IN WHICH ARE DISCOVERIES AND PLEASANT SCENES.
ST. PATRICK'S night closed the day on which the scenes of the
foregoing chapter were enacted; and that patron saint being of
aristocratic descent, which caused him to be held in high esteem by
our "very first families," than among whom better admirers could
nowhere be found, his anniversary was sure to be celebrated with
much feasting and drinking. But while this homage to the good saint
made glad the hearts of thousands-while the city seemed radiant of
joy, and reeling men from Hibernia's gorgeous hall found in him an
excuse for their revelries--there sat in the box of a caf, situated
on the west side of Meeting Street, two men who seemed to have a
deeper interest at heart than that of the Saint's joy on his road to
paradise. The one was a shortish man, coarse of figure, and whose
browned features and figured hands bespoke him a sailor; the other
was delicate of figure, with pale, careworn countenance and nervous
demeanour. Upon the marble slab, on which they rested their elbows,
sat a bottle of old Madeira, from which they sipped leisurely, now
and then modulating their conversation into whispers. Then the man
of brown features spoke out more at ease, as if they had concluded
the preliminaries of some important business.
"Well, well,--now isn't that strange?" said he, sighing as he spread
his brawny hands upon the white marble. "Natur's a curious mystery,
though" (he looked intently at the other): "why, more nor twenty
years have rolled over since I did that bit of a good turn, and here
I is the very same old Jack Hardweather, skipper of the Maggy Bell.
But for all that--and I'd have folks know it!--the Maggy's as trim a
little craft as ever lay to on a sou'-easter; and she can show as
clean a pair of heels as any other--barring her old top timbers
complain now and then--to the best cutter as ever shook Uncle Sam's
rags." His hard features softened, as in the earnest of his heart he
spoke. He extended his hand across the table, grasping firmly that
of his nervous friend, and continued--"And it was no other witch
than the taunt Maggy Bell that landed that good woman safe on the
free sands of old Bahama!" The Maggy, he tells the other, is now at
the wharf, where the good wife, Molly Hardweather, keeps ship while
the boys take a turn ashore.
"There's always a wise provision to relieve one's feelings when
sorrow comes unexpectedly," returns the nervous man, his hand
trembling as he draws forth the money to pay the waiter who answered
his call.
"Yes!" quickly rejoined the other, "but keep up a good heart, like a
sailor hard upon a lee shore, and all 'll be bright and sunny in a
day or two. And now we'll just make a tack down the bay-street-and
sight the Maggy. There's a small drop of somethin' in the locker,
that'll help to keep up yer spirits, I reckon--a body's spirits has
to be tautened now and then, as ye do a bobstay,--and the wife (she's
a good sort of a body, though I say it) will do the best she can in
her hard way to make ye less troubled at heart. Molly Hardweather
has had some hard ups and downs in life, knows well the cares of a
mother, and has had twins twice; yes"-adds the hardy seafarer-"we
arn't polished folks, nor high of blood, but we've got hearts, and
as every true heart hates slavery, so do we, though we are forced to
dissemble our real feelings for the sake of peace in the trade."
Here the delicate man took the sailor's arm, and sallied out to seek
the little Maggy Bell, the former saying the meeting was as strange
as grateful to his very soul. Down Market Street, shaded in
darkness, they wended their way, and after reaching the wharf,
passed along between long lines of cotton bales, piled eight and ten
feet high, to the end, where lay motionless the pretty Maggy Bell,
as clipper-like a craft as ever spread canvas. The light from the
cabin shed its faint gleams over the quarter-deck, as Hardweather
halted on the capsill, and with a sailor's pride run his quick black
eye along her pirate-like hull, then aloft along the rigging.
Exultingly, he says, "She is the sauciest witch that ever faced sea
or showed a clean pair of heels. The Maggy Bell!"-he pats his friend
on the shoulder-"why, sir, she has-just between ourselves now-slided
many a poor slave off into freedom; but folks here don't think it of
me. Now, if I reckon right"-he bites his tobacco, and extends it to
the stranger-"and I believe I do, it's twenty years since the Maggy,
of one dark night, skimmed it by that point, with Fort Pinkney on
it, yonder, that good creature on board." He points to the murky
mass, scarce visible in the distance, to the east. "And now she's
one of the noblest women that ever broke bread to the poor; and
she's right comfortable off, now,--alwa's has a smile, and a kind
word, and something good for old Jack Hardweather whenever she sees
him. Lord bless yer soul!"-here he shakes his head earnestly, and
says he never was a lubber-"Jack Hardweather didn't care about the
soft shot for his locker; it was my heart that felt the kindness.
Indeed, it always jumps and jerks like a bobstay in a head sea, when
I meets her. And then, when I thinks how 'twas me done the good
turn, and no thanks to nobody! You hearn of me 'afore, eh" (he turns
to his companion, who measuredly answers in the affirmative). "Well,
then, my name's Skipper Jack Hardweather, known all along the coast;
but, seeing how the world and navigation's got shortened down, they
call me old Jack Splitwater. I suppose it's by the way of
convenience, and so neither wife nor me have a bit of objection."
Here the conversation was interrupted by the good wife's round,
cheery face shooting suddenly from out the companion-way, and
enjoining our friend Jack to come away aboard, her high peaked cap
shining like snow on a dark surface. The truth was, that Splitwater,
as he was styled, had become so much absorbed in excitement as to
forget the length of his yarn. "Come away, now!" says the good wife,
"everybody's left the Maggy to-night; and ther's na knowin' what 'd
a' become 'un her if a'h hadn't looked right sharp, for ther' wer' a
muckle ship a'mast run her dune; an' if she just had, the Maggy wad
na mar bene seen!" The good wife shakes her head; her rich Scotch
tongue sounding on the still air, as with apprehension her chubby
face shines in the light of the candle she holds before it with her
right hand. Skipper Splitwater will see his friend on board, he
says, as they follow her down the companion-ladder. "Wife thinks as
much of the Maggy-and would, I believe in my soul, cry her life out
if anything happened till her: wife's a good body aboard a ship, and
can take a trick at the wheel just as well as Harry Span the mate."
Skipper Splitwater leads the way into a little dingy cabin, a
partition running athwart ships dividing it into two apartments; the
former being where Skipper Hardweather "sleeps his crew" and cooks
his mess, the sternmost where he receives his friends. This latter
place, into which he conducts the nervous man, is lumbered with
boxes, chests, charts, camp-seats, log lines, and rusty quadrants,
and sundry marine relics which only the inveterate coaster could
conceive a use for. But the good wife Molly, whose canny face bears
the wrinkles of some forty summers, and whose round, short figure is
so simply set off with bright plaid frock and apron of gingham
check, in taste well adapted to her humble position, is as clean and
tidy as ever was picture of mine Vrow Vardenstein. Nevertheless,--we
know the reader will join us in the sentiment-that which gave the
air of domestic happiness a completeness hitherto unnoticed, was a
wee responsibility, as seen sprawling and kicking goodnaturedly on
the white pillow of the starboard berth, where its two peering eyes
shone forth as bright as new-polished pearls. The little darling is
just a year old, Dame Hardweather tells us; it's a twin,--the other
died, and, she knows full well, has gone to heaven. Here she takes
the little cherub in her lap, and having made her best courtesy as
Hardweather introduces her to his nervous friend, seats herself on
the locker, and commences suckling it, while he points to the very
place on the larboard side where Clotilda-"Ah! I just caught the
name," he says,--used to sit and sorrow for her child. "And then,"
he continues, "on the quarter-deck she'd go and give such longing
looks back, like as if she wanted to see it; and when she couldn't,
she'd turn away and sigh so. And this, Molly," he continues, "is the
self-same child my friend here, who I am as happy to meet as a body
can be, wants me to carry off from these wolves of slavery; and if I
don't, then my name's not Jack Splitwater!" So saying, he bustles
about, tells the nervous man he must excuse the want of finery, that
he has been a hard coaster for God knows how many years, and the
little place is all he can afford; for indeed he is poor, but
expects a better place one of these days. Then he draws forth from a
little nook in the stern locker a bottle, which he says contains
pure stuff, and of which he invites his visitor to partake, that he
may keep up a good heart, still hoping for the best. The nervous man
declines his kind invitation,--he has too much at heart, and the
sight of the child so reminds him of his own now blighted in
slavery. The good woman now becoming deeply concerned, Hardweather
must needs recount the story, and explain the strange man's
troubles, which he does in simple language; but, as the yarn is
somewhat long, the reader must excuse our not transcribing it here.
With anxious face and listening ears did the woman absorb every
word; and when the earnest skipper concluded with grasping firmly
the man's hand, and saying-"Just you scheme the strategy, and if I
don't carry it out my name aint Jack Hardweather!" would she fain
have had him go on. "Lack a day, good man!" she rejoined, fondling
closer to her bosom the little suckling; "get ye the wee bairn and
bring it hither, and I'll mak it t'uther twin-na body'll kno't! and
da ye ken hoo ye may mak the bonny wife sik a body that nane but
foxes wad ken her. Just mak her a brae young sailor, and the Maggy
Bell 'll do the rest on't." Hardweather here interrupted Molly's
suggestion which was, indeed, most fortunate, and albeit supplied
the initiative to the strategy afterwards adopted-for slavery opens
wide the field of strategy-by reminding the stranger that she had a
long Scotch head. The night had now well advanced; the stranger
shook the woman's hand firmly, and bade her good night, as a tear
gushed into his eyes. The scene was indeed simple, but touching. The
hard mariner will accompany his friend to the wharf; and then as he
again turns on the capsill, he cannot bid him good night without
adding a few words more in praise of the little Maggy Bell, whose
name is inscribed in gilt letters upon the flash-board of her stern.
Holding his hand, he says: "Now, keep the heart up right! and in a
day or two we'll have all aboard, and be in the stream waiting for a
fair breeze-then the Maggy 'll play her part. Bless yer soul! the
little craft and me's coasted down the coast nobody knows how many
years; and she knows every nook, creek, reef, and point, just as
well as I does. Just give her a double-reefed mainsail, and the lug
of a standing jib, and in my soul I believe she'd make the passage
without compass, chart, or a hand aboard. By the word of an old
sailor, such a craft is the Maggy Bell. And when the Spanish and
English and French all got mixed up about who owned Florida, the
Maggy and me's coasted along them keys when, blowing a screecher,
them Ingins' balls flew so, a body had to hold the hair on his head;
but never a bit did the Maggy mind it." The stranger's heart was too
full of cares to respond to the generous man's simplicity; shaking
his hand fervently, he bid him good night, and disappeared up the
wharf.
We apprehend little difficulty to the reader in discovering the
person of Montague in our nervous man, who, in the absence of
intelligence from his wife, was led to suspect some foul play. Nor
were his suspicions unfounded; for, on returning to Memphis, which
he did in great haste, he found his home desolate, his wife and
child borne back into slavery, and himself threatened with Lynch
law. The grief which threatened to overwhelm him at finding those he
so dearly loved hurled back into bondage, was not enough to appease
a community tenacious of its colour. No! he must leave his business,
until the arrival of some one from New York, to the clerk who so
perfidiously betrayed him. With sickened heart, then, does he-only
too glad to escape the fury of an unreasoning mob-seek that place of
bondage into which the captives have been carried; nay, more, he
left the excited little world (reporting his destination to be New
York) fully resolved to rescue them at the hazard of his life, and
for ever leave the country. Scarcely necessary then, will it be for
us to inform the reader, that, having sought out the Rosebrooks, he
has counselled their advice, and joined them in devising means of
relief. Blowers had declared, on his sacred honour, he would not
sell the captives for their weight in gold.
Rosebrook had no sooner received Annette's letter from the hand of
Pompe than he repaired to Blowers' plantation-as well to sound that
gentleman's disposition to sell his captives, as a necessary
precaution against the dangers he had incurred through his
participation in the fair girl's escape; for albeit the disclosure
might be extorted from her by cruelty. But Blowers was too much of a
gentleman to condescend to sell his captive; nor would he listen to
arguments in her behalf. Nevertheless, we will not underrate
Blowers' character, that the reader may suppose him devoid of
compassion; for-be it recorded to his fame-he did, on the morning
following that on which the punishment we have described in the
foregoing chapter took place, send the child, whose long and
piercing cries he could no longer endure, to the arms of its poor
disconsolate mother, whom he hoped would take good care of it.
Now, let not the reader restrain his fancy, but imagine, if he can,
Pringle Blowers' disappointment and state of perturbation, when,
three days after the punishment, he presented himself at Broadman's
establishment, and was informed by that functionary that the fair
mother was non est. With honest face did Broadman assert his
ignorance of wrong. That he had not betrayed his duty he would
satisfy the enraged man, by producing the very order on which he
delivered them to Joe! "Yes, Joe was his name!" continues the honest
man; "and he asserted his ownership, and told a straightforward
story, and didn't look roguish." He passes the order over to
Blowers, who, having examined it very cautiously, says: "Forgery,
forgery!-'tis, by the Eternal!" Turning his fat sides, he approaches
the window, and by the light reads each successive word. It is
written in a scrawl precisely like his own; but, forsooth, it cannot
be his. However, deeming it little becoming a man of his standing to
parley with Broadman, he quickly makes his exit, and, like a
locomotive at half speed, exhausting his perturbation the while,
does he seek his way into the city, where he discovers his loss to
the police. We have in another part of our history described Blowers
as something of a wag; indeed, waggery was not the least trait in
his curious character, nor was he at all cautious in the exercise of
it; and, upon the principle that those who give must take, did he
render himself a fit object for those who indulge in that sort of
pastime to level their wit upon. On this occasion, Blowers had not
spent many hours in the city ere he had all its convenient corners
very fantastically decorated with large blue placards, whereon was
inscribed the loss of his valuable woman, and the offer of the
increased sum of four hundred dollars for her apprehension. The
placards were wonderful curiosities, and very characteristic of
Blowers, who in this instance excited no small amount of merriment
among the city wags, each of whom cracked a joke at his expense. Now
it was not that those waggish spirits said of his placard things
exceedingly annoying to his sensitive feelings, but that every prig
made him the butt of his borrowed wit. One quizzed him with want of
gallantry,--another told him what the ladies said of his oss,--a third
pitied him, but hoped he might get back his property; and then, Tom
Span, the dandy lawyer, laconically told him that to love a fair
slave was a business he must learn over again; and Sprout, the
cotton-broker, said there was a law against ornamenting the city
with blue placards and type of such uncommon size. In this
interminable perplexity, and to avoid the last-named difficulty, did
he invoke the genius of the "bill-sticker," who obliterated the blue
placards by covering them over with brown ones, the performance of
which, Blowers himself superintended. This made the matter still
worse, for with jocose smile did every wag say he had hung the city
in mourning for his loss; which singular proceeding the ladies had
one and all solemnly protested against. Now, Blowers regard for the
ladies was proverbial; nor will it disparage his character to say
that no one was more sensitive of their opinions concerning himself.
In this unhappy position, then, which he might have avoided had he
exercised more calmly his philosophy, did his perturbation get the
better of him;--an object of ridicule for every wag, and in
ill-favour with the very first ladies, never was perplexed man's
temper so near the exploding point of high pressure. And here,
forsooth, disgusted within the whole city, nor at all pleased with
the result of his inventive genius, he sought relief in strong
drinks and a week of dissipation; in which sad condition we must
leave him to the reader's sympathy.
As some of our fair readers may be a little prudish, or exacting of
character, and as we are peculiarly sensitive of the reputation some
of the characters embodied in this history should bear to the very
end, we deem it prudent here not to disclose the nature of the
little forgery which was perpetrated at Blowers' expense, nor the
means by which it was so cleverly carried out, to the release of the
fair captives, who must now be got out of the city. Should we, in
the performance of this very desirable duty, fail to please the
reader's taste for hair-breadth escapes, unnatural heroism, and
sublime disinterestedness, an excuse may be found in our lack of
soul to appreciate those virtues of romance. We have no taste for
breathless suspenses, no love of terror: we deal not in tragedy, nor
traffic in dramatic effects. But as the simplest strategy is often
the most successful of results, so did it prove in this particular
case; for, be it known, that on the morning of the twenty-fourth of
March,--, was Molly Hardweather's suggestion adopted and
effectually carried out, to the gratification of sundry interested
persons. Calm and bright was that morning; Charleston harbour and
its pretty banks seemed radiant of loveliness: the phantom-like
Maggy Bell, with mainsail and jib spread motionless in the air,
swung gently at anchor midway the stream; and Dame Hardweather sat
in the dingy cabin, her little chubby face beaming contentment as
she nursed the "t'other twin." The brusque figure of old Jack,
immersed in watchfulness, paced to and fro the Maggy's deck; and in
the city as trim a young sailor as ever served signal halliards on
board man-o'-war, might be seen, his canvas bag slung over his
shoulder, carelessly plodding along through the busy street, for the
landing at the market slip. Soon the Maggy's flying jib was run up,
then the foresail followed and hung loose by the throat. Near the
wheel, as if in contemplation, sat Montague, while Hardweather
continued his pacing, now glancing aloft, then to seaward, as if
invoking Boreas' all-welcome aid, and again watching intently in the
direction of the slip. A few minutes more and a boat glided from the
wharf, and rowed away for the little craft, which it soon reached,
and on board of which the young sailor flung his bag, clambered over
the rail, and seemed happy, as old Jack put out his brawny hand,
saying: "Come youngster, bear a hand now, and set about brightening
up the coppers!" We need not here discover the hearts that leaped
with joy just then; we need not describe the anxiety that found
relief when the young sailor set foot on the Maggy's deck; nor need
we describe those eyes on shore that in tears watched the slender
form as it disappeared from sight. Just then a breeze wafted from
the north, the anchor was hove up, the sails trimmed home, and
slowly seaward moved the little bark. As she drifted rather than
sailed past Fort Pinkney, two burly officials, as is the custom,
boarded to search for hapless fugitives; but, having great
confidence in the honesty of Skipper Splitwater, who never failed to
give them of his best cheer, they drank a pleasant passage to him,
made a cursory search, a note of the names of all on board (Jack
saying Tom Bolt was the young sailor's), and left quite satisfied.
Indeed, there was nothing to excite their suspicions, for the good
dame sat nursing the "twa twins," nor left aught to discover the
discrepancy between their ages, if we except a pair of little red
feet that dangled out from beneath the fringe of a plaid shawl. And
the young sailor, who it is hardly necessary to inform the reader is
Annette, was busy with his cooking. And now the little craft, free
upon the wave, increased her speed as her topsails spread out, and
glided swiftly seaward, heaven tempering the winds to her well-worn
sails. God speed the Maggy Bell as she vaults over the sea; and may
she never want water under keel, slaves to carry into freedom, or a
good Dame Hardweather to make cheerful the little cabin! say we.
And now, reader, join us in taking a fond farewell of the
Rosebrooks, who have so nobly played their part, to the shame of
those who stubbornly refuse to profit by their example. They played
no inactive part in the final escape; but discretion forbids our
disclosing its minuti. They sought to give unto others that liquid
of life to which they owed their own prosperity and happiness; nor
did selfish motive incite them to action. No; they sought peace and
prosperity for the state; they would bind in lasting fellowship that
union so mighty of states, which the world with mingled admiration
and distrust watches; which in kindred compact must be mightier,
which divided must fall! And while taking leave of them, hoping
their future may be brightened with joys-and, too, though it may not
comport with the interests of our southern friends, that their
inventive genius may never want objects upon which to illustrate
itself so happily-let us not forget to shake old Jack Hardweather
warmly by the hand, invoking for him many fair winds and profitable
voyages. A big heart enamelled of "coarse flesh" is his; but with
his warm functions he has done much good; may he be rich in heaven's
rewards, for he is poor in earth's!