HOMEWARD.
The morning broke bright and mellow with the rays of the winter sun,
which in Carolina lends the warmth of October to the chills of January,
when, with my portmanteau strapped, and my thin overcoat on my arm, I
gave my last "God bless you" to the octoroon woman, and turned my face
toward home.
Jim shouted "all ready," the driver cracked his whip, and we were on our
way to Georgetown.
The recent rains had hardened the roads, the bridges were repaired, and
we were whirled rapidly forward, and, at one o'clock, reached
Bucksville. There we met a cordial welcome, and remained to dinner. Our
host pressed us to pass the night at his house, but the Colonel had
business with one of his secession friends residing down the road--my
wayside acquaintance, Colonel A----, and desired to stay overnight with
him. At three o'clock, bidding a kindly farewell to Captain B---- and his
excellent family, we were again on our way.
The sun was just sinking among the western pines, when we turned into a
broad avenue, lined with stately old trees, and rode up to the door-way
of the rice-planter. It was a large, square, dingy old house, seated on
a gentle knoll, a short half-mile from the river, along whose banks
stretched the rice-fields. We entered, and were soon welcomed by its
proprietor.
He received my friend warmly, and gave me a courteous greeting,
remarking, when I mentioned that I was homeward bound, that it was wise
to go. "Things are very unsettled; there's no telling what a day may
bring forth; feeling is running very high, and a Northern man, whatever
his principles, is not safe here. By-the-way," he added, "did you not
meet with some little obstruction at Conwayboro', on your way up?"
"Yes, I did; a person there ordered me back, but when things began to
look serious, Scipio, the negro whom you saw with me, got me out of the
hobble."
"Didn't he tell the gentleman that you were a particular friend of mine,
and had met me by appointment at Captain B----'s?" he asked, smiling.
"I believe he did, sir; but I assure you, _I_ said nothing of the kind,
and I think the black should not be blamed, under the circumstances."
"Oh, no; I don't blame him. I think he did a smart thing. He might have
said you were my grandmother, if it would have served you, for that low
fellow is as fractious as the devil, and dead sure on the trigger."
"You are very good, sir," I replied: "how did you hear of it?"
"A day or two afterward, B---- passed here on his way to Georgetown. I
had been riding out, and happened to be at the head of my avenue when
he was going by. He stopped, and asked if I knew you. Not knowing, then,
the circumstances, I said that I had met you casually at Bucksville, but
had no particular acquaintance with you. He rode on, saying nothing
further. The next morning, I had occasion to go to Georgetown, and at
Mr. Fraser's office, accidentally heard that Scip--who is well-known and
universally liked there--was to have a public whipping that evening.
Something prompted me to inquire into it, and I was told that he had
been charged by B---- with shielding a well-known abolitionist at
Conwayboro'--a man who was going through the up-country, distributing
such damnable publications as the New York _Independent_ and _Tribune_.
I knew, of course, it referred to you, and that it wasn't true. I went
to Scip and got the facts, and by stretching the truth a little, finally
got him off. There was a slight discrepancy between my two accounts of
you" (and here he laughed heartily), "and B----, when we were before the
Justice, remarked on it, and came d----d near calling me a liar. It was
lucky he didn't, for if he had, he'd have gone to h--l before the place
was hot enough for him."
"I cannot tell you, my dear sir, how grateful I am to you for this. It
would have pained me more than I can express, if Scip had suffered for
doing a disinterested kindness to me."
Early in the morning we were again on our way, and twelve o'clock found
us seated at a dinner of bacon, corn-bread, and waffles, in the "first
hotel" of Georgetown. The Charleston boat was to leave at three o'clock;
and, as soon as dinner was over, I sallied out to find Scip. After a
half-hour's search I found him on "Shackelford's wharf," engaged in
loading a schooner bound for New York with a cargo of cotton and
turpentine.
He was delighted to see me, and when I had told him I was going home,
and might never see him again, I took his hand warmly in mine, and said:
"Scip, I have heard of the disgrace that was near being put upon you on
my account, and I feel deeply the disinterested service you did to me;
now, I _can not_ go away without doing _something_ for you--showing you
in _some_ way that I appreciate and _like_ you."
"I like's _you_, massa," he replied, the tears coming to his eyes: "I
tuk ter you de bery fuss day I seed you, 'case, I s'pose," and he wrung
my hand till it ached: "you pitied de pore brack man. But you karnt do
nuffin fur _me_, massa; I doant want nuffin; I doant want ter leab har,
'case de Lord dat put me har, arn't willin' I shud gwo. But you kin do
suffin, massa, fur de pore brack man,--an' dat'll be doin' it fur _me_,
'case my heart am all in dat. You kin tell dem folks up dar, whar you
lib, massa, dat we'm not like de brutes, as dey tink we is. Dat we's got
souls, an' telligence, an' feelin's, an' am men like demselfs. You kin
tell 'em, too, massa,--'case you's edication, and kin talk--how de pore
wite man 'am kep' down har; how he'm ragged, an' starvin', an' ob no
account, 'case de brack man am a slave. How der chil'ren can't get no
schulein', how eben de grow'd up ones doan't know nuffin--not eben so
much as de pore brack slave, 'case de 'stockracy wan't dar votes, an
cudn't get 'em ef dey 'low'd 'em larning. Ef your folks know'd all de
trufh--ef dey know'd how both de brack an' de pore w'ite man, am on de
groun', and can't git up, ob demselfs--dey'd do _suffin'_--dey'd break
de Constertution--dey'd do suffin' ter help us. I doant want no one
hurted, I doant want no one wronged; but jess tink ob it, massa, four
million ob bracks, and nigh so many pore wites, wid de bressed gospil
shinin' down on 'em, an' dey not knowin' on it. All dem--ebry one of
'em--made in de image ob de great God, an' dey driven roun', an' 'bused
wuss dan de brutes. You's seed dis, massa, wid your own eyes, an' you
kin tell 'em on it; an' you _will_ tell 'em on it, massa;" and again he
took my hand while the tears rolled down his cheeks; "an' Scip will
bress you fur it, massa; wid his bery lass breaf he'll bress you; an' de
good Lord will bress you, too, massa; He will foreber bress you, for
He'm on de side ob de pore, an' de 'flicted: His own book say dat, an'
it am true, I knows it, fur I feels it _har_;" and he laid his hand on
his heart, and was silent.
I could not speak for a moment. When I mastered my feelings, I said, "I
_will_ do it Scip; as God gives me strength, I _will_."
Reader, I am keeping my word.