At length she
determined to drive the bargain on her own account, and if she
succeeded, to keep all the gain to herself.
Being of the same fearless temper as her husband, she sat off for the
old Indian fort towards the close of a summer's day. She was many
hour's absent. When she came back she was reserved and sullen in her
replies. She spoke something of a black man whom she had met about
twilight, hewing at the root of a tall tree. He was sulky, however, and
would not come to terms; she was to go again with a propitiatory
offering, but what it was she forebore to say.
The next evening she sat off again for the swamp, with her apron
heavily laden. Tom waited and waited for her, but in vain: midnight
came, but she did not make her appearance; morning, noon, night
returned, but still she did not come. Tom now grew uneasy for her
safety; especially as he found she had carried off in her apron the
silver tea pot and spoons and every portable article of value. Another
night elapsed, another morning came; but no wife. In a word, she was
ever heard of more.
What was her real fate nobody knows, in consequence of so many
pretending to know. It is one of those facts that have become
confounded by a variety of historians. Some asserted that she lost her
way among the tangled mazes of the swamp and sunk into some pit or
slough; others, more uncharitable, hinted that she had eloped with the
household booty, and made off to some other province; while others
assert that the tempter had decoyed her into a dismal quagmire, on top
of which her hat was found lying. In confirmation of this, it was said
a great black man with an axe on his shoulder was seen late that very
evening coming out of the swamp, carrying a bundle tied in a check
apron, with an air of surly triumph.
The most current and probable story, however, observes that Tom Walker
grew so anxious about the fate of his wife and his property that he sat
out at length to seek them both at the Indian fort. During a long
summer's afternoon he searched about the gloomy place, but no wife was
to be seen. He called her name repeatedly, but she was no where to be
heard. The bittern alone responded to his voice, as he flew screaming
by; or the bull-frog croaked dolefully from a neighboring pool. At
length, it is said, just in the brown hour of twilight, when the owls
began to hoot and the bats to flit about, his attention was attracted
by the clamor of carrion crows that were hovering about a cypress tree.
He looked and beheld a bundle tied in a check apron and hanging in the
branches of a tree; with a great vulture perched hard by, as if keeping
watch upon it. He leaped with joy, for he recognized his wife's apron,
and supposed it to contain the household valuables.
"Let us get hold of the property," said he consolingly to himself, "and
we will endeavor to do without the woman."
As he scrambled up the tree the vulture spread its wide wings, and
sailed off screaming into the deep shadows of the forest. Tom seized
the check apron, but, woful sight! found nothing but a heart and liver
tied up in it.
Such, according to the most authentic old story, was all that was to be
found of Tom's wife. She had probably attempted to deal with the black
man as she had been accustomed to deal with her husband; but though a
female scold is generally considered a match for the devil, yet in this
instance she appears to have had the worst of it. She must have died
game, however: from the part that remained unconquered. Indeed, it is
said Tom noticed many prints of cloven feet deeply stamped about the
tree, and several handfuls of hair that looked as if they had been
plucked from the coarse black shock of the woodsman. Tom knew his
wife's prowess by experience. He shrugged his shoulders as he looked at
the signs of a fierce clapper-clawing. "Egad," said he to himself, "Old
Scratch must have had a tough time of it!"
Tom consoled himself for the loss of his property by the loss of his
wife; for he was a little of a philosopher. He even felt something like
gratitude towards the black woodsman, who he considered had done him a
kindness. He sought, therefore, to cultivate a farther acquaintance
with him, but for some time without success; the old black legs played
shy, for whatever people may think, he is not always to be had for
calling for; he knows how to play his cards when pretty sure of his
game.
At length, it is said, when delay had whetted Tom's eagerness to the
quick, and prepared him to agree to any thing rather than not gain the
promised treasure, he met the black man one evening in his usual
woodman dress, with his axe on his shoulder, sauntering along the edge
of the swamp, and humming a tune. He affected to receive Tom's advance
with great indifference, made brief replies, and went on humming his
tune.
By degrees, however, Tom brought him to business, and they began to
haggle about the terms on which the former was to have the pirate's
treasure. There was one condition which need not be mentioned, being
generally understood in all cases where the devil grants favors; but
there were others about which, though of less importance, he was
inflexibly obstinate.
