"Commencement over, what are you going to do with yourself?"
"I don't know; loaf around, I suppose."
"Why don't you go to Newport?"
"Don't want to; got tired of it last year."
"Saratoga?"
"A perfect bore!"
"Niagara?"
"Been there twice."
"A pedestrian tour to the White Mountains?"
"Haven't got energy enough."
"What will you do?"
"Stay at home and fight mosquitoes."
"Very pleasant employment. I don't envy you, but I can tell you something better than that."
"What is it?" said his companion, yawning.
"Come, go home with me."
"Go home with you! Where is that, and what is the attraction?"
"Well, let me see, it is situated in one of the most beautiful valleys of Western Pennsylvania, our village is environed by the most lovely hills, and nestling among the trees, with its simple churches and unpretending homes of quiet beauty and good taste, it is one of the most pleasant and picturesque places I ever saw. And, besides, as you love to hunt and fish, we have one of the finest streams of trout, and some of the most excellent game in the woods."
"Is that all?"
"Why, isn't that enough? You must be rather hard to please this morning."
"Think so?"
"Yes, but I have not told you the crowning attraction."
"What is it?"
"Oh, one of the most beautiful girls I ever saw! We call her the lily of the valley."
"Describe her."
"I can't. It would be like attempting to paint a sun beam or doing what no painter has ever done, sketch a rainbow."
"You are very poetical this morning, but I want you to do as our President sometimes tells us, proceed from the abstract to the concrete."
"Well, let me begin: she has the most beautiful little feet. I never see her stepping along without thinking of Cinderella and the glass slipper. As to eyes, they are either dark brown or black, I don't know which; but I do know they are beautiful; and her hair, well, she generally wears that plain in deference to the wishes of her Quaker friends, but sometimes in the most beautiful ripples of golden brown I ever saw."
"That will do, now tell me who she is? You spoke of her Quaker friends.Is she not their daughter?"
"No, there seems to be some mystery about her history. About ten years ago, my father brought her to Josiah Carpenter's but he's always been reticent about her, in fact I never took the pains to inquire. She's a great favorite in the village, and everybody says she is as beautiful as she is good, and vice versa."
"Well, I'd like to see this paragon of yours. I believe I'll go."
"Well, let us get ready."
"When do you start?"
"To-morrow."
"All right. I'll be on hand." And with these words the two friends parted to meet again the next day at the railroad station.
The first of the speakers is the son of Josiah Collins, and his friend is Louis Le Croix, Camilla's adopted brother. He is somewhat changed within the last ten years. Time has touched the golden wealth of his curls with a beautiful deep auburn, and the rich full tones of his voice tell that departed is written upon his childhood.
He is strongly Southern in his feelings, but having been educated in the North, whilst he is an enthusiast in defense of his section, as he calls the South, he is neither coarse and brutal in actions, nor fanatical in his devotion to slavery. He thinks the Negroes are doing well enough in slavery, if the Abolitionists would only let matters rest, and he feels a sense of honor in defending the South. She is his mother, he says, and that man is an ingrate who will not stand by his mother and defend her when she is in peril.
He and Charles Collins are fast friends, but [on the subject of slavery they are entirely opposed?]. And so on that point they have agreed to disagree. They often have animated and exciting discussions, but they [pass?] and Josiah and Louis are just as friendly as they were before.
There were two arrivals the next evening in the [quiet?] village of S. One was Charles Collins, the other his Southern friend, who was received with the warmest welcome, and soon found himself at home in the pleasant society of his friend's family. The evening was enlivened with social chat and music, until ten o'clock, when Josiah gathered his children and having read the Bible in a deeply impressive manner, breathed one of the most simple and fervent prayers he had ever heard.
While they were bending at prayer in this pleasant home, a shabby looking man came walking slowly and wearily into the village. He gazed cautiously around and looked anxiously in the street as though he were looking for some one, but did not like to trust his business to every one.
At length he saw an elderly man, dressed in plain clothes, and a broad brim hat, and drawing near he spoke to him in a low and hesitating voice, and asked if he knew a Mr. Thomas Carpenter.
"My name is Carpenter," said the friend, "come with me."
There was something in the voice, and manner of the friend thatassuredthe stranger. His whole manner changed. A peaceful expression stole over his dark, sad face, and the drooping limbs seemed to be aroused by a new infusion of energy.
"Come in," said Thomas, as he reached his door, "come in, thee's welcome to stop and rest with us."
"Anna," said Thomas,[2] his face beaming with kindness, "I've brought thee a guest. Here is another passenger by the Underground Railroad."
"I'm sure thee's welcome," said Anna, handing him a chair, "sit down, thee looks very tired. Where did thee come from?"
Moses, that was the fugitive's name, hesitated a moment.
"Oh, never fear, thee's among friends; thee need not be afraid to tell all about thyself."
Moses then told them that he had come from Kentucky.
"And how did thee escape?"
He said, "I walked from Lexington to Covington."
"Why, that was almost one hundred miles, and did thee walk all that way?"
"Yes, sir," said he, "I hid by day, and walked by night."
"Did no one interrupt?"
"Yes, one man said to me, 'Where's your pass?' I suppose I must have grown desperate, for I raised my fists and said dem's my passes; and he let me alone. I don't know whether he was friendly or scared, but he let me alone."
"And how then?"
"When I come to Covington I found that I could not come across the river without a pass, but I watched my chance, and hid myself on a boat, and I got across. I'd heard of you down home."
"How did you?"
"Oh, we's got some few friends dere, but we allers promise not to tell."
Anna and Thomas[3] smiled at his reticence, which had grown into a habit.
"Were you badly treated?"
"Not so bad as some, but I allers wanted my freedom, I did."
"Well, we will not talk about thee any more; if thee walked all that distance thee must be very tired and we'll let thee rest. There's thy bed. I hope thee'll have a good night's rest, and feel better in the morning."
"Thankee marm," said Moses, "you's mighty good."
"Oh no, but I always like to do my duty by my fellow men! Now, be quiet, and get a good night's sleep. Thee looks excited. Thee mustn't be uneasy. Thee's among friends."
A flood of emotions crept over the bosom of Moses when his kind friends left the room. Was this freedom, and was this the long wished for North? and were these the Abolitionists of whom he had heard so much in the South? They who would allure the colored people from their homes in the South and then leave them to freeze and starve in the North? He had heard all his life that the slaveholders were the friends of the South, and the language of his soul had been, "If these are my friends, save me from my foes." He had lived all his life among the white people of the South, and had been owned by several masters, but he did not know that there was so much kindness among the white race, till he had rested in a Northern home, and among Northern people.
Here kindness encouraged his path, and in that peaceful home every voice that fell upon his ear was full of tenderness and sympathy. True, there were rough, coarse, brutal men even in that village, who for a few dollars or to prove their devotion to the South, would have readily remanded him to his master, but he was not aware of that. And so when he sank to his rest a sense of peace and safety stole over him, and his sleep was as calm and peaceful as the slumber of a child.
The next morning he looked refreshed, but still his strength was wasted by his great physical exertion and mental excitement; and Thomas[4] thought he had better rest a few days till he grew stronger and better prepared to travel; for Thomas[5] noticed that he was nervous, starting at the sound of every noise, and often turning his head to the door with an anxious, frightened look.
Thomas would have gladly given him shelter and work, and given him just wages, but he dared not do so. He was an American citizen it is true, but at that time slavery reigned over the North and ruled over the South, and he had not the power under the law of the land to give domicile, and break his bread to that poor, hunted and flying man; for even then they were hunting in the South and sending out their human bloodhounds to search for him in the North.
Throughout the length and breadth of the land, from the summit of the rainbow-crowned Niagara to the swollen waters of the Mexican Gulf; from the golden gates of sunrise to the gorgeous portals of departing day, there was not a hill so high, a forest so secluded, a glen so sequestered, nor mountain so steep, that he knew he could not be tracked and hailed in the name of the general government.
"What's the news, friend Carpenter? any new arrivals?" said JosiahCollins in a low voice to Thomas.
"Yes, a very interesting case; can't you come over?"
"Yes, after breakfast. By the way, you must be a little more cautious than usual. Charley came home last night, and brought a young friend with him from college. I think from his conversation that he is either a Southerner himself, or in deep sympathy with the South."
Both men spoke in low tones, for although they were Northerners, they were talking about a subject on which they were compelled to speak with bated breaths.
After breakfast Josiah came over, but Moses seemed so heavy and over wearied that they did not care to disturb him. There was a look of dejection and intense sadness on the thin worn face, and a hungry look in the mournful eyes, as if his soul had been starving for kindness and sympathy. Sometimes he would forget his situation, and speak hopefully of the future, but still there was a weariness that he could not shake off, a languor that seemed to pervade every nerve and muscle.
Thomas thought it was the natural reaction of the deep excitement, through which he just passed, that the tension of his nerves had been too great, but that a few days rest and quiet would restore him to his normal condition; but that hope soon died away.
The tension, excitement, and consequent exhaustion had been too much. Reason tottered on its throne, and he became a raving maniac; in his moments of delirium he would imagine that he was escaping from slavery; that the pursuers were upon his back; that they had caught him, and were rebinding him about to take him back to slavery, and then it was heartrending to hear him beg, and plead to be carried to Thomas Carpenter's.
He would reach out his emaciated hands, and say "Carry me to Mr. Carpenter's, that good man's house," for that name which had become more precious to him than a household to his soul, still lingered amid shattered cells. But the delirium spent its force, and through the tempests of his bosom the light of reason came back.
One night he slept more soundly than usual; and on the next morning his faithful friends saw from the expression of his countenance and the light in his eyes that his reason had returned. They sent for their family physician, a man in whose honor they could confide. All that careful nursing and medical skill could do was done, but it was in vain; his strength was wasted; the silver cord was loosed, and the golden bowl was broken; his life was fast ebbing away. Like a tempest tossed mariner dying in sight of land, so he passing away from earth, found the precious, longed for, and dearly bought prize was just before, but his hand was too feeble to grasp, his arms too powerless to hold it.
His friends saw from the expression of his face that he had something to say; and they bent down to catch the last words of the departing spirit.
"I am dying," he said, "but I am thankful that I have come this near to freedom."
He attempted to say no more, the death rattles sounded in his throat; the shadows that never deceive flitted o'er his face, and he was dead. His spirit gone back to God, another witness against the giant crime of the land.
Josiah came again to see him, and entered the room just as the released spirit winged its flight. Silently he uncovered him as if paying that reverence to the broken casket which death exacts for his meanest subjects. With tenderness and respect they prepared the body for the grave, followed him to the silent tomb, and left him to his dreamless sleep.
[Installment missing.]
"Friend Carpenter, I have brought a friend to see you. He is a real hot-headed Southerner, and I have been trying to convert him, but have been almost ready to give it up as a hopeless task. I thought as you are so much better posted than I am on the subject,youmight be able to convert him from the error of his ways. He is a first-rate fellow, my College chum. He has only one fault, he will defend Slavery. Cure him of that, and I think he will be as near perfect as young men generally are."
Friend Carpenter smiled at this good-natured rally, and said, "It takes time for all things. Perhaps your friend is not so incorrigible as you think he is."
"I don't know," said Charley, "but here he is; he can speak for himself."
"Oh the system is well enough of itself, but like other things, it is liable to abuse."
"I think, my young friend," said Thomas, "thee has never examined the system by the rule of impartial justice, which tells us to do to all men as we would have them do to us. If thee had, thee would not talk of the abuses of Slavery, when the system is an abuse itself. I am afraid thee has never gauged the depth of its wickedness. Thy face looks too honest and frank to defend this system from conviction. Has thee ever examined it?"
"Why, no, I have always been used to it."
Louis, who liked the honest bluntness of the Quaker, would have willingly prolonged the conversation, simply for the sake of the argument, but just then Minnie entered, holding in her hand a bunch of flowers, and started to show them to her father, before she perceived that any company was in the room.
"Oh father," said she, "see what I have brought you!" when her eye fell upon the visitors, and a bright flush overspread her cheek, lending it additional beauty.
Charles immediately arose, and giving her his hand, introduced her to his friend.
"I am glad to see you, Minnie; you are looking so well this summer," said Charles, gazing on her with unfeigned admiration.
"I am glad you think so," said she, with charming frankness.
Some business having called friend Carpenter from the room, the young people had a pleasant time to themselves, talking of books, poetry, and the current literature of the day, although being students, their acquaintance with these things was somewhat limited. By the time they were ready to go, Thomas had re-entered the room and bidding them good-bye, cordially invited them to return again.
"What do you think of her?" said Charles to his friend.
"Beautiful as a dream. The half had not been told. Heracquaintancepays me for my trip; yes, I would like to become better acquainted with her; there was such a charming simplicity about her, and such unaffected grace that I am really delighted with her. How is it that you have never fallen in love with her?"
"Oh, I have left that for you; but in fact we have almost grown together, played with each other when we were children, until she appears like one of our family, and to marry her would be like marrying my own sister."
"How does thee like Charles' friend?" said Minnie, to her adopted father.
Thomas spoke slowly and deliberately, and said, "He impresses me rather favorably. I think there's the making of a man in him. But I hear that he is pro-slavery."
"Yes, he is, but I think that is simply the result of former associations and surroundings. I do not believe that he has looked deeper than the surface of Slavery; he is quite young yet; his reflective faculties are hardly fully awakened. I believe the time will come, when he will see it in its true light, and if he joins our ranks he will be an important accession to our cause. I have great hopes of him. He seems to be generous, kind-hearted, and full of good impulses, and I believe there are grand possibilities in his nature. How do you like him?"
"Oh, I was much pleased with him. We had a very pleasant time together."
In a few days, Charles and Louis called again. Minnie was crocheting, and her adopted mother was occupied with sewing; while Thomas engaged them in conversation, the subject being the impending conflict; Louis, taking a decided stand in favor of the South, and Thomas being equally strong in his defense of the North.
The conversation was very animated, but temperate; and when they parted, each felt confident of the rightfulness of his position.
"Come, again," said Thomas, as they were leaving; "we can't see eye to eye, but I like to have thee come."
Louis was very much pleased with the invitation, for it gave him opportunity to see Minnie, and sometimes she would smile, or say a word or two when the discussion was beginning to verge on the borders of excitement.
The time to return to College was drawing near, and Louis longed to tell her how dear she was to him, but he never met her alone. She was so young he did not like to ask the privilege of writing to her; and yet he felt when he left the village, that it would afford him great satisfaction to hear from her. He once hinted to Friend Carpenter that he would like to hear from his family, and that if he was too busy perhaps Miss Minnie might find time to drop a line, but Thomas did not take the hint, so the matter ended; he hoping in the meantime to meet her again, and renew their very pleasant acquaintance.
[Text missing.]
"Is Minnie not well?" said Thomas Carpenter, entering one morning, the pleasant room, where Anna was labelling some preserves. "She seems to be so drooping, and scarcely eats anything."
"I don't know. I have not heard her complain; perhaps she is a little tired and jaded from her journey; and then I think she studies too much. She spends most of her time in her room, and since I think of it, she does appear more quiet than usual; but I have been so busy about my preserves that I have not noticed her particularly."
"Anna," said Thomas suddenly, after a moment's pause, "does thee think that there is any attachment between Louis and Minnie? He was very attentive to her when we were in Boston."
"Why, Thomas, I have never thought anything about it. Minnie always seems so much like a child that I never get her associated in my mind with courtship and marriage. I suppose I ought to though," said Anna, with the faintest sigh.
"Anna, I think that something is preying on that child's mind, and mother, thee knows that you women understand how to manage these things better than we men do, and I wish thee would find out what is the matter with the child. Try to find out if there is anything between her and Louis, and if there is, by all means we must let her know about herself; it is a duty we owe her and him."
"Well, Thomas, if we must we must; but I shrink from it. Here she comes. Now I'll leave in a few minutes, and then thee can tell her; perhaps thee can do it better than I can."
"What makes thee look so serious?" said Thomas, as Minnie entered the room.
"Do I, father?"
"Yes, thee looks sober as a Judge. What has happened to disturb thee?"
"Nothing in particular; only I was down to Mr. Hickman's this morning, and they have a colored woman stopping with them. She is a very interesting and intelligent woman, and she was telling us part of her history, and it was very interesting, but, mother, I do think it is a dreadful thing to be a colored person in this country; how I should suffer if I knew that I was hated and despised for what I couldn't help. Oh, it must be dreadful to be colored."
"Oh, don't talk so, Minnie, God never makes any mistakes."
"I know that, mother; but, mother, it must be hard to be forced to ride in smoking cars; to be insulted in the different thoroughfares of travel; to be denied access to public resorts in some places,—such as lectures, theatres, concerts, and even have a particular seat assigned in the churches, and sometimes feel you were an object of pity even to your best friends. I know that Mrs. Heston felt so when she was telling her story, for when Mrs. Hickman said, 'Well, Sarah, I really pity you,' I saw her dark eyes flash, and she has really beautiful eyes, as she said, 'it is not pity we want, it is justice.'"
"In the first place, mother, she is a widow, with five children. She had six. One died in the army,—and she had some business in Washington connected with him. She says she was born in Virginia, and had one little girl there, but as she could not bear the idea of her child growing up in ignorance, she left the South and went to Albany. Her husband was a barber, and was doing a good business there. She was living in a very good neighborhood, and sent her child to the nearest district school.
"After her little girl had been there awhile, her teacher told her she must go home and not come there any more, and sent her mother a note; the child did not know what she had done; she had been attentive to her lessons, and had not behaved amiss, and she was puzzled to know why she was turned out of school.
"'Oh! I hated to tell Mrs. Heston,' said the teacher; 'but the child insisted, and I knew that it must come sooner or later. And so, said she, I told her it was because she was colored.'
"'Is that all.' Poor child, she didn't know, that, in that fact lay whole volumes of insult, outrage, and violence. I made up my mind, she continued, that I would leave the place, and when my husband came home, I said, 'Heston, let us leave this place; let us go farther west. I hear that we can have our child educated there, just the same as any other child.' At first my husband demurred, for we were doing a good business; but I said, let us go, if we have to live on potatoes and salt.
"True, it was some pecuniary loss; but I never regretted it, although I have been pretty near the potatoes and salt. My husband died, but I kept my children together, and stood over the wash-tub day after day to keep them at school. My oldest daughter graduated at the High School, and was quite a favorite with the teachers. One term there was a vacancy in her room, caused by the resignation of one of the assistant teachers, and the first teacher had the privilege of selecting her assistants from the graduates of the High School, their appointment, of course, being subject to the decision of the Commissioner of Public Schools.
"'Her teacher having heard that she was connected by blood with one of the first families of Virginia, told the Commissioner that she had chosen an Assistant, a young lady of high qualifications, and as she understood, a descendant of Patrick Henry.
"'Ah, indeed,' said the Commissioner, 'I didn't know that we had one of that family among us. By all means employ her;' but as she was about to leave, she said: 'I forgot to tell you one thing, she is colored.'
"A sudden change came over him, and he said: 'Do you think I would have you walk down the street with a colored woman? Of course not. I'll never give my consent tothat.' And there the matter ended. And then she made us feel so indignant when she told us that on her way to Washington to get her son's pension, she stopped in Philadelphia, and the conductor tried to make her leave the car, and because she would not, he ran the car off the track."
"Oh, father," said she, turning to Thomas, "how wicked and cruel this prejudice. Oh, how I should hate to be colored!"
Anna and Thomas exchanged mournful glances. Their hearts were too full; and as Minnie left the room, Thomas said, "Not now, Anna. Not just yet." And so Minnie[6] was permitted to return again to school with the secret untold.
* * * * *
"Minnie, darling, what are you doing? moping as usual over your books? Come, it is Saturday morning, and you have worked hard enough for one week; got all good marks; so now just put up that Virgil, and come go out with me."
"Where do you wish to go?" said Minnie, to her light-hearted friend,Carrie Wise.
"I want to go out shopping. Pa has just sent me twenty dollars, and you know a girl and her money are soon parted."
"What do you wish to get?"
"Well, I want a pair of gloves, some worsted to match this fringe, and a lot of things. Come, won't you go?"
"Oh, I don't know, I didn't intend going out this morning."
"Well, never mind if you didn't, just say you will go. Where's your hat and mantle?" said Carrie, going to her wardrobe.
"Well, just wait till I fix my hair; it won't take long."
"Oh, Minnie, do let me fix it for you! If ever I have to work for my living, I shall be a hair-dresser. I believe it is the only thing that I have any talent for."
"What an idea! But do, Minnie, won't you, let me arrange your hair? You always wear it so plain, and I do believe it would curl beautifully. May I, Minnie?"
"Why yes."
So Carrie sat down, and in a short time, she had beautifully arrangedMinnie's hair with a profusion of curls.
"Do you know what I was thinking?" said Carrie, gazing admiringly upon her friend. "You look so much like a picture I have seen of yours in your father's album. He was showing me a number of pictures which represent you at different ages, and the one I refer to, he said was our Minnie when she was five years old. Now let me put on your hat. And let me kiss you for you look so pretty?"
"Oh, Carrie, what an idea! You are so full of nonsense. Which way will we go first?"
"First down to Carruther's. I saw a beautiful collar there I liked so much; and then let us go down to Mrs. Barguay's. I want to show you a love of a bonnet, one of the sweetest little things in ribbon, lace, and flowers I ever saw."
Equipped for the journey the two friends sauntered down the street; as they were coming out of a store, Carrie stopped for a moment to speak to a very dear friend of her mother's, and Minnie passed on.
As she went slowly on, loitering for her friend, she saw a woman approaching her from the opposite side of the street. There was something in her look and manner which arrested the attention of Minnie. She was a tall, slender woman about thirty five years old, with a pale, care-worn face—a face which told that sorrow had pressed her more than years. A few threads of silver mingled with the wealth of her raven hair, and her face, though wearing a sad and weary expression, still showed traces of great beauty.
As soon as her eyes fell on Minnie, she raised her hands in sudden wonder, and clasping her in her arms, exclaimed: "Heaven is merciful! I have found you, at last, my dear, darling, long-lost child. Minnie, is this you, and have I found you at last?"
Minnie trembled from head to foot; a deadly pallor overspread her cheek, and she stood still as if rooted to the ground in silent amazement, while the woman stood anxiously watching her as if her future were hanging on the decision of her lips.
"Who are you? and where did you come from?" said Minnie, as soon as she gained her breath.
"I came from Louisiana. Oh, I can't be mistaken. I have longed for you, and prayed for you, and now I have found you."
Just then, Carrie, who had finished speaking with her friend, seeing Minnie and the strange woman talking together, exclaimed, "What is the matter?"
Noticing the agitation of her friend, "Who is this woman, and what has she said to you?"
"She says that she is my mother, my long-lost mother."
"Why, Minnie, what nonsense! She can't be your mother. Why don't you see she is colored?"
"Where do you live?" said Minnie, without appearing to notice the words of Carrie.
"I don't live anywhere. I just came here yesterday with some of theUnion soldiers."
"Come with me then, and I will show you a place to stop."
"Why, Minnie, you are not going to walk down the street with that Nig—colored woman; if you are, please excuse me. My business calls me another way."
And without any more ceremony Carrie and Minnie parted. Silently she walked by the side of the stranger, a thousand thoughts revolving in her mind. Was this the solution of the mystery which enshrouded her young life? Did she indeed belong to that doomed and hated race, and must she share the cruel treatment which bitter, relentless prejudice had assigned them?
Thomas Carpenter and Anna were stopping in P., at the house of relatives who knew Minnie's history, but who had never made any difference in their treatment of her on that account.
"Is father and mother at home?" said Minnie to the servant, who opened the door. She answered in the affirmative.
"Tell them to come into the parlor, they are wanted immediately."
"Sit down," said Minnie to the stranger, handing her a chair, "and wait till father comes."
Anna and Thomas soon entered the room, and Minnie approaching them said, "Father, this woman met me on the street to-day, and says she is my mother. You know all about my history. Tell me if there is any truth in this story."
"I don't know, Minnie, I never saw thy mother."
"But question her, father, and see if there is any truth in what she says; but tell me first, father, am I white or colored?"
"Minnie, I believe there is a small portion of colored blood in thy veins."
"It is enough," said Minnie, drawing closer to the strange woman. "What makes you think that I am your child?"
"By this," said she, taking a miniature from her bosom. "By this, which I carried next to my heart for more than twelve years, and never have been without it a single day or night."
Thomas looked upon the miniature; it was an exact likeness of Minnie when she first came to them, and although she had grown and changed since the likeness was taken, there was too close a resemblance between it and one which had been taken soon after she came, for him to doubt that Minnie was the original of that likeness.
Thomas questioned the woman very closely, but her history and narrative corresponded so well with what he had heard of Minnie's mother, that he could not for a moment doubt that this was she, and as such he was willing to give her the shelter of his home, till he could make other arrangements.
"But why," said Anna, somewhat grieved at the shock, that Minnie had received, "did thee startle her by so suddenly claiming her in the street? Would it not have been better for thee to have waited and found out where she lived, and then discovered thyself to her?"
"I'spect it would, 'Mam," said Ellen, very meekly and sorrowfully, "but when I saw her and heard the young lady say, Minnie, wait a minute, I forgot everything but that this was my long-lost child. I am sorry if I did any harm, but I was so glad I could not help it. My heart was so hungry for my child."
"Yes, yes," said Anna sadly, "I understand thee; it was the voice of nature."
Minnie was too nervous and excited to return to her school that day; the next morning she had a very high fever, and Thomas concluded it would be better to take her home and have her mother accompany her.
And so on Monday morning Anna and Thomas left P., taking Minnie and her mother along.
Once again in her pleasant home, surrounded by the tenderest care (for her mother watched over her with the utmost solicitude) the violence of her fever abated, but it was succeeded by a low nervous affection which while it produced no pain yet it slowly unstrung her vitality.
Ellen hovered around her pillow as if she begrudged every moment that called her from her daughter's side, and never seemed so well contented as when she was performing for her some office of love and tenderness. A skilful nurse, she knew how to prepare the most delicate viands to tempt the failing appetite, and she had the exquisite pleasure of seeing her care and attention rewarded by the returning health and strength of her child.
One morning as she grew stronger, and was able to sit in her chair, she turned her eyes tenderly towards Ellen and said, "Mother, come and sit near me and let me hold your hand."
"Mother," Oh how welcome was that word. Ellen's eyes filled with sudden tears.
"Mother," she said, "It comes back to me like a dream. I have a faint recollection of having seen you before, but it is so long I can scarcely remember it. Tell me all about myself and how I came to leave you. I always thought that there was some mystery about me, but I never knew what it was before, but now I understand it."
"Darling," said the mother, "you had better wait till you get a little stronger, and then I will tell you all."
"Very well," said Minnie, "you have been so good to me and I am beginning to love you so much."
It was touching to see the ripening love between those two long-suffering ones. Ellen would comb Minnie's hair, and do for her every office in her power. Still Minnie continued feeble. The suffering occasioned by her refusal of Louis; the hard study and deep excitement through which she had passed told sadly upon her constitution; but she was young, and having a large share of recuperative power she slowly came back to health and strength, and when the spring opened Thomas decided that she should return again to her school in P.
Let us now return to Carrie Wise, whom we left parting with Minnie.
"Where is Minnie?" said two of her schoolmates, who observed thatCarrie had come home alone.
"Oh," said she, "one of the strangest things I ever heard of happened!"
"Well, what was it?" said the girls; and by this time they had joined another group of girls.
"Why this morning, Minnie and I walked out shopping, and just as I came out of Carruthers' I met an old friend of mother's, and stopped to speak with her, and I said 'Minnie, just wait a minute.'"
"She passed on, and left me talking with Mrs. Jackson. When I joined her, I found a colored woman talking to her, and she was trembling from head to foot, and just as pale as a ghost; and I said, 'Why, Minnie, what is the matter?'"
"She gasped for breath, and I thought she was going to faint, and I got real scared. And what do you think Minnie said?"
"Why," she said, "Carrie, this woman says she's my mother!"
"Her mother!" cried a half dozen voices. "Why you said she was colored!"
"Well, so she was. She was quite light, but I knew she was colored."
"How did you know? Maybe she was only a very dark-complexioned white woman."
"Oh no, she wasn't, I know white people from colored, I've seen enough of them."
"A colored woman! well that is very strange; but do tell us what Minnie said."
"She asked her where she came from, and where she lived. She said she came in yesterday with the Union soldiers, and that she had come from Louisiana, and then Minnie told her to come with her, and she would find a place for her to stop."
"And did she leave you in the street to walk with a Nigger?" said a coarse, rough-looking girl.
"Yes, and so I left her. I wasn't going to walk down the street with them!"
"Well, did I ever?" said a pale and interesting-looking girl.
"That is just as strange as a romance I have been reading!"
"Well, they say truth is stranger than fiction. A deceitful thing to try to pass for white when she is colored! If she comes back to this school I shan't stay!" said the coarse rough girl, twirling her gold pencil. "I ain't a going to sit alongside of niggers."
"How you talk! I don't see that if the woman is Minnie's mother, andiscolored, it makes any difference in her. I am sure it does not to me," said one of Minnie's friends.
"Well, it does to me," said another; "you may put yourself on an equality with niggers, but I won't." "And I neither," chimed in another voice. "There are plenty of colored schools; let her go to them."
"Oh, girls, I think it real cruel the way you talk!"
"How would you like any one to treat you so?" "Can't help it, I ain't a coming to school with a nigger." "She is just as good as you are, Mary Patuck, and a great deal smarter." "I don't care, she's a nigger, and that's enough for me."
And so the sentiment of the school was divided. Some were in favor of treating her just as well as usual, and others felt like complaining to their parents that a Negro was in school.
At last the news reached the teacher, and he, poor, weak, and vacillating man, had not manhood enough to defend her, but acted according to the prejudices of society, and wrote Thomas a note telling him that circumstances made it desirable that she should not again come to school.
In the meantime the news had reached their quiet little village, and of course it offered food for gossip; it was discussed over tea-tables and in the sewing circle. Some concluded that Thomas should have brought her up among the colored people, and others that he did perfectly right.
Still there was a change in Minnie's social relations. Some were just as kind as ever. Others grew distant, and some avoided having anything to say to her, and stopped visiting the house. Anna and Thomas, although superior people, were human, and could not help feeling the difference, but some business of importance connected with the death of a relative called Thomas abroad, and he made up his mind that he would take Anna and Minnie with him, hoping that the voyage and change of scene would be beneficial to his little girl, as he still called Minnie, and so on a bright and beautiful morning in the spring of '62 he left the country for a journey to England and the Continent.
Let us now return to Louis Le Croix, whom we left disappointed and wounded by Minnie's refusal. After he left her he entered his room, and sat for a long time in silent thought; at last he rose, and walked to the window and stood with his hands clenched, and his finely chiseled lips firmly set as if he had bound his whole soul to some great resolve—a resolve which he would accomplish, let it cost what it might.
And so he had; for he had made up in his mind within the last two hours that he would join the Confederacy. "That live or die, sink or swim, survive or perish," he would unite his fortunes to her destiny.
His next step then was to plan how he could reach Louisiana; he felt confident that if he could get as far as Louisville he could manage to get into Tennessee, and from thence to Louisiana.
And so nothing daunted by difficulties and dangers, he set out on his journey, and being aided by rebels on his way in a few weeks he reached the old plantation on Red River; he found his sister and Miriam there both glad to see him.
Camilla's husband was in Charleston, some of the slaves had deserted to the Union ranks, but the greater portion she still retained with her.
Miriam was delighted to see Louis, and seemed never weary of admiring his handsome face and manly form. And Louis, who had never known any other mother seemed really gratified by her little kindnesses and attention; but of course the pleasant and quiet monotony of home did not suit the restless and disquieted spirit of Louis. All the young men around here were in the army or deeply interested in its success.
There was a call for more volunteers, and a new company was to be raised in that locality. Louis immediately joined, and turned his trained intellect to the study of military tactics; day and night he was absorbed in this occupation, and soon, although Minnie was not forgotten, the enthusiasm of his young life gathered around the Confederate cause.
He did not give himself much time to reflect. Thought was painful to him, and he continued to live in a whirl of excitement.
News of battle, tidings of victory and defeats, the situation of the armies, and the hopes and fears that clustered around those fearful days of struggle made the staple of conversation.
Louis rapidly rose in favor with the young volunteers, and was chosen captain of a company who were permitted to drill and stay from the front as a reserve corps, ready to be summoned at any moment.
Miriam and Camilla watched with anguish Louis' devotion to theConfederation, and many sorrowful conversations they had about it.
At last one day Miriam said, "Miss Camilla, I can stand it no longer;—that boy is going to lift his hand agin his own people, and I can't stand it no longer; I'se got to tell him all about it. I just think I'd bust in two if I didn't tell him."
"Well, Mammy," said Camilla, "I'd rather he should know it than that he should go against his country and raise his hand against the dear old flag."
"It's not the flag nor the country I care for," said Miriam, "but it is that one of my own flesh and blood should jine with these secesh agin his own people."
"Well, Miriam, if you get a chance you can tell him."
"Get a chance, Miss Camilla, I'se bound to get that."
Louis was somewhat reticent about his plans; for he knew that Camilla was a strong Union woman; that she not only loved the flag, but she had taught her two boys to do the same; but he understood from headquarters that his company was to march in a week, and although on that subject there was no common sympathy between them, yet he felt that he must acquaint her with his plans, and bid her and Miriam good-bye.
So one morning he came in looking somewhat flushed and excited, and said: "Sister, we have got our marching orders; we leave on Thursday, and I have only three days to be with you. I am sorry that I have seen so little of you, but my country calls me, and when she is in danger it is no time for me to seek for either ease or pleasure."
"Your country! Louis," said Miriam, her face paling and flushing by turns. "Where is your country?"
"Here," said he, somewhat angrily, "in Louisiana."
"My country," said Camilla,[7] "is the whole Union. Yes, Louis," said she, "your country is in danger, but not from the Abolitionists in the North, but from the rebels and traitors in the South."
"Rebels and traitors!" said Louis, in a tone like one who felt the harsh grating of the words.
"Whom do you mean?"
"I mean," said she, "the ambitious, reckless men who have brought about this state of things. The men who are stabbing their country in their madness and folly; who are crowding our graves and darkening our homes; who are dragging our young men, men like you, who should be the pride and hope of our country, into the jaws of ruin and death."
Louis looked surprised and angry; he had never seen Camilla under such deep excitement. Her words had touched his pride and roused his anger; but suppressing his feelings he answered her coolly, "Camilla, I am old enough to do my own thinking. We had better drop this subject; it is not pleasant to either of us."
"Louis," said she, her whole manner changing from deep excitement to profound grief, "Oh, Louis, it will never do for you to go! Oh, no, you must not!"
"And why not?"
"Because,"—and she hesitated. Just then Miriam took up the unfinished sentence,"—because to join the secesh is to raise your hands agin your own race."
"My own race?" and Louis laughed scornfully. "I think you are talking more wildly than Camilla. What do you mean, Miriam?"
"I mean," said she, stung by his scornful words, "I mean that you, Louis Le Croix, white as you look, are colored, and that you are my own daughter's child, and if it had not been for Miss Camilla, who's been such an angel to you, that you would have been a slave to-day, and then you wouldn't have been a Confederate."
At these words a look of horror and anguish passed over the face of Le Croix, and he turned to Camilla, but she was deadly pale, and trembling like an aspen leaf; but her eyes were dry and tearless.
"Camilla," said he, turning fiercely to his adopted sister, "Tell me, is there any truth in these words? You are as pale as death, and trembling like a leaf,—tell me if there is any truth in these words," turning and fixing his eyes on Miriam, who stood like some ancient prophetess, her lips pronouncing some fearful doom, while she watched in breathless anguish the effect upon the fated victim.
"Yes, Louis," said Camilla, in a voice almost choked by emotion. "Yes,Louis, it is all true."
"But how is this that I never heard it before? Before I believe this tale I must have some proof, clear as daylight. Bring me proofs."
"Here they are," said Miriam, drawing from her pocket the free papers she had been carrying about her person for several days.
Louis grasped them nervously, hastily read them, and then more slowly, like one who might read a sentence of death to see if there was one word or sentence on which he might hang a hope of reprieve.
Camilla watched him anxiously, but silently, and when he had finished, he covered his bowed face with his hands as he said with a deep groan, "It is true, too true. I see it all. I can never raise my hand against my mother's race."
He arose like one in a dream, walked slowly to the door and left the room.
"It was a painful task," said Camilla, with a sigh of relief, as if a burden had fallen from her soul.
"Yes," said Miriam, "but not so bad as to see him fighting agin his own color. I'd rather follow him to his grave than see him join that miserable secesh crew."
"Yes," said Camilla, "It was better than letting him go."
When Louis left the room a thousand conflicting thoughts passed through his mind. He felt as a mariner at midnight on a moonless sea, who suddenly, when the storm is brewing, finds that he has lost his compass and his chart.
Where was he steering; and now, the course of his life was changed, what kind of future must he make for himself?
Had it been in time of peace, he could have easily decided, as he had a large amount of money in the North, which his father left him when he came of age.
He would have no difficulty as to choosing the means of living; for he was well supplied, as far as that was concerned; but here was a most unpleasant dilemma in which he had placed himself.
Convinced that he was allied to the Negro race, his whole soul rose up against the idea of laying one straw in its way; if he belonged to the race he would not join its oppressors. And yet his whole sympathy had been so completely with them, that he felt that he had no feeling in common with the North.
And as to the colored people, of course it never entered his mind to join their ranks, and ally himself to them; he had always regarded them as inferior; and this sudden and unwelcome revelation had not changed the whole tenor of his thoughts and opinions.
But what he had to do must be done quickly; for in less than three days his company would start for the front. To desert was to face death; to remain was to wed dishonor. He surveyed the situation calmly and bravely, and then resolved that he would face the perils of re-capture rather than the contempt of his own soul.
While he was deciding, he heard Camilla's step in the passage; he opened the door, and beckoned her to a seat, and said, very calmly, "I have been weighing the whole matter in my mind, and I have concluded to leave the South."
"How can you do it?" said Camilla. "I tremble lest you should be discovered. Oh slavery! what a curse. Our fathers sowed the wind, and we are reaping the whirlwind! What," continued she, as if speaking to herself, "What are your plans? Have you any?"
"None, except to disguise myself and escape."
"When?"
"As soon as possible."
"Suppose I call Miriam. She can help you. Shall I?"
"Yes."
Camilla called Miriam, and after a few moments consultation it was decided that Louis should escape that night, and that Miriam should prepare whatever was needed for his hasty flight.
"Don't trust your secret to any white person," said Miriam, "but if you meet any of the colored people, just tell them that you is for the Linkum soldiers, and it will be all right; we don't know all about this war, but we feels somehow we's all mixed up in it."
And so with many prayers and blessings from Miriam, and sad farewells from Camilla, he left his home to enter upon that perilous flight, the whole current of his life changed.
It was in the early part of Winter; but the air was just as pleasant as early Spring in that climate. Louis walked all that night, guiding himself northward at night by the light of the stars and a little pocket compass, Camilla had just given him before starting, and avoiding the public roads during the day.
And thus he travelled for two days, when his lunch was exhausted, his lips parched with thirst, and his strength began to fail.
Just in this hour of extremity he saw seated by the corner of a fence a very black and homely-looking woman; there was something so gloomy and sullen in her countenance that he felt repelled by its morose expression. Still he needed food, and was very weary, and drawing near he asked her if she would give him anything to eat.
"Ain't got nothing. De sojers done been here, and eat all up."
Louis drew near and whispered a few words in her ear, and immediately a change passed over her whole countenance. The sullen expression turned to a look of tenderness and concern. The harsh tones of her voice actually grew mellow, and rising up in haste she almost sprang over the fence, and said, "I'se been looking for you, if you's Northman you's mighty welcome," and she set before him her humble store of provisions.
"Do you know," said Louis, "where I will find the Lincoln soldiers, or where the secesh are encamped?"
"No," said she "but my old man's mighty smart, and he'll find out; you come wid me."
Nothing doubting he went, and found the husband ready to do anything in his power to help him.
"You's better not go any furder to-day. I'll get you a place to hide where nobody can't find you, and then I'll pump Massa 'bout the sojers."
True to his word, he contrived to find out whether the soldiers were near.
"Massa," said he, scratching his head, and looking quite sober, "Massa, hadn't I better hide the mules? Oh I's 'fraid the Linkum sojers will come take 'em, cause dey gobbles up ebery ting dey lays dere hans on, jis like geese. I yerd dey was coming; mus' I hide de mules?"
"No, Sam, the scalawags are more than a hundred miles away; they are near Natchez."
"Well, maybe, t'was our own Fedrate soldiers."
"No, Sam, our nearest soldiers are at Baton Rouge."
"All right Massa. I don't want to lose all dem fine mules."
As soon as it was convenient Sam gave Louis the desired information. "Here," said Sam, when Louis was ready to start again, "is something to break your fast, and if you goes dis way you musn't let de white folks know what you's up to, but you trust dis," said he, laying his hand on his own dark skin.
His new friend went with him several miles, and pointing him out the way left him to pursue his journey onward. The next person he met with was a colored man, who bowed and smiled, and took off his hat.
Louis returned the bow, and was passing on when he said, "Massa, 'scuse me for speakin' to you, but dem secesh been hunting all day for a 'serter, him captin dey say."
Louis turned pale, but bracing his nerves he said, "Where are they?"
"Dey's in the house; is you he?"
"I am a Union man," Louis said, "and am trying to reach the Lincoln soldiers."
"Den," said the man, "if dat am de fac I's got a place for you; come with me," and Louis having learned to trust the colored people followed him to a place of safety.
Soon it was noised abroad that another deserter had been seen in that neighborhood, but the colored man would not reveal the whereabouts of Louis. His master beat him severely, but he would let neither threats nor torture wring the secret from his lips.
Louis saw the faithfulness of that man, and he thought with shame of his former position to the race from whom such unswerving devotion could spring. The hunt proving ineffectual, Louis after the search and excitement had subsided resumed his journey Northward, meeting with first one act of kindness and then another.
One day he had a narrow escape from the bloodhounds. He had trusted his secret to a colored man who, faithful like the rest, was directing him on his way when deep ominous sounds fell on their ears. The colored man knew that sound too well; he knew something of the nature of bloodhounds, and how to throw them off the track.
So hastily opening his pen-knife he cut his own feet so that the blood from them might deepen the scent on one track, and throw them off from Louis's path.
It was a brave deed, and nobly done, and Louis began to feel that he had never known them, and then how vividly came into his mind the words of Dr. Charming: "After all we may be trampling on one of the best branches of the human race." Here were men and women too who had been trampled on for ages ready to break to him their bread, aye share with him their scanty store.
One had taken the shoes from his feet and almost forced him to take them. What was it impelled these people? What was the Union to them, and who were Lincoln's soldiers that they should be so ready to gravitate to the Union army and bring the most reliable information to the American General?
Was it not the hope of freedom which they were binding as amulets around their hearts? They as a race had lived in a measure upon an idea; it was the hope of a deliverance yet to come. Faith in God had underlain the life of the race, and was it strange if when even some of our politicians did not or could not read the signs of the times aright these people with deeper intuitions understood the war better than they did.
But at last Louis got beyond the borders of the confederacy, and stood once more on free soil, appreciating that section as he had never done before.