The Missing Bride | Page 3

women, infants and negroes. A universal panic seized
the neighborhood and nothing occurred to the defenseless people but
instant flight. Females and children were hastily put into carriages, the
most valuable items of plate or money hastily packed up, negroes
mustered and the whole caravan put upon a hurried march for Prince
George's, Montgomery or other upper counties of the State. With very
few exceptions, the farms and plantations were evacuated and left to
the mercy of the invaders.
At sunrise all was noise, bustle and confusion at Luckenough.
The lawn was filled with baggage wagons, horses, mules, cows, oxen,
sheep, swine, baskets of poultry, barrels of provisions, boxes of
property, and men and maid servants hurrying wildly about among
them, carrying trunks and parcels, loading carts, tackling harness,
marshaling cattle and making other preparations for a rapid retreat
toward Commodore Waugh's patrimonial estate in Montgomery
County.
Edith was placed upon her pony and attended by her old maid Jenny
and her old groom Oliver.

Commodore and Mrs. Waugh entered the family carriage, which they
pretty well filled up. Mrs. Waugh's woman sat upon the box behind and
the Commodore's man drove the coach.
And the whole family party set forward on their journey. They went in
advance of the caravan so as not to be hindered and inconvenienced by
its slow and cumbrous movements. A ride of three miles through the
old forest brought them to the open, hilly country. Here the road forked.
And here the family were to separate.
It had been arranged that as Edith was too delicate to bear the forced
march of days' and nights' continuance before they could reach
Montgomery, she should proceed to Hay Hill, a plantation near the line
of Charles County, owned by Colonel Fairlie, whose young daughter
Fanny, recently made a bride, had been the schoolmate of Edith.
Here, at the fork, the party halted to take leave.
Commodore Waugh called his niece to ride up to the carriage window
and gave her many messages for Colonel Fairlie, for Fanny and for
Fanny's young bridegroom, and many charges to be careful and prudent,
and not to ride out unattended, etc.
And then he called up the two old negroes and charged them to see
their young mistress safely at Hay Hill and then to return to
Luckenough and take care of the house and such things as were felt
behind in case the British should not visit it, and to shut up the house
after them in case they should come and rob it and leave it standing.
Two wretched old negroes would be in little personal danger from the
soldiers.
So argued Commodore Waugh as he took leave of them and gave
orders for the carriage to move on up the main branch of the road
leading north toward Prince George's and Montgomery.
But so argued not the poor old negroes, as they followed Edith up the
west branch of the road that led to Charles County.

This pleasant road ran along the side of a purling brook under the
shadow of the great trees that skirted the forest, and Edith ambled
leisurely along, low humming to herself some pretty song or listening
to the merry carols of the birds or noticing the speckled fish that
gamboled through the dark, glimmering stream or reverting to the
subject of her last reading.
But beneath all this childish play of fancy, one grave, sorrowful
thought lay heavy upon Edith's tender heart. It was the thought of poor
old Luckenough "deserted at its utmost need" to the ravages of the foe.
Then came the question if it were not possible, in case of the house
being attacked, to save it--even for her to save it. While these things
were brewing in Edith's mind, she rode slowly and more slowly, until at
length her pony stopped. Then she noticed for the first time the heavy,
downcast looks of her attendants.
"What is the matter?" she asked.
"Oh! Miss Edith, don't ask me, honey--don't! Ain't we-dem got to go
back to de house and stay dar by our two selves arter we see you safe?"
said Jenny, crying.
"No! what? you two alone!" exclaimed Edith, looking from one to the
other.
"Yes, Miss Edith, 'deed we has, chile--but you needn't look so 'stonish
and 'mazed. You can't help of it, chile. An' if de British do come dar
and burn de house and heave we-dem into de fire jes' out of wanton,
it'll only be two poor, ole, unvaluable niggers burned up. Ole marse
know dat well enough--dat's de reason he resks we."
"But for what purpose have you to return?" asked Edith, wondering.
"Oh! to feed de cattle and de poultry? and take care o' de things dat's lef
behine," sobbed Jenny, now completely