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Prisoners of Hope: A Tale of Colonial Virginia, a novel by Mary Johnston |
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Chapter 22. The Tobacco House Again |
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_ CHAPTER XXII. THE TOBACCO HOUSE AGAIN The master of Verney Manor and his guests slept late, for the carouse of the night before had been deep and prolonged. The master's daughter rose with the sun, and went down into the garden, and thence through the wicket into the mulberry grove, where she found Margery sitting on the ground, tying golden-rod to her staff. "Come and walk with me, Margery," she said. Margery rose with alacrity. "Where shall we go?" she asked in a whisper. "To the forest? There were eyes in the forest last night, not the great, still, solemn eyes that stare at Margery every night, but eyes that glowed like coals, and moved from bush to bush. Margery was afraid, and she left the forest, and sat by the water side all night, listening to what it had to say. A star shot, and Margery knew that a soul was on its way to Paradise, where she would fain go if only she could find the way.... There are purple flowers growing by the creek between the cedar wood and the marsh. Let us go gather them, and trim Margery's staff very bravely." "I care not where we go," said her mistress. "There as well as elsewhere." "Come, then," said Margery, and took the lead. When they had entered the strip of cedars which lay between the wide fields and the point of land on which stood the third tobacco house, Patricia stopped beneath a great tree. "We will go no further, Margery," she said. Margery objected. "The purple flowers grow by the water side." "Do you go and gather them then," said Patricia wearily. "I will wait for you here." Margery glided away, and her mistress sat down upon the dark-red earth at the foot of the tree. There was a cold and sombre stillness in the wood. The air smelt chill and dank, and the light came through the low, closely woven roof of foliage, as though it were filtered through crape, but at the end of the vista of trees shone a glory of sea and sky and gold-green marsh. Patricia gazed with dreamy eyes. "It is all fair," she said. "What was it that Dr. Nash read? 'My lines are fallen in pleasant places.' Riches and honor, and, they say, beauty, and many to love me.--O Lord God! I wish for happiness!" She laid her cheek against the cool earth, and the splendor before her wavered into a mist of rose and azure. "Why should I weep," she said, "that my lines are laid in pleasant places?" Margery with her arms filled with flowers appeared at her side. "Here are the purple flowers," she said. "Here is farewell-summer for me and a passion-flower for you." She threw the blooms upon the ground, and sitting down at her mistress's feet, began to weave them into garlands. Presently she took up the passion-flower. "This grew beside the tobacco house, close to the wall. Margery saw it, and ran to pluck it. The door of the tobacco house was closed, but above the passion-flower was a great crack between the logs." She began to laugh. "Margery heard a strange thing, while she was plucking the passion-flower. Shall she tell it to you?" "If you like, Margery," said Patricia indifferently. Margery leaned forward, and laid a cold, thin hand upon her mistress' arm. "There were seven men in the tobacco house. One said, 'When the Malignants are put down, what then?' and another answered, 'Surely we will possess their lands and their houses, their silver and their gold, for is it not written, "The Lord hath given them a spoil unto their servants."' Then the first said, 'Shall we not kill the Malignant, Verney?' Margery heard no more. She came away." Patricia rose to her feet, pale, with brilliant eyes. "You heard no more?" "No." "Margery, show me the place where you listened." Margery took up her staff, and led the way to the outskirts of the wood. "There," she said, pointing with her staff. "There, where the elder grows." Patricia laid her hand on the mad woman's shoulder. "Listen to me, Margery," she said in a low, distinct voice. "Listen very carefully. Go quickly to the great house, and to my father, or to Woodson, or to Sir Charles Carew give the message I am about to give you. Do you understand, Margery?" Margery nodding emphatically, Patricia gave the message, and watched her flit away through the gloom of the cedars into the sunlight beyond; then turned and went swiftly and noiselessly across the strip of field to the tall, dark, windowless tobacco house. As she neared it, there came to her a low and undistinguishable murmur of voices which rose into distinctness as she entered the clump of alders. Within the tobacco house were assembled the Muggletonian, the man branded upon the forehead, the youth with the hectic cheek (who acted as Secretary to the Surveyor-General), two newly purchased servants of Colonel Verney, Trail and Godfrey Landless. In the uncertain light which streamed from above through rents in the roof and crevices between the upper logs the interior of the tobacco house looked mysterious, sinister, threatening. Here and there tobacco still hung from the poles which crossed from wall to wall, and in the partial light the long, dusky masses looked wonderfully like other hanging things. The great casks beneath had the appearance of shadowy scaffolds, and the men, sitting or standing against them, looked larger than life. All was dusk, subdued, save where a stray sunbeam, sifting through a crack in the opposite wall, lit the ghastly face and shaven crown of the Muggletonian. Landless, leaning against a cask, addressed a man of a grave and resolute bearing--one of the newly acquired servants of Verney Manor. "Major Havisham, you are a wise and a brave man. I will gladly listen to any counsel you may have to give anent this matter." Havisham shook his head. "I have nothing to say. The spirit of the father lives in the son. Skillful in planning, bold in action was Warham Landless!" "I am but the tool of Robert Godwyn," said Landless. "You approve, then, of our arrangements?" "Entirely. It is a daring enterprise, but if it succeeds--" he drew a long breath. "And if it fails," said Landless, "there is freedom yet." The other nodded. "Yes, death hath few terrors for us." "What is death?" cried the hectic youth. "A short, dim passage from darkness into light; the antechamber of the white court of God; the curtain that we lift; the veil that we tear--and SEE! My soul longeth for death, yea, even fainteth for the courts of God! But He will not call His servants until His work is done. Wherefore let us haste to rise up and slay, to work the Lord's work, and go from hence!" "Yea!" cried the Muggletonian. "I fear not death! I fear not the Throne and the Judgment seat. The Two Witnesses will speak for me! But Death is not upon us; he passeth by the weak, and seizeth upon the strong. The Malignants shall die, for the word of the Lord has gone out against them. 'Thy foot shall be dipped in the blood of thy enemies, and the tongue of thy dogs into the same! They shall fall by the sword, they shall be a portion for foxes; as smoke is drawn away so shall they vanish, as wax melteth before the fire so shall they perish! He that sitteth in the heavens shall have them in derision. And the righteous shall rejoice in His vengeance!'" "Amen," drawled Trail through his nose. "Verily, we will fatten on the good things of the land, we will spend our days in ease and pleasantness! The Malignants shall work for us. They shall toil in our tobacco fields, their women shall be our handmaidens, we will drink their wines, and wear their rich clothing, and our pockets shall be filled with their gold and silver--" "Silence!" cried Landless fiercely. "Once more I tell you, mad dreamers that you are, that there shall be no such devil's work! Major Havisham, there are not among us many of this ilk. Two thirds of our number are men of the stamp of Robert Godwyn and yourself. These men rave." "I heed them not," said Havisham with a slighting gesture of the hand; then, "Let us recapitulate. Upon this appointed day we whom they call Oliverians, and the great majority of the redemptioners, are to rise throughout the colony. We--" "Are to do no damage to property nor offer any unnecessary violence to masters and overseers," said Landless firmly. "We are simply to arm ourselves, seize horses or boats, and resort to this appointed place." "Yes." "Calling upon the slaves to follow us?" "Which they will do. Yes." "And when all are assembled, to oppose any force sent against us?" "Yes." "And if we conquer, then--" "Then the Republic,--Commonwealth,--anything you choose--at any rate, freedom." "It is a desperate plan." "We are desperate men." "Yes," Havisham said thoughtfully; "it is the best chance for that escape of which we all dream, and which two of our number, I see, have attempted in vain. I had set to-morrow night for my own attempt. This promises better." "Yea," said Porringer, "the stars in their courses fight against the refugee! Four times have I tried, to be retaken, and handled, as you see. Twice has this man tried and failed. And the murderer of Robert Godwyn failed." "That remains to be seen," said Trail. "Roach has broken gaol." The Muggletonian exclaimed, and Landless turned upon the forger. "How do you know?" he asked sternly. "I heard," was the smooth reply. "I am sorry for it," said Landless grimly, and stood with a sternly thoughtful countenance. There was a silence in the tobacco house broken by Havisham. "And now--for time passes and the overseer may come and find us not at our tasks--tell me the day upon which we are to rise, and the place to which all are to resort." "Both are close at hand," said Landless slowly. "The day is--" he broke off and leaned forward, staring through the dusk. "What is it?" cried Havisham. "My eyes met other eyes. There, behind that great crack between the logs!" The Muggletonian rushed to the door, flung it open, and vanished; the branded man followed. The remaining occupants of the tobacco house started to their feet, and Havisham picked from the floor a pole and broke from it a stout cudgel. Godfrey Landless strode forward into the broad shaft of sunshine that entered through the opened door and met the eavesdropper face to face, as, with either arm in the rude grasp of the fanatics, she crossed the threshold. The conspirators, recognizing the lady of the manor, were stricken dumb. In the three minutes of dead silence which ensued they saw their plans defeated, their hopes ruined, their cause vanquished, their lives lost. The graceful figure with white scorn in the beautiful face was death come upon them. The shadow fell heavy and cold upon their souls, the very air seemed to darken and grow chill around them The figure of the woman in their midst gathered up the sunshine, became ethereal, transplendent, a triumphant white and gold Spirit of Evil. Landless was the first to speak. "Unhand her!" he said in a suppressed voice. The men obeyed, but the Muggletonian placed himself between his prisoner and the door. She saw the movement and said scornfully, "You need not fear; I shall not run away." Upon her bare, white arms, where they had been clasped too rudely, were fast darkening marks. She glanced from them to the scarred face of the Muggletonian. "They will wear out," she said. "Madam," said Landless hoarsely, "how long were you in that place?" She flashed upon him a look that was like a blow. "Liar! be silent!" she said, then turned to the row of faces that frowned upon her from out the shadow. "To you others I address myself. Traitors, rebellious servants, base plotters! I hold your lives in my hand." "And your own?" said Trail. "Cursed daughter of the mother of evil!" cried the Muggletonian, a baleful light burning in his eyes. "Scarlet woman, whose vain apparel, whose uncovered hair and bared bosom, whose light songs and laughter have long been an offense and a stumbling-block to the righteous--thy cup of iniquity is full, thy life is forfeit, thy hour is come!" He drew a knife from his bosom and with an unearthly cry flourished it above his head, then rushed upon her, to be met by Landless, who hurled himself upon the would-be murderer with a force that sent them both staggering against the wall. A struggle ensued, which ended in Landless securing the knife. With it in his hand he sprang to the side of the girl, who stood unflinching, a pride that was superb in her still white face and steadfast eyes. "Who touches her dies," he said between his teeth. Havisham came to his aid. "Men, are you mad? You cannot murder a defenseless woman! Moreover such a deed would prove our utter ruin." "If her body were found, yes!" cried the hectic youth. "But the water is near, and who is to know that the devil sent her hither?" "It is her death or ours," cried the branded man. The Muggletonian tossed his arms into the air. "The cause! the cause! Cursed be he that putteth his hand to the plough and finisheth not the furrow! Ride on! Ride on! though it were over the bodies of a thousand painted Jezebels such as this!" "Time presses!" cried the branded man. "Woodson may come!" They closed in upon the three who stood at bay. In their dark faces were a passion and an exaltation--they saw in the woman fallen into their hands, a sacrifice bound to the altar. Trail alone looked uneasy and held back, muttering between his teeth. Landless stepped in front of Patricia and faced them with a still and deadly eye, and with the hand that held the knife drawn back against his breast. Knowing them, he saw no use in any appeal; also he saw that it was indeed her life or theirs. On the one hand, the downfall of all their hopes, the death or perpetual enslavement of many, and for himself surely the gibbet and the rope; on the other-- He made a gesture of command. "Thou shalt do no murder!" he cried. "It is not murder; it is sacrifice." "There must be another way!" cried Havisham. "Find it!" Havisham turned to the prisoner. "Madam, will you swear to be silent concerning what you have heard?" The Muggletonian laughed wildly. "Who trusts a woman's oath!" "You shall have no need," said the lady of the manor calmly. She paused and her eyes went to the door in an intent and listening gaze, then came back to the faces about her with a strange light in their depths. "Rebel servants," she said in a clear, low voice, "I defy you! And you, false slave, stand from before me. I need not your hateful aid." In the moment of ominous silence that followed, she swayed towards the door, her hand at her throat, her soul in her eyes. Suddenly she cried out, "My father! Charles! help!" From without came an answering cry, followed by a rush of men through the door, and in an instant the room was filled with struggling forms as the two parties threw themselves upon each other. The newcomers were half a dozen blacks, the two overseers and Sir Charles Carew. The overseers had pistols and Sir Charles his sword. With it he met the rush of the youth with the hectic cheek, who came towards him in long, hound-like leaps, brandishing a piece of wood above his head, and drove the blade deep into the chest of the fanatic. The wretched man staggered and fell, then rose to his knees. Flinging his arms above his head, he turned his worn face towards the flood of sunshine pouring in through the door, and cried in a loud voice, "I see!" A stream of blood gushed from his lips, his arms dropped, and without a groan he fell back, dead. Landless, wrestling with the slave Regulus, at length succeeded in hurling the powerful figure to the ground, where it lay stunned, and turned to find himself confronted by Woodson's pistol and the point of Sir Charles's rapier. A glance showed him the remaining conspirators, overpowered, and in the act of being bound with the ropes that had lain, coiled for use in packing, in the corners of the tobacco house. The hectic youth lay, a ghastly spectacle, in a pool of blood across the doorway. At his feet was the branded man, a bullet through his brain, and near him the groaning figure of Havisham's mortally wounded companion. The woman who had brought all this to pass stood unharmed, white, with tragic, exultant eyes. Sir Charles, serene and debonair, lowered his point. "Your hand is played," he said with a fine smile. Landless's stern, despairing gaze passed him and went on to the overseer. "I surrender to you," he said briefly. Woodson chuckled grimly and stuck his pistol in his belt. He was in high good humor, visions of reward and thanks from the Assembly dancing before his eyes. "I've had my eye on you for some time, young man," he said almost genially. "I've suspected that you were up to something, but Lord! to think that a woman's wit should have trapped you at last! Haines, bring that rope over here." Sir Charles went over to Patricia and offered her his arm. "Dearest and bravest of women!" he said in a caressing whisper. "Come with me from this place, which must be dreadful to you." She did not answer him at once, but stood looking past him at the picture of laughing water and waving forest framed in the doorway. "I thought I should never see the sunshine again," she said dreamily. "Did Margery give you the message?" "Yes, she met me under the mulberries. I would not wait to rouse your father, but calling the overseers and the blacks from the fields, came at once." "I owe you my life," she said. "You and--" Her eyes left the summer outside and came back to the shadowy forms within the tobacco house. "I will go with you directly, cousin," she said quietly, "but first I wish to speak to that man." He shot a swift glance at her face, but drew back with a bow, and she walked with a steady step up to Landless. "Fall back a little," she said with an imperious wave of her hand to the men about him. They obeyed her. Landless, left standing before her, his arms bound to his sides, raised his head and looked her in the face. She met his eyes. "You lied to me," she said in a low, even voice. "Once, madam, and to save others," he said proudly, "Not once, but twice. Do you think that now I believe that tale you told me that night, that fairy tale of persecuted innocence? When I think that I ever believed it I hate myself." "Nevertheless, it is true, madam." "It is false! Yesterday I thought of you as a gallant gentleman, greatly wronged ... and I pitied you. To-day I am wiser." He held her eyes with his own for a moment, then let them go. "Some day you will know," he said. She turned from him and held out her hands to Sir Charles. He hurried to her and she clung to him. "Take me away," she said in a whisper. "Take me home." He put his arm about her. "You are faint," he said tenderly. "Come! the air will revive you." Supporting her on his arm, he guided her from the house. As they passed the body stretched across the threshold, the skirt of her robe touched the blood in which it was lying. She saw it and shuddered. "Blood is upon me!" she said. "It is an omen!" "A good one, then," said her companion coolly, "for it is the blood of a fanatic traitor. Think not of it." He turned at the threshold and cast a careless glance back into the tobacco house. "Woodson, get rid of this carrion, and bring these men quietly to the great house, where your master will deal with them." _ |
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