Guy Rivers Part 11

A broken line of the lay, murmured at intervals for a few minutes after the entire piece was concluded, as it were in soliloquy, indicated the sad spirit of the minstrel. She did not remain long at the window; in a little while the song ceased, and the light was withdrawn from the apartment. The musician had retired.

"They say, Guy, that music can quiet the most violent spirit, and it seems to have had its influence upon you. Does she not sing like a mocking-bird?--is she not a sweet, a true creature? Why, man! so forward and furious but now, and now so lifeless! bestir ye! The night wanes."

The person addressed started from his stupor, and, as if utterly unconscious of what had been going on, _ad interim_, actually replied to the speech of his companion made a little while prior to the appearance and music of the young girl, whose presence at that moment had most probably prevented strife and, possibly, bloodshed. He spoke as if the interruption had made only a momentary break in the sentence which he now concluded:--

"He lies at the point of my knife, under my hands, within my power, without chance of escape, and I am to be held back--kept from striking--kept from my revenge--and for what? There may be little gain in the matter--it may not bring money, and there may be some risk! If it be with you, Munro, to have neither love nor hate, but what you do, to do only for the profit and spoil that come of it, it is not so with me.

I can both love and hate; though it be, as it has been, that I entertain the one feeling in vain, and am restrained from the enjoyment of the other."

"You were born in a perverse time, and are querulous, for the sake of the noise it makes," rejoined his cool companion. "I do not desire to restrain your hands from this young man, but take your time for it. Let nothing be done to him while in this house. I will run, if I can help it, no more risk for your pa.s.sions; and I must confess myself anxious, if the devil will let me, of stopping right short in the old life and beginning a new one. I have been bad enough, and done enough, to keep me at my prayers all the rest of my days, were I to live on to eternity."

"This new spirit, I suppose, we owe to your visit to the last camp-meeting. You will exhort, doubtless, yourself, before long, if you keep this track. Why, what a prophet you will make among the crop-haired, Munro! what a brand from the burning!"

"Look you, Guy, your sarcasm pleases me quite as little as it did the young fellow, who paid it back so much better than I can. Be wise, if you can, while you are wary; if your words continue to come from the same nest, they will beget something more than words, my good fellow."

"True, and like enough, Munro; and why do you provoke me to say them?"

replied Rivers, something more sedately. "You see me in a pa.s.sion--you know that I have cause--for is not this cause enough--this vile scar on features, now hideous, that were once surely not unpleasing."

As he spoke he dashed his fingers into the wound, which he still seemed pleased to refer to, though the reference evidently brought with it bitterness and mortification. He proceeded--his pa.s.sion again rising predominant--

"Shall I spare the wretch whose ministry defaced me--shall I not have revenge on him who first wrote villain here--who branded me as an accursed thing, and among things bright and beautiful gave me the badge, the blot, the heel-stamp, due the serpent? Shall I not have my atonement--my sacrifice--and shall you deny me--you, Walter Munro, who owe it to me in justice?"

"I owe it to you, Guy--how?"

"You taught me first to be the villain you now find me. You first took me to the haunts of your own accursed and h.e.l.l-educated crew. You taught me all their arts, their contrivances, their lawlessness, and crime. You encouraged my own deformities of soul till they became monsters, and my own spirit such a monster that I no longer knew myself. You thrust the weapon into my hand, and taught me its use. You put me on the scent of blood, and bade me lap it. I will not pretend that I was not ready and pliable enough to your hands. There was, I feel, little difficulty in moulding me to your own measure. I was an apt scholar, and soon ceased to be the subordinate villain. I was your companion, and too valuable to you to be lost or left. When I acquired new views of man, and began, in another sphere, that new life to which you would now turn your own eyes--when I grew strong among men, and famous, and public opinion grow enamored with the name, which your destiny compelled me to exchange for another, you sought me out--you thrust your enticements upon me; and, in an hour of gloom, and defeat, and despondency, you seized upon me with those claws of temptation which are even now upon my shoulders, and I gave up all! I made the sacrifice--name, fame, honor, troops of friends--for what? Answer _you_! You are rich--you own slaves in abundance--secure from your own fortunes, you have wealth hourly increasing. What have I? This scar, this brand, that sends me among men no longer the doubtful villain--the words are written there in full!"

The speaker paused, exhausted. His face was pale and livid--his form trembled with convulsion--and his lips grew white and chalky, while quivering like a troubled water. The landlord, after a gloomy pause, replied:--

"You have spoken but the truth, Guy, and anything that I can do--"

"You will not do!" responded the other, pa.s.sionately, and interrupting the speaker in his speech. "You will do nothing! You ruin me in the love and esteem of those whom I love and esteem--you drive me into exile--you lead me into crime, and put me upon a pursuit which teaches me practices that brand me with man's hate and fear, and--if the churchmen speak truth, which I believe not--with heaven's eternal punishment! What have I left to desire but hate--blood--the blood of man--who, in driving me away from his dwelling, has made me an unrelenting enemy--his hand everywhere against me, and mine against him! While I had this pursuit, I did not complain; but you now interpose to deny me even this. The boy whom I hate, not merely because of his species, but, in addition, with a hate incurred by himself, you protect from my vengeance, though affecting to be utterly careless of his fate--and all this you conclude with a profession of willingness to do for me whatever you can! What miserable mockery is this?"

"And have I done nothing--and am I seeking to do nothing for you, Guy, by way of atonement? Have I not pledged to you the person of my niece, the sweet young innocent, who is not unworthy to be the wife of the purest and proudest gentleman of the southern country? Is this nothing--is it nothing to sacrifice such a creature to such a creature?

For well I know what must be her fate when she becomes your wife. Well I know you! Vindictive, jealous, merciless, wicked, and fearless in wickedness--G.o.d help me, for it will be the very worst crime I have ever yet committed! These are all your attributes, and I know the sweet child will have to suffer from the perpetual exercise of all of them."

"Perhaps so! and as she will then be mine, she must suffer them, if I so decree; but what avails your promise, so long as you--in this matter a child yourself--suffer her to protract and put off at her pleasure. Me she receives with scorn and contempt, you with tears and entreaties; and you allow their influence; in the hope, doubtless, that some lucky chance--the pistol-shot or the hangman's collar--will rid you of my importunities. Is it not so, Munro?" said the ruffian, with a sneer of contemptuous bitterness.

"It would be, indeed, a lucky event for both of us, Guy, were you safely in the arms of your mother; though I have not delayed in this affair with any such hope. G.o.d knows I should be glad, on almost any terms, to be fairly free from your eternal croakings--never at rest, never satisfied, unless at some new deviltry and ill deed. If I did give you the first lessons in your education, Guy, you have long since gone beyond your master; and I'm something disposed to think that Old Nick himself must have taken up your tuition, where, from want of corresponding capacity, I was compelled to leave it off."

And the landlord laughed at his own humor, in despite of the hyena-glare shot forth from the eye of the savage he addressed. He continued:--

"But, Guy, I'm not for letting the youth off--that's as you please. You have a grudge against him, and may settle it to your own liking and in your own way. I have nothing to say to that. But I am determined to do as little henceforth toward hanging myself as possible; and, therefore, the thing must not take place _here_. Nor do I like that it should be done at all without some reason. When he blabs, there's a necessity for the thing, and self-preservation, you know, is the first law of nature.

The case will then be as much mine as yours, and I'll lend a helping hand willingly."

"My object, Munro, is scarcely the same with yours. It goes beyond it; and, whether he knows much or little, or speaks nothing or everything, it is still the same thing to me. I must have my revenge. But, for your own safety--are you bent on running the risk?"

"I am, Guy, rather than spill any more blood unnecessarily. I have already shed too much, and my dreams begin to trouble me as I get older," was the grave response of the landlord.

"And how, if he speaks out, and you have no chance either to stop his mouth or to run for it?"

"Who'll believe him, think you?--where's the proof? Do you mean to confess for both of us at the first question?"

"True--," said Rivers, "there would be a difficulty in conviction, but his oath would put us into some trouble."

"I think not; our people know nothing about him, and would scarcely lend much aid to have either of us turned upon our backs," replied Munro, without hesitation.

"Well, be it then as you say. There is yet another subject, Munro, on which I have just as little reason to be satisfied as this. How long will you permit this girl to trifle with us both? Why should you care for her prayers and pleadings--her tears and entreaties? If you are determined upon the matter, as I have your pledge, these are childish and unavailing; and the delay can have no good end, unless it be that you do in fact look, as I have said, and as I sometimes think, for some chance to take me off, and relieve you of my importunities and from your pledges."

"Look you, Guy, the child is my own twin-brother's only one, and a sweet creature it is. I must not be too hard with her; she begs time, and I must give it."

"Why, how much time would she have? Heaven knows what she considers reasonable, or what you or I should call so; but to my mind she has had time enough, and more by far than I was willing for. You must bring her to her senses, or let me do so. To my thought, she is making fools of us both."

"It is, enough, Guy, that you have my promise. She shall consent, and I will hasten the matter as fast as I can; but I will not drive her, nor will I be driven myself. Your love is not such a desperate affair as to burn itself out for the want of better fuel; and you can wait for the proper season. If I thought for a moment that you did or could have any regard for the child, and she could be happy or even comfortable with you, I might push the thing something harder than I do; but, as it stands, you must be patient. The fruit drops when it is ripe."

"Rather when the frost is on it, and the worm is in the core, and decay has progressed to rottenness! Speak you in this way to the hungry boy, whose eyes have long antic.i.p.ated his appet.i.te, and he may listen to you and be patient--I neither can nor will. Look to it, Munro: I will not much longer submit to be imposed upon."

"Nor I, Guy Rivers. You forget yourself greatly, and entirely mistake me, when you take these airs upon you. You are feverish now, and I will not suffer myself to grow angry; but be prudent in your speech. We shall see to all this to-morrow and the next day--there is quite time enough--when we are both cooler and calmer than at present. The night is something too warm for deliberation; and it is well we say no more on the one subject till we learn the course of the other. The hour is late, and we had best retire. In the morning I shall ride to hear old Parson Witter, in company with the old woman and Lucy. Ride along with us, and we shall be able better to understand one another."

As he spoke, Munro emerged from the cover of the tree under which their dialogue had chiefly been carried on, and reapproached the dwelling, from which they had considerably receded. His companion lingered in the recess.

"I will be there," said Rivers, as they parted, "though I still propose a ride of a few miles to-night. My blood is hot, and I must quiet it with a gallop."

The landlord looked incredulous as he replied--"Some more deviltry: I will take a bet that the cross-roads see you in an hour."

"Not impossible," was the response, and the parties were both lost to sight--the one in the shelter of his dwelling, the other in the dim shadow of the trees which girdled it.

CHAPTER XI.

FOREST PREACHING.

At an early hour of the ensuing morning, Ralph was aroused from his slumbers, which had been more than grateful from the extra degree of fatigue he had the day before undergone, by the appearance of Forrester, who apologized for the somewhat unseasonable nature of his visit, by bringing tidings of a preacher and of a preaching in the neighborhood on that day. It was the sabbath--and though, generally speaking, very far from being kept holy in that region, yet, as a day of repose from labor--a holyday, in fact--it was observed, at all times, with more than religious scrupulosity. Such an event among the people of this quarter was always productive of a congregation. The occurrence being unfrequent, its importance was duly and necessarily increased in the estimation of those, the remote and insulated position of whom rendered society, whenever it could be found, a leading and general attraction.

No matter what the character of the auspices under which it was attained, they yearned for its a.s.sociations, and gathered where they were to be enjoyed. A field-preaching, too, is a legitimate amus.e.m.e.nt; and, though not intended as such, formed a genuine excuse and apology for those who desired it less for its teaching than its talk--who sought it less for the word which it brought of G.o.d than that which it furnished from the world of man. It was a happy cover for those who, cultivating a human appet.i.te, and conscious of a human weakness, were solicitous, in respecting and providing for these, not to offend the Creator in the presence of his creatures.

The woodman, as one of this cla.s.s, was full of glee, and promised Ralph an intellectual treat; for Parson Witter, the preacher in reference, had more than once, as he was pleased to acknowledge and phrase it, won his ears, and softened and delighted his heart. He was popular in the village and its neighborhood, and where regular pastor was none, he might be considered to have made the strongest impression upon his almost primitive and certainly only in part civilized hearers. His merits of mind were held of rather an elevated order, and in standard far over topping the current run of his fellow-laborers in the same vineyard; while his own example was admitted, on all hands, to keep pace evenly with the precepts which he taught, and to be not unworthy of the faith which he professed. He was of the methodist persuasion--a sect which, among those who have sojourned in our southern and western forests, may confidently claim to have done more, and with motives as little questionable as any, toward the spread of civilization, good habits, and a proper morality, with the great ma.s.s, than all other known sects put together. In a word, where men are remotely situated from one another, and can not well afford to provide for an established place of wors.h.i.+p and a regular pastor, their labors, valued at the lowest standard of human want, are inappreciable. We may add that never did laborers more deserve, yet less frequently receive, their hire, than the preachers of this particular faith. Humble in habit, moderate in desire, indefatigable in well-doing, pure in practice and intention, without pretence or ostentation of any kind, they have gone freely and fearlessly into places the most remote and perilous, with an empty scrip, but with hearts filled to overflowing with love of G.o.d and good-will to men--preaching their doctrines with a simple and an unstudied eloquence, meetly characteristic of, and well adapted to, the old groves, deep primitive forests, and rudely-barren wilds, in which it is their wont most commonly to give it utterance: day after day, week after week, and month after month, finding them wayfarers still--never slumbering, never reposing from the toil they have engaged in, until they have fallen, almost literally, into the narrow grave by the wayside; their resting-places unprotected by any other mausoleum or shelter than those trees which have witnessed their devotions; their names and worth unmarked by any inscription; their memories, however, closely treasured up and carefully noted among human affections, and within the bosoms of those for whom their labors have been taken; while their reward, with a high ambition cherished well in their lives, is found only in that better abode where they are promised a cessation from their labors, but where their good works still follow them. This, without exaggeration, applicable to the profession at large, was particularly due to the individual member in question; and among the somewhat savage and always wild people whom he exhorted, Parson Witter was in many cases an object of sincere affection, and in all commanded their respect.

As might readily be expected, the whole village and as much of the surrounding country as could well be apprized of the affair were for the gathering; and Colleton, now scarcely feeling his late injuries, an early breakfast having been discussed, mounted his horse, and, under the guidance of his quondam friend Forrester, took the meandering path, or, as they phrase it in those parts, the old _trace_, to the place of meeting and prayer.

The sight is something goodly, as well to the man of the world as to the man of G.o.d, to behold the fairly-decked array of people, drawn from a circuit of some ten or even fifteen miles in extent, on the sabbath, neatly dressed in their choicest apparel, men and women alike well mounted, and forming numerous processions and parties, from three to five or ten in each, bending from every direction to a given point, and a.s.sembling for the purposes of devotion. No chiming and chattering bells warn them of the day or of the duty--no regularly-const.i.tuted and well-salaried priest--no time-honored fabric, round which the old forefathers of the hamlet rest--reminding them regularly of the recurring sabbath, and the sweet a.s.semblage of their fellows. We are to a.s.sume that the teacher is from their own impulses, and that the heart calls them with due solemnity to the festival of prayer. The preacher comes when the spirit prompts, or as circ.u.mstances may impel or permit.

The news of his arrival pa.s.ses from farm to farm, from house to house; placards announce it from the trees on the roadside, parallel, it may be, with an advertis.e.m.e.nt for strayed oxen, as we have seen it numberless times; and a day does not well elapse before it is in possession of everybody who might well avail themselves of its promise for the ensuing Sunday. The parson comes to the house of one of his auditory a night or two before; messages and messengers are despatched to this and that neighbor, who despatch in turn to other neighbors. The negroes, delighting in a service and occasion of the kind--in which, by-the-way, they generally make the most conspicuous figures--though somewhat sluggish as couriers usually, are now not merely ready, but actually swift of foot. The place of wors.h.i.+p and the preacher are duly designated, and, by the time appointed, as if the bell had tolled for their enlightenment, the country a.s.sembles at the stated place; and though the preacher may sometimes fail of attendance, the people never do.

The spot appointed for the service of the day was an old grove of gigantic oaks, at a distance of some five or six miles from the village of Chestatee. The village itself had not been chosen, though having the convenience of a building, because of the liberal desire entertained by those acting on the occasion to afford to others living at an equal distance the same opportunities without additional fatigue. The morning was a fine one, all gayety and suns.h.i.+ne--the road dry, elevated, and shaded luxuriantly with the overhanging foliage--the woods having the air of luxury and bloom which belonged to them at such a season, and the prospect, varied throughout by the wholesome undulations of valley and hill, which strongly marked the face of the country, greatly enlivened the ride to the eye of our young traveller. Everything contributed to impart a cheering influence to his senses; and with spirits and a frame newly braced and invigorated, he felt the bounding motion of the steed beneath him with an animal exultation, which took from his countenance that look of melancholy which had hitherto clouded it.

As our two friends proceeded on their way, successive and frequent groups crossed their route, or fell into it from other roads--some capriciously taking the by-paths and Indian tracks through the woods, but all having the same object in view, and bending to the same point of a.s.semblage. Here gayly pranced on a small cl.u.s.ter of the young of both s.e.xes, laughing with unqualified glee at the jest of some of their companions--while in the rear, the more staid, the antiques and those rapidly becoming so, with more measured gait, paced on in suite. On the road-side, striding on foot with step almost as rapid as that of the riders, came at intervals, and one after the other, the now trimly-dressed slaves of this or that plantation--all devoutly bent on the place of meeting. Some of the whites carried their double-barrelled guns, some their rifles--it being deemed politic, at that time, to prepare for all contingencies, for the Indian or for the buck, as well as for the more direct object of the journey.

At length, in a rapidly approaching group, a bright but timid glance met that of Colleton, and curbing in the impetuous animal which he rode, in a few moments he found himself side by side with Miss Munro, who answered his prettiest introductory compliment with a smile and speech, uttered with a natural grace, and with the spirit of a dame of chivalry.