Alice Wilde: The Raftsman's Daughter. A Forest Romance

by Metta Victoria Fuller Victor

  CHAPTER XI.

  A MEETING IN THE WOODS.

  Pallas was in "her elements." There's nothing a genuine cook likesso well as to be given _carte blanche_ for a wedding. If the Wildeshad invited a hundred guests to stop with them a fortnight, she wouldhardly have increased the measure of her preparations. No wonder theold soul was happy in the prospect of the really excellent match herdarling was to make, as well as in the promise that she was to go withher and take the culinary department of the new household under hercharge.

  "We's goin' to lib soon whar' de clo'es massa gives us 'll do us somegood, Saturn. We can go to meetin' once more like 'spectable coloredquality should. An' de house 'll be bran new, and I'm to keep de keysof all de closets myself--and young missus will set at de head ob detable, wid plenty of silber, as my missuses have allers done. An'you'll have to have some pride about you, and get ober bein' so sleepy.Nebber hear nor see any ting so cur'us as we goin' back into dat berryfamily. Now, Saturn, don't you let me cotch you cookin' or eatin' asingle egg, 'cause I want 'em all for cake. Masser only brought hometwenty dozen, which ain't near enough. I want ebery one dem pulletslays. An' you feed em chickens up good and fat an' dem wild turkeysin de pen. Dis isn't a bad country for a cook, arter all. I've beenreck'nin' up, an' I find we can have wild turkey and partridges andsalmon and ven'sen and chicken, and masser's brought home ebery tingfrom de grocery-stores a pusson could ask. Whar's dat citron now?Saturn, has you been in dat citron? Laws, I cotch you in _dat_, you'llnebber forget it! Stop eatin' dem raisins! I declar' to gracious, ef Itrus' you to chop a few raisins for me, you eat half of 'em up. Cl'arout de kitchen--immejetly! I'd rudder get 'long alone."

  Poor Saturn had to "fly round" more than was agreeable to histemperament; but he contrived to keep up his strength and his spiritsupon stolen sweets, and he tried to be excessively useful.

  "Wall, wall, his arpetite does beat all; he's gettin' ole and childish,my nigger is and I s'pose I mus' humor him a little. His heart is seton de good tings ob dis worl'. I'se 'fraid he'll hate to gib up eatin'and sleepin' when he comes to die. Dar ain't no eatin' and drinkin'_thar_, Saturn; no marryin' nor givin' in marriage."

  "Wha' for? is eatin' wicked, Pallas?"

  "Not on dis yearth, where it is a necessary evil. But _dar_--dar'sbetter tings. We'll sing dar, Saturn," she continued, anxious torekindle the religious ardor which she was fearful of cooling by herpicture of the purely spiritual pleasures of the next world. "We'll setunder de tree ob life, by side de beautiful ribber, and sing all dehymns and psalms;" and she struck up, in a voice of rich melody,

  "O Canaan, my happy home, Oh, how I long for thee!"

  while her husband joined in the strain with equal fervor.

  Alice loved to hear them singing at their work; not only because oftheir musical voices, but the enthusiasm, the joy and expectationswelling through them, awakened her own young soul to hope and prayer.

  A happier face than hers, as she sat in the little parlor, sewingupon the wedding-garments, it would be difficult to find--a kind ofintense radiance from the utter content and love within shone throughher features. When a young girl is about to marry the man she loves,with the full approval of her judgment and conscience, the consent ofparents and friends, when her heart is full of hopes, when she blushesin solitude at her own happy thoughts, as she sits quietly sewing uponrich and delicate fabrics which are to enhance her beauty in _his_eyes, then she experiences the most blessed portion of her life.

  The sunshine of promise rested upon the house. All its delightfulactivity was pervaded by thrilling anticipations. And yet there was ashadow--a light shadow, which at times would darken and again entirelydisappear. It was the dread of Ben. The men at the mill reported havingcaught glimpses of some one whom they were quite sure was him, atdifferent times, in different lonely places in the forest.

  Saturn came in, one day, with the whites of his eyes of frightfulcircumference, averring that a ghost had run after him in thewoods. What could be the purpose of a person thus hovering about inconcealment? surely nothing good. Alice was not herself, personally,much afraid. She did not think Ben would harm her, but she felt thathe was hanging about, that his eyes watched every preparation, that hewould know when Philip came, and she was afraid he would have anotheropportunity to attempt his life. The courage which would not quail onthe battle-field will fail before a secret and unknown evil. Even theraftsman, brave and powerful as he was, felt that uneasiness whichsprings from such a source. Many a time he went out with his rifle onhis shoulder, resolved that if he met with the wretched and desperateyouth, he would deal with him severely. His search was always in vain.Alice gave up all her rambles, much as she longed to get again into theheart of the whispering pine-forest.

  One afternoon, when her father was at the mill, and Pallas, as usual,busy in the kitchen, as she sat sewing and singing to herself in a lowvoice, the bright room suddenly grew dark, and looking up at the openwindow, she saw Ben standing there gazing at her. If she had not knownof his vicinity, she would not have recognized him at the first glance;his face was haggard, his eyes bloodshot, his hair long and tangled,his clothing soiled and worn.

  "Don't scream!" he begged, as he saw that she perceived him, in a voiceso hollow that it checked the cry rising to her lips. "I ain't going toharm you. I wouldn't harm a hair of your head--not to save the neck yerso anxious to see hanging from the gallows. I know where your fatheris, and I just crept up to have a look at you. You look happy andcontent, Alice Wilde. See me! how do you like your work?"

  "It is _not_ my work, Ben, and you know it. Do not blame me. I pityyou; I pray for you. But do go away from here--do go! I would ratheryou would harm me than to harm those I love. Oh, if you really carefor me, go away from this spot--leave me to my happiness, and try andbe happy yourself. Be a man. Go, Ben--let us alone. If you do _not_ go,you will certainly be taken by others, and perhaps punished."

  "Catch a weasel asleep, but you can't catch me. You may put twenty menon the watch. How pleasant it must be for you to sit here making yourweddin'-clothes; I think of it nights, as I lay on the hemlock boughs,with my eyes wide open, staring up at the stars. What's that song Iused to like to hear you sing so well, Alice?

  "'They made her a grave too cold and damp For a soul so warm and true; And she's gone to the lake of the Dismal Swamp, Where, all night long, by the fire-fly lamp, She paddles her light canoe.'"

  The maiden shuddered to her heart's core as his voice rose wild andmournful in the sweet tune to which the ballad was set, "Ha! ha! Alice,it's the same little canoe that you used to come up to the mill in sooften, in those pleasant old times--

  "'And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see, Her paddle I soon shall hear; Long and loving our life shall be, And I'll hide the maid in a cypress-tree, When the footstep of death is near.'"

  Alice seemed to be listening to her own dirge;

  "'Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds-- His path was rugged and sore: Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds, And man never trod before!'"--

  and with an unearthly shriek he bounded away through the garden andinto the woods, leaving Alice so overcome, that Pallas, who had beenattracted to the door by the strange voice, brought her the "camfire"bottle to restore her.

  "He's a ravin' maniac, that poor boy is, my chile. He ought to becotch'd and put in de 'sylum at onct 'fore harm's done. Mercy, chile,I was jus' goin' to take down de rifle to 'fend my pickaninny. I was'fraid he'd t'ar you all to pieces, like a ragin' wild beas'."

  "You wouldn't have had courage to fire, would you? I'm sure Ishouldn't."

  "In course I should have had courage. S'pose I'd stan' by and see mychile toted off into the woods by a madman? Tush! even a hen'll fightfor her chickens. Ef I hadn't a rifle, I'd spring on 'em, tooth andnail, ef he laid a hand on my chile;" and the old negro woman breathedhard, holding herself erect, and looking so determi
ned, that sheinspired courage in the one who regarded her.

  "Then I shall choose you for my body-guard," said Alice, "for I beginto feel like a poor little chick in a big field, with an unseen hawkin the air which might pounce on it at any time. Oh, Pallas, didn't helook fearful?"

  "Awful, missus, awful! We can't be too kerful of a fanatick--and poorBen's got to be one, sure 'nuff. Poor Ben! a year ago he was as merrya young pusson as dese yere ole eyes car' for to see; and so willin'and kind, allers lookin' out to do a little sarvice, bringin' us gameand berries, and makin' us furnitur' and fixin's about de house,--readyto work all day, jus' to hab you say, 'Tank you, Ben,' or gib him onesmile. I jes' wish dis weddin' was safe ober. I has a sense as suthin'is goin' to happen. And you know, chile, when ole Pallas has a sense,it allers comes to suthin'."

  "Don't tell me of it, if you have, Pallas, for I'm nervous enoughalready. There comes father now. I feel safe when he is near."

  Upon hearing her account of Ben's looks and words, the raftsmanresolved more firmly than ever to take him into custody if possible.Leaving Pallas, who was a better man than her husband, with adouble-barreled gun, to defend the house, if necessary, in theirabsence, he summoned his full force and hunted the woods fortwenty-four hours without success. He then stationed two men in theoutskirts, in view of the house, to be relieved every eight hours bytwo others, and to keep up the watch, on double wages, day and night,till the enemy was taken or the wedding over.

  On the third day of his watch, one of the men, while standing by thegarden-fence, eating his lunch, his rifle leaning against the railsbeside him, was suddenly knocked down, and by the time he got uponhis feet again, he saw Ben Perkins vanishing into the forest withthe weapon on his shoulder. The news of this mishap was any thing butencouraging, for the chances of his doing mischief were increasedtenfold by the fact of his having possession of a loaded gun. Yet Alicesung and sewed, praying silently to Heaven that all might be well, and,happy in the faith and hope of youth, went on with her preparations;and Pallas finished shelves full of frosted cake and other niceties;and Saturn hewed wood and brought water, receiving his reward as hewent, from his wife's benevolent hand; and Mr. Wilde was alert andvigilant, ready for all emergencies.

  It was now near the middle of September; the blackberries were gone;and the grapes were yet green and unpalatable. Pallas was in want ofwild-plums to pickle, and of wild-mint to flavor some of the dressingsfor dishes yet to be cooked. She set forth into the woods, having nooccasion for personal fears, and not finding what she desired, wanderedfurther into their depths than she had intended. Suddenly she started,with a--"Hi! hi! what's this?"

  "If you've any thing in that basket a starving man can eat, give it tome." It was Ben Perkins who spoke, from behind a fallen tree, where hewas crouching, lifting his emaciated face to her view.

  "I hab nothin' at all; and ef I had, why should I gib it to you, whenyou'se makin' us all de trouble you can?"

  "You've turned against me, too, Aunt Pallas," he said, in so hopeless atone, that she paused from her purpose of getting away as fast as shecould. "I've done you many favors in days gone by; I've never refusedto lend you a helpin' hand, and I've never done nothin' to injure you;but you, too, will try to get me on to the gallows. Go and tell 'emwhere I am, if you want to. I don't know as I've strength to get awayany longer. It's a week sence any thing has passed my lips but a nestfull of bird's-eggs I climbed up after yesterday. Say, won't you bringme a piece of bread?"

  "You go home wid me, and behabe yourself, and you shall hab all debread you want. Nobody's starving you but yourself."

  "Ha! ha! you're a cute 'un, ain't you now? I don't think I shall put myfoot into that trap."

  "Well, den, you gib me dat gun what you've got thar'. Gib me dat gunand I'll bring you suthin' to eat, and won't tell where you are."

  "No--no! you can't come that game."

  "You doesn't s'pose I'd bring you any ting to eat or help keep youalive, when you're tryin' yer bes' to kill my masser's frien's, do ye?It's _you_ is foolish, Ben. What for you be so bad, so wicked for, Ben?You use to be a nice boy. I like you berry much a year ago. I can'tbar' to see you hurtin' yerself so--let alone odders. Come, now, yergib me back dat gun, an' ac' like a man 'stid of a wil' beas', and I'lldo all I can for you, sartain sure, Ben."

  "Pallas, I tell you, I'm starving. I want somethin' to eat. Let thatgun alone. I swear to you, I won't use it on any of your family. Iwouldn't hurt a hair of Alice's head--nor her father's. But I want thatrifle--it's none of your business why. Won't ye give me suthin' to eat,for the sake of old times, Pallas?"

  That miserable, hungry, beseeching look--how could she refuse it?

  "You've acted like a crazy man, Ben, and you've done berry wrong toyourself as well as odders. I can't help you, 'less you promise to dobetter. Gib me dat gun, and take yer Bible oath you'll never try tohurt him that's to be Miss Alice's husband, an' I'll help you all Ican."

  "Why should I promise not to harm him? hasn't he done all he could toinjure me? hadn't I _ought_ to kill him if I can? wouldn't it be rightand justifiable for me to take his heart's blood?--as he's taken mine,but in a different way. I was a homeless, poor, hard-workin' young man,with nuthin' but my hands to rely on. I hadn't no education, I hadn'tno money, but I loved the captain's daughter--I worshiped her shadow.She'd have been mine--I know she would--if he hadn't come along and gother away from me. He, who had every thing, came and robbed me of theonly thing I cared to have. He used his education and his money and hisfine ways to steal my only hope. As soon as he come hangin' round I wasnuthin'--Miss Alice walked right over me to get in his arms. I tell ye,that man has robbed me and wronged me and murdered me, as it were. I_ought_ to be revenged."

  "You is wuss den crazy, Ben Perkins; and I'll tell ye de trute, if yeget as mad as fire at me for it. 'Tain't noways likely my missus wouldeber 'ave taken up wid ye, if Philip Moore had neber seen her. She'sa lady, born and bred; she came of a high family--and it was in herblood. She wouldn't neber have taken up wid you. She liked you, andwe all liked you; but she wouldn't a married you. You'd no businessto 'spect she would. It's you is all de wrong. Den when a young manwhat is suitable to her comes along, and can't no more help fallin' inlove wid her sweet face den you can, when he loves her, and wants tomarry her, and she loves him, as she naturally would, you get wickedand ugly, and want to kill him. Fie, man! you _don't_ love her! Efyou did, you couldn't neber break her heart, killing her husband asis to be. What would you gain by it? 'Stid of likin' and pityin' you,she'd shudder to hear your name, and she'd wilt away and die, andyou'd be her murderer, well as his. For shame! call dat love? Why, efyou _really_ loved her, you'd try to make her happy, and seein' youcouldn't hab her, you'd be glad she got de man she like bes'. You is abad fellow, Ben Perkins, and you jus' show how lucky it is Miss Alicedidn't take up wid you."

  "_She_ thinks I'm so bad, too, doesn't she?--oh, yes, of course shemust; she must hate me, and wish me dead. I know it, but I couldn'thelp it. Oh, Pallas, tell her not to think too hard of me. I was neverwell brought up. I'd only my wild passions to guide me. I've done wrongonly because my heart was so set upon her. Yet I've struggled againsttemptation--I've tried to wish she could be happy without me. Tell her,when I was on the river alone with Philip Moore, I might have put himout of the way, but for her sake I wouldn't do it. Often and often aswe sat together in that little boat, alone on the water, the devil inmy heart set me on to strangle him and throw him overboard, I don'tknow why I didn't do it, 'ceptin' it seemed as if Alice's eyes waslookin' at me and wouldn't let me do it. One night he was asleep, hishead on his arm, and I was bending over him--my hand was on his throat,when _she_ took hold of me and held me back. I seen her as plain as Isee you now. She had on a long, white dress, and her hair was streamin'down her shoulders, and her feet was bare. She looked at me _so_--Icouldn't stand it; and I made up my mind never to lay hands on thatperson again. And I felt so much more like a man, I could look herstraight in the face agin, when I got back. But I
told lies, and triedto get in her good graces. Do you think that was so very bad, under thecircumstances, Aunt Pallas? I never meant to do nuthin' worse; but whenI seen all my plans knocked in the head, and that person meeting heragin and making up, and she lookin' so like an angel, and so proud andhappy, and all of 'em casting scornful eyes on me, the devil broke outagain worse 'an ever, and I set fire to Philip Moore's store, hopin' toburn him up; and since then I've been about as desp'rate as a man evergets to be. Part the time I'm as good as crazy, I think such thoughtsout here in the woods alone--and agin I'm quite cool and reflect allover my bad conduct. I'd take it all back, if I could, for _her_ sake;"and he burst out weeping.

  "Yer poor, mis'able soul, I pity you. But I mus' say you did wrong.'Tain't too late to repent and be saved. Gib up all dose wil', wickedfeelin's, be resigned to de will ob Providence which doesn't allow ofyour having the girl you happen to love fust. 'Tain't for us to haball we want in dis yere worl'. 'Tain't for us to revenge our enemies.Chris' says do good to dem dat despitefully use yer. And nobody hasused you bad. He says love your enemies. O Ben! Ben! ef, instid ofbein' de wicked bein' you has, you had prayed to de Lord Jesus to sabeyer from temptation, and sence yer couldn't be happy in dis life, tomake yer good, yer wouldn't be hidin' here in dis state. People has hadtroubles 'fore yer. Don't tink yer de only one, poor boy. Dar's plentyof tears for Chris' to wipe away on dis yearth."

  "I don't know nuthin about it. I've never been taught. 'Tain't nateralfor a man to love his enemies. I can't do it. But if I thought you'dpity me and pray for me--if I thought Miss Alice would pray for me, I'dgive up wicked thoughts, and try to govern myself."

  "She does pray for yer, Ben, wid all her heart every time she prays.I've seen her cry about yer many time. She'd gib her right hand mos',to hab you good and happy. Masser's sorry for yer, too; he tought somuch of you once; but course he can't let you kill his friends. Come,now, Ben, you promise to do right, and I'll stan' by yer tru thick andthin."

  "Some of the time I'm good, and agin I'm bad. I didn't use to be so.It's only wretchedness has made me so ugly. I don't know how to try tobe better."

  "May I pray for you, Ben?"

  "Yes--if you want to be such a fool," he said, reluctantly.

  The good old colored woman went down on her knees there upon the mossycushion of the earth, pouring out her soul in prayer for the haggardbeing, who sat, with his chin in his hands, listening to her appealin his behalf. Tears streamed down her cheeks; the earnestness, thepathos of her sincere petitions to that great Father whom she seemedto believe had power to comfort and take care of him and adopt him asa child, touched his lonely, sullen, misanthropic nature--his sobsaccompanied her "Amen!"

  "I shouldn't be such a baby as to cry," he said, when she had finished,"if I wasn't so weak; but when a fellow's fasted a week he ain't noneof the bravest. I thank you, though, for your prayer, Aunt Pallas--I'llremember it to my dyin' day. Here's the gun--take it. P'raps if I keepit an hour longer, I'll want to do some mischief with it. Take it,while you can get it; and bring me some food, as you promised. If youbreak your promise, and bring them men here to take me up, I shan'tnever have no faith in prayers. If you want to make a Christian of me,you mus'n't fool me."

  "Neither will I," said Pallas; "I'll be back here in an hour wid breadand meat. You'd better make up your mind, by dat time, to go home widme, gib yerself up to masser, and let him do as he feels is best widyer. He'll act for de bes', be sure."

  She took the gun and hastened off with it, glad to get that means ofharm away from him. She was firmly resolved not to break her promiseto him, much as she desired that he might be put in safe quarters, andthis uncomfortable suspense be done away with. As he had confessedhimself so changeable in his moods, she did not rely much upon hispresent one. Reaching home, she stowed the rifle away, saying nothingabout it, and filling her basket with substantial food, she returned tothe appointed spot. To her surprise, Ben was not there. She waited afew minutes, but he did not come.

  "I can't bar to know a human critter is starving to def," she muttered,setting the basket in a branch of the fallen tree. "I'll leave dishere--and now I've kep' my promise I'll go straight home and tellmasser all 'bout it, and he can take sech steps as he tinks bes'."

  She gave a graphic account of the whole interview to the raftsman assoon as he came in to tea. When she came to that part of his confessionwhere he spoke of being about to choke Philip, while on the river,Alice turned pale, saying with a shudder--as she recalled one of thosevisions which haunted her dreams during that terrible period of thejourney of her lover with his deadly enemy:

  "Yes! yes! I did--but it was in a dream. I beheld the skiff glidingalong in the starlight, Philip sleeping, his arm under his head, andhis carpet-bag for a pillow; Ben was stooping over him, his face waswhite as ashes, his teeth were clenched, his hands were creeping towardPhilip's throat--I sprang upon him--I held his hands--I drew himback--I screamed--and the scream awoke me, and father rushed into myroom to see what was the matter. You ridiculed my nightmare, father,don't you recollect?"

  "Poor boy," said the raftsman, wiping a tear from his cheek, when hisservant had concluded her relation. "I'm right down sorry for the lad.And when you are married and out of the way, puss, I'll take him inhand, and try and reclaim him. He'll make a man yet."

  "He ain't to blame fer his faults, seeing he's never had no goodbroughten' up. I'll teach him the New Testament doctrines ef he'll onlylet me, once Miss Alice is 'way," remarked Pallas.

  Mr. Wilde went to the spot indicated by Pallas--the basket of food hadbeen taken away, but no one was in the vicinity.