University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.
CUPID AND CUPIDITY.

Our major of dragoons found no impediment in effecting his entrance
into the dwelling. He was met at the door and welcomed
by little Peter, who stood in waiting, his eyes not fairly opened,
and his consciousness but partially excited. Little Peter was a
fellow more than six feet high: but his growth, however great,
never enabled him to outgrow the diminutive epithet which hailed
his puny advent into life. The little stuck to him even when
he had grown into a giant. His world, not unlike that of most
great men, was tenacious of the disparaging epithet by which
his greatness stood rebuked; and seemed resolved never to
recognise a growth which exposed so completely the absurdity
of their premature judgment in his case. Neither the negro
nor the white world is pleased, at any time, to acknowledge
that its sagacity has been at fault, in failing to conceive the
great capabilities of its own members, while they are yet only
in the gristle.

Though only half awake, little Peter grasped his young master's
hand with an unction which showed that the boyish relations
of the two had been equally pleasant and familiar; and
our major of dragoons requited the gripe in a way to satisfy all
the social sympathies in the negro's heart.

“Berry grad for see you, Mass Willie. Grad you come.
Exceedant berry grad for see you.”

“Thank you, Peter; and I am glad to see you! Why, boy,
are you never to stop growing? You are half a head taller
than your master. Are you not ashamed to grow so tall?”

Peter answered with a satisfied grin.

“Now, Peter, remember one thing. You are not to say a
word to any living soul about my being here — not even to
your wife! Do you hear that, Peter?”

“Hah! Bress God, Mass Willie, I ain't got no wife yit!
Hope for hab one some day, and ef you be so good, Mass Willie,
to say de good wud for me to Miss Carrie, and mek 'em le' me
hab Congaree Polly, wha' wait on em—”

“Well, why shouldn't you have Congaree Polly, if you are
both willing?”

“Das wha' I say, maussa.”

“She's not too good for you, Peter — certainly not too handsome.”

“Congaree Polly mighty good looking gal, maussa.”

“Then she has undergone a marvellous improvement, Peter,
like yourself. But, if you are satisfied, so am I; and I will
report your wishes to my sister. But I remember Congaree
Polly only as one of the most awkward creatures on
the plantation, and wondered that Carrie took her into the
house.”

“Polly mighty smart and scrumptious, Mass Willie.”

“I don't doubt the `scrumptious,' Peter, and it may be that
she has acquired the `smart' too; but the beauty is quite another
thing. However, if you really wish to be a married man,
and she suits you, there can be no objection; provided she
makes none. I will let my sister hear of it. In the meantime,
Peter, do you remember that I am to be here in secret — nobody
is to know, not even Congaree Polly, unless she gets the
fact from myself or my sister; and that she will do, only because
the matter can not well be kept from her. A secret never improves
its complexion by unnecessarily uncovering its head.
Lock your door again, Peter. Let Tiger remain with me for a
while. He will be quiet here.”

And the negro proceeded about his house affairs; and the
major of dragoons, followed closely by Tiger, passed into the
interior of the house with quiet footsteps, and a degree of confidence,
which showed both parties to be equally familiar with
all its recesses. Sinclair, wearing Indian boots — moccasins
and leggins of buckskin — awoke no echoes by his tread; and
the feet of Tiger, as if emulous of his master's stealthy progress,
were set down as if he trod on velvet. The major passed the
chamber in the upper story, in which his father slept, with increased
caution of movement; and went on rather hurriedly to

that which his sister occupied, at the end of the passage. Tapping
at the door lightly, he was promptly heard within.

“Who is that — Polly?” was asked, in the well-remembered
accents of his sister. Another tap answered her, and a whistle
through the keyhole, which she readily recognised.

“Willie! Can it be Willie?” were the words which distinctly
reached the ears of the major. He whistled again, and
then the voice whispered to him through the keyhole: —

“Wait a moment, Willie, till I throw on my gown.”

He had not long to wait. The door was soon opened, and
the brother and sister were instantly wrapped in a loving embrace;
and little Lottie (Charlotte), a girl of ten years, followed
for her embrace also; and, for a few moments, the joy of the
meeting, after a long interval of absence and danger, kept all
the parties from the expression of their feelings in speech.
Meanwhile, we must not omit to mention that Carrie Sinclair
was a tall fresh beauty of the blonde order, and little Lottie was
very much like her; — “with a difference” of course. Both had
very fair complexions, and very long, silken, brown hair, and
Carrie had large swimming blue eyes, and a soft, small delicious
mouth, that seemed gushing with red blood, even as an
Indian peach whose cheeks you have parted with an eager
knife. Willie Sinclair watched the two, perused them, we may
say, with almost the fondness of a lover. And very precious
indeed were they to his love. The ties of affection which united
their hearts were of the tenderest sort, such as had never
been sundered, or even shocked, for a single instant, from the
happy hours of their innocent childhood to the present moment.

And few words were spoken for a delicious interval. They
were content to gaze into each other's eyes, and to feel the
pressure of each other's hands. The dialogue was murmured
rather than spoken.

“Oh! Willie, I am so happy that I see you again, and safe,
and well!”

“And I am so happy when I get back to the Barony, and
find you without change, Carrie.”

“And you have come now to stay with us, Brother Willie?”
said little Lottie.

He shook his head, while he took the child into his arms.

“But a little while, Lottie. War suffers no long repose to
the soldier.”

“But the wars will soon be over, Brother Willie. Papa says
that the king's troops will beat your soldiers out of the country.”

“I hope not, Lottie, and think not!—and so,”—turning to
Carrie, “so, he has a touch of the gout at this moment?”

“Yes, a pretty severe one too.”

“A bad season for showing myself before him, Carrie.”

Carrie looked anxious, but she did not answer; and, after a
brief pause, she contrived to send Lottie out of the apartment;
the major warning the child that she was, on no account, or to
anybody, to mention that he was in the house.”

“Not to papa, Brother Willie?” asked the child.

“Not even to papa, little Lottie. Leave me to do that myself,
when the time comes.”

The child, rewarded by another kiss from her brother, disappeared,
and, with her departure, the dialogue became more
free between the elder sister and the brother.

“Whether I shall show myself at present to my father, Carrie,
must depend upon your report. His gout will add to the
embarrassments between us, and the difficulty of avoiding painful
language. He is, I fear, but little reconciled; and the absurd
notion that he entertains, that our cause is failing, will
make him more unreasonable and unreasoning. The relief of
`Ninety-Six,' the retreat of Greene before Rawdon, the arrival
of new troops, three fresh regiments from Ireland, all of which
he probably knows, have contributed, no doubt, to fortify him
in his convictions that our cause is well nigh prostrated.”

“Such is, certainly, the case, Willie,” said the sister, with a
mournful shake of the head. The brother continued:—

“He does not know, as yet, perhaps, that Rawdon has, in
turn, been compelled to retreat; that `Ninety-Six' has been evacuated
almost as soon as relieved; that the Irish troops can not
be trusted; and that the partisans are every day increasing in
number, in spirit and confidence, and, under new leaders, hitherto
unknown, are starting up, on all sides, like the armed men,
from the teeth of the dragon! In brief, my dear Carrie, our
cause in Carolina was never so prosperous in prospect before.

We have passed our darkest day. We are about to enjoy the
new dawn.”

“Not a word of this does he know, and, I may say, Willie,
that, in his present conditions and mood, not a word is he likely
to believe. He thinks the triumph of the British arms certain;
and was, only yesterday, making it a subject of discussion — I
suppose chiefly to worry me — whether, it became him, as a true
subject, and as an honorable man, to interfere with a petition
to Lord Rawdon, in your behalf, in anticipation of your captivity,
trial and doom, as a traitor.”

The major of dragoons laughed merrily.

“Why this is worse than ever, Carrie. The supposed successes
of the British arms ought rather to put him in better
humor.”

“So it would, Willie, no doubt, had it not been for the discovery
which he has lately made of your visits to a place on the
Edisto, called Holly-Dale.”

“Hah!” was the sudden exclamation of the major, while a
warm suffusion passed over his cheeks. The sister beheld this,
and said reproachfully:—

“Ah! Willie, there is a secret you have kept from me?”

“Not willingly. Not with any purpose of concealment, dear
Carrie. I meant that you should know all in season. But tell me
—what has my father heard, and from whom? Who has been
here?”

“Your man, Ballou, was here, and I think that something
dropped from him that led father to suspect. Afterward, there
came a certain Captain Travis, an elderly person—”

“Ah! — indeed! He here?”

“Who, it seems, is the proprietor of Holly-Dale.”

“What did he come for?”—hastily.

“I did not learn; but father and himself were closeted together
for a couple of hours. I saw them when they first met
in the hall. They seemed to have known each other before.”

“They served together in the Cherokee war.”

“It was very evident to me that father did not like the man,
nor did I! — he seemed a sly, selfish, fawning sort of person,
with a mean carriage, a sinister look, and a stealthly cat-like
motion.”

“A true picture — too true!”

“When he was gone — and I was not present when he went
— I found father full of rage and indignation. He spoke of
this Captain Travis, as a mean, money-loving miser, who was
more than suspected of peculation in the commissary department
during the Cherokee war.”

The cheek and brow of the major again flushed and reddened,
and he rose from his seat, and paced the room. His sister
paused and watched him. He returned to his seat after an effort,
and said quietly —

“Go on, Carrie, with your story.”

“`Did you mark that fellow, Carrie?' and my father to me on
my return to the room, when the guest had departed. — `did
you mark his mean, avaricious aspect, his ratlike avidity of expression,
his catlike stealthy movements, — the hateful cunning
in his eyes, the sly, sneaking insinuating tones of his voice, —
the utter baseness in everything about him?”

“Well! go on,” said the major, looking gloomy.

“Such was his question. Of course, I said as little as possible,
seeing his humor, and knowing nothing about the person,
who — I really felt — was anything but prepossessing in appearance.
`That fellow,' he continued, `has made a fortune by
peculation. He has large estates — lands, negroes, and I suppose
money. But he is a scoundrel — and knows that I know
him to be one! I spurned him, as such, when we served together
among the Cherokees; and, but for that rebellious son of
mine, he never would have dared to show his face in my house!
Well! this wretch, this reptile, has the audacity, under the
sanction of my own blood — my own son — to come here and propose
an alliance with my family. What do you think of that?'
said he.”

“I never gave any such sanction: — I never authorized any
such proposal: — I never spoke one syllable to Captain Travis
on the subject.”

Such was the hasty speech of the Major of Dragoons.

“Oh! I'm so glad, Willie, to hear you say so!” — exclaimed
Carrie — “for, of a truth, brother, I have rarely seen father in
such a passion as he was put by the proposals of this person.
It brought on him this last attack of gout. Oh! if you can only

tell him that you never authorized this person — that you have
no idea of the young woman, his daughter—”

“Alas! sister mine, I can say no such thing!” answered the
youth, with an effort to speak gayly. “I can say that I sanctioned
none of Captain Travis's proceedings — that I authorized
him to speak for me in nothing! But I confess to you, Carrie,
my love, that I have a serious idea of his daughter; and that
though I have no sympathy with the father — nay, think of
him very much as our father does, — yet I should welcome an
alliance with his daughter, as one of the most grateful of all
mortal acquisitions.”

“Can it be possible, brother, that you would marry into such
a low family?”

“I do not marry the family! Besides, Carrie, the family is
not low! The mother was a Fergusson of St. Thomas's, and
a fine woman. The daughter is as noble and sweet a creature
as may be found anywhere between the Peedee and the Savannah.
She will do no discredit to any family in the country;
and, once for all, hear it from me, Carrie, I shall never be the man
to sacrifice the best feelings of my own heart, and the best claims
in the heart and form of woman, to the prejudices of caste and
society, which perpetually fluctuate in position, and just as
frequently exhibit baseness as nobility, in the elements which
they foster, and upon which they pride themselves!”

“But you surely, Willie, acknowledge the claim of caste and
society?”

“To be sure I do, Carrie; but not when they err, and do
wrong to claims which are not less legitimate than their own!
I'll tell you where they err, Carrie; in their inflexible resolve
never to recognise those exceptional cases which are rightly
acknowledged always, as such, even when we obey the rule.
Caste and class properly pride themselves upon the habitual refinements
of mind and moral, acquired in long periods of time.
This constitutes their just claim to authority; and they rightly
hold themselves aloof from associations with other classes, who
do not know, and do not properly value these refinements. But
there is, here and there, a natural nobility in individuals, which
overrides the law, and demands recognition. There are persons
to whom refinement is native — who are born nobles — delicate

and just in sentiment, magnanimous in soul, generous in courage,
endowed with noble talents, and devoted to noble purposes. It
is the duty of an aristocracy to acknowledge all such persons, as
soon as found, and take them lovingly into their embrace, and
seek to do them honor; and there is a twofold wisdom in doing
so, since we thus add to our own resources of society, and increase
our influence upon mankind at large. But classes are
apt to show themselves too jealous of position, and too slow to
recognise these occasional claims of the individual. The consequence
is that they make him hostile; and he will bring his
natural powers to bear against them — will expose their weaknesses,
and revenge upon them his own hurts of self-esteem —
an injustice that always avenges itself upon the wrong-doer;
and, in the end, we pay a double penalty; forced not only, at
last, to acknowledge the claims to which we unwisely opposed
ourselves at first, but to pay them tribute also, and to submit to
an authority which becomes exacting and despotic in proportion
to the tenacity with which it has been resisted and denied. No
one, more highly than myself, esteems the claims of social caste.
It is a natural condition, and rightly possesses authority; but,
God forbid! that I should sullenly and sternly reject the occasional
individual, whose personal claims put him above his condition
in society! He has received from nature his badges of
nobility, and society is simply ridiculous when it opposes itself
to the credentials which come patent from the hands of God
himself! Be assured that, in all such conflicts, the class refusing
to acknowledge the individual only proves itself unworthy,
and perils all the securities upon which it prides itself.”

“And is this young lady so attractive — so refined and intellectual,
Willie?”

“I am a lover, Carrie, you know, and may be held to be
somewhat blind, and somewhat extravagant; but, making all
allowance, for that amiable insanity which sees nothing but
perfection in the creature whom it loves, I am free to declare
that I hold Bertha Travis to be one of the most gentle, pure,
refined, and beautiful creatures that was ever born under the
blessed vault of heaven!”

Carrie took the hand of her brother into her own, and,
smiling sweetly, said —

“How I long to see and know her! Bertha! It is a pretty
but an unfamiliar name. It is a pity, if one so beautiful, gentle,
and well-endowed, should be scorned because of her family.”

“She shall not be scorned, Carrie, by me, or by any whose
respect I can compel,” answered the major of dragoons, with
the air of a man who had long been exercised in the freedom
of a perfect will. He continued —

“I am sorry that the matter has been prematurely broken to
my father. This is not the time for it. And why Captain
Travis should have broached it, just now, I can not so well
divine. He had not only no authority from me to speak of it,
but I have never once spoken with him about it; indeed, between
the father and myself there has been no cordial intimacy.
But he is a shrewd politician, and there are signs in the horizon
for which I suppose him to be preparing. There are, indeed,
certain influences acting upon him, which he either can not resist,
or the conflict with which he would escape. He would, I
fancy, cheerfully ally himself with our family, in the hope to
acquire equal position and security. This movement proves
that he sees the decline of the British power!”

“Father spoke of him as one who really cared nothing for
either party, or as inclining rather to the American cause, but
driving a good trade under favor of the British.”

“I believe it; and the question with him now, is, under
which play can he be most secure, while realizing the most
profits? The question leads to other influences, which do not
leave him quite as free as he could wish to be. He has some
entanglements — has some dangerous secrets abroad in other
hands — and there is one whom he well knows would sacrifice
him without scruple, and destroy him with the British, unless
he can pacify him. This person is my danger also — my black
dog, that haunts me with a fear. In brief, Carrie, this person
is my rival!”

“Ah! for the affections of Bertha?”

“Precisely! And you can now conjecture the motive of
Captain Travis in broaching to my father the subject of an alliance
with his house.”

“I do not see, Willie.”

“Simply, then, there is a certain Richard Inglehardt, a captain.

of loyalists, who is a suitor for the hand of Bertha. Captain
Travis would rather that she should ally herself with our
family than with his, since his origin is rather humble. But
Inglehardt has, I suspect, found the secret of Travis's dealings
with both parties. The positive rejection of his suit, by Travis,
would lead to the ruin of the latter. To save himself, he
would unite with our people, if we would guaranty him protection.
An alliance with me, he thinks, would secure it for
him. To arrange for this object, has been, I suspect, the cause
of his visit to my father. He has wished to sound and feel his
way. He is eminently cautious and cunning. What he has
said I can only conjecture; but, in all probability, not suspecting
my father's loyalty, or the intensity of it, he has too freely
shown his hand; an indiscretion to which my father's reserved
demeanor — the consequence of his dislike for the man — has
probably driven him. Now, Travis sees, as well as anybody,
the precarious condition of British power in the country. He
is preparing accordingly. He has shown his opinions, on this
subject, to my father, who, of course, thinks nothing of the kind;
and the result has been the explosion which you heard.

“And this Richard Inglehardt; what sort of person is he?
Have you any reason to think that Bertha—”

She paused. The question she was about to ask might be a
disquieting, as it was a delicate one.

“Ah! my black dog! Well, let me do the scoundrel justice.
He is a scoundrel, but one whom you must respect for the
strength that is in him. He is a good-looking fellow; dark of
feature, with long, wild, black hair, glossy and rich; eyes intensely
keen and piercing, but of icy coldness; of good, well-made
figure, and graceful; quiet and subdued of manner; slow
and circumspect; mild and amiable of demeanor; but savage,
selfish, of a bloody recklessness of mood, who keeps no faith
with any when his own policy seems to counsel falsehood, and
one who is as tenacious of pursuit as the devil of his victim.
Mentally, he is shrewd, quick, keen, and though but imperfectly
educated, yet ready and intelligent. He is a person whose
hostility compels great caution, if not fear. He is a good soldier,
commands a smart company of rangers, and is brave
enough, and bold enough, whenever he finds his profit in it.

He has known Bertha Travis from childhood. His father was
a small Dutch farmer in the same neighborhood.”

“Truly, Willie, a formidable rival. But she — Bertha —
how does she like him? Does she incline to either, Willie?”

“Ah! Carrie, you will know it all, I see! Well, then, I
may tell you, once for all, that I have no longer cause to fear
with her. She is mine, Carrie — mine!”

And Carrie laughed delightedly, as she again flung her arms
round her brother's neck, and kissed him.

“And now, Carrie, let me throw myself upon your bed, and
snatch a couple of hours' sleep. That will suffice, and bring us
to your breakfast-hour. I have much more to tell you, but
must not begin now. I must sleep, child, now, or I shall be
only half able to do the work that is before me. See that you
keep fast the door, and, for the present, keep as secret as possible
the fact that I am here. Much depends on it.”