University of Virginia Library

19. CHAPTER XIX.
HOW NELLY FLOYD BECOMES MYSTICAL.

For several days our fair friends were kept in durance, at
the lonely harborage of the widow Avinger; but it was not a
durance vile, since they found that venerable lady not simply a
meek, good Samaritan Christian, but a woman of excellent intelligence
besides. She had enjoyed a large experience of life,
and she had the sort of talent which enabled her to deliver her
experience with effort and spirit. She was considerate, in the
extreme, of the comfort of her guests, and listened to their narrative,
which they freely unfolded, with a sympathizing interest.
She could well understand the embarrassments of their situation
and progress, and the dangers that threatened the father and the
son, in the bonds of a cruel, selfish, unscrupulous enemy. The
condition of the country left the weak almost wholly without
security, in the hands of the powerful.

Meanwhile, 'Bram was busy scouting all the while, and bringing
in nightly reports of what he saw and feared. It was, perhaps,
somewhat an objection to 'Bram, that, like the apostle, he
was wont to magnify his office. To exaggerate the sense of
his own services, and their importance, it was perhaps necessary
that the threatened dangers should also be beheld through an
enlarging medium; and 'Bram was especially careful to set this
medium properly before the eyes of those he served, whenever
his own uses, and the performances in which he was engaged,
were the subjects of discussion. It is possible — possible, we
say — that Mrs. Travis and her daughter might have been enabled
to resume their journey a day or two sooner than they did
— but for this exaggerating habit of our friend 'Bram; though

we suggest the notion with some scrupulosity. It may be that
the danger was still in the path, and, if so, it was certainly a
danger to be feared, as the experience of our lady-travellers
had already shown them. No doubt that Dick of Tophet, and
some of his followers — and others, perhaps, quite as great rascals
as himself — were lurking or loitering in the neighborhood.
There was some motive to it, among the class of people, in a
sort of tippling tavern, kept by one Griffith, a lame man, about
three miles off. Here, the scouts found resort; here, detachments
passing to and fro in their progress up and down, usually
stopped for refreshment. Here, recruiting sergeants spread
their golden baits before simple boys, enjoying their first intoxicating
draughts of license and Jamaica. Here, in brief, was
the rendezvous of Motley, with all her tribes — the vagrant,
vicious, worthless, selfish, scoundrelly, savage, and merely mischievous,
who love to follow in her train, and swell the chorus
of her discordant jubilees. It was from this harborage that
Dick of Tophet and his gang, set forth, swollen with rum, on
that memorable expedition to the quarters of Pete Blodgit — as
narrated in a preceding volume — where they did not surprise
Willie Sinclair, and discovered, for the first time, and by the
purest accident, that they had lost a hundred guineas. Of
course, Dick of Tophet knew the region well, and it knew him.
He rather loved to linger in the precinct as it afforded him that
sort of rough-colt fellowship which was most grateful to his
tastes. There were some precious rascals about, with whom he
gamed and drank and quarrelled; who feared, but sought him;
and who found it profitable to be associated with one so reckless
of his money — when he had it — even though at the peril
of a broken head from his savage and capricious humors.

But to reach this Elysian region, Dick had now to ride a good
many miles — assuming that to be his proper locale and hailing
centre, for the present, in which he kept the captives of himself
and Inglehardt. Still, as he was a headlong rider, and always
contrived to keep himself in a good horse, the difficulty
was one of only occasional embarrassment. He was of too
restless a nature to heed fatigue, and had too great a passion
for excitement, to keep away from its scenes of exercise for any
reason. And thus it was, that, having provided proper keepers

for Travis and his son, among the congeries of swamp-fastness,
that spread down from the branches of the Four-Holes, and almost
mingle with those that spread up, in like manner, from the
waters of the Cooper, he had given himself, as it were, a respite
from confinement himself, by undertaking daily expeditions on
the recruiting service. Such was the mission that took him to
Griffith's and other places, favorable to this object, while Inglehardt
was doing duty in the field.

It was here at Griffith's that 'Bram saw Dick of Tophet on
each of his scouting progresses. It was upon this establishment
that 'Bram kept special watch. He knew its repute, and the
fact that, in going down upon the river road, it was absolutely
unavoidable that the carriage should pass this place, rendered
it necessary, before the party could safely proceed, that the enemy
should be temporarily withdrawn. It would have been
easy, perhaps, for the ladies, had they been on horseback, to
have “fetched a compass” through the woods for a few miles,
and avoided exposure to the danger from this quarter, but the
lumbersome caroch of that day, drawn by four great horses, was
quite another thing. It was a question with the ladies whether
they might not take the back track, find their way into some
other road, and escape the difficulty by extending their circuit.
But what might be the obstruction upon other roads? In all
probability they would encounter similar embarrassments — perhaps
greater — the farther they receded from the Santee in the
direction of the Four-Holes. They concluded, after duly discussing
the whole subject, to wait patiently and follow the
course of opportunity.

'Bram and Cato, meanwhile, were to keep in due exercise as
scouts and spies. 'Bram was sufficiently flexible for this employment,
and rather liked it; but not so Cato. He too greatly
resembled the venerable Roman from whom he had borrowed
so appropriate a name, and was too stiff in the joints for stooping;
too feeble of back for crawling; too dim of sight for sharp
seeing; and too stubborn of moral readily to accommodate himself
to circumstance. He could fight fearlessly enough, and was
rather more quick to do so than 'Bram; but, like his great
namesake, he would have found it easier to acquire Greek in
his old age, than the nice little details, and sly practices, and

cunning expedients, which are necessary to the education of a
scout. Accordingly, 'Bram soon found Cato in his way, rather
than a help, and it was not difficult to persuade him that it was
more properly his duty, to stay perdu, with his mistress, and,
armed with a good bull-mouthed pistol, to serve as sentinel over
the garrison.

So 'Bram scouted alone; and one day he had the fortune to
see, from his cover on the edge of the road, the redoubtable
Dick of Tophet riding up the road with no less than five followers,
all armed after a fashion, with broadsword, or pistols,
or rifle, or fowling-piece, no two with the same weapons, and
Dick of Tophet alone, doubly armed, with sword and pistols.
When they had fairly passed, 'Bram conceived the opportunity
to be good for emancipating the ladies. But it was first necessary
to look to Griffith's, which, as he fancied, would be now
empty. But here, to his dismay, he found a party of half a
dozen more, with a score of beagles lying in the road, preparing
to beat the woods in a hunt for deer.

The event filled him with consternation. Should the hunt
lead the party into the thicket of the widow Avinger, where the
carriage and horses of Mrs. Travis were concealed! Our scout
hurried homeward with desperate misgivings, and, having sufficiently
alarmed the ladies, he watched and waited momently for
that invasion of the premises which might call upon his valor
for the best defence. It was in a moment like this, that the
genius of 'Bram rather paled before that of Cato. The Roman
spirit of the latter rose sensibly with the idea that he was to be
engaged, in the sight of his mistress, with arms in his hands,
and in conflict which, so far from requiring, forbade skulking,
sneaking, or any practice which demanded a sacrifice of
dignity.

Poor 'Bram little knew what mischief he had done. In less
than an hour after his hurried retreat from the roadside, Dick
of Tophet and his party might have been seen, pushing down
the road at full speed, followed hotly by all the squadron of
Willie Sinclair in desperate chase. The hunters at Griffith's
were among the hunted; and the whole party were soon in flight
pell-mell, seeking cover in the swamps below, which they only

reached after a hard run, and with the loss of two horses,[1] and
the scalps of their owners, by the way.

Dick of Tophet acknowledged long after that this was the
“worst skear that he ever had from the sight of a broadsword.”
Sinclair, meanwhile, swept on like an arrow-flight; and having
dispersed the marauders temporarily, dashed down to Nelson's
ferry, where he could obtain no tidings of the fugitives. He
as little dreamed of their proximity, when he chased the Philistines
of Griffith's, as they of the near approach and passage of the
very friends who should deliver them. From Nelson's ferry our
dragoon pressed downward by Eutaw, thinking it possible that
the ladies might have been forced to travel on to Murray's ferry,
and calculating incidentally on beating up some of the smaller
parties of the British at Poshee, Watboo, Wantoot, and other
places, on one side or other of his route. At one or other of
these places, it was known that the enemy usually made stations.
Let us leave him for awhile on this wild scamper, and
look after other parties that need our attention.

Colonel Sinclair, the veteran, had already begun his preparation
for flitting to the city. His movement was to be an early
one, i. e., as soon as he could adjust affairs, and harness up for
the journey. The barony was to be nailed up. Goods and
chattels secreted where possible; plate buried; wine buried;—
all somewhere in the swamps, at midnight, and in the presence
of but two witnesses. But we must not linger upon such details.
It is enough that we indicate the necessities which were involved
in every removal in that day, and under such circumstances.
We can readily conceive what anxieties filled the household.
How the fear pressed upon father and daughter, that the first
tidings they should receive, after their departure, would be of
the house having been burned, with all its contents. Poor Carrie
looked at the harpsichord of her mother, with weeping eyes,
feeling as if she should never behold it again. Every picture
upon the walls seemed to look farewell for ever. No wonder,
poor child, that she wept — wept bitterly, as if about to separate
from loving friends.

“Do not weep,” said Nelly Floyd to her, as they sat together
in Carrie Sinclair's chamber. “Do not weep. The good God
is above us. Do not let these things become idols. We have
living creatures to love and worship. And you — oh, you have
those whom you can honor, as well as love! and that — that is
God's greatest mortal blessing! Would you think of these
things at all, were it otherwise?”

Carrie looked long and musingly in the face of this strange,
sad counsellor — that brown face, that large, dilating Arab eye,
humid, yet so big and bright; that exquisitely-turned and expressive
mouth, that grave, spiritual countenance — she looked
and wondered, and as she mused, and spoke:—

“Nelly, it was a great wrong done to you by the lady who
took and kept you so long, and trained you so long and so well
— it was a great wrong for her to abandon you as she did.”

“Abandon me! Oh, no, dear Miss Sinclair, do not say that!
Do not do that noble lady so much injustice! She had to
leave the country; but she would have taken me with her,
would have taken me to the world's end — anywhere— everywhere!
She never refused or abandoned me. The act was
my own.”

“But why — why did you leave so excellent a lady?” demanded
Carrie, perhaps incautiously; for a moment after the
cheeks of the girl deepened in color; a rich crimson diffusing
itself over the brown cheek till they glowed transparent.

“Ah, do not ask that!” she answered. “I had to leave her.
My heart bade me leave her, though I loved her, and her
daughter — loved all very much — more than anything besides.
I was told to leave her. It was a command.”

“Your father's?”

“No! no! I know not whose it was. It was a voice that
said to me — `Go! It is not well that you should stay here
longer.'”

“A voice?”

“Yes; I hear it often. It tells me what to do. It tells me
many things — things of the past and things to come; and
warns me, and threatens me, and rebukes me, and sometimes
it encourages me, and whispers very sweetly to my soul.”

Carrie looked at her and mused, then said frankly:—

“I see, I feel, that you are truthful, Nelly. I see it in your
face — I feel it in all your tones; yet it is very certain that
your language lacks something or possesses something, which
makes it conflict with common ideas. Is it a voice in your
ears, or in your conscience, that you hear thus speaking?”

“I can not tell, dear Miss Sinclair; it is a voice that seems to
reach me through my ears; but it fills my heart, my soul, my
thought, my conscience; and I have to obey. And it teaches me
through mine eyes also; though it may be that I dream I see.
Yet I see things that happen afterward; they always happen. I
see many sad things, that have not happened yet, and they trouble
me very much. I would not see them, if I could. But I have
no choice. I can not help it. I must see the strange sights. I
must hear the strange voice. Now, pray, my dear Miss Sinclair,
do not ask me to tell you about these things, for some of
them make me shudder and grieve, and keep me in great terror.
There is one sight that keeps me very sad and sorrowful,
and will not let me rest; and now that I am better, and my
wound ceases to give me any pain, I have to go forth, because
of that sight, and see after a poor only brother of mine, whom
I have to watch over, and must try to save from a great and
cruel danger which threatens him. He fell into bad company,
that taught him to game, and to drink, and to quarrel. He was
one of the party that captured the two ladies. The old man
that first made him bad, is dead. The troops of Lord Rawdon
hung him to a tree. His son, that married my sister, was bad
too; but he was killed at the same time, but not by cord or
bullet. I saw how it would happen before, and I told Mat of
it, and I warned him of his own danger; but they all thought
me crazy and laughed at me, and drove me off, and the old man
would have murdered me, but for Mat, and because I would
have rescued the ladies. And now Mat's in the woods, with
two others of the same party, and they're hiding from fear
of the British; and poor Mat has hardly anything to eat, and
the clothes nearly torn from off his back, by the woods and
briers.”

“And how do you know all this, Nelly?”

“Oh, I see it. I saw it all last night; and the voice spoke
to me, and told me I must go and bring him away from those

bad companions who would lead him into worse danger. And
so I must go.”

Carrie was more mystified than ever. She thought of all
that she had ever heard or read — of soothsaying, and second-sight,
and sorcerers, and wizards, witches, and enchanters. But
as she gazed on poor Nelly with her ingenuous face, she smiled
to herself at the absurdity of ascribing witchcraft, or anything
demoniac to her. Never was innocent creature so modest in
her statements. Nelly saw the smile, and said sadly:—

“And do you think me crazy too, dear Miss Sinclair?”

“Far from it, Nelly; but I confess you puzzle me. How old
are you, Nelly?”

“I don't know.”

“You can not be more than eighteen?”

“I don't think I am.”

“And the Lady Nelson took you with her when very young?”

“Yes, when I was a child. My mother died when I was a
child.”

“And you were educated along with this lady's daughter?”

“Oh, yes! dear Bettie and myself learned from the same
books. We sang and played together.”

“Did you learn any instrument?”

“Oh, yes! we had a harpsichord like yours. Lady Nelson
was very rich, and had everything fine about her.”

“And after living in her fine house for years, and learning so
much, Nelly, you could, of your own will, abandon all, and go
back to the woods?”

“I had to, Miss Sinclair. It would have been wrong to
stay.”

“Here again you puzzle me. Why wrong?”

“Oh, do not ask me that! for I must not tell you. I was
possessed by a great folly, Miss Sinclair; and when I thought
of it, I felt that I ought to go into the woods again, and leave
the fine dwelling and the luxuries, and the splendid society,
which did not suit with my condition.”

“But the folly, Nelly?”

“Ah, no! not that! It is a folly that I muse in pain and
sorrow. It is the only sorrow that humbles me on my own
account.”

And again the girl's face flushed with a crimson, deep like
that of sunset.

“Well, you must keep your secret, Nelly, until you are willing
to believe me such a true friend, that you will gladly ask
me to help you in keeping it. I hope, Nelly, you think me
your friend — that you will let me protect you as a friend.”

“I know it. I can tell, at a glance, whom to believe. The
voice tells me. Your face I read directly, soon as I saw it; and
I felt that I could love you.”

“And I'm sure, Nelly, I can and do love you. You are
certainly a strange, sweet creature. Did no one — did Lady
Nelson never tell you that you had some extraordinary gifts,
Nelly?”

“Not Lady Nelson, but others — Jeff Rhodes, Sister Molly,
Nat Rhodes, Mat, my brother, and good old Mother Ford, said
I had gifts, but all laughed at them except Mother Ford. They
said it was a sort of madness; and sometimes I feared myself,
from so often hearing of it, that I was crazy. But talking with
you, I have no such fear; and I had no such fear when with
Lady Nelson. She never said anything of the sort, nor Little
Bettie, nor Sherrod — but then it was only about six months before
I left Lady Nelson, that I began to hear the voice, and to
see strange things.”

“Who do you call Sherrod?”

“Sherrod!”

“Yes.”

“Sherrod Nelson is the son of Lady Nelson — he is gone with
her, and they tell me he is now a captain in the army, in the
West Indies somewhere.”

“Was he a clever fellow, that Sherrod, or one of the spoiled
aristocrats of the city?”

“Sherrod spoiled? Oh, no! nothing could spoil Sherrod.
He was as good as he was handsome; all heart and soul, and
so beautiful — tall, with such an eye, and such a sweet voice.”

“Ah!” was the subdued comment of Carrie. The girl continued:—

“No; Sherrod had no vulgar pride or vanity. He was
nobleness itself: all his sentiments were noble, manly, generous,
affectionate. And he had such talents. We used to play

and sing together nightly; he had a voice of great power, and
so exquisite a taste —”

The slightest possible smile was mantling upon the countenance
of Carrie, when the quick eye of Nelly discerned it.
She stopped short on the instant, and looking sadly conscious,
but not a whit confused, quietly, but abruptly, walked out of
the chamber. Just then, little Lottie, the sister of Carrie,
bounded in with a message from her father, and the elder sister
hurried down with affectionate promptness to see what the old
man wanted. She was detained by the veteran half an hour or
so; and, when dismissed, she hurried up to Nelly Floyd's chamber,
to see after her. But Nelly was not in her chamber, and,
to the surprise of Carrie, she discovered the dress — one of her
own — in which she had persuaded the strange girl to clothe
herself, throwing aside her picturesque but unconventional costume,
lying upon the bed. She ran through the house hastily,
and finding the girl absent, she darted out into the contiguous
groves, in which Nelly had previously been seen to wander.

She found her sitting upon a rude bench of pine, beneath a
group of noble water-oaks. There she sat singing — singing a
weird, sad chant of autumn leaves and winds — the most unseasonable
strain in the world for midsummer, when every tree and
shrub was gorgeous in green and glitter. We must copy the
ballad, if only to indicate the natural sentiment in poor Nelly's
bosom — a sentiment which her ordinary conversation did not
express; for, though Nelly expressed herself always — no one
more frank — yet of herself she was rarely brought to speak:—

“Why, Nelly dear, what a doleful ditty is this! And how
unnatural! how unseasonable! With trees and flowers everywhere
in bloom — with the birds singing summer in the trees —
bees, with perpetual hum of happiness, flitting through the
woods incessant — and the blue sky above, and a bright sun
shining from the heavens — you are chanting of storm and
winter!”

A sweet, pensive smile lightened up the face of the girl
softly, as the moon puts aside the cloud with a smile, and she
answered:—

“Ah, Miss Sinclair, I think winter, and do not feel the summer!”

“Nay, I will have it otherwise, Nelly. You shall both feel
and think summer when with me. I will be a cheerier voice
to you than that you have been wont to hear; I will show you
brighter pictures than those which sadden you to see. Thus,
my wild girl of the forests, with this kiss I break the spell of
the wizard. There, you are now mine, and you shall see none
but summer signs in the sky while my spells are on you.”

And she kissed the wild girl tenderly on her forehead, while
she passed her hand under the heavy masses of her shortened
hair.

Nelly rose, and with sudden impulse embraced her; then recoiled,
and looked at her fondly but steadily, saying —

“Ah, Miss Sinclair, it is the summer that blossoms in your
heart!”

“It shall bloom in yours yet, Nelly.”

And she pulled the girl down again to her seat, and took a
place beside her.

“Why did you change your dress, Nelly?”

“Oh, I went to see poor little Aggy, and he wouldn't have
known me in any other dress than this.”

“You went to the stables? How did you find them?”

“Oh, I found them well enough. I went to see the poor fellow
yesterday, and he was so glad to see me! And I told him
I should want him to-morrow, and he seemed so glad to hear!”

“But you don't think of leaving us to-morrow, Nelly?”

“Yes, I must. I must go and see after poor Mat.”

“But why not go with us to the city?”

“Me? no, no! — never there again!”

“Why not?”

“Oh, I should think all the while of the summers I spent
there with Lady Nelson and Bettie—”

“And Sherrod.”

“Yes” — sadly enough — “and Sherrod.”

“It will not be a painful sadness, Nelly. Go with us there.”

“No, dear Miss Sinclair. I am bidden to look up Mat, and
watch him, and save him if I can.”

“Well, stay with us till we depart.”

“And while I stay with you, hearing you speak such music
to my heart, poor Mat is in rags, and starving.”

“Oh, no! Why should you think so? He is a man: he can
take care of himself.”

“He is a boy — a poor boy. He is weak, weak — though
not crazy — no one calls him crazy — but he is so weak — so
easily tempted! And, I tell you, my brother starves.”

“But you, Nelly — what can you do for him?”

“Tell him what God wills; help him to know and see what
God wills; and God provides, you know, even for the sparrows,
and Mat is worth many sparrows — though so weak — so weak
— so fond of his weakness! No, I can not go with you, or stay
with you longer; though my love will follow you, Miss Sinclair
— will follow you with eyes and wings, even to the distant city.
I shall see you in the crowd, and, if harm threatens you, I will
see it; for, when my love goes to a person, then I see what is
to happen to them.”

“Is it possible?”

“Yes, I shall see; and, if there's danger, then I will come to
you — come to you and tell you.”

Enough of the conversation between the two damsels for the
present. We may add that it was resumed that night, and continued
till a late hour. Very affectionate was their parting embrace
for the night; and Carrie Sinclair did not sleep for a long
while, as she meditated the intensity of that fervor of the strange
girl, which was yet expressed with so much simplicity. To her
surprise and annoyance, when she rose in the morning, Nelly
Floyd was gone.

As Benny Bowlegs described her departure, “she was gone
like a harricane.”

The negro had unconsciously likened her to the headlong
tempest from which she had received her nom de nique.