University of Virginia Library

22. CHAPTER XXII.

Poor Arthur! B— had predicted too truly that
his heart would have some hankerings at the thought
of leaving the house where he had, of late, spent so
many pleasant hours. It is so long that I have said
nothing about him, that the reader may think him
forgotten, or may, himself, have forgotten that there
was such a person. He had, in truth, no part in the
transactions of which we have been speaking. He
was at that time of life when the mind, chameleon
like, takes its hue from surrounding objects. He
was too young to be advised with, or trusted with
important secrets. I have already mentioned that,
on the day of the election, he had been detained at
home by indisposition. But he had heard of the occurrences
of that day; and he was, moreover, unconsciously

exposed to influences from every member of
the family, all tending to the same point. Least apparent,
but not least efficacious, was that of his cousin
Lucia. They were of that age when hearts, soft
and warm, grow together by mere contact. With
thought of love, but without thinking of it, they had
become deeply enamored of each other. The thing
came about so simply and so naturally, that the result
alone needs to be told.

They were now to part, and the thought of parting
first made them both feel that something was the
matter. They talked of the separation, and Lucia
shed some tears. Arthur kissed them off, and then
she smiled; and then she wept again; and then they
agreed never to forget each other; and so on, till the
secret was out, and their innocent hearts were fondly
plighted.

Such things do not pass unmarked by older eyes.
The maternal instinct of Mrs. Trevor, and the sagacity
of her husband, had detected that of which the parties
themselves were unconscious. And now, in the
few hours that they were to remain together, occupied
as the old people were with important engagements,
neither the glowing cheek, the swimming eye, and
the abstracted look of Lucia, nor the rapt enthusiasm
of Arthur's countenance, escaped observation.
But as no disclosure was made of what had passed,
their fancied privacy was not invaded by question or
insinuation. They were too young to marry, and secret

love is so sweet! Why not let the innocent creatures
enjoy the idea that their attachment was not suspected?
Their friends smiled indeed, but tenderly, not
significantly. To them, they did but seem kinder
than ever; and that, at a moment when they were
most sensible to kindness, and most ready to reciprocate
it. In this heart-searching sympathy, Arthur
found himself indissolubly united to the destiny, the
opinions, and the feelings, whatever these might be,
of those who so loved his dear Lucia.

But I am not writing a love tale. I am but interested
that the reader should understand by what
process two principal actors in the scenes of which
I am about to speak, were diverted from a zealous
devotion to the authority of the United States, in
which they had been educated, to a devotion yet
more enthusiastic in the cause of Virginia. Enough
of them has been seen to show that I must be
anxious to vindicate them from any charge of inconsistency.
I trust the reader enters into this feeling,
and deems them worthy of it. If he requires any
farther account of the causes which wrought so great
a change, I have none to give. It was through their
eyes and hearts that conviction entered. Outrage to
the laws; outrage to the freedom of election; outrage
to one respected and beloved; left nothing for
reason to do. Doubtless much had been said to them
by their uncle and Mr. B—, in explanation of the
great principles of the American Union, which had

been trampled on by the Federal Government. But
I am not aware that any ideas were presented to their
minds on this subject, with which the reading public
had not been familiar for twenty years before, and I
shall not repeat them here. Let us rather accompany
Douglas to Mr. Trevor's magazine of arms. It
was in a garret room, where he found Mr. B— busy
in the examination of arms, and portioning out ammunition,
with the aid of Jack.

“You come in good time,” said B—. “Here is
work that you understand. Come help me examine
these arms, and see that they are all clean, dry, and
well flinted.”

“What do you propose to do with them?” asked
Douglas, lending a hand to the work.

“We propose,” said B—, “to arm the negroes in
defence of their master, in case of need.”

“But what need can there be, if we set out for
Carolina in the morning?”

“They may be wanted before morning,” said
B—, coolly. “Lieutenant Johnson left the county
on the night of the election, and travelled express to
Washington. His intelligence was anticipated, and,
no doubt, the warrants were all ready before he got
there. I dare say they had a ready-made affidavit
for him to swear to. This plot was got up so suddenly,
that I was hardly advised of it in time. But
I hope it is not too late. I have no mind to fire the
train too soon. I would rather you should get off

peaceably, but, if we do come to blows, I shall take
care that the blue-coats have the worst of it.”

“You move in this business,” said Douglas,
“like a man not unused to danger. I presume you
have taken the precaution to warn in the hardy and
resolute neighbors, whom I saw stand by my uncle
the other day.”

“By no means,” answered B. “Were we so
minded, we could command a force that would demolish
any that will be sent against us. But it is
not desirable to show the strength of our hand. I
should be glad, if possible, that the temper of the
people were unsuspected. At the same time, there
is an exhibition to be made, which will have a good
effect on friend and foe,—I mean an exhibition of
the staunch loyalty and heart-felt devotion of the
slave to his master. We must show that that which
our enemies, and some even of ourselves, consider as
our weakness, is, in truth, our strength.”

“Is such your own clear opinion?” asked Douglas.
“I have lived so long in the North, that I have
imbibed too many of the ideas that prevail there.
But, on this point, it appears to me that they must be
right.”

“You have not lived there long enough,” said
B—, “to forget your earliest and strongest attachments.
You had a black nurse, I presume. Do
you love her?”

“My mammy!” exclaimed Douglas; “to be

sure I do. I should be the most ungrateful creature
on earth, if I did not love one who loves me like
a mother.”

“And your foster-brother?” asked B—; “and
his brothers and sisters? Do not they, too, love him
their mother loves so fondly?”

“I have no doubt they do, especially as I have
always been kind to them.”

“From these, then, I presume, you would fear
nothing. Then your brothers and sisters. They,
too, have their mammies and foster-brethren. Among
you, you must have a strong hold on the hearts of
many of your father's slaves. Would they, think
you, taken as a body, rise against your family?”

“I have not the least apprehension that they
would,” replied Douglas.

“Yet they, thus considered, are one integral part
of the great black family, which, in all its branches,
is united by similar ligaments to the great white family.
You have the benefit of the parental feeling
of the old who nursed your infancy, and watched
your growth. You have the equal friendship of
those with whom you ran races, and played at
bandy, and wrestled in your boyhood. If sometimes
a dry blow passed between you, they love you none
the less for that; because, unless you were differently
trained from what is common among our boys,
you were taught not to claim any privilege, in a
fight, over those whom you treated as equals in play.

Then you have the grateful and admiring affection
of the little urchin whose head you patted when you
came home, making him proud by asking his name,
and his mammy's name, and his daddy's name.
These are the filaments which the heart puts out to
lay hold on what it clings to. Great interests, like
large branches, are too stiff to twine. These are the
fibres from which the ties that bind man to man are
spun. The finer the staple, the stronger the cord. You
will probably see its strength exemplified before
morning. There are twenty true hearts which will
shed their last drop, before one hair of your uncle's
head shall fall.”

“You present the matter in a new light,” said
Douglas. “I wish our northern brethren could be
made to take the same view of it.”

“Our northern brethren, as you call them,” said
B—, “never can take this view of it. They have
not the qualities which would enable them to comprehend
the negro character. Their calculating
selfishness can never understand his disinterested
devotion. Their artificial benevolence is no interpreter
of the affections of the unsophisticated heart.
They think our friend Jack here to be even such as
themselves, and cannot therefore conceive that he is
not ready to cut his master's throat, if there is any
thing to be got by it. They know no more of the
feelings of our slaves, than their fathers could comprehend
of the loyalty of the gallant cavaliers from

whom we spring; and for the same reason. The
generous and self-renouncing must ever be a riddle
to the selfish. The only instance in which they have
ever seemed to understand us, has been in the estimate
they have made of our attachment to a Union,
the benefits of which have all been theirs, the burthens
ours. Reverse the case, and they would have
dissolved the partnership thirty years ago. But they
have presumed upon the difference between us, and
heaped oppression on oppression, until we can bear
no more. But, when we throw off the yoke, they
will still not understand us. They will impute to us
none but selfish motives, and take no note of the
scorn and loathing which their base abuse of our
better feelings has awakened. Would they but forbear
so much as not to force us to hate and despise
them, they might still use us as their hewers of wood
and drawers of water. But he who gives all where
he loves, will give nothing where he detests. But
this, too, is a riddle to them.”

“I must own,” said Douglas, “that these ideas
are new to me, too.”

“Not the ideas, but the application of them.
Three months ago, you were the devoted soldier of
Martin Van Buren. Had you then believed him
capable of a conspiracy so base as that which has
been plotted against your honor and life, could you
still have served him?”

“I should still have wished to serve my country,”

replied Douglas; “but I should, probably, have
doubted whether I could have served her in serving
him.”

“And do you think you would view the matter
differently, had another been the intended victim,
and not yourself?”

“I trust not. My personal concern in the affair,
I think, has done no more than to emancipate me
from my thraldom. But the display of his character
is what makes me detest him; and the scenes of the
election day have opened my eyes to the wrongs,
and the rights, and the interests of Virginia. The
scales have now fallen from them, and I am impatient
for the day when I may apply in her service the
lessons learned in the school of her oppressors.”

“You shall have your wish,” said B—. “The
flint you are now fitting may yet be snapped against
the myrmidons of the usurper.”