"It's a bargain, then. They is yourn;" and no doubt Mr. Peterkin thought he had a good bargain, or he never would have chewed his tobacco in that peculiarly self-satisfied manner.
"Stand aside, then," said the trader, pushing his new purchases, as if they were a bundle of dry goods. Running up to Amy, they began to hold to her skirts and tremble violently, scarcely knowing what the words of Tompkins implied.
"Dey ain't sold?" asked Amy, turning first from one to the other; yet no one answered. Mr. Peterkin and Tompkins were too busy with their trade, and the negroes too much absorbed in their own fate, to attend to her. For my part I had not strength to confirm her half-formed doubt. There she stood, gathering them to her side with a motherly love.
"What will you give fur this one?" and Mr. Peterkin pointed to Ginsy, who stood with an humble countenance. When called up she made a low courtesy, and went through the examination. Name and age were given; a fair price was offered for her and her child, and was accepted.
"Take this boy for a hundred dollars," said Mr. Peterkin, as he jerked Ben from the arms of the half-petrified Amy.
"Wal, he isn't much 'count; but, rather then seem contrary, I'll give that fur him."
And thus the trade was closed. Human beings were disposed of with as little feeling as if they had been wild animals.
"I'm sorry you won't, young Miss, let me have that maid of yourn; but I'll be 'long next fall, and, fur a good price, I 'spect you'll be willin' to trade. I wants that yallow wench," and he clicked his fingers at me.
"Say, Peterkin, ken you lend me a wagen to take 'em over to my pen?"
"Oh, yes; and Nace can drive 'em over."
Conscious of having got a good price, Mr. Peterkin was in a capital humor.
"Come, go with me, Peterkin, and we'll draw up the papers, and I'll pay you your money."
This was an agreeable sound to master. He ordered Nace to bring out the wagon, and the order was hardly given before it was obeyed. Dismal looked that red wagon, the same which years before had carried me away from the insensible form of my broken-hearted mother. It appeared more dark and dreary, to me, than a coffin or hearse.
"Say, Peterkin, don't let 'em take many close; jist a change. It tires 'em too much if they have big bundles to carry."
"They shan't be troubled with that."
"Now, niggers, git your bundles and come 'long," said master.
"Oh," cried Lindy, "can I git to see young master before I start? I wants to thank him for de comfort he gib me last night," and she wiped the tears from her eyes, and was starting toward the door of the house, when Miss Jane intercepted her.
"No, you runaway hussy, you shan't go in to disturb him, and have a scene here."
"Please, Miss Jane, I only wants to say good-bye."
"You shan't do it."
Mournfully, and with the tears streaming far down her cheeks, she turned to me, saying, "Please, you, Ann, tell him good-bye fur me, and good-bye to you. I hope you will forgive me for all de harm I has done to you."
I took her hand, but could not speak a word. Silently I pressed it.
"Whar's your close, gal?" asked Tompkins.
"I'm gwine to git 'em."
"Well, be in a hurry 'bout it."
She went off to gather up a few articles, scarcely sufficient to cover her; for we were barely allowed a change of clothing, and that not very decent.
Ginsy, leading her child with one hand, while she held in the other a small bundle, walked up to Miss Jane, and dropping a low courtesy, said,
"Farewell, Miss Jane; can I see Miss Tildy and young master?"
"No, John is sick, and Tildy can't be troubled just now."
"Yes, ma'm; please tell 'em good-bye fur me; and I hopes young Masser will soon be well agin. I'd like to see him afore I went, but I don't want to 'sturb him."
"Well, that will do, go on now."
"Tell young Masser good-bye," Ginsy said, addressing her child.
"Good-bye," repeated Miss Jane very carelessly, scarcely looking toward them, and they moved away, and shaking hands with the servants, they marched on to the wagon.
All this time Amy had remained like one transfixed; little Ben held one of her hands, whilst Janey and Luce grasped her skirts firmly. These children had no clothes, for, as they performed no regular labor, they were not allowed a change of apparel. On a Saturday night, whilst they slept, Amy washed out the articles which they had worn during the week; and now, poor things, they had no bundles to be made up.
"Come 'long wid yer, young ones," and Tompkins took Ben by the hand; but he stoutly refused to go, crying out:
"Go 'way, and let me 'lone."
"Come on, I'll give you a lump of sugar."
"I won't, I won't."
All of them held tightly to Amy, whose vacant face was so stony in its deep despair, that it struck terror to my soul.
"No more fuss," said Mr. Peterkin, and he raised his large whip to strike the screaming Ben a blow; but that motherly instinct that had taught Amy to protect them thus long, was not now dead, and upon her outstretched arm the blow descended. A great, fearful gash was made, from which the fresh blood streamed rapidly; but she minded it not. What, to that lightning-burnt soul, were the wounds of the body? Nothing, aye nothing!
"Oh, don't mark 'em, Peterkin, it will spile the sale," said Tompkins.
"Come 'long now, niggers, I has no more time to wait;" and, with a strong wrench, he broke Ben's arms loose from Amy's form, and, holding him firmly, despite his piteous cries, he ordered Jake to bring the other two also. This order was executed, and quickly Luce and Janey were in the grasp of Jake, and borne shrieking to the cart, in which all three of them were bound and laid.
Speechless, stony, petrified, stood Amy. At length, as if gifted with a supernatural energy, she leaped forward, as the cart drove off, and fell across the path, almost under the feet of the advancing horses. But not yet for thee, poor suffering child, will come the Angel of Death! It has been decreed that you shall endure and wait a while longer.
By an adroit check upon the rein, Nace stopped the wagon suddenly, and Jake, who was standing near by, lifted Amy up.
"Take her to the house, and see that she does herself no harm," said Mr. Peterkin.
"Yes, Masser, I will," was the reply of the obsequious Jake.
And so the cart drove on. I shall never forget the sight!Those poor, down-cast creatures, tied hand and foot, were conveyed they knew not whither. The shrieks and screams of those children ring now in my ears. Oh, doleful, most doleful! Why came there no swift execution of that Divine threat, "Whoso causeth harm to one of these little ones, it were better for him that a mill-stone were hung about his neck and that he were drowned in the sea."
TOUCHING FAREWELL FULL OF PATHOS—THE PARTING—MY GRIEF.
The half insensible form of Amy was borne by Jake into the cabin, and laid upon the cot which had been Aunt Polly's. He then closed and secured the door after him.
Where, all this time, was Miss Bradly? She, in her terror, had buried her head upon the bed, on which young master still slept. She tried to drown the sound of those frantic cries that reached her, despite the closed door and barred shutter. Oh, did they not reach the ear of Almighty love?
"Well, I am glad," exclaimed Miss Tildy, "that it is all over. Somehow, Jane, I did not like the sound of those young children's cries. Might it not have been well to let Amy go too?"
"No, of course not. Now that Lindy has been sold, we need a house-girl, and Amy may be made a very good one; besides, she enraged me so by attempting to spoil the sale of Ben."
"Did she do that? Oh, well, I have no pity for her."
"It would be something very new, Till, for you to pity a nigger."
"So it would—yet I was weak enough to feel badly when I heard the children scream."
"Oh, you are only nervous."
"I believe I am, and think I will take some medicine."
"Take medicine," to stifle human pity!
"What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug would scour" the slaveholder's nature of harshness and brutality? Couldthis be found, "I would applaud to the very echo, that should applaud again;" but, alas! there is no remedy for it. Education has taught many of them to guard their "beloved institution" with a sort of patriotic fervor and religious zeal.
When master returned that evening, he was elated to a wonderful degree. Tompkins had paid him a large sum in ready cash, and this put him in a good humor with himself and everybody else. He almost felt kindly toward the negroes. But I looked upon him with more than my usual horror. That great, bloated face, blazing now with joy and the effect of strong drink, was revolting to me. Every expression of delight from his lips brought to my mind the horrid troubles he had caused by the simple exercise of his tyrannic will upon helpless women and children. The humble appearance of Ginsy, the touching innocence of her child, the unnoticed silent grief of Lindy, the fearful, heart-rending distraction of Amy, the agony of her helpless sisters and brother, all rose to my mind when I heard Mr. Peterkin's mirthful laugh ringing through the house.
Late in the evening young master roused up. The effect of the somnolent draught had died out, and he woke in full possession of his faculties. Miss Bradly and I were with him when he woke. Raising himself quickly in the bed, he asked,
"What hour is it?"
"About half-past six," said Miss Bradly.
"So late? Then am I afraid that all is over! Where is Lindy?"
"Try and rest a little more; then we can talk!"
"No, I must knownow."
"Wait a while longer."
"Tell me instantly," he said with a nervous impatience very unusual to him.
"Drink this, and I will then talk to you," said Miss Bradly, as she held a cordial to his lips.
Obediently he swallowed it, and, as he returned the glass, he asked,
"How has this wretched matter terminated? What has become of that unfortunate girl?"
"She has been sold."
"To the trader?"
"Yes, but don't talk about it; perhaps she is better off than we think."
"Is it wise for us thus to silence our sympathies?"
"Yes, it is, when we are powerless to act."
"But have we not, each of us, an influence?"
"Yes, but in such a dubious way, that in cases like the present, we had better not openly manifest it."
"Offensive we should never be; but surely we ought to assume a defensive position."
"Yes, but you must not excite yourself."
"Don't think of me. Already I fear I am too self-indulged. Too much time I have wasted in inaction."
"What could you have done? And now what can you do?"
"That is the very question that agitates me. Oh, that I knew my mission, and had the power to fulfil it!"
"Who of the others are sold?" he asked, turning to me.
"Amy's sisters and brother," and I could not avoid tears.
"Amy, too?"
"No, sir."
"Oh, God, this is too bad! and is she not half-distracted?"
I made no reply, for an admonitory look from Miss Bradly warned me to be careful as to what I said.
"Where is father?"
"In his chamber."
"Ann, go tell him I wish to speak with him."
Before obeying I looked toward Miss Bradly, and, finding nothing adverse in her expression, I went to do as he bade.
"Is he any worse?" master asked, when I had delivered the message.
"No, sir; he does not appear to be worse, yet I think he is very feeble."
"What right has you to think anything 'bout it?" he said, ashe took from the mantle a large, black bottle and drank from it.
I made no reply, but followed him into young master's room, and pretended to busy myself about some trifling matter.
"What is it you want, Johnny?"
"Father, you have done a wicked thing!"
"What do you mean, boy?"
"You have sold Amy's sisters and brothers away from her."
"And what's wicked in selling a nigger?"
"Hasn't a negro human feeling?"
"Why, they don't feel like white people; of course not."
"That must be proved, father."
"Oh, now, my boy, 'taint no use for yer to be wastin' of yer good feelin's on them miserable, ongrateful niggers."
"They are not ungrateful; miserable they are, for they have had much misery imposed upon them."
"Oh, 'taint no use of talking 'bout it, child, go to sleep."
"Yes, father, I shall soon sleep soundly enough, in our graveyard."
Mr. Peterkin moved nervously in his chair, and young master continued,
"I do not wish to live longer. I can do no good here, and the sight of so much misery only makes me more wretched. Father, draw close to me, I have lost a great deal of blood. My chest and throat are very sore. I feel that the tide of life ebbs low. I am going fast. My little hour upon earth is almost spent. Ere long, the great mystery of existence will be known to me. A cold shadow, with death-dews on its form, hovers round me. I know, by many signs unknown to others, that death is now upon me. This difficult and labored speech, this failing breath and filmy eye, these heavy night-sweats—all tell me that the golden bowl is about to be broken: the silver cord is tightened to its utmost tension. I am young, father; I have forborne to speak to you upon a subject that has lain near, near, very near my heart." A violent paroxysm of coughing here interrupted him. Instantly Miss Bradly was beside himwith a cordial, which he drank mechanically. "There," he continued, as he poised himself upon his elbow, "there, good Miss Emily, cordials are of no avail. I do not wish to stay. Father, do you not want me to rest quietly in my grave?"
"I don't want you to go to the grave at all, my boy, my boy," and Mr. Peterkin burst into tears.
"Yes, but, father, I am going there fast, and no human power can stay me. I shall be happy and resigned, if I can elicit from you one promise."
"What promise is that?"
"Liberate your slaves."
"Never!"
"Look at me, father."
"Good God!" cried Mr. Peterkin, as his eye met the calm, clear, fixed gaze of his son, "where did you get that look? heaven and h—l! it will kill me;" and, rushing from the room, he sought his own apartment, where he drank long and deeply from the black bottle that graced his mantel-shelf. This was his drop of comfort. Always after lashing a negro, he drank plentifully, as if to drown his conscience. Alas! many another man has sought relief from memory by such libations! Yet these are the voters, the noblesse, the lords so superior to the lowly African. These are the men who vote for a perpetuation of our captivity. Can we hope for a mitigation of our wrongs when such men are our sovereigns? Cool, clear-visioned men are few, noble philanthropic ones are fewer. What then have we to hope for? Our interests are at war with old established usages. The prejudices of society are against us. The pride of the many is adverse to us. All this we have to fight against; and strong must be the moral force that can overcome it.
Mr. Peterkin did not venture in young master's room for several hours after; and not without having been sent for repeatedly. Meanwhile I sought Amy, and found her lying on the floor of the cabin, with her face downwards. She did not move when I entered, nor did she answer me when Ispoke. I lifted her up, but the hard, stony expression of her face, frightened me.
"Amy, I will be your friend."
"I don't want any friend."
"Yes you do, you like me."
"No I don't, I doesn't like anybody."
"Amy, God loves you."
"I doesn't love Him."
"Don't talk that way, child."
"Well, you go off, and let me 'lone."
"I wish to comfort you."
"I doesn't want no comfort."
"Come," said I, "talk freely to me. It will do you good."
"I tells you I doesn't want no good for to happen to me. I'd rather be like I is."
"Amy," and it was with reluctance I ventured to allude to a subject so painful; but I deemed it necessary to excite her painfully rather than leave her in that granite-like despair, "you may yet have your sisters and little brother restored to you."
"How? how? and when?" she screamed with joy, and started up, her wild eyes beaming with exultation.
"Don't be so wild," I said, softly, as I took her little, hard hand, and pressed it tenderly.
"But, say, Ann, ken I iver git de chilen back? Has Masser said anything 'bout it? Oh, it 'pears like too much joy fur me to iver know any more. Poor little Ben, it 'pears like I kan't do nothin' but hear him cry. And maybe dey is a beatin' of him now. Oh, Lor' a marcy! what shill I do?" and she rocked her body back and forward in a transport of grief.
There are some sorrows for which human sympathy is unavailing. What to that broken heart were words of condolence? Did she care to know that others felt for her? that another heart wept for her grief? No, like Rachel of old, she would not be comforted.
"Oh, Ann!" she added, "please leave me by myself. It 'pears like I kan't get my breath when anybody is by me. I wants to be by myself. Jist let me 'lone for a little while, then I'll talk to you."
I understood the feeling, and complied with her request.
The slave is so distrustful of sympathy, he is so accustomed to deception, that he feels secure in the indulgence of his grief only when he is alone. The petted white, who has friends to cluster round him in the hour of affliction, cannot understand the loneliness and solitude which the slave covets as a boon.
For several days young master lingered on, declining visibly. The hectic flush deepened upon his cheek, and the glitter of his eye grew fearfully bright, and there was that sharp contraction of his features that denoted the certain approach of death. His cough became low and even harder, and those dreadful night-sweats increased. He lay in a stupid state, half insensible from the effects of sedatives. Dr. Mandy, who visited him three times a day, did not conceal from Mr. Peterkin the fact of his son's near dissolution.
"Save his life, doctor, and you shall have all I own."
"If my art could do it, sir, I would, without fee, exert myself for his restoration."
Yet for a poor old negro his art could do nothing unfeed. Do ye wonder that we are goaded on to acts of desperation, when every day, nay, every moment, brings to our eyes some injustice that is done us—and all because our faces are dark?
"Mislike us not for our complexion,The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun,To whom we are as neighbors, and near bred;Bring us the fairest creature Northward born,Where Phœbus' fire scarce thaws the icicles,And let us make incision for your loveTo prove whose blood is reddest, his or ours."
"Mislike us not for our complexion,The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun,To whom we are as neighbors, and near bred;Bring us the fairest creature Northward born,Where Phœbus' fire scarce thaws the icicles,And let us make incision for your loveTo prove whose blood is reddest, his or ours."
"Mislike us not for our complexion,The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun,To whom we are as neighbors, and near bred;Bring us the fairest creature Northward born,Where Phœbus' fire scarce thaws the icicles,And let us make incision for your loveTo prove whose blood is reddest, his or ours."
"Mislike us not for our complexion,
The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun,
To whom we are as neighbors, and near bred;
Bring us the fairest creature Northward born,
Where Phœbus' fire scarce thaws the icicles,
And let us make incision for your love
To prove whose blood is reddest, his or ours."
During young master's illness I had but little communication with Amy. By Miss Jane's order she had been brought intothe house to assist in the dining-room. I gave her all the instruction in my power. She appeared to listen to me, and learned well; yet everything was done with that vacant, unmeaning manner, that showed she felt no interest in what she was doing. I had never heard her allude to "the children" since the conversation just recorded. Indeed, she appeared to eschew all talk. At night I had attempted to draw her into conversation, but she always silenced me by saying,
"I'm tired, Ann, and wants to sleep."
This was singular in one so young, who had been reared in such a reckless manner. I should have been better satisfied if she had talked more freely of her sorrows; that stony, silent agony that seemed frozen upon her face, terrified me more than the most volcanic grief; that sorrow is deeply-rooted and hopeless, that denies itself the relief of speech. Heaven help the soul thus cut off from the usual sources of comfort. Oh, young Miss, spoiled daughter of wealth, you whose earliest breath opened to the splendors of home in its most luxurious form; you who have early and long known the watchful blessing of maternal love, and whose soft cheek has flushed to the praises of a proud and happy father, whose lip has thrilled beneath the pressure of a brother's kiss; you who have slept upon the sunny slope of life, have strayed 'mid the flowers, and reposed beneath the myrtles, and beside the fountains, where fairy fingers have garlanded flowers for your brow, oh, bethink you of some poor little negro girl, whom you often meet in your daily walks, whose sad face and dejected air you have often condemned as sullen, and I ask you now, in the name of sweet humanity, to judge her kindly. Look, with a pitying eye, upon that face which trouble has soured and abuse contracted. Repress the harsh word; give her kindness; 'tis this that she longs for. Be you the giver of the cup of cold water in His name.
A CONVERSATION—HOPE BLOSSOMS OUT, BUT CHARLESTOWN IS FULL OF EXCITABILITY.
One evening, during young master's illness, when he was able to sit up beside the fire, Dr. Mandy came to see him, and, as I sat in his room, sewing on some fancy work for Miss Jane, I heard the conversation that passed between them.
"Have you coughed much?" the doctor asked.
"A great deal last night."
"Do the night-sweats continue?"
"Yes, sir, and are violent."
"Let me feel your pulse. Here—it is very quick—face is flushed—high fever."
"Yes, doctor, I am sinking fast."
"Oh, keep up your spirits. I have been thinking that the best thing for you would be to take a trip to Havana. This climate is too variable for your complaint."
Young master shook his head mournfully.
"The change of scene," the doctor went on, "would be of service to you. A healthful excitement of the imagination, and a different train of thought, would, undoubtedly, benefit you."
"What in the South could induce a different train of thought? Oh, doctor, the horrid system, that there flourishes with such rank power, would only deepen my train of thought, and make me more wretched than I am; I would not go near New Orleans, or pass those dreadful plantations, even to secure the precious boon of health."
"You will not see anything of the kind. You will only see life at hotels; and there the slaves are all happy and well used. Besides, my good boy, the negroes on the plantations are much better used than you think; and I assure you they are veryhappy. If you could overhear them laughing and singing of an evening, you would be convinced that they are well cared for."
"Ah, disguise thee as thou wilt, yet, Slavery, thou art horrid and revolting."
"You are morbid on the subject."
"No, only humane; but have I not seen enough to make me morbid?"
"These are subjects upon which I deem it best to say nothing."
"That is the invariable argument of self-interest."
"No, of prudence, Mr. John; I have no right to quarrel with and rail out against an institution that has the sanction of the law, and which is acceptable to the interests of my best friends and patrons."
"Exactly so; the whole matter, so vital to the happiness of others, so fraught with great humanitarian interests, must be quietly laid on the shelf, because it may lose you or me a few hundred dollars."
"Not precisely that either; but, granting, for the sake of hypothesis only, that slavery is a wrong, what good would all my arguments do? None, but rather an injury to the very cause they sought to benefit. You must not exasperate the slave-holders. Leave them to time and their own reflections. I believe many of the Western States—yes, Kentucky herself—would at this moment be free from slavery, if it had not been for the officious interference of the North. The people of the West and South are hot, fiery and impetuous. They may be persuaded and coaxed into a measure, but never driven. All this talk and gasconade of Abolitionists have but the tighter bound the negroes."
"I am sorry to hear you thus express yourself, for you give me a more contemptible opinion of the Southern and Western men, or rather the slave-holding class, than I had before. And so they are but children, who must be coaxed, begged, and be-sugar-plumed into doing a simple act of justice. Have theynot the manhood to come out boldly, and say this thing is wrong, and that they will no longer countenance it in their midst; that they will, for the sake of justice and sympathy with humanity, liberate these creatures, whom they have held in an unjust and wicked bondage? Were they to act thus, then might they claim for themselves the title of chevaliers."
"Yes; but they take a different view of the subject; they look upon slavery as just and right—a dispensation of Providence, and feel that they are as much entitled to their slaves as another man is to his house, carriage, or horse."
"Oh, how they shut their hearts against the voice of misery, and close their eyes to the rueful sigh of human grief. I never heard a pro-slavery man who could, upon any reasonable ground, defend his position. The slavery argument is not only a wicked, but an absurd one. How wise men can be deluded by it I am at a loss to understand. Infatuated they must be, else they could not uphold a system as tyrannous as it is base."
"Well, we will say no more upon this subject," said the doctor, as Mr. Peterkin entered.
"What's the matter?" the latter inquired, as he listlessly threw himself into a chair.
"Nothing, only Mr. John is not all right on the 'goose,'" replied Dr. Mandy, with a facetious smile.
"And not likely to be," said Mr. Peterkin; "Johnny has given me a great deal of trouble 'bout this matter; but I hope he will outgrow it. 'Tis only a foolish notion. He was 'lowed to gad 'bout too much with them ar' devilish niggers, an' so 'bibed their quare ideas agin slavery. Now, in my 'pinion, my niggers is a darned sight better off than many of them poor whites at the North."
"But are they as free?" asked young master.
"No, to be sure they is not," and here Mr. Peterkin ejected from his mouth an amount of tobacco-juice that nearly extinguished the fire.
"Woe be unto the man who takes from a fellow-being thepriceless right of personal liberty!" exclaimed young master, with his fine eyes fervently raised.
"Yes, but everybody don't desarve liberty. Niggers ain't fit for to govern 'emselves nohow. They has bin too long 'customed to havin' masters. Them that's went to Libery has bin of no 'count to 'emselves nor nobody else. I tell yer, niggers was made to be slaves, and yer kan't change their Creator's design. Why, you see, doctor, a nigger's mind is never half as good as a white man's;" and Mr. Peterkin conceived this speech to be the very best extract of lore and sapience.
"Why is not the African mind equal to the Caucasian?" inquired young master, with that pointed naivete for which he was so remarkable.
"Oh, it tain't no use, Johnny, fur you to be talkin' that ar' way. It's all fine enoff in newspapers, but it won't do to bring it into practice, 'specially out here in the West."
"No, father, I begin to fear that it is of no avail to talk common sense and preach humanity in a community like this."
"Don't talk any more on this subject," said the doctor; "I am afraid it does Mr. John no particular good to be so painfully excited. I was going to propose to you, Mr. Peterkin, to send him South, either on a little coasting trip, or to HavanaviaNew Orleans. I think this climate is too rigorous and uncertain for one of his frail constitution to remain in it during the winter."
"Well, doctor, I am perfectly willin' fur him to go, if I had anybody to go with him; but you see it wouldn't be safe to trust him by himself. Now an idee has jist struck me, which, if you'll agree to, will 'zackly suit me. 'Tis for you to go 'long; then he'd have a doctor to rinder him any sarvice he might need. Now Doct. if you'll go, I'll foot the bill, and pay you a good bonus in the bargain."
"Well, it will be a great professional sacrifice; but I'm willing to make it for a friend like you, and for a patient in whose recovery or improvement I feel so deeply interested."
"Make no sacrifices for me, dear doctor; my poor wreck of life is not worth a sacrifice; I can weather it out a little longerin this region. It requires a stronger air than that of the tropics to restore strength to my poor decayed lungs."
"Yes, but you must not despond," said the doctor.
"No, my boy, you musn't give up. You are too young to die. You are my only son, and I can't spare you." Again Mr. Peterkin turned uneasily in his chair.
"But tell me, doctor," he added, "don't you think he is growin' stronger?"
"Why, yes I do; and if he will consent to go South, I shall have strong hope of him."
"He must consent," exclaimed Mr. Peterkin, with a decided emphasis.
"You know my objection, doctor, yet I cannot oppose my wish against father's judgment; so I will go, but 'twill be without the least expectation of ever again seeing home."
"Oh, don't, don't, my boy," and Mr. Peterkin's voice faltered, and his eyes were very moist.
"Idols of clay!" I thought, "how frail ye are; albeit ye are manufactured out of humanity's finest porcelain, yet a rude touch, a slight jar, and the beautiful fabric is destroyed forever!"
Mr. Peterkin's treasure, his only son, was wasting slowly, inch by inch, before his eyes—dying with slow and silent certainty. The virus was in his blood, and no human aid could check its strides. The father looked on in speechless dread. He saw the insidious marks of the incurable malady. He read its ravages upon the broad white brow of his son, where the pulsing veins lay like tightly-drawn cords; and on the hueless lip, that was shrivelled like an autumn leaf; in the dilated pupil of that prophet-like eye; in the fiery spot that blazed upon each hollow cheek; and in the short, disturbed breathing that seemed to come from a brazen tube; in all these he traced the omens of that stealthy disease that robs us, like a thief in the night-time, of our richest treasures.
"Well, my boy," began Mr. Peterkin, "you must prepare to start in the course of a few days."
"I am ready to leave at any moment, father; and, if we donot start very soon, I am thinking you will have to consign me to the earth, rather than send me on a voyage pleasure-hunting."
A bright smile, though mournful as twilight's shadows, flitted over the pale face of young master as he said this.
"Why, Johnny, you are better this evening," said Miss Bradly, as she entered the room, rushed up to him, and began patting him affectionately on either cheek.
"Yes, I am better, good Miss Emily; but still feeble, oh so feeble! My spirits are better, but the restless fire that burns eternally here will give me no rest," and he placed his hand over his breast.
"Yes, but you must quench that fire."
"Where is the draught clear and pure enough to quench a flame so consuming?"
"The dew of divine grace can do it."
"Yes, but it descends not upon my dried and burnt spirit."
Mr. Peterkin turned off, and affected to take no note of this little colloquy, whilst Doctor Mandy began to chew furiously.
The fact is, the Peterkin family had begun to distrust Miss Bradly's principles ever since the day young master administered such a reproof to her muffled conscience; and in truth, I believe she had half-declared her opposition to the slave system; and they began to abate the fervor of their friendship for her. The young ladies, indeed, kept up their friendly intercourse with her, though with a modification of their former warmth.
I fancied that Miss Bradly looked happier, now that she had cast off disguise and stood forth in her true character. That cloud of faltering distrust that once hung round her like a filmy web, had been dissipated and she stood out, in full relief, with the beautiful robe of truth draping and dignifying her nature. Woman, when once she interests herself in the great cause of humanity, goes to work with an ability and ardor that put to shame the colder and slower action of man. The heart and mind co-work, and thus a woman, as if by the dictate of inspiration, will achieve with a single effort the mighty deed, for the attainment of which men spend years in idle planning. Womenhave done much, and may yet achieve more toward the emancipation and enfranchisement of the world. The historic pages glitter with the noble acts of heroic womanhood, and histories yet unwritten will, I believe, proclaim the good which they shall yet do. Who but the Maid of Orleans rescued her country? Whose hand but woman's dealt the merited death-blow to one of France's bloodiest tyrants? In all times, she has been most loyal to the highest good. Woman has ever been brave! She was the instrument of our redemption, and the early watcher at the tomb of our Lord. To her heart the Saviour's doctrine came with a special welcome message. And I now believe that through her agency will yet come the political ransom of the slaves! God grant it, and speed on the blessed day!
I now looked upon Miss Bradly with the admiring interest with which I used to regard her; and though I had never had from her an explanation of the change or changes through which she had passed since that memorable conversation recorded in the earlier pages of this book, I felt assured from the fact that young master had learned to love her, that all was right at the core of her heart; and I was willing to forgive her for the timidity and vacillation that had caused her to play the dissembler. The memorable example of the loving but weak Apostle Peter should teach us to look leniently upon all those who cannot pass safely through the ordeal of human contempt, without having their principles, or at least actions, a little warped. Of course there are higher natures, from whose fortitude the rack and the stake can provoke nothing but smiles; but neither good St. Peter nor Miss Bradly were of such material.
"I am going to leave you very soon, Miss Emily."
"And where are you going, John?"
"They will send me to the South. As the poor slaves say, I'm going down the river;" and a sweet smile flitted over that gentle face.
"Who will accompany you?"
"Father wishes Doctor Mandy to go; but I fear it will be too great a professional sacrifice."
"Oh, some one must go with you. You shall not go alone."
"I do not wish to go at all. I shall see nothing in the South to please me. Those magnificent plantations of rice, sugar, and cotton, those lordly palaces, embowered in orange trees, those queenly magnolia groves, and all the thousand splendors that cover the coast with loveliness, will but recall to my mind the melancholy fact that slave-labor produces the whole. I shall fancy that some poor heart-broken negro man, or some hopeless mother or lonely wife watered those fields with tears. Oh, that the dropping of those sad eyes had, like the sowing of the dragon's teeth, produced a band of armed, bristling warriors, strong enough to conquer all the tyrants and liberate the captives!"
"This can never be accomplished suddenly. It must be the slow and gradual work of years. Like all schemes of reformation, it moves but by inches. Wise legislators have proposed means for the final abolition of slavery; but, though none have been deemed practicable, I look still for the advent of the day when the great sun shall look goldenly down upon the emancipation of this dusky tribe, and when the word slave shall nowhere find expression upon the lips of Christian men."
"When do you predict the advent of that millennial day?"
"I fear it is far distant; yet is it pleasant to think that it will come, no matter at how remote an epoch."
"Distant is it only because men are not thoroughly Christianized. No man that will willingly hold his brother in bondage is a Christian. Moreover, the day is far off in the future, because of the ignorant pride of men. They wish to send the poor negro away to the unknown land from whence his ancestors were stolen. We virtually say to the Africans, now you have cultivated and made beautiful our continent, we have no further use for you. You have grown up, it is true, beneath the shadow of our trees, you were born upon our soil, your early associations are here. Your ignoranceprecludes you from the knowledge of the excellence of any other land: yet for all this we take no care, it is our business to drive you hence. Cross the ocean you must. Find a home in a strange country; lay your broad shoulder to the work, and make for yourself an interest there. What wonder is it, if the poor, ignorant negro shakes his head mournfully, and says: "No, I would rather stay here; I am a slave, it is true, but then I was born here, and here I will be buried. I am tightly kept, have a master and a mistress, but then I know what this is. Hard to endure, I grant it—but then it is known to me. I can bear on a little longer, till death sets me free. No, this is my native shore; here let me stay." Their very ignorance begets a kind of philosophy that
"Makes them rather bear those ills they have,Than fly to others that they know not of."
"Makes them rather bear those ills they have,Than fly to others that they know not of."
"Makes them rather bear those ills they have,Than fly to others that they know not of."
"Makes them rather bear those ills they have,
Than fly to others that they know not of."
Now, why, I ask, have they not as much right to remain here as we have? This is their birthplace as well as ours. We are, likewise, descendants of foreigners. If we drive them hence, what excuse have we for it? Our forefathers were not the aborigines of this country. As well might the native red men say to us: "Fly, leave the Western continent, 'tis our home; we will not let you stay here. You have cultivated it, nowwewill enjoy it. Go and labor elsewhere." What would we think of this? Yet such is our line of conduct toward those poor creatures, who have toiled to adorn our homes. Then again, we allow the Irish, Germans, and Hungarians, to dwell among us. Why ban the African?"
"These, my young friend, are questions that have puzzled the wisest brains."
"If it entered more into the hearts, and disturbed the brains less, it would be better for them and for the slaves."
"Now, come, Miss Emily, I'm tired of hearing you and that boy talk all that nonsense. It's time you were both thinking of something else. You are too old to be indulgin' of him inthat ar' stuff. It will never come to any good. Them ar' niggers is allers gwine to be slaves, and white folks had better be tendin' to what consarns 'emselves."
Such arguments as the foregoing were carried on every day. Meanwhile we, who formed the subject of them, still went on in our usual way, half-fed and half-clad, knocked and kicked like dogs.
Amy went about her assigned work, with the same hard-set composure with which she had begun. Talking little to any one, she tried to discharge her duties with a docility and faithfulness very remarkable. Yet she sternly rebuked all conversation. I made many efforts to draw her out into a free, sociable talk, and was always told that it was not agreeable to her.
I now had no companionship among those of my own color. Aunt Polly was in the grave; Amy wrapped in the silence of her own grief; and Sally (the successor of Aunt Polly in the culinary department) was a sulky, ignorant woman, who did not like to be sociable; and the men, with their beastly instincts, were objects of aversion to me. So my days and nights passed in even deeper gloom than I had ever before known.
THE SUPPER—ITS CONSEQUENCES—LOSS OF SILVER—A LONELY NIGHT—AMY.
The winter was now drawing to a close. The heavy, dreary winter, that had hung like an incubus upon my hours, was fast drawing to an end. Many a little, tuneful bird came chirping with the sunny days of the waning February. Already the sunbeam had begun to give us a hint of the spring-warmth; the ice had melted away, and the moistened roofs of the houses began to smoke with the drying breath of the sun, and little green pods were noticeable upon the dried branches of the forest trees. It was on such a day, when the eye begins to look round upon Nature, and almost expects to solve the wondrous phenomenon of vegetation, that I was engaged arranging Miss Jane's wardrobe. I had just done up some laces for her, and finished off a nice silk morning-dress. She was making extensive preparations for a visit to the city of L. The protracted rigors of the winter and her own fancied ill-health had induced her to postpone the trip until the opening of spring.
It was decided that I should accompany her as lady's maid; and the fact is, I was desirous of any change from the wearying monotony of my life.
Young master had been absent during the whole winter. Frequent letters from Dr. Mandy (who had accompanied him) informed the family of his slowly-improving health; yet the doctor stated in each communication that he was not strong enough to write a letter himself. This alarmed me, for I knew that he must be excessively weak, if he denied himself the gratification of writing to his family. Miss Bradly came tothe house but seldom; and then only to inquire the news from young master. Her principles upon the slavery question had become pretty well known in the neighborhood; so her residence there was not the most pleasant. Inuendoes, of a most insulting character, had been thrown out, highly prejudicial to her situation. Foul slanders were in busy circulation about her, and she began to be a taboed person. So I was not surprised to hear her tell Miss Jane that she thought of returning to the North early in the spring. I had never held any private conversation with her since that memorable one; for now that her principles were known, she was too much marked for a slave to be allowed to speak with her alone. Her sorrowful face struck me with pity. I knew her to be one of that time-serving kind, by whom the loss of caste and social position is regarded as the most fell disaster.
As I turned the key of Miss Jane's wardrobe, she came into the room, with an unusually excited manner, exclaiming,
"Ann, where is your Miss Tildy?"
Upon my answering that I did not know, she bade me go and seek her instantly, and say that she wished to speak with her. As I left the room, I observed Miss Jane draw a letter from the folds of her dress. This was hint enough. My mother-wit told me the rest.
Finding Miss Tildy with a book, in a quiet corner of the parlor, I delivered Miss Jane's message, and withdrew. The contents of Miss Jane's letter soon became known; for it was, to her, of such an exciting nature, that it could not be held in secresy. The letter was from Mr. Summerville, and announced that he would pay her a visit in the course of a few days.
And, for the next "few days," the whole house was in a perfect consternation. All hands were at work. Carpets were taken up, shaken, and put down again with the "clean side" up. Paint was scoured, windows were washed; the spare bedroom was re-arranged, and adjusted in style; the French couch was overspread with Miss Tildy's silk quilt, that had taken the prize at the Agricultural Fair; and fresh bouquets werecollected from the green-house, and placed upon the mantel. Everything looked very nice about the house, and in the kitchen all sorts of culinary preparations had gone on. Cakes, cookies, and confections had been made in abundance. As Amy expressed it, in her quaintly comical way, "Christmas is comin' again." It was the first and only time since the departure of "the children," that I had heard her indulge in any of her old drollery.
At length the "day" arrived, and with it came Mr. Summerville. Whilst he remained with us, everything went off in the way that Miss Jane desired. There were fine dinners, with plenty of wine, roast turkey, curry powder, desserts, &c. The silver and best china had been brought out, and Mr. Peterkin behaved himself as well as he could. He even consented to use a silver fork, which, considering his prejudice against the article, was quite a concession for him to make.
Time sped on (as it always will do), and brought the end of the week, and with it, the end of Mr. Summerville's visit. I thought, from a certain softening of Miss Jane's eye, and from the length of the parting interview, that "matters" had been arranged between her and Mr. Summerville. After the last adieu had been given, and Miss Jane had rubbed her eyes enough with her fine pocket-handkerchief (or, perhaps, in this case, it would be well to employ the suggestion of a modern author, and say her "lachrymal,") I say, after all was over, and Mr. Summerville's interesting form was fairly lost in the distance, Miss Tildy proposed that they should settle down to their usual manner of living. Accordingly, the silver was all rubbed brightly by Amy, whose business it was, then handed over to Miss Tildy to be locked up in the bureau.
For a few weeks matters went on with their usual dullness. Master was still smoking his cob-pipe, kicking negroes, and blaspheming; and Miss Jane making up little articles for the approaching visit to the city. She and Miss Tildy sat a great deal in their own room, talking and speculating upon the coming joys. Passing in and out, I frequently caught fragments ofconversation that let me into many of their secrets. Thus I learned that Miss Jane's chief object in visiting the city was to purchase a bridal trousseau, that Mr. Summerville "had proposed," and, of course, been accepted. He lived in the city; so it was decided that, after the celebration of the nuptial rite, Miss Tildy should accompany the bride to her new home, and remain with her for several weeks.
Sundry little lace caps were manufactured; handkerchiefs embroidered; dresses made and altered; collars cut, and an immence deal of "transfering" was done by the sisters Peterkin.
We, of the "colored population," were stinted even more than formerly; for they deemed it expedient to economize, in order to be the better able to meet the pecuniary exigencies of the marriage. Thus time wore along, heavily enough for the slaves; but doubtless delightful to the white family. The enjoyment of pleasure, like all other prerogatives, they considered as exclusively their own.
Time, in its rugged course, had brought no change to Amy. If her heart had learned to bear its bereavement better, or had grown more tender in its anxious waiting, we knew it not from her word or manner. The same settled, rocky look, the same abstracted air, marked her deportment. Never once had I heard her laugh, or seen her weep. She still avoided conversation, and was assiduous in the discharge of her domestic duties. If she did a piece of work well, and was praised for it, she received the praise with the same indifferent air; or if, as was most frequently the case, she was harshly chided and severely punished, 'twas all the same. No tone or word could move those rigid features.
One evening Miss Bradly came over to see the young ladies, and inquire the latest news from young master. Miss Jane gave orders that the table should be set with great care, and all the silver displayed. They had long since lost their olden familiarity, and, out of respect to the present coldness that existed between them, they (the Misses Peterkin) desired to showoff "before the discredited school-mistress." I heard Miss Bradly ask Mr. Peterkin when he heard from young master.
"I've just got a letter from Dr. Mandy. They ar' still in New Orleans; but expected to start for home in 'bout three days. The doctor gives me very little cause for hope; says Johnny is mighty weak, and had a pretty tough cough. He says the night-sweats can't be broke; and the boy is very weak, not able to set up an hour at a time. This is very discouragin', Miss Emily. Sometimes it 'pears like 'twould kill me, too, my heart is so sot 'pon that boy;" and here Mr. Peterkin began to smoke with great violence, a sure sign that he was laboring under intense excitement.
"He is a very noble youth," said Miss Bradly, with a quivering voice and a moist eye; "I am deeply attached to him, and the thought of his death is one fraught with pain to me. I hope Doctor Mandy is deceived in the prognostics he deems so bad. Johnny's life is a bright example, and one that is needed."
"Yes, you think it will aid the Abolition cause; but not in this region, I can assure you," said Miss Tildy, as she tossed her head knowingly. "I'd like to know where Johnny learned all the Anti-slavery cant. Do you know, Miss Emily, that your incendiary principles lost you caste in this neighborhood, where you once stood as a model?"
Miss Tildy had touched Miss Bradly in her vulnerable point. "Caste" was a thing that she valued above reputation, and reckoned more desirable than honor. Had it not been for a certain goodness of heart, from which she could not escape (though she had often tried) she would have renounced her Anti-slavery sentiments and never again avowed them; but young master's words had power to rescue her almost shipwrecked principles, and then, whilst smarting under the lash of his rebuke, she attempted, like many an astute politician, to "run on both sides of the question;" but this was an equivocal position that the "out and out" Kentuckians were not going to allow. She had to be, in their distinct phraseology, "one thing or the other;" and, accordingly, aided by young master and her sense ofjustice, she avowed herself "the other." And, of course, with this avowal, came the loss of cherished friends. In troops they fell away from her. Their averted looks and distant nods nearly drove her mad. If young master had been by to encourage and sustain her with gracious words, she could have better borne it; but, single-handed and alone, she could not battle against adversity. And now this speech of Miss Tildy's was very untimely. She winced under it, yet dared not reply. What a contemptible character, to the brave mind, seems one lacking moral courage!
"I want to see Johnny once again, and then I shall leave for the North," said Miss Bradly, in a pitiful tone.
"See Naples and die, eh?" laughed Miss Tildy.
"Always and ever ready with your fun," replied Miss Bradly.
At first her wiry turnings, her open and shameless sycophancy, and now her cringing and fawning upon the Peterkins, caused me to lose all respect for her. In the hour of her trouble, when deserted by those whom she had loved as friends, when her pecuniary prospects were blighted, I felt deeply for her, and even forgave the falsehood; but now when I saw her shrink from the taunt and invective of Miss Tildy, and then minister to her vanity, I felt that she was too little even for contempt. At tea, that evening, whilst serving the table, I was surprised to observe Miss Jane's face very red with anger, and her manner exceedingly irascible. I began to wonder if I had done anything to exasperate her; but could think of no offence of which I had been guilty. I knew from the way in which she conversed with all at the table, that none of them were offenders. I was the more surprised at her anger, as she had been, for the last week, in such an excellent humor, getting herself ready for the visit to the city. Oh, how I dreaded to see Miss Bradly leave, for then, I knew the storm would break in all its fury!
I was standing in the kitchen, alone, trying to think what could have offended Miss Jane, when Amy came up to me, saying,
"Oh, Ann, two silver forks is lost, an' Miss Tildy done 'cuse me of stealin' 'em, an' I declar 'fore heaven, I gib ebery one of 'em to Miss Tildy de mornin' Misser Summerbille lef, an' now she done told Miss Jane dat I told a lie, and that I stole 'em. Lor' knows what dey is gwine to do 'long wid me; but I don't kere much, so dey kills me soon and sets me out my misery at once."
"When did they miss the forks?"
"Wy, to-night, when I went to set de table, I found dat two of 'em wasn't dar; so I axed Miss Tildy whar dey was, an' she said she didn't know. Den I axed Miss Jane; she say, 'ax Miss Tildy.' Den when I told Miss Tildy dat, she got mad; struck me a lick right cross my face. Den I told her bout de time Mr. Summerbille lef, when I give 'em to her. She say, 'you's a liar, an' hab stole 'em.' Den I begun to declar I hadn't, and she call Miss Jane, and say to her dat she knowed I hab stole 'em, and Miss Jane got mad; kicked me, pulled my har till I screamed; den I 'spose she did 'ant want Miss Bradly to hear me; so she stopped, but swar she'd beat me to death if I didn't get 'em fur her right off. Now, Ann, I doesn't know whar dey is, if I was to be kilt for it."
She drew the back of her hand across her eyes, and I saw that it was moist. I was glad of this, for her silent endurance was more horrible to look upon than this physical softness.
"Oh, God!" I exclaimed, "I would that young master were here."
"What fur, Ann?"
"He might intercede and prevent them from using you so cruelly."
"I doesn't wish he was har; for I lubs young Masser, an' he is good; if he was to see me a sufferin' it wud stress him, an' make his complaint worse; an' he couldn't do no good; for dey will beat me, no matter who begs. Ob, it does seem so strange that black people was eber made. I is glad dat de chillen isn't har; for de sight ob dem cryin' round de 'post,'wud nearly kill me. I can bar anythin' fur myself, but not fur 'em. Oh, I hopes dey is dead."
And here she heaved a dreadful groan. This was the first time I had heard her allude to them, and I felt a choking rush in my throat.
"Don't cry, Ann, take kere ob yourself. It 'pears like my time has come. I don't feel 'feard, an' dis is de fust time I'se eber bin able to speak 'bout de chillen. If eber you sees 'em, (I niver will), tell 'em dat I niver did forget 'em; dat night an' day my mind was sot on 'em, an' please, Ann, gib 'em dis."
Here she took from her neck a string that held her mother's gift, and the coin young master had given her, suspended to it. She looked at it long and wistfully, then, slowly pressing it to her lips, she said in a low, plaintive voice that went to my heart, "Poor Mammy."
I then took it from her, and hid it in my pocket. A cold horror stole over me. I had not the power to gainsay her; for an instinctive idea that something terrible was going to occur, chained my lips.
"Ann, I thanks you for all your kindness to me. I hopes you may hab a better time den I has hab. I feel, Ann, as if I niver should come down from dat post alive.
"Trust in God, Amy."
She shook her head despairingly.
"He will save you."
"No, God don't kare for black folks."
"What did young master tell you about that? Did he not say God loved all His creatures alike?"
"Yes, but black folks aint God's critters."
"Yes, they are, just as much as white people."
"No dey aint."
"Oh, Amy, I wish I could make you understand how it is."
"You kant make me belieb dat ar' way, no how you can fix it. God don't kare what a comes ob niggers; an' I is glad he don't, kase when I dies, I'll jist lay down and rot like de worms, and dere wont be no white folks to 'buse me."
"No, there will be no white folks to abuse you in heaven; but God and His angels will love you, if you will do well and try to get there."
"I don't want to go ther, for God is one of the white people, and, in course, he'd beat de niggers."
Oh, was not this fearful, fearful ignorance? Through the solid rock of her obtusity, I could, with no argument of mine, make an aperture for a ray of heavenly light to penetrate. Do Christians, who send off missionaries, realize that heathendom exists in their very midst; aye, almost at their own hearthstone? Let them enlighten those that dwell in the bonds of night on their own borders; then shall their efforts in distant lands be blest. Numberless instances, such as the one I have recorded, exist in the slave States. The masters who instruct their slaves in religion, could be numbered; and I will venture to assert that, if the census were taken in the State of Kentucky, the number would not exceed twenty. Here and there you will find an instance of a mistress who will, perhaps, on a Sunday evening, talk to a female slave about the propriety of behaving herself; but the gist of the argument, the hinge upon which it turns, is—"obey your master and mistress;" upon this one precept hang all the law and the prophets.
That night, after my house duties were discharged, I went to the cabin, where I found Amy lying on her face, weeping bitterly. I lifted her up, and tried to console her; but she exclaimed, with more energy than I had ever heard her,
"Ann, every ting seems so dark to me. I kan't see past to-morrow. I has bin thinkin' of Aunt Polly; I keeps seein' her, no matter what way I turns."
"You are frightened," I ventured to say.
"No, I isn't, but I feels curus."
"Let me teach you to pray."
"Will it do me any good?"
"Yes, if you put faith in God."
"What's faith?"
"Believe that God is strong and willing to save you; that is faith."
"Who is God? I never seed him."
"No, but He sees you."
"Whar is He?" and she looked fearfully around the room, in which the scanty fire threw a feeble glare.
"Everywhere. He is everywhere," I answered.
"Is He in dis room?" she asked in terror, and drew near me.
"Yes, He is here."
"Oh lor! He may tell Masser on me."
This ignorance may, to the careless reader, seem laughable; but, to me, it was most horrible, and I could not repress my tears. Here was the force of education. Master was to her the strongest thing or person in existence. Of course she could not understand a higher power than that which had governed her life. There are hundreds as ignorant; but no missionaries come to enlighten them!
"Oh, don't speak that way; you know God made you."
"Yes, but dat was to please Masser. He made me fur to be a slave."
Now, how would the religious slave-holder answer that?
I strove, but with no success, to make her understand that over her soul, her temporal master had no control; but her ignorance could not see a difference between the body and soul. Whoever owned the former, she thought, was entitled to the latter. Finding I could make no impression upon her mind, I lay down and tried to sleep; but rest was an alien to me. I dreaded the breaking of the morn. Poor Amy slept, and I was glad that she did. Her overtaxed body yielded itself up to the most profound rest. In the morning, when I saw her sleeping so soundly on the pallet, I disliked to arouse her. I felt, as I fancied a human jailer must feel, whose business it is to awaken a criminal on the morning of his execution; yet I had it to do, for, if she had been tardy at her work, it would have enraged her tyrants the more, and been worse for her.
Rubbing her eyes, she sat upright on the pallet and murmured,
"Dis is de day. I's to be led to de post, and maybe kilt."
I dared not comfort her, and only bade her to make haste and attend to her work.