LETTER FROM REV. CHARLES MASON
"Enterprise, Fla., Sept. --, 18--.
"My dear Arthur:
"I was glad to hear that you were so pleasantly situated and liked your
parish work. I trust it is cooler there than here in Florida, where the
thermometer has registered higher day after day than it has before in
years. I rather like it, however, as I am something of a salamander, and
this, you know, is not my first experience in Florida. I was here
between thirty and forty years ago, before I was married. In fact, I met
your mother here at the Brock House, which before the war was frequented
by many Southerners, some of whom came in the summer as well as in the
winter.
"It was while I was here that an incident occurred which made a strong
impression upon my mind, and was recalled to it by your mention of
_Crompton_ as the town where you are living. On one of the hottest days
of the season I attended a funeral, the saddest, and, in some respects,
the most peculiar I ever attended. It was in a log-house some miles from
the river, and was that of a young girl, who lay in her coffin with a
pathetic look on her face, as if in death she were pleading for some
wrong to be righted. I could scarcely keep back my tears when I looked
at her, and after all these years my eyes grow moist when I recall that
funeral in the palmetto clearing, with only Crackers and negroes in
attendance, a demented old woman, a dark-eyed little girl, the only
relatives, and a free negro, Jake, and Mandy Ann, a slave, belonging to
Mrs. Harris, the only real mourners. Mandy Ann attended to the child and
old woman, while Jake was master of ceremonies, and more intelligent
than many white people I have met. Such a funeral as that was, with the
cries and groans and singing of both whites and blacks! One old woman,
called Judy, came near having the _power_, as they call a kind of fit of
spiritual exaltation. But Jake shook her up, and told her to behave, as
it was a 'Piscopal funeral and not a pra'r meetin'. Mandy Ann also shook
up the old lady, Mrs. Harris, and screamed in her ear through a trumpet,
while the little dark-eyed child joined in the refrain of the negroes'
song,
"'Oh, it will be joyful
When we meet to part no more.'
"It was ludicrous, but very sad, and Jake's efforts to keep order were
pitiful. He called his young mistress Miss Dory, and was most anxious to
screen her from the least suspicion of wrong. When I questioned him with
regard to the parentage of the little girl, he wrung his hands and
answered, 'I do' know for shu', but fo' God it's all right. She tole me
so, fo' she died, an' Miss Dory never tole a lie. She said to find Elder
Covil, who knew, but he's done gone off Norf, or somewhar.'
"I felt sure it was all right when I saw the girl's face. It must have
been beautiful in life, and no taint of guilt had ever marred its
innocence. There could have been no fault at her door, except
concealment, and the reason for that was buried in her grave. I heard of
a stranger who visited the clearing three or four years before the
funeral. Jake was away, but Mandy Ann was there and full of the
'gemman,' who, I have no doubt, was the girl's husband and a great
scamp. I left Florida within a week after that funeral, and have never
been here since, until I came to take charge for a time of the church
which has been erected here. I should never have known the place, it has
changed so since the close of the war and the influx of visitors from
the North. The hotel, which has been greatly improved and enlarged, is
always full in the season, and it is one of the most popular winter
resorts on the river.
"One of my first inquiries was for the negroes Jake and Mandy Ann. The
latter is married and lives near the hotel, with as many children, I
thought, as the old woman who lived in a shoe, the way they swarmed out
when I called to see their mother. She had gone to Jacksonville to see
'ole Miss Perkinses, who was dyin', and had sent for her 'case she done
live with her when she was a girl,' one of the pickaninnies said. When I
asked for Jake I was told he was still in the palmetto clearing. No one
could tell me anything about the little girl who must now, if living, be
a woman of nearly forty. Indeed, no one seemed to remember her, so
changed are the people since the war. Jake, I was sure, had not
forgotten, and a few days ago I went to see him. He is an old man now,
and if there is such a thing as an aristocratic negro, he is one; with
his face black as ebony, his hair white as snow, and his eyes full of
intelligence and fire, especially when he talks of Miss Dory and 'de
good ole times fo' she went to Georgy and met de Northern cuss.' That is
what he calls the man who came for the little girl after the old
grandmother died.
"I will tell you the story of his coming as Jake told it to me in the
little enclosure where Miss Dory is buried, and where there is a very
pretty monument to her memory, with 'Eudora, aged 20,' upon it. He was
working in the yard, which was a garden of bloom, and over the grave and
around the monument a Marshal Niel had twined itself, its clusters of
roses filling the air with perfume. Pushing them a little aside, so that
I could see the lettering more distinctly, he said, 'That's what he tole
me to put thar, jess "Eudora, aged 20." I've left room for another name
when I'm perfectly shu'. I don't want to put no lie on a grave stun, if
her name wan't Crompton.'
"'Crompton!' I repeated, thinking of your parish.
"'Yes, Mas'r Mason, fo' God I b'lieve it's Crompton shu'. He comed an'
fetched lil chile Dory, the lil girl you seen at the funeral, what seems
only yestiddy, one way and in another a big lifetime sense we buried her
mother here.'
"'Who is Mr. Crompton, and how did he know about the child?' I asked,
and Jake replied, 'He is somebody from the Norf, and he'd sent money to
Mas'r Hardy in Palatka for Miss Dory, who put it away for de chile.
After she died Mas'r Hardy was gwine to Europe, an' tole me 'twas Col.
Crompton, Troutburg, Massachusetts, who sent the money, but he wouldn't
say nothin' else, 'cept that Col. Crompton had gin him his confidence
and he should keep it. I'm shoo that Miss Dory sent letters through
Mas'r Hardy to de Colonel, an' he writ to her. Not very offen, though.
She'd sen' one to Mas'r Hardy, an' he'd sen' it Norf, an' then she'd
wait and wait for de answer, an' when it came you or'to seen her face
light up like sun-up on de river in a May mornin'. An' her eyes,--she
had wonnerful eyes,--would shine like de stars frosty nights in
Virginny. Maybe 'twas mean, but sometimes I watched her readin' de
letter, her han's flutterin' as she opened it like a little bird's wings
when it's cotched. I think she was allus 'spectin' sumptin' what never
comed. The letters was short, but it took her a mighty time to read 'em,
'case you see she wasn't good at readin' writin', an' I 'specs de
Colonel's handwrite wasn't very plain. She used to spell out de long
words, whisperin' 'em out sometimes, her face changin' till all de
brightness was gone, an' it was more like a storm on de river than
sun-up. Den she'd fold de letter, an' take up de lil chile an' kiss it,
an' say, "I've got _you_. We'll never part." Den she'd burn de letter. I
specs he tole her to, an' she was shoo to mind. Den she'd go at her
readin' book agin, or writin', tryin' to larn, but 'twixt you an' I
'twan't in her, an', no direspec' nuther, de Harrises couldn't larn from
books. Dey's quick to 'dapt theirselves to what they seen, an' she
didn't see nothin'.
"'Once she said to me when de big words troubled her an' floor'd me, "I
can never be a lady dis way. Ef he'd take me whar he is, an' 'mongst his
people, I should larn thar ways, but what can I do here wid--" She
didn't say "wid Jake an' Mandy Ann an' ole granny, an' de rest of 'em,"
but she meant it. If it hadn't been for the lil chile she could of gone
to school. I tole her oncet I'd sen' her an' take care of de lil chile
an' ole Miss,--me an' Mandy Ann. The tears come in her eyes as she ast
whar I'd git de money, seein' we was layin' up what come from de Norf
for de chile. I'd done thought that out lyin' awake nights an' plannin'
how to make her a lady. I'se bawn free, you know, an' freedom was sweet
to me an' slavery sour, but for Miss Dory I'd do it, an' I said, "I'll
sell myself to Mas'r Hardy, or some gemman like him." Thar's plenty
wants me, an' would give a big price, an' she should have it all for her
schoolin'.
"'You orter have seen her face then. Every part of it movin' to oncet,
an' her eyes so bright I could not look at 'em for the quarness thar was
in 'em, an' I'll never forget her voice as she said, "That can't be;
but, Jakey, you are de noblest man, black or white, I ever seen, an' my
best frien', an' I loves you as if you was my brodder."
"'Dem's her very words, an' I would of sole myself for her if I could.
But de lam gin up after a while. All de hope an' life went out of her,
an' she died' an' you done 'tended her funeral,--you 'members it,--as
fust class as I could make it. I tole you sumptin' den, but not all
this. It wasn't a fittin' time, but seein' you brings it all back. Mandy
Ann an' me said we'd keep lil chile a while, bein' ole Miss was alive,
though she was no better than a broomstick dressed in her clothes. She
didn't know nothin', not even that Miss Dory was dead, an' kep' askin'
whose chile it was,--ef it was Mandy Ann's, an' why it was hyar. It
kinder troubled her, I think, it was so active an' noisy, an' sung so
much. Used to play at pra'r meetin' an' have de pow' powerful, as she
had seen de blacks have it when Mandy Ann took her to thar meetin's.
Seems ef she liked thar ways better than what I tried to teach her from
de Pra'r Book, an' they is rather more livelier for a chile. All de
neighbors was interested in her, an' ole Miss Thomas most of all. She's
de one what stood out de longest agin Miss Dory, 'case she didn't tell
squar what she'd promised not to. But she gin in at de funeral, an' was
mighty nice to the lil chile. When ole Miss Lucy died she comed in her
democrat wagon, as she did for Miss Dory, an' coaxed lil chile inter her
lap, an' said she showed she had good blood, an' or'to be brung up a
lady, an' it wasn't fittin' for her to stay whar she was, an' if I knew
de fader I mus' write to him.
"'I knew dat as well as she did, an' after consultin' wid Mandy Ann an'
prayin' for light, it come dat I must sen' on, an' I did, hopin' he
wouldn' come, for to part wid de lil chile was like tearin' my vitals
out, an' Mandy Ann's, too. He did come,--a big, gran' man, wid a look
which made me glad Miss Dory was in heaven 'stead of livin' wid him.
He'd been hyar oncet before. Mebby I tole you, at de funeral. My mind
gets leaky, an' I can't 'member exactly, an' so repeats.'
"'I think not,' I said, 'and if you did, I have forgotten, and am
willing to hear it again.'
"We were sitting now on a bench close by what Jake said had been the
little girl's play-house, which she called her _Shady_, because it was
under a palm tree.
"'Yes, he comed,' Jake said, 'two or three weeks after Miss Dory comed
home from Georgy, whar she was visitin' her kin. Mandy Ann tole me 'bout
him,--how he walked an' talked to Miss Dory, till when he went away her
face was white as the gown she put on when she hearn he was comin'. You
see, Mandy Ann was on de boat wid him, an' tole her. She was all of a
twitter, like you've seen de little hungry birds in de nest when dar
mudder is comin' wid a worm,--an' she was jess as cold an' slimpsy an'
starved when he went away as dem little birds is when de mudder is shot
on de wing an' never comes wid de worm. You know what I mean. She
s'pected somethin' an' didn't get it.'
"Jake was very eloquent in his illustrations, and I looked admiringly at
him as he went on: 'I was in Virginny vallyin' for Mas'r Kane, a fine
gemman who gin me big wage, an' I was savin' it up to buy some things
for de house, 'case I reckoned how Miss Dory seen somethin' different in
Georgy. Her kin was very 'spectable folks, an' she might want some
fixin's. Thar was nobody hyar but ole Miss Lucy, who'd had some kind of
a spell an' lost most of her sense, an' didn't know more'n a chile.
Mandy Ann got somebody to write me that Miss Dory had a beau,--a gran'
man, an' I was that pleased that I ast the price of a second-han'
pianny, thinkin' mebby she'd want to larn, 'case she sung so nice. Den I
never hearn anoder word, 'cept from Miss Dory, till Mas'r Hardy writ
Mas'r Kane to sen' me home, 'case I was needed. I s'posed ole Miss Lucy
had had another fit, an' started thinkin' all de way up de river how I'd
see Miss Dory standin' in de do' wid de smile on her face, an' de light
in her eyes, an' her pleasant voice sayin' to me, "How d'ye, Jake, I'se
mighty glad to see you." 'Stid o' that she wasn't thar, an' Mandy Ann
come clatterin' down de stars, an' I hearn a baby cry. In my s'prise I
said, "What's dat ar? Has ole Miss got a baby?"
"'Mandy Ann laughed till she cried, den cried without laughin', an' tole
me wid her face to de wall, an' I was so shamed I could of hid in de
san', an' Mandy Ann, they tole me, did run inter de woods at fust to
hide herself. Den she smarted up an' fit for Miss Dory, who said nothin'
'cept, "Wait, it will all be right. I tole him I would wait. I'm a good
girl," an' fo' Heaven, I b'lieved her, though some o' de white trash
didn't at fust, but they all did at the last. Maybe I'm tirin' you?'
"'No,' I said, 'go on,' and he continued: 'I'se tole you most all dat
happened after dat till she died an' you comed to de funeral.
"'When ole miss died, I writ to de Colonel, as I tole you, an' he comed,
gran', an' proud, an' stiff, an' I tole him all 'bout Miss Dory same as
I have you,--p'raps not quite so much,--p'raps mo'. I don't remember,
'case as I said my memory is ole an' leaky, and mebby I ain't tellin' it
right in course as I tole him. Some was in de house, an' some out hyar,
whar I said, "Dis is her grave. She's lyin' under de san', but I'll fix
her up in time an' she shall sleep under de roses."
"'I tole him everything was done in order, an' how you preached about de
Resurrection an' de Life, an' how sweet she look in her coffin, an'
Mandy Ann's puttin' her ring on de weddin' finger, an' his mouf trembled
like, up and down, an' I b'lieve ef thar had been a tear in his dried-up
heart he'd of shed it.
"'Oncet, when he seemed kinder softened, I ast him squar," Ain't you her
husband?"
"'Thar was such a quar look in his eyes,--a starin' at me a minit,--an'
then he said, "I am nobody's husband, an' never shall be."
"'I b'lieve he lied, an' wanted to knock him down, but wouldn't right
thar by her grave. He tole me I was to have all the money Miss Dory had
been layin' up, an' he would send me mo' for the stun. I ast what I
should put on it, an' he said, "What was on her coffin plate?"
"Eudora, aged 20," I tole him. "Put the same on the stun," he said. He
tole me I was to stay on de place, an' have all I made. Then thar was
Mandy Ann, who 'longed to de lil chile. She was to stay hyar, he said,
an' he'd pay her wage which she could keep herself. He'd settle wid de
lil chile when de time come, an' set Mandy Ann free. I think he meant
it, but he was spar'd de trouble, for de wah corned like a big broom an'
swep' slavery away, an' mos' everyting souf wid it, an' Mandy Ann was
free any way widout de Colonel.
"'After de chile went away I got to broodin' over Miss Dory's wrongs,
till I'se so worked up agin de Colonel, dat when de wah broke out I was
minded to 'list, hopin' I'd meet him somewhar in battle an' shoot him.
Den I cooled down an' staid home an' raised things an' worked for de
poor folks hyar,--de women, whose husban's an' brudders had gone to de
wah. Ted,--dat's de boy on de "Hatty" long ago,--went to de wah wid a
great flourish, promisin' Mandy Ann he'd shoot the Colonel shu' ef he
got a chance. An' what do you think? At de fust crack of de cannon in de
fust battle he seen, he cut an' run, an' kep' on runnin' till he got
hyar, beggin' me an' Mandy Ann to hide him, 'case he was a deserter. I
held my tongue, an' let Mandy Ann do as she pleased, an' she hid him
till de Federals come, when he jined them, an' did get hit, but 'twas on
de back or shoulder, showin' which way he was runnin'.
"'Den Mandy Ann married him, an' has ten chillenses, an' washes an'
scrubs for de Brock House an' everybody, while Ted struts roun' wid a
cigar in his mouf, an' says he has neber seen a well day sense de
wah,--dat his shoulder pains him powerful at times,--an' he is tryin' to
get a pension, an' Mandy Ann is helpin' him. Beats all what women won't
do for a man if they love him, no matter how big a skunk he is. Miss
Dory died for one, an' Mandy Ann is slavin' herself to deff for one.
I'se mighty glad I'se not a woman.'
"Here Jake stopped a moment, presumably to reflect on the waywardness of
Miss Dory and Mandy Ann caring for two skunks,--one the Colonel and one
Ted, whose last name I did not know till I asked Jake, who replied,
'Hamilton--a right smart name, I'm told, an' 'long'd to de quality. Ole
man Hamilton come from de norf somewhar, an' bought Ted's mother, a
likely mulatto. Who his fader was I doan know. He's more white dan
black, an' is mighty proud of his name,--Hamilton,--'case somebody tole
him thar was once a big man, Hamilton, an' when Mandy Ann had twin boys,
she was tole to call 'em Alexander an' Aaron,--sumptin',--I doan justly
remember what. It makes me think of a chestnut.'
"'Burr,' I suggested, and he replied, 'Yes, sar, dat's it,--Aaron
Burr,--anoder big man,--an' dey calls de twins Alex and Aaron. Fine
boys, too, wid Mandy Ann's get-up in 'em. Dar's two mo' twins,--little
gals; beats all what a woman Mandy Ann is for twins,--an' she calls 'em
Judy and Dory,--one for young Miss, an' t'other for de rag doll lil
chile took norf wid her and called Judy, for an ole woman who has gone
to de Canaan she used to sing about--"Oh, I'se boun' for de lan' of
Canaan." She was powerful in pra'r, an' at de fust meetin' after de wah,
an' she knew she was free, I b'lieve you could of hearn her across de
lake to Sanford, she shout "Glory, bress de Lawd!" so loud. But for all
she was free, she wouldn't leave ole Miss Thomas. "I likes my mistis,
an' I ain't gwine to leave her wid somebody else to comb her har, an'
make her corn bread," she said, when dey tried to persuade her to go to
Palatky. She staid wid ole Miss, who buried her decent, an' has gone
herself to jine her an' Miss Dory in de better land, which seems to me
is not far away; an' offen, when I sees de sun go down in a glory of red
an' purple an' yaller,--I'se mighty fond of yaller,--I says to myself,
"It's dat way dey goes to de udder world, whar, please God, I'll go some
day fore berry long,--for I tries to be good."
"There was a rapt look in Jake's face as he turned it to the west, and I
would have given much to know that my future was as assured as his."
Here the first part of Mr. Mason's letter closed abruptly, as a friend
came to call, but he added hastily, "To-morrow I'll finish, and tell you
about the child who now occupies all Jake's thoughts, praying every day
that he may see her again."