Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine Vol. 56, No. 346, August, 1844 by Various

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We were still more surprised to find Schlegel describing the Maid of
Orlean of _Henry VI_. as more _historical_ than the portraiture of
Schiller. There is the same amount of fable in both. In _Henry VI_., we
have an echo of the coarse superstition and vulgar scandal of the
English camp--in Schiller, the fable is beautiful, and assists to
develop a character of exquisite purity.

THE STOLEN CHILD.

A TRUE TALE OF THE BACK-WOODS.

It was towards the commencement of the month December 1825, that I was
going down the Mississippi in the steam-boat Feliciana. We had arrived
in the neighbourhood of Hopefield, Hampstead county, when one of our
paddles struck against a sawyer,[1] and was broken to pieces. We were
obliged in consequence to cast anchor before the town.

[1] The local name for large tree-trunks which get partially buried in
the mud, one end sticking, up just below the surface of the water. They
cause frequent accidents to the steam-boats on the Mississippi.

Hopefield is a small town on the west bank of the river, about six
hundred miles above New Orleans, and five hundred below the junction of
the Ohio and Mississippi. It consisted, at the time of which I speak, of
about fifteen houses, two of which were taverns and shops of the usual
kind found in such places--their stock in trade consisting of a cask or
two of whisky, a couple of dozen knives and forks, a few coloured
handkerchiefs, some earthenware, lead, powder, and the like. Our party
was composed of ten ladies, the same number of young men, and several
elderly gentlemen. Nothing appears so desirable, during a long voyage in
a river steam-boat, as a stroll upon shore; and, as there was nothing to
be done at Hopefield, the proposal of one of our number to take a ramble
in the forest, was met with unqualified approbation by all the young
men. We equipped ourselves each with a rifle, and a bottle of wine or
brandy, to keep the vapours of the swamps out of our throats; the son of
one of the tavern-keepers, who offered himself for a guide, was loaded
with a mighty ham and a bag of biscuits, which we procured from the
steam-boat; and, thus provided, we sallied forth on our expedition,
attended by the good wishes of the ladies, who accompanied us a few
hundred yards into the wood, and then left us to pursue our march.

I have often had the occasion to notice, that the first entrance into
one of our vast American forests is apt to reduce the greatest talker to
silence. In the present instance, I found the truth of this remark fully
confirmed. Whether it was the subdued half-light of the luxuriant
wilderness through which we were passing, the solemn stillness, only
broken by the rustling of the dead leaves under our feet, or the
colossal dimensions of the mighty trees, that rose like so many giants
around us, that wrought upon the imagination, I cannot say; but it is
certain that my companions, who were mostly on the northern states, and
had never before been beyond Albany or the Saratoga springs, became at
once silent, and almost sad. The leaves of the cotton-tree, that giant
of the south-western forests, had already assumed the tawny hues of
latter autumn; only here and there a streak of sunbeam, breaking through
the canopy of branches that spread over our heads, brought out the last
tints of green now fast fading away, and threw a strange sparkling ray,
a bar of light, across our path. Here was a magnolia with its snow-white
blossoms, or a catalpa with its long cucumber-shaped fruit, amongst
which the bright-hued red birds and paroquets glanced and fluttered.

We walked for some time through the forest, amused more than once by the
proceedings of two young clerks from Boston, who saw a wild animal in
every thicket, and repeatedly leveled their guns at some bear or
panther, which turned out to be neither more nor less than a bush or
tree-stump. They pestered our guide with all sorts of simple questions,
which he, with a true backwoodsman's indifference, left for the most
part unanswered. After about an hour, we found ourselves on the borders
of a long and tolerably wide swamp, formed by the overflowings of the
river, and which stretched for some five miles from north to south, with
a broad patch of clear bright-green water in the centre. The western
bank was covered with a thick growth of palmettos, the favourite cover
of deer; bears, and even panthers; and this cover we resolved to beat.
We divided ourselves into two parties, the first of which, consisting of
the New Englanders, and accompanied by the guide, was to go round the
northern extremity of the swamp, while we were to take a southerly
direction, and both to meet behind the marsh, on a certain path which
led through a thicket of wild plum-trees and acacias. Our guide's
instructions were not of the clearest, and the landmarks he gave us were
only intelligible to a thorough backwoodsman; but as too many questions
would probably have puzzled him, without making matters clearer to us,
we set off, trusting to our eyes and ears, and to the pocket-compasses
with which several of us were provided.

After another hour's walk, during which we had seen nothing but wild
pigeons and squirrels, and a few mocassin snakes warming themselves in
the sunbeams, which latter, on our approach, drew hastily back under the
heaps of dry leaves, we arrived at the southern extremity of the swamp.
Proceeding a short distance westward, we then took a northerly
direction, along the edge of the palmetto field, with the marsh upon our
right hand. It was a sort of cane-brake we were passing through, firm
footing, and with grass up to our knees; the shore of the swamp or lake
was overgrown with lofty cedars, shooting out of water four or five feet
deep, which reflected their circular crowns. The broad streak of water
looked like a huge band of satin, and the slightest motion of the leaves
was immediately perceptible in the mirror beneath them. From time to
time, the least possible breeze rustled through the trees, and curled
the water with a tiny ripple. The water itself was of the brightest
emerald-green; and the forest of palmetto stems that grew along the
edge, was reflected in it like myriads of swords and lances. In the
small creeks and inlets, flocks of swans, pelicans, and wild geese, were
sunning themselves, and pluming their feathers for their winter flight.
They allowed us to come within a score of paces of them, and then flew
away with a rushing, whirring noise.

We had been for some time plodding patiently along, when our attention
was suddenly attracted by a slow but continued rustling amongst the
palmettos. Something was evidently cautiously approaching us, but
whether panther, stag, or bear we could not tell--probably the last. We
gave a glance at our rifles, cocked them, and pressed a few paces
forward amongst the canes; when suddenly a bound and a cracking noise,
which grew rapidly more distant, warned us that the animal had taken the
alarm. One of our companions, who had as yet never seen a bear-hunt, ran
forward as fast as the palmettos would allow him, and was soon out of
sight. Unfortunately we had no dogs, and after half an hour's fruitless
beating about, during which we started another animal, within sight or
shot of which we were unable to get, we became convinced that we should
have to meet our friends empty-handed. It was now time to proceed to the
place of rendezvous, on the further side of the palmetto field, which
was about half a mile wide. The man who had gone after the bear, had
rejoined us, and from him we learned that the brake was bordered on the
western side by a dense thicket of wild-plum, apple, and acacia trees,
through which there was not the least sign of a path. On arriving there
we saw that his account was a correct one; and, to add to our
difficulties, the nature of the ground in our front now changed, and the
cane-brake sank down into sort of swampy bottom, extending to the
northern extremity of the lake. Our situation was an embarrassing one.
Before us, an impassable swamp; to our right, water; to our left, an
impenetrable thicket; and four hours out of the eight that had been
allotted to us already elapsed. There seemed nothing to be done but to
retrace our steps; but, before doing so, we resolved to make a last
effort to find a path. To this end we separated, taking different
directions, and for nearly half an hour we wandered through the thicket,
amongst bushes and brambles, tearing and scratching ourselves to no
purpose. At last, when I for one was about to abandon the search in
despair, a loud hurrah gave notice that the path was found. We were soon
all grouped around the lucky discoverer; but to our considerable
disappointment, instead of finding him at the entrance of the wished-for
road, we beheld him gravely contemplating a cow, which was cropping the
grass quite undisturbed by our approach. Nevertheless, this was no bad
find, if we could only ascertain whether it was a strayed cow that had
wandered far from its home, or a beast of regular habits that passed
each night in its master's cow-house. An Ohioman solved the question, by
pointing out that the animal had evidently been milked that morning; and
as we were debating how we should induce Brindle to proceed in the
direction of its domicile, he settled that difficulty also, by firing
off his rifle so close to the beast's tail, that the bullet carried off
a patch of hair, and grazed the skin. The cow gave a tremendous spring,
and rushed through a thicket, as if a score of wolves had been at its
heels. We followed, and the brute led us to a tolerably good path
through the wilderness, which we had thought impenetrable. It was
doubtless the path that was to take us to the appointed place of
meeting; and we now slackened our pace, and followed the cow's trail
more leisurely. We had proceeded about a mile, when a strong light in
the distance made us aware that we were coming to a clearing; and on
arriving at the place, we found several maize fields enclosed by hedges,
and a log-house, the smoking chimney of which bespoke the presence of
inhabitants.

The dwelling was pleasantly situated on a gentle slope, roofed with
clapboards, and having stables and other out-houses in its rear, such as
one usually finds in backwood settlements of the more comfortable kind.
Peach-trees were trailed against the house, in front of which stood some
groups of papaws. The whole place had a rural and agreeable aspect.

We were scarcely within the hedge that surrounded the domain, when a
brace of bull-dogs rushed upon us with open jaws. We were keeping off
the furious brutes with some difficulty, when a man came out of the
barn, and, upon seeing us, again entered it. After a few moments, he
appeared for a second time, in company with two negroes, who were
leading by the horns the very same cow which we had so unceremoniously
compelled to become our guide. We greeted the man with a "good-morning;"
but he made no answer, merely gazing hard at us with a cold sullen look.
He was a tall, broad-shouldered, powerful man, with an expressive but
extraordinarily sad, gloomy, and almost repulsive countenance. There was
a restless excitement of manner about him, which struck us at the very
first glance.

"A fine morning," said I, approaching the stranger.

No answer. The man was holding the cow by one horn, and staring at the
tail, from which a drop or two of blood was falling.

"How far is it from here to Hopefield?" asked I.

"Far enough for you never to get there, if it's you who've been drivin'
my cow," was the threatening reply.

"And if we had driven your cow," said I, "you would surely not take it
amiss? It was a mere accident."

"Such accidents don't often happen. People don't shoot cows, if they
haven't a mind to eat other folk's beef."

"You do not suppose," said the Ohioman, "that we should wish to hurt
your cow--we, who have no other intention but to shoot a few turkeys for
the voyage. We are passengers by the Feliciana--one of our paddles is
broken; and that is the reason that our boat is at anchor in front of
Hopefield, and that we are here."

This circumstantial explanation seemed to produce little effect on the
backwoodsman. He made no reply. We walked towards the house, and, on
stepping in, found a woman there, who scarcely looked at us, or seemed
aware of our entrance. There was the same appearance of fixed grief upon
her countenance that we had remarked in the man; only with the
difference, that the expression was less morose and fierce, but on the
other hand more mournful.

"Can we have something to eat?" said I to the woman.

"We don't keep a tavern," was the answer.

"The other party cannot be far off," said one of my companions. "We will
give them a sign of our whereabout." And so saying, he passed out at the
door and walked a few paces in the direction of a cotton field.

"Stop!" cried the backwoodsman, suddenly placing himself before him.
"Not a step further shall you go, till you satisfy me who you are, and
where from."

"Who and where from?" replied our comrade, a young doctor of medicine
from Tennessee. "That is what neither you nor any other man shall know
who asks after such a fashion. If I'm not mistaken we are in a free
country." And as he spoke he fired off his rifle.

The report of the piece was echoed so magnificently from the deep
forests which surrounded the plantation, that my other companions raised
their guns to their shoulders with the intention of firing also. I made
them a sign in time to prevent it. Although there could hardly be any
real danger to be apprehended, it appeared to me advisable to hold
ourselves prepared for whatever might happen. The next moment a shot was
heard--the answer to our signal.

"Keep yourself quiet," said I to the backwoodsman; "our companions and
their guide will soon be here. As to your cow, you can hardly have so
little common sense as to suppose that five travellers would shoot a
beast that must be perfectly useless to them."

As I left off speaking, there emerged from the forest our other
detachment and the guide, the latter carrying two fat turkeys. He
greeted the backwoodsman as an old acquaintance, but with a degree of
sympathy and compassion in the tone of his salutation which contrasted
strangely with his usual rough dry manner.

"Well, Mr Clarke," said he, "heard nothing yet? I'm sorry for it--very
sorry."

The backwoodsman made no reply, but his rigid sturdy mien softened, and
his eyes, as I thought, glistened with moisture.

"Mistress Clarke," said our guide to the woman, who was standing at the
house-door, "these gentlemen here wish for a snack. They've plenty of
every thing, if you'll be so good as to cook it."

The woman stood without making any reply: the man was equally silent.
There was a sort of stubborn surly manner about them, which I had never
before witnessed in backwoodspeople.

"Well," said the doctor, "we need expect nothing here. We are only
losing time. Let us sit down on a tree-trunk, and eat our ham, and
biscuits."

The guide made us a significant sign, and then stepping up to the woman,
spoke to her in a low and urgent tone. She did not, however, utter a
word.

"Mistress," said the doctor, "something must have happened to you or
your family, to put you so out of sorts. We are strangers, but we are
not without feeling. Tell us what is wrong. There may be means of
helping you."

The man looked up; the woman shook her head.

"What is it that troubles you?" said I, approaching her. "Speak out.
Help often comes when least expected."

The woman made me no answer, but stepped up to our guide, took a turkey
and the ham from him, and went into the house. We followed, sat down at
the table, and produced our bottles. The backwoodsman placed glasses
before us. We pressed him to join us, but he obstinately declined our
invitation, and we at last became weary of wasting good words on him.
Our party consisted, as before mentioned, of ten persons: two bottles
were soon emptied and we were beginning to get somewhat merry whilst
talking over our morning's ramble, when our host suddenly got up from
his seat in the chimney-corner, and approached the table.

"Gemmen," said he, "you mus'n't think me uncivil if I tell ye plainly,
that I can have no noise made in my house. It aint a house to larf in--
that it aint, by G--!" And having so spoken he resumed his seat, leant
his head upon both hands, and relapsed into his previous state of gloomy
reverie.

"We ask pardon," said we; "but really we had no idea that our
cheerfulness could annoy you."

The man made no reply, and half an hour passed away in whisperings and
conjectures. At the end of that time, a negro girl came in to spread the
table for our meal.

After much entreaty, our host and hostess were prevailed on to sit down
with us. The former took a glass of brandy, and emptied it at a draught.
We filled it again, he drank it off, and it was again replenished. After
the third glass, a deep sigh escaped him. The cordial had evidently
revived him.

"Gemmen," said he, "you will have thought me rough and stubborn enough,
when I met you as you had been huntin' my cow; but I see now who I have
to do with. But may I be shot myself, if, whenever I find _him_, I don't
send a bullet through his body; and I'll be warrant it shall hinder his
stealin' any more children."

"Steal children!" repeated I. "Has one of your negroes been stolen?"

"One of my niggers, man! My son, my only son! Her child!" continued he
pointing to his wife. "Our boy, the only one remaining to us out of
five, whom the fever carried off before our eyes. As bold and smart a
boy as any in the back woods! Here we set ourselves down in the
wilderness, worked day and night, went through toil and danger, hunger
and thirst, heat and cold. And for what? Here we are alone, deserted,
childless; with nothin' left for us but to pray and cry, to curse and
groan. No help; all in vain. I shall go out of my mind, I expect. If he
were dead!--if he were lyin' under the hillock yonder beside his
brothers, I would say nothing. _He_ gave, and He has a right to take
away! But, Almighty God!"---And the man uttered a cry so frightful, so
heartrending, that the knives and forks fell from our hands, and a
number of negro women and children came rushing in to see what was the
matter. We gazed at him in silence.

"God only knows," continued he, and his head sank upon his breast; then
suddenly starting up, he drank off glass after glass of brandy, as fast
as he could pour it out.

"And how and when did this horrible theft occur?" asked we.

"The woman can tell you about it," was the answer.

The woman had left the table, and now sat sobbing and weeping upon the
bed. It was really a heartbreaking scene. The doctor got up, and led her
to the table. We waited till she became more composed, anxiously
expecting her account of this horrible calamity.

"It was four weeks yesterday," she began; "Mister Clarke was in the
forest; I was in the fields, looking after the people, who were
gathering in the maize. I had been there some time, and by the sun it
was already pretty near eleven; but it was as fine a morning as ever was
seen on the Mississippi, and the niggers don't work well if there's not
somebody to look after them--so I remained. At last it was time to get
the people's dinner ready, and I left the field. I don't know what it
was, but I had scarcely turned towards the house, when it seemed as if
somebody called to me to run as fast as I could; a sort of fear and
uneasiness came over me, and I ran all the way to the house. When I got
there I saw little Cesy, our black boy, sitting on the threshold, and
playing all alone. I thought nothing of this, but went into the kitchen,
without suspecting any thing wrong. As I was turning about amongst the
pots and kettles, I thought suddenly of my Dougal. I threw down what I
had in my hand, and ran to the door. Cesy came to meet me:" "Missi," said
he, "Dougal is gone!"

"Dougal is gone!" cried I. "Where is he gone to, Cesy?"

"Don't know," said Cesy; "gone away with a man on horseback."

"With a man on horseback?" said I. "In God's name, where can he be gone
to? What does all this mean, Cesy?"

"Don't know," said Cesy.

"And who was the man? Did he go willingly?"

"No! he didn't go willingly!" said Cesy: "but the man got off his horse,
put Dougal upon it, and then jumped up behind him, and rode away."

"And you don't know the man?"

"No, missi!"

"Think again, Cesy," cried I; "for God's sake, remember. Don't you know
the man?"

"No," said the child, "I don't know him."

"Didn't you see what he looked like? Was he black or white?"

"I don't know," said Cesy, crying; "he had a red flannel shirt over his
face!"

"Was it neighbour Syms, or Banks, or Medling, or Barnes?"

"No!" whined Cesy.

"Gracious God!" cried I. "What is this? What is become of my poor
child?" I ran backwards and forwards into the forest, through the
fields. I called out. I looked every where. At last I ran to where the
people were at work, and fetched Cesy's mother. I thought she would be
able to make him tell something more about my child. She ran to the
house with me, promised him cakes, new clothes, every thing in the
world; but he could tell nothing more than he had already told me. At
last Mister Clarke came.

Here the woman paused, and looked at her husband.

"When I came home," continued the latter, "the woman was nearly
distracted; and I saw directly that some great misfortune had happened.
But I should never have guessed what it really was. When she told me, I
said, to comfort her, that one of the neighbours must have taken the
child away, though I didn't think it myself; for none of the neighbours
would have allowed themselves such a freedom with my only child. I
shouldn't have thanked 'em for it, I can tell you. I called Cesy, and
asked him again what the man was like; if he had a blue or a black coat?
He said it was blue. 'What sort of horse?' 'A brown one.' 'What road he
had taken?' 'That road!' answered the boy, pointing to the swamp. I sent
all my niggers, men, women, and children, round to the neighbours, to
seek for the child, and tell them what had happened. I myself followed
the path that the robber had taken, and found hoof-prints upon it. I
tracked them to the creek, but there I lost the trail. The man must have
got into a boat, with his horse and the child, had perhaps crossed the
Mississippi, or perhaps gone down the stream. Who could tell where he
would land! It might be ten, twenty, fifty, or a hundred miles lower
down. I was terribly frightened, and I rode on the Hopefield. There
nothing had been seen or heard of my child; but all the men got on their
horses to help me to find him. The neighbours came also, and we sought
about for a whole day and night. No trace or track was to be found.
Nobody had seen either the child or the man who had carried him off. We
beat the woods for thirty miles round my house, crossed the Mississippi,
went up as far as Memphis, and down to Helena and the Yazoo river;
nothing was to be seen or heard. We came back as we went out,
empty-handed and discouraged. When I got home, I found the whole county
assembled at my house. Again we set out; again we searched the forest
through; every hollow tree, every bush and thicket, was looked into. Of
bears, stags, and panthers there were plenty, but no signs of my boy. On
the sixth day I came home again; but my home was become hateful to me--
every thing vexed and disgusted me. My clothes and skin were torn off by
the thorns and briers, my very bones ached; but I didn't feel it. It was
nothing to what I suffered in my mind."

On the second day after my return, I was lying heart and body sick in
bed, when one of the neighbours came in, and told me that he had just
seen, at Hopefield, a man from Muller county, who told him that a
stranger had been seen on the road to New Madrid, whose description
answered to that which Cesy had given of the child-stealer. It was a man
with a blue coat and a brown horse, and a child upon his saddle. I
forgot my sickness and my sore bones, bought a new horse--for I had
ridden mine nearly to death--and set out directly, rode day and night,
three hundred miles, to New Madrid, and when I arrived there, sure
enough I found the man who had been described to me, and a child with
him. But it was not my child! The man belonged to New Madrid, and had
been on a journey with his son into Muller county.

I don't know how I got home again. Some people found me near Hopefield,
and brought me to my house. I had fever, and was raving for ten days;
and during that time the neighbours advertised the thing in all the
papers in Tennessee, Arkansas, Mississippi, and Louisiana. We had ridden
altogether thousands of miles, but it was no use. "No!" continued he,
with a deep groan; "if my child had died of the fever, if he had fallen
in with a bear or panther, and been killed, it would be bitter, bitter
sorrow--he was my last child. But, merciful God--stolen! My son, my
poor child, stolen!"

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