Cudjo's Cave Part 67

Again he poised his rifle. But Virginia threw herself upon the victim, covering with her own pure bosom his miserable, guilty breast.

Pomp smiled. "Do not fear. For your sake I have pardoned him."

"O, this is the n.o.blest act of your life, Pomp!" she exclaimed, clasping his hand with joy and grat.i.tude.

He looked in her face. A great weight was taken from his soul. His countenance was bright and glad.

"Do you think it was not a bitter cup for me? You have taken it from me, and I thank you. But Bythewood must not know I have relented. We have yet a work to do with him."

Then those who had been left behind in the cave, listening for the death-signal, heard the report of a rifle ringing through the chambers of rock. Not long after Pomp and Virginia returned; and Deslow was not with them. Augustus heard--Augustus saw--nor knew he any reason why the fate of Deslow should not presently be his own.

"Is justice done?" said Stackridge, with stern eyes fixed on Pomp.

"Is justice done?" said Pomp, turning to Virginia.

"Justice is done!" she answered, in a serious, firm voice.

XLVII.

_BREAD ON THE WATERS._

The next morning a singular procession set out from the cave. Stretchers had been framed of the trunks and boughs of saplings, and upon these the dead and wounded of yesterday were placed. They were borne by the prisoners of yesterday, who had been paroled for the purpose. Carl walked by the side of the litter that conveyed his cousin Fritz, talking cheerfully to him in their native tongue. Behind them was carried the dead body of Salina, followed by old Toby with uncovered head. With him went Pepperill, charged with the important business of seeing that all was done for the Villars family which had been stipulated, and of reporting to Pomp at the cave afterwards.

Last of all came Virginia, leaning on Penn's arm. He was speaking to her earnestly, in low, quivering tones: she listened with downcast countenance, full of all tender and sad emotions; for they were about to part.

Pepperill was intrusted with a second letter from Bythewood to the colonel, couched in these terms:--

"_Deslow was taken last night, and slaughtered in cold blood. The same will happen to me if all is not done as agreed. I am to be retained as a hostage until Pepperill's return. For Heaven's sake, help Mr. Villars and his family off with all convenient despatch, and oblige,_" &c.

Virginia was going to try her fortune with her father; but Penn's lot was cast with his friends who remained at the cave. From these he could not honorably separate himself until all danger was over; and, much as he longed to accompany her, he knew well that, even if he should be permitted to do so, his presence would be productive of little good to either her or her father. Moreover, it had been wisely resolved not to demand too much of the military authorities. A safe conduct could be granted with good grace to a blind old minister and his daughter, but not to men who had been in arms against the confederate government. Nor was it thought best to trust or tempt too far these minions of the new slave despotism, whose recklessness of obligations which interest or revenge prompted them to evade, was so notorious.

Penn would have attended Virginia to the base of the mountain, risking all things for the melancholy pleasure of prolonging these last moments.

But this she would not permit. Hard as it was to utter the word of separation,--to see him return to those solitary and dangerous rocks, not knowing that he would ever be able to leave them, or that she would ever see him again in this world;--still, her love was greater than her selfishness, and she had strength even for that.

"No farther now! O, you must go no farther!" And, resolutely pausing, she called to Carl,--for Carl's lot too lay with his. Toby and Pepperill also stopped.

"Daniel," said Penn, with impressive solemnity, "into thy hands I commit this precious charge. Be faithful. Good Toby, I trust we shall meet again in G.o.d's good time. Farewell! farewell!"

And the procession went its way; only Penn and Carl remained gazing after it long, with hearts too full for words.

When it was out of sight, and they were turning silently to retrace their steps, they saw a man come out of the woods, and beckon to them.

It was a negro--it was Barber Jim.

Permitted to approach, he told his story. Since the escape of the arrested Unionists through his cellar, he had been an object of suspicion; and last night his house had been attacked by a mob. He had managed to escape, and was now hiding in the woods to save his life.

"Deslow betrayed you with the rest," said Penn; "that explains it."

"My wife--my two daughters: what will become of them?" said the wretched man. "And my property, that I have been all this while laying up for them!"

"Do not despair, my friend. Your property is mostly real estate, and cannot be so easily appropriated to rebel uses, as the money deposited for me in the bank, from which I was never allowed to draw it! It will wait for you. A kind Providence will care for your family, I am sure. As for you, I do not see what else you can do but share our fortunes. There is one comfort for you,--we are all about as badly off as yourself."

"You shall have your pick of some muskets," said Carl, gayly; "and you vill find us as jolly a set of wagabonds as ever you saw!"

"Have you plenty of arms?"

"Arms is more plenty as prowisions. Vat is vanted is wittles. Vat is vanted most is wegetables. Bears and vild turkeys inwite themselves to be shot, but potatoes keep wery shy, and ve suffers for sour krout."

Barber Jim mused. "I will go with you. I am glad," he added, as if to himself, "that I paid Toby off as I did."

What he meant by this last remark will be seen.

Mr. Villars had taken the precaution to invest his available funds in Ohio Railroad stock some time before. Arrived in Cincinnati, he would be able to reap the advantages of this timely forethought. But in the mean time the expenses of a long journey must be defrayed; and he found it impossible now to raise money on his house or household goods. All the ready cash he could command was barely sufficient to afford a decent burial to his daughter. He was discussing this serious difficulty with Virginia, whilst preparations for Salina's funeral and their own departure were going forward simultaneously, when Toby came trotting in, jubilant and breathless, and laid a little dirty bag in his lap.

"I's fotched 'em! dar ye got 'em, ma.s.sa!" And the old negro wiped the sweat from his s.h.i.+ning face.

"What, Toby! Money!" (for the little bag was heavy). "Where did you get it?"

"Gold, sar! Gold, Miss Jinny! Needn't look 'spicious! I neber got 'em by no underground means!" (He meant to say _underhand_.) "I'll jes' 'splain 'bout dat. Ye see, Ma.s.sa Villars, eber sence ye gib me my freedom, ye been payin' me right smart wages,--seben dollah a monf! Dunno' how much dat ar fur a year, but I reckon it ar a heap! An' you rec'lec' you says to me, you says, 'Hire it out to some honest man, Toby, and ye kin draw inference on it,' you says. So what does I do but go and pay it all to Barber Jim fast as eber you pays me. 'Pears like I neber knowed how much I was wuf, till tudder day he says to me, 'Toby,' he says, 'times is so mighty skeery I's afeard to keep yer money for ye any longer; hyar 'tis fur ye, all in gold.' So he gibs it to me in dis yer little bag, an' I takes it, an' goes an' buries it 'hind de cow shed, whar 'twould keep sweet, ye know, fur de family. An' hyar it ar, sh.o.r.e enough, ma.s.sa, jes'

de ting fur dis yer 'casion!"

"So you got it by _underground means_, after all!" said Virginia, with mingled laughter and tears, opening the bag and pouring out the bright eagles.

The old clergyman was silent for a s.p.a.ce, overcome with emotion.

"G.o.d bless you for a faithful servant, Toby! and Barber Jim for an honest man."

"Dat's nuffin!" said Toby, snuffing and winking ludicrously. "Why shouldn't a cullud pusson hab de right to be honest, well as white folks? If you's gwine to tank anybody, ye better jes' tink and tank yersef! Who gib ol' Toby his freedom, an' den 'pose to pay him wages?

Reckon if 't hadn't been fur dat, ma.s.sa, I neber should hab de bressed chance to do dis yer little ting fur de family!"

"We will thank only our heavenly Father, whose tender care we will never doubt, after this!" said the old minister, with deep and solemn joy.

"Wust on't is, Jim hissef's got inter trouble now," said Toby. "He hab to put fur de woods; an' his family wants to git to de norf, whar dey tinks he'll mabby be gwine to meet 'em; but dey can't seem to manage it."

"O, father, I have an idea! You will have a right to take your _servants_ with you; and Jim's wife and daughters might pa.s.s as servants."

"I shall be rejoiced to help them in any way. Go and find them, Toby.

Thus the bread we cast on the water sometimes returns to us _before_ many days!"

XLVIII.