THE LAWYER AND THE LADY.
“The Devil is an ass.”—_Old Proverb._
Peek’s apprehensions in regard to Ratcliff’s agent, Semmes, were not
imaginary. Semmes was of the school in politics and policy of old Mr.
Slidell. He did not believe in the vitality and absoluteness of right
and goodness. His life maxim was, while bowing and smirking to all the
world, to hold all the world as cheats. To his mind, slavery was right,
because it was profitable; and inwardly he pooh-poohed at every attempt
to vindicate or to condemn it from a moral or religious point of view.
He laid it down as an axiom, that slavery must exist just so long as it
paid.
“Worthy souls, sir, these philanthropists,—but they want the virile
element,—the practical element, sir! Like women and poets, they are led
by their emotions. If the world were in the hands of such softs, the old
machine would be smashed up in universal anarchy.”
Ah, thou blind guide! These tender souls thou scornest are they who
always prevail in the long run. They prevail, because God rules through
them, and because he does not withdraw himself utterly from human
affairs! They prevail because Christ’s doctrine of self-abnegation, and
of justice and love, is the very central principle of progress, whether
in the heavens or on the earth; because it is the keystone of the arch
by which all things are upheld and saved from chaos. Yes, Divine duty,
Charity! “Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong,—and the most ancient
heavens, through thee, are fresh and strong!”
Benjamin Constant remarked of conservative Talleyrand, that had he been
present at the creation of all things, he would have exclaimed, “Good
God! chaos will be destroyed!” Beware of the conservatism that would
impede God’s work of justice and of love!
Ratcliff, in his last confidential interview with Semmes, had
communicated to the lawyer all the facts which he himself was in
possession of in regard to the White Slave. In the quiet of Ratcliff’s
library, Semmes now carefully revolved and weighed all these
particulars. The fact that Clara might be wrongfully held as a slave
made little impression upon him, his proper business being to conform to
his client’s wishes and to make his client’s claim as strong as
possible, without regard to any other considerations. What puzzled him
greatly was Madam Volney’s apparent interest in Clara; and as for Esha,
she was a perfect sphinx in her impenetrability. As he pondered the
question of her fidelity, the thought occurred to him, Why not learn
something of her antecedents from Mrs. Gentry? A good idea!
That very evening he knocked at the door of the “select establishment.”
A bright-faced black boy had run up the steps in advance of him, and
asked who it was he wanted to see. “Mrs. Gentry.” “Well, sir, she’s in.
Just give the bell a good pull.” And the officious boy disappeared. A
minute afterwards the lawyer was seated in the lady’s presence in her
little parlor.
“And have you heard from poor Mr. Ratcliff?” she asked.
“He is still in confinement, I believe, in Fort Lafayette.”
“Ah! is he, poor man?” returned the lady; and it was on her mind to add:
“I knew he would be come up with! I said he would be come up with!” But
she repressed the exulting exclamation, and simply added: “Those horrid
Yankees! Do you think, Mr. Semmes, we are in any danger from this
down-east general, known as Picayune Butler?”
“Don’t be under concern, Madam. He may be a sharp lawyer, but if he ever
comes to New Orleans, it will be as a prisoner.”
“And how is Miss Murray?”
“Never better, or handsomer. And by the way, I wish to make some
inquiries respecting the colored woman Esha, who, I believe, lived some
time in your family.”
“Yes, Esha lived with me fifteen years. A capital cook, and good washer
and ironer. I wouldn’t have parted with her if Mr. Ratcliff hadn’t been
so set on borrowing her. She was here some days ago about that
deposition business.”
“O yes,” said Semmes, thoroughly startled, yet concealing every sign of
surprise, and remarking: “By the way, how did you get through with that
business?”
“O, very well. Mr. Jasper and the other gentlemen were very polite and
considerate.”
Jasper! He was the counsel in the great case of Winslow _versus_
Burrows. Probably he was now Winslow’s confidential agent and adviser.
Semmes’s thin, wiry hands closed together, as if grasping a clew that
would lead him to hidden treasures.
“I hope,” said he, carefully trying his ground, “you weren’t incommoded
by the application.”
“Not at all. I only had to refer to my account-books, which gave me all
the necessary dates. And as for the child’s clothes, they were in an old
trunk in the garret, where they hadn’t been touched for fifteen years. I
had forgotten all about them till Mr. Jasper asked me whether I had any
such articles.”
Semmes was still in the dark.
“And was Esha’s testimony taken?”
“Yes, though I don’t see of what use it can be, seeing that she’s a
slave, and her deposition is worthless under our laws.”
“To what did Esha depose?”
“Haven’t you seen the depositions?”
“O yes! But not having read them carefully as yet, I should like the
benefit of your recollections.”
“O, Esha merely identified the girl’s clothes and the initials marked
upon them,—for she knows the alphabet. She also remembered seeing Mr.
Ratcliff lift the child out of the barouche the day he first called
here. All which was taken down.”
“Could you let me see the clothes and the account-books?”
“I gave them all up to Mr. Jasper. Didn’t he tell you so?”
“Perhaps. I may have forgotten.”
Semmes bade Mrs. Gentry good evening.
“Headed off by all that’s unfortunate!” muttered he, as he walked away.
“And by that smooth Churchman, Jasper! Why didn’t I think to
hermetically seal up this Mrs. Gentry’s clack, and take away all her
traps and books? And Esha,—if she weren’t playing false, she would have
reported all this to me at once. But I’ll let the old hag see that, deep
as she is, she isn’t beyond the reach of my plummet. That pretended
brother of hers, too! He must be looked after. I shouldn’t wonder if he
were a spy of Winslow’s. I must venture upon a _coup d’état_ at once, if
I would defeat their plottings. How shall I manage it?”
Semmes had on his books heavy charges against Ratcliff for professional
services, and did not care to jeopard their payment by any slackness in
attending to that gentleman’s parting injunctions. He saw he would be
justified in any act of precaution, however extreme, that was undertaken
in good faith towards his client. And so he resolved on two steps: one
was to arrest Esha’s pretended brother, and the other to withdraw Clara
from the surveillance of Esha and Madame Volney.
Peek had not been idle meanwhile. For several weeks he had employed a
boy to dog Semmes’s footsteps; and when that enterprising lad brought
word of the lawyer’s visit to Mrs. Gentry’s, Peek saw that his own
communications with the women at Ratcliff’s were cut off. He immediately
sent word of the fact to Esha, and told her to redouble her caution.
Semmes waited three days in the hope that Peek would make his
appearance; but at length growing impatient, took occasion to accost the
impracticable Esha.
“Esha, can that brother of yours drive a carriage?”
“O yes, massa, he can do eb’ry ting.”
“Well, Jim wants to go up to Baton Rouge to see his wife, and I’ve no
objection to hiring your brother awhile in his place.”
“Dar’s noting Jake would like quite so well, massa; but how unfortnit it
am!—Jake’s gone to Natchez.”
“Where does Jake live when he’s here?”
“Yah, yah! Dat’s a good joke. Whar does he lib? He lib all ’bout in
spots. Jake’s got more wives nor ole Brigham Young.”
Finding he could make nothing out of Esha, Semmes resolved on his second
precaution; for he felt that, with two plotting women against him, his
charge was likely any moment to be abstracted from under his eyes. He
had the letting of several vacant houses, some of them furnished. If he
could secretly transfer Clara to one of these, he could guard and hold
her there without being in momentary dread of her escape. He thought
long and anxiously, and finally nodded his head as if the right scheme
had been hit upon at last.
Clara was an early riser. Every morning, in company with Esha, she took
a promenade in the little garden in the rear of the house. One morning
as they were thus engaged, and Clara was noticing the indications of
spring among the early buds and blossoms (though it was yet March), a
woman, newly employed as a seamstress in the family, called out from the
kitchen window, “O Esha! Come quick! Black Susy is trying to catch
Minnie, to kill her for stealing cream.” Minnie was a favorite cat,
petted by Madame Volney.
“Don’t let her do it, Esha!” exclaimed Clara. “Run quick, and prevent
it!”
Esha ran. But no sooner had she disappeared over the threshold than
Clara, who stood admiring an almond-tree in full bloom, felt a hood
thrown over her face from behind, while both her hands were seized to
prevent resistance. The hood was so strongly saturated with chloroform,
that almost before she could utter a cry she was insensible.
When Clara returned to consciousness, she found herself lying on a bed
in a large and elegant apartment. The rich Parisian furniture, the
Turkish carpet, and the amber-colored silk curtains told of wealth and
sumptuous tastes. Her first movement was to feel for the little dagger
which she carried in a sheath in a hidden pocket. She found it was safe.
The windows were open, and the pleasant morning breeze came in soft and
cool.
As she raised herself on her elbow and looked about, a woman wearing the
white starched linen bonnet of a Sister of Charity rose from a chair and
stood before her. The face of this woman had a tender and serious
expression, but the head showed a deficiency in the intellectual
regions. Indeed, Sister Agatha was at once a saint and a simpleton;
credulous as a child, though pious as Ignatius himself. She was not in
truth a recognized member of the intelligent order whose garb she wore.
She had been rejected because of those very traits she now revealed; but
being regarded as harmless, she was suffered to play the Sister on her
own account, procuring alms from the charitable, and often using them
discreetly. Having called at Semmes’s office on a begging visit, he had
recognized in her a fitting tool, and had secured her confidence by a
liberal contribution and an affectation of rare piety.
“How do you feel now, my dear?” asked Agatha.
“What has happened?” said Clara, trying to recall the circumstances
which had led to her present position. “Who are you? Where’s Esha? Why
is not Josephine here?”
“There! don’t get excited,” said the sister. “Your poor brain has been
in a whirl,—that’s all.”
“Please tell me who you are, and why I am here, and what has happened.”
“I am Sister Agatha. I have been engaged by Mr. Semmes to take care of
you. What has happened is,—you have had one of your bad turns, that’s
all.”
Clara pondered the past silently for a full minute; then, turning to the
woman, said: “You would not knowingly do a bad act. I get that assurance
from your face. Have they told you I was insane?”
“There, dear, be quiet! Lie down, and don’t distress yourself,” said
Sister Agatha. “We’ll have some breakfast for you soon.”
“You speak of my having had a bad turn,” resumed Clara. “What sort of a
bad turn? A fit?”
“Yes, dear, a fit.”
“Come nearer to me, Sister Agatha. Don’t you perceive an odor of
chloroform on my clothes?”
“Why not? They gave it for your relief.”
“No; they gave it to render me powerless, that they might bring me
without a struggle to this place out of the reach of the two friends
with whom I have been living. Sister Agatha, don’t let them deceive you.
Do I talk or look like an insane person? Do not fear to answer me. I
shall not be offended.”
“Yes, child, you both talk and look as if you were not in your right
mind. So be a good girl and compose yourself.”
Clara stepped on the floor, walked to the window, and saw that she was
in the third story of a spacious house. She tried the doors. They were
all locked, with the exception of one which communicated by a little
entry, occupied by closets, with a corresponding room which looked out
on the street from the front.
“I am a prisoner within these rooms, am I?” asked Clara.
“Yes, there’s no way by which you can get out. But here is everything
comfortable, you see. In the front room you will find a piano and a case
of pious books. Here is a bathing-room, where you can have hot water or
cold. This door on my right leads to a billiard-table, where you can go
and play, if you are good. You need not lack for air or exercise.”
“When can I see Mr. Semmes?”
“He promised to be here by ten o’clock.”
“Do not fail to let me see him when he comes. Sister Agatha, is there
any way by which I can prove to you I am not insane?”
“No; because the more shrewd and sensible you are, the more I shall
think you are out of your head. Insane people are always cunning. You
have showed great cunning in all you have said and done.”
“Then if I turn simple, you will think I am recovering, eh?”
“No; I shall think you are feigning. Why, I once passed a whole day with
a crazy woman, and never one moment suspected she was crazy till I was
told so.”
“Who told you I am crazy?”
“The gentleman who engaged me to attend you,—Mr. Semmes.”
“Am I crazy only on one point or on many?”
“You ought to know best. I believe you are what they call a monomaniac.
You are crazy on the subject of freedom. You want to be free.”
“But, Sister Agatha, if you were shut up in a house against your will,
wouldn’t you desire to be free?”
“There it is! I knew you would put things cunningly. But I’m prepared
for it. You mustn’t think to deceive me, child, Why not be honest, and
confess your wits are wandering?”
The door of the communicating room was here unlocked.
“What’s that?” asked Clara.
“They are bringing in your breakfast,” said the sister. “I hope you have
an appetite.”
Though faint and sick at heart, Clara resolved to conceal her emotions.
So she sat down and made a show of eating.
“I will leave you awhile,” said the sister. “If you want anything, you
can ring.”
Left to herself, Clara rose and promenaded the apartment, her thoughts
intently turned inward to a survey of her position. Why had she been
removed to this new abode? Plainly because Semmes feared she would be
aided by her companions in baffling his vigilance and effecting her
escape. Clara knelt by the bedside and prayed for light and guidance;
and an inward voice seemed to say to her: “You talk of trusting God, and
yet you only half trust him.”
What could it mean? Clara meditated upon it long and anxiously. What had
been her motive in procuring the dagger! A mixed motive and vague.
Perhaps it was to take her own life, perhaps another’s. Had she not
reached that point of faith that she could believe God would save her
from both these alternatives? Yes; she would doubt no longer. Walking to
the back window she drew the dagger from its sheath and threw it far out
into a clump of rose-bushes that grew rank in the centre of the area.
The key turned in the door, and Sister Agatha appeared.
“Mr. Semmes is here. Can he come in?”
“Yes. I’ve been waiting for him.”
The sister withdrew and the gentleman entered.
“Sit down,” said Clara. “For what purpose am I confined here?”
“My dear young lady, you desire to be treated with frankness. You are
sensible,—you are well educated,—you are altogether charming; but you
are a slave.”
“Stop there, sir! How do you know I’m a slave?”
“Of course I am bound to take the testimony of my client, an honorable
gentleman, on that point.”
“Have you examined the record! Can Mr. Ratcliff produce any evidence
that the child he bought was white? Look at me. Look at this arm. Do you
believe my parentage is other than pure Saxon? If that doesn’t shake
your belief, let me tell you that I have proofs that I am the only
surviving child of that same Mr. and Mrs. Berwick who were lost more
than fourteen years ago in a steamboat explosion on the Mississippi.”
“Proofs? You have proofs? Impossible! What are they?”
“That I do not choose to tell you. Only I warn you that the proofs
exist, and that you are lending yourself to a fraud in helping your
client to hold me as a slave.”
“My dear young lady, don’t encourage such wild, romantic dreams. Some
one, for a wicked purpose, has put them into your head. The only child
of Mr. and Mrs. Berwick was lost with them, as was clearly proved on the
trial that grew out of the disaster, and their large property passed
into the possession of a distant connection.”
“But what if the story of the child’s loss was a lie,—what if she was
saved,—then kidnapped,—then sold as a slave? What if she now stands
before you?”
“As a lawyer I must say, I don’t see it. And even if it were all true,
what an incalculable advantage the man who has millions in possession
will have over any claimant who can’t offer a respectable fee in
advance! Who holds the purse-strings, wins. ’T is an invariable rule, my
child.”
“God will defend the right, Mr. Semmes; and I advise you to range
yourself on his side forthwith.”
“It wouldn’t do for me to desert my client. That would be grossly
unprofessional.”
“Even if satisfied your client was in the wrong?”
“My dear young lady, that’s just the predicament where a lawyer’s
services are most needed. What can I do for you?”
“Nothing, for I’m not in the wrong. My cause is that of justice and
humanity. You cannot serve it.”
“In that remark you wound my _amour propre_. Now let me put the case for
my client: Accidentally attending an auction he buys an infant slave. He
brings her up tenderly and well. He spares no expense in her education.
No sooner does she reach a marriageable age, than, discarding all
gratitude for his kindness, she runs away. He discovers her, and she is
brought to his house. His wife dying, he proposes to marry and
emancipate this ungrateful young woman. Instead of being touched by his
generosity, she plots to baffle and disappoint him. Who could blame him
if he were to put her up at auction to-morrow and sell her to the
highest bidder?”
“If you speak in sincerity, sir, then you are, morally considered, blind
as an owl; if in raillery, then you are cruel as a wolf.”
“My dear young lady, you show in your every remark that you are a
cultivated person; that you are naturally clever, and that education has
added its polish. How charming it would be to see one so gifted and
accomplished placed in that position of wealth and rank which she would
so well adorn! There must never be unpleasant words between me and the
future Mrs. Ratcliff,—never!”
“Then, sir, you’re safe, however angrily I may speak.”
“Your pin-money alone, my dear young lady, will be enough to support
half a dozen ordinary families.”
Clara made no reply, and Semmes continued: “Think of it! First, the tour
of Europe in princely style; then a return to the most splendid
establishment in Louisiana!”
“Well, sir, if your eloquence is exhausted, you can do me a favor.”
“What is it, my dear young lady?”
“Leave the room.”
“Certainly. By the way, I expect Mr. Ratcliff any hour now.”
“I thought he was in Fort Lafayette!” replied Clara, trying to steady
her voice and conceal her agitation.
“No. He succeeded in escaping. His letter is dated Richmond.”
Clara made no reply, and the old lawyer passed out, muttering: “Poor
little simpleton. ’T is only a freak. No woman in her senses could
resist such an offer. She’ll thank me one of these days for my
anæsthetic practice.”