It was a beautiful morning, and the breakfast was over by eight o'clock, notwithstanding the tremendously long grace with which Mr. McGrubber thought fit to season it. There was some chance, therefore, of a cool walk, although I could not think Mrs. Stringer's plan a good one; for it seems to me that the early mornings and the late evenings are the only endurable periods in a Virginian summer. Bessy Davenport ran up stairs to get some covering for her head; and I stood in the porch waiting for her, ready for our visit to my mysterious negro, and to the no less remarkable personage to whom she had promised to introduce me. But a moment before she came down, who should appear but Billy Byles coming round from the stable where he had put up his horse.

"It is all arranged," he said, speaking in a low tone, and shaking me by the hand. "On Saturday morning at six, in Hunter's Wood."

"Why, that is three days still," I said, somewhat annoyed at the delay.

"We couldn't arrange it otherwise," he answered; "the pistols stuck in Bob Thornton's throat desperately. He did not care a d----n how he fought you for that matter--muskets and buckshot as lief as any other way; but he should have to send for pistols. I told him we were in the same predicament, but that pistols it must be; and so we fixed Saturday morning to give him time. You had better come over and dine with me on Friday, and take a bed at----" Just then appeared Bessy Davenport, and he stopped short; but I answered at once, as if he had concluded his sentence, "With a great deal of pleasure; at what hour do you dine?"

"Oh, at three, at three," answered Billy Byles. "I have not got into these people's bad habits yet."

"Indeed!" cried Bessy coming up. "I did not know that you ever let any bad habit pass you, Mr. Byles, without trying it on at least."

"You are a wicked little satirist, Miss Bessy," he answered; "but I know the cause of your malice: you are angry at my taking Sir Richard away from you to dine with me on Friday."

"If you don't do any worse with him than that, I don't care," said Bessy; "but I doubt you both, I tell you. Come, cousin Richard, let us go, or we shall have a warm walk back." And leaving Mr. Byles, we walked on towards the edge of the forest. For the first hundred yards or so Bessy walked on profoundly silent, with her eyes fixed upon the ground; but then she looked up, with a sigh and a sad shake of the head, saying, "It wont do, Richard." It were needless to deny that the interest displayed in my fate by such a lovely creature produced very sweet emotions; but still there was no possibility of making any reply to what she said without subjecting myself to questions which I could not answer sincerely; and therefore, affecting not to have heard her speak, I tried to lead her mind away in some other direction. Though I think she saw the object, she gave in to it quietly; and we walked on for about a mile, talking of various matters of mere passing interest. Our way lay through the woods; and I may notice here how much more of the land, especially in this state of Virginia, is uncultivated than we generally imagine in England. When we talk of a plantation, we think of a wide tract of country all smoothly laid out in maize, or tobacco, or cotton, or rice, and don't comprehend that perhaps two-thirds of that plantation will be forest, either the first or second growth. I must remark, too, that a good deal of the country, especially on the sea-board, has gone back to forest; the earlier colonists having been like prodigals newly come into a fortune, and exhausted their lands with unvarying crops, principally of tobacco. Thus, what was once, we have every reason to believe, very fertile soil, will now only bear pine or other trees of hardy habits. At length we came to a small open space between the wood through which we had passed and another beyond. It could not be more than a hundred and fifty yards wide, but extended on either hand as far as the eye could see, like a long avenue through the forest. The grass with which the ground was covered was very green and soft, being sheltered, I suppose, from the heat of the sun by the woods on either side, and fertilized by the moisture which trees invariably draw around them.

"This is a curious interval in the woods," I said, looking up and down. "I should almost be tempted to think a river once flowed down here."

"Oh, no," she answered; "they have a tradition in the country that it was caused by what they call here a flaw of wind, which broke clear through the forest, like a hemmed-in warrior cutting his way through his enemies. The trees that the blast overthrew have long since decayed; but the path that he made for himself still remains. Man boasts his mighty deeds; but when will king or conqueror leave such permanent traces of his footsteps as are here?"

"And yet, dear Bessy," I answered, "man can occasionally hew for himself ways more magnificent, more indelible than this. The forest around may be cut down, the roots rot away, the plough-share pass over where we stand, and not a trace be left. But the mighty human mind, when nobly and vigorously exerted, opens out, for everlasting ages, paths which millions follow every day, and which are never blotted out. He who sweeps away the prejudices of a race--he who opens out a wide and noble path for the human mind--he who leads an Exodus from any land of darkness to a land of light, performs a more powerful and more permanent work than the tempest--ay, and one more beneficent."

"True, true," she cried eagerly, "very true; but such thoughts set my little weak brain whirling. I should like to have been a man, and done some great deeds; but here I am, a mere Virginian girl, no stronger than a butterfly, and fit only for small thoughts and petty personal adventures. But, talking of adventures, I could make your hair stand on end, if I chose, by a tale of what happened in this wood, through which we are going. It has been called 'The Hunter Wood' ever since."

"And what is it?" I asked.

"No, no," she answered, "I won't tell you now; I should only frighten myself; and in ten minutes we shall be at Nat Turner's cottage, for this is the boundary of Mr. Travis's property. We will come back the other way, for the sun will then throw the shade more northerly, and that will bring us to the house where uncle Jack, as they call him, pays a visit every year."

"Is that the old man you spoke of yesterday?" I asked.

"Yes; and very old he is," she replied; "how old, nobody knows, exactly; but he must be more than ninety, for he was brought from the coast of Africa, they say, when a good big boy, more than eighty years ago, in one of the last slave ships that ever came to Virginia."

"He is a slave, then," I said.

"Oh no," she answered; "he is so very much loved and respected, that several people joined together, and purchased his freedom."

"He must, indeed, be an extraordinary man to create such feelings in his favour," I remarked.

"The most extraordinary thing of all, perhaps," added she, "is, that he has not the slightest touch of the negro pronunciation. I dare say, you must have remarked, cousin Richard, that none of them can ever learn to speak English properly; that there is always a sort of thickness, a difficulty, about their utterance; and some sounds they cannot form at all. But this old man speaks as good English as you do."

"That is, indeed, extraordinary," I answered; "for so universal is that difficulty of utterance which you mention in the African race, whatever language they are speaking, that I imagined it to proceed from a natural defect. I have heard they talk both French and Spanish in the same peculiar manner that they talk English."

"Hear this man talk in a dark room, and you would not know him from an American," said Bessy. But I had soon an opportunity of judging for myself, for, shortly after, we came in sight of two or three cabins, with a larger house peeping over the trees at some little distance. Approaching the hut, farthest from us, I knocked at the door, on my fair companion's suggestion. We had heard voices speaking within, and, on entering, we found the cabin tenanted by two negroes, who were seated at a small table, with a bowl of milk, and some bread made of Indian corn between them. The first was my friend, Nat Turner, and a powerful, though spare man he was. The other was fully as dark in complexion, and had probably once been as strong in form; but he was now an old man, with the wool upon his head as white as snow, and a good many wrinkles in his dingy skin. He was well dressed in black, with very white linen, and a white neck-cloth tied in what I may call clerical style. I should have judged him to have been a man of about seventy, and stout and hale for his age; but, nevertheless, this was Bessy Davenport's negro, Jack, and, I must say, there was something very reverent and prepossessing in his appearance as he rose and made us a respectful, but not servile, bow.

"Well, Mr. Turner," I said, "I promised to pay you a visit, and Miss Davenport has been kind enough to guide me; otherwise, as a stranger in the land, I might have missed my way."

"You are very welcome, sir," answered Nat. "Pray, Miss Bessy, take dis stool. Here is good uncle Jack, whom you know." Bessy held out her hand to uncle Jack, who shook it kindly; but he did not miss an opportunity of reproof, and looking sadly at Nat Turner, he shook his head, saying,

"Whom callest thou good? There is none good but one--that is God."

"Well, I meant good as this world goes," answered Nat Turner.

"There is so little difference between any two of us," replied the old man, "that no one has a right to claim or receive the title of good; far less to arrogate superiority over other brethren."

"That is an admirable text you have quoted, my friend," I said; "but do you know, I one time heard a man make it an argument against the divinity of our Saviour?"

"He was very much mistaken," answered uncle Jack, mildly. "The young man to whom he spoke had addressed him as a man, and called him 'Good master,' looking upon him as nothing but a man. Christ reproved him for calling any mere man good, and in so doing spoke of himself in his human character. That man must have been very hard pressed for an argument against a belief that was too powerful for him."

"The case of many a man, I fear," replied I; "but do not let us interrupt your breakfast, Mr. Turner," I continued, turning to Nat.

"It matters not to me when I eat or when I drink," answered Nat Turner, in what seemed to be a somewhat stilted tone. "The man who wishes to bring the body under the mind must not care about such things. I have often gone without food for three days."

"I should think that must require some practice and preparation," I observed, somewhat inclined to smile, "and unless it was done from necessity, I do not see the use of it."

"Nor I either," said uncle Jack; "food and drink were given to us for our natural support, and while we reverence God's blessings, by using them moderately, we should show our thankfulness for them, by using them as He wills."

"The use was very great," exclaimed Nat Turner, in a more excited tone than before; "and as for preparation, I have accustomed myself to abstinence from my childhood. I knew from my earliest years that I was born for great things. What placed that mark upon my forehead before my birth?" And he laid his finger upon a sort of scar on his brow resembling a cross. But before I could examine it accurately, he went on in the same tone--"Who taught me things which happened before I was born, and which were only known to my mother and my father? If it was God who did this, why did He do so but to show that He intended me to--to--do great things?" I looked round to uncle Jack, beginning to think that the man was going mad, and the old man, taking my glance as a question, answered,--

"All the people will tell you it is as he says, sir. But I think Nat lets his mind rest too much upon such things. I fear it may do him harm. He has plenty of strong, good sense, and if he will but continually seek God's grace, to use it right, he may, indeed, do great things amongst the poor people who surround him. But the quickest walker goes farthest wrong, when he does not take the right way, and I fear that may be Nat's case."

"No fear, no fear," cried the other. "God, who willed me to be what I am, will teach me to do what I have to do." Then, dropping his voice into an almost sepulchral tone, he added, "He will give me a sign--He has promised it." Uncle Jack shook his head very gravely, and Bessy Davenport, who had not yet spoken, remarked,--

"We are often inclined, Nat, to misunderstand signs. Take care that you don't apply to yourself signs that may be intended for the whole world. Don't you remember, when there was an eclipse a little while ago, you said it was a sign sent to you?"

"I don't know what you mean by an eclipse," answered the man, gloomily; "but I know there was a sign, and a terrible sign too. However," he continued, in a more cheerful tone, "every one must read such things by the lights he has got, and the Lord will not suffer those whom he favours to mistake. He will direct us," he added, with a sigh, and then seemed inclined to change the conversation. I tried to keep it in the same course, for I wanted to hear more of his views on such subjects; but, with a great deal of skill--I might almost say, cunning--he avoided it; and I purposely brought up the subject of freedom and slavery. The old preacher spoke upon it frankly and freely enough, and with a degree of liberality towards the masters, which greatly surprised me. He said that the great majority were excellent, good, and kind-hearted people, and that, if they were all such, his race would be much more happy under their management than they could be under their own.

"The great evil of slavery, sir," he continued, "is the possibility of any extent of ill-treatment. Where such a possibility exists, the thing will occur. It is true, I have no opportunity of comparing any other state of society with this; and for aught I know, there may be evils as great, or greater, in all others. I cannot remember my own country at all distinctly. Some vague, general notions I have about it; and, if they be correct, I was a great deal worse off there than I am here; but I cannot be sure whether these notions come from my own recollections, or from what I have read or heard. One thing, however, is certain, slavery has existed in all ages. The Hebrews had their bond servants, and they themselves were hewers of wood and drawers of water to the king of Egypt."

"Ay, but they rose and delivered themselves, and God helped and directed them," said Nat Turner, with a peculiar flash in his dark eye.

"He is a God of justice and strong to deliver," said a voice at the door, speaking in a very nasal tone; and turning round, to my surprise, I saw the lanky and extraordinary figure of the Rev. Mr. McGrubber. Nat Turner started forward, and shook him by the hand, and uncle Jack made him a formal, and, I thought, somewhat stiff bow. Bessy Davenport gave me a rueful and yet a merry glance; and, judging that we should not profit much by what was likely to follow, I prepared to take my departure. Nat Turner, however, instantly began the conversation with his visitor, who was evidently an old acquaintance and friend, by calling upon him to tell uncle Jack all that he had been telling him the day before. "You will convince him, but I can't," cried the man; not heeding a cloud that came over Mr. McGrubber's brow, and a quick sign that he made to him to be silent. "His heart seems as hard as the nether millstone towards his own people."

"My heart is not hard, Nathaniel," answered uncle Jack; "but I love my own people too well to try and make them discontented with a situation from which they cannot escape, but which may be ameliorated, if they show themselves peaceable, quiet, and faithful. It is my duty to preach peace and good will, resignation to the will of God and dependence upon his mercy; and not to stimulate men's passions, either in a right or wrong cause, to conduct which may end, God only knows how." While the two negroes had been speaking, Mr. McGrubber had evidently been upon thorns; though, at the end of uncle Jack's reply, he had put on a look of meek and pious resignation.

"Far be it from me, brother," he said, "to stimulate men's passions or induce them to act in any violent and hasty manner. God forbid that I should bring poor people into trouble, or do anything, which is not pointed out by calm reason and religion. But we are told that we shall not spare to speak God's truth; and when I am asked what is right and what is wrong, must I not say what is right? Ay, if any poor soul demands of me, 'Has my fellow-man a right to keep me in bondage?' wouldst thou have me reply 'Yea' or 'Nay?' I preach the truth, brother; let the results be what they may. That is in God's hand, not mine." Uncle Jack shook his head, with a somewhat melancholy look; but merely said, "The Apostle teaches us to be obedient to the powers that are; and again, we are told that servants should obey their masters. He who teaches differently, I cannot look upon as speaking by the Holy Spirit, and I fear that evil will come of it." Thus saying, he left the cabin; and Bessy Davenport and I followed, after having taken leave of Nat Turner. I thought, as I walked away, that I heard the voice of Mr. McGrubber, raised loudly and harshly; and I doubted not that poor Nat was receiving a stout reproof for having betrayed to the ears of others the nature of the reverend gentleman's communications with himself. On the whole, my visit had a good deal disappointed me. My first interview with Nat Turner had impressed me with an idea that he was very much more superior to the rest of his race than I found him upon further acquaintance. That he was superior, there could be no doubt; but I thought I had discovered traits in him that day of almost all the peculiar weaknesses of tho African race. That he was cunning, superstitious, and conceited, was very clear; and there was something in the expression of his face and the glance of his eye which inclined me to believe that there might be a certain degree of ruthless cruelty and fierce passion within, though now concealed, if not subdued, by the command he had acquired over himself. In comparing the two negroes with each other, one thing was very remarkable. In uncle Jack you could not, as Miss Davenport had already indicated, trace the slightest vestige of the African pronunciation. What I may call Virginianisms he unquestionably had: there was a certain intonation and also a pronunciation of some letters and syllables which in England we do not consider English; for instance, he pronounced the word "to" as we should pronounce "toe;" but nothing at all negro could be detected in it. On the contrary, Nat Turner, though he had evidently a good command of language, and could express himself with great fluency and propriety, had that sort of thick and jerking utterance which characterizes the African race. Uncle Jack was walking on slowly before us, and Bessy and I soon overtook him; but the good old man seemed unwilling to enter any farther upon the subjects we had been discussing.

"Mr. McGrubber," he said, "was a very good man, he had no doubt; but he did not think a very discreet one." As to Nat Turner, he remarked, "It was grievous to him to see a man fitted for better things, delude himself by vain imaginations. I believe, Miss Bessy," he continued, looking with a smile at my fair companion, "half the faults of men and women arise from vanity. This poor youth Nat, if he did not believe himself far greater than he is, would be far better than he is. But he is a good young man, and means well to all, I do believe." Soon after, we left him, and went upon our way, discussing between ourselves the characters of those whom we had just left.

"I cannot help thinking," I said, "that Mr. McGrubber is a rather dangerous man in this part of the country."

"He is a very odious one," answered Bessy, in the true woman spirit; for ladies, my dear sister, you must acknowledge, place the agreeable qualities, in comparison with the more important ones, higher in estimation than men do.

"He must have been speaking," I continued, "of things he did not wish us to hear, and was evidently in a great fright when Nat Turner alluded to them."

"Oh, that was quite clear," answered Bessy. "Uncle Jack clearly intimated, I thought, that the man had been trying to instigate the slaves against their masters. He is an Abolitionist, we all know, and I have a great mind to talk to Mr. Stringer about it, but it may make mischief."

"Every man has a right to his own opinion, of course," I said; "but I can imagine nothing more unpardonable than for a foolish fanatic to come into a state, not his own, and attempt, in his vain self-conceit, to cause a violent change in the relations of the different classes of society without a consideration of all the consequences."

"The consequences would be frightful," exclaimed Bessy. "Were the slaves to get the mastery, imagination itself cannot picture what would be the result. They are so violent in their temper--their passions are so uncontrollable, that the very thought makes one shudder. Did you ever see a negro in a passion, cousin Richard? It is the most frightful thing you ever beheld. He looks, and acts, and speaks, and, I am sure, feels, more like a demon than a human creature. I recollect when I was living with dear Aunt Bab, there was a girl in the house who had taken a peculiar and sort of irrational fancy for one of the small ornaments on the mantelpiece. Twice she had been detected and stopped in attempting to purloin it; but, at length, one day it was gone. Nobody doubted who had got it, and my aunt ordered the girl's room to be searched. I was present, though quite a little thing, and I remember her quite well, standing in the middle of the room, silent and motionless, her eyes following the other servants as they made the examination, with an expression I shall never forget. For some time, they found nothing, and she was beginning to look quite triumphant; but, at length, the object of search was discovered hidden away in the most cunning manner--suspended, hi fact, by threads underneath the bed. The moment it was disclosed, she burst forth, not with any contrition, but with rage and fury, such as I never saw in another human being. She stamped, she raved, she cried, she poured forth words so fast that no one could understand them, and she ended by tearing her clothes to pieces like a mad thing."

"And what did my aunt do?" I asked.

"Just what might be expected of her," answered Bessy. "'Tis rather a sad story; but aunt Bab was not to blame. She looked at her very gravely, and said,--

"'Have you gone mad, Juno? You must remain here till you have recovered yourself, and are able to listen like a reasonable being, and I will then come and talk to you. Now it would be of no use.'

"She then left her, ordering her to be locked in. But we had not been gone five minutes, when one of the servants came running in to say, that Juno had jumped out of the window, and was dreadfully hurt. My aunt would not suffer me to see her, and all, I know further is, that she lingered for about five weeks, and then she died, and Aunt Bab wept very bitterly over the poor misguided creature, as she called her."

"It is a sad picture of human nature, indeed," I said, "and from what I see of the negro population I am inclined to attribute less power to education and more to race than I once did."

"The more you see of them, the more you will think so," answered Bessy. "Good education might, and I have no doubt does, produce a great deal of improvement; but as no cosmetic that ever was tried will make a black man white, so I don't believe any education will make his mind and character those of a white man. And yet, this good old preacher, uncle Jack, appears to be an extraordinary exception."

"It does not seem to me," I replied, "that that proves anything. The fair test might be, to take a certain number of children of different races, and educate them from the earliest period exactly upon the same system, and then judge of the race by the average number of each which you found capable, in a certain time, of arriving at an ascertained point of cultivation. Thus, if out of a hundred Anglo-Saxon children ten should reach the highest proposed point in ten years, and only one negro, we might conclude that the Anglo-Saxon race was far more susceptible of cultivation than that of the negro. But solitary instances prove nothing. And now, my dear Bessy, let us, for Heaven's sake, talk of some other subjects, for, otherwise, we shall both of us sink into philosophers--a degradation for which, I am sure, nature never intended us."

"I suspect you intend to be saucy, Richard," answered my fair companion; "but, in sober sadness, we have had a very grave and solemn walk of it--very different from yesterday's."

"And I like yesterday's style best," I said. But though we changed to lighter tones throughout the rest of the walk homeward, we came upon none of those exciting, perhaps I may say dangerous, topics, in which we had previously indulged. I believe the truth is, with every young man and every young woman while unconscious of danger--unconscious that there is near them what, in common gallantry, I must not call a precipice, but a great leap to be taken or not, at their pleasure, which, nevertheless, they may still chance to fall over unawares--they go on sporting up to the very edge of the bank, and then, when finding themselves so near it, they pause and look down with some degree of doubt, and draw a little back and avoid the brink, till resolution comes, and over they go. Thus our talk on the way homeward was very commonplace, and at about a hundred yards from the house, amongst the peach-trees, we met Mr. Stringer, and with him, to my surprise, my Norfolk friend, Mr. Wheatley.