University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.
INCIDENTS.

The morning rose bright and glorious,
and the sun, which here in this delightful
climate shines a perpetual Summer,
now poured a golden flood over awakened
nature, making everything look
joyous. We are all, in a greater or less
degree, the children of nature; and our
hearts are apt to feel buoyant when she
smiles, and depressed when she frowns
or looks gloomy, as the infant prattler
takes its cue from its mother.

Harley and I were up betimes; and
after breaking our fast, we set out upon
our journey, our hearts swelling with a
secret, inward exultation, which is at
times felt by all, but which language
cannot describe.

We had resolved not to begin our new
vocation till we were two miles on the
road; and Tom was accordingly ordered
to follow us at a respectable distance
with our boxes. We passed several
fine looking houses, and at length came
to a deep wood; when, retiring into a
thicket, Harley donned his disguise,
which he was determined henceforth to
wear, lest some accident might betray
him to his enemies.

We now for the first time slung our
boxes under our arms; and if we did not
look foolish, I certainly for one felt so.
I found it was one thing to turn pedler
in imagination, and another to be so in

reality. Still I braced myself up with
the reflection that it was not for paltry
gain I “had taken to the road,” but to
accomplish a great purpose; and by dint
of much reasoning with myself to this
effect, I had almost “screwed my courage
to the sticking point,” when I chanced
to espy Tom, with his back toward
me, shaking as if with the ague.

“What is the matter with you?”
cried I.

Tom started, turned around, and tried
with all his might to look grave and
serious; but the desire to laugh overcoming
his fear of punishment, he, after
displaying sundry contortions of countenance,
burst forth in one regular negro
“yah! yah!” that might have been
heard half-a-mile.

“You—you can lik dis chile, Massa
Hal,” he said—“bu-but I can't help it
—dat de fac'—yah! yah! yah!”

“Well, what in the name of common
sense are you laughing at?”

“Why, I was tinking how you look,
ef Massa Wal'on, or old Moll seed you
now. I neber tink young Massa Harry,
de greatest buck in ole Wargin'a,
come down to dis.”

“I may come down to something
worse for you, if you are not careful,”
I replied sternly. “Hark ye, boy!
laugh your laugh out now; and mind
you never betray, by word, look, or
sign, that Harley or I are other than we
seem, or I will break every bone in
your body!”

“Come, Harry,” said my friend,
“never mind Tom; I know he will be
true—or” and he gave the black a significant
look, and pointed to one of his
revolvers, which had an instantaneous
effect in bringing about a silence.
“Come, Harry, let us forward—for I
long to be playing my part.”

“Ay, and your part is an easy one,
compared to mine, Morton.”

“How so?”

“Because you will act behind a mask,
and so conceal both your own face and
your blushes; while I shall be obliged
to expose to the rude gaze of all I meet,
an open, honest, modest countenance,
which I fear will be perpetually blushing
for what its owner does.”

“Well, there is some truth in that,”
laughed Harley; “but you must console
yourself with the reflection, that no one
here will know you, and that you will
never see your kind patrons but once.
Come, the wager! the wager. Faith!
I see I shall win without an effort.”

“Be not too sanguine,” said I, now
thinking of nothing but victory; for from
a child up I was always ambitious to
excel in whatever I undertook. “The
first house shall be yours, the second
mine; and so we will continue, alternately,
till we tire of the sport.”

“And fail not,” returned Harley, “to
make enquiry of all you see concerning
the carriage, and the location of D'Estang
Ville; for some one perchance may
know of it; and once discovered, away
with all thoughts but those of love and
happiness, or despair and revenge.”

It was a rich, beautiful country over
which we were now passing; and at
somewhat regular intervals were the
dwellings of wealthy planters. At the first
of these—a pleasant-looking mansion,
standing off to the right of the road—
Harley stopped; and bidding Tom loiter
behind, I went forward to try my
luck and test my assurance at the next.
The distance between the two was about
half a mile; and so occupied was I with
thinking of how I should feel and act,
and what I should say, that the beauties
of a splendid landscape, reposing in the
soft sunshine of a lovely day, were unnoticed;
and the silvery warblings of
hundreds of gay plumed songsters were
unheard.

At length I found myself opposite a modest
genteel residence; but when, after
gazing upon it a few minutes, I desperately
turned my steps into the neat
enclosure in front thereof, I felt just as I
always fancied a man must feel when
caught in the act of robbing a neighbor's
hen-roost. I kept on, however—at least
my feet did—though my heart seemed
all the while going backward—and I
really debated with myself whether there
would not be a separation between the
two by the time I should get there. A
couple of negro children were playing
near the house; and advancing to them,
I inquired, in a tolerably even tone of

voice, considering the state of my nerves,
if their mistress were at home. The reply
was in the affirmative; and summoning
all my fortitude for the awful
trial, like a man who is going to be
hung, I found myself at the door—
though to this day I have no distinct recollection
of how I got there.

I knocked.

“Come in,” said a sharp voice; and
the next moment, trembling from head
to foot, with perspiration standing all over
me in drops, I found myself in a neat
genteel apartment, where a pale, thin-lipped,
sharp-featured, starchy-looking
lady sat tying a ribbon around a sombrero.

I remember this distinctly, and how
I wondered at the time, if that would
ever shade such a sneaking, hangdog-looking
countenance as I fancied and
felt mine at that moment must be.

“Well?” said the woman, sharply,
eyeing me suspiciously from head to foot.

“Madam, I—”

“We don't want to buy anything,
sir.”

“You mistake me,” I stammered,
feeling the hot blood of shame and confusion
rush to my face, till I thought
the heated veins would burst. “I—
I—called, madam—for—a drink of
water.”

“Oh! ah! I beg your pardon, sir!—
pray be seated. Dinah, (to a negress
in an adjoining room,) a glass of water
here for this gentleman. You must
excuse me! I thought, from seeing
your box, you were a pedler; and I
detest the lazy drones, who go strolling
about to cheat honest, industrious citizens.”

“Yes, madam, so do I,” I replied.
“Of all professions on earth, I think
that of pedling the most detestable;”
and I spoke from my heart. Here
Dinah brought the water; and having
drank, I rose to go. “Could you direct
me to D'Estang Villé?” I inquired.

“D'Estang Villé!” repeated the
other, musingly. “I think I have heard
the name before. It is not in this vicinity,
I think.”

“I believe not, madam; at least I
have heard it is near the river Brazos.”

“Well, no, I could not direct you to
it; but if you take the road to your left,
a mile or two beyond here, you will be
right for the Brazos.”

“Thank you, madam; I wish yon
good-day;” and I decamped, feeling
something like an escaped convict.

Having got out of sight of the house,
I sat down by the road-side, to wait for
Harley. In about ten minutes he made
his appearance.

“Well, Harry,” he said, “what success?
Ah! I read failure in your countenance.”

I gave him the particulars of my first
attempt; and after a hearty laugh, he
rejoined, gravely:

“I was afraid of this, Harry. You
must try again, and—”

“No, I thank you,” I interrupted;
“I am satisfied I was never intended
for a pedler. Fortunately, I am not
obliged to adopt the profession; and as
to the wager, why, I will consider myself
the loser.”

“Nay, Harry, this will not answer
my purpose. You must try your hand
at this business till you can pass for a
salesman—otherwise you will be ignorant
of what you profess; and this may
accidentally be discovered, at a time
when discovery will be fatal to my
project.”

“I shall never succeed, I assure
you, if all my customers are like yonder
shrew.”

“You will hardly find two alike,
Harry; though from what I understand
of this shrew, as you term her, I doubt
not she is just the one to trade liberally,
if you only touch her right. Mankind
is a great organ, on which, in order to
play any tune, you have only to be
master of the keys and stops. Come,
I will go back and trade with this woman,
just to convince you of the truth
of what I say.”

“Better not try her, Harley; she
will set her dogs on you.”

“No fear of that—shrews do their
own dogging,” said Harley, laughing.
“Stay you here till I return. I will
not be long away.”

“No longer than to go and come,”
rejoined I.

But my friend did not return so soon
as I expected: in fact, it was a full
half-hour ere I saw him again.

“Well,” said I, “were you turned
out of the house?”

“No,” he answered, “I was politely
bowed out, with four dollars and sixty-two
cents more in my pocket than when
I entered. Ah! my dear fellow, nothing
like touching them right.”

“And did the old woman really want
to trade, after all?”

“Why, she said not; but I knew
better; and I stayed till I sold her the
amount named.”

“Well, I have only to say, then,
that if you can make all the world believe
the moon is made of green cheese,
I can make somebody. I will try again.”

I did try, and succeeded beyond my
expectations; and each new trial gave
me fresh assurance, till at last Harley
said he thought me properly trained for
his purpose.

It was now considerably past noon;
and as neither of us had eaten since
morning, we resolved to push forward
to a small village, some two miles distant,
and there put up for the night.

On our way thither, we came to a
fine-looking dwelling, from which issued
the sweetest, most melodious music, I
had ever heard. It appeared to be a
female voice, accompanied by a guitar.

“Beautiful!” whispered Harley, as
breathlessly we listened to the rich,
clear, full notes. “Divine!”

I cannot tell why; but an irresistible
desire possessed me to see the singer;
and grasping my box, as the last soft
tones seemed to melt away into “thin
air,” I resolutely said to myself—

“I will, and here is my letter of introduction.”

“Where are you going, Harry?”
inquired my companion, as I turned
my steps toward the mansion, which
stood half-embowered in a beautiful enclosure,
that might not inappropriately
be likened to ancient Eden.

“Going to make love,” I replied.

“Better do it on a full stomach,” he
rejoined, with something more in the
way of remonstrance, to which I paid
no attention.

I entered the enclosure, and passing
through an orange grove, along a walk
fragrant with the rarest and most delightful
flowers of a Southern clime,
approached the mansion. One idea
now filled my soul. Should I see the
unknown songstress? and should I find
her person as beautiful as I knew her
voice to be melodious? Tell me not
there is no such thing as animal magnetism—a
something which draws together
souls, and unites them, like loadstone
and steel. I know better—I
know it from experience. Else why
went I to seek out the fair warbler,
without reflecting on the consequences?
Had I been guided by reason, or by
judgment, I should not have gone;
but I acted from an impulse stronger
than reason or judgment; and if this
impulse was not in itself magnetism, I
know not what it was, and willingly
leave the subject, with the fact; for the
further investigation of the curious.

I reached the vine-covered portico of
the mansion, in a very peculiar frame of
mind, and rang the bell. A negro woman
answered my summons, and invited
me to enter. I did so; and was
shown into a very elegant parlor, where
I seated myself on a rich sofa, with the
air of a lord.

“Is your mistress at home?” I now
inquired.

“No, massa—she gwine down to
Ga'veston.

“Ah! then it was not her I heard
sing?”

“Oh, bless ye, no, massa—missus
neber sing—dat was young Missee
Clara, I guess, you hearn.”

“And pray who is Miss Clara?”

“At your service,” said a rich, silvery
voice; and a beautiful young lady, robed
in white, glided gracefully into the room,
and advanced toward me.

I rose, bowed, and then recollecting I
could offer no excuse for being there but
my jewelry, I suddenly grew confused
and abashed, and would have given half
I was worth to have been anywhere else
just at that moment. But my confusion
ended in rapturous astonishment, when
the lovely being before me suddenly
bounded forward, threw her arms around

my neck, and embraced me in the most
affectionate manner. I returned her
embrace—for the temptation was too
strong to resist; but for the life of me,
I could not tell whether I was being
hugged for myself, or for somebody else:
at all events I thought there would be
no harm in improving the time—and as
I have said, I did so.