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Elsie's Womanhood by Martha Finley

M >> Martha Finley >> Elsie\'s Womanhood




A heavy, rolling crash of thunder followed close upon the sharp crack of
the revolvers; the robber's pistol fell with a loud thump upon the floor
and he turned and fled along the veranda, this time moving with more haste
than caution. They distinctly heard the flying footsteps.

"I must have hit him," said Mr. Travilla, "Dearest, you are not hurt?"

"No, no; but you?"

"Have escaped also, thank God," he added, with earnest solemnity.

Elsie, springing to the bell-rope, sent peal after peal resounding through
the house. "He must be pursued, if possible!" she cried; "for oh, Edward,
your life is in danger as long as he is at large. You recognized him?"

"Yes, Tom Jackson; I thought him safe in prison at the North; but probably
he has been bailed out; perhaps by one of his own gang; for so are the
ends of justice often defeated."

He was hurrying on his clothes as he spoke. Elsie had hastily donned
dressing-gown and slippers, and now struck a light.

Steps and voices were heard in the hall without, while Aunt Chloe coming
in from the other side, asked in tones tremulous with affright, "What's de
matter? what's de matter, darlin'? is you hurted?"

"No, mammy; but there was a burglar here a moment since," said Elsie. "He
and Mr. Travilla fired at each other, and he must be pursued instantly.
Send Uncle Joe to rouse Mr. Spriggs and the boys, and go after him with
all speed."

Meantime Mr. Mason was knocking at the door opening into the hall, asking
what was wrong and offering his services; a number of negro men's voices
adding, "Massa and missus, we's all heyah and ready to fight for ye."

Mr. Travilla opened the door, briefly explained what had happened, and
repeated Elsie's order for an immediate and hot pursuit.

"I myself will head it," he was adding, when she interposed.

"No, no, no, my husband, surely you will not think of it; he may kill you
yet. Or he might return from another direction, and what could I do with
only the women to help me? Oh, Edward, don't go! don't leave me!" And she
clung to him trembling and with tears in the soft, entreating eyes.

"No, dearest, you are right. I will stay here to protect you, and Spriggs
may lead the boys," he answered, throwing an arm about her. "I think I
wounded the fellow," he added to Mr. Mason. "Here, Aunt Chloe, bring the
light nearer."

Yes, there lay a heavy revolver, and beside it a pool of blood on the
carpet where the villain had stood; and there was a bloody trail all along
the veranda where he had run, and on the railing and pillar by which he
had swung himself to the ground; indeed, they could track him by it for
some distance over the lawn, where the trees kept the ground partially
dry; but beyond that the rain coming down in sheets, had helped the
fugitive by washing away the telltale stains.

Elsie shuddering and turning pale and faint at the horrible sight, ordered
an immediate and thorough cleansing of both carpet and veranda.

"Dere's hot water in de kitchen," said Aunt Phillis. "You, Sal an' Bet,
hurry up yah wid a big basin full, an' soap an' sand an' house-cloths.
Glad 'nuff dat massa shot dat ole debbil, but Miss Elsie's house not to be
defiled wid his dirty blood."

"Cold watah fust, Aunt Phillis," interposed Chloe, "cold watah fust to
take out blood-stain, den de hot after dat."

"Mammy knows; do as she directs," said Elsie, hastily retreating into her
dressing-room.

"My darling, this has been too much for you," her husband said tenderly,
helping her to lie down on a sofa.

Chloe came hurrying in with a tumbler of cold water in one hand, a bottle
of smelling salts in the other, her dusky face full of concern.

Mr. Travilla took the articles from her. "That is right, but I will attend
to your mistress," he said in a kindly tone; "and do you go and prepare a
bed for her in one of the rooms on the other side of the hall."

"It is hardly worth while, dear," said Elsie; "I don't think I can sleep
again to-night."

"Yet perhaps you may; it is only two o'clock," he said, as the timepiece
on the mantle struck the hour, "and at least you may rest a little better
than you could here."

"And perhaps you may sleep. Yes, mammy, get the bed ready as soon as you
can."

"My darling, how pale you are!" Mr. Travilla said with concern, as he
knelt by her side, applying the restoratives. "Do not be alarmed; I am
quite sure the man's right arm is disabled, and therefore the danger is
past, for the present at least."

She put her arm about his neck and relieved her full heart with a burst of
tears. "Pray, praise," she whispered; "oh, thank the Lord for your narrow
escape; the ball must have passed very near your head; I heard it whiz
over mine and strike the opposite wall."

"Yes, it just grazed my hair and carried away a lock, I think. Yes, let us
thank the Lord." And he poured out a short but fervent thanksgiving, to
every word of which her heart said "Amen!"

"Yes, there is a lock gone, sure enough," she said, stroking his hair
caressingly as he bent over her. "Ah, if we had not lingered so long here,
this would not have happened."

"Not here, but elsewhere perhaps."

"That is true, and no doubt all has been ordered for the best."

Aunt Chloe presently returned, with the announcement that the bed was
ready; and they retired for the second time, leaving the house in the care
of Uncle Joe and the women servants.

It was some time before Elsie could compose herself to sleep, but near
daybreak she fell into a deep slumber that lasted until long past the
usual breakfast hour. Mr. Travilla slept late also, while the vigilant
Aunts Chloe and Phillis and Uncle Joe took care that no noise should be
made, no intruder allowed access to their vicinity to disturb them.

The first news that greeted them on leaving their room, was of the failure
of the pursuit after the burglar. He had managed to elude the search, and
to their chagrin Spriggs and his party had been obliged to return
empty-handed. The servants were the first to tell the tale, then Spriggs
came in with a fuller report.

"The scoundrel!" he growled; "how he contrived to do it I can't tell. If
we'd had hounds, he couldn't. We've none on the place, but if you say so,
I'll borrow----"

"No, no! Mr. Travilla, you will not allow it" cried Elsie, turning an
entreating look upon him.

"No, Spriggs, the man must be greatly weakened by the loss of blood, and,
unable to defend himself, might be torn to pieces by them before you could
prevent it."

"Small loss to the rest of the world if he was," grumbled the overseer.

"Yes, but I wouldn't have him die such a death as that; or hurried into
eternity without a moment for repentance."

"But might it not be well to have another search?" suggested Elsie. "He
had better be given up to justice, even for his own good, than die in the
woods of weakness and starvation."

"Hands are all so busy with the sugar-cane just now, ma'am, that I don't
see how they could be spared," answered Spriggs. "And tell you what,
ma'am"--as if struck with a sudden thought--"the rascal must have a
confederate that's helped him off."

"Most likely," said Mr. Travilla. "Indeed, I think it must be so. And you
need give yourself no further anxiety about him, my dear."




CHAPTER FIFTEENTH.

"Revenge at first though sweet,
Bitter erelong, back on itself recoils."
--MILTON'S PARADISE LOST.


At the instant of discharging his revolver, Jackson felt a sharp stinging
pain in his right arm, and it dropped useless at his side. He hoped he had
killed both Mr. Travilla and Elsie; but, an arrant coward and thus
disabled, did not dare to remain a moment to learn with certainty the
effect of his shot, but rushing along the veranda, threw himself over the
railing, and sliding down a pillar, by the aid of the one hand, and with
no little pain and difficulty, made off with all speed across the lawn.

But he was bleeding at so fearful a rate that he found himself compelled
to pause long enough to improvise a tourniquet by knotting his
handkerchief above the wound, tying it as tightly as he could with the
left hand aided by his teeth. He stooped and felt on the ground in the
darkness and rain, for a stick, by means of which to tighten it still
more; for the bleeding, though considerably checked, was by no means
stanched. But sticks, stones, and every kind of litter, had long been
banished thence; his fingers came in contact with nothing but the smooth,
velvety turf, and with a muttered curse, he rose and fled again; for the
flashing of lights, the loud ringing of a bell, peal after peal, and
sounds of running feet and many voices in high excited tones, told him
there was danger of a quick and hot pursuit.

Clearing the lawn, he presently struck into a bridle-path that led to the
woods. Here he again paused to search for the much-needed stick, found one
suited to his purpose, and by its aid succeeded in decreasing still more
the drain upon his life current; yet could not stop the flow entirely.

But sounds of pursuit began to be heard in the distance, and he hastened
on again, panting with weakness, pain and affright. Leaving the path, he
plunged deeper into the woods, ran for some distance along the edge of a
swamp, and leaping in up to his knees in mud and water, doubled on his
track, then turned again, and penetrating farther and farther into the
depths of the morass, finally climbed a tree, groaning with the pain the
effort cost him, and concealed himself among the branches.

His pursuers came up to the spot where he had made his plunge into the
water; here they paused, evidently at fault. He could hear the sound of
their footsteps and voices, and judge of their movements by the gleam of
the torches many of them carried.

Some now took one direction, some another, and he perceived with joy that
his stratagem had been at least partially successful. One party, however,
soon followed him into the swamp. He could hear Spriggs urging them on and
anathematizing him as "a scoundrel, robber, burglar, murderer, who ought
to be swung up to the nearest tree."

Every thicket was undergoing a thorough search, heads were thrown back and
torches held high that eager blacks eyes might scan the tree-tops, and
Jackson began to grow sick with the almost certainty of being taken, as
several stout negroes drew nearer and nearer his chosen hiding-place.

He uttered a low, breathed imprecation upon his useless right arm, and the
man whose sure aim had made it so. "But for you," he muttered, grinding
his teeth, "I'd sell my life dear."

But the rain, which had slackened for a time, again poured down in
torrents, the torches sputtered and went out, and the pursuers turned back
in haste to gain the firmer soil, where less danger was to be apprehended
from alligators, panthers, and poisonous reptiles.

The search was kept up for some time longer, with no light but an
occasional flash from the skies; but finally abandoned, as we have seen.

Jackson passed several hours most uncomfortably and painfully on his
elevated perch, quaking with fear of both man and reptile, not daring to
come down or to sleep in his precarious position, or able to do so for the
pain of his wound, and growing hour by hour weaker from the bleeding which
it was impossible to check entirely.

Then his mind was in a state of great disturbance, His wound must be
dressed, and that speedily; yet how could it be accomplished without
imperiling life and liberty? Perhaps he had now two new murders on his
hands; he did not know, but he had at least attempted to take life, and
the story would fly on the wings of the wind; such stories always did.

He had been lurking about the neighborhood for days, and had learned that
Dr. Balis, an excellent physician and surgeon, lived on a plantation, some
two or three miles eastward from Viamede. He must contrive a plausible
story, and go to him; at break of day, before the news of the attack on
Viamede would be likely to reach him. It would be a risk, but what better
could be done? He might succeed in quieting the doctor's suspicions, and
yet make good his escape from the vicinity.

The storm had spent itself before the break of day, and descending from
his perch with the first faint rays of light that penetrated the gloomy
recesses of the swamp, he made his way out of it, slowly and toilsomely,
with weary, aching limbs, suffering intensely from the gnawings of hunger
and thirst, the pain of his injury, and the fear of being overtaken by the
avengers of his innocent victims. Truly, as the Bible tells us, "the way
of transgressors is hard."

The sun was more than an hour high when Dr. Balis, ready to start upon his
morning round, and pacing thoughtfully to and fro upon the veranda of his
dwelling while waiting for his horse, saw a miserable looking object
coming up the avenue: a man almost covered from head to foot with blood
and mud; a white handkerchief, also both bloody and muddy, knotted around
the right arm, which hung apparently useless at his side. The man reeled
as he walked, either from intoxication or weakness and fatigue.

The doctor judged the latter, and called to a servant, "Nap, go and help
that man into the office." Then hurrying thither himself, got out lint,
bandages, instruments, whatever might be needed for the dressing of a
wound. With the assistance of Nap's strong arm, the man tottered in, then
sank, half fainting, into a chair.

"A glass of wine, Nap, quick!" cried the doctor, sprinkling some water in
his patient's face, and applying ammonia to his nostrils.

He revived sufficiently to swallow with eager avidity the wine Nap held to
his lips.

"Food, for the love of God," he gasped. "I'm starving!"

"Bread, meat, coffee, anything that is on the table, Nap," said his
master; "and don't let the grass grow under your feet."

Then to the stranger, and taking gentle hold of the wounded limb: "But you
need this flow of blood stanched more than anything else. You came to me
for surgical aid, of course. Pistol-shot wound, eh? and a bad one at
that."

"Yes, I----"

"Never mind; I'll hear your story after your arm's dressed and you've had
your breakfast. You haven't strength for talk just now."

Dr. Balis had his own suspicions as he ripped up the coat sleeve, bared
the swollen limb, and carefully dressed the wound; but kept them to
himself. The stranger's clothes, though much soiled and torn in several
places by contact with thorns and briers, were of good material,
fashionable cut, and not old or worn; his manners were gentlemanly, and
his speech was that of an educated man. But all this was no proof that he
was not a villain.

"Is that mortification?" asked the sufferer, looking ruefully at the
black, swollen hand and fore-arm, and wincing under the doctor's touch as
he took up the artery and tied it.

"No, no; only the stagnation of the blood."

"Will the limb ever be good for anything again?"

"Oh yes; neither the bone nor nerve has suffered injury; the ball has
glanced from the bone, passed under the nerve, and cut the humeral artery.
Your tourniquet has saved you from bleeding to death. 'Tis well you knew
enough to apply it. The flesh is much torn where the ball passed out; but
that will heal in time."

The doctor's task was done. Nap had set a plate of food within reach of
the stranger's left hand, and he was devouring it like a hungry wolf.

"Now, sir," said the good doctor, when the meal was finished, "I should
like to hear how you came by that ugly wound. I can't deny that things
look suspicious. I know everybody, high and low, rich and poor, for miles
in every direction, and so need no proof that you do not belong to the
neighborhood."

"No; a party of us, from New Orleans last, came out to visit this
beautiful region. We were roaming through a forest yesterday, looking for
game, when I somehow got separated from the rest, lost my way, darkness
came on, and wondering hither and thither in the vain effort to find my
comrades, tumbling over logs and fallen trees, scratched and torn by
brambles, almost eaten up by mosquitos, I thought I was having a dreadful
time of it. But worse was to come; for I presently found myself in a swamp
up to my knees in mud and water, and in the pitchy darkness tumbling over
another fallen tree, struck my revolver, which I had foolishly been
carrying in my coat pocket: it went off and shot me in the arm, as you
see. That must have been early in the night; and what with loss of blood,
pain, fatigue, and long fasting, I had but little strength when daylight
came and I could see to get out of swamp and woods, and come on here."

The doctor listened in silence, his face telling nothing of his thoughts.

"A bad business," he said, rising and beginning to draw on his gloves.
"You are not fit to travel, but are welcome to stay here for the present;
had better lie down on the sofa there and take a nap while I am away
visiting my patients. Nap, clean the mud and blood from the gentleman's
clothes; take his boots out and clean them too; and see that he doesn't
want for attention while I am gone. Good-morning, sir; make yourself at
home." And the doctor walked out, giving Nap a slight sign to follow him.

"Nap," he said, when they were out of ear-shot of the stranger, "watch
that man and keep him here if possible, till I come back."

"Yes, sah."

Nap went back into the office while the doctor mounted and rode away.

"Humph," he said, half aloud, as he cantered briskly along, "took me for a
fool, did he? thought I couldn't tell where the shot went in and where it
came out, or where it would go in or out if caused in that way. No, sir,
you never gave yourself that wound; but the question is who did? and what
for? have you been house-breaking or some other mischief?" Dr. Balis was
traveling in the direction of Viamede, intending to call there too, but
having several patients to visit on the way, did not arrive until the late
breakfast of its master and mistress was over.

They were seated together on the veranda, her hand in his, the other arm
thrown lightly about her waist, talking earnestly, and so engrossed with
each other and the subject of their conversation, that they did not at
first observe the doctor's approach.

Uncle Joe was at work on the lawn, clearing away the leaves and twigs
blown down by the storm.

"Mornin', Massa Doctah; did you heyah de news, sah?" he said, pulling off
his hat and making a profound obeisance, as he stepped forward to take the
visitor's horse.

"No, uncle, what is it?"

"Burglah, sir, burglah broke in de house las' night, an' fire he revolvah
at massa an' Miss Elsie. Miss dem, dough, an' got shot hisself."

"Possible!" cried the doctor in great excitement, springing from the
saddle and hurrying up the steps of the veranda.

"Ah, doctor, good-morning. Glad to see you, sir," said Mr. Travilla,
rising to give the physician a hearty shake of the hand.

"Thank you, sir. How are you after your fright? Mrs. Travilla, you are
looking a little pale; and no wonder. Uncle Joe tells me you had a visit
from a burglar last night?"

"A murderer, sir; one whose object was to take my husband's life," Elsie
answered with a shudder, and in low, tremulous tones, leaning on Edward's
arm and gazing into his face with eyes swimming with tears of love and
gratitude.

"My wife's also, I fear," Mr. Travilla said with emotion, fondly stroking
her sunny hair.

"Indeed! why this is worse and worse! But he did not succeed in wounding
either of you?"

"No; his ball passed over our heads, grazing mine so closely as to cut off
a lock of my hair. But I wounded him, must have cut an artery, I think,
from the bloody trail he left behind him."

"An artery?" cried the doctor, growing more and more excited; "where? do
you know where your ball struck?"

"A flash of lightning showed us to each other and we fired simultaneously,
I aiming for his right arm. I do not often miss my aim: we heard his
revolver fall to the floor and he fled instantly, leaving it and a trail
of blood before him."

"You had him pursued promptly, of course?"

"Yes; but they did not find him. I expected to see them return with his
corpse, thinking he must bleed to death in a very short time. But I
presume he had an accomplice who was able to stanch the flow of blood and
carry him away."

"No, I don't think he had; and if I'm not greatly mistaken I dressed his
wound in my office this morning, and left him there in charge of my boy
Nap, bidding him keep the fellow there, if possible, till I came back. I'd
better return at once, lest he should make his escape. Do you know the
man? and can you describe him?"

"I do; I can," replied Mr. Travilla. "But, my little wife, how you are
trembling! Sit down here, dearest, and lean on me," leading her to a sofa.
"And doctor, take that chair.

"The man's name is Tom Jackson; he is a noted gambler and forger, has been
convicted of manslaughter and other crimes, sent to the penitentiary and
pardoned out. He hates me because I have exposed his evil deeds, and
prevented the carrying out of some of his wicked designs. He has before
this threatened both our lives. He is about your height and build, doctor;
can assume the manners and speech of a gentleman; has dark hair, eyes, and
whiskers, regular features, and but for a sinister look would be very
handsome."

"It's he and no mistake!" cried Dr. Balis, rising in haste. "I must hurry
home and prevent his escape. Why, it's really dangerous to have him at
large. If he wasn't so disabled I'd tremble for the lives of my wife and
children.

"He trumped up a story to tell me--had his revolver in his coat pocket,
set it off in tumbling over a log in the dark, and so shot himself. Of
course I knew 'twas a lie, because in that case the ball would have
entered from below, at the back of the arm, and come out above, while the
reverse was the case."

"But how could you tell where it entered or where it passed out, doctor?"
inquired Elsie.

"How, Mrs. Travilla? Why, where it goes in it makes merely a small hole;
you see nothing but a blue mark; but a much larger opening in passing out,
often tearing the flesh a good deal; as in this case.

"Ah, either he was a fool or thought I was. But good-bye. I shall gallop
home as fast as possible and send back word whether I find him there or
not."

"Don't take the trouble, doctor," said Mr. Travilla; "we will mount and
follow you at once, to identify him if he is to be found. Shall we not,
wife?"

"If you say so, Edward, and are quite sure he cannot harm you now?"

"No danger, Mrs. Travilla," cried the doctor, looking back as he rode
off.




CHAPTER SIXTEENTH.

"Oft those whose cruelty makes many mourn
Do by the fires which they first kindle burn."
--EARL OF STIRLING.

"As crimes do grow, justice should rouse itself."
--JOHNSON'S CATILINE.


Jackson thought he read suspicion in the doctor's eye as the latter left
the office; also he felt sure the physician would not ride far before
hearing of the attack on Viamede, and would speedily come at the truth by
putting that and that together; perhaps return with a party of avengers,
and hang him to a tree in the adjacent forest.

"I must get out o' this before I'm an hour older," said the scoundrel to
himself. "Oh, for the strength I had yesterday!"

"Why don't you lie down, sah, as Massa Doctah tole ye?" asked Nap,
returning. "Massa always 'spects folks to do prezactly as he tells dem."

"Why, Sambo, I'm too dirty to lie on that nice sofa," replied Jackson,
glancing down at his soiled garments.

"Sambo's not my name, sah," said the negro, drawing himself up with
dignity; "I'se Napoleon Boningparty George Washington Marquis de
Lafayette, an' dey calls me Nap for short. If ye'll take off dat coat,
sah, an' dem boots, I'll take 'em out to de kitchen yard an' clean 'em."

"Thank you; if you will I'll give you a dollar. And if you'll brush the
mud from my pants first, I'll try the sofa; for I'm nearly dead for sleep
and rest."

"All right, sah," and Nap went to a closet, brought out a whisk, and using
it vigorously upon the pantaloons, soon brushed away the mud, which the
sun had made very dry. A few blood stains were left, but there was no help
for that at present. The coat was taken off with some difficulty on
account of the wounded arm, then the boots, and Jackson laid himself down
on the sofa and closed his eyes.

Nap threw the coat over his arm, and taking the boots in the other hand
went softly out, closing the door behind him. "Safe 'nuff now, I reckon,"
he chuckled to himself; "guess he not trabble far widout dese."

He was hardly gone, however, when Jackson roused himself and forced his
weary eyes to unclose. "As dangerous as to go to sleep when freezing," he
muttered. He rose, stepped to the closet door, and opened it.

A pair of boots stood on the floor, a coat hung on a peg. He helped
himself to both, sat down and drew on the boots, which were a little too
large but went on all the more readily for that. Now for the coat. It was
not new, but by no means shabby. He took out his knife, hastily ripped up
the right sleeve and put it on. It fitted even better than the boots.

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