^ T/iTT ^'J9Sl^fG?\^^J^Vt THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA LIBRARY THE WILMER COLLECTION OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS PRESENTED BY RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. ^!Ui£ROpLJL£CTION FRONTISPIECE. .^t / J, THE POOR WHITE; OB, The mel)c{ Konscripi u\ AUTHOR OF "RUTH'S SACRIFICE; OR, LIFE ON THE RAPPAHANNOCK." BOSTON: GH^ -A. -V E S .A. 3Sr ID "S" O TJ IST O- NEW YORK: SHELDON AND COMPANY. CINCINNATI: GEO. S. BLANCHARD. 1864. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by GRAVES AND YOUNG, In the Clerk's Oflace of the District Court of Massachusetts. Dakin, Daties, & Metcalf, Stcrtotnpers anU ^Srinters, No. 37 CORSHILL. CONTENTS Chap. Page. I. Trouble in the Cabin 5 11. Where's Sam? 16 in. What was Behind the Black Curtain 26 IV. Strange use of Mrs. Dean's Cowhide Shoes.. 36 V. The Kidnapper in his IIiding-Place 47 VI. The ]\Lin with the Gun. — The Escape 62 VII. Caught by the Horns 72 VIII. A Consultation 85 IX. An Encounter. — The Wild Man of the Swamp 94 X. The Sylvan Lodge. — For Whom was it Built?.. 113 XL Sam Mikes a Discovery 127 Xn. Trouble in the ]NL\nsion 137 Xm. In Jeff's Army 156 XIV. What Befell the Daisy 170 XV. Lottie Meets with Thieves 190 XVI. Sorrow in the Lodge 198 XVII. Adventures of the Swamp-man • — 205 XVIII. Pbissy's Speculations 218 XLX. A White Slave 222 XX. The Basket on the Door-step 233 XXI. The Rebel Horseman 249 XXII. Roanoke Island 263 XXIII. The Boy-Hero 288 XXTV. Day-dawn 309 548838 THE POOR WHITE OB, c I. Trouble in the Cabin. HE land ! " exclaimed Mrs. Betty Dean, the *Piny Woods' woman, "if there aint a sure-enough kerridge ! " "Who can it be? " called out little Tomtit, the wide-awake of the cabin group. "Nobody comin' here, I reckon," slowly said Mr. Dean, who sat smoking in the chim- ney-corner, a sensible man, but sheepish. "But there is, I tell you," replied Mrs. Dean, earnestly; "there's a kerridge with a bad lookinff man in it. I reckon he's a niof- ger-buyer, an' they ain't a mite 'ticular, for 6 6 THE POOR WIIITR. if the J don't make out a load of blacks, thej-'d just as lief take along some ' poor whites.' There, as true as I live an' breathe, he's stopped, and he'll come in. Scud an' hide, chil'en." Lottie, John, and Tomtit crept under the bed, while Elsie, Bill, and Snipe burst out the door, which was on the side of the cabin op- posite the road, or rather cart-path, which passed near their dwelling; a window, made by leaving out a log in building, gave Mrs. Dean a full view of the dreaded stranger. Scarcely were the three children last-named safely hidden in the juniper thicket near by, when the intruder appeared at the door, whip in hand. " Halloa ! woman. Can you tell me the way tow * Turner's Cross Roads ? " "Yis, indeed," replied Mrs. Dean, much relieved, but scarcely knowing what she said, ^ot "You jest step out intow the road, an' I'll ^cO * Tow, — a provmcialism of some parts of the South, used even by persons of culture. TROUBLE IN THE CABIN. tell yoii all about it." Then as the man, whose name was Workfork, disappeared around the house, she stepped to the window, and said, loudly, "Keep right on follerin' your face till you come tow two roads, an' mind you don't take both on 'em." " Jiniminny ! how could I be fool enough to do that?" exclaimed he. "Tell us what you mean, woman? " continued he, sternly. " Couldn't you start on one road, an' think you was wrong, an' turn back an' take the t'other?" " Which of the two shall I take?" asked Workfork. "The right one, until you come tow two roads that runs kriss-cross like, an' them's Turner's Cross Roads," said Mrs. Dean. " Never shall find the place from sech a di- rection," said Workfork ; "can't you send a boy with me to show me ? " "Haint nary chick tow send; you can't help finding it, though : keep to the right all the way ; " and she drew a long breath of re- 8 THE POOR WHITE. lief, as Worldbrk stepped into the carry-all and drove off. Soon the children crept from their hiding-places, like chickens terrified by a hawk. " Deary me ! " exclaimed Mrs. Dean, "how scart I be ! Is you all here ? Let's see : Lottie, Johnny, Elsie, Bill, Tomtit, an' Snipe, but Where's Sam ? " "Why," replied Johnny, "don't you know? He's gone to bring home the goat; it's his turn, you know." This family, with a thoughtfulness rare among poor whites, had bought a goat, which was tethered at the nearest grassy spots, and when night came, was led home to be milked, and tied near the door of the cabin. " Yes," said the mother, anxiously, " an' he will meet that dreadful man, an' I reckon he'll tote him off. It's high time Sam an' the goat was hum. I'll jist step out an' see if they is comin'." The mother went around the corner of the cabin, followed by her children, and at a little distance down the road was TROUBLE IN THE CABIN. 9 goaty, trudging homeward, looking as forlorn as she could. " Sakes alive ! " screamed Mrs. Dean, "the goat is comm' all alone, for all the world ! Where is Sam? Oh, Sam ! Sam ! " and the woods echoed with her calls. " ^Yhat's to pay naou ? " moderately called Mr. Dean, from the log aperture. " That are man has carried off our Sam, I'll lay he has ! " cried Mrs. Dean. "I shouldn't wonder," replied the father, still puffing smoke. "Run, run, then, all on ye ! " shouted Mrs. Dean; " cZacZ run too! Oh, do run! Don't let him 'slave one of us white folks ! " and she started down the cart-path of the pine-wood after the vehicle. In a few moments she stopped, overcome with emotion and panting for breath ; and soon after, the whole troop of children, headed by Lottie, came up, and the mother wildly sent them on, telling them to stop the carriage and save Sam, for in her distress she scarcely knew what she said or 10 THE POOR WHITE. did. Mr. Dean now joined her, and began to reason with her about the vain attempt of try- ing to recover the boy. " What's the use o' tr3'ing to git him back ? " said he, in a despairing tone. " Sam can't be worse off, an' he'll be better off, like as not, if he is a slave. He's oot to do suthin' or starve^ an' I'm 'bleeged tow them that starts him, if they is kidnappers. I wish I'd been stole myself, when I was a youngster, rather than live this 'ere half-an'-half life. If Sam's gone, there's one less to feed, an' one less to beg old clothes of the slaves." "The land!" exclaimed Mrs. Dean; ''do you think I'll let a slave-driver have one of my children? I'd tear his eyes out fast. Come, Dean, if you've got any spunk left, show it for oncet an' bring back our Sam." " What's the use ? " returned the disheart- ened husband, folding his arms, and sitting down on a rotten log beside the cart-path. " There aint any hope we shall ever be any better off. The rich 'uns wont employ us, TKOUBLE IN THE CABIN. 11 they've got people 'nuff who work without pay. The land owes us a living. All we ken do is to raise a leetle corn, steal more, beg butter- milk, an' bring up our chiPen to be thieves an' beggars. I'd rather be in States Prisin,* by half." " Well, I don't much wonder," replied Mrs. Dean. '' But I shall try my best to keep up a little courage ; can't do nothin' without that, you know. I ken pray, an' I do believe the Lord he'll deliver us somehow." "I used to think so," said Mr. Dean; "I never prayed myself, but arter that are JNIeth- odist camp-meetin' we tended, when w^e was fust married, I made lots of 'count of your prayers, but nothin's come of 'em yit, an I've made up my mind there aint nothin' in reli- gion ; it's all moonshine." " 'Siah Dean!" exclaimed the wife, "be done w^ith that talk ; I'll hear anything Init slurs at my religion. I tell you there is suth- in' to it ; I feel it at my heart, and I know God will help us yet. You'll live to see it." 12 THE POOR WHITE. **I shall live over the same old miserable life, and never see nothiu' better," said Mr. Dean. "Dear me," exclaimed Mrs. Dean, " what a scarry man you be ! " *^If there'd been a God in heaven, as you say," said Mr. Dean, "he'da-saved the slaves afore this time in answer to their prayers. IVe heard you pray, wife, like a minister : but you can't begin with the old, pious slaves ; an' I say if there had been any God, he'd a-heard 'em afore now." " I believe he'll hear 'em yit, in his own good time," replied Mrs. Dean. " Mebbe not," said the broken-spirited hus-. band. " I'd ruther take my chance with 'em, however, as they be, than with the poor whites." " Well, I don't want our Sam to be toted off whar we can't never see him ag'in," said the mother. "It'll be of no 'arthly use," said the other, " if we do try to git him. If he's toted off by TROUBLE IN THE CABIN. 13 that are slave-ketcher, we can't help it ; an' if we could, I don't know as we ought to. By my reck'nin', Sam, he'll be lots happier a slave than a poor white." " Why, Dean, how you do talk ! " exclaimed the troubled wife ; " don't we belong to one of the fust families in Virginny? Mebbe we shall yit git up in the world ag'in, and be rispectable ; who knows ? " "Yis, Betty, we come down to our low place from a high family, a rich family. My grandfather was a wealthy slave-owner, an' all my great grandfathers was, of course. My father, you know, was raised in idleness, got tow be a drunkard, spent his property, died a young man, leavin' his children to take their level with the poor whites, 'an here we is, poorer than the crows." " I wish my heart there warn't a slave in the land," cried Mrs. Dean. " Yis, we may well say that. There'd be a chance for us then to git a footin' in the world. Then our boys could all have trades, 14 THE POOR WHITE. for there'd be work enough, an' it would be fashionable to work, and our gals could go tow school and larn tow read. Yis, there'd be some hope fur us if there wa'n't no slaves ; but there is slaves, an' it's my mind there alus will be, an' there aint no chance fur such as we be. It's no use ; we must die as we be, thieves and beggars." *'I can't stop no longer, indeed can't I," ex- claimed Mrs. Dean, havinir recovered her breath. " I shan't never git Sam back at this rate." " It'll be of no 'arthly use," replied the hus- band, " but we n^y as well see to the rest of the children. If the slave buyer'd kidnap Sam, he'd make no bones stealin' more on 'em if he sees 'em." " Oh, dear, so he would ! I never thought of that," groaned the wife, more alarmed than ever. In a few moments, the double quick pace of the parents brought them up with the children, who, having reached the two forks of the roads, could not tell which to take. THOVULE IN THE CABIN. I5 "Scud for the cabin, chicks," shouted Mrs. Dean, or tlicman'll tote you off! "and away ttT' "'"*"'"'•• "^^-'" continued the ™ie, you go one road, an' I'll go t'other a(i' we'll git Sam anyhow." ' "It'llbeof no 'arthly use," replied Mr. Dean, "but I ken go to satisfy you." II. Where's Sam? ^ '"^ ■ HEN the children reached the cabin. there stood the goat quietly nibbling the scattered tufts of grass, just as if nothing had happened. " Why, Pinky," said Lottie, addressing the animal, " how could you come home without Sam ? You mean thing ! I wouldn't stir foot to milk you if it wasn't fur supper." "Maa !" said the goat, in defence. The little tribe burst into fits of laughter at this. "Yes," said Lottie, "I don't doubt it. You've the same excuse for everything, — 'Maa!'" " Cracky ! I wish Pinky could talk for once, and tell us what she see, don't you?" said John, to Lottie. 16 WHERE'S SAM? 17 "If she wur eatin' grass, she couldn't see niiffin'," said Tomtit, whose delight it was to take the opposite view of things ; " course she couldn't." " Leave Pinky alone fur that," said Eottie ; '* she knows lots. She ken eat an' see too ; can't you. Pinky?" The creature stopped grazing, and actually rubbed her head against Lottie's tattered dress, which the kind girl interpreted in her favor. " She says, ' Yes,' " said Lottie. '^ Poh ! poh ! " said John ; " she says she wants you to hurry an' milk her." "No, no," called out Tomtit; "she say why don't you go an' find Sam? Great case you be to find folks ! If I'd had my way, I'd found him afore now." " Why didn't you then? " asked John. " 'Cause you wouldn't let me ; didn't I tell you I seed kerridge-tracks on that right-hand road ? " "Yis, an' there was tracks on t'other too;" said Lottie. " Well, ye see, the kerridge went down one 18 THE POOU WIUTE. road, turned round, an' went on the right- hand one fur good, an' I told ye so, an' if we'd kei3t on, we'd found him afore now, I reckon." "Dad ur mam'll find him, I reckon," said John. • "If they don't," said Lottie, " I'll tell you what, boys ; I'll go till I find him ! " " You ! " cried Tomtit. " You'd look putty, gwine through the woods arter Sam ! How long would it be afore you'd be kidnapped yourself? " "Hush, Tommy!" said Lottie; "I must milk Pinky, fur it's gittin' dark, an' it's time we w^as safe in the house." "Wait, let me tie her fust," said John. " What's the use of tying the goat, when she stands still without ? " asked Tcftutit ; so the children clustered around Lottie and the goat, as the milking went on, all chattering like blackbirds, and hoping for the best as it regarded Sam, with the exception of Tomtit, who " bleeved he was toted ofi", sure 'nuff." It was a sad and touching sight to see that "JVHERE's SAM? 19 fiimily group. Americans they were, like ourselves, — but Americans reared almost in barbarous life. Not one of them had ever seen the inside of a school-room, or been to Sabbath school or to church. Their mother was a Christian woman, but could not read ; neither could the father. Think of it : what a home that must be without one book in it ! Of course the Bible was out of the question, and as no minister had happened there for the last twelve years, and she had no Chris- tian friends, Mrs. Dean, in her ignorance and darkness, had her ideas of right and wrong strangely mingled. She even came to think it was right for her children to help them- selves to coi'n and potatoes from the fields of the wealthy planters, whose lands bordered the pine forest. §he reasoned thus ; or rather she adopted her.husband's logic : " If the rich men would free their slaves, and hire us, right smart glad would we be to work ; but as they keep us down by holding slaves, we must live, and they in part owe us a living. We must do as well as we can." 20 THE POOR WHITE. It is hardly possible to conceive of a more wretched abode than the Dean cabin. The earth was the floor, and as there was onh^ one bedstead, two corners of the room had ticks filled with straw and dry leaves to serve the purpose of beds . Bed-clothing they had none , for it was the custom of the family to turn in, *■ like a hog in armor," without undressing. Mrs. Dean was an energetic, wide-awake wo- man, and not quite reconciled to this state of things. Unlike the poorest of the poor whites, she had a loom and spinning-wheel, and spun and wove all the cotton and wool she could get, and made the cloth into gar- ments for her needy household, but she could not keep them comfortably clad.* The one suit apiece for the year would get very ragged, with all her mending and patching, before the year came round. She was continually de- vising ways and means to improve their condi- tion, but to little pui-pose. Herself and house- hold were under the Juggernaut wheel of the Slave Power, and what availed their efi'orts to get free ? Where's sam? 21 %• But Mrs. Dean was a true Christian although an ignorant one, and she prayed over her troubles, and tried to do her best to bring up her children ariglit. She did not expect much for them in this world, but she determined to aid them to the utmost, in coming to Christ, that they might secure the riches of heaven. She was almost untaught herself, knowing only a few passages of Scripture, the Lord's Prayer, and " ]N'ow I lay me down to sleep ; " but these she diligently taught her children, and that humble home was in truth far more blessed than the princely abodes of the neigh- boring planters. Why? Because poor Mrs. Dean loved and trusted in her Saviour, and because he made her happy with the blessing of his spirit, — with his own gracious presence. It was not the outward appearance that Jesus looked at, when he stooped to listen to this good woman's peti- tions, it was the heart that he regarded ; and seeing there a childlike and trusting dispo- |2 €> THE rOOR WHITE. sition, humble and contrite, this was to him of great price, and he gave her the smiles of his countenance, which made that dim dwell- ing, at times, radiant with peace. Mrs. Dean, like some Christians in more favored circumstances, thought that children could not be early brought to the Saviour. She had never in all her life heard the pas- sage " Suffer the little chddren to come unto me and forbid them not, for of such is the king- dom of heaven ; " if she had, I am sure she would have encouraged her little ones to come at once. As it was, she sowed the seed, re- peating to them the simple story of the cross over and over again, and in such earnest, soul-moving terms as always interested them. In substance it was this : we are all sinners ; and when we could not help ourselves at all, Jesus Christ, God's only Son, came down from heaven and died for us, so that we can be forgiven. Now whosoever will, may come to him and be saved from hell. It was this mother's first ambition to have Where's sam? 23 her children Christians. " If they fail of do- ing much in this life," prayed she, " let them not fail of heaven ! " She expected, however, that they would give their hearts to Christ when they became older, and in this it was according to her faith ; for one by one when they reached the age at which she looked for it, they yielded their hearts to him. Lottie, seventeen, and Sam, two years youn- ger, had thus chosen the good part, an interest in Christ, which, if they proved faithful, could never be taken away from them. Next, it was Mrs. Dean's ambition to have her children learn to read and write, and acquire an honest trade, that they might have the means of sub- sistence. In this, she was very far before the mass of the poor whites, being elevated hy her Teligion. Lottie finished milking the goat, and John and Tonitit gathered grass for its food for the night, and placed it at the foot of a pine be- side the cabin ; then tying it securely', they all went in and ate supper. This consisted 24 THE POOR W^HITE. of a half-gill of milk each, measured in a clam-shell, and a bit of cold ash pone. Neither did they complain at their stinted fare, but pleasantly took it as a matter of coiu'se, John wondering how the poor chil- dren got along who had no goat, and Lottie saying, "We ought to be Riankful for this nice ash pone, it is so well salted and baked." Then Elsie, Bill, and Snipe went to bed, being tired out with chasing buttei-flies and each other, in the woods all day, and the three older ones stationed themselves at the long window, to watch for the coming of their father and mother. Two classes of insects kept their attention awake, — the fire-flies and the musquitoes. They really seemed to vie with each other ; the one class, by their splendid show of fire- works, lightening now this twig, now that, and the other singing for an accompaniment a blood-thirsty war-whoop. " How them are light nin' bugs do fire up," exclaimed Tomtit ; " you can't do that, John." Where's sam? 25 " I don't think I shall try," replied John, laughing. " Hear them are skeeturs yell," said Tomtit again. " Wont they half eat us up to-night?" " I wonder dad and mam don't come ! " said Lottie, straining l^r eyes to see impossi- bilities down the cart-path. At length, late in the evening, Mr. and Mrs. Dean returned, being unsuccessful in the search. On inquiry at the nearest cabin, three miles distant, the mother found that the carriage had passed three hours before, and mourning for her lost boy, she languidly plodded toward home, meeting her husband on the way ; for finding that the carriage had turned back on the road he had taken, he re- traced his steps to join his wife. "Oh, dad, mam, didn't you find Sam?" cried the three oldest children, in a breath. " No," said the mother ; " we must pray the Lord to take care of him ! " and sadly the family went to their rest. III. What was behintd the Black Curtain. ORKTORK had driven only a short distance from the cabin when he met Sam taking home the goat. His head was hatless, and covered with a tangled mass of brown curls. The warm winter suit which his mother, at great pains, had made him the year before, still hung to him in patches. As he came in sight of the carry-all, he was whistling a Yh'ginia reel,' which air he had caught from a slave of a plantation near by. Workfork stopped his horses. "Hallo, youngster, see here. I'm in a quandary, and I want you to help me out." " AVhat's to pay now?" asked Sam, nothing daunted. " I've lost my way. I want to go to Turn- er's Cross Roads ; can you show me ? " 26 BEHIND THE BLACK CURTAIN. 27 "Yes, indeed, I know the way," replied Sam. "Jest let me take the goat home." "Oh, no," said Workfork, "can't wait for that ; business is urgent. . The goat will do well enough ; jump right in, I'll pay you well," and almost before he knew it, Sam had let fro his hold of the rope by which he led the goat, and was lifted into the carriao-e. Workfork was very pleasant to Sam, plying him with oranges and candy, "goodies" which the boy had never before tasted. After they had rode a half-dozen miles, Sam, having pointed out the right road, told him that he was now ready to go back. "Oh, no," said Workfork, "not yet; it'll be pitch dark afore you git half home. Keep along with me; you'll have a good trip, plenty to eat, and you'll git home all in good time." "Much obleeged," said Sam, "but it's time I was gwine; stop them are bosses, wont ye?" "No, sir," replied Workfork, savagely, "I 28 THE POOR WHITE. ruther think not ; I'm bound to have my way fnr a piece. How should sich a youngster as you be, know when it's best to go hum? If I shoukllet you go, and a big bear shoukl ketch you an' eat you up, government woukl make me pay the damage, and ye see, young cub, you can't come it. I don't intend to turn you over to the panthers and wikl-cats to-night." Sam saw it was no use demurring, and ac- cordingly kept quiet. His suspicions, how- ever, were aroused, that all was not right, and he determined to start early the next morning, and run home. He now discovered that the carry-all had other occupants besides the driver and himself. As it gi-ew dusk, "Workfork slid a black cm-tain in the back of the vehicle, and there sat an old slave woman and two little white boys, ^ve and three years old. "That's the bedroom," said he; "climb in there and go to sleep, youngster." Sam obeyed the fii'st direction ; the last, under the circumstances, was likely to take some time. " See here, old woman," roughly called out BEHIND THE BLACK CUETAIN. 29 Workfork, "have you blackened them are boys' faces ? " "I done tried to, massa," said Chaiuy, "but de cork wa'n't burnt right; I couldn't make 'em black. 'Pears like it wouldn't stick. deir complexion so clar-like." "Nonsense," said he; " always ready with yer excuses. Well, here's plenty more; see If you ken give 'em a leetle more ebony tinge now ; " and he opened a tin box in which were quantities of burnt cork. "If you don't black 'em up well," continued he, fiercely, "you'll ketch one rare mauling, old crone, that's all." Sam shrank frightened into the corner of the carry-all, wondering and dreading what would come next. Meanwhile, poor old Chainy, taking little Frank on her knee, began rubbing his face with the cork. "You be done," exclaimed the little boy; " I wont be black." "De man says you must," said Chainy; "he whip you awful, if you don't let me smooch your face." 30 THE rOOR WHITE. " Can I wash it off, mammy ? " whispered Frank. She was his old nurse, and he called her by this endearing title. "Yis, honey, right smart quick, when we gits tow the creek," and away she rubbed, face, neck, ears, hands, and arms, until not a vestige of white was to be seen. Then, putting down Frank on the seat, she took up little Hal, two years ypunger. He, the pet of a fine old mansion, " the baby," " tLfe pearl," " the silver dove," the " my precious " of the mother, was to be blackened to be sold as a slave ! Little did that mother think that day, when she sent Chainy to walk in the park with her two little boys, of the evil that would befall them. Once there was a man who found a frozen viper in the fields in winter. He carried it home, warmed and brought it to life, fed and made a pet of it. But scarcely had he com- menced caressing it, when it basely bit him ! Yes, bit its benefactor ! So it is with all sin and vice. They are like venomous snakes ; BEHIND THE BLACK CURTAIN. 31 they bite most fatally those who nourish them. The father and mother of these little boys believed in slavery. They said that they could prove from the Bible that it was right to hold slaves, and quieted their consciences and kept their slaves by such reasoning. But little did they think that their principles w^ould be thus tested. They had forgotten that God is no respecter of persons ; they had forgotten the Saviour's great rule of action : " Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them." Ah, it was no worse for their little children to be enslaved than for the children of their poor colored neighbor. And if slavery is a divine institution in the light of this law, we must expect the different races to take turns in enduring its penalty. Little Hal was a darling boy, however, and it did seem too bad to make a slave of him. Old Chainy thought so as she rubbed on the blacking. She thought, too, of her own dear little boy of long ago, who had 32 THE POOR WHITE. been lost, and Sam saw her tears fall thick and fast. Sam's eyes watered at that, and in spite of himself, he could not help his own tears from coming. " Got through there ? " called out Work- fork, putting his head within the curtain. " Yis, massa," tremblingly replied Chainy. "But you haven't blacked the youngster;" thus he called Sam. " Make him black as the ace of spades, hair and all ; do 3'ou hear, Chainy?" "Yis, massa;" and Chainy turned to Sam, with the burnt cork in her hand, as Work- fork withdrew his head, and gave his horses a cut with his whip. " I got to be black ? " asked Sam, in amaze- ment. " I wont, though ; what's I done ? I sha'n't stand it, indeed wont I ; " and with a summerset and a flourish of heels, in some unheard-of way he was out of the carriage in hot haste. He fell tumbling into a ditch, and was so much hurt that he could not make his escape as he had planned ; so all Vf orkfork BEHIND THE BLACK CURTAIN. 33 had to do was to stop and pick him up, giv- ing him a few blows with the whip. " Villyun ! " he called out, " try that game agin, an' I'll trounce you within an inch of your life." Sam was a boy of great spirit for a poor white, and it was with no little sacrifice of pride that he submitted to be colored. Aunt Chainy coaxed and coaxed. " Ye see, honey," said she, " if you don't let me do't, he'll beat me at de whippin'-post ; " this availed more than his own fears, and so he sat still while the good old woman fitted him up for sale. "What does he want you to do this for? What is he gwine to do with us ? " whispered Sam. " Oh, don't ask," returned Chainy, mourn" fully ; " I reckons he gwine to sell us all." " What can I do ? " asked Sam. " De Lord knows, Chainy don't," said the poor woman ; " p'r'aps you pray an' he'll de- liver you. I'se hearn tell of sich things." KtW^L' 34 THE rOOR WHITE. ** Ha 1 ha ! " laughed Workfork, not hear- ing their talk, putting his head within the curtain, " that's the go ! a curly-headed nig- ger ! seU for $1200; that's what I call a spec." Then, turning back to attend to his driving, his eye fell upon a black boy, a slave of ten years old, plodding along by the road- side. The slave-driver was desirous of adding him to his list of stolen articles. The boy had been sent on an errand to another planta- tion, and had in his hand a written " pass " or permission to go. Workfork stopped and called out to him. " Hello, you young rascal, what you run- ning away for ? " The boy smiled, and held out his pass for answer. "Here, let me read it," said Workfork; the boy handed it to him. It was as follow^s : " Let the boy Eafe pass and repass from Wakefield to Holderness. William Schor- man. "Wakefield, Tuesday morning." BEHIND THE BLACK CURTAIN. 35 "Oh, well," said the dealer, "I'm gwme right there by another road. Jump in, I ken cany you as well as not." Eafc had never been offered a ride in his life, and he looked incredulously at his new friend. "Git in this minute, you young villyun;" and accustomed to obey the stern word of command, Rafe climbed into the carry-all, and was borne rapidly away. "I wonder whose turn'll come next," thought Sam. IV. Strange use of Mrs. Dean's Cowhide Shoes. ^/T was little that Mrs. Dean slept, the night (xJj after Sam was missing. She wept and prayed much, and Lottie, often awaking, heard her sobs and her low-voiced prayer, in which this Christian daughter joined with all her heart. Mr. Dean and the rest of the family slept on soundly. He made much of his sleep, and often said that it was all the comfort he had. A drink of whiskey and a nap served to drown his trouble ; he could not live without strong drink and sound sleep. The next day, mother and daughter were stirring with the earliest dawn. The morning came in the most sombre of drabquaker hues, not even having the taste to throw a pink scarf over her shoulders. An ugly cowl of dark gray quite hid her face, — no white nor BETTY DE.1N*S COWHIDE SHOES. 37 blue was to be seen ; in fact, her dress was in half-moupiiing goods. Gradually vapors took wings from the vast swamps that bordered the rivers for and near, and brooded like a pall over the tree-tops, then, descending and drift- ing in by the slight current of air, every- thing visible and invisible was enveloped in a dense cloud of moisture. "I am so sorry to see a storm brewin'," said Mrs. Dean, as she struck a flint over tinder, to kindle a fire. "Perhaps it will clar up, an' the sun burst through bimeby," hopefully suggested Lottie. "I hope so too," said the mother; "but I see yisterday that the water biled out of the kittle 'mazin' quick, an' that's a sure sign that a storm is brewin' in the sky." " Mother, what's to be done 'bout Sam?" asked Lottie. " Suthin' must be done," replied the mother, earnestly ; " 'twont do to give it up in this way. We must all go to huntin' for him. You know, Lottie"— here the tinder caught, and 38 THE POOR WHITE. the diy leaves and bits of pitch-pine together blazed up cheerily in the big fireplace, built of sticks and clay, — "that our Sam is high-spirited as a wild horse, an' he wont be toted off without showin' fight, an' I've been thiukin' what if he's left somewhere half-killed by that are wicked man. We must some of us go to-day and find him. I rather think I shall go myself. If I do, I shall make a business of it and not come back till I find him." " Mother, let me go," said Lottie. "If any- thing should happen to you, what would be- come of father and the children ? I aint of much 'count noways, an' I ken be spared jist as well as not." " I'll think it over," replied the mother, as she stirred the corn-meal, salt, and water to- gether to the consistency of ash- pone dough. Lottie then taking the gourd, which hung in the corner near the fireplace, went out to milk the goat, her thoughts busy with leaving home to find her brother. Gradually the fog canopy lifted, and the BETTY dean's COWHIDE SHOES. 39 suu beamed through the curtains of clouds, and shimmered his beams down into the woodjs, in little patches of glory. Lottie felt the change, as she sat there on the pine log milking Pinky. "It's gwine to be a good day to travel, after all," thought she. " Now if I ken only find Sam, an' help get him home ! " As she went in, the ash pones were ranged on the hot hearth, nicely baking by the fire. The children were getting up out of their nests of straw, and as they were dressed the night before, they had no long process to go through ; but their mother would insist that they should go to the creek and wash their faces and hands before breakfast, so the morn- ing salutation was uniformly, — " Run, chicks, an' git washed and aired, fur the ash pone is a'most ready. Scud ! " Mr. Dean never got up to breakfast ; but the lion's share of ash pone and buttermilk was put aside for his forenoon meal at ten o'clock. 40 THE POOR WHITE. " I wish father would git up this morning,'^ said Lottie, as she stood by the table eating ash pone ; " I want to ask him if I'd better go. I reckon, though, I know what he'll say." " He'll say ' Jist as your mam says about that,'" said Tomtit, with his mouth full. "Mother is the team in this house," said John ; " an' a big load she has to draw." "An' she is ready an' willing to do it," added Lottie. " Yis," said Tomtit ; " but what riles me is, t'other ox is plaguy willin' she should. It's awful hard when one ox goes ahead and t'other holds back — stands to reason 'tis." " Oh, you shet up with your talk," said the mother. Now it happened that Mr. Dean, being more than half-awake for a wonder, heard what was said, and it had the effect of setting him to thinking, and shortly he got up, rubbed open his eyes, and commenced the business of the day. BETTY dean's COWHIDE BOOTS. 41 "Lottie," said he, "what did you want to ask me about?" " Why, dad, you know our Sam is lost. I want to ask you if I can't go and hunt him up?" "You do!" said Mr. Dean, in great sur- prise. " Wall, I must say that beats all ! AYhat does your mam say to it ? " "Wall," replied Mrs. Dean, "since the child has her mind sot on gwine, she mought as well go, an' be done with it ; though I'm sure we can't none of us tell what'll happen to her if she leaves this are shelter of her hum. But the Lord, he ken take care of her, ur I never should durst saund her one step." "Wall, wall, Lottie," said the father, sit- ting down on a three-legged stool and sipping buttermilk, "your mother is a strornary woman, depend upon it. You jist foller her device, an' you'll do about right. I don't know what's best myself; but if you will go, I'll go with you a piece." 42 THE POOR WHITE. "So M-ill I," said the mother, the tears starting. " So will I ! " echoed all the children. As this was a time of great moment, Mrs. Dean could not let Lottie go until she had prayed with her, which she did in the presence of the fiimily. " O Lord, keep her safely, an' return her to us. Deliver her from evil ! " these were some of her petitions. Little time was spent in discussing the question of dress, for small choice could be had where one had but a single suit. The mother, however, was bent on giving her a decent fit-out. "It will make sich a difference with the way folks'll treat you. I don't want people should think you are of the lowest of the *Piny Woods' people, but from one of the fust families." " Oh, mother, what do I care? " interrupted Lottie. " I'm gwine arter Sam." "Yis, an' while you are lookin' him up, BETTY bean's COWHIDE BOOTS. 43 other eyes will be on 3^011, an' you must make folks respect you, ur else they wont treat you well." " Will it do any hurt for me to go bare- foot?" " I can't tell jistly how folks on the road would look at it," said the mother. "But I haint got nary shoes," said Lottie, sadly. "I know it," replied her mother; "an' when you come to a courthouse village, ur a town, you must have a pair to clap on." "But how is I to git 'em?" " I am gwine to let you have my cowhide shoes," replied Mrs. Dean. "Now, mam, don't go to lettin' Lot have your best cowhides, good as bran-new," pleaded Tomtit, for the sake of a scene. "Let mam do as she's a mind to," said John. "I ken mend your dress, while you put up a snack of ash pone," said Mrs. Dean; "so be spry, an' git off." 44 THE POOR -SVinTE. "TMiat shall I do for a bonnit, mam?"* asked Lottie. " I shall let 3'ou wear my nice shaker-bon- nit, jist this time ; but you'll be careful of it, I know, an' bring it back safe ; " and the mother smiled as she said it, keeping her needle %ing the while. The shaker was purchased, years before, of a slave woman on a neighboring plantation, and had been kept hung up m the corner of the cabin. This mother, like others, took delight in bestowing her own things on her daughter. "There, mother, how do I do?" asked 'Lottie, looking into her mother's eyes for lack of a mirror. "Look, honey?" returned the fond mother, "I never seed you look better in my life. You looks neat as a daisy, if it is your own mother that sa^'s it." "Mam's crows are jist the whitest," said Tomtit, in his o\\-n droll way. " Good-by to you," said Lottie, starting out of the door ; " I'm gwine." BETTY dean's COWHIDE BOOTS. 45 "So soon!" said Tomtit; "I aiuf half ready to have you go." "See here, Lottie," said the mother, with tears in her eyes ; " we must take the goat to pastur', au' we may as well go with you a piece. Tomtit, untie Sam's goat an' lead it along ; " and the mother started out to give Lottie her last instructions. The flither had by this time finished his ash pone and but- ter-milk, and hastened after them, while the children and the goat brought up the rear. The parting came at length, and poor Lot- tie went on her way alone, with fewer tears than her mother shed, who sent her forth with her prayers and blessing. "I don't understand," said Mr. Dean to his wife, "why it wouldn't have done jist as well to saunt one of the boys, John or Tomtit, in- stead of Lottie." It was his way to make objections when it was too late; his wit " like the Dutchman's," came afterwards. " Them are boys is boys," replied the wife ; "theyhaint got no judgment. But Lottie, 46 THE POOR WHITE. she's a very prudint gal ; she'll do jist as well as I could myself; " and the father had no more to say. Leaving the Deans returning to their cabin, and Lottie hastening after Sam, barefoot and alone, with a bundle containing the much- prized cowhide shoes, and a snack of ash pone, let us look after Sam, for it will take the sister's nimble pace some time to over- take him. V. The Kidnapper in nis Hiding-place. I^AYING reached Turner's Cross Roads, Workfork turned and took a north- eastern route toward the Dismal Swamp, in the outskirts of which was his slave rendez- vous. This change of direction was made i:)artly to avoid pursuit. Urging on his horses until ten o'clock, he came to a tavern, — a low drinking hole — where he stopped and got refreshments for himself and horses, not allowing those in the carry-all to get out, lest they should betray him. He also got a sup- ply of corn bread and bacon for the use of his stolen goods. Starting the next morning before light, he made a distance of sixty miles that day, resting his horses in the shade at noon, and suffering the slaves to get out of the carry-all, one by one, and stretch their 48 THE POOPw ^yHITE. limbs. So fearful was he of pursuit, however, that he soon started and made all the haste possible. The evening twilight of the third day was coming on, when they approached the swamp region. The soil was rich, being miry bogs of decayed vegetation. Here and there a cornfield had been lately reclaimed from the wilderness of swamp land by drain- ing, and the lofty stalks of the grain stood thick and dense like serried ranks of trees. The beautiful tasselled army held firm footing in the rich loam and muck of which the soil was composed. Huge rows of uptorn stumps, bristling with pronged roots, enclosed the road which passed across the verge of the swamp for miles, being mostly built on logs and rails. The jaded horses, as they entered the wood, were in no mood to be met by hosts of hungry dragon-flies, which started up from their 2:reen beds, thirstins^ for a drink of blood. At the same instant, large, ravenous mosquitoes, which had been lying in wait all day, made a rush, and attacked the inmates KIDNAPPER IN HIS HIDING-PLACE. 49 of the carry-all. Rafe and Sam had as much as they could do to defend themselves. The hungry insects singled out Hal and Frank as special favorites, and Chainy was fully occu- pied in brushing them off. Hal disdained to cry when bitten ; but baby Frank hid his head in Chainy's bosom and sobbed out his grief* Poor little fellow ! homesick and tired out with his long journey, he knew not. what to make of his new troubles. Chainy's heart yearned over him, longing to return him to his home. She dearly loved both the children, but felt her pity stirred most for the younger. " Nuffin' but an infant baby," said she to herself ; " poor little ting ! " and she bore him clasped in her arms all that long, long ride. How many times he sobbed himself to sleep with his arms twining her neck ! The fierce Workfork had so frightened him that he had learned not to cry aloud, and it was with smothered sobs that he told his heart- breaking troubles to faithful Chainy. She, 50 THE POOR WHITE, ^t^ good, kind, and patient as the summer's day, kissed him, smoothed his pretty curly head, looked lovingly into his tearful eyes, and clasping him to her bosom, again and again soothed him to sleep. Already she was his foster-mother, and in her heart, so long be- reft of her own children, there sprang up ten- drils of affection, firm and strong as in her youth, and fastened on the dear little child. Oh, wonderful love, that heals both giver and receiver, dark, indeed were this earth with- out thy life-giving presence ! Hal, a spoilt child, was never half as inter- esting as now. The long ride had made him fully acquainted with«Chainy, and whenever Workfork could not hear him, he would pour out his full heart, making her his confidant. " Dat bad man," whispered he, " God don't love him ; he done dressed me up in dese sher old duds. I aint gwine to wear 'em, I aint. I'll tear 'em off and run away, I will. I'll tell you what I'se gwine to do. Aunt Chainy ; I'se 'most a man, you know, an' when I gits to be KIDNAPPER IN HIS HIDING-PLACE. 51 a sure-nuff man, I'se gwine to take you an Frank an' run off! Will I be black man when I grows up, Aunt Chainy?" " No, dat you wont, honey," whispered she ; "you'll be des as white as de lily." " You'll wash all dis sher black off when we gets clar; wont you, aunty?" said the child. " Dat I will, rapid," was the kind response. As the darkness drew on, Sam, who had overheard this conversation, noticed that Hal nestled clos(?r to Chainy. He had taken a great fancy to him, he was so like his own little brother Tomtit, and he felt glad to see her brush off the mosquitoes, and give him a mother's care. As for himself, he cared little for mosquitoes or present discomfort ; the great thought with him was, Where will the man carry us ? He was mostly troubled with the thought that some dreadful fate awaited them. At last, Workfork stopped his horses in the gloomy shade of a monarch cypress, under 52 THE POOR ^\TIITE. which logs of fallen timber were scattered, and promised a footing from the oozy soil. On a sandy knoll, some twenty rods distant, was a deserted negro cabin, quite hidden from the road by a tangled luxuriance of bamboo, briers, and brushwood. In days gone by, before the step of civilization had so far in- vaded the wild, this had been the abode of fugitives from unpaid labor ; ilDw they pene- trated deeper into the almost inaccessible wilderness. After incredible labor, the party reached the cabin. "Wall," said Workfork aloud to himself, for he could not be supposed to consult with Chainy, " this are cabin'll do to stable the bosses, an' I can hide the carriage in the bushes. I must push in further with my gang, though, fur the fire to keep off the 'skeeturs'll betray me if I'm so near the high- way." He then ordered Sam and Eafe to help him get the horses and carriage to the hut. This was no easy matter, but not as impracticable KIDNAPPER IN HIS HIDING-PLACE. 53 as appeared, as, in preparing the laud for corn, not far distant, deep ruts had somewhat drained the swamp between the- road and the cabin ; besides, a sand ridge lay in that di- rection. It was necessary to cut down or bend the undergrowth to make a passage. Leaving Chainy with the little boys in the cabin, Workfork and the two lads, Sam and Rafe, fell to work, clearing a road for the vehicle. The cabin was a dreary, dilapidated place, with no fire, food, or comforts ; but it was a shelter, and as Chainy sat down in one corner still holding baby Frank, and Hal nestling close beside her, she was thankful for even this. As soon as the slave-driver was out of hearing, Hal asked her if it wouldn't be a good plan for him to run away. " I'se most a man now. Aunt Chainy, an' I'll take you an' Frank with me." Chainy told him that they had had no sup- per, and the night was so dark that they would get mired in the swamp. 54 THE POOR WHITE. "No, no, honey; 'taint time yit ; " and he felt her loving hand twining his flaxen curls ; but he looked in vain to see her kind old face. "It's mighty dark, Aunt Chainy ; aint it?" murmured he, pressing closer to her side, and resting his head on her arm. " Dat 'tis, honey ; but don't you be afeerd ; de Fader, he'll take care on us." • " Can God see us now ? " asked Hal. " Yis, honey ; he see us all de time. Tears like it never dark to him," said Chainy. " Does God want to have us slaves ? " asked the boy. "No, darlin', dat he don't," replied Chainy. " He dat good and kind — why, he's de Fader in heaven ! " " I wish he'd make us free, den," said Hal. " Wall," replied Chainy, " we'll keep prajdn' and prayin', an' I reckon he'll hear us, an' help us git free. I can't bar to think such an infant baby as you an' little Frank is should be slaves. It'll kill you, poor little tings ! An' how your poor fader an' moder'U KIDNAPPER IN HIS HIDING-PLACE. 55 mourn for ye ! It's like I can't help thinkin' on 'em, when I 'members how my heart done brok't in half when my poor Trolo was lost, an' perished ! " and the slave-woman's voice failed her, as the fountain of her grief burst forth afresh, and she wept as she had not for years. Heart-rending it was to Hal for her to cry so, and he hung on her neck and cried too, and begged her to stop. " He was 'most a man, and he'd be her boy, and tako care of her, and nobody shouldn't hurt her, that they shouWn't I " But the burst of grief for her long-lost child was a i-elief to the desolate mother. So many long, long years had passed when she could not weep, a burning anguish drying up the fountain of her tears, and it was only the love and care of these children that had given her the blessed relief of weeping at the re- membrance of her own" cruel wrongs.. Hal soon fell asleep, and Chainy was lifting her heart in silent prayer to the great Source of all comfort and consolation, when she was 56 THE POOR WHITE. interrupted by the startling tones of Work- fork. " Halloa, Chainy ! Why don't you light a fire?" with an oath. He knew very well that she had no means of doing it ; but he was in the mood for finding fault about something. " Come, Sam, come, Rafe, you lazy niggers, stir yourselves, and let's have a light ! " He then looked round for a pine-knot and struck a light, and leading the horses to the cabin, with the aid of the lads, drew the carriage into the bushes, and* covered it with gi'een boughs. It was getting late in the evening when this was done, and all were as yet sup- perless . Workfork had taken a dram of brandy fr(5m a bottle he carried in his pocket, and worked and scolded hard on the stimulant. Having baited his horses from a bag of oats in the carriage, and taking a hurried " snack" or lunchepn from the box, he started off with his " effects " for a more secure hiding-place. He was disappointed in not meeting his partner, Mr. Sniper, at the cabin, and as he picked KIDNAPPER IN HIS HIDING-PLACE. 57 his way with his forlorn company, he diversi- fied his talk with frequent oaths, because he had failed to appear. They advanced slowly ; for what with the darkness, only rendered visible by the pine- knot, and the innumerable fire-flies, — what with the black mud-holes, spongy bogs hidden by mats of tangled reeds, ferns, and briers, and what with thorny thickets, it was a mar- vel that they made any progress. Some one of them was floundering in the plashes every few moments. At length they reached the sandy ridge that ran through this part of the swamp, and stopped to breathe and shake ofl* some of the mud and water, for they were mostly besmeared. Workfork swore at " the swamp and its fixings " in his fiercest manner. Chainy who, from sitting on the cold ground, and from her long exposure, sufiered much from rheuma- tism, wearied and faint, sank to the ground, unable to carry Frank any further. "Halloa!" shouted Workfork, "up with 58 THE POOR WHITE. you ! Come, if you make a fuss toting that are light thing, I'll let you try Hal's heft. D'ye hear ? Up with ye ! " and he gave her a brutal kick. Chainy groaned, but did not at- tempt to rise. "Look here, old woman," said the driver, " you takes a mighty likin' to that are young un ; now, if you makes any bones 'bout totin' him, I'll stick his head in the fust puddle. He aint much 'count, noway, an' I wouldn't mind sinkin' a hundred dollars in the mud Avhen it was in the shape of a squallin' young un ! So you better be movin', if you want to save him from a mire-hole to-night. I'll throw him in, I declar, if you don't git up ! " and the inhuman wretch stepped for- ward and caught Frank from Chainy's arms. She roused herself by an almost superhuman effort, and slowly getting up, exclaimed, — " Oh, don't kill him — don't, massa ! I'll do all I ken, but I'se dat worn out." " Worn out ! I knows that," replied the hardened man ; " I bought you for worn- KIDNAPPER IN HIS HIDING-PLACE. 59 out," — he kidnapped her. "All pertence though. I've found out you've some strength left, an' I mean to use it. Here, take the child, an' let me see no more of your performances. I'll stick the child in a mud-hole, if you do. An' when you do give out for good, I'm gwine to leave you to die in the blackest water I can find in the swamp. K Sam and Rate don't behave, I'll put them in too." The lads quaked with fear at the threats of the iron-hearted man, aijd were ready to crouch like whipped dogs to do his bidding. " 'Long with ye ! " shouted the master ; " be movin', every hoof on ye ! " and shortly they reached a snug little cabin, hidden in pines and junipers, built long before by voluntary exiles from slavery, and forsaken for a more distant retreat. Dried leaves on the cabin floor, served the company for beds ; but wet and weary, they were glad of even these, slUd of a shelter from the chilly night air. Fresh swarms of bloodthirsty mosquitoes 60 THE POOR WHITE. continued to attack them, and sleep was out of the question. Accordingly, Sam and Rafe, obeying orders, soon had a fire blazing in front of the bushes which hid the entrance of the cabin, and piling on dry pine boughs, which lay thickly scattered around, they had leave to lie down and rest, but were forbidden to sleep, or let the fire go down, under pen- alty of dreadful punishment. Workfork took to his brandy-bottle till dead drunk. Chainy, who had been sitting by the fire drying her own and the children's clothes, hearing his heavy breathing, went in, and curled down on the leaves, in a corner of the hut, with Frank and Hal beside her. While the children slept, she was wakeful and anxious. She feared her strength would fail her, and his horrid threat be executed. What could she do to save the darlinsr children? She feared, too, in her motherly care for Sam and Rafe, thftt they would sleep, and often the faithful woman rose to replenish the fire, the lads being unable to keep uwake. KIDNAP PEK IN HIS HrOING-PLACE. 61 Hour after hour, the busy brain of the slave-woman was hard at work. She fancied the children were feverish, and that they would be sick. At last her determination was taken. She would make the attempt to do something for them. It was already near midnight, and praying God to help her, she arose to execute her plan. She had heard that a part of this extensive region was a safe retreat for those escaping from servitude ; she could but die, at the worst, and why should she not try to escape? YI. The Man with the Gun. The Escape. O slave on the plantation to which Chainy belonged was more comely than she in her younger years. Her cheerful, hopeful temperament brightened the burdens of her slave lot, but maturer life brought in- creasing sorrow. Her husband, after being beaten almost to death by the overseer, fled to the Great Swamp, whither, to escape from the brutality of the same task-master, she at- tempted to follow with her boy Trolo. She was recaptured and put to torture, and from that hour, when she heard that Trolo was shot, hope died out in her heart, and she sank down to a premature and sorrow-crushed old age. Smiles seldom ever lighted up her wrinkled visage, no expectation of coming good in this world gilded the sombre clouds THE MAN WITH THE GUN. 63 that shadowed her pathway. She had toiled on through long years, bearing every indigni- ty, hopeless and aimless, never getting cour- age to make a second attempt at freeing her- self from the heavy yoke. But now, within a few hours, she, so old alld feeble, with no kin to live for, had had the depths of her nature stirred, by seeing those helpless children threatened with slavery and death ; she — dear, disinterested heart ! — would save them if it cost her her life. How she feared, if she tried to get them free, that Workfork would pursue and retake them. Oh ! he seemed the great and only obstacle in the way of success. It was not the quagmires and sloughs that she dreaded — not the limber snakes and slimy things, nor the shaggy wild beasts of the woods; it was a fellow-being I As she stood over him gazing at his flushed features, by the fire- light flickering through the evergreens, the horrid temptation entered her heart to stran- gle him ! 64 THE POOR WTIITE. There was a strong cord daDgling from his pocket, and as she drew it out, his knife and tinder-box came with it. To strangle him would be but the work of a moment, and then four lives would be saved, — four lives worth far more than^his, for he only lived to do evil. Would it not be doing a good deed to Idll such a monster ? "What had she not suffered from his cruelty, and what might she not still suffer ere death came to her relief? Chainy's heart was hardening to stone. She would kill the fiend in human sliape ; and stooping down, began to fit the slip-noose she had made in the cord around his neck. He was still in deep and heavy slumber. She began to draw the cord ; in a moment more he would be in eternity. A sudden thought stopped her ; her hand fell powerless by her side. "Once this bad man had a mother, and she loved him as I loved my boy. Chainy can't kill him, for his mother loved him I" and the kind-hearted woman shed tears. "Poor soul ! he aint ready to die 3'et," she CHAIN Y'S TEMPTAT10>. 'uge 65. THE MAN WITH THE GUN. 65 said to herself; "how can I kill hiin when he'd go straight to torment'? No, no, Chainy can't do dat ! While dere's life, clere's hope, an' p'r'aps his mother prayed for him, an' he may repent an' be an angel in heaven I Eeckon he will. O Fader, make him sorry for his sins ! May de Lord forgive him I " I can't take de vengeance in my hands ; I can't stain my soul with blood ; I'll trust de Fader, dat I will ! " As she arose from her knees, she took the cord, knife, and tinder- box and put them in her pocket. But as she went out the door, to arouse Sam and Rafe, she was startled by seeing a man with a gun beside the cabin. "I'll not harm ye ! " said he, in a low voice, evidently having been a witness of her temp- tation. "I'm a soldier, jist left Jeii''s army. They forced me to 'list. Ye see they wants us to kill the Yankees, by hook or by crook, an' keep 'em from takin' Norfolk, an' I don't jistly know what to believe, whar so much is gwiue. I'se bound to jine the party that beats Q(i THE POOR WHITE. when the war is over, an' I reckons it'll be the Yankees. An' I has a little business that takes me across the swamp. So you see, aunty, I'm bound to help you on a piece, if I bees in such a ravin' hurry ; " for he seemed instinctively to understand her plans of es- cape. " De Lord saunt you ! " said Chainy, won by his frank manner. ''Is you a secesh sol- dier?" '' I don't know much about it, aunty," re- plied the soldier ; " but as near as I ken make out, I'm a Union man what wont fight fur slavery. Ye see, aunty, you slaves an' we poor whites is in awful straits ; it's tough to tell which is wussest off. We've been down so long, a change can't make us wuss off; it's my mind, when the Yankees straightens things, we shall take our turn, an' be top buckets of the wheel, for ev'ry dog has his day, an' we haint had ourn." " Why hi ! " whis^^ered Chainy, stepping farther from the cabin, " dish sher aint de THE MAN A\1TII THE GUN. 67 Yankees' war, nor de secesh war ; clis is de Lord's war." " I reckon you're right," said* the soldiery "but what's de use of lightin' in de dark? I mought kill my friend when I didn't mean to. But if you is in trouble, Will Forbes will help you all he can.". Chaiuy was grateful to find a friend when she so much needed one ; and drawino- hiiu beside the fire, briefly told him of the events of the past few days and of her desire to es- cape with the little ones. The deserter en- tered fully into her plans, ofiering to carry one of the children, and to aid all he could, as long as their route lay in the same direc- tion. It- was no small matter to get Sam and Rafe fully awake ; but when they comprehended her purpose, and who was to go with them, all at once their faculties brightened up, and they were ready to go. " I'se in for anything 'cept to be a slave ! " said Sam. " Come, let's be gwine ! " 6S THE POOR WHITE. " Yes, indeed, an' double indeed ! " said Rafe, "let's be gwine ! I'se all ready ! " and he danced up and down in great glee. *• Oh, hush, darlin' ! " said Chainy, putting her hand on his shoulder ; ^'you'll wake massa an' den dere'll be no gittin' clar ! " Eafe was still as a mouse at this thought. "Xow we must take de chil'en in de cabin," said Chainy; " dere's no gwine widout 'era. The stranger, he'll tote Hal, if Sam an' Eafe will take turns with me in totin' the infant baby." Saying this, she noiselessly entered the hut, and wrapping the ]>abe in her linsey- woolsey apron, gave him to Rafe, and in a moment more appeared with Hal, Avhom she put in the soldier's arms, and the party set out, but as suddenl}' made a halt. " Has the old man there got a gun ? " asked the strano'er. " Yes, dat he has ! " replied Chainy ; and Sam, taking the hint, ran back and got it. Chainy 's heart was filled with thankfulness, for the deliverance from her dreadful tempta- THE MAjS with TlIE GUN. 69 tion, and for the timely aid of the stranger, which she felt was kmdly ordered of God. Inspired with conrage, her step was almost as elastic as in days gone by. She insisted on "toting "Frank, she felt so mnch better, she said. But the lads obstinately refused, and tripped along beside her, carrying him by turns. They were in high spirits, — a little excited with fear, but more with the hope of escape. " I reckons we'll git clar dish time ! " said Chainy, as she hurried through the short grass of the ridge, now damp with dew. "I reckon so," said the soldier; ''if the trader comes after us, I've a spare bullet for him. He's welcome to it, if he'll take the trouble to follow up and git it." " Oh, I do pray de Fader dat dere mayn't be no blood shed," said Chainy. The little ones still sle^^t; she thought them less fe- verish than when in the cabin. "I reckon de air on dish slier juniper ridge'U djo 'em heaps of good," said she; 70 THE POOR WHITE. '' l^ears like it's dat wholesome ! de birds sleejDs out in de niglit air, an' dey's nebber sick ! " Just then a wbiiDpoorwill poured forth his shrill song, and Sam said, — ^ This are swamp is all alive ; aint it, Aunt Chainy ! " "Dat 'tis, honey!" she replied; "lots o' things gits a livin' here. Jest you hear de frogs sing, how loud ! Dey has deir little houses down in de mud-puddles, — sleeps all de day, an' sings all de night. Dere's many slaves would be glad to change places wid 'em, an' lib in de swamp, like dey do ! " "I'd be a frog lots sooner than I'd be a slave ! and the fust water I comes to, I'll wash this black off! " said Sam, spiritedly. " That's natur' ; but white slaves is com- mon," said the soldier. Sam made no reply, but, grasping a handful of wet grass, began to rub his face. The moon was now up, and they found quite a good ]:)ath, although at times ob- THE MAN WITH THE GUN. 71 structed by briers and thorny bushes, which scratched their skin, and tore their clothes unmercifully. Yet it was wonderful what progress they made under that great stimu- lus, the love of liberty. VII. Caught by the Horns. HEX the inorniDg broke, they were far away from the hut, and the sol- dier told Chaiiiy he thought they might veii- tm-e to stop and rest. As he put down Hal, he said he was as heavy as a bag of sand, Chain}^ had also taken her turn in " toting," and wearied with Frank, felt less courage than when they started. " Do you think de slave-driver will be after US ? " she asked of the soldier. "I reckon not," replied Forbes ; " he's in a drunk sleep, ye see, an' that are cj^Dress over the cabin make a powerful shade ; he wont naturally find out it's morniu' till noon." "But what shall we have for breakfast?" at length asked Chain}', and she leaned lier head against the thick bushes which formed 72 CAUGHT BY THE llOliXS. 73 the back to her mossy scat, and pondered the matter in deep perplexity. The lads, Sam and Eafe, were thinking of the same matter too ; but the soldier, faint and tired, had lain down on the grass a little distance off, and w^as fast asleep. "Aunt Chainy, what's we gwine to have for breakftist?" tremulously asked Sam, just then thinking how good the ash pones and butter- milk at the Piny- Wood cottage tasted ; and in his home vision seeing his dear, kind father sniokiug in the chimney-corner, his mother chatting glibly, and the group of brothers and sisters around the table, — the breakfast so good, and they all so hungry I " Oh, dear. Aunt Chainy," he cried, "I wish I was back to hum this minute ! " "Dere, dere, don't cry, honey," replied Chainy, smoothing his bushy head; "I wish you was dere too, but never mind, never mind. Pray to God when you is in strouble ; he'll make you feel happy. You is hungry, honey ; Aunt Chainy'll see what she ken do to 74 • THE POOR WHITE. git you suffiu' to eat. She didivt tote you off in dish sher woody place to have you starve, dat she didu't I " and, getting up, she began to look around for something to satisfy their hunger. '^I makes sure we ken find some berries, or roots, or wild pertaters, or suffin'," she said, putting the best heart on matters. " Don't breathe ! " whispered Sam ; " there's a rabl^it down that path ! I'll * have him for breakfast ! " and away went Sam after the rab- bit, which was bounding off at its accustom'ed speed when the boy whistled ; at once the an- imal stopped and looked around, and at the instant, the sharp pebble which Sam had picked up struck it in the head with such force as to stun it, and the captor bore it in triumph to Aunt Chainy. "Why, hi!" exclaimed she, "you is de 'markablest boy ever I see ! You did that mos' amiable ! " But as she was preparing to dress it, she bethousfht herself that she could not cook it CAUGHT BY THE HORNS. 75 for want of fire, when patting her hand into her pocket, she found Workfork's tinder-box and knife, which she now recollected she had taken, thinking she might need them. " How fortinate ! " she exclaimed. " Now you'll make de fire, an' I'll cook de break- fast." Sam and Eafe gathered dry boughs, and striking the flint till sparks kindled the tinder, soon a good fire was merrily crackling. At Chainy's suggestion, while she was busy getting the rabbit ready, the boys drove two forked sticks into the ground, a foot apart, near the fire. A stout stick was laid horizontally across these, on which the game was hung when dressed. While it was cook- ing, Chainy made her table ready, stopping every now and then to turn the game, and in due time, it was well roasted for the morning meal. The stranger being called, Chainy and her fiimily sat down to breakfast, in an enclosure of bushes near by. With the soft, clean grass 76 THE POOR WHITE. for table-cloth, large leaves for plates and platter, with berries and roasted roots for relish, and Avith hunn'cr for "the seasoniuff," the food was delicious and called forth grate- ful thanks. " Why, hi ! " exclaimed Will Forbes ; " how did this are come ? Did it rain down ? " Chainy then told him of Sam's feat in killing the rabbit, which he heard with admi- ration. " You'd make a good shot," said he ; "why didn't you call me and let me shoot him ? " " The rabbit wouldn't wait," said Sam, dryly. " Oh, isn't this breakfast the best I ever eat ! " continued he, eating as fast as a hungry boy could. "You is right smart of a hunter, you is," said Chainy. "That's so," said the soldier, helping him- self to a leg of rabbit. Breakfast over, the next thing was to look out for a place of safety for the day. It was decided that they should continue on the CAUGHT BY THE IIOIiNS. 77 ridge as long as they could, as Will Forbes would thus be with and protect them. He would continue with them until the ridge met the canal, when he must leave, for he was on a secret errand that demanded speed. The sun was rising and the fog too, their path lying through dense clouds of vapor, exhaled from the vast swamp pools around them. Chainy alternated between hope and fear ; she hoped the fog w^ould pass off and the day prove clear, but feared it might " shut in " and rain hard ; and what could she do in the dripping swamp, with no shelter for the children? Then all she had ever heard of bears and panthers increased her apprehen- sion, and she felt that no time should be -lost in seeking a home. But how could they defend themselves from the Avild beasts that infested the wilderness, even if they had a dwelling? She knew not; but she did not dread the wild-cat and the panther s6 much as she did her fellow-mau who had enslaved her. 78 THE POOR WHITE. She had learned, year3 ago, that there was a settlement of her people in some part of this waste, but feared she could not reach them, such Avere the difficulties of the way. The ridge could not much longer be relied on, as they could be easily traced and fol- lowed, and soon they must strike out into the bogs and mire for safety. Still they plodded on, Chainy, Sam, and Kafe carrying little Frank, and the soldier lugging Hal on his back. By and by, they came to the canal, and their soldier-friend reluctantly bade them good-by. The little company looked after him with eager eyes, as, after unmooring a boat, he rowed down the canal. " Why couldn't good man stay with us, or take us with him in his boat ? " asked Sam. "I reckon he's on 'portant business in de war," replied Chainy ; " an' he can't spend no more time hinderin' with us. I 'spect he am a spy for de Yankees." When he was fairly out of sight, the pil- CAUGHT BY THE HORNS. 79 grims turned upon a branch of the sand-bar, to seek a dwelling-place on some declivity of the ridge. Chainy was so tortured with rheu- matism that she was (obliged to rest by lean- hig against a tree, for so dripping w^ere the bushes and grass with dew that sitting down was out of the question. " Poor little Hal ! " exclaimed the kind woman, as she saw his bleeding feet, — he had lost his -shoes in the mud the night before, — "it'll never do to have you spile your feet iu this way. We must make a cheer for you to ride in. Oh, if my ole eyes could jest light on some wilier, now, I'd weave you a nice little carriage, right smart rapid ; dat I would." "I'll find some wilier, den," said Rafe, "I'se made baskets over an' offen," and he disap- peared in the underwood that walled the slope. "Don't go but a little piece," said Chainy, anxiously : " you'll git lost, an' dat will be strouble indeed." " I'll break de bushes as I goes," called out Rafe ; " den I find de way back." 80 THE POOR WHITE. In a short time, he returned with his arms full of osiers, and the sun having cleared away the fog, they seated themselves on a log, and in the course of a few hours they had woven a chair, both light and strong. This they slung on two bamboos cut for the pur- pose, and Hal, with Sam and Rafefor bearers, looked quite comfortable, Chainy having bound up his feet in the healing leaves of the dock- mackie. But their way became more difficult. Hedges of thorny shrubbery had to be pene- trated, which tore their tattered garments, and scratched their hands and feet intolerably. Brilliant-winged birds, strangely tame, and rarely disturbed by human beings, filled the air with blithest melody. "Dish sher is some 'leviation of our stroubles," said Chainy; "dese sher birds singin' so chirk, it helps us hope for de best. Tears like dish sher woodsy place is their free country. An' I pray de Fader it may be our free country." CAUGHT BY THE HORNS. 81 lu this happy mood they encamped/or the night, lying down under the bushes. The next morning, after a " snack " of roots and ber- ries, they started on their journey, Chainy was wondering what they should have* to eat for the day, and lifting her heart to God for help, w^hen all at once, coming to an open space, they beheld deer quietly grazing. The animals raised their heads in surprise, and started off like wild sheep ; they were not much frightened, however, and occasionally turned to wonder at the intruders, Sam pro- posed to Rafe that they put down Hal, run after the deer, and try to catch one. "If you must rest your limbs, have a run, den," said Chainy, as they started off in pur- suit. They soon found, however, the deer made light work of keeping out of their way, and they were about giving up the chase as use- less, when an antlered deer was caught in a shrubby, gnarled oak, and in his haste to get away, made sad work of extricating himself. 82 THE POOR WHITE. He kicked and plimged and shook bis horns, only to get the more entangled. The firm old tree held him fast in its strong arms. " Now we got him ! " shouted Kafe ; " he's cotched dish time, dat is evident. Eun, Sam, to Aunt Chainy, an' tote de knife an' de cord ; 'parentl}^, we 'spatch him rapid ! " Sam quickly returned with the cord and knife, and Aunt Chainy presently appeared, bringing Frank, and Hal's chair, while the little fellow tried his feet again. Seating her- self and the children on a follen pine-tree, she looked admiringly at the operations of Sam and Eafe. The former having managed to climb the tree by cutting away some of the tough, thicket-like branches, and getting di- rectl}^ above the deer, succeeded in putting the cord over his neck, by lowering one end of it until it reached the ground. Rafe pulled this end to himself, by means of a long stick, forked at the end ; he then reached it up to Sam on one of its extremities. Sam lost no time in securing the noose ; and bracing him- CAUGHT BY THE HORNS. 83 self against a bough, and drawing the cord with main strength, shortly the deer was strangled, despite renewed attempts at kick- ing and plunging. "There! what you think of that?" asked Sam, addressing Chainy. " Fader's life ! " exclaimed she ; " dat was done mos' amiable. Now, honey, make has' down, an' stick him in de throat, to let de blood oflf;" and down came Sam and did as she bade him. " Now," said Chainy, wiping tears from her eyes, "'pears like dia sher is most providency, sartin ; dish make me tink we must go right to housekeepin' to onct. Dis sher deer'll make a heap of store of most amiable ven'son, an' I'se afeered we'll waste it." They now proceeded to dress the animal, and roast all they could of it. The tongue, a delicious morsel, with a round, made their dinner. What should they do with the meat ? A 84 THE POOR WHITE. part of it Chainy had cut into thin strips and dried by the fire. They had chosen their stopping-place near a spring, which gurgled up, cool and limpid. " If we on'y had a spring-house like massa's," said Chamy ; " we could keep dc rest of de ven'son right smart long time." "How did yow keep meat there?" asked Sam. " Oh," replied Chainy, " we sewed cloth round it to keep it clean ; den, we dug a hole in de sand where de water run, an' covered it up, De sand was dat cool, it keep de meat sweet right smart time." Sam and Rafe looked at each other, and taking the hint, went to the spring and com- menced digging a deep trough in the sand, and before night, they had the choicest part of the deer buried almost as safely as if in ice. VIII. A Consultation. ^l^ORKFORK slept long and well the ^ciV^v morning of the escape of the fugi- tives. It was nearly noon when he was awakened by the entrance of some one. But his eyes were so weak that he could not get them open at once, and his bones so stiff that the cramp caught him the moment he tried to turn over. " Halloa, there, Chainy ! what you wake me up for, with your confounded noise, afore Tm half done my nap ? Haint slept hardly a wink to-night, you've kept up sich a hateful uproar scraping that kittle. You shall smart for't, old gal, see if you don't ! " and he con- tinued to busy himself rubbing open his eyes. "Halloa, old chap!" called out the new- comer, with a burst of laughter. "It's only 65 8Q THE POOR WHITE. me ; an' I don't see no Chiiiny, — she's ske- daddled, apparently." " Sniper, is that you ? " asked Workfork, who, having solved the two problems of get- ting his eyes open and turning over, began to come to himself a little. "Reckon 'taint nobody else," replied Sniper. " Why didn't you come here yesterday ac- cordin' to 'pintment ? " asked AYorkfork, with an oath. " 'Cause why, ye see I had very important engagement." The truth was, being a poor white, his old propensity of whiskey-drinking overcame him, and he lay drunk for hours at a low tavern, some two miles from the swamp. "Let me tell you, old chap, I've got lots of news for yer. Our trade is up, so fur as sell- in' slaves is consarned." "Don't bleeve a word you say," replied Workfork, rising on one elbow. " AVHiere's that jade, Chainy, that she don't tote m break- fast?" " I haint seen hide nor hau* on her," said / A CONSULTATION. 87 Sniper; "but that's niither here nor there; our trade is up if she war here." " Do you mean we couldn't sell her ? " asked Workfork. '* Yes," replied Sniper, taking a huge pinch of snutF from his vest pocket ; " I mean to say that this are war has smashed our profits. l>Iast it ! What's the use of its comin' in our day? You know, Workfork, there never was sich a profitable business as ^Ye slave-buyers has driv ; it's too Inid to have this are war come an' spile it all." "What do you mean, Sniper? Out with it." " Why, slaves is dog-cheap," replied the other ; " an' at this rate, we can't give 'em away in a little while ; we shall have to hire folks to take 'em ofi* our hands, and be glad to git shed of 'em at that. It'll cost more than they're wuth, to fodder 'em. There's a story that old Abe is gwine to bring us to terms by 'mancipatiu' all the slaves ! " "Pshaw!" exclaimed Workfork, starting 88 THE POOR WHITE. up ; ** I don't bleeve a word on*t. Likely story ! It can't be done, nohow. Lin kin's uothin' to do with us; we've set up for ur- selves, an' our armies is tow subdue the North, call the roll in a month under Bunker Hill Monymint, an' settle slavery in them are regions fur good ; that's what our armies is gwine to do. Slaves cheap ! Why, man, they'll be up higher than ever they was. They may go down a leetle for a while, I'll allow ; but the rise is sure to foller, — just as sure as we subdue the North. Don't you see, — the bigger the territory to be s'plied, the bigger the demand, an' the higher the price? Why, man, sich old trash as this are Chainy here — why the deuce don't she tote in the breakfast ? — sich trash'U sell fur risin' of two thousand dollars a head ! Don't ye see ? " "^I see — if we conquers the North," replied Sniper ; " but that's the ' if that's right in the way. We don't git ahead none ; the Yankees is cornerin' us every which way ; an' the more soldiers we kills off, the more they saunds A CONSULTATION. 89 • down ; we're just about overrun with 'em. There's the great army of the Potomac, pour- m' down upon us." "What of that?" replied Workfork ; "they do say half of them ginerals an' soldiers is with us, an' they'll only pertend to fight us like ; they'll never do us any harm. They do say that they'll betray the North into our hands. All is, if the trade in slaves is down, we ken quit it fur a time, an' dp somethin' else that pays better." " What under the canopy can we do, old chap ? I make sure there aint nothin' we ken do ; this are business has spilt us fur every- thin' else." "Not by a big sight," replied Workfork, rising and striding across the cabin as well as his stiiT limbs would permit. "We're just the chaps Jeff's government wants ; we ken go to recruitin' poor whites, — git 'em into the army, — an' you an' I'll stand a chance to be officers. We sha'n't be nothin' but officers from the fust. I sha'n't start nothin' lower 90 THE POOR WHITE. than a colonel, an' you'd make a good cap'n, I reckon, arter you'd drilled under me awhile." "Well," replied Sniper, "that sounds as if it might be so ; we mought try it, at least — no harm in that." " But I must dispose of these are slaves I has on hand," added Workfork; "it wont do to waste all this are property, if its vally is low." "But where is they?" asked Sniper. "I haint seed none of 'em. How many did you ketch?" "Five, all told," replied Workfork. "I ketched five. I call that doin' business fur a short trip. How many did you ? " "Why, ye see," replied Sniper, " bein' as stock was so low, I didn't think 'em wuth the ketchin', an' so I come on to persuade you to give up this are kind of speculatin', an' turn your hand to suthin' that would pay better." "That's curis, anyhow," replied Workfork. "We've slumped through, all round; an' if A CONSULTATION. 91 t them are servants don't show 'emselves putty quick, I shall begin to think they're 'mong the missing. Shouldn't wonder if somebody stole 'em while I was asleep ; they wouldn't have gumption enough to think of runnin' away, on their own account, — that they wouldn't ! " " Don't know about that," said Sniper ; " they crawl off when you wouldn't 'spect it. If on'y we had a good hound, we'd fix 'em right smart quick." '"That's so," replied Workfork ; "but it don't do for you an' me to s'port dogs till we settles down ; it costs lots to keep 'em, an' then they're alius betrayin' us when we cian't help it." " What can we do? We must do suthin', " said Sniper ; " it wont do to rest on our oars in this way." "Reckon it wont," returned Workfork. "Wal, I'll tell you what; we must foller up them are sarvents, an'^ ketch 'em, sell 'em off for what they'll fetch, an' drum up a regi- 92 THE POOR WHITE. ment. If there's danger that our government can't put down the Yankees, we'll pull up stakes an' help 'em. Everything depends on putting dowp the Yanks ; oui' trade is up, if we don't." Then starting out, AVorkfork went to the carriage-box, and took a hasty snack, and the two commenced searching for the runaways. They were pushing their way through bushes and briers, intent on recapturing their prey, when Sniper Avas seized with a sudden terror, and whispered, — " Hark ! What noise is that ? " " Sho ! " whispered back Workfork ; '' that's only a partridge, drummin' with his wings." " I tell you it's mor'n that," returned Sniper. " I make sure it's a swamp nigger ; I'd ruther meet ten ravin' bears than one of them wild critters. They'd pound you to jelly in a big mortar, an' suck you down their big throats like an alligator. Let's be gwine." Workfork was also a little nervous, from A CONSULTATION. 93 the effects of the last night's hard drinking, and quite ready to follow Sniper in his double-quick retreat. Back, back they re- traced their steps, not slackening their pace until they reached the old cabin they had left, when Workfork, ashamed of the fear he was in danger of betraying to his associate, be- thought him of an excuse for this unseemly haste. "You see, Sniper," said he, "I was that careless, an' left my gun, so I've come back for't ; " and he commenced searching the hut. *' The villyuns has done stole it ; I'll lay they has ! What's I'se to do without any gun ? 'Pears like we'd better git out of this are swamp as soon as we can, an' buy us some guns, an' git help to master the runaways ; " and the two made haste to harness the horses to the carriage, and having gained the main road, drove rapidly for Windham Village. IX. An Encounter. The Wild Man of the Swasip. /jft^HAINY and the lads often consulted as V-U to what should be done. " How long we got tow stay here ? " asked Sam, still afflicted with homesickness. "Tears like I can't tell," replied the good woman. " We can't 'ford to waste all dat are meat. If we started off an' left it, 'parently we temp' Providence, an' we mought starve." "Butdere aint no Cabin, nor nuffin here," said Rafe. " I know dat," replied Chainy ; " but dere's plenty ob trees an' bushes, an' we can make a good shelter, an' wait fur de Lord to 'rect us when to travel. He done saunt us one ofood friend to help us, an' he can saund us another in his own good time ; " and with her cheer- ful, childlike foith, she encouraged herself in 94 AN ENCOUNTER. 95 God, and so kind, gentle, and motherly was she that the boys looked up to her almost Avith reverence. In truth, Chainy and the little ones really needed a season of rest, and nothing might be gained if they attempted to jDrogi-ess in the unknown wild ; they might meet Workfork, looking for them. The good woman thought of these things, and said that it was safest to look for a good hiding-place, near the spring. " Oh ! " exclaimed Kafe, "I know where we can make us a wigwam." " Wigwam I what's that ? " said Sam. "Why, hi! don't you know?" was the reply. " Dere's an Indin lives in a wigwam, over in the woods, back of mother's cabin, an' I'll lay I ken make one des like it. Come on, Sam ; let's find a place." Sam followed, asking questions, and getting for answer that it was a kind of a cabin, built of poles, bark, and bushes. As Rafe went on explaining how it was made, Sam, compre- hendin<]f it, said, — 96 THE POOR WHITE. "Why, you know, there's the place where the deer shelter by night ; they don't come no more since we killed the old buck." " Dat's so," replied Rafe ; and pressing through the thick bushes, the lads came to a cleared circular space around an oak, which was walled in with underwood and tall sap- lings. This had been the night camping- ground of the deer, and Rafe said it was a right smart good place for a wigwam. The two then fell to breakinor bousfhs from the trees, some little distance off, and piling them near the centre oak. "Dese yer will make mos' amiable roofin'," said Rafe ; " an' shed de rain right smart." AVhen a sufficient quantity were gathered, the boys drew the tops of the sapling toward the trunk of the tree, and fastened them to its horizontal boughs ; they then hastened to conduct Aunt Chainy and the little ones to the new abode which was so quickly framed and roofed. "Why, hi ! " said she, "'pears like dis sher AN ENCOUNTER. 97 will be uice cabin ; we shall be safe an' com- f tabic, dat is evidunt." " We're gwiue to make it des as good as a surc-'nuff cabin," said Eafe. "Can't nobody find us in here," added Sam. " Dat's so," said Chainy. " I reckon de Fader made dis yer tree grow to keep us safe. Now, I'll go to pickin' moss an' leaves for de beds. 'Pears like d6se yer chilluns must have suffin' soft to rest deir limbs on." " Oh, Aunt Chainy I " called out Hal ; " let me help too." " Dat you shall," was the cheerful answer ; and leaving baby Frank, amused seeing Sam and Eafe finish thatching the dwelling, Chainy and Hal went at their work. The little com- pany were as happy as could be in fitting up their temporary home. " We ken stiiy here," said Chainy to her- self, " till suffin' better mrns up. De Lord is dat good to give us dis sher nice place." Some days were occupied in completing and furnishing their abode, which all the party 98 THE POOR WHITE. enjoyed highly. At meal-time they repair- ed to their old cookiug-stand, which they called the kitchen, their store of venison still furnishing them with delicious meat. Chainy, ever pleasant and thoughtful, planned to have the children spend some time in play ; and what with play, and what with getting wood for the cooking-fire and adding thatching to their habitation, they were mostly busy and happy. Yet some- times the hours wore heavily to the good wo- man, for, at best, this retreat seemed but tem- porary, and might be disturbed by their worst enemy, Workfork. Were her fears groundless ? We shall see. One day, when Sam and Rafe were out searching for roots and berries, suddenly they came upon a company of rough- looking men, whom they knew at once to be in pursuit of their party. The ruffians were sitting down on the grass, eating their lunch and drinking from a bottle which was freely passed from one to another. As the boys caught sight of AN ENCOUNTER. 99 them, they had plainly heard their voices, and were looking rouucl to see what it meant. " Hist ! " whispered Workfork, for he was the leader of the gang, " the game is comin' ! Didn't I tell ye it'd be easy ketchin' 'em?" at the same time starting up and looking eagerly around. " So, Sniper, you go that way, Patrick Conner this way, an' I'll see what I an' the rest can do in the brush ; " and in a minute, the half-dozen were scattered in as many directions. Sam and Eafe had slid down the bank, and hidden under a thicket of briers. The sev- eral scouts looked long and carefully, but in vain, and at length returned to their encamp- ment. "Haint found 'em, hey ? " asked Workfork. " Stupid ! you've let the rascals slip through your fingers ; jingo ! if you haint ! " " They didn't slip through^our'n, I reck- on ! " retorted Sniper. "You shet up," replied Workfork; " I'se the cap'n of this are comp'ny, an' it's fur 100 THE POOR TVTIITE. me to order, an' fur you to obey." Then, more pleasantly, " Wall, we're on the trail, an' we mought as well be movin'. As I said, gemmen, if we takes 'em, we'll go shares, an' you'll make a putty little foi-tin ! " So the pursuers started anew, half going forward, and half on the route by which they had come. Eafe and Sam, under the thicket, listened, eager to hear their voices, and judge of the direction they had taken. " I reckon they wont find us," said Riife, drawing a long breath as the sounds grew less in the distance. " But some on 'em is gwine right whar Aunt Chainy is," said Sam. " Dat's bad ! " repUed Kafe. " What's we'se to do?" " We must do some thin'," said Sam. '' It wont do to let ^nt Chainy be hurt. I tell you, Rafe, I feel as big as a man, an' you is 'most as big." • " I ! " said Rafe ; " I'se bigger than you is ! AN ENCOUNTER. 101 I reckon we can take care of Aunt Chainy. Didn't we kill the old buck?'* " That we did," replied Sam ; and the two, starting up from their hiding-place, directed their steps to their dwelling. It was nearly noon, and Chainy had left Frank asleep on the moss in the greenwood cabin, and was busy getting dinner, answer- ing Hal's pleasant prattle as she roasted the meat. At the instant Sam and Kafe came in siofht Workfork and two men appeared. "Blast yer carcass, old woman!" shouted the driver. " You've gin me a putty chase, an' I'll show you what's what ! I'll tie you tow the fust tree, an' whale you within an inch of yer life ! " At sight of him, Chainy fell helpless to the ground, and little Hal called out, — " Go 'way, bad man ; you sha'n't touch my Aunt Chainy." The savage kicked him over, and drawing out a cord, was about to execute his threat 102 THE POOR WHITE. of binding the helpless woman to the tree, when one of his men said, — "She's done for't, now. Why don't you bring her to fust ? " "Here, you rascal,'' cried Workfork to Sam, " bring us some water ! " "I'se nothin' to bring it in," said Sam, coolly. "Couldn't you lend me your hat? " "Look here, you whelp," said Workfork, "if you don't bring it lively, I'll whip you fiist. I mean tow dress you all down afore I've done ! " and he brandished a cowskin, to give effect to his words. " Off with you, Rafe, an' help him find some water ! " and the two boys hastened down the declivity, where flowed their well-known spring. Meanwhile Chainy slowly opened her eyes, at which all the mal- ice in Workfork's natm'e seemed to be stirred. " Aint quite so dead as you made believe, is you, old jade? Thought 3'ou could come it over me, did ye? Wal, ye see I'm used to your tricks , an' now I'm gwine to treat you as you deserve. I'm gwine to let ye have a AN ENCOUNTER. . 103 Httle taste of suthiii' you don't git every day. You done cheated me out of my breakfast ! ^ and he gave her a smart cut across her face with his cowhide. " An' cost us all this are traipsing intow the swamp," said Sniper, as he gave her a blow with a stout stick. " Oh, don't, massa, don't ! " pleaded the helpless woman, putting up her hands, as if to ward off the blows. " Be done, Sniper," said the driver, authori- tatively, " whippin' isn't the work afore us jest now. That's too good for the old truck ! " Then seizing Chainy rudely by the arm, and dragging her toward a tree, he said, "This way with ye, an' you'll have sich a treat as will put the life into your old bones, I'll war- rant. Yer aint o' much 'count, noways, now the Yanks has come, and niggers don't bring much. If I takes ye along you'll be givin' us more strouble than twenty sich as you is worth in the market, so I'll jest dispose of you on the spot. I haint had a right smart good 104 THE POOR WHITE. time tormentin' a nigger for mor'n a year. Can't aflbrd to let this opportunity slip ; don't recnr every day ! " Then drawing from his coat pocket a small iron chain, he commenced binding her to the oak. Chainy was almost frozen with terror. She could form no distinct idea of the terrible fate that awaited her ; but the murderous light that shot from the driver's ej^es, and the fiend- ish leer that rested on his pitiless face, filled her with the fear that some fell design pos- sessed her tormentor. Her eyes seemed start- ing from then* sockets, and an unearthly pallor overspread her wrinkled features, making her look truly frightful. She appeared to be making endeavors to plead with him for mercy ; but so extreme was her fear that the words died on her lips. Workfork bound her securely to the tree, then turning to Sniper, said, — " Xow, old fellar, jest set them chaps to work an' pile the dry limbs round the old woman, an' w^e'U celebrate Fourth of July.'* AN ENCOUNTER. 105 Sniper and his companions did as they were ordered, gathering the loose wood from the thickets and lieaping it around the victim. AVorkfork assisted, but worked leisurely, as if to lengthen out the suspense of the object of his hate. " Wont we warm her up ? We'll take the ager chills out of her ! " he exclaimed, with great satisfaction, as the dreadful prepara- tions went on. At length all was ready, and the driver, going to the spot where Chainy's cooking fire stiil burned dimly, took up a brand, at first bidding his subordinates to do the same, then countermanding the order, saying, — " No, no ; this are sport I must enjoy all tow myself!" and returned to Chainy, and shaking the flaming torch before her, he said, "Now, old jade, you'll hafter do more screech- in' an' groanin' an' pray in' than you ever did in all the whippin's you ever had. You see, Sniper an' I is jest a gwine to see how a nig- ger like you will look a-roasting ! " 106 THE POOR WHITE. Chainy comprehended her situation. At first one piercing sliriek rent the air, then she fell to praying, and awaited her tormentor's movements with strange composure. AYork- fork stoojDed down to ignite the brush-heap at its base. Just then the sharp report of a rifle w^as heard, and the murderer rolled over on the ground, covered with blood. It seems that as Sam and Rafe loitered by the spring, to give " Aunt Chainy time to rest a bit," as they expressed it, they were startled by seeing a strange-looking man descending from a lofty cypress, and stalking toward them with a gun on his shoulder, over the bogs of the swamp. " '\Yhat's de strouble?" said he, as he came tiear. "That slave-driver is gwine to whip Aunt Chainy," said Sam, softly. " Aunt Chainy ! " said the swamp-man. " I'll see to him ! " then cautiously approached Workfork and his company till he found an opening to take aim, when he fired. AN ENCOUNTER. 107 Workfork bounded forward Avith a yell of anguish, and fell. The ball had passed through his arm, and lodged in his side. His comrades, who were poor whites, turned and fled, and meeting the rest of their party re- turning from a fruitless search, told them that they were pursued by a large gang of armed negroes, who had killed Workfork. Sniper was a great coward, as well as the rest, and they now took to their heels in confusion, some of the number even throwinfir down their guns in their haste to distance the dreaded swamp-men. Sam and Kafe brought water in a dipper, which Aunt Chainy had made from a wild gourd some time before, and bathing her forehead, she soon revived. The swamp-man was clad in the skins of Avild beasts, mostly of deer-skin, with a cap of shaggy, coarse fur, suggestive of the bear. As Chainy became conscious, and saw him, she asked, feebly, as she raised herself on her elbow, — 108 THE POOR WHITE. "Is you friend?" " That I is," answered the maroon. A something in his brawny face and wild- wood air gave her confidence, and she ex- claimed, — " Praise de Lord ! you'll help us, den ; " and as she looked around, catching a sight of AYorkfork, she recalled his threat, and said, with a shocked look, — " AVhat is it ? Who did it ? Is he dead ? '' But without answering her, the swamp- man and Sam and Eafe helped her rise, and led her to the cabin, saying she must rest. "Is we safe from the bad men?" asked Chainy. "Yes, dat we is," said Rafe ; " they've run off." " They clipped it like deer," added Sam. When Chainy had rested and recovered from her fright, she asked the swamp-man how he came to find them. " I've kept watch of you ever since Will Forbes left," he replied. AN ENCOUNTER. 109 "Has you? " said Chainy, wondermgly. She then told him some pai-ticulars of their history and adventures, adding that she wished to be in a safe place until she could Qnd a way of getting Sam back to his father's house, and Hal and Frank also to their own home. The maroon nodded assent, and sitting down on the log, pointed to the skin of the buck, stretched for drying, on the boughs op- posite, and asked, — "Who did that?" Chainy replied that Sam and Rafe did it. " Big hunters ! " said he, with a smile. He seemed much pleased with his new acquain- tance, and drew from Chainy other partic- ulars of her life, to which he listened with i chained attention, often ejaculating, — ■ "Is dat so? S'prizinM s'prizin' ! " Chainy asked him if he knew of any safe dwelling, where they could live in peace. " Yes, dat I do," replied he, with anima- tion; "derc's my cabin." 110 THE POOR WHITE. " Can't de slave-driver find it ? " " No danger of that," replied the swamp- man. " I knows every bog of the swamp, every leaf of the forest. I'se got safe cabin ; built it 'spressly for such as you. AVhen you gits rested, I take you there." He then returned to the scene of the fray, to look after the body of Workfork, — it was not to be found. Where could it be ? Had he feigned himself dead, and crawled off un- observed, or had his comrades returned for him? It was an unsolved mystery. It was necessary to remain till the next day, on account of the shock Chainy had re- ceived. Late in the afternoon, Sam and Eafe brought the dinner into the little gi-een cabin, and the inmates, having recovered from the startling occurrences of the day sufficiently to eat, par- took of the meal with a keen relish. The quiet of the evening was undisturbed by sounds of strife ; nought but the croaking of the frogs, the singing of the katydids, the AN ENCOUNTER. Ill chirping of the crickets, and the occasional call of the whippoorwill, was hoard, and the little family slept in peace until the morning broke, when the swamp-man was astir, and getting breakfast with the aid of the lads ; and having spread the table after Chainy's mode, they all sat down and ate ; after which, the maroon, in his business-like way, arose, and motioned for them to follow. Giving his gini to Rafe, and his game to Sam, he took Hal and Frank in his arms, and was starting on, when Sam called out, — "Must we leave the stag's horns, an' stag's hide ? Can't we tote 'em too ? " " Not now," said the maroon ; " I will come back an' git 'em for you ! " and springing down the declivity, he was soon striding from bog to bog, with wonderful activity. To follow him was no easy matter; and just as the trio behind were pitching into the swamp, with the attempt to imitate his motions, he turned and came back, and sitting down on a juniper bush, called a council of war. 112 THE POOR WHITE. "Dese sher white children'll die," he said, " if we takes 'em through the swamp to my cabin. If they was black, it woukl be bad enough for 'em, but the pison-oak an' lots of other things is death to 'em." " What can we do ? " asked Chainy. " It wont do to take 'em through that part of the swamp," said the maroon; "they'd breathe the pison ])ref, an' swell up an' die. I mought take 'em down the canal-path, to the shingle country, where they'd be safe ; an' if we paid a trader, he'd see 'em safe hum ! " Tears of joy shone in the gladsome light of Chainy 's beaming face. She had nerved her- self to the utmost, to save the children from a dreadful fate, and now what a great relief to hear of any prospect of final deliverance ! She even prattled to herself, in her childish way, — " 'Pears like if ole Chainy sinks to de grave in dish sher swamp, dese are little children wont starve. I'se dat glad for 'em, I is ! De Lord is dat good ! " X. The Sylvah Lodge. For whom was it btjilt? ^1 T was decided to eucamp for the night in (V^ their old quarters, and after a good breakfast off the game, to set out on the new route, planned by them aroon. Accordingly, when all had pai-taken of the morning meal, and the sun had broken through the clouds of fog, the party addressed themselves to their journey. After retracing their way for some distance they reached the canal, and found good walking on the smooth tow-path. Sam was quite elated with the hope that some trader could be induced to take him to his home, and had his mind made up that it would surely be the first man they met. " Isn't it, most time to see a trader ? '* asked he of the swamp-man, as he trudged close by his side. 114 THE rOOR T\-HITE. " May be right smart while before we sees one," said the huuter. " But I wants to see one right smart quick,' replied Sam, feeling a qualm of homesickness* "Dat you does," said Chainy, compassion- ately; "an' we'll find one, des as soon as we can." For miles they walked thus on the borders of the canal till they came to a j^oint in the swamp where the mai'oon thought it would be safe to cross to the High Eidge, or shingle country, with the white children. Chainy and the lads now left the firm land for spongy soil, and attemjjted to follow the hunter, in bound- ing from bog to bog, and in maintaining a footing on the half-submerged, rotten logs? that partly paved the way, by clinging to the adjacent shrubs. Xo Indian Imew the forests of his nativity better than did this woodsman every part of this vast swampy region. He understood at a glance just how firm the bogs were, and with Frank and Hal in his arms, threaded his THE SYLVAN LODGE. 115 way, with surprising agility through the tan- gled green-brier, brake, osiers, and the myr- iad slime-loving plants. The tardy trio were often distanced, and their guide hidden from them by masses of dense foliage. Indeed, in their attempts to hasten their pace, they often slipped from the mouldy logs, and after floun- dering, in danger of sinking irrecoverably, managed to creep upon them again, with the help of the swamp-man, who, having deposited his charge in the thick branches of the cypress, had returned to their rescue, and lifting them up one by one, bore them to a secure footing, fast by the trunk of some giant tree, laughing at their awkwardness, and cheering them by saying the swamp mud would cure the fevers, and adding, — "De bes' of it is, de white man can't pick dish sher path." The maroon was conducting them by a short route to his home, which it would have taken them long miles of travel to reach by the wide circuit of the canal. 116 THE POOR WHITE. *' Where you gwine to tote me ? " asked Hal, who had for some time been looking over the woodman's shoulder at the strange scenery. "To my green cabin," replied the guide. " Has you got any little boy ? " asked Hal. "No," said the maroon, sadly; "I lives all alone." After a while the travelling began to im- prove. The bogs were nearer together, and less inclined to submerge at the pressure of the foot. The logs being mostly out of water were less slippery, and afforded a safer path- way whenever they chanced to lay in the right direction, A strong growth of sedge-grass, in some places, had rooted and decayed and grown again, for long years, until a miniatm'e hillock was formed. These were more com- mon, and the voracious vegetation seemed as if drinking up the swamp slops. If only the impenetrable cedar boughs that roofed the jungle could be cut away, and the sun, for once in ages, could get a fair peep at the re- maining scattered puddles, he would surely THE SYLVAN LODGE. 117 exhale them into vapor. In taking this route, our travellers had avoided almost entirely the vicinities where poisonous j)lants abounded. The pawwaw, the thalictrum, rank and tall, water-hemlock, conium, and cicuta, in parts of the wilderness, filled the air with a nau- seous fragrance, so sickening that no white person could live under its influence. Yet it did not so easily affect the colored man, —a kind Providence had thus fenced him in when once he had attained this '' city of refuo-e." A sandy belt, sustaining a thick growth of pines, was reached by the swamp-man, and putting Frank and Hal in a place of safety, he returned to help those behind. It was well he did so, for they sadly needed his aid. "Oh ! " said Chainy, " 'pears like dat pison air'll kill us ! " "Oh, no," replied the hunter, "only a little mite strouble, dat all, nothin' like what 'twould be if we'd gone to that man. When you all git rested in my home, you'll be well again ; " and he tenderly took up the exhausted woman, 118 THE rOOIl WHITE. bore her to his dwelling near by, and laid her on a nice bed of deerskin filled with moss, feathers, and leaves. In a moment more he had placed Frank and Hal beside her, and then hastened out to suc- cor Sam and Rafe. A feeder, or branch of the canal, was near the cabin, and the com- pany might have reached it by the two days' travel on the tow^-path ; but at the end of their journey they would be under the necessity of swimming the canal, which was both wide and deep at this point, unless, indeed, a swamp- merchant's boat should happen in sight. Sam was greatly taken up with the hermit's abode. It was, indeed, the prettiest in all the wild, but was more of a lodge than a cabin. It could be seen, at a glance, that he had been many years in building it, and had been as- sisted at every step b}^ nature. The site of the lodge, or summer retreat, was well chosen ; it was a gentle elevation ; the soil was sand and loam, and every green thing flourished. Sam's ideas had been much THE SYLVAN LODGE. 119 expanded in 'his travels, and when not too home-sick he was all eager curiosity. He noted that lodge, and planned, when a man, to have one like it, for summer, in the piny wood where his father's cabin stood. The hermit had also a nice warm log-cabin for winter. Sam noticed that the lodge was formed by setting out rows of young trees, enclosing a space some twenty feet square, in the centre of which was a noble tulip-tree. The hedge, designed for the walls of the dwelling, was kept close by being pruned on the inside, but allowed to grow naturally on the other. Lithe willows and strong walnuts, when high enough, were bent and fastened to the centre tree for a frame. Eglantines, climbing roses, honeysuckles, jasmines, and other creepers were set at work to clapboard and shingle the tenement, and well they did their task, rejoicing in luxuriance. What with countless days of pruning and training, the hermit saw his lodge getting built by degrees, and, as the years rolled on, 120 THE POOR WHITE. as he busied himself iu furnishing it, the lag- ging time became swift-winged. Sam peered about, all curiosity, examining closely the chairs of gnarled oak, and the drink- ing-vessels, or goblets, white as ivory, made of the wood of the tulip-tree. He meant to furnish his mother's cabin with some made like them. He noticed, too, that the hard earthen floor was almost covered with curi- ously woven mats of colored reeds, imparting a neat and tasteful appearance. He would ask the hermit to show him how to make them, and then, when he got home, what good times Tomtit and all the rest of the brood would have braiding mats for mother ! Leaving Sam to explore the curious sylvan dwelling,^ and project improvements in his father's house, let us see what is the matter with Chainy this fine morning, for there she is sitting in the oaken arm-chair, crying ! Not an hour ago she awoke, refreshed, and the quiet security of the pretty dwelling soothed her worn spirit. THE SYLVAN LODGE. 121 The hermit had a cup of coffee, a corn- cake, and nice slices of dried venison all ready for her when she arose, and, the chil- dren still sleeping, Chainy, himself, with Sam and Ilafe, sat down to eat. The slave-woman's heart overflowed with thankfulness ; she felt that the Lord had de- livered them, and as she ate she praised his name. *' Does the Lord always hear your prayers ? " asked observant Sam, as, having finished, he rose from the table. " Yes, honey, dat he does ! " was the reply. "Didn't you pray to have him give you back your Trolo ? " asked he ; for he had heard her tell the story of her giief. "Dat I did ! Oh, yes, how I did pray de Fader from sun to sun ! " "But he didn't hear you," said Sam; "and sometimes I think it aint no use to pray ! " " God did hear her," cried the maroon, deeply moved, and rising to his feet. " / am Trolo!'' 122 THE POOR A\TnTE. "Trolo ! Trolo ! " exclaimed Chainy, gazing earnestly in his face, then falling .on his neck and kissing him. "My Trolo! Yes, yes, dat's so ! " Then, in the fulness of her joy, she cried, saying, as she could find voice, " De Lord is dat good ! dat good ! But 'pears like it can't be dat you is my boy ! I thought de hunters shot my Trolo, great many years ago!" "An' he got ^vell again, and is alive now, for I am he I " said the maroon. "De Lord be praised for dat !" said Chainy. "Mauy's de time 'pears like if dese ole eyes could see him dey neber weep agin ! An' now I'se so glad I can't do nothin' but cry for joy." " I am your own Trolo, mother ! " cried the maroon, and he clasped her in his arms ; while Chainy, in excess of happiness, continued to sob like a child. Oh, it was a scene to make heaven glad, — the meeting of that lone mother and son, so long separated by the cruel hand of slavery, and as the hours swept by, they poured out THE SYLVAN LODGE. 123 the pent-up griefs of long years, and found healing in sympathy and love. " De Lord is dat good ! " Chainy continued to repeat, as she listened to her son's recital of his adventures, after losing sight of her on the night of theif escape. "I reckon he is," replied he ; "I didn't know I was makin' a hum for you, mother; but day an' night I have longed for you to come, and kep' building it, building it, feeling in my heart dat I must, but neber dreamed you'd some day be here. De Fader saunt you, dat is sartin ! " "De Lord, he does hear prayer," fervently echoed Chainy, turning to Sam, who just then came running in with his arms full of reeds, to ask the hermit to teach him to weave mats. " I wants Sam always to remember dat, an' if he is in strouble he can pray." "I mean to pray to have him let me go home ! " said Sam, much impressed. Frank and Hal were moaning in their sleep. Chainy went to them, and found their 124 THE POOR ^VHITE. faces aucl hands covered with large blotches and fine fiery pimples. The quick eye of the maroon saw it, and he knew, despite all his care, that they were sick by exposure to the poisonous air of the swamp. Hastening out, he soon returned with an arhiful of a healins: emolient plant, well known to himself as in some cases a preventive and cure for the poi- son of certain other plants, and rubbing the faces and hands of the little boys, hoped that* it would relieve them. But the healing application had not been in season to stop the eflects of the poison ; they were covered from head to foot with the itch- ing, burning eruption, and cried piteously in their pain. "With Sam it was quite different ; the antidote seemed to work wonders, and to arrest the poison, as soon as he felt it coming on. The hunter said that he would soon be quite well, but shook his head apprehensively as he saw how sick the little ones were. As Frank restlessly tossed on the bed, and cried, Chainy took him in her arms and THE SYLVAN LODGE. 125 walked to and fro, singing a lullaby, but to little purpose. "Poor little thing! darlin' infant baby! What Aunt Chainy do? what Aunt Chainy do?" "I must go to Cypress Eidge," said the her- mit, "and see if I can't find something to help them I " At the sound of the name, Sam was all at- tention. "Let me go too," said he, "there's where we'll meet the traders who'll take me back to Piny Wood ! " e " You shall go," replied the hermit ; " I reckon there'll be some way of sendin' you there I " Chainy filled the hermit's game-bag with food for their dinner, and telling Sam to be sure and come back if he did not find some one to show him home, she blessed him, and promised to pray for him. The hermit, giv- ing Chainy and Kafe directions about taking 126 THE POOR AVHTTE. . care of the children, and dutifully kissing his newly-found mother, left, saying, — **Ifs lots harder gwiue away, now you is here ! " Sam followed, after he had bidden Rafe and Chainy a second good-by. Ik XI. Sam makes a Discovert. ^, /yi ITH quick steps, the maroon and Sara ViiiA' went down to the feeder, or canal branch, which lay at the foot of the slope. "Where is the boat?" asked Sam. "It's safe in its hiding-place," replied the hermit, as he drew it out of the thick bushes that fringed the stream. " Oh," exclaimed Sam, " what a pretty boat ! " "This is a canoe," said the hermit; "I hol- lowed it out of a gum-tree." " Did you ? " exclaimed Sam. " I wish there was a canal and a little boat at our house ; I'd row Tomtit an' the rest in it I " " Can't have everything we want," was the reply, as the two stepped in. ■ It was a bright day, and a half-hour's row- 127 128 THE POOR AVTHTE. ing brought them to the large canal. Sam was delighted with the canoe ride, and with exhilarated interest saw wonderful sights every moment. The canal passed through the heart of the Great Swamp, unveiling the wildest scenery imaginable. Magnificent ce- dars and magnolias, immense cypresses, ele- gant hackmetacks, and catalpas mingled with sturdy gums, oaks, and tulip trees, to make twilight at noonday, and to complete the gloom of the forest; from numerous trees hung the long dishevelled moss, funeral to- kens for the loss of the sun. All this strange, unique scenery had long talked to the heart of the sWamp-man, and caused him to think reverently of the great Father, and of his wonderful works ; but it seemed to Sam that he could never tire of gazing at the dim old woods, and then at the marvellous array of flowers that, won by the line of light opened by the canal, bloomed ou its banks, and dressed their corals as they were mirrored in the water. There were SAM MAKES A DISCOVERY. 129 old friends and strangers grouped together, — wake-robins, lilies of the valley, violets, and anemones. The trumpet-flower climbed among the tall trees, and the delicate fox- glove and harebell, with gorgeous individ- uals of the orchis family, best loved seques- tered nooks. Plats of thick-standing phlox rejoiced in the light, looking like a fairy army, in plumes of pinks. " Oh, wouldn't Lottie like them posies ! '* exclaimed Sam ; and when he saw the brilliant cardinal flowers, he could contain himself no longer, but begged the hermit to stop and let him pick a handful, for they stood close by the water's edge. "You shall have them," was the pleasant reply, at the same time gathering a hand's swath, as the canoe passed by; "but they'll fade before you reach Lottie, and you'll find plenty of 'em that way." Stopping for a little while, to rest and eat their snack, the maroon made what speed he could, till at length the shadows of evening 130 THE POOR WHITE. brooded thickly over the forest, when, fearing for Sam, he looked for a shelter.. The bat and the owl came forth from their hiding- places, — the former flitting and boldly flap- ping its wings in their faces, and the latter solemnly hooting and welcoming the dark- ness. Myriads of frogs mingled treble and bass in clamorous, croaking concert, celebrating the praises of their slimy gi'een coverts, the beauty and convenience of their plasl^y habi- tations. Never had frogs such cities and vil- lages since the world began ; never did they flourish in such undisturbed prosperity. Fireflies glistened on fern, flower, and leaf, like so many sparkling diamonds. Sam did not weary of the shifting show ; and the swamp-man loved the sights and sounds of night ; but he felt anxious to accomplish the object of his journey ; otherwise, he would have encamped on the boughs of some century- lived cypress, and been lulled to sleep by the varying serenade and his own musings. SAM MAKES A DISCOVERY. 131 • He knew that not unfrequently panthers and bears lurked in the thicket. For himself, he had no fear of either, as he was skilled in wild-beast warfare ; but if attacked, he might fail to protect Sam, hence he Avas the more anxious to reach his quarters for the night. At length, gleaming tln'ough the darkness, -and an opening in the foliage, he saw a clus- ter of phosphorescent pines. He well knew the place, and lost no time in mooring his ca- noe, and in conducting his young charge to the hospitable cabin of Kize Carter; for, notwithstanding the savage hound that kept guard, it was hospitable. Calling off the dog, he had a fire kindled on the well-swept hearth, — to get supper and to keep off the chilliness of the evening, — and bade his guests be .seated a;nd make themselves at home. Kize Carter was a poor Avhite, — a swamp- merchant. Along the line of the great canal which traverses the swamp lengthwise, con- necting the waters of the Chesapeake with Al- bormarlo Sound, are located a rough set of 132 THE POOR WHITE. persons, — poor whites, — who trade with thd maroons. These merchants obtain their sup- plies, and convey the produce of the swamp principally, if not entirely, to Norfolk. The articles which the negroes require are for the most part salfed provisions, Indian corn, coarse clothes, and tools, and what they fur- nish in payment are chiefly staves and shin- gles. These traders being low whites, whom slavery had robbed of a chance to engage in getting an honest livelihood, and were thus necessitated to seize the only means to avoid starvation, which was stealthily and adroitly to pursue this unlawful trade. As it is a difficult matter to enforce the laws, the buyers and sellers of the wilderness alike avoid detection, and ply their business in undisturbed prosperity. Our heroes were glad of the friendly shel- ter of the traficker's cabin, and directly they sat down to a supper of slices of dried beef, boiled bacon, and roasted potatoes. The landlord, — that anomaly, a fat "poor SAM MAKES A DISCOVERY. 133 white," that coutradictiou, a rich-poor white, — having arisen to let the new-comers enter, agiiin blocked up the doorway with his ro- tund figure. As our travellers began to eat, the trader knocked the ashes from his pipe, and replenishing it with tobacco from an old, greasy-looking box, handed it to his daughter Cretia to light, and settled back in his chair for a talk. "Come out of the swamp, I reckon." ."Yes," replied the maroon. " Haint I seen vou afore ? " »/ "I reckon so," was the reply ; "Pse eat here afore to-day." "So I reckoned," said the trader; "I reck- oned I'd seed you afore!" and placing the lighted pip^e which Cretia had handed him in the right corner of his mouth, he asked, — "What's the news your way?" "Nothin' much," said the maroon. "Wal," said the trader, "there's a great hubbub this way. Jeff Davis he wants to be president in place of old Abe, and he's started 134 THE POOR WHITE. the biggest rebellion, or revolution; but it don't harm our business. It beats all natur , it does, sir. Ye see, slaves is bound to run away, now their masters has gone to war, an' I aint the man to blame 'em nuther ; the more the merrier for me ; and I'd run away, too, afore I'd tight for Jeff, — that is, if I could run." "Don't any soldiers trouble you?'' asked the maroon. "Is you safe?" " Safe as a mouse in a mill," replied the merchant. "If the United States should try to oust us, ye see it'd cost mor'n it would come to, and the Confederates has too much to do to think on us. Deserters sometimes comes along, an' we shows 'em how we man- ages, an' they hires out, or sets up for 'em- selves. Only a week ago a poor fellar 'scaped here all in tatters an' rags, an' I never pitied a man so much in all my life. Cretia, she made him a nice partridge broth, and fitted him up in my clothes that I'd outgrown, an' iu three days you wouldn't ha', known him. SAM MAKES A DISCOVERY. 135 He went to work as my man, gettiii' out staves aiv shingles ; but here he comes I " and as the trader finished speaking a man entered,- and taking oif his cap and hanging it on a nail in the corner of the room, drew a chair by the wide fireplace and sat down. The hound, Music, followed him in, wagging his tail, and crouched beside him. Sam eyed the man from the instant he came in, and after a moment, edged up to him and looked eagerly into his face. ** Why, Sam ! " exclaimed fhe new-comer, catching him up in his arms, "how came you here?" " Oh, father, father ! " cried Sam ; " Tse so glad ! halloa ! my crackey ! " and jumping out ij||^ t)f his arms he danced, turned summersaults, ^ and cut all sorts of capers. As for the father, he was too happy, and tears of joy chased each other over his cheeks. " Did you come arter me ? " asked Sam, as he stopped to take breath. 136 THE POOR WHITE. "Yes, Sam. You seen anything of Lottie?" was the reply. "No; is she lost?" " She left hum to find you, Sam, a few days ai*ter you was missing. Nothin' would do but she must go, an' I didn't think on't so much at the time, but arter she was really gone, it struck to my heart ; an' I thought I'd ruther die than not set out to see w^hat's become of yees. So I told your mother I was gwine, for I couldn't sleep, nor eat, nor smoke.. At fust she went Sgin it; but arter she fell to prayin' she felt better about it, — you know, Sam, she aluz prays 'bout everything, — an' she gin her consent; though for that matter I should gone if she hadn't, I was that sot on it." "How did you know I was hid in the swamp ? " " I didn't know it," was the reply, " I s'pect your mother'd say it was in answer to her prayers. I never thought of finding you here ; " and he gazed fondly on his son. XII. Trouble in the Mansion. ^^^t YATT Hail was the name of the home vi^LA' of Frank and Hal. It was a fine old establishment in Eastern Virginia. Mr. Bev- erly Manson, their father, had his plantation well stocked with slaves, — about one hundred and fifty in number. In early life Mr. and Mrs. Manson regretted the existence of slavery, and often expressed themselves as in favor of a condition of soci- ety like that of the North, where the laboring classes are paid regular wages and are encour- aged to have homes of their own. But, as time passed, they loved more the gains of slavery, and became imbruted to the system. Adopting the false views of their po- litical leaders, they came to think it part and parcel of the highest form of civilization. 138 THE POOR WHITE. The division of mankind into the two great classes of master and slave, it was argued, was the most desirable. They also professed to think, with many other Southern people, that slavery was a divine institution, and that the w^orking classes ought everywhere to be slaves ; that the family relation ought not to exist only in case of the master — denying all right of the poor to husband, wife, and child, — all right to resist oppression ; claim iug that God is a respecter of persons and on the side of the oppressor ; that he does 7iot lend a listening ear to the humble ; that he does not think upon the poor, but has created them to serve the rich, as the horse, the ox, and the mule serve man, in drudgery and unpaid toil ; that when God gave man dominion over the fish of the sea and the fowl of the air, and over the living creatures on the foce of the earth, he also gave him dominion over his fel- low-man. They ignored the idea that God made of one blood all nations of men that dwell on the TROUBLE IN THE MANSION. 139 face of the earth. They adopted a new relig- ion, just the opposite of the Christian religion ; the grand feature of it was not to " do unto others as ye would that they should do luito you," but rather "might makes right," saying to the slave "Thou shalt serve me, for thou art weak, and I am strong." "I was never so happy in my life," said Mrs. Mansou, the mother of little Frank and Hal, a few days before the opening of our story, " as since I adopted these views ; they reconcile so many difficulties." "Ah, yes, indeed," replied Mr. Manson, "that's so. The truth is, this half-way belief in slavery only makes one miserable. It's 'whole hog or nothing,' with me, after this. I've done with making apologies for slavery ; it's the thing — the system — the divine insti- tution, and it's the mission of the Southern people to establish it in the different countries of this continent. Fii'st, we must have all the States and Territories well pervaded with it.'' " I think I know a thing or two," broke in 140 THE POOR WHITE. Mrs. Mauson, in a lively way ; " the 'Knights of the Golden Circle ' unite for the purpose of extending our institution ; tell me, now, isn't it so?" "Wh}", how should I know?" asked Mr. Mauson with a suppressed smile. "Pretty story if you don't," was the rejoin- der. "You a member, and don't know what the order is for ! " "Well, if I did know, you do not suppose I could reveal the secrets?" said the husband. "Ah, no, of course not; but every one says this much, — that it is for the general purpose of extending and perpetuating slavery ; the secrets are the ways and means planned to ac- complish this, I reckon." "You do, hey?" said Mr. Manson, knock- ing the ashes from his cigar. "But I don't reckon," added Mrs. Manson, in a pouting way, " that you'd tell me one of the secrets of your Grand Order for love or money, — not to save my life ! " "Probably not," was the cool reply; then TROUBLE m THE MANSION. 141 humorously, "Now, wife, don't be after get- ting up a scene, making it appear that you are about to give up the ghost, because you can not learn from me what are the secrets of the * Knights ; ' I shall tell you a story if you do. Once upon a time there were two old la- dies, as Washington Irving relates, who lived on one side of a street in a thickly-settled place, and being maiden ladies, of course they made it a point to know who their neighbors were. Now it so happened that a family moved into the vacant house just opposite them early one morning before they were astir, and the good ladies busied themselves all the day in making inquiries as to who they were; but to no purpose. Nobody knew; they could gain no information whatever on a point so vital to their peace " — "Now, don't, Beverly," said Mrs. Manson, still pouting, yet smiling in spite of herself. "As you may suppose," continued he, "the good ladies slept little that night but whiled away the hours of midnight in conjectures re- 142 THE POOR WHITE. specting who the neighbors opposite coii]d possibly be. They arose with the early dawn to pursue their investigations ; but, alas, as fruitlessly as before. Days, weeks, and months passed, and the ladies wore no wiser. At length their feverish suspense became in- supportable ; they could endure it no longer, and, one after the other, they pined away and died, simply from unsatistied curiosity ; so I advise you not to take the disease, for there's no telling how hard it might go with you." "What an idea ! " exclaimed Mrs. Manson. ^ IVe no notion of dying, let me tell you ; I in- tend to live till this war is through, and see our institution planted and thriving all through New England, the Western States, and the Territories ; I sha'n't kick the bucket till then, mind you, Knights or no Knights. But it'tj a burning shame that we ladies aren't admitted to the Order. Who docs so much for the Con- federacy as we do? We deny ourselves of rich dress, that we may have money to clothe our soldiers ; we rob ourselves of ease and TROUBLE IN THE MANSION. 143 needful rest to make their clothes. Yet you moil take all the glory of everything that's ac- complished. I'd like to see justice done, I should indeed ; but I reckon I must await the verdict of the impartial historian, and if it isn't recorded by him that this glorious uprising of the South originated and was carried on main- ly by the efforts of us women, I'm greatly mis- taken." " He'll give you your due, of course," said Mr. Manson, complacently. " That's all we claim," said Mrs. Manson. " I only wish Frank and Hal were grown to manhood ; I'd send them off to the war this very day ! " " You would, hey ? " asked Mr. Manson. " That I would, and if I had twenty sons, they should- all go, and more than all that, if I was a man, I'd go myself. Talk about Knio-hts of the Golden Circle and a secret league. It seems to me that you men aren't half awake to the responsibilities of the hour." "Maybe not," replied Mr, Manson ; "but 144 THE POOR WHITE. what more can we do ? We pour out money and treasure free as water, and our armies are filliuor the land. Ah*eadv our lines of defences reach from Harper's Ferry to Norfolk, and as many as one hundred and fifty thousand armed men are in Virginia alone. Fifteen thousand are at Richmond. AVe are making ready to pour down upon Washington ; we are sure of the capital" — " So I've heard for months," replied Mrs. Manson ; " but I do not see any real advance in that direction. It's ' all talk and no cider,' as the Indian said. More ' do ' and less ' say ' would suit me better, I confess." "Xo advance ! Why, wife, what can you be thinking of? I take it our generals know what they are about. They are fortifying and making themselves impregnable. .Thousands upon thousands of our slaves are employed upon the fortifications from sunrise till sunset, day after day." "That may be," returned Mrs.. Manson, " but what is the use of it ? We are putting TROUBLE IN THE MANSION. 145 ourselves upon the defensive, when our boast has been for years tliat we would be on the of- fensive ; — we would cany the war into the enemy's country, and make them swallow our terms, or perish. We never planned to act like moles, and dig and hide ourselves in the sand. It's such an inglorious mode of warfare that we ladies have no patience with it. If we could only manage affairs a little while, we'd bring them Yanks to terms. We wouldn't give them a chance to pour down up- on us like Goths and Vandals as they are ; we'd have them routed, hip and thigh, on their own soil. Strange our leaders cannot do as they said they would, — invade the enemy's country, and subdue them there." "]S"onsense, wife I Why not have a little more patience ? " "I have had quite too much of it already," was the reply. "At this rate, we shall soon be out of everything eatable, except the few things we raise on our plantation. If Jeff 146 THE POOR AVHITE. don't move faster, we shall be ruined, and I shall tell him so the next time I see him." ""W^hy, wife, our leaders know what they are about. If they do not advance into the North, common Christian charity leads us to conclude that they have good reasons for their course. Prepare yourself for a surprise, Ame- lia; great strategic purposes are being ma- tured by our generals." " That's what I am complaining of," replied the wife, " so much planning and so little do- ing. Pray, what have Jeif and the rest ac- complished since this revolution commenced ? " " I am surprised, wife, that you should ask such a question. The commencement of the revolution dates back full fifty years, — ever since any of our number dreamed of secession. Step by step we've brought the Northerners to terms. We have really ruled the country ; most of the Presidents have been chosen from the Slave States, at least a larger propor- tion than our white population would warrant ; this was allowed by the obsequious, cringing TROUBLE IN THE MANSION. 147 Northerners in order to conciliate us, their masters. There was the Missouri Compromise, which really yielded the whole thing, allowing us a footing in certain Territories. The Fugi- tive Slave Bill, you cannot have forgotten that. Didn't we come it over the dough-faces when we made that law? Why, every man, woman, and child of the North was bound to turn dog, and help us retake our stray prop- erty ! Just what the miserable descendants of the Puritans are fitted for, — to help hunt runaways. If that confounded ship that brought over the hypocritical Pilgrim Fathers to this country, had sunk in mid-ocean, we should never have been put to the trouble of furnishin