LIFE PICTURES AND LIFE WORK.
The pictures Louis painted were not on canvas, but living, breathing
entities, and my heart rejoiced as the years rolled over us that the
brush he wielded with such consummate skill was touched also by my hand;
that it had been able to verify Clara's "Emily will do it," and that now
in the days that came I heard her say "Louis and Emily are doing great
good." I think nothing is really pleasure as compared with the
blessedness of benefitting others.
My experience in my earliest years had taught me to believe gold could
buy all we desired, but after Clara came to us and one by one the burden
of daily planning to do much with very little fell out of our lives, and
the feeling came to us that we had before us a wider path, with more
privileges than we had ever before known, I found the truth under it
all, that the want of a dollar is not the greatest one in life, neither
the work and struggle "to make both ends meet," as we said, the hardest
to enforce.
It was good to know my parents were now free from petty anxieties, that
no unsettled bills hung over my father's head like threatening clouds,
and that my mother could, if she would, take more time; to herself.
Indeed she was forced to be less busy with hard work, for Aunt Hildy
worked with power and reigned supreme here, and I helped her in every
way. It was the help that came in these ways, I firmly believed, that
saved mother's life and kept her with us. This was a great comfort, but
none of us could say our desires ended here.
No, as soon as the vexed question of how to live had settled itself,
then within our minds rose the great need of enlarged understanding.
Millions of dollars could not have rendered me happy when my mind was
clouded, and now it seemed to me, while strength lasted, no work,
however hard it might be, could deprive me of the happiness and love
that filled my heart. I loved to read and think, and I loved to work
also.
Sometimes when my hands were filled with work and I could not stop to
write, beautiful couplets would come to me, and after a time stanzas
which I thought enough of to copy. In this way I "wrote myself down," as
Louis termed it, and occasionally he handed me a paper with my verses
printed, saying always:
"Another piece of my Emily."
May, 1853, brought Southern Mary and her husband to us. We met them with
our own carriage, and within her arms there nestled a dainty parcel
called "our baby," of whose coming we had not been apprised. What a
beautiful picture she was, this little lady, nine months old, the
perfect image of her mother, with little flaxen rings that covered her
head like a crown. I heeded not the introduction to her father, but,
reaching my hands to her, said:
"Let me have her, Mary, let me take her. I cannot wait a minute."
Louis gently reminded me that Mr. Waterman was speaking to me, and I
apologized hastily, as I gathered the blossom to my heart, where she sat
just as quiet as a kitten all the way home. Clara was delighted with the
"little bud," as she called her.
"Tell me her name," I said.
"Oh! guess it," said Mary.
"Your own?"
"No, no, you can never guess, for we called her Althea, after kind Mrs.
Goodwin, who nursed me so tenderly, and Emily, for another lady we
know"--and she looked at me with her bright eyes, while an arch smile
played over her face. I only kissed the face of the beautiful child, and
Louis said:
"My Emily's name is fit for the daughter of a king. God bless the little
namesake," and Althea Emily gave utterance to a protracted "goo," which
meant, of course, _yes_.
You should have heard her talk, though, when Matthias came over to see
"Miss Molly."
"Come shufflin' over to see you," he said, "an' O my! but aint she jest
as pooty. O"--and at this moment she realized his presence, both her
little hands were stretched forth in welcome, and "ah goo! ah goo!" came
a hundred times from her sweet mouth as she tried to spring out of her
mother's lap.
"Take her, Matthias," I said.
"Wall, wall, she 'pears as ef she know me, Miss Emily--reckon she's got
a mammy down thar."
"She has, indeed," said Mary, "and I know she will miss Mammy Lucy. She
was my nurse, and she cried bitterly when we left, but I do not need
her, Allie is just nothing to care for, and I like to be with her
myself, for I am her mother, you know," she added proudly.
"I mus' know that ole Mammy Lucy, doesn't I, Miss Molly?"
"Certainly you do, Matthias, and she has sent a bandanna turban for your
wife, and a pair of knitted gloves for you. She told me to say she
didn't forget you, and was mighty glad for your freedom. Father long
since gave her her's and she has quite a sum of money of her own."
All this time white baby fingers were pawing Matthias' face, as if in
pity, and losing their little tips among his woolly hair.
When he rose to leave she cried bitterly, and turning back he said:
"Kin I tote her over to see Peg to-morrer?"
"Oh! yes," said Mary "give her my love and tell her I am coming over."
"Look out for breakers," said Aunt Hildy, when she saw the child, "this
house'll be a bedlam now, but then we were all as leetle as that once, I
spos'e," and her duty evidently spoke at that moment, saying, "You must
bear with it." But she was not troubled.
Allie never troubled us, she was as sweet and sunny as a May morning all
through, and even went to meeting and behaved herself admirably. She
never said a word till the service ended, when she uttered one single
"goo" as if well pleased. Aunt Hildy said at the supper-table she
didn't believe any such thing ever happened before in the annals of our
country's history,
"She's the best baby I ever see. Wish she'd walk afore you leave."
"She has never deigned to creep," said Mary; "the first time I tried to
have her, she looked at me and then at her dress as if to say, "That
isn't nice," and could not be coaxed to crawl. She hitches along
instead, and even that is objectionable. I imagine some nice morning she
will get right up and walk." At that moment Allie threw back her head of
dainty yellow rings, and laughed heartily, as if she knew what we said.
Mrs. Goodwin claimed the trio for one-half of the six weeks allotted to
their stay, and she said afterward:
"They were three beautiful weeks with three beautiful folks."
Louis at this time was working hard with the brush of his active
goodness, and had before him much canvas to work upon. The days were
placing it in his view, and we both dreamed at night of the work which
had come and was coming.
It was a sunny day in June when he said: "Will my Emily go with me
to-day? The colors are waiting on the pallet of the brain, and our hands
must use them to-day."
"Your Emily is ready," I replied, "and Gipsy (our horse) will take us, I
guess."
We went first to Jane North's, and Louis said to her;
"Jane, are you ready now to help us as you have promised?"
"Yes, sir," she replied; "I am."
"Will you take two boys to care for; one eleven years of age, and the
other twelve?"
"I'll do just what you say, or try to, and if my patience gives out I
can tell you, I 'spose, but I'm bound to do my duty, for I scolded and
fretted and tended to other folk's business fifteen years jist because
my own plans was upset, and I couldn't bear to see anybody happy. Well,
'twas the power of sin that did it, and if some of the old Apostles fell
short I can't think I'm alone, though that don't make it any better for
me. When are they coming?"
"To-night, I think. Give them a good room and good food, and I will
remunerate you as far as money goes. I would like you to take them; you
are so neat and thrifty, and will treat them well. When they get settled
we will see just what to do for them," said Louis, and we drove on to
the village. Our next stopping-place was found in the narrowest street
there, and where a few small and inconvenient dwellings had been erected
by the mill owners for such of their help as could afford to pay only
for these miserable homes. They looked as if they had fallen together
there by mistake. And the plot of ground which held the six houses
seemed to me to be only a good-sized house lot. We stopped at the third
one and were admitted by a careworn woman, who looked about fifty years
of age. She greeted us gladly, though when Louis introduced me, I knew
she felt the meager surroundings and wished he had been alone, for her
face flushed and her manner was nervous. I spoke kindly and took the
chair she proffered, being very careful not to appear to notice the
scantily furnished room.
"Well," said Louis, "Mrs. Moore, are you ready to let your boy go with
me?"
"Oh, sir," she said, "only too willing; but I have been afraid you would
not come. It seemed so strange that you should make us such an offer--so
strange that you can afford to do it, and be willing, too, for
experience has taught us to expect nothing, especially from those who
have money. But Willie's clothes, sir, are sadly worn. I have patched
them beyond holding together, almost; but I could get no new ones."
"Never mind that," said Louis. "We will go to the mill for him and his
little friend, too, if he can go."
"Oh! yes, sir; he can, and I am so glad, for the father is a miserably
discouraged man. He drinks to drown trouble, and it seems to me he will
drown them all after a little. A pleasant man, too. His wife says poor
health first caused him to use liquor."
We then called on the woman in question and obtained her tearful
consent, for while the promise of a home for her boy was a bright gleam,
she said:
"He is the oldest. Oh! I shall miss him when we are sick."
"He shall come to you any time," said Louis, "and you shall visit him."
And in a few moments we were at the mill. Entering the office, Louis was
cordially greeted by one of the three gentlemen who had called on us. He
evidently anticipated his errand, for he said:
"So, you are come for Willie Moore and Burton Brown?"
"Yes, sir," Louis replied. "Can I go to the room for them?"
"As you please, Mr. Desmonde, I can call them down. Their room is not a
very desirable place for a lady to visit."
Louis looked at him as if to remind him of something, while I said:
"My place is beside my husband."
"Yes," added Louis, "we work together. Come, Emily," and he led the way
to the fourth floor, where, under the flat roof in a long, low room,
were the little wool pickers. I thought at first I could not breathe,
the air was so close and sickening. And here were twenty boys, not one
of them more than twelve or thirteen years old, working through long
hours. The heat was stifling, and the fuzz from the wool made it worse.
They wore no stockings or shoes, nothing but a shirt and overalls, and
these were drenched as with rain.
As we entered Louis whispered, "See the pictures," and it was a bright,
glad light that came suddenly into all their eyes at sight of their
friend. He spoke to them all, introducing me as we passed through the
long line that lay between the two rows of boys. When we came to Willie
and Burton, Louis whispered to them:
"Get ready to go with me."
They went into the adjoining hall to put on the garments which they wore
to and from the mill, and in less time than it takes me to write it,
they stood ready for a start. As we passed again between the lines of
boys Louis dropped into every palm a silver piece, saying, as he did
so:
"Hold on, boys, work with good courage, and we will see you all in a
different place one of these days."
"Thank you, sir;" and "yes, sir, we will," fell upon our ears as we
passed out. Our two little protegés ran out in advance. And as I looked
back a moment, standing on the threshold of the large door, I said:
"It is a beautiful picture, Louis. You are a master artist."
After again stopping in the office for a few words of conversation with
Mr. Damon, Louis was ready, the boys clambered into our carriage, and we
were on our way to their homes, first stopping to purchase for each of
them a suit of clothes, a large straw hat, and a black cap. The boys
said nothing, but looked a world of wondering thanks.
Louis made an arrangement for the boys to live with Jane, and to go to
our town school when it began in the fall.
"This summer," he said to their mothers, "they need all the out-door air
and free life they can have to help their pale cheeks grow rosy, and to
give to their weak muscles a little of the strength they require. I
desire no papers to pass between us, for I am not taking your children
from you, only helping you to give them the rest and change they need to
save their lives. They are the weakest boys in the mill and this is why
I chose them first. Every Saturday they shall come home to you, and stay
over the Sabbath if you desire, and they shall also bring to you as much
as they could earn in the mill. Will this be satisfactory?"
Both these mothers bowed their heads in silent appreciation of the real
service he was rendering, and I knew his labor was not lost. I felt like
adding my tribute to his, and said:
"Your boys will be well cared for, and you shall come often to see us.
We expect you to enjoy a little with them."
"Oh! mother, will you come over and bring the children?" said Willie.
"And you, too, mother," echoed Burton.
Weary Mrs. Moore said:
"I would like to breathe again in the woods and on the mountains, but I
have five little ones left here to care for;" and Mrs. Brown added:
"I could only come on Saturday, and the mill lets out an hour earlier,
and your father needs me on that day more than any other."
Her sad face and tearful eyes told my woman's heart that this was the
day he was tempted more than all others, and I afterward gathered as
much from Burton.
"Well, we must turn toward home," said Louis, and the boys kissed their
mothers and their little brothers and sisters, and said "good-bye," and
each with his bundles turned to the carriage. Louis untied Gipsy, and I
said to the mothers:
"Were they ever away over night?"
"No, never," said both at once.
"I will arrange for them. You shall hear to-morrow how the first night
passes with them."
"I was just thinking of that," said Mrs. Brown; "God bless you for your
thoughtfulness," and getting into the carriage, we all waved our
good-byes, and turned toward home. We told Jane all we could to interest
her, and particularly asked her to make everything pleasant for them,
that they should not be homesick. Louis went to their room with them,
and when we left them at Jones' gate, Willie Moore shouted after us:
"It's just heaven here, ain't it?"
He was an uncommonly bright little boy, and yet had no education
whatever beyond spelling words of three letters. He was twelve years of
age, and for three years he had worked in the mill. Clara and all at
home were delighted with our work, and Aunt Hildy said:
"Ef Jane North does well by them boys, she oughter have a pension from
the Gov'ment, and sence I know that'll never give her a cent, I'll do it
myself. I've got an idee in my head."
Then Southern Mary and her husband laughed, not in derision, for they
admired Aunt Hildy, and Mr. Waterman said:
"If men had your backbone, Mrs. Patten, there would be a different state
of things altogether."
"My husband is almost an Abolitionist," said Mary. "Some of our people
dislike him greatly; but my father is a good man and he does not
illtreat one of his people. He is one of the exceptional cases. But the
system is, I know, accursed by God. I believe it to be a huge scale that
fell from the serpent's back in the Garden, and I feel the day will dawn
when the accursed presence of slavery will be no longer known."
"Good!" said Aunt Hildy, "and there's more kinds than one. Them little
children is slaves--or was."
"When you get ready to make out your pension papers, Mrs. Patten," said
Mary, "let me help jest a little; I would like to lay a corner-stone
somewhere in this village for some one's benefit. You know this is the
site of a drama in my life; I pray never to enact its like again."
"I'll give you a chance," said Aunt Hildy.
Louis went over to Jane's in the morning, and the boys returned with him
to tell us what a good supper and breakfast they had had.
"And such a nice bed," added Burton. "When we looked out of the window
this morning I wished mother could come."
"Poor little soul!" I said, "your mother shall come. We will move every
obstacle from her path."
"If father could find work here it would be nice," and a little while
after, he said in a low tone:
"There ain't any rum shops here, is there?"
He was a tender plant, touchingly sensitive, and when I told him we were
to send word to his mother that he liked his home, his joy was a
pleasure to witness.
"Miss North says we may have some flowers, and we'd better go back,
Willie, and see about getting the spot ready--she had her seed box out
last night, but I guess she'll give us plants too, to put in the
ground."
He was very thoughtful, and would not stay too long for anything, he
said. Aunt Hildy looked after them, and sighed with the thoughts that
rose within, but said no word.
The three weeks of Mr. and Mrs. Waterman's stay were at an end.
"On the morrow," said Mary, "we go to Aunty Goodwin's. I want to go, and
dread to leave. But is that Matthias coming over the hill? It is, and I
have something to tell him. I have meant to do it before, but there was
really no opportunity. Come out with me, and let's sit down under the
elm tree while I tell him. Come, Allie," and she lifted the blue-eyed
baby tenderly. Oh, how sweet she was! and I wondered how we could bear
to lose her. She crowed with delight at Matthias' approach, and at
Mary's suggestion he took a seat beside us.
"I have something to tell you now; open wide your ears, Uncle Peter."
"What's dat you say, Miss Molly; got some news from home?"
"Yes, I have news for you from your own."
"Oh, Miss Molly, don't for de Lord's sake wait a minit!"
"Your wife, whom Mr. Sumner so cruelly sold for you, is very happy now,
for she is free, Matthias."
"Done gone to hevin, does you mean? Tell it all," said the old man, who
trembled visibly.
"She did not live two months, but she was in good hands. I accidentally
met her mistress, who told me about her. She said she had kept her in
the house to wait on her, for she liked her very much. But she seemed
sad, and grew tired, and one morning she did not appear, and they found
her in her little room, next that of Mrs. Sanders, quite dead and
looking peaceful and happy. Her mistress felt badly, for she meant to do
well by her. They thought some heart trouble caused her death."
"Oh, my! oh, my! dat heart ob hern was done broke when dat man sold our
little gal. Oh, I knowed it ud neber heal up agin! but tank de Lord
she's free up dar. Oh, Miss Emily! can't no murderers go in troo de
gate? Dat Mas'r Sumner can't neber get dar any more, Miss Molly?"
"Yes, Matthias. Dry your tears, for I've something good to tell. Your
oldest boy, John, has a good master, and is buying his freedom. They
help him along. He drives a team, and is a splendid fellow. He will be
free soon, and will come to see you, perhaps to live with you. This is
all I know, but isn't it a great deal?"
Matthias stood on his feet, his eyes dilating as they turned full on
Mary, his hands clenched, his form raised as erect as it was possible
for him, and his breast heaving with great emotion, as from his lips
came slowly these words:
"Do you mean it, Miss Molly? Is you foolin, or is you in dead earnest
for sartin?"
"It is truth, every word I say."
"Oh, oh, oh!" and he sank on the seat beside us, covering his face with
both hands, while tears fell at his feet, and as they touched the grass
they shone in the sun like large round drops of dew. I thought they were
as white and pure as though his skin was fair. And he wept not alone,
for we wept with him.
Allie reached to bury her fingers in his mass of woolly, curling hair,
and as he felt their tender tips, he raised his head and put out his
hands to her, saying:
"Come, picaninny, come and help me be glad. Oh, Canaan, bright Canaan!
Oh, de Lord has hearn my prayer an' what kin I say, what kin I do, an'
how kin I wait fur to see dat chile? He's jes like his mother, pooty, I
know. Oh, picaninny, holler louder! le's tell it to the people that my
John is a comin' fur to see me, dat he haint got no use fur a mas'r any
more," and up and down he walked before us, while Allie made
demonstrations of joy.
It was a strange picture. "Oh, Canaan!" still he sang, and "De New
Jerusalem," until I really feared his joy would overcome him, and was
glad to see Louis coming toward us. He took a seat beside me, and I was
about to tell him the wonderful news, when Matthias, who noticed him,
handed Allie to her mother, and falling on his knees before Louis, cried
aloud:
"Oh, Mas'r Louis, help me, for de good Lord's sake! will you help me,
Mas'r Louis?"
"Oh, yes, my dear fellow!" and he laid his hand on him tenderly; "tell
me just what you want me to do."
"Oh, my boy! Miss Molly tells me my own boy John have got his freedom
mos out, an' he's comin' to find me. I can't wait, Mas'r Louis; 'pears
like a day'll be a year. I mout die, he mout die too. I'll sen' him my
buryin' money, an' ef tant enough, can't you sen' a little more? an'
I'll work it out, I will, sure, an' no mistake; fur de sake of the
right, Mas'r Louis, an' for to make my ole heart glad. Will you do it?"
"I certainly will, Matthias; but you are excited now."
"Bless ye. May de heavins open fur to swallow me in ef I don't clar up
ebery cent you pays fur me. But you can't tell. Oh, ye don't know!" and
again he walked, clapped his hands, and sang, "Oh, Canaan, bright
Canaan!" till, pausing suddenly, he said, "Guess I better shuffle ober
to tell Peg--'pears like I'm done gone clar out whar I can't know
nothin';" and with "good arternoon" he left us, swinging his hat in his
hand, and singing still "Oh, Canaan!" as he traveled over the hill
toward home.
We were all glad for Matthias, and Clara said:
"Let us rejoice with them that rejoice; and Louis, my dear boy, write at
once to the gentleman who owns John, and pay him whatever he says is
due. We can do it, and we should, for the poor, tired heart of his
father cannot afford to wait when a promise lies so near. Let us help
him to lay hold upon it."
"Amen," said Aunt Hildy. "I'll help ten dollars' worth; taint much."
"But you shall keep it for John," said Clara; "he will need something
after he gets here."
The next morning Matthias came to deliver his bank-book to Louis,
saying:
"Get the buryin' money; get it and send it fur me, please."
Louis told him to keep his bank-book.
"You shall see your boy as soon as money can get him here."
"Oh, Mas'r Louis!" and he grasped both his hands; "de Lord help this ole
nigger to pay you. I's willin' to work dese fingers clean to de bone."
Our two boys got on bravely. The first Saturday night we sent them home
with loaded baskets, and each with a pail of new milk, which we knew
would be a treat to the children, and in their little purses the amount
promised by Louis. Matthias took them to their homes, and Louis went
for them on Monday morning, and when he returned he said:
"The pictures are growing, Emily. Bright eyes and rosy cheeks will come
soon."
Mr. and Mrs. Waterman were leaving us. We were kissing "our baby"
good-bye. How we disliked to say the word! And when looking back at
Matthias after we started, she cried, "Mah, mah!" I laughed and cried
together. Louis and I parted with them reluctantly at the depot, and our
last words were:
"Send John right along."
"We will," they answered, as the train rode away and baby Allie pressed
her shining face against the window. It was only two weeks and two days
from that day that Louis, Clara and I (she said after our marriage "Call
me Clara, for we are sisters--never say 'mother Desmonde;' to say mother
when you have such a blessed one of your own is robbery to her") drove
to the depot to meet John. Matthias said to us,
"You go fur him, ef you please, fur I can never meet him in de crowd; I
want to wait by de road an' see him cum along. Mighty feared I'll make a
noony o' myself."
The train stopped, and Louis left us in the carriage and went to find
him. My heart jumped as I thought he might not be there, but ere I had
time to say it to Clara, he came in sight, walking proudly erect by the
side of Louis, as handsome a colored man as could be seen. He was quite
light, tall as Louis, and well proportioned, his mouth pleasantly shaped
and not large, his nose suited to a Greek rather than to a negro, and
over his forehead, which was broad and full, black hair fell in
tight-curling rings,--resembling Matthias in nothing save perhaps his
eyes. It did not seem possible this could be a man coming from the power
of a master--how I dislike that term, a slave--this noble looking
fellow; I shuddered involuntarily, and grasped his hand in welcome with
a fervent "God bless you, John; I welcome you heartily." Clara stretched
forth her little hand also, saying:
"John, you can never know how glad we are." He stood with his hat
raised, and his large beautiful eyes turned toward us filled with
feeling as he answered:
"Ladies, you can never realize the debt I have to pay you. It seems a
dream that I am here, a free man with an old father waiting to see his
son; oh, sir," and he turned to Louis, "my heart is full!"
"We do not doubt it, dear fellow, but get into the carriage and let
Gipsy take us to the hills. She knows your father waits. Now go, Gipsy,"
and the willing creature seemed inspired, going at a quick pace as if
she understood her mission.
I saw Matthias sitting on a log a little this side of our home, shading
his eyes with his hand, and when John spied him, he laid his hand on his
heart and said:
"Please let me get out and walk; excuse me, sir, but I cannot sit here."
We respected his feelings and held Gipsy back, that he might with his
long strides reach his father before us, which he did. When Matthias saw
him walking toward him, he rose to his feet and the two men approached
each other with uncovered heads. At last, when about ten feet apart,
Matthias stopped and cried:
"John, oh, John!"
"Father, father, I am here," and with one bound he reached him, threw
his arms about him, while Matthias' head fell on his shoulder; and here,
as we reached them, they stood speechless with the great joy that had
come to them. Two souls delivered from bondage--two white souls bathed
in pure sunlight of my native skies. I can never forget this scene. We
spoke no word to them, but as we passed them John spoke, saying:
"Sir, will you take my father's arm? He feels weak and I am not strong."
I took the reins and Louis, springing to the ground, stepped between,
and each taking his arm they walked together up to the door of our home
where Aunt Hildy, mother, father, Ben, Hal and Mary, Mrs. Davis, Jane
North and Aunt Peg, waited to receive them. When Matthias saw Peg he
said:
"Come, Peg, come and kiss him; this is my John sure enuf." Supper waited
and the table was spread for all. Mr. Davis gave thanks and spoke
feelingly of the one among us who had been delivered from the yoke of
bondage, saying:
"May we be able to prove ourselves worthy of his great love, and
confidence, and be forever mindful of all those both in the North and
South who wait, as he has waited, for deliverance." Matthias grew calm,
and when they left us to walk home, Louis and I went with them. On the
road over John said to Louis:
"Sir, I am greatly indebted to you, and I am anxious to go to work at
once and pay my debt."
"You owe me nothing," said Louis; "I have no claim upon your money or
time; I will help you in every way possible, and my reward will be found
in the great joy and comfort you will bring to your father in his old
age."
"This is too much," said John.
"Not enough," said Louis, and at Aunt Peg's vine-covered lattice 'neath
which he stood, we said good-night and turned toward home, while in our
hearts lay mirrored, another fadeless picture.