University of Virginia Library

16. CHAPTER XVI.
BAGATELLE BEFORE BUSINESS.

This will suffice to show the policy of the confederates.
Their plans of treachery were nearly complete,
and they were weaving them with the silent industry
and circumspection of the spider, who already sees and

has chosen his victim. Little did Edward Morton fancy,
at this moment, the web that environed, and the dangers
which threatened him. He, himself, was busy in his
own plans of similar treachery. His wounds were healing
fast, his strength returning, and, with his strength
came back the old passions of evil, which had heretofore
inflamed his heart to its own debasement. The mournful
fate of the poor Mary Clarkson had already passed
from his thought, and almost from his memory; and, if
remembered at all, it was only in connection with the
new feeling of freedom which he felt in her absence.
Her death he now regarded as a sort of providential interference,
by which he was relieved of a burden at the
auspicious moment when it must have become more
burdensome than ever. Circumstances seemed to favour
him on every hand, and the influence of mind upon
matter was never more favourably shown than in the
improvement of his health and strength, under the
agreeable sensations which he experienced from a review
of all the promising circumstances which seemed
to await his recovery. In a few days, his barque, richly
freighted, was to bear him away to a region of security
and peace; in which, free from all the harassing dangers
which had so long attended his progress, he was to enjoy
the fruit of his toils, and taste the luxuries of a
fresh and long desired delight. He would shake himself
free from his old connections—a wish long since
entertained; he would fly with the woman whom he
loved, from the foes whom he feared and hated, to the
peace for which he had yearned, and to that affluence
which a mercenary appetite for gain had already accumulated
in abundance. No wonder that, revelling in
these convictions, he laughed and sung at intervals, as
Watson Gray and himself discussed their mutual plans,
and glowing expectations. The skies never seemed to
look down more propitiously bright than upon their
joint wishes and performances; and even Watson Gray,
habitually stern and composed in his bearing and demeanour,
condescended to join in his principal's merriment,
and to minister to his mirthful mood, by a relation
of such of the particulars of the surgeon's wooing as
had come to his knowledge. We have seen the share
which Gray had in promoting the objects of Hillhouse.
He knew, of course, that Flora Middleton would scorn
such a suitor. He had already beheld the indifference
—to call a thing by its most harmless epithet—with
which she regarded him; and he, as well as the outlaw,
knew enough of human, or rather, woman nature, to
be sure that the result of his application would only be
amusing and unsuccessful. Gray recounted, for the
benefit of his superior, the preparatory toils which Hillhouse
had undergone at his toilet,—partly in his presence,—in
determining upon the colours of his suit, the
style and pattern of his dress, and the manner, audacious
or subdued, in which he should make his first approaches.
In choosing his costume, he seemed disposed to realize
the pictorial satire, with which the ancient artists used
to describe the self-perplexity of the Englishman in putting
on his clothes.
The reader is aware that the dove-coloured suit was
triumphant; but he does not so well know the peculiar
air which marked the carriage of the suitor. Watson
Gray had seen him depart, and had beheld him on his
return. We know that by the time Hillhouse got back,
he had fairly convinced himself that the unqualified rejection
of Flora Middleton had been, in reality, nothing
more than that ordinary evasion of the sex, of which
none of them are wholly ignorant, and with which they
simply mean to heighten the value of their subsequent
concessions. Thus assured, his countenance wore nothing
of discomfiture in its expression. Nay, so perfectly
triumphant did it seem, that Gray, who could not
altogether believe that the world possessed any instance
of such thorough self-esteem, began to tremble lest Flora,
with that weakness of the sex which makes them miracles
of caprice, upon occasion, had, in her unhappy
moments, been over-persuaded and had yielded. Staggered
for an instant by this apprehension, he was left but
a little while in doubt. When Hillhouse gave the tenor
of her answer, Gray laughed outright, and hurried away
to share the pleasure with his superior. The surgeon
followed him to the chamber of the outlaw, as soon as he
had succeeded in adopting the symbol of a fitting sentiment
for the new change which he contemplated in his
garments; and without intending any such favour, he
delighted the invalid, by a candid revelation of the events
which had just taken place, and which he deemed to be
so favourable to his desires.

“May you always be so fortunate,” was the generous
wish of the outlaw, as the surgeon concluded his narrative.

“Thank you. You are too good. I doubt not I shall
be. But, in truth, is it not wonderful that a country girl
—a mere rustic, as she is—should be able to practise
those arts which belong only to fashionable life?”

“An instinct—an instinct, my dear sir.”

“Well, 'pon my affections, I think so.”

“They're all alike, Mr. Hillhouse;—high and low,
rich and poor, city-bred and country-bred—they all know
how to baffle the ardent, and stimulate by baffling.”

“It will somewhat reconcile me to the event,” said the
surgeon. “I had my apprehensions about it. I should
have felt the awkwardness of bringing into the upper
circles the unsophisticated damsel of the woods, such as
she seemed to be at first; but now—”

“The instinct will save you any annoyance; but even
were it otherwise, Mr. Hillhouse, how charming would
it have been to have shown her in the fine world as the
beautiful savage from Congaree!”

“'Gad, yes! I never thought of that!”

“An aboriginal princess!”

“Like Powkerhorontas! Ay! I have heard of that princess.
She was a Virginian princess,—my old friend,
Sir Marmaduke Mincing, told me all her history: how
she had fought her father, and rescued the Captain—
what was his name? But no matter, it was something
very low and vulgar. She married him; and Sir Marmaduke,

who had seen her, said she had really a very
human countenance, and quite like a woman; but”—
lifting his hands in horror—“her feet! They were
monstrous. They were four feet rather than two! Ha!
ha!—four feet—do you take me with you, Capt. Conway?
Four feet rather than two!”

“Ha! ha! ha!” roared Gray; and Conway also
echoed the laughter of the surgeon, but it was rather at
himself than his wit.

“But the feet of your princess here, Miss Middleton,
are really very good, and rather small feet, Mr. Hillhouse.
They will occasion no fright!”

“Ah, true, quite respectable as feet—quite respectable!
She will do; and your idea, sir, that she would be so
distingué, appearing in the character of la belle savage,
reconciles all objections wonderfully. I think much better
of the young creature than before. I do, really.”

“No doubt you should; but Mr. Hillhouse—not to
interrupt the pleasantness of your dreams—let me remark
that war and love do not enjoy the same camping
ground long, as they do not often employ the same
weapons. The one is very apt to scare away the other.
You, sir, have little time to lose. Are you aware that
Lord Rawdon is on his full retreat?”

“Retreat—from what?”

“The enemy: he has been compelled to evacuate
Ninety-Six.”

“Evacuate! what an unpleasant word!”

“You'll find it so, unless you proceed in your attack
with increased vigour. You will soon be compelled to
evacuate Briar Park, leaving la belle savage to the care
of other savages not so beautiful, yet not less dangerous.”

“You discompose my nerves, Capt. Conway. May
I learn if all this be true—be certain?”

“Too true: ask Mr. Gray. He brings me the intelligence.
He has just received it.”

“Sure as a gun,” said Gray.

“And with quite as startling a report;” continued the
outlaw. “What you do will need to be done quickly.
You must press the siege.”

“Night and day,” added Watson Gray.

“You can't stop for regular approaches;” continued
Morton. “Remember you have nothing but field works
to contend with,—”

“And, for—” added the surgeon, rubbing his hands
with a gentle eagerness.

“Sap and storm at the same moment, Mr. Hillhouse.
You must go through and over the works both; or expect
to raise the siege very shortly. I doubt if you have
three days left you. Rawdon will be on his way for the
Eutaw before that time.”

“My dear friend! you rejoice while you alarm me.
I will not suffer any delay. But haste is so vulgar.”

“Except in flight.”

“Ah! even there; one cannot dispose his garments
well, and the face is flushed, and the manner is flurried.
But there are cases of necessity—”

“Imperative necessity!”

“Yes! when we have to dispense with ordinary rules
of conduct.”

“All active movements are of this sort, whether they
contemplate flight or assault. Your affair combines
both. You must make your attack shortly, for your retreat
must soon follow.”

“True, most true!”

“And how honourable is it to carry off a prisoner even
in flight.”

“It softens the necessity—it takes the shame from defeat.”

“It redeems it;” said the outlaw, “and such a prisoner
too! Ah! Mr. Hillhouse, you are certainly a man
to be envied.”

“My dear Captain, you do most certainly flatter me.
But I was born under a fortunate star. I have been thus
fortunate always, and particularly among the sex. Trust
me to relate to you some curious successes which I have
had. But I must leave you now. Forgive me that I am
thus abrupt. But I go in obedience to your counsel. I
go to prepare for the war. By the way, those metaphors
of yours were well carried on. I shall endeavour to
recall them at the first leisure; those, in which you spoke

of the prosecution of my present purpose, by sap and
storm, and so forth. I suspect, Captain, that you too
have been rather a fortunate person, in your own way,
among the women. But, your field has not been a difficult
one. Women are very accessible in America, though
I certainly do not agree with my old friend, but present
enemy, the Marquis de Chastellux,[1] who says that a
Frenchman may do any thing with the women of your
country.”

“Does he say that? the scoundrel!” exclaimed the
outlaw, with a burst of provincial indignation.

“Now,” continued the surgeon, “had he said Englishman
for Frenchman, there would have been some reason
in it; though it isn't every Englishman either, of whom
such a thing might be said.”

The outlaw and his comrade both looked serious. The
reply of the former was made with some effort at composure,
and the “wreathed smile” upon his lips was the
result of some struggle with his sterner passions.

“No, sir, the instances are not frequent, I suspect.
But the opinion may naturally be entertained in its full
extent by one who has been, and is destined to be, so
uniformly successful everywhere.”

“Thank you, Captain,—you are too flattering,—but I
have had my successes,—I have, heaven knows!”—with
an air of profound humility, as he bowed himself out of
the apartment. “Heaven knows, I have had successes
which might well turn the heads of wiser men than myself.”

“The ape!—the monstrous ape!” exclaimed Morton,
“was there ever such an ape!”

“A long-eared ass;” muttered his more rude companion;
“a long-eared ass, if ever there was one! If Miss
Flora don't pull his ears, it won't be because she don't
see 'em.”

“No! It's devilish strange that such a fellow should
preserve his follies amidst all his changes, and while

pursuing a life, which, more than any other would be
likely to lop off the affectations and conceits of boyhood.”

“Well, I reckon,” said Gray, “he's just like a great
many others, who know they can't pass for wise men,
and are determined to pass any how. A fool would
rather you'd see him as a fool than not see him at all.”

“Egad!” exclaimed Morton, with all the enthusiasm
of a new idea, “Egad! I think I'll see this fellow at his
follies. I'll make an effort, Gray, to get down stairs this
very afternoon.”

“Don't think of such a thing;” said Gray.

“Ay, but I will! I feel strong enough for it, and a
change of objects will do me good. I long to feast my
eyes also, upon the charms of the fair Flora. Zounds!
had it been Clarence Conway, who lay sick and wounded
in her dwelling, what a difference! She'd have deigned
him a glance before this! She'd have sat beside his bed,
and her hand would have been in his, and she would
have played with his hair, and her long locks would
have floated upon his cheek! Damnation! that fortune
should thus smile upon one, and blast the other always!
Thus has it been from our cradle. By heavens, Gray, I
tell you, that man—boy and man—ay, when he was but
a brat of an infant,—a squeaking, squalling, unconscious
brat of an infant,—this jilting Jezebel, called fortune,
showered her gold and jewels about him even then, and
has clung to him ever since, with a constancy hardly
ever known to any of her sex. All around seemed to
toil in his behalf; every thing tended to his benefit; ay,
even when I toiled in his despite, I have been compelled
to curse the vain labour which redounded only to his good;
while I—”

“You've had your good fortune, too, Captain!” said
Gray, condolingly.

“Have I!” cried the other, dashing the mirror, upon
which he had looked at that moment, into fragments at
his feet; “have I, indeed? I must read it in these gashes
then! Ha! must I? No, Gray; my good fortune is
yet to come!”

“Don't distrust fortune, Captain. I'm thinking she's
been your friend quite as much as his. She's helped

him in some things, perhaps, but how is he any the better
for them. As for Miss Flora doing for him what she
wouldn't do for you, that's all in my eye. I reckon that
she looks on him now a little blacker than she ever
looked, or ever will look, on you. Well, what next?
After all his fortunate gettings, where is he? and after all
your misfortunes, where are you? Why, he's just on
the brink of losing every thing, and you are just that nigh
to getting all that he loses, and perhaps a great deal more.”

“Would it were now!—would I were sure. But,
Gray, I have my fears, my doubts. Should that fellow
fail us with his boats.”

“Don't you fear. He will not fail.”

“And Flora! God! could I be sure of that!”

“And what's to hinder? The one answers for the
other.”

“Ay, not much to hinder, if we use violence. Main
force may carry her off, and shall, unless she yields
readily; but I tell you, Gray, I'd give half that I'm worth
—half of all my spoils—but to be spared this one necessity.”

“What, Captain, you're not getting mealy-mouthed in
the business. Your conscience ain't troubling you, sure?”

“No! It's not that I have any scruples; but the
blessing of a willing prize, Gray! That, that is every
thing!”

“Lord knows,” rejoined the other with a yawn, “you
had a willing prize enough in Mary Clarkson.”

“Speak not of her, Gray;” said the other in half-faltering
accents—“not now! not now!”

“She was a willing prize, and one you were willing
enough to get rid of. Give me the prize that don't consent
in a hurry—that gives me some trouble to overcome.
I wouldn't give a shilling for a wagon-load of that fruit
that drops into the mouth the moment it opens for it.”

“Nor I. Nor is that what I mean, Gray;—but I will
see Flora this very evening. I will get down to the supper
table. I am strong enough for it; and I will see for
myself how she manages this silly witling. The truth is,
Gray, I'm not altogether satisfied that she will feel that
corn for the fellow that we feel. We judge of a man

according to his own manliness; but this is not the mode
of judging among women. They look at the streamers
of the ship, and her gaudy paint; while men look to see
if her timbers are good; if she follows the helm, if she is
taut, and trim, and steady upon the wave. I believe that
where it depends upon a woman's heart, where her affections
are firmly enlisted, she will be true to the death,
and in spite of death; but, when the matter is referable
only to the judgment, I lose all confidence in her. She
is then to be watched narrowly, and guided cautiously,
and kept from the breakers, among which she otherwise
would be sure to run. Now Flora Middleton is a woman
whose mind will take a large share in her affections.
She'll hardly suffer her feelings to get entirely beyond
the control of her judgment; and it may be advisable
that I should assist at her next conference with this gudgeon,
in order to help him somewhat in the exposure of
his more ridiculous qualities.”

“It don't need, Captain. I reckon she's seen 'em all
for herself, long before this. You'd better not go down.
Better keep all your strength for the time when you'll
need it all.”

“What! man! Do you think I could fail then? Impossible!
No! no! Gray. You're getting quite too
timid to be a safe counsellor, and I'm resolved to have a
glance at Flora Middleton this evening, though I die for
it. I think the sight of her will give me new strength
and spirit. Besides, man, it is time that I should try my
experiment upon her. If you are right,—if she believes
that Clarence Conway has been doing those evil deeds
which I need not acknowledge, and has dismissed him
for ever from her regards, then this is the very time to
urge my claims and be successful. Personally, there is
very little difference to the eye between us; and these
d—d scars! Ha! didn't you let her know that they
were got fighting with Clarence in defence of injured innocence,
and all that! If so, they will not seem so very
uncomely. There is yet another circumstance, Gray: I
flatter myself that the contrast between myself and her
present suitor, the surgeon, even in his dove-coloured
breeches, will hardly be against me. Is not that something—are

not all these things something? If I can persuade
her, we diminish some of our labour, and several
of our difficulties; and that must be tried first. I must
play the lover as well as I can, before I play the conqueror.
I must woo my bride, before I resort to the last
mode of winning her.”

“You'd better keep your bed two days longer.”

“Pshaw! get me some proper clothes. I wish I had
the pick of the surgeon's wardrobe, for, of a truth, Gray,
I have but little choice of my own. I suspect my small
clothes are of all colours, with the blood and dust of that
last brush; but, no matter about the stains here and
there; if you can only get me tolerably trim. I should
rather be as unlike my popinjay rival as possible, on such
an occasion.”

The outlaw kept his resolution, in spite of all the exhortations
of his comrade; and, that evening, surprised
the family, and the surgeon, Hillhouse, not the least, by
his sudden entry into the salle à manger.