XXX.
_REFUGE._
For a moment the little group stood dumb and motionless on the ledge, inthe flare of the vast flame-curtains. They looked at each other. Pennwas the first to speak.
"Which of us goes down into the ravine?"
"Wha' fur?" said Cudjo.
"To find him!" And Penn gazed anxiously towards the thickets into whichthe horse and horseman had gone down.
"Dat no good! Deader 'n de debil, shore!"
"O, may be he is not!" exclaimed Virginia, full of compassion for theunfortunate unknown. "Do go and see, Cudjo!"
"Fire'll be dar in less'n no time. Him nuffin to Cudjo. We's best begwine." And the negro started off, doggedly, towards the cave.
Then Penn took the resolution which he would have taken at once but forVirginia. "Stay with her, Daniel! I will go!"
Virginia turned pale; she had not thought of that. But immediately shecontrolled her fears: she would not be selfish: if he was brave andgenerous enough to descend into the ravine for one he did not know, shewould be equally brave and generous, and let him go. She clasped herhands together so that they should not hold him back, and forced herlips to say,--
"I will wait for you here."
"No, I be durned if ye shall! Hapgood, you stick to her: take this yergun, and I'll slip down inter the holler, and see whuther the cuss'salive or dead, any how."
"O, Mr. Pepperill, if you will!" said Virginia, overjoyed.
Penn remonstrated,--rather feebly, it must be confessed, for thedetermination to part from her had cost him a struggle, and theprivilege of keeping by her side till all danger was past, seemed toosweet to refuse.
"I'll take her to her father, and hurry back, and meet you."
"All right!" came the response from Dan, already far down the rocks.
"The cave is close by," said Penn. "There is Cudjo, waiting for us!"
Coming up with the black, and once more following his lead, theydescended along the shelf of rocks, between the thickets and theoverhanging ledge. So they came to the still dark jaws of the cavern. Agrateful coolness breathed in their faces from within. But how dismalthe entrance seemed to eyes lately dazzled by the blazing woods!Virginia clung tightly to Penn's hand, as they groped their way in.
At first nothing was visible but a few smouldering embers, winking theirsleepy eyes in the dark. Out of these Cudjo soon blew a little blaze,which he fed with sticks and bits of bark until it lighted up fitfullythe dim interior and shadowy walls of his abode.
Penn hushed Virginia with a finger on his lips, and restrained her fromthrowing herself forward upon the rude bed, where the blind old man wasjust awaking from a sound sleep.
In that profound subterranean solitude the roar of the fiery breakers,dashing on the mountain side, was subdued to a faint murmur, lessdistinct than the dripping of water from roof to floor in the fartherrecesses of the cave. There, left alone, lulled by the dull, monotonoustrickle,--thinking, if he heard the roar at all, that it was themountain wind blowing among the pines,--Mr. Villars had slept tranquillythrough all the horrors of that night.
"Is it you, Penn? Safe again!" And sitting up, he grasped the youngman's hand. "What news from my dear girl?--from my two dear girls?" headded, remembering Virginia was not his only child.
"Toby did not come to the rock," said Penn, still holding Virginia back.
"O! did he not?" It seemed a heavy disappointment; but the patient oldman rallied straightway, saying, with his accustomed cheerfulness, "Nodoubt something hindered him; no doubt he would have come if he could.My poor, dear girl, how I wish I could have got word to her that I amsafe! But I thank you all the same; it was kind in you to give yourselfall that trouble."
"I believe all is for the best," said Penn, his voice trembling.
"No doubt, no doubt. It will be some time before I can have theconsolation of my dear girl's presence again; I, who never knew till nowhow necessary she is to my happiness,--I may say, to my very life!" Mr.Villars wiped a tear he could not repress, and smiled. "Yes, Penn, Godknows what is best for us all. His will be done!"
But now Virginia could restrain herself no longer; her sobs would burstforth.
"Father! father!"--throwing herself upon his neck. "O, my dear, dearfather!"
Penn had feared the effect of the sudden surprise upon the old andfeeble man, and had meant to break the good news to him softly. Buthuman nature was too strong; his own emotions had baffled him, and thepious little artifice proved a complete failure. So now he could donothing but stand by and make grim faces, struggling to keep down whatwas mastering him, and turning away blindly from the bed.
Even Cudjo appeared deeply affected, staring stupidly, and winkingsomething like a tear from the whites of his eyes at sight of the fatherembracing his child, and the white locks mingling with the wet, tangledcurls on her cheek. He was a ludicrous, pathetic object, winking andstaring thus; and Penn laughed and cried too, at sight of him.
"Luk dar!" said Cudjo, coming up to him, and pointing at the littlewalled chamber that served as his pantry. "She hab dat fur her dressumroom. Sleep dar, too, if she likes."
"Thank you, Cudjo! it will be very acceptable, I am sure."
"Me clar it up fur her all scrumptious!" added the negro, with a grin.
Penn had thought of that. But now he had other business on his hands: hemust hasten to find Pepperill: nor could he keep anxious thoughts ofStackridge and his friends out of his mind. And Pomp--where all thistime was Pomp? He had hoped to find him and the patriots all safelyarrived in the cave.
Virginia was seated on the bed by her father's side. Penn threw ablanket over the dear young shoulders, to shield her from the suddencold of the cave; then left her relating her adventures,--beckoning toCudjo, who followed him out.
"Cudjo!"--the black glided to his side as they emerged from theravine,--"you must go and find Pomp."
Cudjo laughed and shrugged.
"No use't! Reckon Pomp take keer o' hisself heap better'n we's take keeron him!"
True. Pomp knew the woods. He was athletic, cautious, brave. But he hadgone to extricate from peril others, in whose fate he himself mightbecome involved. Cudjo refused to take this view of the matter; and itwas evident that, while he comforted himself with his deep convictionsof Pomp's ability to look out for his own safety, he was, to say theleast, quite indifferent as to the welfare of the patriots.
Forgetting Dan and the unknown horseman in his great solicitude for hisabsent friends, Penn climbed the ledges, and gazed away in the directionof the camp, and beheld the forest there a raging gulf of fire.
Assuredly, they must have fled from it before this time; but whither hadthey gone? Had Pomp been able to find them? Or might they not all havebecome entangled in the intricacies of the wilderness until encompassedby the fire and destroyed?
Penn watched in vain for their coming--in vain for some signal of theirsafety on the crags above the forest. Had they reached the crags, hethought he might discover them somewhere with a glass, so vividly werethose grim rock-foreheads of the hills lighted up beneath the red sky.
He sent Cudjo to find Dan, ran to the cave for Pomp's glass, andreturned to the ledge. There he waited; there he watched; still in vain.Wider and wider, spread the destroying sea; fiercer and fiercer leapedthe billows of flame--the billows that did not fall again, but brokeaway in rent sheets, in red-rolling scrolls, and vanished upward intheir own smoke.
And now Penn, lowering the glass, perceived what he must long since havebeen made aware of, had not the greater light concealed the less. It wasmorning; a dull and sunless dawn; the despairing daylight, filtered ofall warmth and color, spreading dim and gray on the misty valleys, andon the sombre, far-off hills, under an interminable canopy of cloud.
Pepperill came clambering up the rocks. Penn turned eagerly to meet andquestion him.
"Find him?"
"Wal, a piece on him."
"Killed?"
"I reckon he ar that!"
"Who is it?"
"Durned if I kin tell! He's jammed in thar 'twixt two gre't stuns, andthe hoss is piled on top, and you can't see nary featur' of his face,only the legs,--but durned if I know the legs!"
"Couldn't you move the horse?"
"Nary a bit. His neck is broke, and he lays wedged so clust, right ontop o' the poor cuss, 'twould take a yoke o' oxen to drag him out."
"Are you sure the man is dead?"
"Shore? I reckon! He had one arm loose. I jest lifted it, and it drappedjest like a club when I let go; then I see 'twas broke square off jestabove the elbow, about where the backbone o' the hoss comes. Made medurned sick!"
"What have you got in your hand?"
"A boot--one o' his'n--thought I'd pull it off, his leg stuck up so kindo' handy; didn't know but some on ye might know the boot." And Dan heldit up for Penn's inspection.
"What is this on it? Blood?"
"It ar so! Mebby it's the hoss's, and then agin mebby it's his'n; Ihadn't noticed it afore."
"I'll go back with you, Daniel. Together perhaps we can move the horse."
"Ye're behind time for that! The fire's thar. I hadn't only jest time togit cl'ar on't myself. The poor cuss is a br'ilin'!"
"K-r-r-r! hi! don't ye har me callin'!" Cudjo sprang up the ledge."Fire's a comin' to de cave! All in de brush dar! Can't get in widout yego now!"
"And Pomp and the rest! They will be shut out, if they are not lostalready!"
"Pomp know well 'nuff what him 'bout, tell ye! Gorry, massa! ye got tocome, if Cudjo hab to tote ye!"
Yielding to his importunity, Penn quitted the ledge. On the shelf ofrock Cudjo paused to gnash his teeth at the flames sweeping up towardsthem. He had long since recovered from his fit of superstitious frenzy.He had seen the fire burning the woods that sheltered him in hismountain retreat, instead of going intelligently to work to destroy thedwellings of the whites; and he no longer regarded it as a deity worthyof his worship.
"All dis yer brush be burnt up! Den nuffin' to hide Cudjo's house!"
"Don't despair, Cudjo. We will trust in Him who is God even of thefire."
Even as Penn spoke, he felt a cool spatter on his hand. He looked up;sudden, plashy drops smote his face.
"Rain! It is coming! Thank Heaven for the rain!"
At the same time, the wind shifted, and blew fitful gusts down themountain. Then it lulled; and the rain poured.
"Cudjo, your thickets are saved!" said Penn, exultantly. Thenimmediately he thought of the absent ones, for whom the rain might betoo late; of the beautiful forests, whose burning not cataracts couldquench; of the unknown corpse far below in the ravine there, and theswift soul gone to God.
"What news?" asked the old man as he entered the cave.
"It is morning, and it rains; but your friends are still away.--The manis dead," aside to Virginia.
"Heaven grant they be safe somewhere!" said the old man. "And Pomp?"
"He is missing too."
There was a long, deep silence. A painful suspense seemed to hold everyheart still, while they listened. Suddenly a strange noise was heard, asof a ghost walking. Louder and louder it sounded, hollow, faint,far-off. Was it on the rocks over their heads? or in caverns beneaththeir feet?
"Told ye so! told ye so!" said Cudjo, laughing with wild glee.
The fire had burnt low again, and he was in the act of kindling it, whena novel idea seemed to strike him, and, seizing a pan, he inverted itover the little remnant of a flame. In an instant the cave was dark. Itwas some seconds before the eyes of the inmates grew accustomed to thegloom, and perceived the glimmer of mingled daylight and firelight thatshone in at the entrance.
"Luk a dar! luk a dar!" said Cudjo.
And turning their eyes in the opposite direction, they saw a faintgolden glow in the recesses of the cave. The footsteps approached; theglow increased; then the superb dark form of Pomp advanced in the lightof his own torch. Penn hastened to meet him, and to demand tidings ofStackridge's party.
Pomp first saluted Virginia, with somewhat lofty politeness, holding thetorch above his head as he bowed. Then turning to Penn,--
"Your friends are all safe, I believe."
"All?" Penn eagerly asked, his thoughts on the luckless horseman. "Nonemissing?"
"There were three absent when I reached their camp. They had gone on aforaging expedition. I found the rest waiting for them, standing theirground against the fire, which was roaring up towards them at atremendous rate. Soon the foragers came in. They brought a basket ofpotatoes and a bag of meal, but no meat. Withers had caught a pig, butit had got away from him before he could kill it, and he lost it in thedark. The others were cursing the rascals who had set the woods afire,but Withers lamented the pig.
"'Gentlemen,' said I, 'you have not much time to mourn either for thewoods or the pork. We must take care of ourselves.' And I offered tobring them here. But just then we heard a rushing noise; it sounded likesome animal coming up the course of the brook; and the next minute itwas amongst us--a big black bear, frightened out of his wits, singed bythe fire, and furious."
"Your acquaintance of the gorge, Virginia!" said Penn.
"You will readily believe that such an unexpected supply of fresh meat,sent by Providence within their reach, proved a temptation to thehungry. Withers, in his hurry to make up for the loss of the pig, ran tohead the fellow off, and attempted to stop him with his musket after ithad missed fire. In an instant the gun was lying on the ground severalyards off, and Withers was sprawling. The bear had done the littlebusiness for him with a single stroke of his paw; then he passed on,directly over Withers's body, which happened to be in his way, but whichhe minded no more than as if it had been a bundle of rags. All this timewe couldn't fire a shot; there was the risk, you see, of hitting Withersinstead of the bear. Even after he was knocked down, he seemed to thinkhe had nothing more formidable than his stray pig to deal with, andtried to catch the bear by the tail as he ran over him."
"So ye lost de bar!" cried Cudjo, greatly excited. "Fool, tink o'cotchin' on him by de tail!"
"Still we couldn't fire, for he was on his legs again in a second,chasing the bear's tail directly before our muzzles," said Pomp, quietlylaughing. "But luckily a stick flew up under his feet. Down he wentagain. That gave two or three of us a chance to send some lead after thebeast. He got a wound--we tracked him by his blood on the ground--wecould see it plain as day by the glare of light--it led straight towardsthe fire that was running up through the leaves and thickets on thenorth. I expected that when he met that he would turn again; but he didnot: we were just in time to see him plough through it, and hear himgrowl and snarl at the flames that maddened him, and which he wasfoolish enough to stop and fight. Then he went on again. We followed.Nobody minded the scorching. We kept him in sight till he met the fireagain--for it was now all around us. This time his heart failed him; heturned back only to meet us and get a handful of bullets in his head.That finished him, and he fell dead."
"Poor brute!" said Mr. Villars; "he found his human enemies moremerciless than the fire!"
"That's so," said Pomp, with a smile. "But we had not much time tomoralize on the subject then. The fire we had leaped through had becomeimpassable behind us. The men hurried this way and that to find anoutlet. They found only the fire--it was on every side of us like asea--the spot where we were was only an island in the midst of it--thattoo would soon be covered. The bear was forgotten where he lay; the mengrew wild with excitement, as again and again they attempted to breakthrough different parts of the ring that was narrowing upon us, andfailed. Brave men they are, but death by fire, you know, is toohorrible!"
"How large was this spot, this island?" asked Penn.
"It might have comprised perhaps twenty acres when we first foundourselves enclosed in it. But every minute it was diminishing; and theheat there was something terrific. The men were rather surprised, aftertrying in vain on every side to discover a break in the circle of fire,to come back and find me calm.
"'Gentl
emen,' said I, 'keep cool. I understand this ground perhapsbetter than you do. Don't abandon your game; you have lost your meal andpotatoes, and you will have need of the bear.'
"'But what is the use of roast meat, if we are to be roasted too?' saidWithers, who will always be droll, whatever happens.
"Then Stackridge spoke. He proposed that they should place themselvesunder my command; for I knew the woods, and while they had been runningto and fro in disorder, I had been carefully observing the ground, andforming my plans. I laughed within myself to see Deslow alone hang back;he was unwilling to owe his life to one of my complexion--one who hadbeen a slave. For there are men, do you know," said Pomp, with a smileof mingled haughtiness and pity, "who would rather that even theircountry should perish than owe in any measure its salvation to the racethey have always hated and wronged!"
"I trust," said Mr. Villars, "that you had the noble satisfaction ofteaching these men the lesson which our country too must learn before itcan be worthy to be saved."
"I showed them that even the despised black may, under God's providence,be of some use to white men, besides being their slave: I had thatsatisfaction!" said Pomp, proudly smiling. "Stackridge was right: I hadobserved: I saw what I could do. On one side was a chasm which you know,Mr. Hapgood."
"Yes! I had thought of it! But I knew it was in the midst of the burningforest, and never supposed you could get to it."
"The fire was beyond; and it also burned a little on the side nearest tous. But the vegetation there is thin, you remember. The chasm could bereached without difficulty.
"'Follow me who will!' said I. 'The rest are at liberty to shirk forthemselves.'
"'Follow--where?' said Deslow. I couldn't help smiling at the man'sdistress. All the rest were prepared to obey my directions; and it washard for him to separate himself from them. But it seemed harder stillfor him to trust in me. I was not a Moses; I could not take them throughthat Red Sea. What then?
"I made for the chasm. All followed, even Deslow,--dragging and luggingthe bear. We came to the brink. The place, I must confess, had an awfullook, in the light of the trees burning all around it! Deslow was notthe only one who shrank back then; for though the spot was known to someof them, they had never explored it, and could not guess what it led to.It was difficult, in the first place, to descend into it; it lookedstill more difficult ever to get out again; and there was nothing toprevent the burning limbs above from falling into it, or the trees thatgrew in it from catching fire. For this is the sink, Mr. Villars, whichyou have probably heard of,--where the woods have been undermined by theaction of water in the limestone rocks, and an acre or more of themountain has fallen in, with all its trees, so that what was once theroof of an immense cavern is now a little patch of the forest growingseventy feet below the surface of the earth. The sides are precipitousand projecting. Only one tree throws a strong branch upwards to the edgeof the sink.
"'This way, gentlemen,' said I, 'and you are safe!'
"It was a trial of their faith; for I waited to explain nothing. First, Itumbled the bear off the brink. We heard him go crashing down into theabyss, and strike the bottom with a sound full of awfulness to theuninitiated. Then, with my rifle swung on my back, I seized the limb,and threw myself into the tree.
"'Where he can go, we can!' I heard Stackridge say; and he followed me.I took his gun, and handed it to him again when he was safe in the tree.He did the same for another; and so all got into the branches, andclimbed down after us. The trunk has no limbs within twenty feet of thebottom, but there is a smaller tree leaning into it which we got into,and so reached the ground.
"'Now, gentlemen,' said I, when all were down, 'I will show you whereyou are.' And opening the bushes, I discovered a path leading down therocks into the caverns, of which this cave is only a branch. Then I madethem all take an oath never to betray the secret of what I had shownthem. Then I lighted one of the torches Cudjo and I keep for ourconvenience when we come in that way, and gave it to them; lightedanother for my own use; invited them to make themselves quite at home inmy absence; left them to their reflections;--and here I am."
Still the mystery with regard to the unknown horseman was in no wiseexplained. Pomp, informed of what had happened, arose hastily. Pennfollowed him from the cave. Pepperill accompanied them, to show the way.It was raining steadily; but the thickets in which lay the dead horseand his rider were burning still.
"As I was going to Stackridge's camp," said Pomp, "I thought I saw a mancrawling over the rocks above where the horse was tied. I ran up to findhim, but he was gone. Peace to his ashes, if it was he!"
"Won't be much o' the cuss left but ashes!" remarked Pepperill.
Pomp ascended the ledges, and stood, silent and stern, gazing at thedestruction of his beloved woods.
The winds had died. The fires had evidently ceased to spread. Portionsof the forest that had been kindled and not consumed were burning nowwith slow, sullen combustion, like brands without flame. Stripped oftheir foliage, shorn of their boughs, and seen in the dull and smokydaylight, through the rain, they looked like a forest of skeletons, allof glowing coal, brightening, darkening, and ever crumbling away.
All at once Pomp seemed to rouse himself, and direct his attention moreparticularly at the part of the woods in which the patriots' camp hadbeen.
"Come with me, Pepperill, if you would help do a good job!"
They started off, and were soon out of sight. As Penn turned from gazingafter them, he heard a voice calling from the opposite side of theravine. He looked, but could see no one. The figure to which the voicebelonged was hidden by the bushes. The bushes moved, however; the figurewas descending into the ravine. It arrived at the bottom, crossed, andbegan to ascend the steep side towards the cave. Penn concealed himself,and waited until it had nearly emerged from the thickets beneath him,and he could distinctly hear the breath of a man panting and blowingwith the toil of climbing. Then a well-known voice said in a hoarsewhisper,--
"Massa Hapgood! dat you?"
And peering over the bank, he saw, upturned in the rain and murky light,among the wet bushes, the black, grinning face of old Toby.
He responded by reaching down, grasping the negro's hand, and drawinghim up.
The grin on the old man's face was a ghastly one, and his eyes rolled ashe stammered forth,--
"Miss Jinny--ye seen Miss Jinny?"
Penn did not answer immediately; he was considering whether it would besafe to conduct Toby into the cave. Toby grew terrified.
"Don't say ye hain't seen her, Massa Penn! ye kill ol' Toby if ye do! Idone lost her!" And the poor old faithful fellow sobbed out hisstory,--how Virginia had disappeared, and how, on discovering the woodsto be on fire, he had set out in search of her, and been wandering hescarcely knew where ever since. "Now don't say ye don't know nuffin'about her! don't say dat!" falling on his knees, and reaching up hishands beseechingly, as if he had only to prevail on Penn to _say_ thatall was well with "Miss Jinny," and that would make it so. Such faith isin simple souls.
"I'll say anything you wish me to, good old Toby! only give me achance."
"Den say you _has_ seen her."
"I _has seen her_," repeated Penn.
"O, bress you, Massa Penn! And she ar safe--say dat too!"
"_She ar safe_," said Penn, laughing.
"Bress ye for dat!" And Toby, weeping with joy, kissed the young man'shand again and again. "And ye knows whar she ar?"
"Yes, Toby! So now get up: don't be kneeling on the rocks here in therain!"
"Jes' one word more! Say ye got her and ol' Massa Villars safe stowedaway, and ye'll take me to see 'em; den dis ol' nigger'll bress you andde Lord and dem, and be willin' fur to die! only say dat, massa!"
"Ah! did I promise to say all you wished?"
"Yes, you did, you did so, Massa Penn!" cried Toby, triumphantly.
"Then I suppose I must say that, too. So come, you dear old simpleton!Cudjo!" to the proprietor of the cave, who just then put out his head to
reconnoitre, "Cudjo! Here is your friend Toby, come to pay his masterand mistress a visit!"
"What business he got hyar?" said Cudjo, crossly. "We's hab all de wuld,and creation besides, comin' bime-by!"
"Cudjo! You knows ol' Toby, Cudjo!" said Toby, in the softest and mostconciliatory tone imaginable.
"Nose ye!" Cudjo snuffed disdainfully. "Yes! and wish you'd keep fudderoff!"
"Why, Cudjo! don't you 'member Toby? Las' time I seed you! ye 'memberdat, Cudjo!"
"Don't 'member nuffin'!"
"'Twan't you, den, got inter my winder, and done skeert me mos' t' def'fore I found out 'twas my ol' 'quaintance Cudjo, come fur Massa Penn'sclo'es! Dat ar wan't you, hey?" And Toby's honest indignation croppedout through the thin crust of deprecating obsequiousness which he stillthought it politic to maintain.
Penn got under the shelter of the ledge, and waited for the dispute toend. It was evident to him that Cudjo was not half so ill-natured as heappeared; but, feeling himself in a position of something like officialimportance, he had the human weakness to wish to make the most of it.
"Your massa and missis bery well off. Dey in my house. No room dar foryou. Ain't wanted hyar, nohow!" turning his back very much like apersonage of lighter complexion, clad in brief authority.
"Ain't wanted, Cudjo? You don't know what you's sayin' now. Whar my ol'massa and young missis is, dar ol' Toby's wanted. Can't lib widout me,dey can't! Ol' massa wants me to nuss him. Ye don't tink--you's a niggerwidout no kind ob 'sideration, Cudjo."
"Talk o' you nussin' him when him's got Pomp!"
"Pomp! what can Pomp do? Wouldn't trust him to nuss a chick sicken!"Toby talked backwards in his excitement.
"Ki! didn't him take Massa Hapgood and make him well? Don't ye knownuffin'?"
Toby seemed staggered for a moment. But he rallied quickly, and said,--
"He cure Massa Hapgood? He done jes' nuffin' 't all fur him. De fac'sis, I had de nussin' on him for a spell at fust, and gib him a start.Dar's ebery ting in a start, Cudjo."
"O, what a stupid nigger!" said Cudjo. "Hyar's Massa Hapgood hisself!leab it to him now!"
"You are both right," said Penn. "Toby did nurse me, and give me a goodstart; for which I shall always thank him."
"Dar! tol' ye so, tol' ye so!" said Toby.
"But it was Pomp who afterwards cured me," added Penn.
"Dar! tol' you so!" cried Cudjo, while Toby's countenance fell.
"For while Toby is a capital nurse" (Toby brightened), "Pomp is afirst-rate doctor" (Cudjo grinned). "So don't dispute any more. Shakehands with your old friend, Cudjo, and show him into your house."
Cudjo was still reluctant; but just then occurred a pleasing incident,which made him feel good-natured towards everybody. Pomp and Pepperillarrived, bringing the bag of meal and the basket of potatoes which thebear-hunters had forsaken in the woods, and which the rain had preservedfrom the fire.