Kabanata Kabanata 39 · The Stratagem

. The Stratagem

“The way of the wicked is as darkness; he knoweth not at what he

stumbleth.”[1]

[1] Prov. 4:19.

The garret of the house that Legree occupied, like most other garrets,

was a great, desolate space, dusty, hung with cobwebs, and littered

with cast-off lumber. The opulent family that had inhabited the house

in the days of its splendor had imported a great deal of splendid

furniture, some of which they had taken away with them, while some

remained standing desolate in mouldering, unoccupied rooms, or stored

away in this place. One or two immense packing-boxes, in which this

furniture was brought, stood against the sides of the garret. There was

a small window there, which let in, through its dingy, dusty panes, a

scanty, uncertain light on the tall, high-backed chairs and dusty

tables, that had once seen better days. Altogether, it was a weird and

ghostly place; but, ghostly as it was, it wanted not in legends among

the superstitious negroes, to increase its terrors. Some few years

before, a negro woman, who had incurred Legree’s displeasure, was

confined there for several weeks. What passed there, we do not say; the

negroes used to whisper darkly to each other; but it was known that the

body of the unfortunate creature was one day taken down from there, and

buried; and, after that, it was said that oaths and cursings, and the

sound of violent blows, used to ring through that old garret, and

mingled with wailings and groans of despair. Once, when Legree chanced

to overhear something of this kind, he flew into a violent passion, and

swore that the next one that told stories about that garret should have

an opportunity of knowing what was there, for he would chain them up

there for a week. This hint was enough to repress talking, though, of

course, it did not disturb the credit of the story in the least.

Gradually, the staircase that led to the garret, and even the

passage-way to the staircase, were avoided by every one in the house,

from every one fearing to speak of it, and the legend was gradually

falling into desuetude. It had suddenly occurred to Cassy to make use

of the superstitious excitability, which was so great in Legree, for

the purpose of her liberation, and that of her fellow-sufferer.

The sleeping-room of Cassy was directly under the garret. One day,

without consulting Legree, she suddenly took it upon her, with some

considerable ostentation, to change all the furniture and appurtenances

of the room to one at some considerable distance. The under-servants,

who were called on to effect this movement, were running and bustling

about with great zeal and confusion, when Legree returned from a ride.

“Hallo! you Cass!” said Legree, “what’s in the wind now?”

“Nothing; only I choose to have another room,” said Cassy, doggedly.

“And what for, pray?” said Legree.

“I choose to,” said Cassy.

“The devil you do! and what for?”

“I’d like to get some sleep, now and then.”

“Sleep! well, what hinders your sleeping?”

“I could tell, I suppose, if you want to hear,” said Cassy, dryly.

“Speak out, you minx!” said Legree.

“O! nothing. I suppose it wouldn’t disturb _you!_ Only groans, and

people scuffing, and rolling round on the garret floor, half the night,

from twelve to morning!”

“People up garret!” said Legree, uneasily, but forcing a laugh; “who

are they, Cassy?”

Cassy raised her sharp, black eyes, and looked in the face of Legree,

with an expression that went through his bones, as she said, “To be

sure, Simon, who are they? I’d like to have _you_ tell me. You don’t

know, I suppose!”

With an oath, Legree struck at her with his riding-whip; but she glided

to one side, and passed through the door, and looking back, said, “If

you’ll sleep in that room, you’ll know all about it. Perhaps you’d

better try it!” and then immediately she shut and locked the door.

Legree blustered and swore, and threatened to break down the door; but

apparently thought better of it, and walked uneasily into the

sitting-room. Cassy perceived that her shaft had struck home; and, from

that hour, with the most exquisite address, she never ceased to

continue the train of influences she had begun.

In a knot-hole of the garret, that had opened, she had inserted the

neck of an old bottle, in such a manner that when there was the least

wind, most doleful and lugubrious wailing sounds proceeded from it,

which, in a high wind, increased to a perfect shriek, such as to

credulous and superstitious ears might easily seem to be that of horror

and despair.

These sounds were, from time to time, heard by the servants, and

revived in full force the memory of the old ghost legend. A

superstitious creeping horror seemed to fill the house; and though no

one dared to breathe it to Legree, he found himself encompassed by it,

as by an atmosphere.

No one is so thoroughly superstitious as the godless man. The Christian

is composed by the belief of a wise, all-ruling Father, whose presence

fills the void unknown with light and order; but to the man who has

dethroned God, the spirit-land is, indeed, in the words of the Hebrew

poet, “a land of darkness and the shadow of death,” without any order,

where the light is as darkness. Life and death to him are haunted

grounds, filled with goblin forms of vague and shadowy dread.

Legree had had the slumbering moral elements in him roused by his

encounters with Tom,—roused, only to be resisted by the determinate

force of evil; but still there was a thrill and commotion of the dark,

inner world, produced by every word, or prayer, or hymn, that reacted

in superstitious dread.

The influence of Cassy over him was of a strange and singular kind. He

was her owner, her tyrant and tormentor. She was, as he knew, wholly,

and without any possibility of help or redress, in his hands; and yet

so it is, that the most brutal man cannot live in constant association

with a strong female influence, and not be greatly controlled by it.

When he first bought her, she was, as she said, a woman delicately

bred; and then he crushed her, without scruple, beneath the foot of his

brutality. But, as time, and debasing influences, and despair, hardened

womanhood within her, and waked the fires of fiercer passions, she had

become in a measure his mistress, and he alternately tyrannized over

and dreaded her.

This influence had become more harassing and decided, since partial

insanity had given a strange, weird, unsettled cast to all her words

and language.

A night or two after this, Legree was sitting in the old sitting-room,

by the side of a flickering wood fire, that threw uncertain glances

round the room. It was a stormy, windy night, such as raises whole

squadrons of nondescript noises in rickety old houses. Windows were

rattling, shutters flapping, and wind carousing, rumbling, and tumbling

down the chimney, and, every once in a while, puffing out smoke and

ashes, as if a legion of spirits were coming after them. Legree had

been casting up accounts and reading newspapers for some hours, while

Cassy sat in the corner; sullenly looking into the fire. Legree laid

down his paper, and seeing an old book lying on the table, which he had

noticed Cassy reading, the first part of the evening, took it up, and

began to turn it over. It was one of those collections of stories of

bloody murders, ghostly legends, and supernatural visitations, which,

coarsely got up and illustrated, have a strange fascination for one who

once begins to read them.

Legree poohed and pished, but read, turning page after page, till,

finally, after reading some way, he threw down the book, with an oath.

“You don’t believe in ghosts, do you, Cass?” said he, taking the tongs

and settling the fire. “I thought you’d more sense than to let noises

scare _you_.”

“No matter what I believe,” said Cassy, sullenly.

“Fellows used to try to frighten me with their yarns at sea,” said

Legree. “Never come it round me that way. I’m too tough for any such

trash, tell ye.”

Cassy sat looking intensely at him in the shadow of the corner. There

was that strange light in her eyes that always impressed Legree with

uneasiness.

“Them noises was nothing but rats and the wind,” said Legree. “Rats

will make a devil of a noise. I used to hear ’em sometimes down in the

hold of the ship; and wind,—Lord’s sake! ye can make anything out o’

wind.”

Cassy knew Legree was uneasy under her eyes, and, therefore, she made

no answer, but sat fixing them on him, with that strange, unearthly

expression, as before.

“Come, speak out, woman,—don’t you think so?” said Legree.

“Can rats walk down stairs, and come walking through the entry, and

open a door when you’ve locked it and set a chair against it?” said

Cassy; “and come walk, walk, walking right up to your bed, and put out

their hand, so?”

Cassy kept her glittering eyes fixed on Legree, as she spoke, and he

stared at her like a man in the nightmare, till, when she finished by

laying her hand, icy cold, on his, he sprung back, with an oath.

“Woman! what do you mean? Nobody did?”

“O, no,—of course not,—did I say they did?” said Cassy, with a smile of

chilling derision.

“But—did—have you really seen?—Come, Cass, what is it, now,—speak out!”

“You may sleep there, yourself,” said Cassy, “if you want to know.”

“Did it come from the garret, Cassy?”

“_It_,—what?” said Cassy.

“Why, what you told of—”

“I didn’t tell you anything,” said Cassy, with dogged sullenness.

Legree walked up and down the room, uneasily.

“I’ll have this yer thing examined. I’ll look into it, this very night.

I’ll take my pistols—”

“Do,” said Cassy; “sleep in that room. I’d like to see you doing it.

Fire your pistols,—do!”

Legree stamped his foot, and swore violently.

“Don’t swear,” said Cassy; “nobody knows who may be hearing you. Hark!

What was that?”

“What?” said Legree, starting.

A heavy old Dutch clock, that stood in the corner of the room, began,

and slowly struck twelve.

For some reason or other, Legree neither spoke nor moved; a vague

horror fell on him; while Cassy, with a keen, sneering glitter in her

eyes, stood looking at him, counting the strokes.

“Twelve o’clock; well _now_ we’ll see,” said she, turning, and opening

the door into the passage-way, and standing as if listening.

“Hark! What’s that?” said she, raising her finger.

“It’s only the wind,” said Legree. “Don’t you hear how cursedly it

blows?”

“Simon, come here,” said Cassy, in a whisper, laying her hand on his,

and leading him to the foot of the stairs: “do you know what _that_ is?

Hark!”

A wild shriek came pealing down the stairway. It came from the garret.

Legree’s knees knocked together; his face grew white with fear.

“Hadn’t you better get your pistols?” said Cassy, with a sneer that

froze Legree’s blood. “It’s time this thing was looked into, you know.

I’d like to have you go up now; _they’re at it_.”

“I won’t go!” said Legree, with an oath.

“Why not? There an’t any such thing as ghosts, you know! Come!” and

Cassy flitted up the winding stairway, laughing, and looking back after

him. “Come on.”

“I believe you _are_ the devil!” said Legree. “Come back you hag,—come

back, Cass! You shan’t go!”

But Cassy laughed wildly, and fled on. He heard her open the entry

doors that led to the garret. A wild gust of wind swept down,

extinguishing the candle he held in his hand, and with it the fearful,

unearthly screams; they seemed to be shrieked in his very ear.

Legree fled frantically into the parlor, whither, in a few moments, he

was followed by Cassy, pale, calm, cold as an avenging spirit, and with

that same fearful light in her eye.

“I hope you are satisfied,” said she.

“Blast you, Cass!” said Legree.

“What for?” said Cassy. “I only went up and shut the doors. _What’s the

matter with that garret_, Simon, do you suppose?” said she.

“None of your business!” said Legree.

“O, it an’t? Well,” said Cassy, “at any rate, I’m glad _I_ don’t sleep

under it.”

Anticipating the rising of the wind, that very evening, Cassy had been

up and opened the garret window. Of course, the moment the doors were

opened, the wind had drafted down, and extinguished the light.

This may serve as a specimen of the game that Cassy played with Legree,

until he would sooner have put his head into a lion’s mouth than to

have explored that garret. Meanwhile, in the night, when everybody else

was asleep, Cassy slowly and carefully accumulated there a stock of

provisions sufficient to afford subsistence for some time; she

transferred, article by article, a greater part of her own and

Emmeline’s wardrobe. All things being arranged, they only waited a

fitting opportunity to put their plan in execution.

By cajoling Legree, and taking advantage of a good-natured interval,

Cassy had got him to take her with him to the neighboring town, which

was situated directly on the Red River. With a memory sharpened to

almost preternatural clearness, she remarked every turn in the road,

and formed a mental estimate of the time to be occupied in traversing

it.

At the time when all was matured for action, our readers may, perhaps,

like to look behind the scenes, and see the final _coup d’état_.

It was now near evening, Legree had been absent, on a ride to a

neighboring farm. For many days Cassy had been unusually gracious and

accommodating in her humors; and Legree and she had been, apparently,

on the best of terms. At present, we may behold her and Emmeline in the

room of the latter, busy in sorting and arranging two small bundles.

“There, these will be large enough,” said Cassy. “Now put on your

bonnet, and let’s start; it’s just about the right time.”

“Why, they can see us yet,” said Emmeline.

“I mean they shall,” said Cassy, coolly. “Don’t you know that they must

have their chase after us, at any rate? The way of the thing is to be

just this:—We will steal out of the back door, and run down by the

quarters. Sambo or Quimbo will be sure to see us. They will give chase,

and we will get into the swamp; then, they can’t follow us any further

till they go up and give the alarm, and turn out the dogs, and so on;

and, while they are blundering round, and tumbling over each other, as

they always do, you and I will slip along to the creek, that runs back

of the house, and wade along in it, till we get opposite the back door.

That will put the dogs all at fault; for scent won’t lie in the water.

Every one will run out of the house to look after us, and then we’ll

whip in at the back door, and up into the garret, where I’ve got a nice

bed made up in one of the great boxes. We must stay in that garret a

good while, for, I tell you, he will raise heaven and earth after us.

He’ll muster some of those old overseers on the other plantations, and

have a great hunt; and they’ll go over every inch of ground in that

swamp. He makes it his boast that nobody ever got away from him. So let

him hunt at his leisure.”

“Cassy, how well you have planned it!” said Emmeline. “Who ever would

have thought of it, but you?”

There was neither pleasure nor exultation in Cassy’s eyes,—only a

despairing firmness.

“Come,” she said, reaching her hand to Emmeline.

The two fugitives glided noiselessly from the house, and flitted,

through the gathering shadows of evening, along by the quarters. The

crescent moon, set like a silver signet in the western sky, delayed a

little the approach of night. As Cassy expected, when quite near the

verge of the swamps that encircled the plantation, they heard a voice

calling to them to stop. It was not Sambo, however, but Legree, who was

pursuing them with violent execrations. At the sound, the feebler

spirit of Emmeline gave way; and, laying hold of Cassy’s arm, she said,

“O, Cassy, I’m going to faint!”

“If you do, I’ll kill you!” said Cassy, drawing a small, glittering

stiletto, and flashing it before the eyes of the girl.

The diversion accomplished the purpose. Emmeline did not faint, and

succeeded in plunging, with Cassy, into a part of the labyrinth of

swamp, so deep and dark that it was perfectly hopeless for Legree to

think of following them, without assistance.

“Well,” said he, chuckling brutally; “at any rate, they’ve got

themselves into a trap now—the baggage! They’re safe enough. They shall

sweat for it!”

“Hulloa, there! Sambo! Quimbo! All hands!” called Legree, coming to the

quarters, when the men and women were just returning from work.

“There’s two runaways in the swamps. I’ll give five dollars to any

nigger as catches ’em. Turn out the dogs! Turn out Tiger, and Fury, and

the rest!”

The sensation produced by this news was immediate. Many of the men

sprang forward, officiously, to offer their services, either from the

hope of the reward, or from that cringing subserviency which is one of

the most baleful effects of slavery. Some ran one way, and some

another. Some were for getting flambeaux of pine-knots. Some were

uncoupling the dogs, whose hoarse, savage bay added not a little to the

animation of the scene.

“Mas’r, shall we shoot ’em, if can’t cotch ’em?” said Sambo, to whom

his master brought out a rifle.

“You may fire on Cass, if you like; it’s time she was gone to the

devil, where she belongs; but the gal, not,” said Legree. “And now,

boys, be spry and smart. Five dollars for him that gets ’em; and a

glass of spirits to every one of you, anyhow.”

The whole band, with the glare of blazing torches, and whoop, and

shout, and savage yell, of man and beast, proceeded down to the swamp,

followed, at some distance, by every servant in the house. The

establishment was, of a consequence, wholly deserted, when Cassy and

Emmeline glided into it the back way. The whooping and shouts of their

pursuers were still filling the air; and, looking from the sitting-room

windows, Cassy and Emmeline could see the troop, with their flambeaux,

just dispersing themselves along the edge of the swamp.

“See there!” said Emmeline, pointing to Cassy; “the hunt is begun! Look

how those lights dance about! Hark! the dogs! Don’t you hear? If we

were only _there_, our chances wouldn’t be worth a picayune. O, for

pity’s sake, do let’s hide ourselves. Quick!”

“There’s no occasion for hurry,” said Cassy, coolly; “they are all out

after the hunt,—that’s the amusement of the evening! We’ll go up

stairs, by and by. Meanwhile,” said she, deliberately taking a key from

the pocket of a coat that Legree had thrown down in his hurry,

“meanwhile I shall take something to pay our passage.”

She unlocked the desk, took from it a roll of bills, which she counted

over rapidly.

“O, don’t let’s do that!” said Emmeline.

“Don’t!” said Cassy; “why not? Would you have us starve in the swamps,

or have that that will pay our way to the free states. Money will do

anything, girl.” And, as she spoke, she put the money in her bosom.

“It would be stealing,” said Emmeline, in a distressed whisper.

“Stealing!” said Cassy, with a scornful laugh. “They who steal body and

soul needn’t talk to us. Every one of these bills is stolen,—stolen

from poor, starving, sweating creatures, who must go to the devil at

last, for his profit. Let _him_ talk about stealing! But come, we may

as well go up garret; I’ve got a stock of candles there, and some books

to pass away the time. You may be pretty sure they won’t come _there_

to inquire after us. If they do, I’ll play ghost for them.”

When Emmeline reached the garret, she found an immense box, in which

some heavy pieces of furniture had once been brought, turned on its

side, so that the opening faced the wall, or rather the eaves. Cassy

lit a small lamp, and creeping round under the eaves, they established

themselves in it. It was spread with a couple of small mattresses and

some pillows; a box near by was plentifully stored with candles,

provisions, and all the clothing necessary to their journey, which

Cassy had arranged into bundles of an astonishingly small compass.

“There,” said Cassy, as she fixed the lamp into a small hook, which she

had driven into the side of the box for that purpose; “this is to be

our home for the present. How do you like it?”

“Are you sure they won’t come and search the garret?”

“I’d like to see Simon Legree doing that,” said Cassy. “No, indeed; he

will be too glad to keep away. As to the servants, they would any of

them stand and be shot, sooner than show their faces here.”

Somewhat reassured, Emmeline settled herself back on her pillow.

“What did you mean, Cassy, by saying you would kill me?” she said,

simply.

“I meant to stop your fainting,” said Cassy, “and I did do it. And now

I tell you, Emmeline, you must make up your mind _not_ to faint, let

what will come; there’s no sort of need of it. If I had not stopped

you, that wretch might have had his hands on you now.”

Emmeline shuddered.

The two remained some time in silence. Cassy busied herself with a

French book; Emmeline, overcome with the exhaustion, fell into a doze,

and slept some time. She was awakened by loud shouts and outcries, the

tramp of horses’ feet, and the baying of dogs. She started up, with a

faint shriek.

“Only the hunt coming back,” said Cassy, coolly; “never fear. Look out

of this knot-hole. Don’t you see ’em all down there? Simon has to give

up, for this night. Look, how muddy his horse is, flouncing about in

the swamp; the dogs, too, look rather crestfallen. Ah, my good sir,

you’ll have to try the race again and again,—the game isn’t there.”

“O, don’t speak a word!” said Emmeline; “what if they should hear you?”

“If they do hear anything, it will make them very particular to keep

away,” said Cassy. “No danger; we may make any noise we please, and it

will only add to the effect.”

At length the stillness of midnight settled down over the house.

Legree, cursing his ill luck, and vowing dire vengeance on the morrow,

went to bed.