I remained perfectly still and silent at the window of the hut, with my eyes steadily fixed upon the other party, believing that some embarrassment would be felt by all of them in regard to their next step, if I gave them no excuse for violence. I have often remarked that the most daring and unscrupulous men prefer provoking a quarrel step by step, to plunging into a conflict at once. I was not mistaken in this instance. Mr. Thornton and his son both stopped again when they saw me, and their consultation was renewed. They soon settled their plan, however, and did the best thing they could to attain their object, and throw the onus upon me. Without speaking one word, they advanced in a body towards the door of the cabin, and had come within twelve or fourteen paces of it, when, finding that action was absolutely necessary, I exclaimed,--

"Stand back, gentlemen. Do not advance any further."

"And why should we stand back, Sir Richard?" asked Robert Thornton, in a wonderfully calm tone.

"Simply, because if you advance a step further, I will shoot you," I replied with equal coolness.

"Upon what pretence, sir?" asked the elder Mr. Thornton, holding his son back. "We know that you are rather fond of shooting; but you generally contrive some excuse for it. Do you remember, sir, that you are in a civilized country? that the cabin in which you are is my property? and that I simply require to enter what I may call my own house?"

"It is not yours, ole tief," cried Jenny from behind. "It's not on your land, nor of your building."

"Sir," I replied, "I am quite aware of what I am about. The cabin may be yours, or may not, for aught I know; but of this I am assured, namely, that you and your son, and that worthy with the red hair, are now in the prosecution of an unlawful enterprise--"

"To wit?" said Robert Thornton, with a sneer.

"To wit, then," I rejoined, "the abduction of a witness to a homicide committed by you yesterday morning, for the purpose of screening yourselves from punishment in due course of law. Your consultations were overheard; your motives are all known; and the execution of your plan in part susceptible of proof. You now come here with superior force to take that witness from Virginian soil and my protection. Consequently, I feel myself justified in shooting you down one by one; and I will do it if you advance one step further in execution of your designs. You know me, Mr. Robert Thornton!"

"But, sir, we do not entertain any such designs," cried old Mr. Thornton, his face growing redder than before, though it was rubicund enough at all times.

"I judge of your present motives and intentions by your past conduct, sir," I answered; "by your conduct yesterday, and the motives for that conduct expressed in the hearing of a competent witness. Therefore--stand back, I say!" The latter words were uttered in a louder tone than the rest; and, as I spoke, I raised the gun to my shoulder; for the Irishman, seemingly tired of the discussion, had taken a step forward. Old Mr. Thornton pulled him hastily back, not liking, I suppose, to bring a shot into their party, the especial direction of which he did not feel sure of.

"This is too bad!" he cried. "By ---- this is too bad!" And he and his son entered into a low conference again. It was suddenly broken off, however, almost as soon as it had commenced, by some sounds which I did not hear.

"Run round those bushes, Mat," cried Robert Thornton to the Irishman, "and see what horses those are coming up. Don't let them see you--don't let them see you." The other obeyed, hurrying round the clump in which the negroes were concealed; and father and son were soon deep in a whispered and hasty consultation, with their faces still towards the hut, and their backs towards the bushes. My eyes continued fixed upon them for a moment or two; but then some sound--I know not what--made me raise them. The shrubs which lay behind them, at not twenty yards' distance, were agitated as if by some large body passing amongst the branches; and the next instant, no less than four negroes drew out from the bushes with a stealthy, quiet step. The two first had each a gun raised to the shoulder, and pointed towards Mr. Thornton and his son, as if the men sought to approach nearer to their victims, but were prepared to fire as soon as they saw the slightest movement. The other two negroes were also armed; but they were at a somewhat greater distance, leading two or three horses through a gap amongst the brakes, where the beasts' feet would not make so much noise. Though both father and son well deserved whatever fate they might meet, I could not bear to see two human beings shot down like wild brutes; and, by impulse, rather than anything else, I shouted,--

"Take care! take care!" And both started and turned round. At their very first motion there was a flash and a report; and Robert Thornton fell forward on his face. His father staggered; and then ran towards his horses, seemingly to shelter himself behind them; but the young negro who was holding them, apparently terrified at what had occurred, cast the reins loose, and ran away as fast as he could go. In the meantime, Nat Turner, who was standing in front of the shrubs, followed the flying man with his second barrel as deliberately as a sportsman follows a bird on the wing. Before he got near any of the horses, the trigger was drawn, and, with a wild cry of pain, the old man fell upon his knees, and then sank gradually down. At the same moment Matthew Leary came running round, with evident fear in his face, exclaiming,--

"It's the sheriff! it's the sheriff, with a large party." The moment he saw his two masters on the ground, he stopped short, like one thunder-struck, without uttering a word, and glanced his eye towards the cabin; but a shot from one of the negroes, who were leading up the horses, knocked his hat off, and soon showed him whence the murderous volley had come.

"Bring them up quick! bring them up quick!" cried Nat Turner, waving to the other men. He had evidently heard the announcement of the sheriff's approach, and he and two of his companions were mounted in a few seconds. The fourth seemed to have no horse, but ran to catch one of those which had brought Mr. Thornton's party thither. This caused a little delay; and before they could escape, the sheriff's party, consisting of nine or ten persons, appeared, some on one side of the little copse, and some on the other.

"Now," I thought, "these blood-thirsty fellows are caught at last." But I was, in some degree, mistaken; and I could not help admiring the presence of mind and ability displayed by Nat Turner in that perilous moment. The approaching party, attracted by the report of the guns, had come up at speed, and in some dismay; nor were they, it would seem, at all prepared to meet with any of the revolted negroes there. In an instant, Nat Turner seemed to perceive where they were weakest and most scattered, as well as where he could soonest reach the difficult ground of the Swamp; and, clubbing his gun, he dashed at that point, calling to the others to follow. He had to pass Matthew Leary as he went; and the man attempted to catch his rein; but one blow from the stock of the gun brought the Irishman to the ground; and, had his skull been originally constructed in any other country than Ireland or Africa, he never would have risen again. It did not interrupt the negro for a moment in his course. A tall farmer tried to stop him likewise, but he was struck from his horse in a moment. The other negroes followed through the gap he had made in the line of the white men, and the three first burst clear through. The fourth was captured on the spot.

"Follow, follow quick!" cried the sheriff. "Take them, alive or dead." But Nat Turner and his companions galloped on, and scattered as soon as they got into more open ground. Pistol shots were fired after them; but on they went, plunging through the morasses, leaping the fallen trees, and taking advantage of every obstruction in the ground to distance their pursuers. One even had the hardihood to turn and fire upon a man who was chasing him; for one of the sheriff's party returned shortly afterwards with a pretty severe wound in his shoulder. In the meantime, I had unfastened the door of the cabin, and joined the sheriff and the four or five gentlemen who remained with him: Bessy, and old Aunt Jenny, also, came to the door, and one of those confused scenes of inquiry and explanation took place, which it is hardly possible to describe.

"Why, how is this?" inquired the sheriff, in his dry, laconic way, as soon as he saw us. "All sorts of birds gathered together! Miss Davenport, I am glad to see you safe at last. Your uncle Henry, with Billy Byles, has gone on to seek you across the line; but here is matter we must look to at once. Here, you fellow, you Leary----"

"Don't call me a fellow, sir," said Leary, in an insolent tone. "I am a free American citizen, and as good as you any day." The sheriff's lip curled with a contemptuous smile.

"I should not like to be as bad as you, Master Leary," he said, "for I know I should have the penitentiary very often in my thoughts; but is your master here, dead or living?"

"I know nothing about him, and he's no master of mine," answered Leary; "but I'll just turn him over and see." In the meantime, the sheriff and most of the other gentlemen had dismounted, and we all surrounded the body of Robert Thornton, who lay perfectly still with his face on the ground. Mathew Leary turned him over; and we then saw a large pool of blood which had flowed from a wound in his chest, through which the bullet had passed out. It was on the left side, and there could be little doubt the shot had gone right through his heart. His career of wickedness was over. "His account was closed," as a quaint old writer has it; "every item transferred from the day-book to the ledger; the balance struck, and the whole to be settled at the great day of reckoning." This is one of those cases of retributive justice which come from time to time to convince all who are convinceable of the moral government of God; while the numerous exceptions form a strong argument--used potently by Voltaire--in favour of the immortality of the soul, the punishment of vice, and reward of virtue hereafter on that great day when every man shall be judged according to his doings. Robert Thornton and his father had set out in life well-to-do in worldly circumstances: had deliberately cast from them the restraints of justice and honour, of religious and of moral principle; had gone on trusting to subtlety and fraud, in despite of repeated failures and reiterated warnings; had hardened themselves against the very reproofs of the results of their own actions, till they had deprived themselves of character and honour, of means and resources--till the very necessity of their condition drove them from bad to worse, while the hedged-in way of disgrace and ruin grew narrower and more inevitable at every step they took. And, at last, one of the two had fallen in a disgraceful scheme to cover one outrage by another.

"Here, leave him there," said the sheriff, after we had gazed a moment upon the pale and inanimate features. "Nothing can be done for him. Who is the other lying out there?"

"That is Mr. William Thornton," answered Matthew Leary; "but what's become of the black boy, I can't tell; unless he's gone off with the other niggers. The old man's as dead as a door nail, I'll bet; for his blood was so near the skin, that the least hole would let it all run out."

"Hold your tongue, sir," said the sheriff; "this is no time for joking."

"Devil a bit am I joking," answered Mat Leary, "as the priest said to us the other day, when he told us we were all going to hell, and no mistake. I think he was right too." The sheriff moved sternly away, and, with the rest of the party, approached the spot where Mr. William Thornton lay. The wounded man was lying on his side as he had slipped down, rather than fallen; and, when his face was visible, it was clear that, though badly hurt, he was neither dead nor in a dying condition. He said not a word to any one, though he must have known many of those present; but he gazed silently in our faces, with a clear, undimmed eye, as I have often seen a wounded bird. The first shot which had been fired at him seemed to have grazed his shoulder; but the second had inflicted a much more serious wound in his hip, and he was bleeding profusely.

"We had better carry you to the cabin, and try to staunch the blood," said the sheriff, bending down over him; "we can remove you to your own house afterwards." The old man made no answer; and some of the party took him up as gently as they could, and carried him between them to the hut, at the door of which still stood Bessy, with a very pale face. As they went, they could not help passing the body of Robert Thornton, and inadvertently took that side towards which the old man's eyes were turned; but he gazed composedly at the corpse, without a word or an inquiry; and, indeed, I could not perceive the slightest change of countenance. If human attachments had been lost either in the selfishness of pain or the apathy of age, human resentments were not extinguished. They laid him on the table, and I whispered a few words to Bessy, who had shown so much skill in stopping the bleeding of my arm. She gave a slight shudder, but answered at once.

"Certainly, Richard--I forgot--I did not think of it; but I have been terrified and shocked. I will try directly;" and approaching the table, she said, "Let me try, gentlemen; I have had to do this before. Mr. Thornton, I think I can soon staunch the blood."' The old man suddenly raised himself with a start upon his elbow, exclaiming, with the look of a demon,--

"Get hence, girl! You have been the ruin of me and mine. We have never seen you, spoken to you, thought of you, I do believe, without some evil happening to us. Touch me not! Your very name has been a plague to us."

"And well it might, Billy Thornton," said a bluff old gentleman, who had come with the sheriff, "for you would never let any who bore it alone. You began all the mischief, and your son continued it. Who egged on the quarrel between poor Davenport, her father, and Richard Conway, when Conway wanted no quarrel at all? Who stopped the letter of explanation, and got Davenport killed, and was, more or less, the cause of Conway being drowned?"

"Hush! hush!" said the sheriff. "This is no time or place for recriminations. We must do the best we can to stop the bleeding ourselves, as he refuses the kind aid of hands that would do it better. Sir Richard, you had better take Miss Bessy away out of the cabin, and get her some water; she looks faint. Send off one of the men to the Thornton old place, and bid them bring down a mattress and a cart. You had better let Mr. Henry Thornton and Billy Byles know you are here, and then ride away with them to my house; it is the nearest, and, though but an old bachelor's residence, you will find a dear old maid there--my sister--who will make it comfortable to you, and cheer this young lady. Come, Miss Bessy, do not look so sad. All will go well, yet; and we who stand here living this day, without having lost our nearest and dearest, have much to thank God for."

"We have, indeed!" said Bessy; "and from my heart I do thank God." I led her quietly out, and turning away from the spot where several of the party were still gathered round the dead body of Robert Thornton, I seated her on a little rise at the other end of the cottage, and then proceeded to express the sheriff's wishes to some people before the hut. I hardly liked to leave her, even for a moment, for I had a sort of superstitious feeling upon me, after all that had occurred, that if I lost sight of her again I should never behold her more. Two men on horseback set out at once for the old place, as it was called, and, returning to Bessy's side, I strove to cheer her, and to lead her mind away from all the terrible and distressing events which had been crowded into so marvellously short a space of time. Indeed it was extraordinary how three days, in the midst of one year, could have crowded into themselves in the midst of a peaceful and happy country so many and terrible facts as occurred during the three principal days of the Southampton massacre. We were allowed but very little time for anything like tranquil conversation, however. First, came back one of the men who had gone in pursuit of Nat Turner and his companions, and then another. Dismounting from his horse, the first sauntered up to us, interrupting my conversation with Bessy, by saying,--

"There's no use trying to catch him. That man has got the devil in him, I do believe, and has got away into places where I wouldn't take my horse Maggie, for all the niggers that ever run. Isn't she a pretty creature? Have you got any horses like that in England? I guess not." The next who came up was the poor fellow who got hurt in the pursuit, and he gave me and Bessy occupation for some time in bandaging his wound, though it did not seem a very severe one. This operation was not quite over, when the sheriff came out of the cabin and joined us. He was looking stern, and somewhat irritated.

"That old man," he said, "seems to have been taken possession of by Satan. He abuses everybody and everything, and will make his wound prove mortal, if he doesn't mind, by his own bitter irritability. What changes circumstances do produce in men! I remember him, not many years ago, one of the most jovial and good-humoured sort of persons I ever saw--always cunning and ready to take advantage, it is true, but still he did it all so good-humouredly, that one was inclined to laugh rather than be angry."

"Don't you think," I asked, "that circumstances may have brought out the real character of the man, which cunning had concealed? We have a saying that the devil is good-humoured when he is pleased. I have seen more than once a man who carried on very artful schemes under an appearance, of careless jollity, turn out fierce, malicious, and vindictive, when those schemes were finally frustrated."

"Perhaps you are right," answered the sheriff. "I have heard that he would occasionally do a malevolent thing in former years. But here comes our friend Henry Thornton, I think--this man's very opposite in every respect. That is his head approaching at such a rate over the bushes of the swamp, isn't it? Well, my dear young lady, how do you feel now?"

"Somewhat calmer," answered Bessy, quietly; "but I shall not be better, my good friend, till I have had two good things."

"And what are those?" asked the sheriff.

"A good sleep and a good cry," answered Bessy. "I have had the current of so many tears choked up during the last three days, that I feel they must flow over soon."

"Well," answered the sheriff, with a good-humoured sort of smile, "a good sleep and a safe one, I trust, you will soon have; but as to a good cry, I can't help thinking a good mint julep would be better. I wish to Heaven I had one to give you, or to drink myself, either, for I am pretty weary and very thirsty."