The illegal marriage

Front matter

FT MEADE GenCol 1

Slielf.

2.3

Chapter I. The Echaconnee Tragedy

About the middle of autumn one can find few climates more agreeable than that of the middle counties of Georgia and Alabama. During the day the air is warm and pleasant ; a soft, purplish haze hangs over the landscape; and the evenings are superb.

Italy cannot boast of more gorgeous sunsets than those of the Georgian middle counties. The twilight is long, and blends slowly with the moonlight, which silvers the sandy soil and sets out the dark pines in bold relief.

Fear the swamps which border upon some creek, there is a peculiar and indescribable charm in these moonlight evenings. The senses steeped in the perfume of roses, mingled with the rarer odor of magnolias ; while from the dark woods which skirt the silvered cotton-fields come the songs of the mocking-bird, as sweet and varied as those of the European nightingale.

But here as elsewhere nature has various moods,

THE ILLEGAL MAHBIAGE.

each producing its peculiar effect upon the mind of man — each having a marked influence upon even the beasts of the field.

Sometimes the sun goes down a blood-red disk behind a vail of purplish-blue haze, in which, an hour later, hangs the somber new moon, slowly dipping its crescent down toward the pines. The air is heavy and still, thousands of frogs make the evening melodious with their pipings, while the song of the mocking-bird is exchanged for the plaintive notes of the whip-poor-will.

This state of the atmosphere is particularly observed along the Echaconnee — a stream bordered with dank, heavy swamps, home of the alligator and deadly moccasin — which runs through, and forms a part of the dividing line between the counties of Bibb, Crawford, and Houston. At such times a presentiment of trouble, or a nameless feeling of coming ill, seems to pervade the atmosphere, having a wonderfully depressing effect upon the mind.

On a night like this, some few years ago, Mr. William Stannard — a man of flve-and-thirty, and a large planter in the county of Houston — sat on the •veranda of his house, slowly puffing his Havana in the shadow of a largo magnolia. Very quiet he sat, moving only now and then when he indolently took the cigar from his mouth and blew out a long cloud of smoke.

It was a calm and graceful picture which was there presented. Perhaps Mr. Stannard— or Colonel Stannard as he should be called — was not one who would be generally termed “a very handsome man,” yet there was something about him which never failed to attract a second glance.

THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE.

Tall and slight as he at first appeared, the idea of latent strength was suggested ; and as one looked more closely at his compact frame his shoulders seemed to grow in breadth, while a muscular power, concealed beneath the lazy grace of his manner, became apparent.

The very idea of placidity seemed to lurk in his deep-blue, almost hazel eyes; and a dark-brown mustache and imperial covered all the defects of outline that there might have been about the lower part of his face. His well-shaped hand, small enough and white enough for a lady, was a strong point of beauty ; but it was muscular as well, and had held the sword with which he fought his way to a colonelcy and honor.

As he sat thus, under his own vine and fig-tree, his fine appearance, his simple yet costly dress, and his placid manner, indicated a man of travel and culture as well as a wealthy planter ; and he looked like one well satisfied with himself and with the world.

But though seemingly content on this particular evening he had to confess that his mind was ill at ease, and in vain he tried to assign some good reason for his unusual depression.

A mist was gathering over the valley, and as his eyes turned toward the belt of woods which designated the line of the Echaconnee, he saw the half obscured new moon slowly drooping down behind the pines. The stars were hidden, and as the feeble light of the moon grew dim the shadows deepened, and the fire on his cigar threw fitful circles of light around his chair.

Presently even his cigar was forgotten, and the hand which held it fell lightly upon his knee, while

THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE.

his eyes looked vacantly out upon the indistinct garden. Fancy had carried away his soul. A vision had come to him — a vision of the sweet girl he loved, whose lovely dark eyes seemed to be looking at him then, and whose fair face, surrounded by a halo of light, was perfectly visible to him.

Cecilia Morgan ! Beautiful Cecy Morgan ! Why had she come to haunt him now, when nearly overpowered in his struggle to forget her? Had he not given her up to another? Had he not long known that his was a hopeless love? Had he not fought hard to crush the affection for her that he must not express? Of the love that nearly conquered him he was now thinking, and she was ever there to make his struggle all the harder.

It was useless; he loved her still — loved her truly and fondly, but he could never call her — wife.

Often enough he had brooded over this, and had tried to make himself believe that he was reconciled to her loss ; but he knew now that he had made a failure. He loved her still, and knew now that he should always love her, as man loves but once in his life. But this was misery now since she was betrothed to another.

‘‘She is there,” he said, aloud, stretching his arms towar-d the creek, beyond which Cecy Morgan lived with her father. “ She is there, so near me, and yet so far away. The distance is widening between us. Henceforth I can be nothing to her.”

What comfort it would have been to this lonely, suffering gentleman could he have passed the distance between him and the girl he loved, and stood invisible in one small chamber there! At that moment Cecy Morgan was kneeling beside her bed,

TUE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE.

clutching the coverlet in her hands, and — thinking of him.

But a few minutes before she had seen Alfred Guerry, the man to whom she was engaged, and had now come to pray away the doubts that would torture her heart. Even then she was humiliated to think that she had failed to win his love. She thought that she loved Alfred Guerry, but — ah ! that terrible doubt. It was too late now; her promise was given ; he could not have loved her ; and she would have made Alfred a good wife.

Could each have known the truth what suffering might have been spared. For a long time Stannard sat there thinking of her beauty, her grace, all the little ways she had that were so charming to him, and tried in vain to stifle the pain in his heart.

Again he wondered at his depression, and endeavored to account for it.

“Pshaw!” he muttered, rising from his chair, “why should I bother my head with thinking! What a puny thing is man’s reason — do what we may, the length of our tether is soon reached. Philip Sidney was right when he said that ‘Reason cannot show itself more reasonable than to leave reasoning on things above reason.’”

The air grew damp and heavy. A southerly wind was rising, which, sighing through the trees, made the night still more uncomfortable. Throwing away his cigar after one long puff, he paused to watch the parabola of light until it ended in a bed of garden violets, and shone like a glow-worm among the leaves.

He retired, but only to find his slumber broken and uneasy. A sense of impending ill hung heavy on his mind, Throughout the long night, it seemed

THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE.

to him, he was rolling and tossing about, but near morning he was suddenly roused with a vague consciousness that somebody was calling him.

That it was not a dream he soon learned, for he sprang out of bed as he heard a sharp “ halloa” at the gate, and a quick “ rat-tat-tat” upon it with a stick.

Throwing up the window he saw through the darkness of the morning the dim outline of a man on horseback.

“What is it?” he called, quickly.

“ Please go up to Echaconnee, sir. The old man is ”

“ A gust of wind slammed the blind in his face, and he barely caught the word “doctor,” as the horseman disappeared.

“That was Morgan’s man,” he mused, hurriedly throwing on his clothes; “it was Ogletree’s voice — I wonder what is wrong on the hill?”

In less than half an hour he was galloping down the road. Passing the last patch of woods his horse shied, and on looking around he caught a mere glimpse of two men sinking down behind a fallen tree. In a second the names of Alfred Guerry and old Abner Hawks came into his mind. Was it really they? and at such an hour; in such a place? He turned his horse quickly into the wood, but although a few seconds only had passed there was no one behind the tree.

“It was a mistake,” he said to himself; “and }^et I never saw shadows seem more natural. I thought Alf would not be here at such an hour.”

It Avas daybreak when he arrived at Morgan’s house, but still dark and stormy. Riding up to the gate, he rapped loudly with his stick, and gave the

THE ILLEGAL MAHIilAQE.

usual halloa. Half a dozen hounds came growling and barking down the yard, and amid the confusion a negro woman opened the door.

“What’s the matter?” Stannard called to her.

The yelping of the dogs prevented him from hearing her reply. Throwing the bridle rein over a post, he entered the yard, beating right and left among the hounds, while the negro laid about her vigorously.

Two negro men with rolling eyes and chattering teeth were by the hall door, but too much terrified to speak. Stannard pushed into the hall, into the room to the left, from which he heard cries and moans, but his steps were arrested on the threshold. He started back with horror at the dreadful sight which met his gaze.

Lying upon the bed shouting or talking incoherently, and wildly swinging his arms about, was old Morgan, his ghastly face covered with blood, his hands gashed and bleeding.

With a quick glance Stannard took in the details of the room, observing many signs of a struggle. One window was broken, the chairs were in confusion, the inner door hung by one hinge, while spots of blood were plentiful about the floor.

Squatted in the corners were the house-servants, wailing loudly ; and at the foot of the bed kneeled tlie old man’s daughter, Cecilia — a girl of one-and-twenty, and of uncommon beauty.

Stannard was shocked at her appearance. For one moment she raised her head, but there was no look of recognition in her eyes, while her face wore an expression that startled him. With clasped hands he turned to her for an explanation ; but turning her head slowly she again fixed her eyes upon her

THE ILLEGAL MAERIAGE.

father. Now and then she caught her breath quickly as slie saw the old man clutch at his wounds, staining himself still more deeply with the blood.

“Oh, Cecy! for Heaven’s sake tell me — tell me, Cecy ! Who has done this — this ”

He paused abruptly as he saw that she neither moved her head nor heard the words, but continued to look vacantly upon her father’s face. Seeing the terrified condition of all present, he stepped to the bedside and caught one of the flying hands.

“Why, Morgan!” he said, holding fast to the hand, “what is the matter with you? Be quiet a moment, won’t you?”

At the sound of his voice, Morgan ceased struggling and turned his head a little on one side, as if trying to catch the tone again.

“ Don’t you know me, Morgan? Speak to me. Look up a little.”

Slowly the wounded man opened his eyes, but it was some time before he seemed to be conscious. Stannard spoke again :

“ My dear old friend ! Do look at me a minute. Don’t you know me?”

The wild eyes turned full upon him now, and a look of recognition was apparent. With a few convulsive pushes Morgan bared his breast, displaying a mass of bloody wounds.

“ See — boy — see, my boy ”

He gurgled out the words, and looked at Stannard, who started back at the horrid sight.

“Good Heaven! Morgan! who has done this? Who could have done it?”

Grasping his throat with one hand and gasping for breath, the old man pointed to his daughter.

THE iLLEQAL MARRIAGE. 13

She — my boy — she ”

A rush of blood choked him for a moment, and Stannard's eyes followed the gaunt and trembling finger. Miss Morgan had raised her head and was watching intently.

“ With the utmost difficulty the old man managed to get out the words :

“She has been my death.”

Stannard could no longer listen to this incoherent talk, for with a wail of despair Miss Morgan fell heavily upon the floor. Springing to assist her, he pushed violently against Doctor Trippe, who had entered the room unheard, and was a silent witness of the scene.

Stannard raised the poor girl in his arrr s and bore her from the room. Leaving her with the house girls to loosen her dress, after seeing that she had revived a little, he returned to find the doctor examining the wounds on Morgan’s chest. A glance told him that life was extinct.

“A bad business,” said Trippe, without raising his head.

“Horrible! horrible!” Stannard replied, throwing himself down upon a lounge. A feeling of faintness seemed to come over him, and in a state of semiconsciousness he watched the physician as he probed and measured the wounds, recording the result in his note-book.

At length Trippe turned from his work.

“A sad case, Stannard,” he said, stroking his long, black beard; “a sad case; but I feared it some time ago.”

“ It is, indeed, doctor ; but I cannot — I will not believe it.”

Trippe turned his eyes down upon him inquiringly.

THE ILLEGAL MABEIAGE.

“Believe what, Stannard? Of what are you speaking?”

“You heard what he said. I can never believe that she — that Miss Morgan ”

The sentence was not completed, for Stannard sprang to his feet and looked toward the door. Trippe turned also, and there before them, looking like a ghost or a marble statue, stood Cecilia Morgan, accused of murder.

With open eyes which seemed to look through them rather than at them, and the steady gaze of a somnambulist. Miss Morgan turned to the doctor and gently passed her hand across her forehead.

“Will he die, doctor? Will he die? Oh! doctor, please tell me?”

“My dear Miss Morgan, this is no place for you now — come, let me help you back.”

“But doctor, I want very much to know, for I have a particular — a particular ”

Once more she passed her hand slowly across her brow, a gesture that was inexpressibly painful to the men before her.

“Doctor!” she continued, “do tell me— I’ve a very particular reason for wishing to know the truth.”

“Poor girl!” said Trippe, in an undertone, “the shock has been too much for her. Her mind is wandering.”

They took her. gently by the arms, and, half supporting her, walked toward the door ; but she saw the body, covered over with the sheet, and knew the worst. With a touching cry she sank unconscious at their feet.

Once more Stannard carried her out in his arms, and, leaving the doctor by her side, ran for water. Crowding about the doors were the plantation

THE ILLEGAL MABBIAGE.

negroes, uttering their peculiar wail — as terrible as that of the Greek weepers, while down on the hearth, almost in the ashes, the house-girl crouched like a frightened hare.

“Get up, girl,” he said to her; “get some water for your mistress.”

At the first touch she rolled over and over into the middle of the floor.

“Get up, Isay,” he repeated, sharply; and hearing a command, the girl sprang to her feet, frightened and trembling.

“Get some water for Miss Cecy — quick now.”

She turned to obey, but in the wrong direction, running violently against the table. Stannard saw that the girl was bewildered, and spoke still more sternly ; but his words had a contrary effect from that intended, for her legs gave way beneath her, and she tumbled upon the floor.

“Never mind, girl,” he said, gently, “go back to your corner, but don’t get in the Are.”

He stooped to assist her, but with a few hitches she reached the fire-place, rolling up into a ball, and covering her head completely. •

Stannard pushed back the coals, and as he rose, a bowl of water was handed him. With it he ran to Miss Morgan’s bedside, and was about to sprinkle the calm, white face before him, when he was stopped by the doctor.

“Never mind that now,” he cried; “she’s reviving a little.”

Trippe took up a small sponge wet with ammonia, and again patted it under her nostrils. With a short, convulsive gasp Cecy opened her eyes, a sweet smile passing across her face, then closed them slowly and wearily.

“She’ll sleep some time, I fancy,” said Trippe, while he and Stannard were leaving the room.

Once more they stood over Morgan’s body. The doctor took out his note-book.

“I want to explain to you,” Trippe began, “that all Morgan said ”

A step interrupted the explanation whatever it was, and both turned to see Ogletree, the overseer.

“I came in to see if I could help you any,” he said, apologetically.

“I don’t know as you can, just now,” the doctor answered, thoughtfully. “Have you sent for any one?”

“Not directly, doctor; but I saw one of Carrol’s boys and told him an accident had happened at our house. I didn’t like to tell him the truth about it.”

“You were right. On second thought, I believe you’d better send for some one. Simmons must be notified — he’ll have to hold an inquest, you know ; and you might ”

A noise at the gate stopped the doctor’s remark, and Stannard walked to the window.

“Who is that?”

“Raborn, I think it is,” Stannard replied, “and here comes Carrol. Bad news travels fast in the country, doctor, however it does it. I don’t think it will be necessary to send.”

“Perhaps not,” Trippe answered, thoughtfully. “On the whole, Ogletree, I think you had better ride over and see Simmons. Ask him to stop at my house when he comes by.”

Ogletree went out, showing the new comers into the dining-room. Stannard joined them and was endeavoring to answer their questions when Trippe broke in upon the story.

THE ILLEGAL MAEBIAGE.

“Carrol!” said he, quickly, “do you know if Simmons is at home?”

“Yes, sir; that is he was yesterday. He’ll hear of this, I reckon, without sending. One of his boys has a wife at my place, and when he went home this morning told me he seen you riding by at the crack of day. I suspicioned that Morgan was sick, so rid over and — ” —

Trippe turned his back to cut short an interminable story, and stood stroking his beard for a moment, then went back to the fatal room. Stannard was again beginning to tell all he knew, when the doctor called him.

“Oh, Stannard! One moment, please.”

Trippe was bending over the body at this time, the fingers of his left hand in a gaping wound, the note-book in his right, and holding a pencil in his teeth.

“I forgot to give you a word of caution,” he said, removing the pencil. “There is no curbing gossip, and we must say nothing about ”

A nod toward the opposite chamber completed the remark.

Stannard understood him.

“ By no means, doctor. Thanks ! I was going to say the same to you.”

“I only feared an inadvertent remark, which a word of caution would prevent.”

Stannard went back to complete the story of the murder. That Morgan’s last words were anything but insane ravings he did not believe ; but he did believe that his good old friend had been foully murdered by some miscreant who broke in at the window, and hence he now joined heartily in the indignation of his neighbors.

TEE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE.

Despite the hard character that old Morgan had borne in the settlement, he had been a second father to Stannard, and he now deeply lamented his dreadful death.

One by one the neighbors began to come in. A few women arrived, and at once took possession of the house. Stannard left them all to their gossip, and going into the fatal room, sat down by the fire. Presently, Trippe touched him gently.

“I’m obliged to go back fora time,” the doctor said ; “ I was attending Koper’s wife, and had been up all night when Olgetree met me. I have to go back there now — you can stay?”

“Yes — that is , I’ll ride home for a few moments and come back.”

“Don’t be long, Stannard, if you can help it. We must see to Miss Morgan, you know.”

The peculiar emphasis gave Stannard to understand that the doctor meant something more than attention to personal wants.

“Of course we must,” he answered, absently, nodding his head, “of course — of course.”

“She’s better now— that is, I can’t say she’s better exactly, but she has recovered from her swoon. Keep the negroes quiet and we’ll fix it all right.”

“Yes; we’ll fix it all right,” said Stannard, warmly, grasping the doctor’s hand.

Trippe smiled at his manner of seeing it.

“We’ll fix it— all right! all right!” he repeated in the same tone, fancying that the smile referred to the secret between them.

“I believe he’s wandering too,” Trippe said to himself, as he crossed the room to where a group of men were talking. They opened a fire of ques-,

THE ILLEGAL MAERIAOE.

tions upon him. “We’ll fix the inquest at two o’clock.”

“Suppose you make it twelve o’clock if it’s all the same to you,” Carrol suggested.

“Very good; say twelve tlien. I said two because T wanted to take a bit of sleep meanwhile ; but no matter.”

“Is the settlement unhealthy, doctor?”

“ By no means, Carrol — on the contrary, it is uncommonly healthy. I was up with Roper’s wife — she has a fine boy.”

“Thus it is,” mused Stannard, as he sat with folded arms by the smoldering fire. “Thus it is that the young come on the stage and the old step from it. This very -idea should make us think how small we are and how little we know compared with what there is to be known.

“ As large as this world of ours is, we play our parts in a very small drama. Who can tell the future of this young actor? Who can tell whether he will be a mere supe — like thousands around us — like those men standing yonder; whether he will play the part of clown, of pantaloon, or harlequin ; whether he will wear cap and bells in comedy or carnival ; or play in some high tragedy, and end his career like that old man lying there.”

While musing of life in this disconnected and rambling manner Trippe had left. Starting after him, Stannard reached the door in time to see the doctor mount his thoroughbred, which gave two or three spirited bounds, then struck out into a swinging gallop.

“That horse is too wild for a doctor — even a heavy-weight like Trippe,” he said to himself, as he turned back to give a few directions ; but he had

20 THE ILLEGAL MARBIAQ^l.

been forestalled in this and went out to his own horse.

Down the hill, along the muddy bottom, across the bit of corduroy leading to the bridge, he slo'wly rode, checking his horse still more as he came to the bridge itself.

“The creek must be rising,” he thought, as he noticed the little pools around the cypress roots ; and, turning his horse to the right as he came to the stream, Staunard looked over to see how high the water had already risen.

As he did so he started back with horror; for down there, some four feet below, his feet in the water, and his body 'lying across a cotton-wood log, was Doctor Trippe.

It was the work of a moment to spring down from the bridge and raise the doctor’s head. His first impulse was to feel for the heart. He could detect no throb there. Raising the unconscious head a little more he rejoiced to feel a faint motion, and presently a dull, slow beating of the heart. Stannard could not repress a cry of joy.

There was yet hope. For the first time he now discovered a deep cut above the right temple. The clotted blood and matted hair had formed a compress over the wound ; but a few drops of dark blood oozed out upon his breast.

Stannard turned the helpless head, saw a long scratch or bruise along the cheek where it had grazed the log. Whether the deeper cut was caused by the fall, or was the cause of the fall, he could not even conjecture.

Pulling the body from the water, Stannard wrapped his two coats about it, and rode back to Echaconnee for help.

THE ILLEGAL MAtUUAQE.

Two men were standing upon the porch, and ran out to meet him, alarmed at his disordered condition.

“For Heaven’s sake, colonel, what is the matter?” “Are you hurt?”

“Come quick!” he answered both, “get some of the boys, and come on at once!”

“But what is it? Blood!” said one, pointing to his shirt-front. “Are you hurt, colonel?”

“No, no, not me — Trippe is murdered!” “Murdered!” exclaimed both in a voice, springing away quickly enough now to give the alarm.

“Gome quick!” Stannard called after them. “Come to the creek. We may save him yet!”

The hope of saving him made them fly now, and in flve minutes a large party of whites and blacks were running down the road.

Stannard was again bending over the body when they came up, and gathered round in silence.

“I found him so,” Stannard began, pointing to the position, “ his feet over there in the water, and his head down upon that knot.”

“His horse may have shied and throw’d him. Thar’s no signs of a flght here.”

“Probably you are right. Barton; wonder what could have started him there?”

“Anything or nothing. The devil’s in that beast anyway. Aiken, thar, heered me tell the doctor ony t’other day that that horse would be the death of him. Don’t you remember, Ira, what I said?”

“Yes; you said you knew him of old, and ”

“And I told him about the brute’s throwing a man agin the curbstone in Macon, killin’ him ’s dead ’s a door -nail.”

THE ILLEGAL MABIUAGE.

“Broke his neck short off,” muttered Aiken, in response.

“Come, come, boys!” Stannard interrupted, “bear a hand now, and let’s get the doctor to my house. Take him up gently, now.”

They came around, slowly and reverently, and stood above the body.

“You’ll have to use my coats for a litter until I can ride home for blankets. Easy, easy with him.”

Stannard knew that Trippe was insensible to pain, but it hurt him to see the helpless head roll from side to side, and he threw up both hands as it struck the log heavily.

“Take care there, Dick, what the duse are you about. Mind what you are doing,” he said, in no gentle tone.

At length Trippe’s body was in the road, and they were fixing him upon the coats for a litter. Stannard was watching eagerly unaware how he was shaking with cold. A boy touched his shoulder, and on looking around Stannard saw him shift off his warm but well-patched coat.

“Take it. Mars’ William. Do take it,” the boy pleaded, as Stannard pushed it back. “Do take it; I can stand de cold better ’n you kin.”

“No, no, Aleck; keep your coat. Put it on again. I can do very well.”

“ Please take it, marster— I can’t bear to see you so.”

The boy’s earnest face touched him then, and he saw that a refusal might be misunderstood.

“It is better to have any amount of bodily pain than to have one’s feelings hurt,” Stannard said to himself, as he took the coat; “ but then I fear this

THE ILLEGAL MAREIAGE.

boy has not those finer ‘feelings. He means to do me a kindness.”

Stannard saw the body in motion, then rode home to rouse his own servants. Collecting a few blankets he sent a boy back with them.

“And there,” he said, stopping the boy until he could pull a pair of heavy blankets from his own bed, “take these to Aleck.”

Stannard was ever a kind man to his negroes — to any negroes, in fact, and was more cons.ijderate about their feelings than about the feelings of many white men who assumed to be his equals.