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Discovering Diverse Content Through
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 The Project Gutenberg eBook of
Dred: A Tale of the Great Dismal Swamp
 This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United
States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with
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eBook.

Title: Dred: A Tale of the Great Dismal Swamp

Author: Harriet Beecher Stowe

Release date: June 30, 2017 [eBook #55012]

Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DRED: A TALE OF

THE GREAT DISMAL SWAMP ***
 Transcriber's Note:

Obvious typographic errors have been

corrected.

DRED
A
TALE OF THE GREAT DISMAL SWAMP

BY

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE

AUTHOR OF "UNCLE TOM'S CABIN"
 "Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds:
His path was rugged and sore,—
Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds,
Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds,
And man never trod before.

And when on earth he sunk to sleep,

If slumber his eyelids knew,
He lay where the deadly vine doth weep
Its venomous tears, that nightly steep
The flesh with blistering dew."

BOSTON AND NEW YORK

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1892

Copyright, 1856 and 1884,

By HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
All rights reserved.
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A.
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Company.
 PREFACE.

The writer of this book has chosen, once more, a subject from the
scenes and incidents of the slave-holding states.
The reason for such a choice is two-fold. First, in a merely artistic
point of view, there is no ground, ancient or modern, whose vivid
lights, gloomy shadows, and grotesque groupings, afford to the
novelist so wide a scope for the exercise of his powers. In the near
vicinity of modern civilization of the most matter-of-fact kind exist
institutions which carry us back to the twilight of the feudal ages,
with all their exciting possibilities of incident. Two nations, the types
of two exactly opposite styles of existence, are here struggling; and
from the intermingling of these two a third race has arisen, and the
three are interlocked in wild and singular relations, that evolve every
possible combination of romance.
Hence, if the writer's only object had been the production of a work
of art, she would have felt justified in not turning aside from that
mine whose inexhaustible stores have but begun to be developed.
But this object, however legitimate, was not the only nor the highest
one. It is the moral bearings of the subject involved which have had
the chief influence in its selection.
The issues presented by the great conflict between liberty and
slavery do not grow less important from year to year. On the
contrary, their interest increases with every step in the development
of the national career. Never has there been a crisis in the history of
this nation so momentous as the present. If ever a nation was raised
up by Divine Providence, and led forth upon a conspicuous stage, as
if for the express purpose of solving a great moral problem in the
sight of all mankind, it is this nation. God in his providence is now
asking the American people, Is the system of slavery, as set forth in
the American slave code, right? Is it so desirable, that you will
directly establish it over broad regions, where, till now, you have
solemnly forbidden it to enter? And this question the American
people are about to answer. Under such circumstances the writer felt
that no apology was needed for once more endeavoring to do
something towards revealing to the people the true character of that
system. If the people are to establish such a system, let them do it
with their eyes open, with all the dreadful realities before them.
One liberty has been taken which demands acknowledgment in the
outset. The writer has placed in the mouth of one of her leading
characters a judicial decision of Judge Ruffin, of North Carolina, the
boldness, clearness, and solemn eloquence of which have excited
admiration both in the Old World and the New. The author having no
personal acquaintance with that gentleman, the character to whom
she attributes it is to be considered as created merely on a principle
of artistic fitness.
To maintain the unity of the story, some anachronisms with regard to
the time of the session of courts have been allowed; for works of
fiction must sometimes use some liberties in the grouping of
incidents.
But as mere cold art, unquickened by sympathy with the spirit of the
age, is nothing, the author hopes that those who now are called to
struggle for all that is noble in our laws and institutions may find in
this book the response of a sympathizing heart.
 CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
PAGE
The Mistress of Canema 1

CHAPTER II.
Clayton 11

CHAPTER III.
The Clayton Family and Sister Anne 22

CHAPTER IV.
The Gordon Family 31

CHAPTER V.
Harry and his Wife 50

CHAPTER VI.
The Dilemma 66

CHAPTER VII.
Consultation 77

CHAPTER VIII.
Old Tiff 82

CHAPTER IX.
The Death 101

CHAPTER X.
The Preparation 106

CHAPTER XI.
The Lovers 116

CHAPTER XII.
Explanations 129

CHAPTER XIII.
Tom Gordon 145

CHAPTER XIV.
Aunt Nesbit's Loss 162

CHAPTER XV.
Mr. Jekyl's Opinions 172

CHAPTER XVI.
Milly's Story 178

CHAPTER XVII.
Uncle John 193

CHAPTER XVIII.
Dred 205

CHAPTER XIX.
The Conspirators 213

CHAPTER XX.
Summer Talk at Canema 224

CHAPTER XXI.
Tiff's Preparations 235

CHAPTER XXII.
The Worshippers 242

CHAPTER XXIII.
The Camp-Meeting 255

CHAPTER XXIV.
Life in the Swamps 285

CHAPTER XXV.
More Summer Talk 293

CHAPTER XXVI.
Milly's Return 307

CHAPTER XXVII.
The Trial 313

CHAPTER XXVIII.
Magnolia Grove 321

CHAPTER XXIX.
The Troubadour 336

CHAPTER XXX.
Tiff's Garden 348

CHAPTER XXXI.
The Warning 357

CHAPTER XXXII.
The Morning Star 362

CHAPTER XXXIII.
The Legal Decision 368

CHAPTER XXXIV.
The Cloud Bursts 379

CHAPTER XXXV.
The Voice in the Wilderness 391

CHAPTER XXXVI.
The Evening Star 395

CHAPTER XXXVII.
The Tie Breaks 403

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
The Purpose 410

CHAPTER XXXIX.
The New Mother 418

CHAPTER XL.
The Flight into Egypt 424

CHAPTER XLI.
The Clerical Conference 436

CHAPTER XLII.
The Result 448

CHAPTER XLIII.
The Slave's Argument 457

CHAPTER XLIV.
The Desert 468

CHAPTER XLV.
Jegar Sahadutha 477

CHAPTER XLVI.
Frank Russel's Opinions 488

CHAPTER XLVII.
Tom Gordon's Plans 497

CHAPTER XLVIII.
Lynch Law 502

CHAPTER XLIX.
More Violence 515

CHAPTER L.
Engedi 521

CHAPTER LI.
The Slave Hunt 530

CHAPTER LII.
"All Over" 535

CHAPTER LIII.
 The Burial 542

CHAPTER LIV.
The Escape 547

CHAPTER LV.
Lynch Law again 556

CHAPTER LVI.
Flight 569

CHAPTER LVII.
Clear Shining after Rain 576

APPENDIX I. 580
APPENDIX II. 587
APPENDIX III. 596

DRED.
A TALE OF THE GREAT DISMAL SWAMP.
 CHAPTER I.
THE MISTRESS OF CANEMA.

"Bills, Harry?—Yes.—Dear me, where are they?—There!—No. Here?

—Oh, look!—What do you think of this scarf? Isn't it lovely?"
"Yes, Miss Nina, beautiful—but"—
"Oh, those bills!—Yes—well, here goes—here—perhaps in this box.
No—that's my opera-hat. By the bye, what do you think of that?
Isn't that bunch of silver wheat lovely? Stop a bit—you shall see it on
me."
And, with these words, the slight little figure sprang up as if it had
wings, and, humming a waltzing-tune, skimmed across the room to
a looking-glass, and placed the jaunty little cap on the gay little
head, and then, turning a pirouette on one toe, said, "There, now!"
"There, now!" Ah, Harry! ah, mankind generally! the wisest of you
have been made fools of by just such dancing, glittering, fluttering
little assortments of curls, pendants, streamers, eyes, cheeks, and
dimples!
The little figure, scarce the height of the Venus, rounded as that of
an infant, was shown to advantage by a coquettish morning-dress of
buff muslin, which fluttered open in front to display the embroidered
skirt, and trim little mouse of a slipper. The face was one of those
provoking ones which set criticism at defiance. The hair, waving,
curling, dancing hither and thither, seemed to have a wild, laughing
grace of its own; the brown eyes twinkled like the pendants of a
chandelier; the little, wicked nose, which bore the forbidden upward
curve, seemed to assert its right to do so with a saucy freedom; and
the pendants of multiplied brilliants that twinkled in her ears, and
the nodding wreath of silver wheat that set off her opera-hat,
seemed alive with mischief and motion.
"Well, what do you think?" said a lively, imperative voice,—just the
kind of voice that you might have expected from the figure.
The young man to whom this question was addressed was a well-
dressed, gentlemanly person of about thirty-five, with dark
complexion and hair, and deep, full blue eyes. There was something
marked and peculiar in the square, high forehead, and the finely-
formed features, which indicated talent and ability; and the blue
eyes had a depth and strength of color that might cause them at
first glance to appear black. The face, with its strongly-marked
expression of honesty and sense, had about it many careworn and
thoughtful lines. He looked at the little, defiant fay for a moment
with an air of the most entire deference and admiration; then a
heavy shadow crossed his face, and he answered, abstractedly, "Yes,
Miss Nina, everything you wear becomes pretty—and that is
perfectly charming."
"Isn't it, now, Harry? I thought you would think so. You see, it's my
own idea. You ought to have seen what a thing it was when I first
saw it in Mme. Le Blanche's window. There was a great hot-looking
feather on it, and two or three horrid bows. I had them out in a
twinkling, and got this wheat in—which shakes so, you know. It's
perfectly lovely!—Well, do you believe, the very night I wore it to the
opera, I got engaged?"
"Engaged, Miss Nina?"
"Engaged!—Yes, to be sure! Why not?"
"It seems to me that's a very serious thing, Miss Nina."
"Serious!—ha! ha! ha!" said the little beauty, seating herself on one
arm of the sofa, and shaking the glittering hat back from her eyes.
"Well, I fancy it was—to him, at least. I made him serious, I can tell
you!"
"But is this true, Miss Nina? Are you really engaged?"
"Yes, to be sure I am—to three gentlemen; and going to stay so till I
find which I like best. May be, you know, I shan't like any of them."
"Engaged to three gentlemen, Miss Nina?"
"To be sure!—Can't you understand English, Harry? I am now—fact."
"Miss Nina, is that right?"
"Right?—why not? I don't know which to take—I positively don't; so
I took them all on trial, you know."
"Pray, Miss Nina, tell us who they are."
"Well, there's Mr. Carson;—he's a rich old bachelor—horridly polite—
one of those little, bobbing men, that always have such shiny dickies
and collars, and such bright boots, and such tight straps. And he's
rich—and perfectly wild about me. He wouldn't take no for an
answer, you know; so I just said yes, to have a little quiet. Besides,
he is very convenient about the opera and concerts, and such
things."
"Well, and the next?"
"Well, the next is George Emmons. He's one of your pink-and-white
men, you know, who look like cream-candy, as if they were good to
eat. He's a lawyer, of a good family,—thought a good deal of, and all
that. Well, really, they say he has talents—I'm no judge. I know he
always bores me to death; asking me if I have read this or that—
marking places in books that I never read. He's your sentimental
sort—writes the most romantic notes on pink paper, and all that sort
of thing."
"And the third?"
"Well, you see, I don't like him a bit—I'm sure I don't. He's a hateful
creature! He isn't handsome; he's proud as Lucifer; and I'm sure I
don't know how he got me to be engaged. It was a kind of an
accident. He's real good, though—too good for me, that's a fact. But,
then, I'm afraid of him a little."
"And his name?"
"Well, his name is Clayton—Mr. Edward Clayton, at your service. He's
one of your high-and-mighty people—with such deep-set eyes—eyes
that look as if they were in a cave—and such black hair! And his
eyes have a desperate sort of sad look, sometimes—quite Byronic.
He's tall, and rather loose-jointed—has beautiful teeth; his mouth,
too, is—well, when he smiles, sometimes it really is quite
fascinating; and then he's so different from other gentlemen! He's
kind—but he don't care how he dresses; and wears the most horrid
shoes. And, then, he isn't polite—he won't jump, you know, to pick
up your thread or scissors; and sometimes he'll get into a brown
study, and let you stand ten minutes before he thinks to give you a
chair, and all such provoking things. He isn't a bit of a lady's man.
Well, consequence is, as my lord won't court the girls, the girls all
court my lord—that's the way, you know; and they seem to think it's
such a feather in their cap to get attention from him—because, you
know, he's horrid sensible. So, you see, that just set me out to see
what I could do with him. Well, you see, I wouldn't court him;—and
I plagued him, and laughed at him, and spited him, and got him
gloriously wroth; and he said some spiteful things about me, and
then I said some more about him, and we had a real up-and-down
quarrel;—and then I took a penitent turn, you know, and just went
gracefully down into the valley of humiliation—as we witches can;
and it took wonderfully—brought my lord on to his knees before he
knew what he was doing. Well, really, I don't know what was the
matter, just then, but he spoke so earnest and strong that actually
he got me to crying—hateful creature!—and I promised all sorts of
things, you know—said altogether more than will bear thinking of."
"And are you corresponding with all these lovers, Miss Nina?"
"Yes—isn't it fun? Their letters, you know, can't speak. If they could,
when they come rustling together in the bag, wouldn't there be a
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