Now Jim touched the horses with the whip and we started on our journey. It was a beautiful afternoon, but very hot, though there was a faint breeze stirring; however, since I was lightly clad, I did not find the heat oppressive. We soon were out of the avenue, and, as the comfortable buggy rolled smoothly and quickly along the road, the rapid motion caused the warm scented air lightly to kiss my cheeks. My spirits rose and I had a feeling of exhilaration such as had long been a stranger to me. I was not looking forward to seeing Randolph, but I felt glad that I was at last free from the load of care which had been weighing me down during the past few weeks at Woodlands. The road which we were travelling was a good one, and, before the war, there always had been a great deal of traffic on it. Now it was almost deserted. We did not meet a single vehicle until we had gone several miles. There were very few pedestrians. To pass the time, I talked to Jim and was rather amused by his quaint but shrewd remarks on things in general. When I told him that all the slaves in the South most likely would soon be set free, he remarked in his own jargon that no doubt it would be very nice to be free, but that, after all, freedom would not fill his belly, and that he would not be able to make a living if Mr. Randolph did not keep him. Old Jim had been born at Woodlands, and had never been out of Virginia.
Since there was no necessity for hurry I told Jim not to press the horses, so we trotted along at an easy pace. By six o’clock we had completed half our journey. We then reached the top of a very steep hill and entered a long stretch of road running through a thick wood.
Jim had just pulled up the horses to give them a short rest when four rough-looking men suddenly appeared from the bushes and covered us with their revolvers. Drop the reins and hold up your hands, you nigger! shouted one of the men.
Exclaiming in a low tone, By gosh, Missis, de ’bushwhackers’ has got us, Jim held up his hands, while I, dreadfully frightened, uttered a shriek and, cowering down, averted my eyes from the threatening muzzles of the pistols. Two of the men lowered their weapons and came to the side of the buggy, while the other two kept their revolvers leveled at us. Then one of the bushwhackers, a burly, black-bearded ruffian, said with an oath: Get out of the buggy, the pair of you; but don’t attempt to run away, or you’ll both git holes bored in you.
We got out and stood on the road, side by side. Jim was quite unmoved, and, though I had been alarmed at first, I was beginning to feel less frightened. (I thought that the men would merely take everything they wanted and then let us go.) Seeing that we had no idea of escape, the bushwhackers returned their pistols to their belts and began their work of pillage. The traces of the horses were cut, then one of the men mounted one of the animals and, leading the other, rode off at a brisk trot down the road. It never had struck me that they would take the horses, and I wondered how I was to get to Richmond.
The three men who had remained now threw my trunks out on the road and, breaking them open, tossed out all my dresses and linen, searching for articles of more value than women’s clothing. Finding nothing, they broke into loud curses and kicked my things all over the road.
The black-bearded man, who appeared to be the leader, then told me to hand over my purse.
I did so, but since there was only five dollars in it, he gave vent to his feelings of disappointment in a fresh volley of oaths which made me shiver. The men then went a short distance away and talked with each other in low tones, occasionally bursting out laughing while I stood in suspense, wondering what was going to happen next.
After a minute or two, the leader came back to us and, addressing Jim, said: See here now, old darkie, I know whar you come from, so jest you start off and go back or it’ll be the worse for you. Now git.
Jim gazed at me for a moment with a dog-like expression of faithfulness in his eyes and a resolute look on his rugged black face. Then, turning to the man, he said firmly: No, Sah, I’ll not leave my Missis.
The man drew his revolver and, pointing it at Jim, said savagely: You damned nigger! We’ll take care of your mistress, and, if you don’t start right away, I’ll put a bullet through your woolly head.
Jim never flinched, but stood quite still, looking steadily at the man.
I am a coward, but at that moment I felt brave. I could not allow Jim to sacrifice his life uselessly. It struck me that the men meant to keep me prisoner to extract money for my ransom, so I said: It will be no use to remain with me, Jim. Go back to the house.
Oh, Missis, he said, I don’t like to leave you. But if you tink it ain’t no good my stayin’, I’ll go an’ praps I may be able to do sumthin’ for you. He then walked slowly away, turning around every now and then to look back at me.
I watched the faithful Negro, who I know would have sacrificed his life for me, until he had passed out of sight down the slope of the hill. Then I burst into tears, feeling utterly forlorn.
Two of the men now picked up some of my things and made them into a bundle, while the leader said to me in a quiet tone: Come along with us and we’ll put you up for the night in our shanty. Tomorrow I daresay you’ll be able to get a lift on to Richmond if you want to go there. Then, taking me by the arm, he led me through the bushes at the side of the road into a path.
The other two men followed, and we walked through the gloomy wood for about a mile until we came to a small shanty. The men led me inside, and, since it was quite dark, one of them lighted a rude lamp.
It was a squalid-looking hovel; the floor was the earth, the walls were of squared logs, the ceiling was made of shingles and the furniture consisted of an unpainted wooden table, three or four benches and stools, a couple of tin buckets holding water and three rough-looking beds covered with deerskin. On the open hearth a fire of logs was smouldering, and there were a few cooking utensils scattered about. Thus was the place where I was to pass the night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I had been a little relieved at hearing that I was to be allowed to go in the morning, but I did not like the prospect of spending the night in the dirty shanty with the three men. One of them threw some fresh logs on the fire, and, when it had burned up, fried some bacon, which he put on the table in the frying pan, along with a piece of corn bread, a bottle of whiskey and some tin plates and pannikins. The men, each one drawing his sheath knife, then sat down to the rough supper. They offered me some, but I could not eat a morsel, though I drank some water; then, sitting down wearily on a stool at the far end of the room, I watched my captors as they devoured their food.
All three were coarse-looking fellows. The black-bearded man, who was called Bill Jackson, was about forty years of age. The other two, who addressed each other as Frank and Tom, were respectively about thirty and thirty-five. While the meal was in progress they did not talk to each other, nor did they speak to me. But every now and then one of them would glance at me with a smile on his face.
Strange to say, it did not strike me that my person was in danger. When they had finished eating, they smoked corn-cob pipes, chatted a little and passed around the bottle of whiskey until it was finished. But they all were perfectly sober.
Jackson now rose from his seat and, coming over to me, said with a coarse laugh: We’ve been greatly disappointed at not havin’ found anythin’ in your trunks wuth a dollar to us. We ain’t men who works for nothing’, so we’re bound to git sumethin’ out of you.