RECOLLECTIONS—CONSOLING INFLUENCE OF SYMPATHY—AMY'S DOCTRINE OF THE SOUL—TALK AT THE SPRING.
As Mr. Peterkin was passing through the vestibule of the front door, he met young master standing there. Now, this was Mr. Peterkin's favorite child, for, though he did not altogether like that quietude of manner, which he called "poke-easy," the boy had never offered him any affront about his incorrect language, or treated him with indignity in any way. And then he was so beautiful! True, his father could not appreciate the spiritual nobility of his face; yet the symmetry of his features and the spotless purity of his complexion, answered even to Mr. Peterkin's idea of beauty. The coarsest and most vulgar soul is keenly alive to the beauty of the rose and lily; though that concealed loveliness, which is only hinted at by the rare fragrance, may be known only to the cultivated and poetic heart. Often I have heard him say, "John is pretty enoff to be a gal."
Now as he met him in the vestibule, he said, "John, I'm in a peck o' trouble."
"I am sorry you are in trouble father."
"That cussed black wench, Lindy, is off, and I'm 'fraid the neighborhood kant be waked up soon enough to go arter and ketch her. Let me git her once more in my clutches, and I'll make her pay for it. I'll give her one good bastin' that she'll 'member, and then I'll send her down the river fur enough."
The boy made no reply; but, with his eyes cast down on the earth, he seemed to be unconscious of all that was going on around him. When he raised his head his eyes were burning, his breath came thick and short, and a deep scarlet spot shoneon the whiteness of his cheek; the veins in his forehead lay like heavy cords, and his very hair seemed to sparkle. He looked as one inspired. This was unobserved by his parent, who hastily strode away to find more willing listeners. I tarried in a place where, unnoticed by others, I commanded a good out-look. I saw young master clasp his hands fervently, and heard him passionately exclaim—"How much longer, oh, how much longer shall this be?" Then slowly walking down his favorite path, he was lost to my vision. "Blessed youth, heaven-missioned, if thou wouldst only speak to me! One word of consolation from God-anointed lips like thine, would soothe even the sting of bondage; but no," I added, "that earnest look, that gentle tone, tell perhaps as much as it is necessary for me to know. This silence proceeds from some noble motive. Soon enough he will make himself known to us."
In a little while the news of Lindy's departure had spread through the neighborhood like a flame. Our yard and house were filled with men come to offer their services to their neighbor, who, from his wealth, was considered a sort of magnate among them.
Pretty soon they were mounted on horses, and armed to the teeth, each one with a horn fastened to his belt, galloping off in quest of the poor fugitive. And is this thing done beneath the influence of civilized laws, and by men calling themselves Christians? What has armed those twelve men with pistols, and sent them on an excursion like this? Is it to redeem a brother from a band of lawless robbers, who hold him in captivity? Is it to right some individual wrong? Is it to take part with the weak and oppressed against the strong and the overbearing? No, no, my friends, on no such noble mission as this have they gone. No purpose of high emprise has made them buckle on the sword and prime the pistol. A poor, lone female, who, through years, has been beaten, tyrannized over, and abused, has ventured out to seek what this constitution professes to secure to every one—liberty. Barefoot and alone, she has gone forth;and 'tis to bring her back to a vile and brutal slavery that these men have sallied out, regardless of her sex, her destitution, and her misery. They have set out either to recapture her or to shoot her down in her tracks like a dog. And this is a system which Christian men speak of as heaven-ordained! This is a thing countenanced by freemen, whose highest national boast is, that theirs is the land of liberty, equality, and free-rights! These are the people who yearly send large sums to Ireland; who pray for the liberation of Hungary; who wish to transmit armed forces across the Atlantic to aid vassal States in securing their liberty! These are they who talk so largely of Cuba, expend so much sympathy upon the oppressed of other lands, and predict the downfall of England for her oppressive form of government! Oh, America! "first pluck the beam out of thine own eye, then shalt thou see more clearly the mote that is in thy brother's."
When I watched those armed men ride away, in such high courage and eagerness for the hunt, I thought of Lindy, poor, lone girl, fatigued, worn and jaded, suffering from thirst and hunger; her feet torn and bruised with toil, hiding away in bogs and marshes, with an ear painfully acute to every sound. I thought of this, and all the resentment I had ever felt toward her faded away as a vapor.
All that day the house was in a state of intense excitement. The servants could not work with their usual assiduity. Indeed, such was the excitement, even of the white family, that we were not strictly required to labor.
Miss Jane gave me some fancy-sewing to do for her. Taking it with me to Aunt Polly's cabin, intending to talk with her whilst time was allowed me, I was surprised and pleased to find the old woman still asleep. "It will do her good," I thought, "she needs rest, poor creature! And that blow was given to her on my account! How much I would rather have received it myself." I then examined her head, and was glad to find no mark or bruise; so I hoped that with a good sleep she would wake up quite well. I seated myself on an old stool,near the door, which, notwithstanding the rawness of the day, I was obliged to leave open to admit light. It was a cool, windy morning, such as makes a woollen shawl necessary. My young mistresses had betaken themselves to cashmere wrappers and capes; but I still wore my thin and "seedy" calico. As I sewed on, upon Miss Jane's embroidery, manyfanciescame in troops through my brain, defiling like a band of ghosts through each private gallery and hidden nook of memory, and even to the very inmost compartment of secret thought! My mother, with her sad, sorrow-stricken face, my old companions and playfellows in the long-gone years, all arose with vividness to my eye! Where were they all? Where had they been during the lapse of years? Of my mother I had never heard a word. Was she dead? At that suggestion I started, and felt my heart grow chill, as though an icy hand had clenched it; yet why felt I so? Did I not know that the grave would be to her as a bed of ease? What torture could await her beyond the pass of the valley of shadows? She, who had been faithful over a little, would certainly share in those blessed rewards promised by Christ; yet it seemed to me that my heart yearned to look upon her again in this life. I could not, without pain, think of her asone who had been. There was something selfish in this, yet was it intensely human, and to feel otherwise I should have had to be less loving, less filial in my nature. "Oh, mother!" I said, "if ever we meet again, will it be a meeting that shall know no separation? Mother, are you changed? Have you, by the white man's coarse brutality, learned to forget your absent child? Do not thoughts of her often come to your lonely soul with the sighing of the midnight wind? Do not the high and merciful stars, that nightly burn above you, recall me to your heart? Does not the child-loved moon speak to you of times when, as a little thing, I nestled close to your bosom? Or, mother, have other ties grown around your heart? Have other children supplanted your eldest-born? Do chirruping lips and bright eyes claim all your thoughts? Or do you toil alone, broken in soul and bent in body, beneath thedrudgery of human labor, without one soft voice to lull you to repose? Oh, not this, not this, kind Heaven! Let her forget me, in her joy; give her but peace, and on me multiply misfortunes, rain down evils, only spare, shield and protecther." This tide of thought, as it rolled rapidly through my mind, sent the hot tears, in gushes, from my eyes. As I bent my head to wipe them away, without exactly seeing it, I became aware of a blessed presence; and, lifting my moist eyes, I beheld young master standing before me, with that calm, spiritual glance which had so often charmed and soothed me.
"What is the matter, Ann? Why are you weeping?" he asked me in a gentle voice.
"Nothing, young Master, only I was thinking of my mother."
"How long since you saw her?"
"Oh, years, young Master; I have not seen her since my childhood—not since Master bought me."
He heaved a deep sigh, but said nothing; those eyes, with a soft, shadowed light, as though they were shining through misty tears, were bent upon me.
"Where is your mother now, Ann?"
"I don't know, young Master, I've never heard from her since I came here."
Again he sighed, and now he passed his thin white hand across his eyes, as if to dissipate the mist.
"You think she was sold when you were, don't you?"
"I expect she was. I'm almost sure she was, for I don't think either my young Masters or Mistresses wished or expected to retain the servants."
"I wish I could find out something about her for you; but, at present, it is out of my power. You must do the best you can. You are a good girl, Ann; I have noticed how patiently you bear hard trouble. Do you pray?"
"Oh, yes, young Master, and that is all the pleasure I have. What would be my situation without prayer? Thanks to God, the slave has this privilege!"
"Yes, Ann, and in God's eyes you are equal to a whiteperson. He makes no distinction; your soul is as precious and dear to Him as is that of the fine lady clad in silk and gems."
I opened my eyes to gaze upon him, as he stood there, with his beautiful face beaming with good feeling and love for the humblest and lowest of God's creatures. This was religion! This was the spirit which Christ commended. This was the love which He daily preached and practiced.
"But how is Aunt Polly? I heard that she was suffering much."
"She is sleeping easily now," I replied.
"Well, then, don't disturb her. It is better that she should sleep;" and he walked away, leaving me more peaceful and happy than before. Blessed youth!—why have we not more such among us! They would render the thongs and fetters of slavery less galling.
The day was unusually quiet; but the frostiness of the atmosphere kept the ladies pretty close within doors; and Mr. Peterkin had, contrary to the wishes of his family, and the injunctions of his physician, gone out with the others upon the search; besides, he had taken Nace and the other men with him, and, as Aunt Polly was sick, Ginsy had been appointed in her place to prepare dinner. After sewing very diligently for some time, I wandered out through the poultry lot, lost in a labyrinth of strange reflection. As I neared the path leading down toward the spring, young master's favorite walk, I could not resist the temptation to follow it to its delightful terminus, where he was wont to linger all the sunny summer day, and frequently passed many hours in the winter time? I was superstitious enough to think that some of his deep and rich philanthropy had been caught, as by inspiration, from this lovely natural retreat; for how could the child of such a low, beastly parent, inherit a disposition so heavenly, and a soul so spotless? He had been bred amid scenes of the most revolting cruelty; had lived with people of the harshest and most brutal dispositions; yet had he contracted from them no moral stain. Were they not hideous to look upon, and was he notlovely as a seraph? Were they not low and vulgar, and he lofty and celestial-minded? Why and how was this? Ah, did I not believe him to be one of God's blessed angels, lent us for a brief season?
The path was well-trodden, and wound and curved through the woods, down to a clear, natural spring of water. There had been made, by the order of young master, a turfetted seat, overgrown by soft velvet moss, and here this youth would sit for hours to ponder, and, perhaps, to weave golden fancies which were destined to ripen into rich fruition in that land beyond the shores of time. As I drew near the spring, I imagined that a calm and holy influence was settling over me. The spirit of the place had power upon me, and I yielded myself to the spell. It was no disease of fancy, or dream of enchantment, that thus possessed me; for there, half-reclining on the mossy bench, I beheld young master, and, seated at his feet, with her little, odd, wondering face uplifted to his, was Amy; and, crawling along, playing with the moss, and looking down into the mirror of the spring, peered the bright eyes of little Ben. It was a scene of such beauty that I paused to take a full view of it, before making my presence known. Young master, with his pale, intellectual face, his classic head, his sun-bright curls, and his earnest blue eyes, sat in a half-lounging attitude, making no inappropriate picture of an angel of light, whilst the two little black faces seemed emblems of fallen, degraded humanity, listening to his pleading voice.
"Wherever you go, or in whatever condition you may be, Amy, never forget to pray to the good Lord." As he said this, he bent his eyes compassionately on her.
"Oh, laws, Masser, how ken I pray! de good Lord wouldn't hear me. I is too black and dirty."
"God does not care for that. You are as dear to Him as the finest lady of the land."
"Oh, now, Masser, you doesn't tink me is equal to you, a fine, nice, pretty white gemman—dress so fine."
"God cares not, my child, for clothes, or the color of the skin.He values the heart alone; and if your heart is clear, it matters not whether your face be black or your clothes mean."
"Laws, now, young Masser," and the child laughed heartily at the idea, "you doesn't 'spect a nigger's heart am clean. I tells you 'tis black and dirty as dere faces."
"My poor child, I would that I had power to scatter the gloomy mist that beclouds your mind, and let you see and know that our dying Saviour embraced all your unfortunate race in the merits of his divine atonement."
This speech was not comprehended by Amy. She sat looking vacantly at him; marvelling all the while at his pretty talk, yet never once believing that Jesus prized a negro's soul. Young master's eyes were, as usual, elevated to the clear, majestic heavens. Not a cloud floated in the still, serene expanse, and the air was chill. One moment longer I waited, before revealing myself. Stepping forward, I addressed young master in an humble tone.
"Well, Ann, what do you want?" This was not said in a petulant voice, but with so much gentleness that it invited the burdened heart to make its fearful disclosure.
"Oh, young Master, I know that you will pardon me for what I am going to ask. I cannot longer restrain myself. Tell me what is to become of us? When shall we be sold? Into whose hands shall I fall?"
"Alas, poor Ann, I am as ignorant of father's intentions as you are. I would that I could relieve your anxiety, but I am as uneasy about it as you or any one can be. Oh, I am powerless to do anything to better your unfortunate condition. I am weak as the weakest of you."
"I know, young Master, that we have your kindest sympathy, and this knowledge softens my trouble."
He did not reply, but sat with a perplexed expression, looking on the ground.
"Oh, Ann, you has done gin young Masser some trouble. What fur you do dat? We niggers ain't no 'count any how,and you hab no sort ob bisiness be troublin' young Masser 'bout it," said Amy.
"Be still, Amy, let Ann speak her troubles freely. It will relieve her mind. You may tell me of yours too."
Sitting down upon the sward, close to his feet, I relieved my oppressed bosom by a copious flood of tears. Still he spoke not, but sat silent, looking down. Amy was awed into stillness, and even little Ben became calm and quiet as a lamb. No one broke the spell. No one seemed anxious to do so. There are some feelings for which silence is the best expression.
At length he said mildly, "Now, my good friends, it might be made the subject of ungenerous remarks, if you were to be seen talking with me long. You had better return to the house."
As Amy and I, with little Ben, rose to depart, he looked after us, and sighing, exclaimed, "poor creatures, my heart bleeds for you!"
THE PRATTLINGS OF INSANITY—OLD WOUNDS REOPEN—THE WALK TO THE DOCTOR'S—INFLUENCE OF NATURE.
Upon my return to the house I hastened on to the cabin, hoping to find Aunt Polly almost entirely recovered. Passing hastily through the yard I entered the cabin with a light step, and to my surprise found her sitting up in a chair, playing with some old faded artificial flowers, the dilapidated decorations of Miss Tildy's summer bonnet, which had been swept from the house with the litter on the day before. I had never seen her engaged in a pastime so childish and sportive, and was not a little astonished, for her aversion to flowers had often been to me the subject of remark.
"What have you there that is pretty, Aunt Polly?" I asked with tenderness.
With a wondering, childish smile, she held the crushed blossoms up, and turning them over and over in her hands, said:
"Putty things! ye is berry putty!" then pressing them to her bosom, she stroked the leaves as kindly as though she had been smoothing the truant locks of a well-beloved child. I could not understand this freak, for she was one to whose uncultured soul all sweet and pretty fancies seemed alien. Looking up to me with that vacant glance which at once explained all, she said:
"Who's dar? Who is you? Oh, dat is my darter," and addressing me by the remembered name of her own long-lost child, she traversed, in thought, the whole waste-field of memory. Not a single wild-flower in the wayside of the heart was neglected or forgotten. She spoke of times when she had toyed and dandledher infant darling upon her knee; then, shudderingly, she would wave me off, with terror written all over her furrowed face, and cry, "Get you away, Masser is comin': thar, thar he is; see him wid de ropes; he is comin' to tar you 'way frum me. Here, here child, git under de bed, hide frum 'em, dey is all gwine to take you 'way—'way down de river, whar you'll never more see yer poor old mammy." Then sinking upon her knees, with her hands outstretched, and her eyes eagerly strained forward, and bent on vacancy, she frantically cried:
"Masser, please, please Masser, don't take my poor chile from me. It's all I is got on dis ar' airth; Masser, jist let me hab it and I'll work fur you, I'll sarve you all de days ob my life. You may beat my ole back as much as you please; you may make me work all de day and all de night, jist, so I ken keep my chile. Oh, God, oh, God! see, dere dey goes, wid my poor chile screaming and crying for its mammy! See, see it holds its arms to me! Oh, dat big hard man struck it sich a blow. Now, now dey is out ob sight." And crawling on her knees, with arms outspread, she seemed to be following some imaginary object, until, reaching the door, I feared in her transport of agony she would do herself some injury, and, catching her strongly in my arms, I attempted to hold her back; but she was endowed with a superhuman strength, and pushed me violently against the wall.
"Thar, you wretch, you miserble wretch, dat would keep me from my chile, take dat blow, and I wish it would send yer to yer grave."
Recoiling a few steps, I looked at her. A wild and lurid light gathered in her eye, and a fiendish expression played over her face. She clenched her hands, and pressed her old broken teeth hard upon her lips, until the blood gushed from them; frothing at the mouth, and wild with excitement, she made an attempt to bound forward and fell upon the floor. I screamed for help, and sprang to lift her up. Blood oozed from her mouth and nose; her eyes rolled languidly, and her under-jaw fell as though it were broken.
In terror I bore her to the bed, and, laying her down, I went to get a bowl of water to wash the blood and foam from her face. Meeting Amy at the door, I told her Aunt Polly was very sick, and requested her to remain there until my return.
I fled to the kitchen, and seizing a pan of water that stood upon the shelf, returned to the cabin. There I found young master bending over Aunt Polly, and wiping the blood-stains from her mouth and nose with his own handkerchief. This was, indeed, the ministration of the high to the lowly. This generous boy never remembered the distinctions of color, but with that true spirit of human brotherhood which Christ inculcated by many memorable examples, he ministered to the humble, the lowly, and the despised. Indeed, such seemed to take a firmer hold upon his heart. Here, in this lowly cabin, like the good Samaritan of old, he paused to bind up the wounds of a poor outcast upon the dreary wayside of existence.
Bending tenderly over Aunt Polly, until his luxuriant golden curls swept her withered face, he pressed his linen handkerchief to her mouth and nose to staunch the rapid flow of blood.
"Oh, Ann, have you come with the water? I fear she is almost gone; throw it in her face with a slight force, it may revive her," he said in a calm tone.
I obeyed, but there was no sign of consciousness. After one or two repetitions she moved a little, young master drew a bottle of sal volatile from his pocket, and applied it to her nose. The effect was sudden; she started up spasmodically, and looking round the room laughed wildly, frightfully; then, shaking her head, her face resumed its look of pitiful imbecility.
"The light is quenched, and forever," said young master, and the tears came to his eyes and rolled slowly down his cheeks. Amy, with Ben in her arms, stood by in anxious wonder; creeping up to young master's side, she looked earnestly in his face, saying—
"Don't cry, Masser, Aunt Polly will soon be well; she jist sick for little while. De lick Masser gib her only hurt herlittle time,—she 'most well now, but her does look mighty wild."
"Oh, Lord, how much longer must these poor people be tried in the furnace of affliction? How much longer wilt thou permit a suffering race to endure this harsh warfare? Oh, Divine Father, look pityingly down on this thy humble servant, who is so sorely tried." The latter part of the speech was uttered as he sank upon his knees; and down there upon the coarse puncheon floor we all knelt, young master forming the central figure of the group, whilst little Amy, the baby-boy Ben, and the poor lunatic, as if in mimicry, joined us. We surrounded him, and surely that beautiful heart-prayer must have reached the ear of God. When such purity asks for grace and mercy upon the poor and unfortunate, the ear of Divine grace listens.
"What fur you pray?" asked the poor lunatic.
"I ask mercy for sore souls like thine."
"Oh, dat is funny; but say, sir, whar is my chile? Whar is she? Why don't she come to me? She war here a minnit ago; but now she does be gone away."
"Oh, what a mystery is the human frame! Lyre of the spirit, how soon is thy music jarred into discord." Young master uttered this rhapsody in a manner scarcely audible, but to my ear no sound of his was lost, not a word, syllable, or tone!
"Poor Luce—is dat Luce?" and the poor, crazed creature stared at me with a bewildered gaze! "and my baby-boy, whar is he, and my oldest sons? Dey is all gone from me and forever." She began to weep piteously.
"Watch with her kindly till I send Jake for the doctor," he said to me; then rallying himself, he added, "but they are all gone—gone upon that accursed hunt;" and, seating himself in a chair, he pressed his fingers hard upon his closed eye-lids. "Stay, I will go myself for the doctor—she must not be neglected."
And rising from his chair he buttoned his coat, and, charging me to take good care of her, was about starting, butAunt Polly sprang forward and caught him by the arms, exclaiming,
"Oh, putty, far angel, don't leab me. I kan't let you leab me—stay here. I has no peace when you is gone. Dey will come and beat me agin, and dey will take my chil'en frum me. Oh, please now, you stay wid me."
And she held on to him with such a pitiful fondness, and there was so much anxiety in her face, such an infantile look of tenderness, with the hopeless vacancy of idiocy in the eye, that to refuse her would have been harsh; and of this young master was incapable. So, turning to me, he said,
"You go, Ann, for the doctor, and I will stay with her—poor old creature I have never done anything for her, and now I will gratify her."
As the horses had all been taken by the pursuers of Lindy, I was forced to walk to Dr. Mandy's farm, which was about two miles distant from Mr. Peterkin's. I was glad of this, for of late it was indeed but seldom that I had been allowed to indulge in a walk through the woods. All through the leafy glory of the summer season I had looked toward the old sequestered forest with a longing eye. Each little bird seemed wooing me away, yet my occupations confined me closely to the house; and a pleasure-walk, even on Sunday, was a luxury which a negro might dream of but never indulge. Now, though it was the lonely autumn time, yet loved I still the woods, dismantled as they were. There is something in the grandeur of the venerable forests, that always lifts the soul to devotion! The patriarchal trees and the delicate sward, the wind-music and the almost ceaseless miserere of the grove, elevate the heart, and to the cultivated mind speak with a power to which that of books is but poor and tame.
QUIETUDE OF THE WOODS—A GLIMPSE OF THE STRANGER—MRS. MANDY'S WORDS OF CRUEL IRONY—SAD REFLECTIONS.
The freshening breeze, tempered with the keen chill of the coming winter, made a lively music through the woods, as, floating along, it toyed with the fallen leaves that lay dried and sere upon the earth. There stood the giant trees, rearing their bald and lofty heads to the heavens, whilst at their feet was spread their splendid summer livery. Like the philosophers of old, in their calm serenity they looked away from earth and its troubles to the "bright above."
I wandered on, with a quick step, in the direction of the doctor's. The recent painful events were not calculated to color my thoughts very pleasingly; yet I had taught myself to live so entirelywithin, to be so little affected by what waswithout, that I could be happy in imagination, notwithstanding what was going on in the external world. 'Tis well that the negro is of an imaginative cast. Suppose he were by nature strongly practical and matter-of-fact; life could not endure with him. His dreaminess, his fancy, makes him happy in spite of the dreary reality which surrounds him. The poor slave, with not a sixpence in his pocket, dreams of the time when he shall be able to buy himself, and revels in this most delightful Utopia.
I had walked on for some distance, without meeting any object of special interest, when, passing through a large "deadening," I was surprised to see a gentleman seated upon a fragment of what had once been a noble tree. He was engaged at that occupation which is commonly considered to denote want of thought, viz.,whittling a stick.
I stopped suddenly, and looked at him very eagerly, for now, with the broad day-light streaming over him, I recognized the one whom I had watched in the dubious moonbeams! This was Mr. Robert Worth, the man who held those dangerous Abolition principles—the fanatic, who was rash enough to express, south of Mason and Dixon's line, the opinion that negroes are human beings and entitled to consideration. Here now he was, and I could look at him. How I longed to speak to him, to talk with him, hear him tell all his generous views; to ask questions as to those free Africans at the North who had achieved name and fame, and learn more of the distinguished orator, Frederick Douglass! So great was my desire, that I was almost ready to break through restraint, and, forgetful of my own position, fling myself at his feet, and beg him to comfort me. Then came the memory of Miss Bradly's treachery, and I sheathed my heart. "No, no, I will not again trust to white people. They have no sympathy with us, our natures are too simple for their cunning;" and, reflecting thus, I walked on, yet I felt as if I could not pass him. He had spoken so nobly in behalf of the slave, had uttered such lofty sentiments, that my whole soul bowed down to him in worship. I longed to pay homage to him. There is a principle in the slave's nature to reverence, to look upward; hence, he makes the most devout Christian, and were it not for this same spirit, he would be but a poor servant.
So it was with difficulty I could let pass this opportunity of speaking with one whom I held in such veneration; but I governed myself and went on. All the distance I was pondering upon what I had heard in relation to those of my brethren who had found an asylum in the North. Oh, once there, I could achieve so much! I felt, within myself, a latent power, that, under more fortunate circumstances, might be turned to advantage. When I reached Doctor Mandy's residence I found that he had gone out to visit a patient. His wife came out to see me, and asked,
"Who is sick at Mr. Peterkin's?"
I told her, "Aunt Polly, the cook."
"Is much the matter?"
"Yes, Madam; young master thinks she has lost her reason."
"Lost her reason!" exclaimed Mrs. Mandy.
"Yes, Madam; she doesn't seem to know any of us, and evidently wanders in her thoughts." I could not repress the evidence of emotion when I remembered how kind to me the old creature had been, nay, that for me she had received the blow which had deprived her of reason.
"Poor girl, don't cry," said Mrs. Mandy. This lady was of a warm, good heart, and was naturally touched at the sight of human suffering; she was one of that quiet sort of beings who feel a great deal and say but little. Fearful of giving offence, she usually kept silence, lest the open expression of her sympathy should defeat the purpose. A weak, though a good person, she now felt annoyed because she had been beguiled into even pity for a servant. She did not believe in slavery, yet she dared not speak against the "peculiar institution" of the South. It would injure the doctor's practice, a matter about which she must be careful.
I knew my place too well to say much; therefore I observed a respectful silence.
"Now, Ann, you had better hurry home. I expect there is great excitement at your house, and the ladies will need your services to-day, particularly; to remain out too long might excite suspicion, and be of no service to you."
My looks plainly showed how entire was my acquiescence. She must have known this, and then, as if self-interest suggested it, she said,
"You have a good home, Ann, I hope you will never do as Lindy has done. Homes like yours are rare, and should be appreciated. Where will you ever again find such kind mistresses and such a good master?"
"Homes such as mine are rare!" I would that they were; but, alas! they are too common, as many farms in Kentucky can show! Oh, what a terrible institution this one must be, whichoriginates and involves so many crimes! Now, here was a kind, honest-hearted woman, who felt assured of the criminality of slavery; yet, as it is recognized and approved by law, she could not, save at the risk of social position, pecuniary loss and private inconvenience, even express an opinion against it. I was the oppressed slave of one of her wealthy neighbors; she dared not offer me even a word of pity, but needs must outrage all my nature by telling me that I had a "good home, kind mistresses and a good master!" Oh, bitter mockery of torn and lacerated feelings! My blood curdled as I listened. How much I longed to fling aside the servility at which my whole soul revolted, and tell her, with a proud voice, how poorly I thought she supported the dignity of a true womanhood, when thus, for the poor reward of gold, she could smile at, and even encourage, a system which is at war with the best interest of human nature; which aims a deadly blow at the very machinery of society; aye, attacks the noble and venerable institution of marriage, and breaks asunder ties which God has commanded us to reverence! This is the policy of that institution, which Southern people swear they will support even with their life-blood! I have ransacked my brain to find out a clue to the wondrous infatuation. I have known, during the years of my servitude, men who had invested more than half of their wealth in slaves; and he is generally accounted the greatest gentleman, who owns the most negroes. Now, there is a reason for the Louisiana or Mississippi planter's investing largely in this sort of property; but why the Kentucky farmer should wish to own slaves, is a mystery: surely it cannot be for the petty ambition of holding human beings in bondage, lording it over immortal souls! Oh, perverse and strange human nature! Thoughts like these, with a lightning-like power, drove through my brain and influenced my mind against Mrs. Mandy, who, I doubt not, was, at heart, a kind, well-meaning woman. How can the slave be a philanthropist?
Without saying anything whereby my safety could be imperilled, I left Mrs. Mandy's residence. When I had walkedabout a hundred yards from the house, I turned and looked back, and was surprised to see her looking after me. "Oh, white woman," I inwardly exclaimed, "nursed in luxury, reared in the lap of bounty, with friends, home and kindred, that mortal power cannot tear you from, how canyoupity the poor, oppressed slave, who has no liberty, no right, no father, no brother, or friend, only as the white man chooses he shall have!" Who could expect these children of wealth, fostered by prosperity, and protected by the law, to feel for the ignorant negro, who through ages and generations has been crushed and kept in ignorance? We are told to love our masters! Why should we? Are we dogs to lick the hand that strikes us? Or are we men and women with never-dying souls—men and women unprotected in the very land they have toiled to beautify and adorn! Oh, little, little do ye know, my proud, free brothers and sisters in the North, of all the misery we endure, or of the throes of soul that we have! The humblest of us feel that we are deprived of something that we are entitled to by the law of God and nature.
I rambled on through the woods, wrapped in the shadows of gloom and misanthropy. "Why," I asked myself, "can't I be a hog or dog to come at the call of my owner? Would it not be better for me if I could repress all the lofty emotions and generous impulses of my soul, and become a spiritless thing? I would swap natures with the lowest insect, the basest serpent that crawls upon the earth. Oh, that I could quench this thirsty spirit, satisfy this hungry heart, that craveth so madly the food and drink of knowledge! Is it right to conquer the spirit, which God has given us? Is it best for a high-souled being to sit supinely down and bear the vile trammels of an unnatural and immoral bondage? Are these aspirings sent us from above? Are they wings lent the spirit from an angel? Or must they be clipped and crushed as belonging to the evil spirit?" As I walked on, in this state of mind, I neared the spot where I had beheld the interesting stranger.
To my surprise and joy I found him still there, occupied asbefore, in whittling, perhaps the same stick. You, my free friends, who, from the fortunate accident of birth, are entitled to the heritage of liberty, can but poorly understand how very humble and degraded American slavery makes the victim. Now, though I knew this man possessed the very information for which I so longed, I dared not presume to address him on a subject even of such vital import. I dare say, and indeed after-times proved, this young apostle of reform would have applauded as heroism what then seemed to me as audacity.
With many a lingering look toward him, I pursued the "noiseless tenor of my way."
A REFLECTION—AMERICAN ABOLITIONISTS—DISAFFECTION IN KENTUCKY—THE YOUNG MASTER—HIS REMONSTRANCE.
Upon my arrival home I found that the doctor, lured by curiosity, and not by business, had called. The news of Lindy's flight had reached him in many garbled and exaggerated forms; so he had come to assure himself of the truth. Of course, with all a Southern patriot's ire, he pronounced Lindy's conduct an atrocious crime, for which she should answer with life, or that far worse penalty (as some thought), banishment "down the river." Thought I not strangely, severely, of those persons, the doctor and the ladies, as they sat there, luxuriating over a bottle of wine, denouncing vengeance against a poor, forlorn girl, who was trying to achieve her liberty;—heroically contending for that on which Americans pride themselves? Had she been a Hungarian or an Irish maid, seeking an asylum from the tyranny of a King, she would have been applauded as one whose name was worthy to be enrolled in the litany of heroes; but she was a poor, ignorant African, with a sooty face, and because of this all sympathy was denied her, and she was pronounced nothing but a "runaway negro," who deserved a terrible punishment; and the hand outstretched to relieve her, would have been called guilty of treason. Oh, wise and boastful Americans, see ye no oppression in all this, or do ye exult in that odious spot, which will blacken the fairest page of your history "to the last syllable of recorded time"? Does not a blush stain your cheeks when you make vaunting speeches about the character of your government? Ye cannot, I know ye cannot, be easy in your consciences; I know that a secret, unspoken trouble gnaws likea canker in your breasts! Many of you veil your eyes, and grope through the darkness of this domestic oppression; you will not listen to the cries of the helpless, but sit supinely down and argue upon the "right" of the thing. There were kind and tender-hearted Jews, who felt that the crucifixion of the Messiah was a fearful crime, yet fear sealed their lips. And are there not now time-serving men, who are worthy and capable of better things, but from motives of policy will offer no word against this barbarous system of slavery? Oh, show me the men, like that little handful at the North, who are willing to forfeit everything for the maintenance of human justice and mercy. Blessed apostles, near to the mount of God! your lips have been touched with the flame of a new Pentecost, and ye speak as never men spake before! Who that listens to the words of Parker, Sumner, and Seward, can believe them other than inspired? Theirs is no ordinary gift of speech; it burns and blazes with a mighty power! Cold must be the ear that hears them unmoved; and hard the heart that throbs not in unison with their noble and earnest expressions! Often have I paused in this little book, to render a feeble tribute to these great reformers. It may be thought out of place, yet I cannot repress the desire to speak my voluntary gratitude, and, in the name of all my scattered race, thank them for the noble efforts they have made in our behalf!
All the malignity of my nature was aroused against Miss Bradly, when I heard her voice loudest in denunciation against Lindy.
As I was passing through the room, I could catch fragments of conversation anything but pleasing to the ear of a slave; but I had to listen in meekness, letting not even a working muscle betray my dissent. They were orthodox, and would not tolerate even from an equal a word contrary to their views.
I did not venture to ask the doctor what he thought of Aunt Polly, for that would have been called impudent familiarity, punishable with whipping at the "post;" but when I met young master in the entry, I learned from him that the case was oneof hopeless insanity. Blood-letting, &c., had been resorted to, but with no effect. The doctor gave it as his opinion that the case was "without remedy." Not knowing that young master differed from his father and sisters, the doctor had, in his jocose and unfeeling way, suggested that it was not much difference; the old thing was of but little value; she was old and worn-out. To all this young master made no other reply than a fixed look from his meek eyes—a look which the doctor could not understand; for the idea of sympathy with or pity for a slave would have struck him as being a thing existing only in the bosom of a fanatical abolitionist, whose conviction would not permit him to cross the line of Mason and Dixon. Ah! little knew he (the coarse doctor) what a large heart full of human charities had grown within; nay, was indigenous to this south-western latitude. I believe, yes have reason to know, that the pure sentiment of abolition is one that is near and dear to the heart of many a Kentuckian; even those who are themselves the hereditary holders of slaves are, in many instances, the most opposed to the system. This sentiment is, perhaps, more largely developed in, and more openly expressed by, the females of the State; and this is accounted for from the fact that to be suspected of abolition tendencies is at once the plague-mark whereby a man is ever after considered unfit for public trust or political honor. It is the great question, the strong conservative element of society. To some extent it likewise taboos, in social circles, the woman who openly expresses such sentiments; though as she has no popular interests to stake, in many cases her voice will be on the side of right, not might.
In later years I remember to have overheard a colloquy between a lady and gentleman (both slaveholders) in Kentucky. The gentleman had vast possessions, about one-third of which consisted of slaves. The lady's entire wealth was in six negroes, some of them under the age of ten. They were hired out at the highest market prices, and by the proceeds she was supported. She had been raised in a strongly conservative community; nay, her own family were (to use a Kentuckyism) the"pick and choose" of the pro-slavery party. Some of them had been considered the able vindicators of the "system;" yet she, despite the force of education and the influence of domestic training, had broken away from old trammels and leash-strings, and was, both in thought and expression, a bold, ingrain abolitionist. She defied the lions in their chosen dens. On the occasion of this conversation, I heard her say that she could not remain happy whilst she detained in bondage those creatures who could claim, under the Constitution, alike with her, their freedom; and so soon as she attained her majority, she intended to liberate them. "But," said she—and I shall never forget the mournful look of her dark eye—"the statute of the State will not allow them to remain here ten days after liberation; and one of these men has a wife (to whom he is much attached), who is a slave to a master that will neither free her nor sell her. Now, this poor captive husband would rather remain in slavery to me, than be parted from his wife; and here is the point upon which I always stand. I wish to be humane and just to him; and yet rid myself from the horrid crime to which, from the accident of inheritance, I have become accessory." The gentleman, who seemed touched by the heroism of the girl, was beguiled into a candid acknowledgment of his own sentiments; and freely declared to her that, if it were not for his political aspirations, he would openly free every slave he owned, and relieve his conscience from the weight of the "perilous stuff" that so oppressed it. "But," said he, "were I to do it in Kentucky, I should be politically dead. It would, besides, strike a blow at my legal practice, and then what could I do? 'Othello's occupation would be gone.' Of what avail, then, would be my 'quiddits, quillets; my cases, tenures and my tricks?' I, who am high in political favor, should live to read my shame. I, who now 'tower in my pride of place, should, by some mousing owl, be hawked at and killed.' No, I must burden my conscience yet a little longer."
The lady, with all a young girl's naïve and beautiful enthusiasm, besought him to disregard popular praise and worldlydistinction. "Seek first," said she, "the kingdom of heaven, and all things else shall be given you;" but the gentleman had grown hard in this world's devious wiles. He preferred throwing off his allegiance to Providence, and, single-handed and alone, making his fate. Talk to me of your thrifty men, your popular characters, and I instantly know that you mean a cringing, parasitical server of the populace; one who sinks soul, spirit and manly independence for the mere garments that cover his perishable body, and to whom the empty plaudits of the unthinking crowd are better music than the thankful prayer of suffering humanity. Let such an one, I say, have his full measure of the "clapping of hands," let him hear it all the while; for he cannot see the frown that darkens the brow of the guardian angel, who, with a sigh, records his guilt. Go on, thou worldly Pharisee, but the daywill come, when the lowly shall be exalted. Trust and wait we longer. Oh, ye who "know the right, and yet the wrong pursue," a fearful reckoning will be yours.
But young master was not of this sort; I felt that his lips were closed from other and higher motives. If it had been of any avail, no matter what the cost to himself, he would have spoken. His soul knew but one sentiment, and that was "love to God and good will to men on earth." And now, as he entered the room where the doctor and the ladies were seated, and listened to their heartless conversation, he planted himself firmly in their midst, saying:
"Sisters, the time has come when Imustspeak. Patiently have I lived beneath this my father's roof, and witnessed, without uttering one word, scenes at which my whole soul revolted; I have heard that which has driven me from your side. On my bare knees, in the gloom of the forest, I have besought God to soften your hearts. I have asked that the dew of mercy might descend upon the hoary head of my father, and that womanly gentleness might visit your obdurate hearts. I have felt that I could give my life up a sacrifice to obtain this; but my unworthy prayers have not yet been answered. In vain, in vain,I have hoped to see a change in you. Are you women or fiends? How can you persecute, to the death, poor, ignorant creatures, whose only fault is a black skin? How can you inhumanly beat those who have no protectors but you? Reverse the case, and take upon yourselves their condition; how would you act? Could you bear silently the constant "wear and tear" of body, the perpetual imprisonment of the soul? Could you surrender yourselves entirely to the keeping of another, and that other your primal foe—one who for ages has had his arm uplifted against your race? Suppose you every day witnessed a board groaning with luxuries (the result of your labor) devoured by your persecutors, whilst you barely got the crumbs; your owners dressed in purple and fine linen, whilst you wore the coarsest material, though all their luxury was the product of your exertion; what think you would be right for you to do? Or suppose I, whilst lingering at the little spring, should be stolen off, gagged and taken to Algiers, kept there in servitude, compelled to the most drudging labor; poorly clad and scantily fed whilst my master lived like a prince; kept in constant terror of the lash; punished severely for every venial offence, and my poor heart more lacerated than my body;—what would you think of me, if a man were to tell me that, with his assistance, I could make my escape to a land of liberty, where my rights would be recognized, and my person safe from violence; I say what would you think, if I were to decline, and to say I preferred to remain with the Algerines?" He paused, but none replied. With eyes wonderingly fixed upon him, the group remained silent.
"You are silent all," he continued, "for conviction, like a swift arrow, has struck your souls. Oh, God!" and he raised his eyes upward, "out of the mouths of babes and sucklings let wisdom, holiness and truth proceed. Touch their flinty hearts, and let the spark of grace be emitted! Oh, sisters, know ye not that this Algerine captivity that I have painted, is but a poor picture of the daily martyrdom which our slaves endure? Look on that old woman, who, by a brutal blow from our father,has been deprived of her reason. Look at that little haggard orphan, Amy, who is the kicked football of you all. Look at the poor men whom we have brutalized and degraded. Think of Lindy, driven by frenzy to brave the passage to an unknown country rather than longer endure what we have put upon her. Gaze, till your eyes are bleared, upon that whipping-post, which rises upon our plantation; it is wet, even now, with the blood that has gushed from innocent flesh. Look at the ill-fed, ill-clothed creatures that live among us; and think they have immortal souls, which we have tried to put out. Oh, ponder well upon these things, and let this poor, wretched girl, who has sallied forth, let her go, I say, to whatever land she wishes, and strive to forget the horrors that haunted her here."
Again he paused, but none of them durst reply. Inspired by their silence, he went on:
"And from you, Miss Bradly, I had expected better things. You were reared in a State where the brutality of the slave system is not tolerated. Your early education, your home influences, were all against it. Why and how can your womanly heart turn away from its true instincts? Is it for you, a Northerner and a woman, to put up your voice in defence of slavery? Oh, shame! triple-dyed shame, should stain your cheeks! Well may my sisters argue for slavery, when you, their teacher, aid and abet them. Could you not have instilled better things into their minds? I know full well that your heart and mind are against slavery; but for the ease of living in our midst, enjoying our bounty, and receiving our money, you will silence your soul and forfeit your principles. Yea, for a salary, you will pander to this horrid crime. Judas, for thirty pieces of silver, sold the Redeemer of the world; but what remorse followed the dastard act! You will yet live to curse the hour of your infamy. You might have done good. Upon the waxen minds of these girls you might have written noble things, but you would not."
I watched Miss Bradly closely whilst he was speaking. She turned white as a sheet. Her countenance bespoke theconvicted woman. Not an eye rested upon her but read the truth. Starting up at length from her chair, Miss Jane shouted out, in a theatrical way,
"Treason! treason in our own household, and from one of our own number! And so, Mr. John, you are the abolitionist that has sown dissension and discontent among our domestics. We have thought you simple; but I discover, sir, you are more knave than fool. Father shall know of this, and take steps to arrest this treason."
"As you please, sister Jane; you can make what report you please, only speak the truth."
At this she flew toward him, and, catching him by the collar, slapped his cheeks severely.
"Right well done," said a clear, manly voice; and, looking up, I saw Mr. Worth standing in the open door. "I have been knocking," said he, "for full five minutes; but I am not surprised that you did not hear me, for the strong speech to which I have listened had force enough to overpower the sound of a thunder-storm."
Miss Jane recoiled a few steps, and the deepest crimson dyed her cheeks. She made great pretensions to refinement, and could not bear, now, that a gentleman (even though an abolitionist) should see her striking her brother. Miss Tildy assumed the look of injured innocence, and smilingly invited Mr. Worth to take a seat.
"Do not be annoyed by what you have seen. Jane is not passionate; but the boy was rude to her, and deserved a reproof."
Without making a reply, but, with his eye fixed on young master, Mr. Worth took the offered seat. Miss Bradly, with her face buried in her hands, moved not; and the doctor sat playing with his half-filled glass of wine; but young master remained standing, his eye flashing strangely, and a bright crimson spot glowing on either cheek. He seemed to take no note of the entrance of Mr. Worth, or in fact any of the group. There he stood, with his golden locks falling over his whitebrow; and calm serenity resting like a sunbeam on his face. Very majestic and imposing was that youthful presence. High determination and everlasting truth were written upon his face. With one look and a murmured "Father forgive them, for they know not what they do," he turned away.
"Stop, stop, my brave boy," cried Mr. Worth, "stop, and let me look upon you. Had the South but one voice, and that one yours, this country would soon be clear of its great dishonor."
To this young master made no spoken reply; but the clear smile that lit his countenance expressed his thanks; and seeing that Mr. Worth was resolved to detain him, he said,
"Let me go, good sir, for now I feel that I need the woods," and soon his figure was gliding along his well-beloved path, in the direction of the spring. Who shall say that solitary communing with Nature unfits the soul for active life? True, indeed, it does unfit it for baseness, sordid dealings, and low detraction, by lifting it from its low condition, and sending it out in a broad excursiveness.
Here, in the case of young master, was a sweet and glowing flower that had blossomed in the wilds, and been nursed by nature only. The country air had fanned into bloom the bud of virtue and the beauty of highest truth.
THE RETURN OF THE HUNTERS FLUSHED WITH SUCCESS—MR. PETERKIN'S VAGARY.
As young Master strode away, Misses Jane and Tildy regarded each other in silent wonder. At length the latter, who caught the cue from her sister, burst forth in a violent laugh, that I can define only by calling it a romping laugh, so full of forced mirth. Miss Jane took up the echo, and the house resounded with their assumed merriment. No one else, however, seemed to take the infection; and they had the fun all to themselves.
"Well, Ann," said Miss Tildy, putting on a quizzical air, "I suppose you have been very much edified by your young master's explosion of philanthropy and good-will toward you darkies."
Too well I knew my position to make an answer; so there I stood, silent and submissive.
"Oh, yes, I suppose this young renegade has delivered abolition lectures in the kitchen hall, to his 'dearly belubed' brederen ob de colored race," added Miss Matilda, intending to be vastly witty.
"I think we had better send him on to an Anti-slavery convention, and give him a seat 'twixt Lucy Stone and Fred Douglas. Wouldn't his white complexion contrast well with that of the sable orator?" and this Miss Jane designed should be exceedingly pungent.
Still no one answered. Mr. Worth's face wore a troubled expression; the doctor still played with his wine-glass; and Miss Bradly's face was buried deeper in her hands.
"Suppose father had been here; what do you think he would have said?" asked Miss Jane.
This, no doubt, recalled Dr. Mandy to the fact that Mr. Peterkin's patronage was well worth retaining, so he must speaknow.
"Oh, your father, Miss Jane, is such a sensible man, that he would consider it only the freak of an imprudent beardless boy."
"Is, then," I asked myself, "all expressed humanity but idle gibberish? Is it only beardless boys who can feel for suffering slaves? Is all noble philanthropy voted vapid by sober, serious, reflecting manhood? If so, farewell hope, and welcome despair!" I looked at Mr. Worth; but his face was rigid, and a snowy pallor overspread his gentle features. He was young, and this was his first visit to Kentucky. In his home at the North he had heard many stories of the manner in which slavery was conducted in the West and South; but the stories, softened by distance, had reached him in a mild form, consequently he was unprepared for what he had witnessed since his arrival in Kentucky. He had, though desiring liberty alike for all, both white and black, looked upon the system as an unjust and oppressive one, but he had no thought that it existed in the atrocious and cruel form which fact, not report, had now revealed to him. His whole soul shuddered and shrivelled at what he saw. He marvelled how the skies could be so blue and beautiful; how the flowers could spring so lavishly, and the rivers roll so majestically, and the stars burn so brightly over a land dyed with such horrible crimes.
"Father will not deal very leniently with this boy's follies; he will teach Johnny that there's more virtue in honoring a father, than in equalizing himself with negroes." Here Miss Jane tossed her head defiantly.
Just then a loud noise was heard from the avenue, and, looking out the window, we descried the hunters returning crowned with exultation, for, alas! poor Lindy had been found, and there, handcuffed, she marched between a guard of Jake onthe one side, and Dan on the other. There were marks of blood on her brow, and her dress was here and there stained. Cool as was the day, great drops of perspiration rolled off her face. With her head bowed low on her breast, she walked on amid the ribald jests of her persecutors.
"Well, we has cotch dis 'ere runaway gal, and de way we did chase her down is nuffen to nobody," said old Nace, who had led the troop. "I tells you it jist takes dis here nigger and his hounds to tree the runaway. I reckons, Miss Lindy, you'll not be fur trying ob it agin."
"No, dat hab fixed her," replied the obsequious Jake. Dan laughed heartily, showing his stout teeth.
"Now, Masser," said Nace, as taking off his remnant of a hat he scraped his foot back, and grinned terribly, "dis ar' nigger, if you pleases, sar, would like to hab a leetle drap ob de critter dat you promise to him."
"Oh, yes, you black rascal, you wants some ob my fust-rate whiskey, does you? Wal, I 'spects, as you treed dat ar' d——d nigger-wench, you desarves a drap or so."
"Why, yes, Masser, you see as how I did do my best for to ketch her, and I is right much tired wid de run. You sees dese old legs is gettin' right stiff; dese jints ain't limber like Jake and Dan's dar, yet I tink, Masser, I did de bestest, an' I ought to hab a leetle drap de most, please, sar."
"Come, 'long, come 'long, boys, arter we stores dis gal away I'll gib you yer dram."
There had stood poor Lindy, never once looking up, crestfallen, broken in heart, and bruised in body, awaiting a painful punishment, scarce hoping to escape with life and limb. Striking her a blow with his huge riding-whip, Mr. Peterkin shouted, "off with you to the lock-up!"
Now, that which was technically termed the "lock-up," was an old, strong building, which had once been used as a smoke-house, but since the erection of a new one, was employed for the very noble purpose of confining negroes. It was a dark, damp place, without a window, and but one low door,through which to enter. In this wretched place, bound and manacled, the poor fugitive was thrust.
"There, you may run off if you ken," said Mr. Peterkin, as he drew the rough door to, and fastened on the padlock with the dignified air of a regularly-installed jailer. "Now, boys, come 'long and git the liquor."
This pleasing announcement seemed to give an additional impetus to the spirits of the servants, and, with many a "ha, ha, ha," they followed their master.
"Well, father," said Miss Jane, whilst she stood beside Mr. Peterkin, who was accurately measuring out a certain quantity of whiskey to the three smiling slaves, who stood holding their tin cups to receive it, "I am glad you succeeded in arresting that audacious runaway. Where did you find her? Who was with her? How did she behave? Oh, tell me all about the adventure; it really does seem funny that such a thing should have occurred in our family; and now that the wretch has been caught, I can afford to laugh at it."
"Wal," answered Mr. Peterkin, as he replaced the cork in the brown jug, and proceeded to lock it up in his private closet, "you does ax the most questions in one breath of any gal I ever seed in all my life. Why, I haint bin in the house five minutes, and you has put more questions to me than a Philadelphy lawyer could answer. 'Pon my soul, Jane, you is a fast 'un."
"Never mind my fastness, father, but tell me what I asked."
"Wal, whar is I to begin? You axed whar Lindy was found? These dogs hunted her to Mr. Farland's barn. Thar they 'gan to smell and snort round and cut up all sorts of capers, and old Nace clumb up to the hay loft, and sung out, in a loud voice, 'Here she am, here she am.' Then I hearn a mighty scrambling and shufflin' up dar, so I jist springed up arter Nace, and thar was the gal, actually fightin' with Nace, who wanted to fetch her right down to the ground whar we was a waitin'. I tells you, now, one right good lick from my powder-horn fetched her all right. She soon seen it was nokind of use to be opposin' of us, and so she jist sot down right willin'. I then fetched several good licks, and she knowed how to do, kase, when I seed I had drawed the blood, I didn't kere to beat her any more. So I ordered her to git down outen that ar' loft quicker than she got up. Then we bound her hands, and driv her long through the woods like a bull. I tells you she was mighty-much 'umbled and shamed; every now and thin she'd blubber out a cryin', but my whup soon shot up her howlin'."
"I've a great notion to go," said Jane, "and torment her a little more, the impudent hussy! I wonder if she thinks we will ever take her back to live with us. She has lost a good home, for she shall not come here any more. I want you to sell her, father, and at the highest price, to a regular trader."
"That will I do, and there is a trader in this very neighborhood now. I'll ride over this arternoon and make 'rangements with him fur her sale. But come, Jane, I is powerful hungry; can't you git me something to eat?"
"But, father, I have a word to say with you in private, draw near me."
"What ails you now, gals?" he said, as Miss Tildy joined them, with a perplexed expression of countenance. As he drew close to them I heard Miss Jane say, through her clenched teeth, in a hissing tone:
"Old Polly is insane; lost her reason from that blow which you gave her. Do you think they could indict you?"
"Who, in the name of h—l, can say that I struck her? Who saw it? No, I'd like fur to see the white man that would dar present Jeems Peterkin afore the Grand Jury, and a nigger darn't think of sich a thing, kase as how thar testimony ain't no count."
"Then we are safe," both of the ladies simultaneously cried.
"But whar is that d——d old hussy? She ain't crazy, only 'possuming so as to shuffle outen the work. Let me git to her once, and I'll be bound she will step as smart as ever. Oneshake of the old cowhide will make her jump and talk as sensible as iver she did."
"'Tisn't worth while, father, going near her. I tell you, Doctor Mandy says she is a confirmed lunatic."
"I tells yer I knows her constitution better 'an any of yer, doctors, and all; and this here cowhide is allers the best medicine fur niggers; they ain't like the white folks, no how nor ways."
So saying he, followed by his daughters, went to the cabin where poor Aunt Polly was sitting, in all the touching simplicity of second childhood, playing with some bits of ribbon, bright-colored calico, and flashy artificial flowers. Looking up with a vacant stare at the group she spoke not, but, slowly shaking her head in an imbecile way, murmured:
"These are putty, but yer mustn't take 'em frum me; dese am all dat dis ole nigger hab got, dese here am fadder, mudder, hustbund, an chile. Lit me keep 'em."
"You old fool, what's you 'bout, gwine on at this here rate? Don't you know I is yer master, and will beat the very life outen yer, if yer don't git up right at once?"
"Now who is yer? Sure now, an' dis old nigger doesn't know yer. Yer is a great big man, dat looks so cross and bad at me. I wish yer would go on 'bout yer own bisness, and be a lettin' me 'lone. I ain't a troublin' of yer, no way."
"You ain't, arnt yer, you old fool? but I'll give yer a drap of medicine that'll take the craze outen yer, and make yer know who yer master is. How does you like that, and this, and this?" and, suiting the action to the word, he dealt her blow after blow, in the most ferocious manner. Her shoulders were covered with blood that gushed from the torn flesh. A low howl (it could only be called a howl) burst from her throat, and flinging up her withered hands, she cried, "Oh, good Lord Jesus, come and help thy poor old servant, now in dis her sore time ob trouble."
"The Lord Jesus won't hear sich old nigger wretches as you," said Mr. Peterkin.
"Oh, yes, de Lord Jesus will. He 'peared to me but a leetle bit ago, and he was all dressed in white, wid a gold crown upon His head, and His face war far and putty like young Masser's, only it seemed to be heap brighter, and he smiled at dis poor old sufferin' nigger; and den 'peared like a low, little voice 'way down to de bottom ob my heart say, Polly, be ob good cheer, de Lord Jesus is comin' to take you home. He no care weder yer skin is white or black. He is gwine fur to make yer happy in de next world. Oh, den me feel so good, me no more care for anything."
"All of this is a crazy fancy," said Dr. Mandy, who stepped into the cabin; but taking hold of Polly's wrist, and holding his fingers over her pulse, his countenance changed. "She has excessive fever, and a strong flow of blood to the brain. She cannot live long. Put her instantly to bed, and let me apply leeches."
"Do yer charge extry for leeching, doctor?" asked Mr. Peterkin.
"Oh, yes, sir, but it is not much consideration, as you are one of my best customers."
"I don't want to run any useless expense 'bout the old 'oman. You see she has served my family a good many years."
"And you are for that reason much attached to her," interposed the doctor.
"Not a bit of it, sir. I never was 'tached to a nigger. Even when I was a lad I had no fancy fur 'em, not even yer bright yallow wenches; and I ain't gwine fur to spend money on that old nigger, unless you cure her, and make her able to work and pay fur the money that's bin laid out fur her."
"I can't promise to do that; neither am I certain that the leeches will do her any material good, but they will assuredly serve to mitigate her sufferings, by decreasing the fever, which now rages so high."
"I don' care a cuss for that. Taint no use then of trying the leeches. If she be gwine to die, why let her do it in the cheapest way."
Saying this, he went off with the young ladies, the doctor following in the wake. As he was passing through the door-way, I caught him by the skirts of his coat. Turning suddenly round, he saw who it was, and drew within the cabin.
"Doctor," and I spoke with great timidity, "is she so ill? Will she, must she die? Please try the leeches. Here," and I drew from an old hiding-place in the wall the blessed half-dollar which Master Eddy had given me as a keepsake. For years it had lain silently there, treasured more fondly than Egyptian amulet or Orient gem. On some rare holiday I had drawn it from its concealment to gloat over it with all a miser's pride. I did not value it for the simple worth of the coin, for I had sense enough to know that its actual value was but slight; yet what a wealth of memories it called up! It broughtbackthe times whenI had a mother; when, as a happy, careless child (though a slave), I wandered through the wild greenwood; where I ranged free as a bird, ere the burden of a blow had been laid upon my shoulders; and when my young master and mistress sometimes bestowed kind words upon me. The fair locks and mild eyes of the latter gleamed upon me with dream-like beauty. The kind, tearful face of Master Eddy, his gentle words on that last most dreadful day that bounded and closed the last chapter of happy childhood—all these things were recalled by the sight of this simple little half-dollar! And now I was going to part with it. What a struggle it was! I couldn't do it. No, I couldn't do it. It was the onesilverlink between me and remembered joy. To part with it would be to wipe out thebrightdays of my life. It would be sacrilege, in justice, a wrong; no, I replaced it in the old faded rag (in which it had been wrapped for years), and closed my hand convulsively over it. There stood the doctor! He had caught sight of the gleaming coin, and (small as it was) his cupidity was excited, and when he saw my hand closed over the shining treasure, the smile fled from his face, and he said: