While Rosabella was thus exchanging the laurel crown for the myrtle
wreath, Flora and her friend were on their way to search the places
that had formerly known her. Accompanied by Mr. Jacobs, who had long
been a steward in her family, Mrs. Delano passed through Savannah,
without calling on her friend Mrs. Welby, and in a hired boat
proceeded to the island. Flora almost flew over the ground, so great
was her anxiety to reach the cottage. Nature, which pursues her course
with serene indifference to human vicissitudes, wore the same smiling
aspect it had worn two years before, when she went singing through the
woods, like Cinderella, all unconscious of the beneficent fairy she
was to meet there in the form of a new Mamita. Trees and shrubs were
beautiful with young, glossy foliage. Pines and firs offered their
aromatic incense to the sun. Birds were singing, and bees gathering
honey from the wild-flowers. A red-headed woodpecker was hammering
away on the umbrageous tree under which Flora used to sit while busy
with her sketches. He cocked his head to listen as they approached,
and, at first sight of them, flew up into the clear blue air, with
undulating swiftness. To Flora's great disappointment, they found all
the doors fastened; but Mr. Jacobs entered by a window and opened one
of them. The cottage had evidently been deserted for a considerable
time. Spiders had woven their tapestry in all the corners. A pane had
apparently been cut out of the window their attendant had opened, and
it afforded free passage to the birds. On a bracket of shell-work,
which Flora had made to support a vase of flowers, was a deserted
nest, bedded in soft green moss, which hung from it in irregular
streamers and festoons.
"How pretty!" said Mrs. Delano. "If the little creature had studied
the picturesque, she couldn't have devised anything more graceful. Let
us take it, bracket and all, and carry it home carefully."
"That was the very first shell-work I made after we came from Nassau,"
rejoined Flora. "I used to put fresh flowers on it every morning, to
please Rosa. Poor Rosa! Where _can_ she be?"
She turned away her head, and was silent for a moment. Then, pointing
to the window, she said: "There's that dead pine-tree I told you I
used to call Old Man of the Woods. He is swinging long pennants of
moss on his arms, just as he did when I was afraid to look at him in
the moonlight."
She was soon busy with a heap of papers swept into a corner of the
room she used to occupy. They were covered with sketches of leaves and
flowers, and embroidery-patterns, and other devices with which she had
amused herself in those days. Among them she was delighted to find
the head and shoulders of Thistle, with a garland round his neck. In
Rosa's sleeping-room, an old music-book, hung with cobwebs, leaned
against the wall.
"O Mamita Lila, I am glad to find this!" exclaimed Flora. "Here is
what Rosa and I used to sing to dear papa when we were ever so little.
He always loved old-fashioned music. Here are some of Jackson's
canzonets, that were his favorites." She began to hum, "Time has not
thinned my flowing hair." "Here is Dr. Arne's 'Sweet Echo.' Rosa used
to play and sing that beautifully. And here is what he always liked to
have us sing to him at sunset. We sang it to him the very night before
he died." She began to warble, "Now Phoebus sinketh in the west."
"Why, it seems as if I were a little girl again, singing to Papasito
and Mamita," said she.
Looking up, she saw that Mrs. Delano had covered her face with her
handkerchief; and closing the music-book, she nestled to her side,
affectionately inquiring what had troubled her. For a little while her
friend pressed her hand in silence.
"O darling," said she, "what a strange, sad gift is memory! I sang
that to your father the last time we ever saw the sunset together; and
perhaps when he heard it he used to see me sometimes, as plainly as I
now see him. It is consoling to think he did not quite forget me."
"When we go home, I will sing it to you every evening if you would
like it, Mamita Lila," said Flora.
Her friend patted her head fondly, and said: "You must finish your
researches soon, darling; for I think we had better go to Magnolia
Lawn to see if Tom and Chloe can be found."
"How shall we get there? It's too far for you to walk, and poor
Thistle's gone," said Flora.
"I have sent Mr. Jacobs to the plantation," replied Mrs. Delano, "and
I think he will find some sort of vehicle. Meanwhile, you had better
be getting together any little articles you want to carry away."
As Flora took up the music-book, some of the loose leaves fell out,
and with them came a sketch of Tulee's head, with the large gold hoops
and the gay turban. "Here's Tulee!" shouted Flora. "It isn't well
drawn, but it _is_ like her. I'll make a handsome picture from it, and
frame it, and hang it by my bedside, where I can see it every morning.
Dear, good Tulee! How she jumped up and kissed us when we first
arrived here. I suppose she thinks I am dead, and has cried a great
deal about little Missy Flory. O, what wouldn't I give to see her!"
She had peeped about everywhere, and was becoming very much dispirited
with the desolation, when Mr. Jacobs came back with a mule and a small
cart, which he said was the best conveyance he could procure. The
jolting over hillocks, and the occasional grunts of the mule, made it
an amusing ride; but it was a fruitless one. The plantation negroes
were sowing cotton, but all Mr. Fitzgerald's household servants were
leased out in Savannah during his absence in Europe. The white villa
at Magnolia Lawn peeped out from its green surroundings; but the
jalousies were closed, and the tracks on the carriage-road were
obliterated by rains.
Hiring a negro to go with them to take back the cart, they made the
best of their way to the boat, which was waiting for them. Fatigued
and disconsolate with their fruitless search, they felt little
inclined to talk as they glided over the bright waters. The negro
boatmen frequently broke in upon the silence with some simple, wild
melody, which they sang in perfect unison, dipping their oars in
rhythm. When Savannah came in sight, they urged the boat faster,
and, improvising words to suit the occasion, they sang in brisker
strains:--
"Row, darkies, row!
See de sun down dar am creepin';
Row, darkies, row!
Hab white ladies in yer keepin';
Row, darkies, row!"
With the business they had on hand, Mrs. Delano preferred not to seek
her friends in the city, and they took lodgings at a hotel. Early the
next morning, Mr. Jacobs was sent out to ascertain the whereabouts of
Mr. Fitzgerald's servants; and Mrs. Delano proposed that, during his
absence, they should drive to The Pines, which she described as an
extremely pleasant ride. Flora assented, with the indifference of a
preoccupied mind. But scarcely had the horses stepped on the thick
carpet of pine foliage with which the ground was strewn, when she
eagerly exclaimed, "Tom! Tom!" A black man, mounted on the seat of a
carriage that was passing them, reined in his horses and stopped.
"Keep quiet, my dear," whispered Mrs. Delano to her companion, "till I
can ascertain who is in the carriage."
"Are you Mr. Fitzgerald's Tom?" she inquired.
"Yes, Missis," replied the negro, touching his hat.
She beckoned him to come and open her carriage-door, and, speaking in
a low voice, she said: "I want to ask you about a Spanish lady who
used to live in a cottage, not far from Mr. Fitzgerald's plantation.
She had a black servant named Tulee, who used to call her Missy Rosy.
We went to the cottage yesterday, and found it shut up. Can you tell
us where they have gone?"
Tom looked at them very inquisitively, and answered, "Dunno, Missis."
"We are Missy Rosy's friends, and have come to bring her some good
news. If you can tell us anything about her, I will give you this gold
piece."
Tom half stretched forth his hand to take the coin, then drew it back,
and repeated, "Dunno, Missis."
Flora, who felt her heart rising in her throat, tossed back her veil,
and said, "Tom, don't you know me?"
The negro started as if a ghost had risen before him.
"Now tell me where Missy Rosy has gone, and who went with her," said
she, coaxingly.
"Bress yer, Missy Flory! _am_ yer alive!" exclaimed the bewildered
negro.
Flora laughed, and, drawing off her glove, shook hands with him. "Now
you know I'm alive, Tom. But don't tell anybody. Where's Missy Rosy
gone."
"O Missy," replied Tom, "dar am heap ob tings to tell."
Mrs. Delano suggested that it was not a suitable place; and Tom said
he must go home with his master's carriage. He told them he had
obtained leave to go and see his wife Chloe that evening; and
he promised to come to their hotel first. So, with the general
information that Missy Rosy and Tulee were safe, they parted for the
present.
Tom's communication in the evening was very long, and intensely
interesting to his auditors; but it did not extend beyond a certain
point. He told of Rosa's long and dangerous illness; of Chloe's and
Tulee's patient praying and nursing; of the birth of the baby; of the
sale to Mr. Bruteman; and of the process by which she escaped with Mr.
Duroy. Further than that he knew nothing. He had never been in New
Orleans afterward, and had never heard Mr. Fitzgerald speak of Rosa.
At that crisis in the conversation, Mrs. Delano summoned Mr. Jacobs,
and requested him to ascertain when a steamboat would go to New
Orleans. Flora kissed her hand, with a glance full of gratitude. Tom
looked at her in a very earnest, embarrassed way, and said: "Missis,
am yer one ob dem Ab-lish-nishts dar in de Norf, dat Massa swars
'bout?"
Mrs. Delano turned toward Flora with a look of perplexity, and,
having received an interpretation of the question, she smiled as she
answered: "I rather think I am half an Abolitionist, Tom. But why do
you wish to know?"
Tom went on to state, in "lingo" that had to be frequently explained,
that he wanted to run away to the North, and that he could manage to
do it if it were not for Chloe and the children. He had been in hopes
that Mrs. Fitzgerald would have taken her to the North to nurse her
baby while she was gone to Europe. In that case, he intended to follow
after; and he thought some good people would lend them money to buy
their little ones, and, both together, they could soon work off the
debt. But this project had been defeated by Mrs. Bell, who brought a
white nurse from Boston, and carried her infant grandson back with
her.
"Yer see, Missis," said Tom, with a sly look, "dey tinks de niggers
don't none ob 'em wants dare freedom, so dey nebber totes 'em whar it
be."
Ever since that disappointment had occurred, he and his wife had
resolved themselves into a committee of ways and means, but they had
not yet devised any feasible mode of escape. And now they were thrown
into great consternation by the fact that a slave-trader had been to
look at Chloe, because Mr. Fitzgerald wanted money to spend in Europe,
and had sent orders to have some of his negroes sold.
Mrs. Delano told him she didn't see how she could help him, but she
would think about it; and Flora, with a sideway inclination of the
head toward her, gave Tom an expressive glance, which he understood as
a promise to persuade her. He urged the matter no further, but asked
what time it was. Being told it was near nine o'clock, he said he must
hasten to Chloe, for it was not allowable for negroes to be in the
street after that hour.
He had scarcely closed the door, before Mrs. Delano said, "If Chloe is
sold, I must buy her."
"I thought you would say so," rejoined Flora.
A discussion then took place as to ways and means, and a strictly
confidential letter was written to a lawyer from the North, with whom
Mrs. Delano was acquainted, requesting him to buy the woman and her
children for her, if they were to be sold.
It happened fortunately that a steamer was going to New Orleans the
next day. Just as they were going on board, a negro woman with two
children came near, and, dropping a courtesy, said: "Skuse, Missis.
Dis ere's Chloe. Please say Ise yer nigger! Do, Missis!"
Flora seized the black woman's hand, and pressed it, while she
whispered: "Do, Mamita! They're going to sell her, you know."
She took the children by the hand, and hurried forward without waiting
for an answer. They were all on board before Mrs. Delano had time to
reflect. Tom was nowhere to be seen. On one side of her stood
Chloe, with two little ones clinging to her skirts, looking at her
imploringly with those great fervid eyes, and saying in suppressed
tones, "Missis, dey's gwine to sell me away from de chillen"; and on
the other side was Flora, pressing her hand, and entreating, "Don't
send her back, Mamita! She was _so_ good to poor Rosa."
"But, my dear, if they should trace her to me, it would be a very
troublesome affair," said the perplexed lady.
"They won't look for her in New Orleans. They'll think she's gone
North," urged Flora.
During this whispered consultation, Mr. Jacobs approached with some of
their baggage. Mrs. Delano stopped him, and said: "When you register
our names, add a negro servant and her two children."
He looked surprised, but bowed and asked no questions. She was
scarcely less surprised at herself. In the midst of her anxiety to
have the boat start, she called to mind her former censures upon those
who helped servants to escape from Southern masters, and she could not
help smiling at the new dilemma in which she found herself.
The search in New Orleans availed little. They alighted from their
carriage a few minutes to look at the house where Flora was born. She
pointed out to Mrs. Delano the spot whence her father had last spoken
to her on that merry morning, and the grove where she used to pelt him
with oranges; but neither of them cared to enter the house, now that
everything was so changed. Madame's house was occupied by strangers,
who knew nothing of the previous tenants, except that they were said
to have gone to Europe to live. They drove to Mr. Duroy's, and found
strangers there, who said the former occupants had all died of
yellow-fever,--the lady and gentleman, a negro woman, and a white
baby. Flora was bewildered to find every link with her past broken
and gone. She had not lived long enough to realize that the traces of
human lives often disappear from cities as quickly as the ocean closes
over the tracks of vessels. Mr. Jacobs proposed searching for some
one who had been in Mr. Duroy's employ; and with that intention, they
returned to the city. As they were passing a house where a large
bird-cage hung in the open window, Flora heard the words, "_Petit
blanc, mon bon frère! Ha! ha_!"
She called out to Mr. Jacobs, "Stop! Stop!" and pushed at the carriage
door, in her impatience to get out.
"What _is_ the matter, my child?" inquired Mrs. Delano.
"That's Madame's parrot," replied she; and an instant after she was
ringing at the door of the house. She told the servant they wished to
make some inquiries concerning Signor and Madame Papanti, and Monsieur
Duroy; and she and Mrs. Delano were shown in to wait for the lady of
the house. They had no sooner entered, than the parrot flapped her
wings and cried out, "_Bon jour, joli petit diable_!" And then she
began to whistle and warble, twitter and crow, through a ludicrous
series of noisy variations. Flora burst into peals of laughter, in the
midst of which the lady of the house entered the room. "Excuse me,
Madame," said she. "This parrot is an old acquaintance of mine. I
taught her to imitate all sorts of birds, and she is showing me that
she has not forgotten my lessons."
"It will be impossible to hear ourselves speak, unless I cover the
cage," replied the lady.
"Allow me to quiet her, if you please," rejoined Flora. She opened the
door of the cage, and the bird hopped on her arm, flapping her wings,
and crying, "_Bon jour! Ha! ha_!"
"_Taisez vous, jolie Manon_," said Flora soothingly, while she stroked
the feathery head. The bird nestled close and was silent.
When their errand was explained, the lady repeated the same story they
had already heard about Mr. Duroy's family.
"Was the black woman who died there named Tulee?" inquired Flora.
"I never heard her name but once or twice," replied the lady. "It was
not a common negro name, and I think that was it. Madame Papanti had
put her and the baby there to board. After Mr. Duroy died, his son
came home from Arkansas to settle his affairs. My husband, who was one
of Mr. Duroy's clerks, bought some of the things at auction; and among
them was that parrot."
"And what has become of Signor and Madame Papanti?" asked Mrs. Delano.
The lady could give no information, except that they had returned to
Europe. Having obtained directions where to find her husband, they
thanked her, and wished her good morning.
Flora held the parrot up to the cage, and said, "_Bon jour, jolie
Manon_!"
"_Bon jour_!" repeated the bird, and hopped upon her perch.
After they had entered the carriage, Flora said: "How melancholy it
seems that everybody is gone, except _Jolie Manon_! How glad the poor
thing seemed to be to see me! I wish I could take her home."
"I will send to inquire whether the lady will sell her," replied her
friend.
"O Mamita, you will spoil me, you indulge me so much," rejoined Flora.
Mrs. Delano smiled affectionately, as she answered: "If you were very
spoilable, dear, I think that would have been done already."
"But it will be such a bother to take care of Manon," said Flora.
"Our new servant Chloe can do that," replied Mrs. Delano. "But I
really hope we shall get home without any further increase of our
retinue."
From the clerk information was obtained that he heard Mr. Duroy tell
Mr. Bruteman that a lady named Rosabella Royal had sailed to Europe
with Signor and Madame Papanti in the ship Mermaid. He added that news
afterward arrived that the vessel foundered at sea, and all on board
were lost.
With this sorrow on her heart, Flora returned to Boston. Mr. Percival
was immediately informed of their arrival, and hastened to meet them.
When the result of their researches was told, he said: "I shouldn't be
disheartened yet. Perhaps they didn't sail in the Mermaid. I will send
to the New York Custom-House for a list of the passengers."
Flora eagerly caught at that suggestion; and Mrs. Delano said, with a
smile: "We have some other business in which we need your help. You
must know that I am involved in another slave case. If ever a quiet
and peace-loving individual was caught up and whirled about by a
tempest of events, I am surely that individual. Before I met this dear
little Flora, I had a fair prospect of living and dying a respectable
and respected old fogy, as you irreverent reformers call discreet
people. But now I find myself drawn into the vortex of abolition to
the extent of helping off four fugitive slaves. In Flora's case, I
acted deliberately, from affection and a sense of duty; but in this
second instance I was taken by storm, as it were. The poor woman was
aboard before I knew it, and I found myself too weak to withstand her
imploring looks and Flora's pleading tones." She went on to describe
the services Chloe had rendered to Rosa, and added: "I will pay any
expenses necessary for conveying this woman to a place of safety, and
supplying all that is necessary for her and her children, until she
can support them; but I do not feel as if she were safe here."
"If you will order a carriage, I will take them directly to the house
of Francis Jackson, in Hollis Street," said Mr. Percival. "They will
be safe enough under the protection of that honest, sturdy friend of
freedom. His house is the depot of various subterranean railroads; and
I pity the slaveholder who tries to get on any of his tracks. He finds
himself 'like a toad under a harrow, where ilka tooth gies him a tug,'
as the Scotch say."
While waiting for the carriage, Chloe and her children were brought
in. Flora took the little ones under her care, and soon had their
aprons filled with cakes and sugarplums. Chloe, unable to restrain her
feelings, dropped down on her knees in the midst of the questions they
were asking her, and poured forth an eloquent prayer that the Lord
would bless these good friends of her down-trodden people.
When the carriage arrived, she rose, and, taking Mrs. Delano's hand,
said solemnly: "De Lord bress yer, Missis! De Lord bress yer! I seed
yer once fore ebber I knowed yer. I seed yer in a vision, when I war
prayin' to de Lord to open de free door fur me an' my chillen. Ye war
an angel wid white shiny wings. Bress de Lord! 'T war Him dat sent
yer.--An' now, Missy Flory, de Lord bress yer! Ye war allers good to
poor Chloe, down dar in de prison-house. Let me gib yer a kiss, little
Missy."
Flora threw her arms round the bended neck, and promised to go and see
her wherever she was.
When the carriage rolled away, emotion kept them both silent for a few
minutes. "How strange it seems to me now," said Mrs. Delano, "that
I lived so many years without thinking of the wrongs of these poor
people! I used to think prayer-meetings for slaves were very fanatical
and foolish. It seemed to me enough that they were included in our
prayer for 'all classes and conditions of men'; but after listening to
poor Chloe's eloquent outpouring, I am afraid such generalizing will
sound rather cold."
"Mamita," said Flora, "you know you gave me some money to buy a silk
dress. Are you willing I should use it to buy clothes for Chloe and
her children?"
"More than willing, my child," she replied. "There is no clothing so
beautiful as the raiment of righteousness."
The next morning, Flora went out to make her purchases. Some time
after, Mrs. Delano, hearing voices near the door, looked out, and saw
her in earnest conversation with Florimond Blumenthal, who had a large
parcel in his arms. When she came in, Mrs. Delano said, "So you had an
escort home?"
"Yes, Mamita," she replied; "Florimond would bring the parcel, and so
we walked together."
"He was very polite," said Mrs. Delano; "but ladies are not accustomed
to stand on the doorstep talking with clerks who bring bundles for
them."
"I didn't think anything about that," rejoined Flora. "He wanted to
know about Rosa, and I wanted to tell him. Florimond seems just like
a piece of my old home, because he loved papa so much. Mamita Lila,
didn't you say papa was a poor clerk when you and he first began to
love one another?"
"Yes, my child," she replied; and she kissed the bright, innocent face
that came bending over her, looking so frankly into hers.
When she had gone out of the room, Mrs. Delano said to herself,
"That darling child, with her strange history and unworldly ways, is
educating me more than I can educate her."
A week later, Mr. and Mrs. Percival came, with tidings that no such
persons as Signor and Madame Papanti were on board the Mermaid; and
they proposed writing letters of inquiry forthwith to consuls in
various parts of Italy and France.
Flora began to hop and skip and clap her hands. But she soon paused,
and said, laughingly: "Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. Mamita often
tells me I was brought up in a bird-cage; and I ask her how then can
she expect me to do anything but hop and sing. Excuse me. I forgot
Mamita and I were not alone."
"You pay us the greatest possible compliment," rejoined Mr. Percival.
And Mrs. Percival added, "I hope you will always forget it when we are
here."
"Do you really wish it?" asked Flora, earnestly. "Then I will."
And so, with a few genial friends, an ever-deepening attachment
between her and her adopted mother, a hopeful feeling at her heart
about Rosa, Tulee's likeness by her bedside, and Madame's parrot to
wish her _Bon jour_! Boston came to seem to her like a happy home.