AUNT DILSEY TO THE RESCUE
"Send Miss Betsy to me at once," was Gilcrest's order to a negro girl
who was sweeping the hall one cold, snowy morning in December, as he
strode into the house, whip in hand, clad in overcoat and riding-boots.
"Where's your mistress?"
"In the settin'-room, marstah."
"Then send Miss Betsy to me there. Put down that broom, and go at
once--move quickly, nigger!" With a grim look he went into the
sitting-room, where his wife was dawdling over her tambour frame; and
Polly sped up the stairs. In the upper hall she encountered Aunt
Dilsey.
"Whut's the mattah, gal?" asked the old negress. "You look lak a rabbit
skeered outen a bresh heap."
"Marstah's stompin' an' ragin' 'roun lak a mad bull down thah," panted
the girl. "He say teh fotch Miss Betsy to him to oncet in the
settin'-room. She's gwine kotch it sho 'nough this time."
"'Deed she hain't, long's her brack mammy's heah teh p'otect her! Marse
Hi's losin' his las' grain o' sense; but he bettah min' how he capers
'roun'. He's been pussecutin' thet bressed chile long 'nough--all kaze
she's true teh her 'fections, an' woan give in when he say she shan't
hev thet nice, rosy-cheek, perlite young gemmin she's begaged to. Ole
Dilsey's done kep' still long 'nough; it's time fer her teh lay down de
law a bit. I hain't feared o' Marse Hi, ef he does stomp an' rumpage.
You heahs me, doan you?"
In this, as in all other large households throughout the Southern
States, the "black mammy" was an indispensable part of the family. The
real mother usually gave her children careful attention and
superintended their training; but she took upon herself little of the
drudgery and burden of their upbringing. A subordinate nurse was the
children's guardian and companion when they went out for play or
exercise, but the "black mammy" ruled over this negro and was the
highest authority on all matters pertaining to the nursery. Even the
real mother humored this foster mother in the management of the
children; and when, as in the case of Mrs. Gilcrest, the mistress was
frail of health and unassertive by nature, the black mammy's authority
became almost paramount. And such was the nature of Dilsey's authority.
Silas Gilcrest, Hiram's father, had bought Dilsey from a Massachusetts
slave-ship when she was a child of twelve years. She was just from
Africa, and could not speak a word of English. Silas Gilcrest brought
her at once into his own house, where she served first as nurse to the
infant Hiram, and later as upper house servant. Her skin was black as
ebony, but she was of superior intelligence and of stout and loyal
heart. She nursed Hiram Gilcrest in his babyhood, was his caretaker and
faithful attendant in boyhood, and his loyal adherent in early manhood.
When he married, she went with him from Massachusetts to Virginia, and
from there she and her husband and two children accompanied Hiram and
his wife to Kentucky.
When Betsy, Hiram's first-born, was laid in old Dilsey's arms, she had
just buried her own baby, and all the mother love of her passionate
nature went out to this tiny scion of the house of Gilcrest.
Thenceforward, the unreasoning, self-sacrificing devotion which in
former days Dilsey had lavished upon Hiram was transferred to his
daughter.
As time went on, and her cares and responsibilities multiplied with the
advent of each new baby to her master and mistress, Mammy Dilsey,
though still faithful and devoted, became more and more self-important
and dictatorial. She felt herself superior in education and position to
the other negroes, and almost, if not quite, as important a part of the
household as the master himself. As for Mrs. Gilcrest, Dilsey's regard
for her was compounded of admiration and pitying patronage. She loved
and tended and ruled over all the children, but Betsy was her idol, for
whom she would cheerfully have laid down her own life. Throughout
Betsy's disagreement with her father, Dilsey had been her confidant and
comforter; and her indignation against her master for the past few
months had only thus far been restrained from actual outbreak by
Betty's entreating her to be silent, lest by want of tactful patience
she might still further provoke the irascible spirit of the master of
Oaklands. On this particular morning, however, Aunt Dilsey's spirit was
stirred within her, and she felt it high time to assert herself.
When Betsy reached the sitting-room she found her mother crying
helplessly and her father fuming up and down the room.
"What do you mean by this, girl?" he asked, flourishing a folded paper
in her face. "Did I not command you to have nothing more to do with
that worthless fellow? And here you are actually writing to him, and
bribing my servants to fetch his letters and to take him your answers!
What do you mean?"
"I mean, sir," Betsy answered, facing him bravely, "that I'll not
submit to your tyrannical treatment any longer--keeping me a prisoner
in these grounds, and forbidding me to hold any communication with the
man I love and honor and mean to marry. I have been for weeks under
restraint; not even allowed to walk about the yard without a spying
black slave at my heels. More than this, two weeks ago you intercepted
a letter addressed to me, and you now hold in your hand--without any
right whatever--a note of mine to Mr. Logan. What if I did 'stoop to
bribe a servant' to carry a message to my lover? That is little in
comparison with your keeping me in durance, and intercepting my
letters. And you talk to me of 'stooping' and of dishonor!"
"Betsy! Betsy! my dear, my dear!" wailed her mother, "don't use such
language. Oh, oh, you and your father are killing me!"
"Mother, mother, have you no feeling for your daughter, that you have
said no word to help her in all these months? Are you so under the
thrall of that tyrant that you meekly submit without a protest to such
treatment of me? Yes," she said, turning to her father, who stood
motionless, his eyes blazing, his face white with passion, "you are a
tyrant, but I defy you. You shall not break my spirit. I mean to marry
Abner Logan as soon as he says the word."
"Be silent, before I strike you!" cried her father, advancing toward
her. "Go! Fling yourself into your lover's arms as soon as you please.
I wash my hands of you, you willful, passionate hussy!"
"Stop! stop! this instant, Hiram Gilcrest," shrieked his wife, rising
from her chair and stamping her foot. Then she rushed to him, caught
his arm and actually shook him, crying: "You shall not heap such abuse
on my child! I have been silent long enough."
If the portrait of old Silas Gilcrest, hanging above the mantel, had
opened its mouth and spoken, father and daughter could not have been
more astounded than at this outbreak. In the whole course of her
married life this was the first time that Jane Gilcrest had ever
asserted herself, or raised her voice against her lord and master.
"Yes, you are a brute to use such language and to treat your daughter
so! And now, I suppose you'll beat me, next; you look as though you'd
like to fell us both to the earth with that whip--oh! oh! oh!" she
shrieked, and fell back in a swoon.
Betsy, white, unnerved, and more frightened than she had ever been in
her life, sprang to her mother's aid, who recovered from her faint only
to go into violent hysterics. Gilcrest stood dazed and motionless,
staring at his wife, with the riding-whip unconsciously clenched in his
hand.
[Illustration: _At this juncture the door was flung open by old
Dilsey._]
At this juncture, the door was flung open by old Dilsey. She stood a
second on the threshold, as though paralyzed at the tableau before her.
Mrs. Gilcrest leaned back in her chair, moaning and trembling; Betsy
crouched by her side, in reality trying to pacify her mother, though
apparently seeking shelter from her father, who stood before them with
the uplifted whip. Then, her black eyes blazing, the negress sprang
forward with the swiftness and fierceness of a tiger; and charging upon
her master with such force as almost to throw him down, she seized his
arm and wrenched the whip from his grasp.
"I said you had done gone plum crazy," she cried, "but I nebbah thought
I'd lib teh see the day you'd raise yo' arm ag'in yo' own wife an'
chile. Don' you dar' tech 'em! I'll p'otect 'em wid my life's blood!"
"Shut up, you old harridan!" returned Gilcrest. "Nobody's going to
strike your mistress, or her daughter either. Take your Miss Jane to
her room, and attend to her."
"I doan lebe dis room tell I speaks my min' 'bout yo' ongodly carryin'
on an' yo' shameful 'buse ob my sweet lamb, my own Miss Betsy."
"Shut up, I tell you!" again cried Gilcrest.
"I woan shet up. I will speak my min'!"
"I'll cowhide you, you black witch!" shouted her master, threateningly.
"Whip me? Ole Dilsey? 'Deed you woan! Ef you lays de weight ob a fingah
on me, I'll t'ar you limb f'um limb!" She faced him, arms akimbo, eyes
snapping, and defiance in every line of her tall figure and in every
fold of her red turban. "Does you think I'se feared ob you? Me, whut
nussed an' tended you when you wuz a pore, sickly baby, an' bossed you,
an' spanked yo' back sides many a time when you wuz a streprous,
mis-che-vous boy?"
"Leave the room this instant!" cried Gilcrest, white with anger.
"Nary step does I budge tell I frees my mind," answered Dilsey with
determination. "Hain't you no bowels ob marcy fur yo' own flesh an'
blood? Is you done persessed by de Debble, dat you treats dat pore lamb
so, whut hain't done nuthin' but be true to her sweetheart? Yo' fust
borned chile, too, yo' leetle gal whut you kissed an' cried obah fur
joy when ole Dilsey fotch her to you; an' you tuck her in yo' arms, de
tears runnin' down yo' cheeks an' yo' voice trem'lin' an' a-shakin', ez
you thanked de good Lawd fur yo' purty black-eyed baby gal, an' fur
bringin' yo' pore young wife safe frew her trial!"
"There, there, Dilsey," said Gilcrest, moved in spite of himself by her
rough eloquence. "You have entirely misconceived the situation. I had
no intention of striking either your mistress or Miss Betsy. Leave off
your foolish raving, and help me get your Miss Jane to her bed. Don't
you see she is not able to stand?" Then to his daughter he added, "If
all this excitement and trouble make your mother really ill, it is your
fault, you rebellious girl."