NORA'S SON.
Look on this babe; and let thy pride take heed,
Thy pride of manhood, intellect or fame,
That thou despise him not; for he indeed,
And such as he in spirit and heart the same,
Are God's own children in that kingdom bright,
Where purity is praise, and where before
The Father's throne, triumphant evermore,
The ministering angels, sons of light,
Stand unreproved because they offer there,
Mixed with the Mediator's hallowing prayer,
The innocence of babes in Christ like this.
--_M.F. Tupper_.
Hannah was left alone with her sorrows and her mortifications.
Never until now had she so intensely realized her bereavement and her
solitude. Nora was buried; and the few humble friends who had
sympathized with her were gone; and so she was alone with her great
troubles. She threw herself into a chair, and for the third or fourth
time that day broke into a storm of grief. And the afternoon had faded
nearly into night before she regained composure. Even then she sat like
one palsied by despair, until a cry of distress aroused her. It was the
wail of Nora's infant. She arose and took the child and laid it on her
lap to feed it. Even Hannah looked at it with a pity that was almost
allied to contempt.
It was in fact the thinnest, palest, puniest little object that had ever
come into this world prematurely, uncalled for, and unwelcome. It did
not look at all likely to live. And as Hannah fed the ravenous little
skeleton she could not help mentally calculating the number of its hours
on earth, and wishing that she had thought to request Mr. Wynne, while
he was in the house, to baptize the wretched baby, so little likely to
live for another opportunity. Nor could Hannah desire that it should
live. It had brought sorrow, death, and disgrace into the hut, and it
had nothing but poverty, want, and shame for its portion in this world;
and so the sooner it followed its mother the better, thought
Hannah--short-sighted mortal.
Had Hannah been a discerner of spirits to recognize the soul in that
miserable little baby-body!
Or had she been a seeress to foresee the future of that child of sorrow!
Reader, this boy is our hero; a real hero, too, who actually lived and
suffered and toiled and triumphed in this land!
"Out of the depths" he came indeed! Out of the depths of poverty,
sorrow, and degradation he rose, by God's blessing on his aspirations,
to the very zenith of fame, honor, and glory!
He made his name, the only name he was legally entitled to bear--his
poor wronged mother's maiden-name--illustrious in the annals of our
nation!
But this is to anticipate.
No vision of future glory, however, arose before the poor weaver's
imagination as she sat in that old hut holding the wee boy on her lap,
and for his sake as well as for her own begrudging him every hour of the
few days she supposed he had to live upon this earth. Yes! Hannah would
have felt relieved and satisfied if that child had been by his mother's
side in the coffin rather than been left on her lap.
Only think of that, my readers; think of the utter, utter destitution of
a poor little sickly, helpless infant whose only relative would have
been glad to see him dead! Our Ishmael had neither father, mother, name,
nor place in the world. He had no legal right to be in it at all; no
legal right to the air he breathed, or to the sunshine that warmed him
into life; no right to love, or pity, or care; he had nothing--nothing
but the eye of the Almighty Father regarding him. But Hannah Worth was a
conscientious woman, and even while wishing the poor boy's death she did
everything in her power to keep him alive, hoping all would be in vain.
Hannah, as you know, was very, very poor. And with this child upon her
hands she expected to be much poorer. She was a weaver of domestic
carpets and counterpanes and of those coarse cotton and woolen cloths of
which the common clothing of the plantation negroes are made, and the
most of her work came from Brudenell Hall. She used to have to go and
fetch the yarn, and then carry home the web. She had a piece of cloth
now ready to take home to Mrs. Brudenell's housekeeper; but she
abhorred the very idea of carrying it there, or of asking for more work.
Nora had been ignominiously turned from the house, cruelly driven out
into the midnight storm; that had partly caused her death. And should
she, her sister, degrade her womanhood by going again to that house to
solicit work, or even to carry back what she had finished, to meet,
perhaps, the same insults that had maddened Nora?
No, never; she would starve and see the child starve first. The web of
cloth should stay there until Jim Morris should come along, when she
would get him to take it to Brudenell Hall. And she would seek work from
other planters' wives.
She had four dollars and a half in the house--the money, you know, that
old Mrs. Jones, with all her hardness, had yet refused to take from the
poor woman. And then Mrs. Brudenell owed her five and a half for the
weaving of this web of cloth. In all she had ten dollars, eight of which
she owed to the Professor of Odd Jobs for his services at Nora's
funeral. The remaining two she hoped would supply her simple wants until
she found work. And in the meantime she need not be idle; she would
employ her time in cutting up some of poor Nora's clothes to make an
outfit for the baby--for if the little object lived but a week it must
be clothed--now it was only wrapped up in a piece of flannel.
While Hannah meditated upon these things the baby went to sleep on her
lap, and she took it up and laid it in Nora's vacated place in her bed.
And soon after Hannah took her solitary cup of tea, and shut up the hut
and retired to bed. She had not had a good night's rest since that fatal
night of Nora's flight through the snow storm to Brudenell Hall, and her
subsequent illness and death. Now, therefore, Hannah slept the sleep of
utter mental and physical prostration.
The babe did not disturb her repose. Indeed, it was a very patient
little sufferer, if such a term may be applied to so young a child. But
it was strange that an infant so pale, thin, and sickly, deprived of its
mother's nursing care besides, should have made so little plaint and
given so little trouble. Perhaps in the lack of human pity he had the
love of heavenly spirits, who watched over him, soothed his pains, and
stilled his cries. We cannot tell how that may have been, but it is
certain that Ishmael was an angel from his very birth.
The next day, as Hannah was standing at the table, busy in cutting out
small garments, and the baby-boy was lying upon the bed equally busy in
sucking his thumb, the door was pushed open and the Professor of Odd
Jobs stood in the doorway, with a hand upon either post, and sadness on
his usually good-humored and festive countenance.
"Ah, Jim, is that you? Come in, your money is all ready for you," said
Hannah on perceiving him.
It is not the poor who "grind the faces of the poor." Jim Morris would
have scorned to have taken a dollar from Hannah Worth at this trying
crisis of her life.
"Now, Miss Hannah," he answered, as he came in at her bidding, "please
don't you say one word to me 'bout de filthy lucre, 'less you means to
'sult me an' hurt my feelin's. I don't 'quire of no money for doin' of a
man's duty by a lone 'oman! Think Jim Morris is a man to 'pose upon a
lone 'oman? Hopes not, indeed! No, Miss Hannah! I aint a wolf, nor
likewise a bear! Our Heabenly Maker, he gib us our lives an' de earth
an' all as is on it, for ourselves free! And what have we to render him
in turn? Nothing! And what does he 'quire ob us? On'y lub him and lub
each oder, like human beings and 'mortal souls made in his own image to
live forever! and not to screw and 'press each oder, and devour an' prey
on each oder like de wild beastesses dat perish! And I considers, Miss
Hannah--"
And here, in fact, the professor, having secured a patient hearer,
launched into an oration that, were I to report it word for word, would
take up more room than we can spare him. He brought his discourse round
in a circle, and ended where he had begun.
"And so, Miss Hannah, say no more to me 'bout de money, 'less you want
to woun' my feelin's."
"Well, I will not, Morris; but I feel so grateful to you that I would
like to repay you in something better than mere words," said Hannah.
"And so you shall, honey, so you shall, soon as eber I has de need and
you has de power! But now don't you go and fall into de pop'lar error of
misparagin' o' words. Words! why words is de most powerfullist engine of
good or evil in dis worl'! Words is to idees what bodies is to souls!
Wid words you may save a human from dispair, or you may drive him to
perdition! Wid words you may confer happiness or misery! Wid words a
great captain may rally his discomforted troops, an' lead 'em on to
wictory! wid words a great congressman may change the laws of de land!
Wid words a great lawyer may 'suade a jury to hang an innocent man, or
to let a murderer go free. It's bery fashionable to misparage words,
callin' of 'em 'mere words.' Mere words! mere fire! mere life! mere
death! mere heaben! mere hell! as soon as mere words! What are all the
grand books in de worl' filled with? words! What is the one great Book
called? What is the Bible called? De Word!" said the professor,
spreading out his arms in triumph at this peroration.
Hannah gazed in very sincere admiration upon this orator, and when he
had finished, said:
"Oh, Morris, what a pity you had not been a white man, and been brought
up at a learned profession!"
"Now aint it, though, Miss Hannah?" said Morris.
"You would have made such a splendid lawyer or parson!" continued the
simple woman, in all sincerity.
"Now wouldn't I, though?" complained the professor. "Now aint it a shame
I'm nyther one nor t'other? I have so many bright idees all of my own! I
might have lighted de 'ciety an' made my fortin at de same time! Well!"
he continued, with a sigh of resignation, "if I can't make my own fortin
I can still lighten de 'ciety if only dey'd let me; an' I'm willin' to
du it for nothin'! But people won't 'sent to be lighted by me; soon as
ever I begins to preach or to lecture in season, an' out'n season, de
white folks, dey shut up my mouf, short! It's trufe I'm a-tellin' of
you, Miss Hannah! Dey aint no ways, like you. Dey can't 'preciate
ge'nus. Now I mus' say as you can, in black or white! An' when I's so
happy as to meet long of a lady like you who can 'preciate me, I'm
willin' to do anything in the wide worl' for her! I'd make coffins an'
dig graves for her an' her friends from one year's end to de t'other
free, an' glad of de chance to do it!" concluded the professor, with
enthusiastic good-will.
"I thank you very kindly, Jim Morris; but of course I would not like to
give you so much trouble," replied Hannah, in perfect innocence of
sarcasm.
"La. It wouldn't be no trouble, Miss Hannah! But then, ma'am, I didn't
come over here to pass compliments, nor no sich! I come with a message
from old madam up yonder at Brudenell Hall."
"Ah," said Hannah, in much surprise and more disgust, "what may have
been her message to me?"
"Well, Miss Hannah, it may have been the words of comfort, such as would
become a Christian lady to send to a sorrowing fellow-creatur'; only it
wasn't," sighed Jim Morris.
"I want no such hypocritical words from her!" said Hannah indignantly.
"Well, honey, she didn't send none!"
"What did she send?"
"Well, chile, de madam, she 'quested of me to come over here an' hand
you dis five dollar an' a half, which she says she owes it to you. An'
also to ax you to send by the bearer, which is me, a certain piece of
cloth, which she says how you've done wove for her. An' likewise to tell
you as you needn't come to Brudenell Hall for more work, which there is
no more to give you. Dere, Miss Hannah, dere's de message jes' as de
madam give it to me, which I hopes you'll 'sider as I fotch it in de way
of my perfession, an' not take no 'fense at me who never meant any
towards you," said the professor deprecatingly.
"Of course not, Morris. So far from being angry with you, I am very
thankful to you for coming. You have relieved me from a quandary. I
didn't know how to return the work or to get the pay. For after what has
happened, Morris, the cloth might have stayed here and the money there,
forever, before I would have gone near Brudenell Hall!"
Morris slapped his knee with satisfaction, saying:
"Just what I thought, Miss Hannah! which made me the more willing to
bring de message. So now if you'll jest take de money an' give me de
cloth, I'll be off. I has got some clocks and umberell's to mend
to-night. And dat minds me! if you'll give me dat broken coffee-mill o'
yourn I'll fix it at de same time," said the professor.
Hannah complied with all his requests, and he took his departure.
He had scarcely got out of sight when Hannah had another visitor, Reuben
Gray, who entered the hut with looks of deprecation and words of
apology.
"Hannah, woman, I couldn't wait till Sunday! I couldn't rest! Knowing of
your situation, I felt as if I must come to you and say what I had on my
mind! Do you forgive me?"
"For what?" asked Hannah in surprise.
"For coming afore Sunday."
"Sit down, Reuben, and don't be silly. As well have it over now as any
other time."
"Very well, then, Hannah," said the man, drawing a chair to the table at
which she sat working, and seating himself.
"Now, then, what have you to say, Reuben?"
"Well, Hannah, my dear, you see I didn't want to make a disturbance
while the body of that poor girl lay unburied in the house; but now I
ask you right up and down who is the wretch as wronged Nora?" demanded
the man with a look of sternness Hannah had never seen on his patient
face before.
"Why do you wish to know, Reuben?" she inquired in a low voice.
"To kill him."
"Reuben Gray!"
"Well, what's the matter, girl?"
"Would you do murder?"
"Sartainly not, Hannah; but I will kill the villain as wronged Nora
wherever I find him, as I would a mad dog."
"It would be the same thing! It would be murder!"
"No, it wouldn't, Hannah. It would be honest killing. For when a cussed
villain hunts down and destroys an innocent girl, he ought to be counted
an outlaw that any man may slay who finds him. And if so be he don't get
his death from the first comer, he ought to be sure of getting it from
the girl's nearest male relation or next friend. And if every such
scoundrel knew he was sure to die for his crime, and the law would hold
his slayer guiltless, there would be a deal less sin and misery in this
world. As for me, Hannah, I feel it to be my solemn duty to Nora, to
womankind, and to the world, to seek out the wretch as wronged her and
kill him where I find him, just as I would a rattlesnake as had bit my
child."
"They would hang you for it, Reuben!" shuddered Hannah.
"Then they'd do very wrong! But they'd not hang me, Hannah! Thank
Heaven, in these here parts we all vally our women's innocence a deal
higher than we do our lives, or even our honor. And if a man is right to
kill another in defense of his own life, he is doubly right to do so in
defense of woman's honor. And judges and juries know it, too, and feel
it, as has been often proved. But anyways, whether or no," said Reuben
Gray, with the dogged persistence for which men of his class are often
noted, "I want to find that man to give him his dues."
"And be hung for it," said Hannah curtly.
"No, my dear, I don't want to be hung for the fellow. Indeed, to tell
the truth, I shouldn't like it at all; I know I shouldn't beforehand;
but at the same time I mustn't shrink from doing of my duty first, and
suffering for it afterwards, if necessary! So now for the rascal's name,
Hannah!"
"Reuben Gray, I couldn't tell you if I would, and I wouldn't tell you if
I could! What! do you think that I, a Christian woman, am going to send
you in your blind, brutal vengeance to commit the greatest crime you
possibly could commit?"
"Crime, Hannah! why, it is a holy duty!"
"Duty, Reuben! Do you live in the middle of the nineteenth century, in a
Christian land, and have you been going to church all your life, and
hearing the gospel of peace preached to this end?"
"Yes! For the Lord himself is a God of vengeance. He destroyed Sodom and
Gomorrah by fire, and once He destroyed the whole world by water!"
"'The devil can quote Scripture for his purpose,' Reuben! and I think he
is prompting you now! What! do you, a mortal, take upon yourself the
divine right of punishing sin by death? Reuben, when from the dust of
the earth you can make a man, and breathe into his nostrils the breath
of life, then perhaps you may talk of punishing sin with death. You
cannot even make the smallest gnat or worm live! How then could you dare
to stop the sacred breath of life in a man!" said Hannah.
"I don't consider the life of a wretch who has destroyed an innocent
girl sacred by any means," persisted Reuben.
"The more sinful the man, the more sacred his life!"
"Well, I'm blowed to thunder, Hannah, if that aint the rummest thing as
ever I heard said! the more sinful a man, the more sacred his life! What
will you tell me next!"
"Why, this: that if it is a great crime to kill a good man, it is the
greatest of all crimes to kill a bad one!"
To this startling theory Reuben could not even attempt a reply. He could
only stare at her in blank astonishment. His mental caliber could not be
compared with Hannah's in capacity.
"Have patience, dear Reuben, and I will make it all clear to you! The
more sinful the man, the more sacred his life should be considered,
because in that lies the only chance of his repentance, redemption, and
salvation. And is a greater crime to kill a bad man than to kill a good
one, because if you kill a good man, you kill his body only; but if you
kill a bad man, you kill both his body and his soul! Can't you
understand that now, dear Reuben?"
Reuben rubbed his forehead, and answered sullenly, like one about to be
convinced against his will:
"Oh, I know what you mean, well enough, for that matter."
"Then you must know, Reuben, why it is that the wicked are suffered to
live so long on this earth! People often wonder at the mysterious ways
of Providence, when they see a good man prematurely cut off and a wicked
man left alive! Why, it isn't mysterious at all to me! The good man was
ready to go, and the Lord took him; the bad man was left to his chance
of repentance. Reuben, the Lord, who is the most of all offended by sin,
spares the sinner a long time to afford him opportunity for repentance!
If he wanted to punish the sinner with death in this world, he could
strike the sinner dead! But he doesn't do it, and shall we dare to? No!
we must bow in humble submission to his awful words--' Vengeance is
mine!'"
"Hannah, you may be right; I dare say you are; yes, I'll speak plain--I
know you are! but it's hard to put up with such! I feel baffled and
disappointed, and ready to cry! A man feels ashamed to set down quiet
under such mortification!"
"Then I'll give you a cure for that! It is the remembrance of the Divine
Man and the dignified patience with which he bore the insults of the
rabble crowd upon his day of trial! You know what those insults were,
and how he bore them! Bow down before his majestic meekness, and pay him
the homage of obedience to his command of returning good for evil!"
"You're right, Hannah!" said Gray, with a great struggle, in which he
conquered his own spirit. "You're altogether right, my girl! So you
needn't tell me the name of the wrong-doer! And, indeed, you'd better
not; for the temptation to punish him might be too great for my
strength, as soon as I am out of your sight and in his!"
"Why, Reuben, my lad, I could not tell you if I were inclined to do so.
I am sworn to secrecy!"
"Sworn to secrecy! that's queer too! Who swore you?"
"Poor Nora, who died forgiving all her enemies and at peace with all the
world!"
"With him too?"
"With him most of all! And now, Reuben, I want you to listen to me. I
met your ideas of vengeance and argued them upon your own ground, for
the sake of convincing you that vengeance is wrong even under the
greatest possible provocation, such as you believed that we had all had.
But, Reuben, you are much mistaken! We have had no provocation!" said
Hannah gravely.
"What, no provocation! not in the wrong done to Nora!"
"There has been no intentional wrong done to Nora!"
"What! no wrong in all that villainy?"
"There has been no villainy, Reuben!"
"Then if that wasn't villainy, there's none in the world; and never was
any in the world, that's all I have got to say!"
"Reuben, Nora was married to the father of her child. He loved her
dearly, and meant her well. You must believe this, for it is as true as
Heaven!" said Hannah solemnly.
Reuben pricked up his ears; perhaps he was not sorry to be entirely
relieved from the temptation of killing and the danger of hanging.
And Hannah gave him as satisfactory an explanation of Nora's case as she
could give, without breaking her promise and betraying Herman Brudenell
as the partner of Nora's misfortunes.
At the close of her narrative Reuben Gray took her hand, and holding it,
said gravely:
"Well, my dear girl, I suppose the affair must rest where it is for the
present. But this makes one thing incumbent upon us." And having said
this, Reuben hesitated so long that Hannah took up the word and asked:
"This makes what incumbent upon us, lad?"
"To get married right away!" blurted out the man.
"Pray, have you come into a fortune, Reuben?" inquired Hannah coolly.
"No, child, but--"
"Neither have I," interrupted Hannah.
"I was going to say," continued the man, "that I have my hands to work
with--"
"For your large family of sisters and brothers--"
"And for you and that poor orphan boy as well! And I'm willing to do it
for you all! And we really must be married right away, Hannah! I must
have a lawful right to protect you against the slights as you'll be sure
to receive after what's happened, if you don't have a husband to take
care of you."
He paused and waited for her reply; but as she did not speak, he began
again:
"Come, Hannah, my dear, what do you say to our being married o' Sunday?"
She did not answer, and he continued:
"I think as we better had get tied together arter morning service! And
then, you know, I'll take you and the bit of a baby home long o' me,
Hannah. And I'll be a loving husband to you, my girl; and I'll be a
father to the little lad with as good a will as ever I was to my own
orphan brothers and sisters. And I'll break every bone in the skin of
any man that looks askance at him, too! Don't you fear for yourself or
the child. The country side knows me for a peaceable-disposed man; but
it had rather not provoke me for all that, because it knows when I have
a just cause of quarrel, I don't leave my work half done! Come, Hannah,
what do you say, my dear? Shall it be o' Sunday? You won't answer me?
What, crying, my girl, crying! what's that for?"
The tears were streaming from Hannah's eyes. She took up her apron and
buried her face in its folds.
"Now what's all that about?" continued Reuben, in distress; then
suddenly brightening up, he said: "Oh, I know now! You're thinking of
Nancy and Peggy! Don't be afeard, Hannah! They won't do, nor say, nor
even so much as look anything to hurt your feelings! and they had better
not, if they know which side their bread is buttered! I am the master of
my own house, I reckon, poor as it is! And my wife will be the mistress;
and my sisters must keep their proper places! Come, Hannah! come, my
darling, what do you say to me?"' he whispered, putting his arm over her
shoulders, while he tried to draw the apron from her face.
She dropped her apron, lifted her face, looked at him through her
falling tears, and answered:
"This is what I have to say to you, dear, dearest, best loved Reuben! I
feel your goodness in the very depths of my heart; I thank you with all
my soul; I will love you--you only--in silence and in solitude all my
life; I will pray for you daily and nightly; but--" She stopped and
sobbed.
"But--" said Reuben breathlessly.
"I will never carry myself and my dishonor under your honest roof."
Reuben caught his suspended breath with a sharp gasp and gazed in blank
dismay upon the sobbing woman for a few minutes, and then he said:
"Hannah--oh, my Lord! Hannah, you never mean to say that you won't marry
me?"
"I mean just that, Reuben."
"Oh, Hannah, what have I done to offend you? I never meant to do it! I
don't even know how I've done it! I'm such a blundering animal! But tell
me what it is, and I will beg your pardon!"
"It is nothing, you good, true heart! nothing! But you have two
sisters--"
"There, I knew it! It's Nancy and Peggy! They've been doing something to
hurt your feelings! Well, Hannah, they shall come here and ask your
forgiveness, or else they shall leave my home and go to earn their
living in somebody's kitchen! I've been a father to them gals; but I
won't suffer them to insult my own dear Hannah!" burst forth Reuben.
"Dear Reuben, you are totally mistaken! Your sisters no more than
yourself have ever given me the least cause of offense. They could not,
dear Reuben! They must be good girls, being your sisters."
"Well, if neither I nor my sisters have hurt your feelings, Hannah, what
in the name of sense did you mean by saying--I hate even to repeat the
words--that you won't marry me?"
"Reuben, reproach has fallen upon my name--undeserved, indeed, but not
the less severe. You have young, unmarried sisters, with nothing but
their good names to take them through the world. For their sakes, dear,
you must not marry me and my reproach!"
"Is that all you mean, Hannah?"
"All."
"Then I will marry you!"
"Reuben, you must give me up."
"I won't, I say! So there, now."
"Dear Reuben, I value your affection more than I do anything in this
world except duty; but I cannot permit you to sacrifice yourself to me,"
said Hannah, struggling hard to repress the sobs that were again rising
in her bosom.
"Hannah, I begin to think you want to drive me crazy or break my heart!
What sacrifice would it be for me to marry you and adopt that poor
child? The only sacrifice I can think of would be to give you up! But I
won't do it! no! I won't for nyther man nor mortal! You promised to
marry me, Hannah, and I won't free your promise! but I will keep you to
it, and marry you, if I die for it!" grimly persisted Reuben Gray.
And before she could reply they were interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Come in!" said Hannah, expecting to see Mrs. Jones or some other humble
neighbor.
The door was pushed gently open, and a woman of exceeding beauty stood
upon the threshold.
Her slender but elegant form was clothed in the deepest mourning; her
pale, delicate face was shaded by the blackest ringlets; her large, dark
eyes were fixed with the saddest interest upon the face of Hannah Worth.
Hannah arose in great surprise to meet her.
"You are Miss Worth, I suppose?" said the young stranger.
"Yes, miss; what is your will with me?"
"I am the Countess of Hurstmonceux. Will you let me rest here a little
while?" she asked, with a sweet smile.
Hannah gazed at the speaker in the utmost astonishment, forgetting to
answer her question, or offer a seat, or even to shut the door, through
which the wind was blowing fiercely.
What! was this beautiful pale young creature the Countess of
Hurstmonceux, the rival of Nora, the wife of Herman Brudenell, the "bad,
artful woman" who had entrapped the young Oxonian into a discreditable
marriage? Impossible!
While Hannah stood thus dumbfounded before the visitor, Reuben came
forward with rude courtesy, closed the door, placed a chair before the
fire, and invited the lady to be seated.
The countess, with a gentle bow of thanks, passed on, sank into a chair,
and let her sable furs slip from her shoulders in a drift around her
feet.