HOW WE SHOULD ALL BE FORGIVING.
LET us forget the scenes of the foregoing chapters, and turn to
something of pleasanter hue. In the meantime, let us freely
acknowledge that we live in a land-our democratic south, we
mean-where sumptuous living and abject misery present their boldest
outlines,--where the ignorance of the many is excused by the polished
education of a very few,--where autocracy sways its lash with
bitterest absolutism,--where menial life lies prostrate at the feet
of injustice, and despairingly appeals to heaven for succour,--where
feasts and funerals rival each other,--and when pestilence, like a
glutton, sends its victims to the graveyard most, the ball-room
glitters brightest with its galaxy. Even here, where clamour cries
aloud for popular government, men's souls are most crushed-not with
legal right, but by popular will! And yet, from out all this
incongruous substance, there seems a genial spirit working itself
upon the surface, and making good its influence; and it is to that
influence we should award the credit due. That genial spirit is the
good master's protection; we would it were wider exercised for the
good of all. But we must return to our narrative.
The Rosebrook Villa has assumed its usual cheerfulness; but while
pestilence makes sad havoc among the inhabitants of the city, gaiety
is equally rampant. In a word, even the many funeral trains which
pass along every day begin to wear a sort of cheerfulness, in
consequence of which, it is rumoured, the aristocracy-we mean those
who have money to spend-have made up their minds not to depart for
the springs yet awhile. As for Franconia, finding she could no
longer endure M'Carstrow's dissolute habits, and having been told by
that very distinguished gentleman, but unamiable husband, that he
despised the whole tribe of her poor relations, she has retired to
private boarding, where, with the five dollars a week, he, in the
outpouring of his southern generosity, allows her, she subsists
plainly but comfortably. It is, indeed, a paltry pittance, which the
M'Carstrow family will excuse to the public with the greatness of
their name.
Harry has returned to the plantation, where the people have
smothered him in a new suit of black. Already has he preached three
sermons in it, which said sermons are declared wonderful proofs of
his biblical knowledge. Even Daddy Daniel, who expended fourteen
picayunes in a new pair of spectacles, with which to hear the new
parson more distinctly, pronounces the preaching prodigious. He is
vehement in his exultation, lavishes his praise without stint; and
as his black face glows with happiness, thanks missus for her great
goodness in thus providing for their spiritual welfare. The
Rosebrook "niggers" were always extremely respectable and well
ordered in their moral condition; but now they seem invested with a
new impulse for working out their own good; and by the advice of
missus, whom every sable son and daughter loves most dearly, Daddy
Daniel has arranged a system of evening prayer meetings, which will
be held in the little church, twice a week. And, too, there prevails
a strong desire for an evening gathering now and then, at which the
young shiners may be instructed how to grow. A curiously democratic
law, however, offers a fierce impediment to this; and Daddy Daniel
shakes his head, and aunt Peggy makes a belligerent muttering when
told such gatherings cannot take place without endangering the
state's rights. It is, nevertheless, decided that Kate, and Nan, and
Dorothy, and Webster, and Clay, and such like young folks, may go to
"settings up" and funerals, but strictly abstain from all
fandangoes. Dad Daniel and his brother deacons cannot countenance
such fiddling and dancing, such break-downs, and shoutings, and
whirlings, and flouncing and frilling, and gay ribboning, as
generally make up the evening's merriment at these fandangoes, so
prevalent on neighbouring plantations about Christmas time. "Da don'
mount to no good!" Daniel says, with a broad guffaw. "Nigger what
spect t' git hi' way up in da world bes lef dem tings." And so one
or two more screws are to be worked up for the better regulation of
the machinery of the plantation. As for Master Rosebrook-why, he
wouldn't sell a nigger for a world of money; and he doesn't care how
much they learn; the more the better, provided they learn on the
sly. They are all to be freed at a certain time, and although
freedom is sweet, without learning they might make bad use of it.
But master has had a noble object in view for some days past, and
which, after encountering many difficulties, he has succeeded in
carrying out to the great joy of all parties concerned.
One day, as the people were all busily engaged on the plantation,
Bradshaw's familiar figure presents itself at the house, and demands
to see Harry. He has great good news, but don't want to tell him
"nofin" till he arrives at the Villa. "Ah, good man" (Bradshaw's
face beams good tidings, as he approaches Harry, and delivers a
note) "mas'r specs ye down da' wid no time loss." Bradshaw rubs his
hands, and grins, and bows, his face seeming two shades blacker than
ever, but no less cheerful.
"Master wants me to preach somewhere, next Sunday,--I know he does,"
says Harry, reading the note, which requests him to come immediately
into the city. He will prepare to obey the summons, Dan and Sprat
meanwhile taking good care of the horse and carriage, while Bradshaw
makes a friendly visit to a few of the more distinguished cabins,
and says "how de" to venerable aunties, who spread their best fare
before him, and, with grave ceremony, invite him in to refresh
before taking his return journey into the city; and Maum Betsy packs
up six of her real smart made sweet cakes for the parson and
Bradshaw to eat along the road. Betsy is in a strange state of
bewilderment to know why master wants to take the new parson away
just now, when he's so happy, and is only satisfied when assured
that he will be safely returned to-morrow. A signal is made for Dad
Daniel, who hastens to the cabin in time to see everything properly
arranged for the parson's departure, and say: "God bless 'um,--good
by!"
"Now, what can master want with me?" enquires Harry, as, on the
road, they roll away towards the city.
Bradshaw cracks his whip, and with a significant smile looks Harry
in the face, and returns: "Don' ax dis child no mo' sich question.
Old mas'r and me neber break secret. Tell ye dis, do'h! Old mas'r do
good ting, sartin."
"You know, but won't tell me, eh?" rejoins Harry, his manly face
wearing a solicitous look. Bradshaw shakes his head, and adds a
cunning wink in reply.
It is three o'clock when they arrive at the Villa, where, without
reserve, missus extends her hand, and gives him a cordial
welcome,--tells him Franconia has been waiting to see him with great
patience, and has got a present for him. Franconia comes rushing
into the hall, and is so glad to see him; but her countenance wears
an air of sadness, which does not escape his notice-she is not the
beautiful creature she was years ago, care has sadly worn upon those
rounded features. But master is there, and he looks happy and
cheerful; and there is something about the house servants, as they
gather round him to have their say, which looks of suspiciously good
omen. He cannot divine what it is; his first suspicions being
aroused by missus saying Franconia had been waiting to see him.
"We must not call him Harry any longer-it doesn't become his
profession: now that he is Elder of my plantation flock, he must,
from this time, be called Elder!" says Rosebrook, touching him on
the arm with the right hand. And the two ladies joined in, that it
must be so. "Go into the parlour, ladies; I must say a word or two
to the Elder," continued Rosebrook, taking Harry by the arm, and
pacing through the hall into the conservatory at the back of the
house. Here, after ordering Harry to be seated, he recounts his plan
of emancipation, which, so far, has worked admirably, and, at the
time proposed, will, without doubt or danger, produce the hoped-for
result. "You, my good man," he says, "can be a useful instrument in
furthering my ends; I want you to be that instrument!" His negroes
have all an interest in their labour, which interest is preserved
for them in missus's savings-bank; and at a given time they are to
have their freedom, but to remain on the plantation if they choose,
at a stipulated rate of wages. Indeed, so strongly impressed with
the good results of his proposed system is Rosebrook, that he long
since scouted that contemptible fallacy, which must have had its
origin in the very dregs of selfishness, that the two races can only
live in proximity by one enslaving the other. Justice to each other,
he holds, will solve the problem of their living together; but,
between the oppressor and the oppressed, a volcano that may at any
day send forth its devouring flame, smoulders. Rosebrook knows
goodness always deserves its reward; and Harry assures him he never
will violate the trust. Having said thus much, he rises from his
chair, takes Harry by the arm, and leading him to the door of the
conservatory, points him to a passage leading to the right, and
says: "In there!-proceed into that passage, enter a door, first door
on the left, and then you will find something you may consider your
own."
Harry hesitated for a moment, watched master's countenance
doubtingly, as if questioning the singular command.
"Fear not! nobody will hurt you," continues Rosebrook.
"Master never had a bad intention," thinks Harry; "I know he would
not harm me; and then missus is so good." Slowly and nervously he
proceeds, and on reaching the door hears a familiar "come in"
answering his nervous rap. The door opened into a neat little room,
with carpet and chairs, a mahogany bureau and prints, all so neatly
arranged, and wearing such an air of cleanliness. No sooner has he
advanced beyond the threshold than the emaciated figure of a black
sister vaults into his arms, crying, "Oh Harry! Harry! Harry!-my
dear husband!" She throws her arms about his neck, and kisses, and
kisses him, and buries her tears of joy in his bosom. How she pours
out her soul's love!-how, in rapturous embraces, her black impulses
give out the purest affection!
"And you!-you!-you!-my own dear Jane! Is it you? Has God commanded
us to meet once more, to be happy once more, to live as heaven hath
ordained us to live?" he returns, as fervently and affectionately he
holds her in his arms, and returns her token of love. "Never! never!
I forget you, never! By night and by day I have prayed the
protecting hand of Providence to guide you through life's trials.
How my heart has yearned to meet you in heaven! happy am I we have
met once more on earth; yea, my soul leaps with joy. Forgive them,
Father, forgive them who separate us on earth, for heaven makes the
anointed!" And while they embrace thus fondly, their tears mingling
with joy, children, recognising a returned father as he entered the
door, are clinging at his feet beseechingly. He is their father;--how
like children they love! "Sam, Sue, and Beckie, too!" he says, as
one by one he takes them in his arms and kisses them. But there are
two more, sombre and strange. He had caught the fourth in his arms,
unconsciously. "Ah, Jane!" he exclaims, turning toward her, his face
filled with grief and chagrin, "they are not of me, Jane!" He still
holds the little innocent by the hand, as nervously he waits her
reply. It is not guilt, but shame, with which she returns an answer.
"It was not my sin, Harry! It was him that forced me to live with
another,--that lashed me when I refused, and, bleeding, made me obey
the will," she returns, looking at him imploringly. Virtue is weaker
than the lash; none feel it more than the slave. She loved Harry,
she followed him with her thoughts; but it was the Christian that
reduced her to the level of the brute. Laying her coloured hand upon
his shoulder, she besought his forgiveness, as God was forgiving.
"Why should I not forgive thee, Jane? I would not chide thee, for no
sin is on thy garments. Injustice gave master the right to sell
thee, to make of thee what he pleased. Heaven made thy soul
purest,--man thy body an outcast for the unrighteous to feast upon.
How could I withhold forgiveness, Jane? I will be a father to them,
a husband to thee; for what thou hast been compelled to do is right,
in the land we live in." So saying, he again embraces her, wipes the
tears from her eyes, and comforts her. How sweet is forgiveness! It
freshens like the dew of morning on the drooping plant; it
strengthens the weary spirit, it steals into the desponding soul,
and wakes to life new hopes of bliss,--to the slave it is sweet
indeed!
"I will kiss them, too," he ejaculates, taking them in his arms with
the embrace of a fond father,--which simple expression of love they
return with prattling. They know not the trials of their parents;
how blessed to know them not!
And now they gather the children around them, and seat themselves on
a little settee near the window, where Harry, overjoyed at meeting
his dear ones once more, fondles them and listens to Jane, as with
her left arm round his neck she discloses the sad tale of her
tribulation. Let us beg the reader to excuse the recital; there is
nothing fascinating in it, nor would we call forth the modest
blushes of our generous south. A few words of the woman's story,
however, we cannot omit; and we trust the forgiving will pardon
their insertion. She tells Harry she was not separated from her
children; but that Romescos, having well considered her worth, sold
her with her "young uns" to the Rev. Peter--, who had a small
plantation down in Christ's Parish. The reverend gentleman, being
born and educated to the degrading socialities of democratic states,
always says he is not to blame for "using" the rights the law gives
him; nor does he forget to express sundry regrets that he cannot see
as preachers at the north see. As for money, he thinks preachers
have just as good a right to get it as gentlemen of any other
honourable profession. Now and then he preaches to niggers; and for
telling them how they must live in the fear of the Lord, be obedient
to their master, and pay for redemption by the sweat of their brows,
he adds to his pile of coin. But he is strongly of the opinion that
niggers are inferior "brutes" of the human species, and in
furtherance of this opinion (so popular in the whole south) he
expects them to live a week on a peck of corn. As for Jane-we must
excuse the reverend gentleman, because of his faith in southern
principles-he compelled her to live with the man Absalom ere she had
been two days on his plantation, and by the same Absalom she had two
children, which materially increased the cash value of the Reverend
Peter--'s slave property. Indeed, so well is the reverend gentleman
known for his foul play, that it has been thrown up to him in open
court-by wicked planters who never had the fear of God before their
eyes-that he more than half starved his niggers, and charged them
toll for grinding their corn in his mill. Though the Reverend Peter
--never failed to assure his friends and acquaintances of his
generosity (a noble quality which had long been worthily maintained
by the ancient family to which he belonged), the light of one
generous act had never found its way to the public. In truth, so
elastically did his reverend conscientiousness expand when he
learned the strange motive which prompted Rosebrook to purchase Jane
and her little ones, that he sorely regretted he had not put two
hundred dollars more on the price of the lot. Fortunately Jane was
much worn down by grief and toil, and was viewed by the reverend
gentleman as a piece of property he would rather like to dispose of
to the best advantage, lest she should suddenly make a void in his
dollars and cents by sliding into some out of the way grave-yard.
But Rosebrook, duly appreciating the unchristian qualities of our
worthy one's generosity, kept his motive a profound secret until the
negociation was completed. Now that it had become known that the
Reverend Peter--(who dresses in blackest black, most
sanctimoniously cut, whitest neckcloth wedded to his holy neck, and
face so simply serious) assures Rosebrook he has got good
people,--they are valuably promising-he will pray for them, that the
future may prosper their wayfaring. He cannot, however, part with
the good man without admonishing him how dangerous it is to give
unto "niggers" the advantage of a superior position.
Reader, let us hope the clergy of the south will take heed lest by
permitting their brethren to be sold and stolen in this manner they
bring the profession into contempt. Let us hope the southern church
will not much longer continue to bring pure Christianity into
disgrace by serving ends so vile that heaven and earth frowns upon
them; for false is the voice raised in sanctimony to heaven for
power to make a footstool of a fallen race!