Cudjo's Cave

  XLVI.

  _THE TRAITOR._

  The news of the disaster at the sink, and of the loss of prisoners, hadreached Colonel Derring, and he was preparing to forward reenforcements,when Bythewood's letter arrived.

  Of the colonel's reflections on the receipt of that singular missivelittle is known. He was unwontedly cross and abstracted for an hour. Atthe end of that time he asked for the renegade Deslow.

  At the end of another hour Deslow had been found and brought tohead-quarters. The colonel, having now quite recovered his equanimity oftemper, received him with the most flattering attentions.

  "You have done an honorable and patriotic work, Mr. Deslow. Your friendsare coming to terms. Bythewood is at this moment engaged in an amicableconference with them. Your example has had a most salutary effect. Theyall desire to give themselves up on similar terms. But they will notbelieve as yet that you have been pardoned and received into favor."

  The dark brow of the traitor brightened.

  "And they have no suspicions?"

  "None whatever. They do not imagine you had anything to do with thediscovery of their retreat. Now, I've been thinking you might help alongmatters immensely, if you would go up and join Bythewood, and representto your friends the folly of holding out any longer, and show them theadvantage of following your example."

  Deslow felt strong misgivings about undertaking this delicate business.But persuasions, flatteries, and promises prevailed upon him at last.And at sundown he set out, accompanied by the man who had broughtBythewood's letter.

  In consequence of the messenger's long absence, it was beginning to befeared, by those who had sent him, that he had gone on a fruitlesserrand. Evening came. There was sadness on the faces of Penn andVirginia, as they sat by the corpse of Salina. Pomp was gloomy andsilent. Bythewood, bound to Lysander's rock, sat waiting, with feelingswe will not seek to penetrate, for the answer to his letter. In thatletter he had mentioned, among other things, a certain pair of horsesthat were in his stable. Had he known that the colonel, during his hourof moroseness, had gone over to look at these horses, and that he wasnow driving them about the village, well satisfied with the munificentbribe, he would, no doubt, have felt easier in his mind.

  "You will not go to your father to-night," said Penn, having looked outinto the gathering darkness, and returned to Virginia's side. "We haveone night more together. May be it is the last."

  Carl was comforting his wounded cousin, who had been brought and placedon some skins on the floor. The patriots were holding a consultation.Suddenly the sentinel at the door announced an arrival; and to theamazement of all, the messenger entered, followed by Deslow.

  The traitor came in, smiling in most friendly fashion upon his latecompanions, even offering his hand to Pomp, who did not accept it. Thenhe saw in the faces that looked upon him a stern and terrible triumph.By the rock he beheld Bythewood bound. And his heart sank.

  The messenger brought a letter for Augustus. Pomp took it.

  "This interests us!" he said, breaking the seal. "Excuse me, sir!"--toBythewood.--"I was once your servant; and I had forgotten thatcircumstances have slightly changed! As your hands are confined, I willread it for you."

  He read aloud.

  "Dear Gus: This is an awful bad scrape you have got into; but I suppose I must get you out of it. Villars shall have passports, and an escort, if he likes. I'll keep the soldiers from the mountains. The hardest thing to arrange is the Deslow affair. I don't care a curse for the fellow but I don't want the name of giving him up. So, if I succeed in sending him, keep mum. Probably _he_ never will come away to tell a tale."

  "Yours, etc., Derring."

  "P. S. Thank you for the horses."

  Then Pomp turned and looked upon the traitor, who had been himselfbetrayed. His ghastly face was of the color of grayish yellow parchment.His hat was in his hand, and his short, stiff hair stood erect withterror. If up to this moment there had been any doubt of his guilt inPomp's mind, it vanished. The wretch had not the power to proclaim hisinnocence, or to plead for mercy. No explanations were needed: heunderstood all: with that vivid perception of truth which often comeswith the approach of death, he knew that he was there to die.

  "Have you anything to confess?" Pomp said to him, with the solemnity ofa priest preparing a sacrifice. "If so, speak, for your time is short."

  Deslow said nothing: indeed, his organs of speech were paralyzed.

  "Very well: then I will tell you, we know all. We trusted you. You havebetrayed us. Withers is dead: you killed him. Cudjo is dead: his bloodis upon your soul. For this you are now to die."

  There was another besides Deslow whom these calm and terrible wordsappalled. It was Bythewood, who feared lest, after all he hadaccomplished, his turn might come next.

  It was some time before the fear-stricken culprit could recover thepower of speech. Then, in a sudden, hoarse, and scarcely articulateshriek, his voice burst forth:--

  "Save me! save me!"

  He rushed to where the patriots stood. But they thrust him back sternly.

  "This is Pomp's business. Deal with him!"

  "Will no one save me? Will no one speak for my life?" These words wereejaculated with the ghastly accent and volubility of terror.

  "Your life is forfeited. Pomp saved it once; now he takes it. It isjust," said Stackridge.

  "My God! my God! my God!" Thrice the doomed man uttered that sacred namewith wild despair, and with intervals of strange and silent horrorbetween. "Then I must die!"

  "_I_ will speak for you," said a voice of solemn compassion. And Pennstepped forward.

  "You? you? you will?"

  "Do not hope too much. Pomp is inexorable as he is just. But I willplead for you."

  "O, do! do! There is something in his face--I cannot bear it--but youcan move him!"

  Pomp was leaning thoughtfully by one of the giant's stools. Penn drewnear to him. Deslow crouched behind, his whole frame shaking visibly.

  "Pomp, if you love me, grant me this one favor. Leave this wretch to hisGod. What satisfaction can there be in taking the life of so degradedand abject a creature?"

  "There is satisfaction in justice," replied Pomp, quietly smiling.

  "O, but the satisfaction there is in mercy is infinitely sweeter!Forgiveness is a holy thing, Pomp! It brings the blessing of Heaven withit, and it is more effective than vengeance. This man has a wife; he haschildren; think of them!"

  These words, and many more to the same purpose, Penn poured forth withall the earnestness of his soul. He pleaded; he argued; he left no meansuntried to melt that adamantine will. In vain all. When he finished,Pomp took his hand in one of his, and laying the other kindly on hisshoulder, said in his deepest, tenderest tones,--

  "I have heard you because I love you. What you say is just. But anotherthing is just--that this man should die. Ask anything but this of me,and you will see how gladly I will grant all you desire."

  "I have done."--Penn turned sadly away.--"It is as I feared. Deslow, Iwill not flatter you. There is no hope."

  Then Deslow, regaining somewhat of his manhood, drew himself up, andprepared to meet his fate.

  "Soon?" he asked, more firmly than he had yet spoken.

  "Now," said Pomp. He lighted a lantern. "You must go with me. There areeyes here that would not look upon your death." He took his rifle. "Gobefore." And he conducted his victim into the recesses in the cave.

  They came to the well, into the unfathomable mystery of which Carl haddropped the stone. There Pomp stopped.

  "This is your grave. Would you take a look at it?" He held the lanternover the fearful place. The falling waters made in those unimaginabledepths the noise of far-off thunders. Half dead with fear already, thewretch looked down into the hideous pit.

  "Must I die?" he uttered in a ghastly whisper.

  "You must! I will shoot you first in mercy to you; for I am not cruel.Have you prayers to make? I will wait."

  Deslow sa
nk upon his knees. He tried to confess himself to God, tocommit his soul with decency into His hands. But the words of hispetition stuck in his throat: the dread of immediate death absorbed allfeeling else.

  Pomp, who had retired a short distance, supposed he had made an end.

  "Are you ready?" he asked, placing his lantern on the rock, and poisinghis rifle.

  "I cannot pray!" said Deslow. "Send for a minister--for Mr. Villars!--Icannot die so."

  "It is too late," answered Pomp, sorrowful, yet stern. "Mr. Villars hasbeen carried away by the soldiers you sent. If you cannot pray foryourself, then there is none to pray for you."

  Scarce had he spoken, when out of the darkness behind him came a voice,saying with solemn sweetness, as if an angel responded from theinvisible profound,--

  "I will pray for him!"

  He turned, and saw in the lantern's misty glimmer a spectral formadvancing. It drew near. It was a female figure, shadowy, noiseless; theright hand raised with piteous entreaty; the countenance pale towhiteness,--its fresh and youthful beauty clothed with sadness andcompassion as with a veil.

  It was Virginia. All the way through the dismal galleries of the cave,and down Cudjo's stairs, she had followed the executioner and hisvictim, in order to plead at the last moment for that mercy for whichPenn had pleaded in vain.

  Struck with amazement, Pomp gazed at her for a moment as if she had beenreally a spirit.

  "How came you here?"

  She laid one hand upon his arm; with the other she pointed upwards; hereyes all the while shining upon him with a wondrous brilliancy, whichwas of the spirit indeed, and not of the flesh.

  "Heaven sent me to pray for him--and for you."

  "For me, Miss Villars?"

  "For you, Pomp!"--Her voice also had that strange melting quality whichcomes only from the soul. It was low, and full of love and sorrow. "Forif you slay this man, then you will have more need of prayers than he."

  Pomp was shaken. The touch on his arm, the tones of that voice, theelectric light of those inspired eyes, moved him with a power thatpenetrated to his inmost soul. Yet he retained his haughty firmness, andsaid coldly,--

  "If there had been mercy for this man, Penn would have obtained it. Thehardest thing I ever did was to deny him. What is there to be said whichhe did not say?"

  "O, he spoke earnestly and well!" replied Virginia. "I wondered how youcould listen to him and not yield. But he is a man; and as a man he gaveup all hope when reason failed, and he saw you so implacable. But Iwould never have given up. I would have clung to your knees, andpleaded with you so long as there was breath in me to ask or heartto feel. I would not have let you go till you had shown mercy tothis poor man!"--(Deslow had crawled to her feet: there he kneltgrovelling),--"and to yourself, Pomp! If he dies repenting, and you killhim unrelenting, I would rather be he than you. When we shut the gate ofmercy on others we shut it on ourselves. For all that you have done formy father and friends, and for me, I am filled with gratitude andfriendship. Your manly traits have inspired me with an admiration thatwas almost hero-worship. For this reason I would save you from a greatcrime. O, Pomp, if only for my sake, do not annihilate the noble andgrand image of you which has built itself up in my heart, and leave onlythe memory of a strange horror and dread in its place!"

  Pomp had turned his eyes away from hers, knowing that if he continued tobe fascinated by them, he must end by yielding. He drooped his head,leaning on his rifle, and looking down upon the wretch at their feet. Astrong convulsion shook his whole frame, as she ceased speaking. Therewas silence for some seconds. Then he spoke, still without raising hiseyes, in a deep, subdued voice.

  "This man is the hater of my race. He is of those who rob us of ourlabor, our lives, our wives, and children, and happiness. They enslaveboth body and soul. They damn us with ignorance and vice. To take fromus the profits of our toil is little; but they take from us our manhoodalso. Yet here he came, and accepted life and safety at my hands. Hemade an oath, and I made an oath. His oath was never to betray my poorCudjo's secret. The oath I made was to kill him as I would a dog if hisshould be broken. It has been broken. My poor Cudjo is dead. Withers isdead. Your sister is dead. I see it to be just that this traitor tooshould now die!"

  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 noblest act of your life, Pomp!" she exclaimed, claspinghis hand with joy and gratitude.

  He looked in her face. A great weight was taken from his soul. Hiscountenance 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 haveyet a work to do with him."

  Then those who had been left behind in the cave, listening for thedeath-signal, heard the report of a rifle ringing through the chambersof rock. Not long after Pomp and Virginia returned; and Deslow was notwith them. Augustus heard--Augustus saw--nor knew he any reason why thefate 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.