The Quadroon: Adventures in the Far West

The reptile was now beyond my reach, but its destruction would not have availed me. Its death could not counteract the effect of its poison already in my veins. I knew that well enough, but for all I would have killed it, had it been in my power to do so. I felt angry and vengeful.

This was but my first impulse. It suddenly became changed to a feeling of terror. There was something so weird in the look of the reptile, something so strange in the manner of its attack and subsequent escape, that, on losing sight of it, I became suddenly impressed with a sort of supernatural awe – a belief that the creature was possessed of a fiendish intelligence!

Under this impression I remained for some moments in a state of bewilderment.

The sight of the blood, and the stinging sensation of the wound, soon brought me to my senses again, and admonished me of the necessity of taking immediate steps to procure an antidote to the poison. But what antidote?

What knew I of such things? I was but a classical scholar. True, I had lately given some attention to botanical studies; but my new knowledge extended only to the trees of the forest, and none of these with which I was acquainted possessed alexipharmic virtues. I knew nothing of the herbaceous plants, the milk-worts, and aristolochias, that would now have served me. The woods might have been filled with antidotal remedies, and I have died in their midst. Yes, I might have lain down upon a bed of Seneca root, and, amidst terrible convulsions, have breathed my last breath, without knowing that the rhizome of the humble plant crushed beneath my body would, in a few short hours, have expelled the venom from my veins, and given me life and health.

I lost no time in speculating upon such a means of safety. I had but one thought – and that was to reach Bringiers at the earliest possible moment. My hopes rested upon Reigart.

I hastily took up my gun; and, plunging once more under the dark shadows of the cypress-trees, I hurried on with nervous strides. I ran as fast as my limbs would carry me; but the shock of terror I had experienced seemed to have enfeebled my whole frame, and my knees knocked against each other as I went.

On I struggled, regardless of my weakness, regardless of everything but the thought of reaching Bringiers and Reigart. Over fallen trees, through dense cane-brakes, through clumps of palmettoes and pawpaw thickets, I passed, dashing the branches from my path, and lacerating my skin at every step. Onward, through sluggish rivulets of water, through tough miry mud, through slimy pools, filled with horrid newts, and the spawn of the huge rana pipiens, whose hoarse loud croak at every step sounded ominous in my ear. Onward!

“Ho! whither am I going? Where is the path? where the tracks of my former footsteps? Not here – not there. Good God! I have lost them! – lost! lost!”

Quick as lightning came these thoughts. I looked around with eager glances. On every side I scanned the ground. I saw no path, no tracks, but those I had just made. I saw no marks that I could remember. I had lost my way. Beyond a doubt I was lost!

A thrill of despair ran through me – the blood curdled cold in my veins at the thought of my peril.

No wonder. If lost in the forest, then was I lost indeed. A single hour might be enough. In that time the poison would do its work. I should be found only by the wolves and vultures. O God!

As if to make my horrid fate appear more certain, I now remembered to have heard that it was the very season of the year – the hot autumn – when the venom of the crotalus is most virulent, and does its work in the shortest period of time. Cases are recorded where in a single hour its bite has proved fatal.

“Merciful heaven!” thought I, “in another hour I shall be no more!” and the thought was followed by a groan.

The danger nerved me to renewed efforts. I turned back on my tracks. It seemed the best thing I could do; for in the gloomy circle around, there was no point that indicated my approach to the open ground of the plantations. Not a bit of sky could I discover, – that welcome beacon to the wood-ranger, denoting the proximity of the clearings. Even the heaven above was curtained from my view; and when I appealed to it in prayer, my eyes rested only upon the thick black foliage of the cypress-trees, with their mournful drapery of tillandsia.

I had no choice but to go back, and endeavour to find the path I had lost, or wander on trusting to mere chance.

I chose the former alternative. Again I broke through the cane-brakes and palmetto-thickets – again I forded sluggish bayous, and waded across muddy pools.

I had not proceeded more than a hundred yards on the back track, when that also became doubtful. I had passed over a reach of ground higher and drier than the rest. Here no footprints appeared, and I knew not which way I had taken. I tried in several directions, but could not discover my way. I became confused, and at length completely bewildered. Again was I lost!

To have been lost in the forest under ordinary circumstances would have mattered little, – an hour or two of wandering – perhaps a night spent under the shade of some tree, with the slight inconvenience of a hungry stomach. But how very different was my prospect then, with the fearful thoughts that were pressing upon me! The poison was fast inoculating my blood. I fancied I already felt it crawling through my veins!

One more struggle to find the clearings!

I rushed on, now guided by chance. I endeavoured to keep in a straight line, but to no purpose. The huge pyramidal buttresses of the trees, so characteristic of these coniferae, barred my way; and, in passing around them, I soon lost all knowledge of my direction.

I wandered on, now dragging wearily across the dull ditches, now floundering through tracts of swamp, or climbing over huge prostrate logs. In my passage I startled the thousand denizens of the dank forest, who greeted me with their cries. The qua-bird screamed; the swamp-owl hooted; the bullfrog uttered his trumpet-note; and the hideous alligator, horribly bellowing from his gaunt jaws, crawled sulkily out of my way, at times appearing as if he would turn and assail me!

“Ho! yonder is light! – the sky!”

It was but a small patch of the blue heaven – a disc, not larger than a dining-plate. But, oh! you cannot understand with what joy I greeted that bright spot. It was the lighthouse to the lost mariner.

It must be the clearings? Yes, I could see the sun shining through the trees, and the horizon open as I advanced. No doubt the plantations were before me. Once there I should soon cross the fields, and reach the town. I should yet be safe. Reigart would surely know how to extract the poison, or apply some antidote?

I kept on with bounding heart and straining eyes – on, for the bright meteor before me.

The blue spot grew larger – other pieces of sky appeared – the forest grew thinner as I advanced – I was drawing nearer to its verge.

The ground became firmer and drier at every step, and the timber of a lighter growth. The shapeless cypress “knees” no longer impeded my progress. I now passed among tulip-trees, dogwoods, and magnolias. Less densely grew the trunks, lighter and less shadowy became the foliage above; until at length I pushed through the last selvage of the underwood, and stood in the open sunshine.

A cry of agony rose upon my lips. It was wrung from me by despair. I had arrived at my point of starting – I was once more within the glade!

I sought not to go farther. Fatigue, disappointment, and chagrin, had for the moment paralysed my strength. I staggered forward to a prostrate trunk, – the very one which sheltered my reptile assassin! – and sat down in a state of irresolution and bewilderment.

It seemed as though I were destined to die in that lovely glade – amidst those bright flowers – in the midst of that scene I had so lately admired, and upon the very spot where I had received my fatal wound!

Chapter Thirty Three

The Runaway

Man rarely yields up his life without an extreme effort to preserve it. Despair is a strong feeling, but there are those whose spirit it cannot prostrate. In later life mine own would not have given way to such circumstances as surrounded me at that time; but I was then young, and little experienced in peril.

The paralysis of my thoughts did not continue long. My senses returned again; and I resolved to make a new effort for the salvation of my life.

I had conceived no plan, further than to endeavour once more to escape out of the labyrinth of woods and morass in which I had become entangled, and make as before for the village. I thought I knew the direction in which it lay, by observing the side at which I had first entered the glade. But, after all, there was no certainty in this. It was mere conjecture. I had entered the glade with negligent steps. I had strayed all around it before lying down to sleep. Perhaps I had gone around its sides before entering it – for I had been wandering all the morning.

While these reflections were passing rapidly through my mind, and despair once more taking possession of my spirits, I all at once remembered having heard that tobacco is a powerful antidote to snake-poison. Strange the idea had not occurred to me before. But, indeed, there was nothing wonderful that it did not, as up to that moment I had only thought of making my way to Bringiers. With no reliance upon my own knowledge, I had thought only of a doctor. It was only when I became apprehensive of not being able to get to him, that I began to think of what resources lay within my reach. I now remembered the tobacco.

Quick as the thought my cigar-case was in my fingers. To my joy one cigar still remained, and drawing it out I proceeded to macerate the tobacco by chewing. This I had heard was the mode of applying it to the snakebite.

Dry as was my mouth at first, the bitter weed soon supplied me with saliva, and in a few moments I had reduced the leaves to a pulp, though nauseated – almost poisoned by the powerful nicotine.

I laid the moistened mass upon my wrist, and at the same time rubbed it forcibly into the wound. I now perceived that my arm was sensibly swollen – even up to the elbow – and a singular pain began to be felt throughout its whole length! O God! the poison was spreading, surely and rapidly spreading! I fancied I could feel it like liquid fire crawling and filtering through my veins!

Though I had made application of the nicotine, I had but little faith in it. I had only heard it casually talked of as a remedy. It might, thought I, be one of the thousand fancies that people love to indulge in; and I had only used it as a “forlorn hope.”

I bound the mass to my wrist – a torn sleeve serving for lint; and then, turning my face in the direction I intended to take, I started off afresh.

I had scarce made three strides when my steps were suddenly arrested. I stopped on observing a man on the edge of the glade, and directly in front of me.

He had just come out of the underwood, towards which I was advancing, and, on perceiving me, had suddenly halted – perhaps surprised at the sight of one of his own kind in such a wild place.

I hailed his appearance with a shout of joy. “A guide! – a deliverer!” thought I.

What was my astonishment – my chagrin – my indignation – when the man suddenly turned his back upon me; and, plunging into the bushes, disappeared from my sight!

I was astounded at this strange conduct. I had just caught a glimpse of the man’s face as he turned away. I had seen that he was a negro, and I had noticed that he appeared to be frightened. But what was there about me to terrify him?

I called out to him to stop – to come back. I shouted in tones of entreaty – of command – of menace. In vain. He made neither stop nor stay. I heard the branches crackle as he broke through the thicket – each moment the noise appearing more distant.

It was my only chance for a guide. I must not lose it; and, bracing myself for a run, I started after him.

If I possess any physical accomplishment in which I have confidence it is my fleetness of foot. At that time an Indian runner could not have escaped me, much less a clumsy, long-heeled negro. I knew that if I could once more got my eyes upon the black, I would soon overhaul him; but therein lay the difficulty. In my hesitation I had given him a long start; and he was now out of sight in the depth of the thicket.

But I could hear him breaking through the bushes like a hog; and, guiding myself by the sound, I kept up the pursuit.

I was already somewhat jaded by my previous exertions; but the conviction that my life depended on overtaking the negro kindled my energies afresh, and I ran like a greyhound. Unfortunately it was not a question of simple speed, else the chase would soon have been brought to an end. It was in getting through the bushes, and dodging round the trunks of the trees, that the hindrance lay; and I had many a struggle among the branches, and many a zigzag turn to make, before I could get my eyes upon the object I was in pursuit of.

However, I at length succeeded in doing so. The underwood came to an end. The misshapen cypress trunks alone stood up out of the miry, black soil; and far off, down one of their dark aisles, I caught sight of the negro, still running at the top of his speed. Fortunately his garments were light-coloured, else under the sombre shadow I could not have made him out. As it was, I had only a glimpse of him, and at a good distance off.

But I had cleared the thicket, and could run freely. Swiftness had now everything to do with the race; and in less than five minutes after I was close upon the heels of the black, and calling to him to halt.

“Stop!” I shouted. “For God’s sake, stop!”

No notice was taken of my appeals. The negro did not even turn his head, but ran on, floundering through the mud.

“Stop!” I repeated, as loudly as my exhausted breath would permit. “Stop, man! why do you run from me? I mean you no harm.”

Neither did this speech produce any effect. No reply was given. If anything, I fancied that he increased his speed; or rather, perhaps, he had got through the quagmire, and was running upon firm ground while I was just entering upon the former.

I fancied that the distance between us was again widening; and began to fear he might still elude me. I felt that my life was on the result. Without him to guide me from the forest, I would miserably perish. He must guide me. Willing or unwilling, I should force him to the office.

“Stop,” I again cried out; “halt, or I fire!”

I had raised my gun. Both barrels were loaded. I had spoken in all seriousness. I should in reality have fired – not to kill, but to detain him. The shot might injure him, but I could not help it. I had no choice – no other means of saving my own life.

I repeated the awful summons: —

“Stop – or I fire!”

This time my tone was earnest. It left no doubt of my intention; and this seemed to be the impression it produced upon the black; for, suddenly halting in his tracks, he wheeled about, and stood facing me.

“Fire! and be dam!” cried he; “have a care, white man – don’t you miss. By Gor-amighty! if ya do, your life’s mine. See dis knife! fire now and be dam!”

As he spoke he stood full fronting me, his broad chest thrown out as if courageously to receive the shot, and in his uplifted hand I saw the shining blade of a knife!

A few steps brought me close up; and in the man that stood before me I recognised the form, and ferocious aspect of Gabriel the Bambarra!

Chapter Thirty Four

Gabriel the Bambarra

The huge stature of the black – his determined attitude – the sullen glare of his lurid bloodshot eyes, set in a look of desperate resolve – the white gleaming file-pointed teeth – rendered him a terrible object to behold. Under other circumstances I might have dreaded an encounter with such a hideous-looking adversary – for an adversary I deemed him. I remembered the flogging I had given him with my whip, and I had no doubt that he remembered it too. I had no doubt that he was now upon his errand of revenge instigated partly by the insult I had put upon him, and partly set on by his cowardly master. He had been dogging me through the forest – all the day, perhaps – waiting for an opportunity to execute his purpose.

But why had he run away from me? Was it because he feared to attack me openly. Certainly it was – he feared my double-barrelled gun!

But I had been asleep. He might have approached me then – he might have – Ha!

This ejaculation escaped my lips, as a singular thought flashed into my mind. The Bambarra was a “snake-charmer” – I had heard so – could handle the most venomous serpents at rail – could guide and direct them! Was it not he who had guided the crotalus to where I lay – who had caused me to be bitten?

Strange as it may appear, this supposition at that moment crossed my mind, and seemed probable; nay, more – I actually believed it. I remembered that I had been struck with a peculiarity about the reptile – its weird look – the superior cunning exhibited in its mode of escape – and not less peculiar the fact of its having stung me unprovoked – a rare thing for the rattlesnake to do! All these points rushing simultaneously into my mind, produced the conviction that for the fatal wound on my wrist I was indebted, not to chance, but to Gabriel the snake-charmer!

Not half the time I have been telling you of it – not the tenth nor the hundredth part of the time, was I in forming this horrid conviction. It was done with the rapidity of thought – the more rapid that every circumstance guiding to such a conclusion was fresh in my memory. In fact the black had not changed his attitude of menace, nor I mine of surprise at recognising him, until all these thoughts had passed through my mind!

Almost with equal rapidity was I disabused of the singular delusion. In another minute I became aware that my suspicions were unjust. I had been wronging the man who stood before me.

All at once his attitude changed. His uplifted arm fell by his side; the expression of fierce menace disappeared; and in as mild a tone as his rough voice was capable of giving utterance to, he said —

“Oh! you mass’ – brack man’s friend! Dam! thought ’twar da cussed Yankee driber!”

“And was that why you ran from me?”

“Ye, mass’; ob course it war.”

“Then you are – ”

“Am runaway; ye, mass’, jes so – runaway. Don’t mind tell you. Gabr’el truss you – He know you am poor nigga’s friend. Look-ee-dar.”

As he uttered this last phrase, he pulled off the scanty copper-coloured rag of a shirt that covered his shoulders, and bared his back before my eyes!

A horrid sight it was. Besides the fleur-de-lis and many other old brands, there were sears of more recent date. Long wales, purple-red and swollen, traversed the brown skin in every direction, forming perfect network. Here they were traceable by the darker colour of the extravasatod blood, while there the flesh itself lay bare, where it had been exposed to some prominent fold of the spirally-twisted cowskin. The old shirt itself was stained with black blotches that had once been red – the blood that had oozed out during the infliction! The sight sickened me, and called forth the involuntary utterance —

“Poor fellow!”

This expression of sympathy evidently touched the rude heart of the Bambarra.

“Ah, mass’!” he continued, “you flog me with hoss-whip – dat nuff’n! Gabr’l bress you for dat. He pump water on ole Zip ’gainst him will– glad when young mass’ druv im way from de pump.”

“Ha! you were forced to it, then?”

“Ye, mass’, forced by da Yankee driber. Try make me do so odder time. I ’fuse punish Zip odder time – dat’s why you see dis yeer – dam!”

“You were flogged for refusing to punish Scipio?”

“Jes so, mass’ Edwad; ’bused, as you see; but – ” here the speaker hesitated, while his face resumed its fierce expression; “but,” continued he, “I’se had rebenge on de Yankee – dam!”

“What? – revenge? What have you done to him?”

“Oh, not much, mass’. Knock im down; he drop like a beef to de axe. Dat’s some rebenge to poor nigga. Beside, I’se a runaway, an’ dat’s rebenge! Ha! ha! Dey lose good nigga – good hand in de cotton-feel – good hand among de cane. Ha! ha!”

The hoarse laugh with which the “runaway” expressed his satisfaction sounded strangely on my ear.

“And you have run away from the plantation?”

“Jes so, mass’ Edward – nebber go back.” After a pause, he added, with increased emphasis, “Nebber go back ’live!”

As he uttered these words he raised his hand to his broad chest, at the same time throwing his body into an attitude of earnest determination.

I saw at once that I had mistaken the character of this man. I had had it from his enemies, the whites, who feared him. With all the ferocity of expression that characterised his features, there was evidently something noble in his heart. He had been flogged for refusing to flog a fellow-slave. He had resented the punishment, and struck down his brutal oppressor. By so doing he had risked a far more terrible punishment – even life itself!

It required courage to do all this. A spirit of liberty alone could have inspired him with that courage – the same spirit which impelled the Swiss patriot to strike down the cap of Gessler.

As the negro stood with his thick muscular fingers spread over his brawny chest, with form erect, with head thrown back, and eyes fixed in stern resolve, I was impressed with an air of grandeur about him, and could not help thinking that in the black form before me, scantily clad in coarse cotton, there was the soul and spirit of a man!

Chapter Thirty Five

The Snake-Doctor

With admiring eyes I looked for some moments on this bold black man – this slave-hero. I might have gazed longer, but the burning sensation in my arm reminded me of my perilous situation.

“You will guide me to Bringiers?” was my hurried interrogatory.

“Daren’t, mass’.”

“Daren’t! Why?”

“Mass’ forgot I’se a runaway. White folk cotch Gabr’l – cut off him arm.”

“What? Cut off your arm?”

“Saten sure, mass’ – dats da law of Loozyaney. White man strike nigga, folk laugh, folk cry out, ‘Lap de dam nigga! lap him!’ Nigga strike white man, cut off nigga’s arm. Like berry much to ’bleege mass’ Edwad, but daren’t go to de clearins. White men after Gabr’l last two days. Cuss’d blood-dogs and nigga-hunters out on im track. Thought young mass’ war one o’ dem folks; dat’s why um run.”

“If you do not guide me, then I must die.”

“Die! – die! why for mass’ say dat?”

“Because I am lost. I cannot find my way out of the forest. If I do not reach the doctor in less than twenty minutes, there is no hope. O God!”

“Doctor! – mass’ Edwad sick? What ail um? Tell Gabr’l. If dat’s da case, him guide de brack man’s friend at risk ob life. What young mass’ ail?”

“See! I have been bitten by a rattlesnake.”

I bared my arm, and showed the wound and the swelling.

“Ho! dat indeed! sure ’nuff – it are da bite ob de rattlesnake. Doctor no good for dat. Tobacc’-juice no good. Gabr’l best doctor for de rattlesnake. Come ’long, young mass’!”

“What! you are going to guide me, then?”

“I’se a gwine to cure you, mass’.”

“You?”

“Ye, mass’! tell you doctor no good – know nuffin’ ’t all ’bout it – he kill you – truss Ole Gabe – he cure you. Come ’long, mass’, no time t’ be loss.”

I had for the moment forgotten the peculiar reputation which the black enjoyed – that of a snake-charmer and snake-doctor as well, although I had so late been thinking of it. The remembrance of this fact now returned, accompanied by a very different train of reflections.

“No doubt,” thought I, “he possesses the requisite knowledge – knows the antidote, and how to apply it. No doubt he is the very man. The doctor, as he says, may not understand how to treat me.”

I had no very great confidence that the doctor could cure me. I was only running to him as a sort of dernier ressort.

“This Gabriel – this snake-charmer, is the very man. How fortunate I should have met with him!”