University of Virginia Library

19. CHAPTER XIX.

My determination was not suffered to remain a
secret. The day previous to our contemplated
foray, Bush Halsey, my wife's father, returned to
the cottage in no little excitement. His daughter
and myself were sitting beside the fire. His
countenance was filled with an agitation which
he did not endeavor to conceal; and, after a
hurried glance about the premises to see that
there were no eaves-droppers, he addressed me,
in my wife's hearing, after the following manner:

“Henry, what's this that Bud Halsey tells me?
He says that you go forth with him, to-morrow
night—I need not say on what sort of business.”

“It is even so, Sir.”

“Henry, dear Henry!” exclaimed Helen, approaching
me, confounded, incapable of saying
more, yet saying, how much, in that brief, broken
exclamation.

“You cannot mean it!” said the father.

“What am I to do, Sir?” I asked—“remain
here all my life—doomed—a vegetable forever?”

“Do not this, at least! Better remain the
vegetable. Incur not that terrible destiny of my
brother, in which, though free from his crimes, I
must still partake. For God's sake, young man,
think of your parents, friends, rank in society—
reputation! Think! think!

I need not detail the conversation. The reader
will perceive its tone. The agonized entreaties
of my wife,—the earnest, pleading exhortations
of her father—his tears no less than hers—assuring
me of their joint sincerity—left me without
any good reason why I should not relieve them
from their sufferings, by letting them know the
whole truth. I told my story—showed how I
had been practising upon Mowbray and his fellows—and
what was the particular motive of my
present determination.

“It is perilous, but I cannot disapprove of your
plan. Go when you will, it will, perhaps, be inevitable
that you should incur some risk. I too,
have been thinking of this flight,—not for myself
—for there is nothing to be gained by me, in
going once more into a gentler world,—but for

you and Helen. Why not work together now?
We shall, perhaps, never have a better chance if
we wait a thousand years.”

My wife eagerly caught at the idea. I was
not less pleased with it myself, but was less sanguine
of success in an attempt at escape, burdened
with a woman, under circumstances that would
require great promptness, and possibly involve
the necessity of fighting. But Bush Halsey met
all my objections.

“I have been somewhat prepared for such a
movement, for some weeks past. I saw your unhappiness
for a time, and readily understood it.
It was then that I planned a mode of operations,
of which I should have spoken to you before, but
for the sudden change in your behavior—a change
only to be accounted for, by supposing that you
had become completely reconciled to your bonds,
and, which was worse, not less reconciled to the
loose morals by which they were governed.
Now that we understand one another, we can
act together, and with a better prospect of success.
Let me tell you my plan.”

Bush Halsey had indeed taken up the affair
with a degree of energy, quite unusual with him.
He surprised me, not less by his activity and progress,
than by the plausibleness of his scheme.
After giving me the details, he proceeded thus:

“The two plans can be made to harmonize admirably.
The boat lies on Cedar Island—the
creek broadens at that point with a swift current,

and carries us, without effort, into the main stream.
Once let us pass Buffalo Bend, and we are pretty
safe. That is the last point of land on which
Bud keeps a watch. The difficulty will be in
getting to the boat on Cedar Island. Cedar
Island is two miles off. The route is circuitous
and well watched. But the watch will be diminished
when Bud Halsey takes the road, and you
have, to a certain extent, disarmed suspicion.
Now, this is what I propose. Bud sets off at
sundown—you are to follow with Mowbray,
Hard-Riding Ross, and a couple more, who are,
in reality, but spies upon you. They will call
for you at dark. Your horse shall be in waiting
for you at the front door, and everything shall
look as if you were getting yourself in readiness
within. Meanwhile, you shall garb yourself in
my old grey overcoat. My slouch-cap will pretty
well cover your brows and hair. Your height
is very nearly that of mine, your bulk is something
less, but we have no moon, and, even with a
bright starlight down upon you, the difference between
our persons is not so great, as to startle
the suspicions of any of our fellows. You shall
take my staff, imitate my walk, and find your
way down through the pine avenue, along the
main trace, which you can keep with tolerable
ease, if there be any light at all. There will be
three sentries at most, whom you will meet—
possibly but one,—and as I have been pursuing
this very walk for three weeks past, now giving
the word, but most frequently not even accosted,
the probability is that you will pass securely in
like manner. You will find Helen already at the
boat. She must contrive to get there by another
route, a full hour before you. As soon as you
join her, let the canoe drop with the stream, until
you get to Fawn's Point—she knows the place
—there you will run into a cove, and at that
place, I must join you. You could scarcely get
along into, and down the river, unless with a
pilot. It is fortunate that I am a good one.—
Meanwhile, I will keep Mowbray and his dogs
in play, until I think you safe on the water, and
then get to you as I can. He will probably send
or ride after Bud Halsey, to advise him of your
flight. He will scarcely think to impede mine.”

Much more was said, which it is not necessary
to repeat. But we perfected our arrangements
quite as satisfactorily as it was in the nature
of circumstances to allow. Meanwhile, the
task of dissimulation was doubly difficult. That
night I took supper with Mowbray, had a famous
rouse of it, and listened, for the tenth time, to one
of his most licentious stories.