"Commencement over, what are you going to do with yourself?"
"I don't know; loaf around, I suppose."
"Why don't you go to Newport?"
"Don't want to; got tired of it last year."
"Saratoga?"
"A perfect bore!"
"Niagara?"
"Been there twice."
"A pedestrian tour to the White Mountains?"
"Haven't got energy enough."
"What will you do?"
"Stay at home and fight mosquitoes."
"Very pleasant employment. I don't envy you, but I can tell you
something better than that."
"What is it?" said his companion, yawning.
"Come, go home with me."
"Go home with you! Where is that, and what is the attraction?"
"Well, let me see, it is situated in one of the most beautiful valleys
of Western Pennsylvania, our village is environed by the most lovely
hills, and nestling among the trees, with its simple churches and
unpretending homes of quiet beauty and good taste, it is one of the most
pleasant and picturesque places I ever saw. And, besides, as you love to
hunt and fish, we have one of the finest streams of trout, and some of
the most excellent game in the woods."
"Is that all?"
"Why, isn't that enough? You must be rather hard to please this
morning."
"Think so?"
"Yes, but I have not told you the crowning attraction."
"What is it?"
"Oh, one of the most beautiful girls I ever saw! We call her the lily of
the valley."
"Describe her."
"I can't. It would be like attempting to paint a sun beam or doing what
no painter has ever done, sketch a rainbow."
"You are very poetical this morning, but I want you to do as our
President sometimes tells us, proceed from the abstract to the
concrete."
"Well, let me begin: she has the most beautiful little feet. I never see
her stepping along without thinking of Cinderella and the glass slipper.
As to eyes, they are either dark brown or black, I don't know which; but
I do know they are beautiful; and her hair, well, she generally wears
that plain in deference to the wishes of her Quaker friends, but
sometimes in the most beautiful ripples of golden brown I ever saw."
"That will do, now tell me who she is? You spoke of her Quaker friends.
Is she not their daughter?"
"No, there seems to be some mystery about her history. About ten years
ago, my father brought her to Josiah Carpenter's but he's always been
reticent about her, in fact I never took the pains to inquire. She's a
great favorite in the village, and everybody says she is as beautiful as
she is good, and vice versa."
"Well, I'd like to see this paragon of yours. I believe I'll go."
"Well, let us get ready."
"When do you start?"
"To-morrow."
"All right. I'll be on hand." And with these words the two friends
parted to meet again the next day at the railroad station.
The first of the speakers is the son of Josiah Collins, and his friend
is Louis Le Croix, Camilla's adopted brother. He is somewhat changed
within the last ten years. Time has touched the golden wealth of his
curls with a beautiful deep auburn, and the rich full tones of his voice
tell that departed is written upon his childhood.
He is strongly Southern in his feelings, but having been educated in the
North, whilst he is an enthusiast in defense of his section, as he calls
the South, he is neither coarse and brutal in actions, nor fanatical in
his devotion to slavery. He thinks the Negroes are doing well enough in
slavery, if the Abolitionists would only let matters rest, and he feels
a sense of honor in defending the South. She is his mother, he says, and
that man is an ingrate who will not stand by his mother and defend her
when she is in peril.
He and Charles Collins are fast friends, but [on the subject of slavery
they are entirely opposed?]. And so on that point they have agreed to
disagree. They often have animated and exciting discussions, but they
[pass?] and Josiah and Louis are just as friendly as they were before.
There were two arrivals the next evening in the [quiet?] village of S.
One was Charles Collins, the other his Southern friend, who was received
with the warmest welcome, and soon found himself at home in the pleasant
society of his friend's family. The evening was enlivened with social
chat and music, until ten o'clock, when Josiah gathered his children and
having read the Bible in a deeply impressive manner, breathed one of the
most simple and fervent prayers he had ever heard.
While they were bending at prayer in this pleasant home, a shabby
looking man came walking slowly and wearily into the village. He gazed
cautiously around and looked anxiously in the street as though he were
looking for some one, but did not like to trust his business to every
one.
At length he saw an elderly man, dressed in plain clothes, and a broad
brim hat, and drawing near he spoke to him in a low and hesitating
voice, and asked if he knew a Mr. Thomas Carpenter.
"My name is Carpenter," said the friend, "come with me."
There was something in the voice, and manner of the friend that
_assured_ the stranger. His whole manner changed. A peaceful expression
stole over his dark, sad face, and the drooping limbs seemed to be
aroused by a new infusion of energy.
"Come in," said Thomas, as he reached his door, "come in, thee's welcome
to stop and rest with us."
"Anna," said Thomas,[2] his face beaming with kindness, "I've brought
thee a guest. Here is another passenger by the Underground Railroad."
"I'm sure thee's welcome," said Anna, handing him a chair, "sit down,
thee looks very tired. Where did thee come from?"
Moses, that was the fugitive's name, hesitated a moment.
"Oh, never fear, thee's among friends; thee need not be afraid to tell
all about thyself."
Moses then told them that he had come from Kentucky.
"And how did thee escape?"
He said, "I walked from Lexington to Covington."
"Why, that was almost one hundred miles, and did thee walk all that
way?"
"Yes, sir," said he, "I hid by day, and walked by night."
"Did no one interrupt?"
"Yes, one man said to me, 'Where's your pass?' I suppose I must have
grown desperate, for I raised my fists and said dem's my passes; and he
let me alone. I don't know whether he was friendly or scared, but he let
me alone."
"And how then?"
"When I come to Covington I found that I could not come across the river
without a pass, but I watched my chance, and hid myself on a boat, and I
got across. I'd heard of you down home."
"How did you?"
"Oh, we's got some few friends dere, but we allers promise not to tell."
Anna and Thomas[3] smiled at his reticence, which had grown into a
habit.
"Were you badly treated?"
"Not so bad as some, but I allers wanted my freedom, I did."
"Well, we will not talk about thee any more; if thee walked all that
distance thee must be very tired and we'll let thee rest. There's thy
bed. I hope thee'll have a good night's rest, and feel better in the
morning."
"Thankee marm," said Moses, "you's mighty good."
"Oh no, but I always like to do my duty by my fellow men! Now, be quiet,
and get a good night's sleep. Thee looks excited. Thee mustn't be
uneasy. Thee's among friends."
A flood of emotions crept over the bosom of Moses when his kind friends
left the room. Was this freedom, and was this the long wished for North?
and were these the Abolitionists of whom he had heard so much in the
South? They who would allure the colored people from their homes in the
South and then leave them to freeze and starve in the North? He had
heard all his life that the slaveholders were the friends of the South,
and the language of his soul had been, "If these are my friends, save me
from my foes." He had lived all his life among the white people of the
South, and had been owned by several masters, but he did not know that
there was so much kindness among the white race, till he had rested in a
Northern home, and among Northern people.
Here kindness encouraged his path, and in that peaceful home every voice
that fell upon his ear was full of tenderness and sympathy. True, there
were rough, coarse, brutal men even in that village, who for a few
dollars or to prove their devotion to the South, would have readily
remanded him to his master, but he was not aware of that. And so when he
sank to his rest a sense of peace and safety stole over him, and his
sleep was as calm and peaceful as the slumber of a child.
The next morning he looked refreshed, but still his strength was wasted
by his great physical exertion and mental excitement; and Thomas[4]
thought he had better rest a few days till he grew stronger and better
prepared to travel; for Thomas[5] noticed that he was nervous, starting
at the sound of every noise, and often turning his head to the door with
an anxious, frightened look.
Thomas would have gladly given him shelter and work, and given him just
wages, but he dared not do so. He was an American citizen it is true,
but at that time slavery reigned over the North and ruled over the
South, and he had not the power under the law of the land to give
domicile, and break his bread to that poor, hunted and flying man; for
even then they were hunting in the South and sending out their human
bloodhounds to search for him in the North.
Throughout the length and breadth of the land, from the summit of the
rainbow-crowned Niagara to the swollen waters of the Mexican Gulf; from
the golden gates of sunrise to the gorgeous portals of departing day,
there was not a hill so high, a forest so secluded, a glen so
sequestered, nor mountain so steep, that he knew he could not be tracked
and hailed in the name of the general government.
"What's the news, friend Carpenter? any new arrivals?" said Josiah
Collins in a low voice to Thomas.
"Yes, a very interesting case; can't you come over?"
"Yes, after breakfast. By the way, you must be a little more cautious
than usual. Charley came home last night, and brought a young friend
with him from college. I think from his conversation that he is either a
Southerner himself, or in deep sympathy with the South."
Both men spoke in low tones, for although they were Northerners, they
were talking about a subject on which they were compelled to speak with
bated breaths.
After breakfast Josiah came over, but Moses seemed so heavy and over
wearied that they did not care to disturb him. There was a look of
dejection and intense sadness on the thin worn face, and a hungry look
in the mournful eyes, as if his soul had been starving for kindness and
sympathy. Sometimes he would forget his situation, and speak hopefully
of the future, but still there was a weariness that he could not shake
off, a languor that seemed to pervade every nerve and muscle.
Thomas thought it was the natural reaction of the deep excitement,
through which he just passed, that the tension of his nerves had been
too great, but that a few days rest and quiet would restore him to his
normal condition; but that hope soon died away.
The tension, excitement, and consequent exhaustion had been too much.
Reason tottered on its throne, and he became a raving maniac; in his
moments of delirium he would imagine that he was escaping from slavery;
that the pursuers were upon his back; that they had caught him, and were
rebinding him about to take him back to slavery, and then it was
heartrending to hear him beg, and plead to be carried to Thomas
Carpenter's.
He would reach out his emaciated hands, and say "Carry me to Mr.
Carpenter's, that good man's house," for that name which had become more
precious to him than a household to his soul, still lingered amid
shattered cells. But the delirium spent its force, and through the
tempests of his bosom the light of reason came back.
One night he slept more soundly than usual; and on the next morning his
faithful friends saw from the expression of his countenance and the
light in his eyes that his reason had returned. They sent for their
family physician, a man in whose honor they could confide. All that
careful nursing and medical skill could do was done, but it was in vain;
his strength was wasted; the silver cord was loosed, and the golden bowl
was broken; his life was fast ebbing away. Like a tempest tossed mariner
dying in sight of land, so he passing away from earth, found the
precious, longed for, and dearly bought prize was just before, but his
hand was too feeble to grasp, his arms too powerless to hold it.
His friends saw from the expression of his face that he had something to
say; and they bent down to catch the last words of the departing spirit.
"I am dying," he said, "but I am thankful that I have come this near to
freedom."
He attempted to say no more, the death rattles sounded in his throat;
the shadows that never deceive flitted o'er his face, and he was dead.
His spirit gone back to God, another witness against the giant crime of
the land.
Josiah came again to see him, and entered the room just as the released
spirit winged its flight. Silently he uncovered him as if paying that
reverence to the broken casket which death exacts for his meanest
subjects. With tenderness and respect they prepared the body for the
grave, followed him to the silent tomb, and left him to his dreamless
sleep.
[Installment missing.]