PERPLEXITIES.--ANOTHER DEATH.
Neath the billows of the ocean,
Hidden treasures wait the hand,
That again to light shall raise them
With the diver's magic wand.
G. W. COOK.
THE family, gathered by James' decease, returned to their homes. Susan
and Charles returned to Baltimore. Letters were received from the
absent, expressing their sympathy and grief. The father bowed like a
"bruised reed," under the loss of his beloved son. He felt desirous to
die the death of the righteous; also, conscious that he was unprepared,
he resolved to start on the narrow way, and some time solicit entrance
through the gate which leads to the celestial city. He acknowledged his
too ready acquiescence with Mrs. B., in permitting Frado to be deprived
of her only religious privileges for weeks together. He accordingly
asked his sister to take her to meeting once more, which she was ready
at once to do.
The first opportunity they once more attended meeting together. The
minister conversed faithfully with every person present. He was
surprised to find the little colored girl so solicitous, and kindly
directed her to the flowing fountain where she might wash and be clean.
He inquired of the origin of her anxiety, of her progress up to this
time, and endeavored to make Christ, instead of James, the attraction of
Heaven. He invited her to come to his house, to speak freely her mind to
him, to pray much, to read her Bible often.
The neighbors, who were at meeting,--among them Mrs. Reed,--discussed
the opinions Mrs. Bellmont would express on the subject. Mrs. Reed
called and informed Mrs. B. that her colored girl "related her
experience the other night at the meeting."
"What experience?" asked she, quickly, as if she expected to hear the
number of times she had whipped Frado, and the number of lashes set
forth in plain Arabic numbers.
"Why, you know she is serious, don't you? She told the minister about
it."
Mrs. B. made no reply, but changed the subject adroitly. Next morning
she told Frado she "should not go out of the house for one while, except
on errands; and if she did not stop trying to be religious, she would
whip her to death."
Frado pondered; her mistress was a professor of religion; was SHE going
to heaven? then she did not wish to go. If she should be near James,
even, she could not be happy with those fiery eyes watching her
ascending path. She resolved to give over all thought of the future
world, and strove daily to put her anxiety far from her.
Mr. Bellmont found himself unable to do what James or Jack could
accomplish for her. He talked with her seriously, told her he had seen
her many times punished undeservedly; he did not wish to have her saucy
or disrespectful, but when she was SURE she did not deserve a whipping,
to avoid it if she could. "You are looking sick," he added, "you cannot
endure beating as you once could."
It was not long before an opportunity offered of profiting by his
advice. She was sent for wood, and not returning as soon as Mrs. B.
calculated, she followed her, and, snatching from the pile a stick,
raised it over her.
"Stop!" shouted Frado, "strike me, and I'll never work a mite more for
you;" and throwing down what she had gathered, stood like one who feels
the stirring of free and independent thoughts.
By this unexpected demonstration, her mistress, in amazement, dropped
her weapon, desisting from her purpose of chastisement. Frado walked
towards the house, her mistress following with the wood she herself was
sent after. She did not know, before, that she had a power to ward off
assaults. Her triumph in seeing her enter the door with HER burden,
repaid her for much of her former suffering.
It was characteristic of Mrs. B. never to rise in her majesty, unless
she was sure she should be victorious.
This affair never met with an "after clap," like many others.
Thus passed a year. The usual amount of scolding, but fewer whippings.
Mrs. B. longed once more for Mary's return, who had been absent over a
year; and she wrote imperatively for her to come quickly to her. A
letter came in reply, announcing that she would comply as soon as she
was sufficiently recovered from an illness which detained her.
No serious apprehensions were cherished by either parent, who constantly
looked for notice of her arrival, by mail. Another letter brought
tidings that Mary was seriously ill; her mother's presence was
solicited.
She started without delay. Before she reached her destination, a letter
came to the parents announcing her death.
No sooner was the astounding news received, than Frado rushed into Aunt
Abby's, exclaiming:--
"She's dead, Aunt Abby!"
"Who?" she asked, terrified by the unprefaced announcement.
"Mary; they've just had a letter."
As Mrs. B. was away, the brother and sister could freely sympathize, and
she sought him in this fresh sorrow, to communicate such solace as she
could, and to learn particulars of Mary's untimely death, and assist him
in his journey thither.
It seemed a thanksgiving to Frado. Every hour or two she would pop in
into Aunt Abby's room with some strange query:
"She got into the RIVER again, Aunt Abby, didn't she; the Jordan is a
big one to tumble into, any how. S'posen she goes to hell, she'll be as
black as I am. Wouldn't mistress be mad to see her a nigger!" and others
of a similar stamp, not at all acceptable to the pious, sympathetic
dame; but she could not evade them.
The family returned from their sorrowful journey, leaving the dead
behind. Nig looked for a change in her tyrant; what could subdue her, if
the loss of her idol could not?
Never was Mrs. B. known to shed tears so profusely, as when she
reiterated to one and another the sad particulars of her darling's
sickness and death. There was, indeed, a season of quiet grief; it was
the lull of the fiery elements. A few weeks revived the former tempests,
and so at variance did they seem with chastisement sanctified, that
Frado felt them to be unbearable. She determined to flee. But where? Who
would take her? Mrs. B. had always represented her ugly. Perhaps every
one thought her so. Then no one would take her. She was black, no one
would love her. She might have to return, and then she would be more in
her mistress' power than ever.
She remembered her victory at the wood-pile. She decided to remain to do
as well as she could; to assert her rights when they were trampled on;
to return once more to her meeting in the evening, which had been
prohibited. She had learned how to conquer; she would not abuse the
power while Mr. Bellmont was at home.
But had she not better run away? Where? She had never been from the
place far enough to decide what course to take. She resolved to speak to
Aunt Abby. SHE mapped the dangers of her course, her liability to fail
in finding so good friends as John and herself. Frado's mind was busy
for days and nights. She contemplated administering poison to her
mistress, to rid herself and the house of so detestable a plague.
But she was restrained by an overruling Providence; and finally decided
to stay contentedly through her period of service, which would expire
when she was eighteen years of age.
In a few months Jane returned home with her family, to relieve her
parents, upon whom years and affliction had left the marks of age. The
years intervening since she had left her home, had, in some degree,
softened the opposition to her unsanctioned marriage with George. The
more Mrs. B. had about her, the more energetic seemed her directing
capabilities, and her fault-finding propensities. Her own, she had full
power over; and Jane after vain endeavors, became disgusted, weary, and
perplexed, and decided that, though her mother might suffer, she could
not endure her home. They followed Jack to the West. Thus vanished all
hopes of sympathy or relief from this source to Frado. There seemed no
one capable of enduring the oppressions of the house but her. She turned
to the darkness of the future with the determination previously formed,
to remain until she should be eighteen. Jane begged her to follow her so
soon as she should be released; but so wearied out was she by her
mistress, she felt disposed to flee from any and every one having her
similitude of name or feature.