad blood, am I!—my father a horse-thief and a
mulatto, and I only fit for hanging! The words must
be paid for; and Moll must answer for some of them.
She is my mother, that's clear—she shall tell me this
night who my father is; for, Blonay, or Goggle, or the
devil, I will know. She shall put me off no longer.
No! though she tells me the worst—though she tells
me that I am the spawn of Jack Drayton's driver, as
once before I've heard it.”
Thus muttering, he looked to his flint and inspected
the priming of his rifle. With much chagrin he found
the powder saturated with water, and the charge useless.
He searched his pockets, but his flask was gone.
He had purposed the murder of Humphries or Singleton
had this not been the case. He now without hesitation
took the track after them, and it was not long
before he came in sight of the miserable clay and log
hovel in which his mother, odious and dreaded as she
was, passed fitly her existence. This spot was dreary
in the extreme: a few cheerless pines rose around it,
and the thick fennel waved its equally bald, though
more crowded forms in uncurbed vegetation among
them. The hovel stood in a hollow, considerably
below the surrounding level, and the little glimmer of
light piercing from between the logs only made its
location seem more cheerless to the observer.
Blonay—or, as we shall hereafter call him, according
to the fashion of the country, Goggle—cautiously approached
a jungle, in which he hid himself, about a
stone's throw from the hovel. There he watched, as
well as he might, in the imperfect light of the evening,
for the appearance of the troopers. Though mounted,
they had not yet succeeded in reaching the spot, which,
familiar to him from childhood, he well knew to find
in the darkest night, and by a route the most direct.
He was there before them, snug in his cover, and coolly
threw up the pan of his rifle, carefully keeping it from
its usual click by the intervention of his finger, and
cursed within himself his ill fortune, as he found
the powder, saturated with water, a soft paste beneath
his touch. He thrust his hand into his pocket, seeking
there for some straggling grains, of which in the emergency
he might avail himself; but he looked fruitlessly,
and was compelled to forego the hope of a shot, so
much desired, at one or other of the persons now
emerging from the wood before him.
The barking of a cur warned the indweller of visiters
but without offering any obstacle to their advance.
Humphries proceeded first, and motioning his companion
to keep his saddle, fastened his horse to a
bough, and treading lightly, looked through the crevices
of the logs, upon the old crone within. Though
in June, a warm season at all times in Carolina, the
old woman partook too much of the habits of the very
low in that region to be without a fire; and with the
taste of the negro, she was now bending over a huge light
wood blaze, with a pipe of rude structure and no small
dimensions in her mouth, from which the occasional
puff went forth, filling the apartment with the unpleasant
effluvia of the vilest leaf-tobacco; while her body
and head swung ever to and fro, with a regular
seesaw motion, that seemed an habitual exercise.
Her thin, shrivelled, and darkly yellow features, were
hag-like and discouraging. The skin was tightly
drawn across the face, and the high cheek-bones, and
the nose, seemed disposed to break through the slender
restraints of their covering. Her eyes were small and
sunken, of a light gray, and had a lively twinkle, that
did not accord with the wretched and decayed aspect
of her other features. Her forehead was small, and
clustered with grisly hair of mixed white and black,
disordered and unbound, but still short, and with the
appearance of having but lately undergone clipping at
the extremities. These features, stern in themselves,
were greatly heightened in their general expression
The upper lip was flat, undeveloped entirely, while
the lower was thrust forth in a thick curl, and, closely
rising and clinging to the other, somewhat lifted her
glance into a sort of insolent authority, which, sometimes
accompanying aroused feeling, or an elevated
mood of mind, might look like dignified superiority.
The dress which she wore was of the poorest sort,
the commonest white homespun of the country, probably
her own manufacture, and so indifferently made,
that it hung about her like a sack, and gave a full
view of the bronzed and skinny neck and bosom,
which a regard to her appearance might have prompted
her to conceal. Beside her a couple of cats of mammoth
size kept up a drowsy hum, entirely undisturbed
by the yelping of the cur, which, from his little kennel
at one end of the hovel, maintained a continuous clamour
at the approach of Humphries. The old woman
simply turned her head, for a moment, to the entrance,
took the pipe from her mouth, and, discharging the
volume of smoke which followed it, cried harshly to
the dog, as if in encouragement. Her call was
answered by Humphries, who, rapping at the door,
spoke civilly to the inmate.
“Now, open the door, good mother. We are friends,
who would speak with you. We have been caught
inthe storm, and want you to give us house-room till
it's over.”
“Friends ye may be, and ye may not. Down by
the dry branch, and through the old road to mother
Blonay's, is no walk that friends often take; and if ye
be travellers, go ye on, for there's no accommodation
for ye, and but little here ye would eat. It's a poor
country y'are in, strangers, and nothing short of Dorchester,
or it may be Rantoule's, will serve your turn
for a tavern.”
“Now, out upon you, mother! would you keep a
shut door upon us, and the rain still pouring?” cried
Humphries, sharply.
“Ye have been in it over long to mind it now, I'm
for ye, if ye would rob. I'm but a lone woman, and
a poor; and have no plate, no silver, no fine watch, nor
rings, nor any thing that is worth your taking. Go to
“The Oaks,” or Middleton Place, or the old hall at
Archdale, or any of the fine houses; they have plenty
of good picking there.”
“Now, how pleasantly the old hag tells us to go and
steal, and she looking down, as a body may say, into
the very throat of the grave that's gaping after her.”
The old woman, meanwhile, as if satisfied with what
she had done, resumed her pipe, and recommenced
her motion, to and fro, over the blaze. Humphries
was for a smart application of the foot to the frail door
that kept him out, but to this his companion refused
assent.
“Confound the old hag, major; she will play with
us after this fashion all the night. I know her of old,
and that's the only way to serve her. Nothing but
kicks for that breed; civility is thrown away upon
them.”
“No, no—you are rash; let me speak.—I say, my
good woman, we are desirous of entrance; we have
business, and would speak with you.”
“Business with me! and it's a gentleman's voice
too! Maybe he would have a love-charm, since there
are such fools; or he has an enemy, and would have
a bad mouth put upon him, shall make him shrivel up
and die by inches, without any disease. I have
worked in this business, and may do more. Well,
there's good wages for it, and no danger. Who shall
see, when I beg in the rich man's kitchen, that I put
the poison leaf in the soup, or stir the crumbs with the
parching coffee, or sprinkle the powder with the corn
flour, or knead it up with the dough? It's a safe
business enough, and the pay is good, though it goes
over soon for the way it comes.”
“Come, come, my good woman,” cried Singleton
impatiently, as the old beldam thus muttered to herself
the various secrets of her capacity, and strove to conjecture
had with her. “Come, come, my good woman, let
us in; we are hurried, and have no little to do before
daylight.”
“Good woman, indeed! Well, many's the one
been called good with as little reason. Yes, sir,
coming: my old limbs are feeble; I do not move as
I used to when I was young.”
Thus apologizing, with her pipe in one hand, while
the other undid the entrance, Mother Blonay admitted
her visiters.
“So, you have been young once, mother?” said
Humphries, while entering.
The old woman darted a glance upon him—a steadfast
glance from her little gray eyes, and the stout and
fearless trooper felt a chill go through his veins on
the instant. He knew the estimate put upon her
throughout the neighbourhood, as one possessed of the
evil eye, or rather the evil mouth; one whose word
brought blight among the cattle, and whom the negroes
feared with a superstitious dread, as able to bring sickness
and pestilence—a gnawing disease that ate away
silently, until, without any visible complaint, the victim
perished hopelessly. Their fears had been adopted
in part by the whites of the lower class in the same
region, and Humphries, though a bold and sensible
fellow, had heard of too many dreadful influences
ascribed to her, not to be unpleasantly startled with
the peculiar intensity of the stare which she put upon
him.
“Young!” she said, in reply; “yes, I have been
young, and I felt my youth. I knew it, and I enjoyed
it. But I have outlived it, and you see me now. You
are young, too, Bill Humphries; may you live to have
the same question asked you which you put to me.”
“A cold wish, Mother Blonay; a bitter cold wish,
since you should know, by your own feelings, how
hard it will be to outlive activity and love, and the
young people that come about us. It's a sad season
that, mother, and may I die before it comes. But,
are not so lonesome as you say. You have your son,
now, Goggle.”
“If his eye is blear, Bill Humphries, it's not the
part of good manners to speak of it to his mother.
The curse of a blear eye, and a blind eye, may fall
upon you yet, and upon yours—ay, down to your
children's children, for any thing we know.”
“That's true, mother—none of us can say. I meant
no harm, but as everybody calls him Goggle—”
“The redbug be upon everybody that so calls him!
The boy has a name by law.”
“Well, well, mother, do not be angry, and wish no
sores upon your neighbour's shins that you can't wish
off. The redbugs and the June-flies are bad enough
already, without orders; and people do say you are
quite too free in sending such plagues upon them, for
little cause, or for no cause at all.”
“It's a blessing that I can do it, Bill Humphries, or
idle rowdies, such as yourself, would harry the old
woman to death for their sport. It's a blessing and
a protection that I can make the yellowjacket and the
redbug leave their poison stings in the tender flesh,
so that the jester that laughs at the old and suffering
shall learn some suffering too.”
“Quite a hard punishment for such an offence.
But, mother, they say you do more; that you have the
spell of the bad mouth, that brings long sickness and
sudden death, and many awful troubles; and some that
don't wish you well, say you love to use it.”
“Do they say so?—then they say not amiss. Think
you, Bill Humphries, that I should not fight with him
who hates me, and would destroy me if he could? I
do; and the bad mouth of Mother Blonay upon you,
shall make the bones in your skin ache for long
months after, I tell you.”
“I beg, for God's sake, that you'll not put your bad
mouth upon me, good mother,” exclaimed Humphries,
with ludicrous rapidity, as if he half feared the immediate
exercise of the faculty upon him. The old
of her power, and she now twisted her chair
about so as to place herself directly in front of Singleton.
He, meanwhile, had been closely scrutinizing
the apartment, which was in no respects better than
those of the commonest negro-houses of the low
country. The floor was the native soil. The wind
was excluded by clay, loosely thrust between the crevices
of the logs; and an old scaffolding of poles, supporting
a few rails crossing each other, sustained the
mattress of moss, upon which the woman slept, unassisted
seemingly, and entirely alone. A few gourds,
or calabashes, hung from the roof, which was scantily
shingled: these contained seeds of various kinds,
bunches of dried thyme, sage, and other herbs and
plants; and some which, by a close analysis of their
properties, would be found to contain a sufficient solution
of the source from whence came her spells of
power over her neighbours, whether for good or evil.
Singleton had employed himself in noticing all these
several objects, and the probability is that the quick
eye of the old woman had discovered his occupation.
She turned her chair so as to place herself directly
before him, and the glance of her eye confronting his,
compelled him to a similar change of position. The
docile cats, with a sluggish effort, changed their
ground also; and after circling thrice their new places
of repose, before laying themselves down upon it, they
soon resumed their even and self-satisfied slumberous
hum, which the movement of their mistress had interrupted.
A moment of silence intervened, during which
Dame Blonay employed herself in examining Singleton's
person and countenance. He was unknown
to her, and a curious desire to make the acquaintance
of new faces, is, perhaps, as much the characteristic
of age as garrulity. Memory, in this way, becomes
stirred up actively, and the decaying mind delights in
such a survey, that it may liken the stranger to some
well known individual of former days. It is thus that
the past from which it receives so much of its own.
The close survey did not please Singleton, who at
length interrupted it by resuming the subject where
Humphries had discontinued it. With becoming gravity,
he asked her the question which follows, on the extent
of her powers—
“And so, dame, you really believe that you possess
the power of doing what you say you can do?”
“Ay, sir, and a great deal more. I can dry up the
blood in the veins of youth; I can put the staggering
weakness into the bones and sinews of the strong man;
I can make the heart shrink that is brave—I can put
pain there instead of pleasure.”
“Indeed! if you can do this, dame, you can certainly
do much more than most of your neighbours.
But is it not strange, mother, that these powers are all
for evil? Have you no faculty for conferring good—
for cheering the heart instead of distressing it, and
giving pleasure instead of pain?”
“Ay! I can avenge you upon your enemy!” As
she spoke, her form suspended its waving motion, was
bent forward in eagerness, and her eye glistened,
while her look seemed to say, “Is not that the capacity
you would have me serve you in?”
“That, also, is a power of evil, dame, and not of
good. I spoke of good, not evil.”
“Not that!” she muttered, with an air of disappointment,
while drawing herself back and resuming her
croning movement. “Not that! is not revenge sweet,
young master—very sweet, when you have been robbed
and wronged for years; trampled in the dust; laughed
and sneered at; hunted and hated: is not the moment
of revenge sweet? When you see your enemy writhing
in pain, you put your ear down and listen to his suffering,
and your heart, that used to beat only with its
own sorrow, you feel is throbbing with a strange,
sweet joy at his—is it not sweet, my master?”
“Ay, sweet, dame, but, I fear me, still evil; still not
powers in your collection? none to give strength and
youth, and bring back health?”
She pointed to a bunch of the smaller snake-roots
which lay in the corner, but with much seeming indifference,
as if the cure of disease formed but an humble
portion of her mystery and labours.
“And your art gives you power over affections, and
brings pleasure sometimes, mother?”
“Is it love?—the love of the young woman—hard to
please, difficult to see, cold to sweet words—that you
would win, my young master?”
She again bent her head towards him, and suspended
her motion, as if now hopeful that, in this reference,
she had found out the true quest of the seeker. A
warm glow overspread the cheek of Singleton, as in
answering the inquiry correctly he must necessarily
have confessed that such a desire was in his bosom,
though certainly without any resort to such practices
as might be looked for in her suggestion.
“Ay, indeed, such an art would be something to me
now, could it avail for any purpose—could it soften the
stern, and warm the cold, and make the hard to please
easy—but I look not for your aid, mother, to do all
this.”
“I can do it—fear me not,” said the old woman,
assuringly.
“It may be, but I choose not that thou shouldst.
I must toil for myself in this matter, and the only art
I may use must be that which I shall not be ashamed
of. But we have another quest, dame; and upon this
we would have you speak honestly. You have a
son?”
The old woman looked earnestly at the speaker; and,
as at that moment the sabre swung off from his knee,
clattering its end upon the floor, she started apprehensively,
and it could be seen that she trembled. She
spoke after the pause of an instant.
“Sure, captain—Ned, Ned Blonay is my son.
harm?”
“None, mother—none that I can speak of,” said
Humphries quickly; “not that he may not have it if
he does not mind his tracks But tell us—when was
he here last, mother? Was he not here to-night? and
when do you look for him again?”
The apprehensions of the woman had passed off;
she resumed her seesaw motion, and answered indifferently.
“The boy is his own master, Bill Humphries; it
is not for an old woman like me to say for Ned Blonay.”
“What! are you not witch enough to manage your
own son? Tell that to them that don't know you both
better. I say to you, Mother Blonay, that story wont
pass muster. You have seen Goggle to-night.”
“And I say, Bill Humphries, that the tongue lies that
says it, though it never lied before. Go—you're a foul-spoken
fellow, and your bones will ache yet for that
same speech. Goggle—Goggle—Goggle! as if it
wasn't curse enough to be blear-eyed without having
every dirty field-tackey whickering about it.”
“Our object is not to offend, my good woman, but to
ask a civil question. My companion only employs
a name by which your son is generally distinguished
among the people. You must not allow him to anger
you, therefore, but answer a question or two civilly,
and we shall leave you.”
“You have smooth words, captain, and I know what
good-breeding is. I have lived among decent people,
and I know very well how to behave like one if they
would let me; but when such ill-spoken creatures as
Bill Humphries ask me questions, it's ten to one I
don't think it worth while to answer them; and answer
I will not, except with curses, when they speak nicknames
for my child. I know the boy is ugly and
blear-eyed. I know that his skin is yellow and shrivelled
like my own, but he has suckled at these withered
paps, and he is my child; and the more others hate
take up for him.”
“Now, Mother Blonay, you needn't make such a
fuss about the matter. You know I meant no harm.
Confound the fellow, I don't care whether he has eyes
or not; sure I am, I know the name which people
give him without minding the blear. I only want you
to say what you've done with him.”
“You are too quick—too violent, Humphries, with
the old woman,” said Singleton in a whisper.
“Major, don't I know her. The old hag—I see
through her now, jist as easy as I ever saw through
any thing in my life. I'll lay now she knows all
about the skunk.”
“Perhaps so, but if she does, this is not the way to
get at her information.”
“But little hope of that now, since she's got her
back up. Confound Goggle! if I had him under a
stout hickory I reckon I'd make her talk to another
tune.”
This was loud enough for the old woman, who replied—
“Yes—you'd beat with blows and whips a far better
man than yourself. But go your ways, and see what
will come of this night's work. I have curses, have I?
—if I have, you shall hear them. I have a bad mouth,
have I?—you shall feel it. Hearken, Bill Humphries!
I am old and weak, but I am strong enough to come to
you where you are, and whisper in your ears. As what
I say will do you no pleasure, you shall hear it.”
And, tottering forward from her seat, she bent down
to the chair upon which he sat, and though he moved
away in an instant, he was not quick enough to avoid
the momentary contact of her protruded and hag-like
lip with his ear, that shrunk from the touch as with an
instinct of its own. She whispered but two words,
and they were loudly enough uttered for Singleton to
hear as well as Humphries. “Your sister—Bella
Humphries!”
The trooper started up as if he had been shot;
upon those which she piercingly fixed upon
him with a hellish leer. She shook her long bony
finger at him, and her body, though now erect, maintained
its waving motion just as when she had been
seated. Recovering in a moment, he advanced, exclaiming—
“You old hag of hell! what do you mean by that?
What of Bella? what of my sister?”
“Goggle—Goggle—Goggle—that of her! that of
her!” was all the reply; and this was followed by a
low chuckling laugh, which had in it something exceedingly
annoying even to Singleton himself. The trooper
was ferocious, and with clenched fist seemed about to
strike. This, when she saw, seemed to produce in
her even a greater degree of resolution. Instead of
shrinking, she advanced, folded her arms upon her
breast, and there was a deep organ-like solemnity in
her tone as she exclaimed—
“Now may the veins dry up, and the flesh wither,
and the sinews shrink, and the marrow leave the
bones! Strike the old woman, now, Bill Humphries,
—strike, if you dare!”
Singleton had already passed between the parties,
not, however, before he had been able to see the prodigious
effect which her adjuration had produced upon
the trooper. His form was fixed in the advancing
position in which he stood when she addressed him.
His lips were colourless, and his eyes were fastened
upon her own with a steadiness which was that of
paralysis, and not of decision. She, on the other hand,
seemed instinct with life—a subtle, concentrated life.
The appearance of decrepitude had gone, the eye had
stronger fire, the limbs seemed firm on the instant, and
there was something exceedingly high and commanding
in her position. A moment after, she sank back
in her chair almost exhausted—the two cats purring
around, having stood at her side, as if bent to cooperate
in her defence, on the first approach of Humphries.
He now recovered from the superstitious awe
ashamed of the show of violence to which her mysterious
speech had provoked him, began to apologize
for it to Singleton.
“I know it's wrong, major, and I wasn't exactly in
my sober senses, or I wouldn't have done it. But
there's no telling how she provoked me; and the fact
is, what she said worries me no little now; and I
must know what she meant.—I say, mother—Mother
Blonay!”
Her eyes were fixed upon his with a dull, inexpressive
glare, that seemed to indicate the smallest possible
degree of consciousness.
“She is now exhausted, and cannot understand you;
certainly not to satisfy your inquiries,” said Singleton.
The trooper made one or two efforts more, but she
refused all answer, and showed her determination to
be silent by turning her face from them to the wall.
Finding nothing was to be got out of her, Singleton
placed beside her upon the chair a note of the continental
currency, of large amount but for its depreciated
value; then, without more words, they left the hovel to
its wretched tenant, both much relieved upon emerging
into the open air. The severity of the storm had
now greatly subsided; the rain still continued falling,
however, and, hopeless of any farther discoveries of
the fugitive they had pursued, and as ignorant of his
character as at first, they moved onward, rapidly
pushing for their bivouac at the head of the Stonoe.
| CHAPTER XV. The partisan | |