18. XVIII.
HOW THEY DREW LOTS WHICH SHOULD
EAT THE DUMB-CAKE.
The Virginians have been noted always
for their devotion to the pleasures
of social intercourse—their love of company,
festivities, of whatever lifts from the
heart the inexorable weight of care, or
dissipates the wearying preoccupation
of affairs. To enjoy while life lasts, and
catch the perfume of the blossom—such
is the philosophy of this race of English
people living under brighter skies and
warmer sunshine than the skies and sunshine
of that “nest of swans,” as Shakespeare
calls Old England. To laugh, to
dance, to drive dull care away—such has
always been the habit of the country
society of Virginia; and at Rivanna, in
the old times of which I write, the days
and nights were one round of gayety.
The flying hours were sent upon their
way with joyous laughter—with music,
games, rides to the mountain, and that
most popular of all divertisements, love-making.
All day the merry revel went on, and
when night came the great mansion blazed
with lights—the negro violinists tuned
their instruments, the halls resounded,
and the little beauties and their cavaliers
bowed low in the stately minuet, or flew
through the mazes of the Virginia reel,
until the hands of the great shadowy-looking
clock behind the hall-door pointed
to midnight.
The evening came at last preceding
the day upon which it was determined
that the party should break up. The
company seemed to have grown weary
of dancing, of games, of jest and laughter.
As a new entertainment, they had recourse
to “ghost-stories;” and, the lights
having been put out, they grouped themselves
upon chairs, settees, cushions, and
the floor, listening in awe-struck silence
to the low whisper of the story-teller of
the moment.
The spectacle was striking. Through
the tall windows the pallid moonlight
streamed into the large apartment, projecting
fantastic shadows on the carpet;
the silken dresses of the young girls
shimmered in the weird light, and the
darker costumes of their male companions
assumed a lugubrious and funereal appearance,
the figures but half defined in
the gloom.
At last the ghost-story, related in a
low, awe-struck whisper, was over, and
the group drew a long breath. A second
and a third narration followed—the
mournful splendor of the moonlight
seemed to deepen—the shadow of the
great oak without, through whose leaves
a wind swept, waved upon the floor,
making all turn their heads quickly—and
when suddenly the great clock struck,
with its clangorous, metallic sound, in
the darkness, something like a shiver
ran through every frame.
The last story ended, and a deep
silence followed. It was broken by Lou
Brand, who, essaying to laugh, but failing
lamentably, said:
“Well, girls, there is but one thing
more for us to do, and that is, to eat
the dumb-cake to-night.”
“Yes, yes!” came from the rest.
“Who will venture?” continued the
young lady. “It is said to be a fearful
ordeal, and mamma tells of a young lady,
a friend of hers once, who saw a sight
so dreadful that she went distracted.”
Exclamations of terror and curiosity
greeted these words.
“What was it?”
The young lady shook her head.
“You may laugh at me,” she replied,
“for saying so, but these ghost-stories
have made me nervous. I tried to make
a jest just now, and failed. I cannot tell
you mamma's story—I could not sleep
after it. And I think, upon the whole,
that it would be as well not to
eat
the dumb-cake to-night.”
But this proposition was received
with murmurs.
“No harm can result from it,” said
one.
“I will venture,” said another.
“And I.”
“And I,” said a third and fourth.
“Well,” said the young lady, “if you
are resolved, I will not dissuade you. But,
as there are so many candidates, you must
draw lots.”
This was readily agreed to, and, procuring
a wheat-straw, the young lady
divided it into a number of pieces of
equal length, with the exception of one,
which was very short, and grasped them
in her hand, the protruding ends exactly
coinciding.
“Form a circle on the floor, now,”
she said, “and I will stand in the centre,
and each can draw.”
About half a dozen of the young girls
promptly obeyed, and the protestations
of her companions induced Honoria, very
much against her will, to become one of
the group.
“Each draw one straw, now,” said
Lou Brand; “the girl who draws the
shortest will be the one.”
The ceremony was performed in solemn
silence. Each in turn drew.
“Now hold up your hands.”
This was done.
“You have drawn the short straw,
Honoria,” said Lou Brand to her sister,
“and you must go through the ordeal.”
“Oh, I cannot!” exclaimed Honoria.
But this was protested against by all;
and Honoria found herself doomed to eat
the dumb-cake.
