DAWNING.
Hesden Le Moyne stood with Nimbus under the great low-branching
oak, in the chill morning, and listened to the labored breathing
of the man for the sake of whose humanity his father had braved
public opinion in the old slave-era, which already seemed centuries
away in the dim past. The training of his life, the conditions
of his growth, bore fruit in that moment. He pitied the outraged
victim, he was shocked at the barbarity of his fellows; but there
was no sense of injustice, no feeling of sacred rights trampled
on and ignored in the person of the sufferer. He remembered when
he had played with Eliab beside his mother's hearth; when he had
varied the monotony of study by teaching the crippled slave-boy
the tasks he himself was required to perform. The tenderness of
old associations sprang up in his mind and he felt himself affronted
in the person of the protege of his family. He disliked cruelty;
he hated cowardice; and he felt that Eliab Hill had been the victim
of a cruel and cowardly assault. He remembered how faithfully
this man's mother had nursed his own. Above all, the sentiment of
comradeship awoke. This man who had been his playfellow had been
brutally treated because of his weakness. He would not see him
bullied. He would stand by him to the death.
"The cowards!" he hissed through his teeth. "Bring him in, Nimbus,
quick! They needn't expect me to countenance such brutality as
this!"
"Marse Hesden," said the black Samson who had stood, silently
watching the white playmate of his boyhood, while the latter
recovered himself from the sort of stupor into which the revelation
he had heard had thrown him, "God bress yer fer dem words! I 'llowed
yer'd stan' by 'Liab. Dat's why I fotched him h'yer."
"Of course I would, and by you too, Nimbus."
"No, Marse Hesden, dat wouldn't do no sort o' good. Nimbus hez jes
got ter cut an' run fer it. I 'specs them ar dat's a lyin' dar in
front ob 'Liab's do' ain't like ter do no mo' troublin'; an' yer
knows, Marse Hesden, 'twouldn't nebber be safe fer a cullu'd man
dat's done dat ar ter try an' lib h'yerabouts no mo'!"
"But you did it in defense of life. You had a right to do it,
Nimbus."
"Dar ain't no doubt o' dat, Marse Hesden, but I'se larned dat
de right ter du a ting an' de doin' on't is two mighty diff'rent
tings, when it's a cullu'd man ez does it. I hed a right ter buy
a plantation an' raise terbacker; an' 'Liab hed a right ter teach
an' preach; an' we both hed a right ter vote for ennybody we had
a mind ter choose. An' so we did; an' dat's all we done, tu. An'
now h'yer's what's come on't, Marse Hesden."
Nimbus pointed to the bruised creature before them as he spoke,
and his tones sounded like an arraignment.
"I am afraid you are right, Nimbus," said the white man, with a
sense of self-abasement he had never thought to feel before one of
the inferior race. "But bring him in, we must not waste time here."
"Dat's a fac'," said Nimbus, with a glance at the East. "'Tain't
more'n 'bout a hour till sun-up, an' I mustn't be seen hereabouts
atter dat. Dey'll be a lookin' atter me, an' 'twon't be safe fer
Nimbus ter be no whar 'cept in de mos' lonesome places. But whar's
ye gwine ter put 'Liab, Marse Hesden?"
"In the house--anywhere, only be quick about it. Don't let him
die here!" said Hesden, bending over the prostrate man and passing
a hand over his forehead with a shudder.
"But whar'bouts in de house yer gwine ter put him, Marse Hesden?"
"Anywhere, man--in my room, if nowhere else. Come, take hold
here!" was Hesden's impatient rejoinder as he put his one hand
under Eliab's head and strove to raise him up.
"Dat won't do, Marse Hesden," said Nimbus, solemnly. 'Liab had a
heap better go back ter de woods an' chance it wid Nimbus, dan be
in your room."
"Why so?"
"Why? Kase yer knows dat de men what done disting ain't a-gwine ter
let him lib ef dey once knows whar he's ter be found. He's de one
dey wuz atter, jest ez much ez Nimbus, an' p'raps a leetle more,
dough yer knows ther ain't a mite o' harm in him, an' nebber
was, But dat don't matter. Deytinks dat he keeps de cullu'd folks
togedder, an' makes' em stan' up for dere rights, an' dat's why dey
went fer him. 'Sides dat, ef he didn't hurt none on 'em dey know
he seed an' heerd 'em, an' so'll be afeared ter let up on him on
dat account."
"I'd like to see the men that would take him out of my house!" said
Le Moyne, indignantly.
"Dar'd jes be two men killed instead ob one, ef yer should," said
the other, dryly.
"Perhaps you're right," said Le Moyne, thoughtfully. "The men who
did this will do anything. But where _shall_ we put him? He
can't lie here."
"Marse Hesden, does yer mind de loft ober de ole dinin'-room, whar
we all used ter play ob a Sunday?"
"Of course, I've got my tobacco bulked down there now," was the
answer. "Dat's de place, Marse Hesden!"
"But there's no way to get in there except by a ladder," said
Hesden.
"So much de better. You gits de ladder, an' I brings 'Liab."
In a few minutes Eliab was lying on some blankets, hastily thrown
over a bulk of leaf tobacco, in the loft over the old dining-room
at Mulberry Hill, and Hesden Le Moyne was busy bathing his face,
examining his wounds, and endeavoring to restore him to consciousness.
Nimbus waited only to hear his report that the wounds, though numerous
and severe, were not such as would be likely to prove fatal. There
were several cuts and bruises about the head; a shot had struck the
arm, which had caused the loss of blood; and the weakened tendons
of the cramped and unused legs had been torn asunder. These were
all the injuries Le Moyne could find. Nimbus dropped upon his knees,
and threw his arms about the neck of his friend at this report,
and burst into tears.
"God bress yer, 'Liab! God bress yer!" he sobbed.
"Nimbus can't do no mo' fer ye, an' don't 'llow he'll nebber see
ye no mo'--no mo' in dis world! Good-by, 'Liab, good-by! Yer don't
know Nimbus's gwine away, does yer? God bress yer, p'raps it's
better so--better so!"
He kissed again and again the pale forehead, from which the dark
hair had been brushed back by repeated bathings. Then rising and
turning away his head, he extended his hand to Le Moyne and said:
"Good-bye, Marse Hesden! God bress yer! Take good keer o' 'Liab,
Mahs'r, an'--an'--ef he gits round agin, don't let him try ter
stay h'yrabouts--don't, please! 'Tain't no use! See ef yer can't
git him ter go ter de Norf, er somewhar. Oh, my God!" he exclaimed,
suddenly, as the memory of his care of the stricken friend came
suddenly upon him, "my God! what'll he ebber do widout Nimbus ter
keer fer him?"
His voice was drowned in sobs and his grip on the hand of the white
man was like the clasp of a vice.
"Don't go, Nimbus, don't!" pleaded Hesden.
"I must, Marse Hesden," said he, repressing his sobs. "l'se got
ter see what's come o' 'Gena an' de rest, an' it's best fer both.
Good-by! God bress yer! Ef he comes tu, ax him sometimes ter pray
for Nimbus. But'tain't no use--no use--fer he'll do it without
axin'. Good-by!"
He opened the wooden shutter, ran down the ladder, and disappeared,
as the misty morning gave way to the full and perfect day.