19. XIX.
TERROR.
The singular rite styled eating
the
dumb-cake was one of those superstitious
ceremonies which, whether derived from
half - civilized and credulous African
nurses, or having their origin far back
beyond memory, had taken fast hold upon
the imaginations of the young at this
period.
The origin of the name is difficult to
determine, especially as no cake of any
description was eaten. Was the name
metaphorical, and did it signify that those
who performed the ceremony saw sights
which sealed their lips, rendering them
dumb as to the mystery?
It is certain, at least, that there was
something sombre and mysterious about
the rite — a knowledge of which was
carefully concealed from all but the female
sex; and the preparations for it
were weird and fantastic.
First, the maiden selected to perform
the ceremony was to leave all her companions
and await the hour of eleven at
night. Then she was to take a bucket,
proceed silently and alone to the mystic
spot where three streams met, fill the
bucket, and then gain with it the chamber
selected for the mysterious ceremony.
All was to be performed without assistance.
No other human being must be
near. Having reached her chamber, she
was to deposit the bucket on the floor,
doff her garments, and, when ready to
retire, dip the sleeve of the garment
which she had worn nearest her person
in the water, and place it upon a chair.
These ceremonies, it was supposed,
would consume nearly an hour, and midnight
would be near when they were
finished. The neophyte was then to
stand perfectly motionless and silent,
awaiting the stroke of midnight. The
strokes were to be counted in silence
from “one” to “twelve.” At the stroke
of twelve the maiden was to look over
her shoulder into a mirror placed for the
purpose—and the result would be, that
she would see her future husband!
It will now be understood why Honoria
was reluctant to join the group.
and had exclaimed, “Oh, I cannot!”
when the lot fell to her; and why, in both
cases, she permitted herself to be overruled.
She wished and she did not wish
to see her “future husband”—for these
two words conjured up the form of Edmund
Innis. Superstitious, like all at
that epoch, she had a lurking belief in
the mysterious ceremony, and shrunk
from attempting thus to read that future
which must bring her joy or misery
in connection with Innis.
She had yielded, however, ashamed
of herself, it may be, or saying, “It is
nothing.” When the whole party soon
afterward retired to their respective
apartments, Honoria went to her own,
where on this night no companion was
to share her couch, and resolutely prepared
for the mysterious ordeal.
An unexpected obstacle suddenly
presented itself. The night, which had
been hitherto fair, had gradually become
over-clouded; in the distance was heard
the low muttering of thunder; and from
moment to moment sullen flashes of far
lightning divided the night.
“If I go, I must go now, and I have
promised,” murmured the girl.
It was not far that she must go to
procure the mystic water. In a dell,
overshadowed by great trees, a few hundred
yards from the house, three small
rivulets, tributaries of the Rivanna, mingled
their waters within a few feet of
each other; and toward this spot, holding
in her hand the bucket, Honoria now
hastened.
The night had become darker and
darker, the heavens more and more obscured
by the huge masses of inky
clouds, which were divided at every instant
by vivid lightnings. These dazzling
serpents, appearing and vanishing
as suddenly, were followed by the hoarse
roar of thunder; and, terrified by this
uproar of the elements, Honoria hastened
on as rapidly as possible, to reach the
desired point. As she did so, terror
gradually took possession of her. Her
pulse beat feverishly, and her quick
breathing indicated that she was nearly
overcome by fright.
But her word was given, and her
character for resolution at stake. She
must go on, and she did so—pale, terrified,
stumbling as she ran. The shadowy
boughs above her seemed to reach down
spectral hands to grasp her and bear her
away. The bushes took the shape of
something weird and fearful lying in
wait for her. When, suddenly, an owl
uttered his ghostly laughter near, she
shrunk, and nearly fainted from terror.
How she had strength to proceed she
could never explain, but she resolutely
went on, reached the spot, filled the
bucket, and hurried back toward the
hall, panting, tottering, dizzy, and stumbling
as she ran from the fiery lightning,
whose red finger seemed to be feeling for
her in the darkness.
Her will supported her, nevertheless,
and at last her foot struck the sill of the
side-door by which she intended to gain
her chamber. Here her strength gave
way, and she sank down, nearly overcome
by nervous agitation.
A few moments, however, sufficed for
the recovery of her strength, and, raising
the bucket once more, she mounted painfully
with the heavy weight to her chamber.
There all was still, and nothing was
heard but the low sound of the fire,
which, in anticipation of the coolness
of the autumn night, had been kindled
some hours before in the great fireplace.
The wood had been nearly all consumed
—a few brands only were left, which
had fallen from the andirons, and around
these the flames, about to expire, were
licking with their snake-like tongues.
Without, the storm raged with violence,
and the ghastly glare of the moon,
seen from time to time, as the ebon
clouds drifted away before the wind,
only made the night more lugubrious.
“Oh, I cannot, I cannot!” exclaimed
the girl, looking around her with a shudder.
“I am not well, I am nervous—
sick—”
She went toward the fire, as though
that were something cheerful and friendly;
and, seating herself in a great arm-chair,
endeavored to regain her calmness.
