A Soldier of Virginia Part 27

He caught my hand and wrung it heartily.

"You are a brave man, Mr. Stewart," he exclaimed. "If I have shown any hesitation, 't was on your account, not on my own. I am ready to go with you," and as he spoke, he drew a brace of pistols from beneath his coat and laid them on the table by the fireplace.

"Wait one moment," I said, and hurrying to my aunt's room, I wrote a short note telling her of the trouble I had discovered and where Long and I were going, so that, if we did not return, she would know what had happened. Folding and sealing it, I wrote on the outside, "To be delivered at once to Mrs. Stewart," left it on the table, knowing that no one would enter the room till morning, and hurried back to rejoin Long.

We were off without further words, and were soon well on our way.

It was a clear, cool, summer night, with the breeze just stirring in the trees and keeping up a faint, unceasing whispering among the leaves. The moon had risen some hours before, and sailed upward through a cloudless sky. Even under the trees it was not wholly dark, for the moon's light filtered through here and there, making a quaint patchwork on the ground, and filling the air with a peculiar iridescence which transformed the ragged trunks of the sycamores into fantastic hobgoblins. All about us rose the croaking of the frogs, dominating all the other noises of the night, and uniting in one mighty chorus in the marshes along the river.

An owl was hooting from a distant tree, and the hum of innumerable insects sounded on every side. Here and there a glittering, dew-spangled cobweb stretched across our path, a barrier of silver, and required more than ordinary resolution to be brushed aside. As we turned nearer to the river, the ground grew softer and the underbrush more thick, and I knew that we had reached the swamp.

Then, in a moment, it seemed to me that I could hear some faint, monotonous singsong rising above all the rest. At first I thought it was the croaking of a monster frog, but as we plodded on and the sound grew more distinct, I knew it could not be that. At last, in sheer perplexity, I stopped and motioned Long to listen.

"Do you hear it?" I asked. "Do you know what it is?"

"Yes, I have heard it for the last ten minutes, Mr. Stewart," he answered quietly. "It is old Polete preaching to the n.i.g.g.e.rs. I have often heard their so-called witch men preach. It is always in a singsong just like that."

As we drew nearer, I perceived that this was true, for I could catch the tones of the speaker's voice, and in a few minutes could distinguish his words. Some years before, when the river had been in flood, its current had been thrown against this bank by a landslide on the other side, and had washed away trees and underbrush for some distance. The underbrush had soon sprung up again, but the clearing still remained, and as we stopped in the shadow of the trees and looked across it, we saw a singular sight. Negroes to the number of at least a hundred and fifty were gathered about a pile of logs on which Polete was mounted. He was shouting in a monotone, his voice rising and falling in regular cadence, his eyes closed, his head tilted back, his face turned toward the moon, whose light silvered his hair and beard and gave a certain majesty to his appearance. His hearers were seemingly much affected, and interrupted him from time to time with shouts and groans and loud amens.

"Dis is d' promise' lan'!" cried old Polete, waving his arms above his head in a wild ecstasy. "All we hab t' do is t' raise up an' take it from ouh 'pressahs. Ef we stays hyah slaves, it's ouh own fault. Now's d'

'pinted time. D' French is ma'chin' obah d' mountings t' holp us. Dee'll drib d' English into d' sea, and wese t' hab ouh freedom,--ouh freedom an' plenty lan' t' lib on."

"Dat's it," shouted some one, "an' we gwine t' holp, suah!"

The negroes were so intent upon their speaker that they did not perceive us until we were right among them, and even then for a few minutes, as we forced our way through the mob, no one knew us.

"It's Mas' Tom!" yelled one big fellow, as my hat was knocked from my head. And, as if by instinct, they crowded back on either side, and a path was opened before us to the pile of logs where Polete stood. He gaped at us amazedly as we clambered up toward him, and I saw that he was licking his lips convulsively. A yell from the crowd greeted us as we appeared beside him,--a menacing yell, which died away into a low growling, and foretold an approaching storm.

"Now, boys," I cried, "I want you to listen to me for a minute. That is a lie about the French coming over the mountains,--every word of it. If Polete here, who, you know, is only a laborer like most of you, says he has seen them coming in a vision, why he's simply lying to you, or he doesn't know what he's talking about. There are not three hundred Frenchmen the other side of the mountains, in the first place, and it will be winter before they can get any more there. So if you fight, you will have to fight alone, and you can guess how much chance of success you have. You know the penalty for insurrection. It's death, and not an easy death, either,--death by fire! If you go ahead with this thing, no power on earth can save every one of you from the stake."

"It's a lie!" yelled Polete. "I did hab d' vision. I did see d' French a-comin'--millions o' dem--all a-ma'chin' t'rough d' forest. Dee's almost hyah. Dee want us t' holp."

A hoa.r.s.e yell interrupted him, and I saw that something must be done.

"Wait a minute, boys," I cried. "Let me ask Polete a question. You say you have seen the French marching, Polete?"

He nodded sullenly.

"What was the color of their uniforms?"

He hesitated a moment, but saw he must answer.

"Dee was all colors," he said. "Red, blue, green,--all colors."

I saw that my moment of triumph was at hand.

"Now, boys," I cried, holding up my hand so that all might be quiet and hear my words. "You may guess how much value there is in Polete's visions. He says he has seen the French army marching, and he has just told me that their uniforms are all colors,--red, blue, green, and so on.

Now, if he has seen the army, he ought to know the color of the uniforms, ought he not?"

"Yes, yes," yelled the mob.

"Well, boys," I continued, "the French wear only one color uniform, and that color is just the one which Polete has not mentioned--white. No Frenchman goes to war except in a white uniform."

They were all silent for a moment, and I saw them eyeing Polete distrustfully.

But he was foaming at the mouth with fury.

"A lie!" he screamed. "A lie, same's de uddah. Don' yo' see what we mus'

do? Kill 'em! Kill 'em, an' n.o.body else'll evah know!"

That low growling which I had heard before again ran through the crowd. I must play my last card.

"You fools!" I cried, "do you suppose we are the only ones who know? If so much as a hair of our heads is touched, if we are not back among our friends safe and sound when morning comes, every dog among you will yelp his life out with a circle of fire about him!"

They were whining now, and I knew I had them conquered.

"I came here to-night to save you," I went on, after a moment. "Return now quietly to your quarters, and nothing more will be said about this gathering. Put out of your minds once for all the hope that the French will help you, for it is a lie. And let this be the last time you hold a meeting here, or I will not answer for the consequences."

I waved them away with my hand, and they slunk off by twos and threes until all of them had disappeared in the shadow of the wood.

"And now, what shall we do with this cur?" asked Long, in a low voice, at my elbow. I turned and saw that he had old Polete gripped by the collar.

"He tried to run away," he added, "but I thought you might have something to say to him."

Polete was as near collapse as a man could be and yet be conscious. He was trembling like a leaf, his eyes were bloodshot, and his lower jaw was working convulsively. He turned an imploring gaze on me, and tried to speak, but could not.

"Polete," I said sternly, "I suppose you know that if this night's work gets out, as it is certain to do sooner or later, no power on earth can save your life?"

"Yes, ma.s.sa," he muttered, and looked about him wildly, as though he already saw the flames at his feet.

"Well, Polete," I went on, "after the way you have acted to-night, I see no reason why I should try to save you. You certainly did all you could to get me killed."

"Yes, ma.s.sa," he said again, and would have fallen had not Long held him upright by the collar.

I waited a moment, for I thought he was going to faint, but he opened his eyes again and fixed them on me.

"Now listen," I went on, when he appeared able to understand me. "I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to give you a chance for your life,--not a very big chance, perhaps, but a great deal better one than you would have here."

"Yes, ma.s.sa," he said a third time, and there was a gleam of hope in his face.

"I'm going to let you go," I concluded. "I'd advise you to follow the river till you get beyond the settlements, and then try for Pennsylvania.

I promise you there'll be no pursuit, but if you ever show your face around here again, you're as good as dead."

Before I had finished, he had fallen to his knees and bowed his head upon my feet, with a peculiar reverence,--a relic, I suppose, of his life in Africa. He was blubbering like a baby when he looked up at me.

"I'll nevah f'git yeh, Mas' Tom," he said. "I'll nevah f'git yeh."

"That'll do, uncle," and I caught him by the collar and pulled him to his feet. "I don't want to see you killed, but you'd better get away from here as fast as you can, and drop this witch man business for good and all. Here's two shillings. They'll get you something to eat when you get to Pennsylvania, but you'd better skirmish along in the woods the best you can till then, or you'll be jerked up for a runaway."

He murmured some inarticulate words,--of grat.i.tude, perhaps,--and slid down from the pile of logs. We watched him until he plunged into the woods to the south of the clearing, and then started back toward the house. I was busy with my own thoughts as we went, and Long was also silent, so that scarcely a word pa.s.sed between us until we reached the steps.