A NEW HOME FOR ME.
Oh! did we but know of the shadows so nigh,
The world would indeed be a prison of gloom;
All light would be quenched in youth's eloquent eye,
And the prayer-lisping infant would ask for the tomb.
For if Hope be a star that may lead us astray,
And "deceiveth the heart," as the aged ones preach;
Yet 'twas Mercy that gave it, to beacon our way,
Though its halo illumes where it never can reach.
ELIZA COOK.
As the day closed and Mag did not appear, surmises were expressed by the
family that she never intended to return. Mr. Bellmont was a kind,
humane man, who would not grudge hospitality to the poorest wanderer,
nor fail to sympathize with any sufferer, however humble. The child's
desertion by her mother appealed to his sympathy, and he felt inclined
to succor her. To do this in opposition to Mrs. Bellmont's wishes, would
be like encountering a whirlwind charged with fire, daggers and spikes.
She was not as susceptible of fine emotions as her spouse. Mag's opinion
of her was not without foundation. She was self-willed, haughty,
undisciplined, arbitrary and severe. In common parlance, she was a
SCOLD, a thorough one. Mr. B. remained silent during the consultation
which follows, engaged in by mother, Mary and John, or Jack, as he was
familiarly called.
"Send her to the County House," said Mary, in reply to the query what
should be done with her, in a tone which indicated self-importance in
the speaker. She was indeed the idol of her mother, and more nearly
resembled her in disposition and manners than the others.
Jane, an invalid daughter, the eldest of those at home, was reclining on
a sofa apparently uninterested.
"Keep her," said Jack. "She's real handsome and bright, and not very
black, either."
"Yes," rejoined Mary; "that's just like you, Jack. She'll be of no use
at all these three years, right under foot all the time."
"Poh! Miss Mary; if she should stay, it wouldn't be two days before you
would be telling the girls about OUR nig, OUR nig!" retorted Jack.
"I don't want a nigger 'round ME, do you, mother?" asked Mary.
"I don't mind the nigger in the child. I should like a dozen better than
one," replied her mother. "If I could make her do my work in a few
years, I would keep her. I have so much trouble with girls I hire, I am
almost persuaded if I have one to train up in my way from a child, I
shall be able to keep them awhile. I am tired of changing every few
months."
"Where could she sleep?" asked Mary. "I don't want her near me."
"In the L chamber," answered the mother.
"How'll she get there?" asked Jack. "She'll be afraid to go through that
dark passage, and she can't climb the ladder safely."
"She'll have to go there; it's good enough for a nigger," was the reply.
Jack was sent on horseback to ascertain if Mag was at her home. He
returned with the testimony of Pete Greene that they were fairly
departed, and that the child was intentionally thrust upon their family.
The imposition was not at all relished by Mrs. B., or the pert, haughty
Mary, who had just glided into her teens.
"Show the child to bed, Jack," said his mother. "You seem most pleased
with the little nigger, so you may introduce her to her room."
He went to the kitchen, and, taking Frado gently by the hand, told her
he would put her in bed now; perhaps her mother would come the next
night after her.
It was not yet quite dark, so they ascended the stairs without any
light, passing through nicely furnished rooms, which were a source of
great amazement to the child. He opened the door which connected with
her room by a dark, unfinished passage-way. "Don't bump your head," said
Jack, and stepped before to open the door leading into her
apartment,--an unfinished chamber over the kitchen, the roof slanting
nearly to the floor, so that the bed could stand only in the middle of
the room. A small half window furnished light and air. Jack returned to
the sitting room with the remark that the child would soon outgrow those
quarters.
"When she DOES, she'll outgrow the house," remarked the mother.
"What can she do to help you?" asked Mary. "She came just in the right
time, didn't she? Just the very day after Bridget left," continued she.
"I'll see what she can do in the morning," was the answer.
While this conversation was passing below, Frado lay, revolving in her
little mind whether she would remain or not until her mother's return.
She was of wilful, determined nature, a stranger to fear, and would not
hesitate to wander away should she decide to. She remembered the
conversation of her mother with Seth, the words "given away" which she
heard used in reference to herself; and though she did not know their
full import, she thought she should, by remaining, be in some relation
to white people she was never favored with before. So she resolved to
tarry, with the hope that mother would come and get her some time. The
hot sun had penetrated her room, and it was long before a cooling breeze
reduced the temperature so that she could sleep.
Frado was called early in the morning by her new mistress. Her first
work was to feed the hens. She was shown how it was ALWAYS to be done,
and in no other way; any departure from this rule to be punished by a
whipping. She was then accompanied by Jack to drive the cows to pasture,
so she might learn the way. Upon her return she was allowed to eat her
breakfast, consisting of a bowl of skimmed milk, with brown bread
crusts, which she was told to eat, standing, by the kitchen table, and
must not be over ten minutes about it. Meanwhile the family were taking
their morning meal in the dining-room. This over, she was placed on a
cricket to wash the common dishes; she was to be in waiting always to
bring wood and chips, to run hither and thither from room to room.
A large amount of dish-washing for small hands followed dinner. Then the
same after tea and going after the cows finished her first day's work.
It was a new discipline to the child. She found some attractions about
the place, and she retired to rest at night more willing to remain. The
same routine followed day after day, with slight variation; adding a
little more work, and spicing the toil with "words that burn," and
frequent blows on her head. These were great annoyances to Frado, and
had she known where her mother was, she would have gone at once to her.
She was often greatly wearied, and silently wept over her sad fate. At
first she wept aloud, which Mrs. Bellmont noticed by applying a
raw-hide, always at hand in the kitchen. It was a symptom of discontent
and complaining which must be "nipped in the bud," she said.
Thus passed a year. No intelligence of Mag. It was now certain Frado was
to become a permanent member of the family. Her labors were multiplied;
she was quite indispensable, although but seven years old. She had never
learned to read, never heard of a school until her residence in the
family.
Mrs. Bellmont was in doubt about the utility of attempting to educate
people of color, who were incapable of elevation. This subject
occasioned a lengthy discussion in the family. Mr. Bellmont, Jane and
Jack arguing for Frado's education; Mary and her mother objecting. At
last Mr. Bellmont declared decisively that she SHOULD go to school. He
was a man who seldom decided controversies at home. The word once spoken
admitted of no appeal; so, notwithstanding Mary's objection that she
would have to attend the same school she did, the word became law.
It was to be a new scene to Frado, and Jack had many queries and
conjectures to answer. He was himself too far advanced to attend the
summer school, which Frado regretted, having had too many opportunities
of witnessing Miss Mary's temper to feel safe in her company alone.
The opening day of school came. Frado sauntered on far in the rear of
Mary, who was ashamed to be seen "walking with a nigger." As soon as she
appeared, with scanty clothing and bared feet, the children assembled,
noisily published her approach: "See that nigger," shouted one. "Look!
look!" cried another. "I won't play with her," said one little girl.
"Nor I neither," replied another.
Mary evidently relished these sharp attacks, and saw a fair prospect of
lowering Nig where, according to her views, she belonged. Poor Frado,
chagrined and grieved, felt that her anticipations of pleasure at such a
place were far from being realized. She was just deciding to return
home, and never come there again, when the teacher appeared, and
observing the downcast looks of the child, took her by the hand, and led
her into the school-room. All followed, and, after the bustle of
securing seats was over, Miss Marsh inquired if the children knew "any
cause for the sorrow of that little girl?" pointing to Frado. It was
soon all told. She then reminded them of their duties to the poor and
friendless; their cowardice in attacking a young innocent child;
referred them to one who looks not on outward appearances, but on the
heart. "She looks like a good girl; I think _I_ shall love her, so lay
aside all prejudice, and vie with each other in shewing kindness and
good-will to one who seems different from you," were the closing remarks
of the kind lady. Those kind words! The most agreeable sound which ever
meets the ear of sorrowing, grieving childhood.
Example rendered her words efficacious. Day by day there was a manifest
change of deportment towards "Nig." Her speeches often drew merriment
from the children; no one could do more to enliven their favorite
pastimes than Frado. Mary could not endure to see her thus noticed, yet
knew not how to prevent it. She could not influence her schoolmates as
she wished. She had not gained their affections by winning ways and
yielding points of controversy. On the contrary, she was self-willed,
domineering; every day reported "mad" by some of her companions. She
availed herself of the only alternative, abuse and taunts, as they
returned from school. This was not satisfactory; she wanted to use
physical force "to subdue her," to "keep her down."
There was, on their way home, a field intersected by a stream over which
a single plank was placed for a crossing. It occurred to Mary that it
would be a punishment to Nig to compel her to cross over; so she dragged
her to the edge, and told her authoritatively to go over. Nig hesitated,
resisted. Mary placed herself behind the child, and, in the struggle to
force her over, lost her footing and plunged into the stream. Some of
the larger scholars being in sight, ran, and thus prevented Mary from
drowning and Frado from falling. Nig scampered home fast as possible,
and Mary went to the nearest house, dripping, to procure a change of
garments. She came loitering home, half crying, exclaiming, "Nig pushed
me into the stream!" She then related the particulars. Nig was called
from the kitchen. Mary stood with anger flashing in her eyes. Mr.
Bellmont sat quietly reading his paper. He had witnessed too many of
Miss Mary's outbreaks to be startled. Mrs. Bellmont interrogated Nig.
"I didn't do it! I didn't do it!" answered Nig, passionately, and then
related the occurrence truthfully.
The discrepancy greatly enraged Mrs. Bellmont. With loud accusations and
angry gestures she approached the child. Turning to her husband, she
asked,
"Will you sit still, there, and hear that black nigger call Mary a
liar?"
"How do we know but she has told the truth? I shall not punish her," he
replied, and left the house, as he usually did when a tempest threatened
to envelop him. No sooner was he out of sight than Mrs. B. and Mary
commenced beating her inhumanly; then propping her mouth open with a
piece of wood, shut her up in a dark room, without any supper. For
employment, while the tempest raged within, Mr. Bellmont went for the
cows, a task belonging to Frado, and thus unintentionally prolonged her
pain. At dark Jack came in, and seeing Mary, accosted her with, "So you
thought you'd vent your spite on Nig, did you? Why can't you let her
alone? It was good enough for you to get a ducking, only you did not
stay in half long enough."
"Stop!" said his mother. "You shall never talk so before me. You would
have that little nigger trample on Mary, would you? She came home with a
lie; it made Mary's story false."
"What was Mary's story?" asked Jack.
It was related.
"Now," said Jack, sallying into a chair, "the school-children happened
to see it all, and they tell the same story Nig does. Which is most
likely to be true, what a dozen agree they saw, or the contrary?"
"It is very strange you will believe what others say against your
sister," retorted his mother, with flashing eye. "I think it is time
your father subdued you."
"Father is a sensible man," argued Jack. "He would not wrong a dog.
Where IS Frado?" he continued.
"Mother gave her a good whipping and shut her up," replied Mary.
Just then Mr. Bellmont entered, and asked if Frado was "shut up yet."
The knowledge of her innocence, the perfidy of his sister, worked
fearfully on Jack. He bounded from his chair, searched every room till
he found the child; her mouth wedged apart, her face swollen, and full
of pain.
How Jack pitied her! He relieved her jaws, brought her some supper, took
her to her room, comforted her as well as he knew how, sat by her till
she fell asleep, and then left for the sitting room. As he passed his
mother, he remarked, "If that was the way Frado was to be treated, he
hoped she would never wake again!" He then imparted her situation to his
father, who seemed untouched, till a glance at Jack exposed a tearful
eye. Jack went early to her next morning. She awoke sad, but refreshed.
After breakfast Jack took her with him to the field, and kept her
through the day. But it could not be so generally. She must return to
school, to her household duties. He resolved to do what he could to
protect her from Mary and his mother. He bought her a dog, which became
a great favorite with both. The invalid, Jane, would gladly befriend
her; but she had not the strength to brave the iron will of her mother.
Kind words and affectionate glances were the only expressions of
sympathy she could safely indulge in. The men employed on the farm were
always glad to hear her prattle; she was a great favorite with them.
Mrs. Bellmont allowed them the privilege of talking with her in the
kitchen. She did not fear but she should have ample opportunity of
subduing her when they were away. Three months of schooling, summer and
winter, she enjoyed for three years. Her winter over-dress was a
cast-off overcoat, once worn by Jack, and a sun-bonnet. It was a source
of great merriment to the scholars, but Nig's retorts were so mirthful,
and their satisfaction so evident in attributing the selection to "Old
Granny Bellmont," that it was not painful to Nig or pleasurable to Mary.
Her jollity was not to be quenched by whipping or scolding. In Mrs.
Bellmont's presence she was under restraint; but in the kitchen, and
among her schoolmates, the pent up fires burst forth. She was ever at
some sly prank when unseen by her teacher, in school hours; not
unfrequently some outburst of merriment, of which she was the original,
was charged upon some innocent mate, and punishment inflicted which she
merited. They enjoyed her antics so fully that any of them would suffer
wrongfully to keep open the avenues of mirth. She would venture far
beyond propriety, thus shielded and countenanced.
The teacher's desk was supplied with drawers, in which were stored his
books and other et ceteras of the profession. The children observed Nig
very busy there one morning before school, as they flitted in
occasionally from their play outside. The master came; called the
children to order; opened a drawer to take the book the occasion
required; when out poured a volume of smoke. "Fire! fire!" screamed he,
at the top of his voice. By this time he had become sufficiently
acquainted with the peculiar odor, to know he was imposed upon. The
scholars shouted with laughter to see the terror of the dupe, who,
feeling abashed at the needless fright, made no very strict
investigation, and Nig once more escaped punishment. She had provided
herself with cigars, and puffing, puffing away at the crack of the
drawer, had filled it with smoke, and then closed it tightly to deceive
the teacher, and amuse the scholars. The interim of terms was filled up
with a variety of duties new and peculiar. At home, no matter how
powerful the heat when sent to rake hay or guard the grazing herd, she
was never permitted to shield her skin from the sun. She was not many
shades darker than Mary now; what a calamity it would be ever to hear
the contrast spoken of. Mrs. Bellmont was determined the sun should have
full power to darken the shade which nature had first bestowed upon her
as best befitting.