musical, filling the long room with gushes of melody, until the lofty
arches echoed and re-echoed with the wild notes. When she had finished,
the enthusiastic stranger exclaimed, "That throat is a mint of gold!"
And so little hunchback Ratie sang song after song, until she exhausted
herself; when her master sent her off to the slave-quarters, where she
continued her ditties out under the broad, soft light of the low-hanging
southern moon.
The gentlemen sat up late that night, talking upon different subjects;
but, before they parted, it was arranged that the stranger should buy
Ratie at the high price he offered.
The next morning, long before the sun rose, little Ratie was up, walking
through the quarter. She stooped down to look at every drop of dew that
glittered and sparkled on the green leaves and shrubs; and when the
great, round, golden sun began to creep up the eastern sky, and set it
all ablaze with red and gold and purple clouds, glorious as the pavilion
of the prophet, Ratie's little spirit danced within her, and broke forth
in hymns of music such as the wise men long ago--eighteen hundred years
past--sang at the foot of a little manger in a stable in Bethlehem of
Judaea.
The child was too young and ignorant to know the meaning of the emotions
which fluttered and set on fire her own soul, but she was none the less
happy for this ignorance. God is very good!
As Ratie wandered on, singing to herself, she grew so happy that the
rush of passionate fervor half frightened her. Tears came to her eyes,
and choked the song in her throat. She paused in her walk, and seated
herself on a little rock that lay in one corner of the quarter. As she
sat there alone, she continued to sing and weep; wherefore she could not
tell. By and by the great, rusty bell of the quarter rang out from its
hoarse, iron tongue the morning summons for the slaves to assemble.
Ragged, tattered, unshorn and unshaven, dirty, ill and angry-looking,
the negroes--men, women, and children, in large numbers--collected in
the quarter-yard, where the overseer, an ugly, harsh white man, with a
pistol in his belt, knife at his side, and whip in hand, stood to call
the roll. At the mention of each name, a slave came forward, saying with
a bow, "Here I am, massa."
Ratie, who had no particular work to do, went limping on past the place
of the roll-call, when she saw her master and the strange gentleman
coming toward her. She did not, however, notice them. They were talking
together quite earnestly, and looking at her. Her master called out,
"Stop, Ratie; come this way."
She obeyed the order with pleasing readiness.
"Ratie," said the master, "how do you like this gentleman?"
The child smiled, but made no answer in words. The master also smiled as
he added: "He thinks that you sing very prettily, and he has bought you.
He will be very kind and good to you; and as soon as you have had
breakfast, you must get your things ready to go off with him. Here is a
present for you"; and he tossed her a bright, shining, silver coin.
The child seized the money, but did not seem to comprehend her master's
words. To be sold to her implied some sort of disgrace or hardship,
which she did not think she deserved; besides, she had always lived on
the "old plantation." She knew no other home; she did not want to leave
"the people" of the quarter; nor did she feel happy in going away from
the "white folks," particularly the "young mistresses," who had always
been so kind to her. She had also some vague yearning of heart to be
close to her mammy's grave, rough as it was; and near also to Grandpap's
cabin, where she roasted apples and potatoes on winter nights.
She looked around upon the familiar quarter, the well-known people, the
row of cabins; and strained her gaze far away to the rolling fields in
the distance, where the negroes, like a swarm of crows, were busy at
their morning's work; and as she gazed, the whole landscape flushed with
the bloom and beauty of the risen sun. Then the wild, pealing horn
called the "sons of toil" from their morning hour's work to their frugal
breakfast.
Ratie's little heart began to beat in its narrow limits as the word
"sold" wrote itself there, and broke through her comprehension with all
its horrors. She started quickly after her master, and, with the freedom
of a petted slave, caught hold of the skirt of his coat. Colonel
Williams turned suddenly round; and there, crouching on the earth at his
feet, was the hunchback child. She held up the money which he had given
her, and, in a sweet, tremulous voice, asked: "Massa, why has you sold
me? I has not behaved bad, as de boys did dat you sold last year. I
doesn't steal nor tell lies. Is it bekase I'se lazy? I do all de work
dey gives me to do. I'll do more. I'll go into de fields. I'll plant and
pick de cotton. Please don't sell me. I doesn't want to leave de ole
place. Mammy is buried here; so I wants to be when I dies. I wants
allers to live here."
The stranger and Colonel Williams were much moved. They did not venture
to speak to the child, but tried to get away from the sound of her
plaintive cries.
When the negroes drew around their morning meal, and learned that Ratie
was sold, they were unhappy, and refused to eat anything. They looked
sorrowfully at one another, and turned away from their untasted food.
"Poor Ratie!" exclaimed the old negroes, as they shook their heads in
mournful discontent, "we shall not hear any more her sweet songs in de
evenin' time."
The young mistresses came to Ratie with kind gifts and kinder words.
They told her, with tears in their eyes, how sorry they were to part
with her, how good they knew she had been, and how much they wished
their papa would allow her to stay. Words and acts like these softened
the blow to the unfortunate child, and strengthened her for the coming
trial. She looked up smilingly through her tears, as she said to her
young mistresses: "Please not to cry for me. God is good, and de
preacher says he is everywhar; so I shall not be fur from de ole
plantation."
When she was starting away, each of the negroes brought her some little
gift, such as cotton handkerchiefs, old ribbon-ends, bright-colored
glass beads, or autumn berries, dried and strung on threads for neck
ornaments. Each of these humble little tokens possessed an individual
interest which touched some spring in Ratie's little heart. When the
hour of separation came, she had nerved herself to the highest courage
of which she was capable. She took leave of each of the slaves, all of
them calling down the blessings of God upon her life. An old, lame negro
man, whom the slaves addressed as Grandpap, hobbled from his cabin, on a
broken crutch, to utter his farewell.
"Good by, Ratie," he began, and his voice choked with emotion; "good by,
little Ratie, and may de good Lord be wid you. Him dat keres fur de
poor, de lowly, and de despised, up yonder, way fur and high up dere, is
a God dat loves all of his chillens alike. He doesn't kere fur de color
ob de skin or de quality ob de hair. In his sight, wool is jist as good
as de fair, straight hair. He loves de heart, and looks straight and
deep into dat, and keres fur nothin' else. Never you be afeard, Ratie,
Him'll take kere ob you, an' all sich as you, bekase He loves dem dat He
smites and afflicts. Now, He didn't break your poor little back for
nothin'. Him has Him's eye upon you. You is a lamb ob de fold, dat de
great Shepherd will go fur and long to look arter. Him holds you in the
holler ob Him's hand, an' He'll keep you dar. Mind what I tell you. Good
by, Ratie. God bless you. Allers trust Him. 'Member my last words; dat
is, Allers trust Him. Look to Him, and He'll never forget you."
As he uttered these words, in a slow, oracular manner, he brushed a tear
from his eye with the back of his old, hard hand, and looking tenderly
toward the child, his lips moved slowly, and the words seemed to melt
unheard in the thin, morning air. He turned from her and hobbled off in
the direction of his cabin.
The other slaves were more passionately demonstrative in their
farewells; but little Ratie bore up with a beautiful and proud
composure.
* * * * *
The new owner proved very kind to the gentle little creature; but her
heart had received a blow from which it could not recover.
The master took her to New Orleans, intending to have her taught music,
that she might make money for him; but the poor child pined for "de ole
plantation" and "de ole folks at home,"--the kind people--"my people,"
as she fondly called them--with whom she had been brought up.
In the great city of New Orleans she was literally lost. She missed the
free country air, the green trees, the sweet singing-birds, the fields
blooming with early flowers, the meadows and the running brooks. It was
easy to see that the little hunchback was not happy. She grew thinner
and thinner, and her voice lost its flexible sweetness, its clear and
liquid roundness of tone. At last she fell away to a mere skeleton; then
sharp, burning fever set in, and little Ratie was taken down to her bed.
Day and night, in the delirium of fever, she raved for "de ole
plantation" and her own people.
The new master promised, when she got better, to take her back to her
old home,--at least for a little while. But, alas! she never grew any
better. She faded slowly away, until one evening, just at sundown, in
the gay city of New Orleans, little Ratie breathed her last.
Just before she died, she lifted her head from the pillow, and, resting
on her hand, she pointed eastward, saying: "Over dar is de ole
plantation. Don't you see? How pretty and nice it looks! Dar is all de
peoples at work. How busy dey is! But I'se not gwine dar. I doesn't want
to, any more. Dere up dar is God's plantation, and it is betterer far.
Dere is no slaves dar, but all is free and happy,--loving friends; and
it is dar dat I wants to go; and I hopes dat all de plantation folks
will come to me."
And so little Ratie died.
_From the New York Independent._
THE KINGDOM OF CHRIST.
BY JAMES MONTGOMERY.
Hail to the Lord's anointed!
Great David's greater Son!
Hail, in the time appointed,
His reign on earth begun!
He comes to break oppression,
To set the captive free,
To take away transgression,
And rule in equity.
He comes, with succor speedy,
To those who suffer wrong;
To help the poor and needy,
And bid the weak be strong;
To give them songs for sighing,
Their darkness turned to light,
Whose souls, condemned and dying,
Were precious in his sight.
To him shall prayer unceasing,
And daily vows ascend;
His kingdom still increasing,--
A kingdom without end.
The tide of time shall never
His covenant remove;
His name shall stand forever,--
That name to us is Love.
THE BEGINNING AND PROGRESS OF EMANCIPATION IN THE BRITISH WEST INDIES.
Nothing has ever been done in this world more wicked and cruel than the
slave-trade on the coast of Africa. But the temptation to carry it on
was very great; for hundreds of men and women could be bought for a cask
of poor rum or a peck of cheap beads, and could be sold in the markets
of America or the West Indies for thousands of dollars. A hundred years
ago men were not at all ashamed of growing rich in this bad way. They
were respected in society as much as other men. They were often members
of churches and professed to be very pious. Perhaps they deceived
themselves, as well as others, and really thought they were pious,
because they observed all the ritual forms of religion. But, above all
their prayers, God heard the groans and the cries of the poor tortured
Africans. He put it into the heart of a young Englishman, named Thomas
Clarkson, to inquire into the wicked business, that was going on under
the sanction of the government, and unreproved by the Church. In the
course of his investigations, this young man discovered that the most
shocking cruelties were habitually practised. He found that poor
creatures stolen from their homes were packed close, like bales of
goods, in the dark holds of ships, where they were half choked by bad
odors from accumulated filth, and where they could hardly breathe for
want of air. The food allotted them was merely enough to keep them
alive. Many died of grief and despair, and still more of burning fevers
and other diseases. Living and dead often remained huddled together for
hours, and when the corpses were removed they were thrown out to the
sharks. But the sea-captains engaged in this horrid traffic were selfish
as well as cruel. They did not like to have their victims die, because
every one they lost on the passage diminished the dollars they expected
to get by selling them. So at times they brought the poor half-dead
wretches on deck and drove them round with a whip for exercise, and
insulted their misery by compelling them to dance, and sing the songs
they had sung in their native land.
Thomas Clarkson called public attention to the subject by publishing
these things in a pamphlet. More than thirty years before, the humane
sect called Quakers had forbidden any of its members to be connected
with the slave-trade. But though the abominable traffic had been carried
on more than two hundred and fifty years by various nations calling
themselves Christian, there had been no attempt to excite general
attention to the subject till Clarkson published his pamphlet in 1786,
seventy-nine years ago. He became so much interested in the question
that he gave up all other pursuits in life, and wrote, and lectured, and
talked about it incessantly. The assembled representatives of the people
which we call a Congress, is called a Parliament in Great Britain.[7] He
tried to bring the subject before that body, and succeeded in gaining
the attention of some members, among whom the most conspicuous was the
benevolent William Wilberforce. He soon joined Mr. Clarkson in the
formation of a Society for the Abolition of the Slave-trade. This of
course gave great offence to the sea-captains and merchants engaged in
the profitable traffic. Clarkson met with all manner of insult and
abuse, and his life was sometimes in danger. The British government did
as governments are apt to do,--it sided with the rich and powerful as
long as it was politic to do so. But, though many of the aristocracy
were haughty and selfish, the generality of the common people were ready
to sympathize with the poor and the oppressed. When they became aware of
the outrages committed in the slave-trade, they determined that a stop
should be put to it. They wrote, and talked, and petitioned Parliament,
till the government was compelled to pay some attention to their
demands. When the friends of the infernal traffic found that a
resolution to abolish it was likely to be passed, they contrived to get
the word "gradual" inserted into the resolution, and thus defeated the
will of the people; for the gradual abolition of crime is no abolition
at all. It was as absurd as it would have been for them to say they
would abolish murder gradually. But though the law was insufficient to
accomplish the desired purpose, public opinion against the trade exerted
an increasing influence. The friends of those who were engaged in it
began to apologize for it as a necessary branch of trade, and pleaded
that laborers could not be supplied in the hot climate of the West
Indies in any other way. They were even shameless enough to defend it
and praise it as a benevolent scheme to bring savages away from heathen
Africa and make good Christians of them. Mr. Boswell, a well-known
English writer of that period, went so far as to pronounce it "a trade
which God had sanctioned"; and he declared that "to abolish it would be
to shut the gates of mercy on mankind." Such pretences deceived some.
But the English people have a great deal of good common sense; and it
was not easy to convince them that stealing men, women, and children
from their homes, torturing them on the ocean, and selling them in
strange lands, to be whipped to incessant toil without wages, was a
pious missionary enterprise.
Clarkson, Wilberforce, and others continued their unremitting labors to
suppress the unrighteous traffic; the kindly sect of Quakers everywhere
assisted them; and benevolent people in other sects became more and more
convinced that it was their duty to do the same. All manner of obstacles
were put in the way of the desired reformation; but at last, after
twenty-two years of violent agitation, the slave-trade was entirely
abolished by Great Britain, at the commencement of the year 1808.
Sixteen years later, it was decreed by law that any British subject
caught in the traffic should be punished as a pirate.
The king, George the Third, was opposed to the abolition, and so were
all the royal family, except the Duke of Gloucester. The nobility and
wealthy people, with a few honorable exceptions, took the same side. The
measure was carried by the good sense and good feeling of the common
people of Great Britain.
There were no slaves in Great Britain. It had been decided by law that
any slave who landed in that country became free the moment he touched
the shore. But many of the West India islands, lying between North and
South America, were under the British government, and the laborers there
were held in Slavery. The English people knew very little what was going
on in those distant colonies. When West India planters visited their
relatives and friends in Great Britain, they made out a very fair story
for themselves. They said none but negroes could work in such a hot
climate, that sugar must be made, and negroes would not work unless they
were slaves. They represented themselves as very kind masters, and
described their bondmen as a very contented and merry class of laborers.
These planters were generally dashing men, who spent freely the money
they did not earn; and their fine manners and smooth talk gave the
impression that they must be _gentle_ men.
People were slow to believe the accounts of cruelties practised in the
West Indies by these polished gentlemen. But more and more facts were
brought to light to prove that there was little to choose between the
slave-trade and the system of Slavery. When the honest masses of the
British people became convinced that the slaves in the West Indies were
entirely subject to the will of their masters, however licentious that
will might be, and that they were kept in such brutal ignorance they
could not read the Bible, they said at once that such a system ought to
be abolished. They sent missionaries to the West Indies to teach the
negroes. The planters considered this an impertinent interference with
their affairs. They said if slaves were instructed they would rise in
rebellion against their masters. The English people replied that it must
be a very bad system which made it dangerous for human beings to read
the Bible. The more closely they inquired into the subject, the more
their indignation was roused. Brown faces and yellow faces among the
slaves told a shameful story of licentious masters, while the chains and
whips and other instruments of torture found on every plantation proved
that severe treatment was universal. Again the honest masses of the
English people rose up in their moral majesty and said that wrong
should be righted. The government was unfavorable to the abolition of
Slavery, and the aristocracy, with a few honorable exceptions,
sympathized with the slaveholders. The West-Indian planters were boiling
over with rage. They pulled down the chapels where the negroes met
together to hear the words of Jesus; they mobbed the missionaries, they
thrust them into dungeons, and two or three of them were killed. Some of
the planters thought Slavery was a bad system, but they had to be very
cautious in expressing such an opinion; for if they were even suspected
of favoring abolition, their neighbors were sure to make them suffer for
it in some way. Even women seemed to be filled with the spirit of
Furies, whenever the subject of Slavery was mentioned. One of them said,
if she could get hold of Mr. Wilberforce she would tear his heart out.
Everywhere one heard mournful predictions of the ruin and desolation
that would follow emancipation. They insisted that negroes would not
work unless they were slaves, and of course no crops could be raised;
and what was still more to be dreaded, they would murder all the whites
and set fire to the towns. Sometimes they would present the subject from
a benevolent point of view, and urge that it would be the greatest
unkindness to the negroes to give them freedom; for when they had no
kind masters to take care of them they would certainly starve.
The slaves of course found out that something in their favor was going
on in England. They watched eagerly for the arrival of vessels; they
took notice of everything that was said; if they could get hold of a
scrap of newspaper they hid it away, and those who could read would read
it privately to the others. If their masters were unusually cross, or
swore more than common, they would wink at each other and say, "There's
good news for us from England."
The masters, on their part, watched the slaves closely. If they were
more silent than common, or if they appeared to be in better spirits
than common, they suspected them of plotting insurrections. But the
negroes did more wisely than that. They believed that good people in
England were working for them, and they tried to be patient till they
were emancipated by law. There was but one exception to this. The
planters in Jamaica were more bitter and furious than in the other
islands. They formed societies to uphold Slavery, and made flaming
speeches against the people and Parliament of Great Britain for "setting
the slaves loose upon them," as they called it. They did not reflect
that their colored servants, as they passed in and out, heard this
violent language and had sense enough to draw conclusions from it. But
they did draw from it a conclusion very dangerous to their masters. They
had heard talk of emancipation for several years, and it seemed to them
that the promised freedom was a long time coming. In 1832, the speeches
of the planters were so furious against the doings in Parliament, that
the slaves received the idea that the British government had already
passed laws for their freedom, and that their masters were cheating them
out of the legal rights that had been granted them. It was a sad mistake
for the poor fellows, and brought a great deal of suffering upon
themselves and others. They rose in insurrection, and it is said
destroyed property to the amount of six millions of dollars. But instead
of being protected by the British government, as they had expected,
soldiers were sent over to put down the insurrection, and many of the
negroes were shot and hung.
Meanwhile their friends in England were working for them zealously. They
published pamphlets and papers and made speeches, and urgently
petitioned Parliament to "let the people go." One petition alone was
signed by eight hundred thousand women. One of the members, pointing to
the enormous roll, said: "There is no use in trying longer to resist the
will of the people. When all the women in Great Britain are knocking at
the doors of Parliament, something must be done."
The government and the aristocracy were very reluctant to comply with
the demand of the people. But at last, after eleven years of more
violent struggle than it had taken to suppress the African slave-trade,
Slavery itself was abolished in the British West Indies forever. The
decree was to go into effect on the 1st day of August, 1834. Up to the
very last day, the planters persisted in saying that the measure would
ruin the islands. They said the emancipated slaves would do no work, but
would go round in large gangs, robbing, stealing, murdering the whites,
burning the houses, and destroying the fields of sugar-cane. If the
negroes had been revengeful, they might have done a great deal of
mischief; for there were five times as many colored people in the
islands as there were whites. But they were so thankful to get their
freedom at last, that there was no room in their hearts for bad
feelings. The tears were in their eyes as they told each other the good
news, and said, "Bress de Lord and de good English people."