A few weeks after the funeral of Mr. Bell, Gerald wrote the following
letter to Mr. King:--
"My honored and dear Friend,--Lily-mother has decided to go to Europe
this fall, that I may have certain educational advantages which she
has planned for me. That is the only reason she assigns; but she is
evidently nervous about your investigations, and I think a wish to be
out of the country for the present has had some effect in producing
this decision. I have not sought to influence her concerning this, or
the other important point you wot of. My desire is to conform to her
wishes, and promote her happiness in any way she chooses. This it is
my duty as well as my pleasure to do. She intends to remain in Europe
a year, perhaps longer. I wish very much to see you all; and Eulalia
might well consider me a very impolite acquaintance, if I should go
without saying good by. If you do not return to Boston before we
sail, I will, with your permission, make a short call upon you in
Northampton. I thank Rose-mother for her likeness. It will be very
precious to me. I wish you would add your own and another; for
wherever my lot may be cast, you three will always be among my dearest
memories."
"I am glad of this arrangement," said Mr. King. "At their age, I hope
a year of separation will prove sufficient."
The Rose-mother covered the wound in her heart, and answered, "Yes,
it is best." But the constrained tone of the letter pained her, and
excited her mind to that most unsatisfactory of all occupations, the
thinking over what might have been. She had visions of her first-born
son, as he lay by her side a few hours before Chloe carried him away
from her sight; and then there rose before her the fair face of that
other son, whose pretty little body was passing into the roses of
Provence. Both of them had gone out of her life. Of one she received
no tidings from the mysterious world of spirits; while the other was
walking within her vision, as a shadow, the reality of which was
intangible.
Mr. King returned to Boston with his family in season for Gerald
to make the proposed call before he sailed. There was a little
heightening of color when he and Eulalia met, but he had drilled
himself to perform the part of a polite acquaintance; and as she
thought she had been rather negligently treated of late, she was cased
in the armor of maidenly reserve.
Both Mr. and Mrs. King felt it to be an arduous duty to call on Mrs.
Fitzgerald. That lady, though she respected their conscientiousness,
could not help disliking them. They had disturbed her relations with
Gerald, by suggesting the idea of another claim upon his affections;
and they had offended her pride by introducing the vulgar phantom of
a slave son to haunt her imagination. She was continually jealous of
Mrs. King; so jealous, that Gerald never ventured to show her the
likeness of his Rose-mother. But though the discerning eyes of Mr. and
Mrs. King read this in the very excess of her polite demonstrations,
other visitors who were present when they called supposed them to be
her dearest friends, and envied her the distinguished intimacy.
Such formal attempts at intercourse only increased the cravings of
Rosa's heart, and Mr. King requested Gerald to grant her a private
interview. Inexpressibly precious were these few stolen moments, when
she could venture to call him son, and hear him call her mother. He
brought her an enamelled locket containing some of his hair, inscribed
with the word "Gerald"; and she told him that to the day of her death
she would always wear it next her heart. He opened a small morocco
case, on the velvet lining of which lay a lily of delicate silver
filigree.
"Here is a little souvenir for Eulalia," said he.
Her eyes moistened as she replied, "I fear it would not be prudent, my
son."
He averted his face as he answered: "Then give it to her in my
mother's name. It will be pleasant to me to think that my sister is
wearing it."
* * * * *
A few days after Gerald had sailed for Europe, Mr. King started for
New Orleans, taking with him his wife and daughter. An auctioneer was
found, who said he had sold to a gentleman in Natchez a runaway slave
named Bob Bruteman, who strongly resembled the likeness of Gerald.
They proceeded to Natchez and had an interview with the purchaser, who
recognized a likeness between his slave Bob and the picture of
Gerald. He said he had made a bad bargain of it, for the fellow was
intelligent and artful, and had escaped from him two months ago. In
answer to his queries, Mr. King stated that, if Bob was the one he
supposed, he was a white man, and had friends who wished to redeem
him; but as the master had obtained no clew to the runaway, he could
of course give none. So their long journey produced no result, except
the satisfaction of thinking that the object of their interest had
escaped from slavery.
It had been their intention to spend the coldest months at the South,
but a volcano had flared up all of a sudden at Harper's Ferry, and
boiling lava was rolling all over the land. Every Northern man who
visited the South was eyed suspiciously, as a possible emissary of
John Brown; and the fact that Mr. King was seeking to redeem a runaway
slave was far from increasing confidence in him. Finding that silence
was unsatisfactory, and that he must either indorse slavery or
be liable to perpetual provocations to quarrel, he wrote to Mr.
Blumenthal to have their house in readiness for their return; an
arrangement which Flora and her children hailed with merry shouts and
clapping of hands.
When they arrived, they found their house as warm as June, with Flora
and her family there to receive them, backed by a small army of
servants, consisting of Tulee, with her tall son and daughter, and
little Benny, and Tom and Chloe; all of whom had places provided
for them, either in the household or in Mr. King's commercial
establishment. Their tropical exuberance of welcome made him smile.
When the hearty hand-shakings were over, he said to his wife, as they
passed into the parlor, "It really seemed as if we were landing on the
coast of Guinea with a cargo of beads."
"O Alfred," rejoined she, "I am so grateful to you for employing them
all! You don't know, and never _can_ know, how I feel toward these
dusky friends; for you never had them watch over you, day after day,
and night after night, patiently and tenderly leading you up from the
valley of the shadow of death."
He pressed her hand affectionately, and said, "Inasmuch as they did it
for you, darling, they did it for me."
This sentiment was wrought into their daily deportment to their
servants; and the result was an harmonious relation between employer
and employed, which it was beautiful to witness. But there are
skeletons hidden away in the happiest households. Mrs. King had hers,
and Tom and Chloe had theirs. The death of Mr. Bell and the absence of
Mrs. Fitzgerald left no one in Boston who would be likely to recognize
them; but they knew that the Fugitive Slave Act was still in force,
and though they relied upon Mr. King's generosity in case of
emergency, they had an uncomfortable feeling of not being free. It was
not so with Tulee. She had got beyond Mount Pisgah into the Canaan of
freedom; and her happiness was unalloyed. Mr. King, though kind and
liberal to all, regarded her with especial favor, on account of old
associations. The golden hoops had been taken from her ears when she
was in the calaboose; but he had presented her with another pair, for
he liked to have her look as she did when she opened for him that door
in New Orleans, which had proved an entrance to the temple and palace
of his life. She felt herself to be a sort of prime minister in the
small kingdom, and began to deport herself as one having authority.
No empress ever had more satisfaction in a royal heir than she had in
watching her Benny trudging to school, with his spelling-book slung
over his shoulder, in a green satchel Mrs. King had made for him. The
stylishness of the establishment was also a great source of pride to
her; and she often remarked in the kitchen that she had always said
gold was none too good for Missy Rosy to walk upon. Apart from this
consideration, she herself had an Oriental delight in things that were
lustrous and gayly colored. Tom had learned to read quite fluently,
and was accustomed to edify his household companions with chapters
from the Bible on Sunday evenings. The descriptions of King Solomon's
splendor made a lively impression on Tulee's mind. When she dusted
the spacious parlors, she looked admiringly at the large mirrors, the
gilded circles of gas lights, and the great pictures framed in crimson
and gold, and thought that the Temple of Solomon could not have been
more grand. She could scarcely believe Mrs. Delano was wealthy. "She's
a beautiful lady," said she to Flora; "but if she's got plenty o'
money, what makes her dress so innocent and dull? There's Missy Rosy
now, when _she_'s dressed for company, she looks like the Queen of
Shebee."
One morning Tulee awoke to look out upon a scene entirely new to her
Southern eyes, and far surpassing anything she had imagined of the
splendor of Solomon's Temple. On the evening previous, the air had
been full of mist, which, as it grew colder, had settled on the trees
of the Common, covering every little twig with a panoply of ice. A
very light snow had fallen softly during the night, and sprinkled the
ice with a feathery fleece. The trees, in this delicate white vesture,
standing up against a dark blue sky, looked like the glorified spirits
of trees. Here and there, the sun touched them, and dropped a shower
of diamonds. Tulee gazed a moment in delighted astonishment, and ran
to call Chloe, who exclaimed, "They looks like great white angels, and
Ise feared they'll fly away 'fore Missis gits up."
Tulee was very impatient for the sound of Mrs. King's bell, and as
soon as the first tinkle was heard she rushed into her dressing-room,
exclaiming, "O, do come to the window, Missy Rosy! Sure this is silver
land."
Rosa was no less surprised when she looked out upon that wonderful
vision of the earth, in its transfigured raiment of snow-glory. "Why,
Tulee," said she, "it is diamond land. I've seen splendid fairy scenes
in the theatres of Paris, but never anything so brilliant as this."
"I used to think the woods down South, all covered with jess'mines,
was the beautifullest thing," responded Tulee; "but, Lors, Missy
Rosy, this is as much handsomer as Solomon's Temple was handsomer than
a meetin'-house."
But neither the indoor nor the outdoor splendor, nor all the personal
comforts they enjoyed, made this favored band of colored people
forgetful of the brethren they had left in bondage. Every word about
John Brown was sought for and read with avidity. When he was first
taken captive, Chloe said: "The angel that let Peter out o' prison
ha'n't growed old an' hard o' hearing. If we prays loud enough, he'll
go and open the doors for old John Brown."
Certainly, it was not for want of the colored people's praying loud
and long enough, that the prisoner was not supernaturally delivered.
They did not relinquish the hope till the 2d of December: and when
that sad day arrived, they assembled in their meeting-house to watch
and pray. All was silent, except now and then an occasional groan,
till the hands of the clock pointed to the moment of the martyr's exit
from this world. Then Tom poured forth his soul in a mighty voice of
prayer, ending with the agonized entreaty, "O Lord, thou hast taken
away our Moses. Raise us up a Joshua!" And all cried, "Amen!"
Chloe, who had faith that could walk the stormiest waves, spoke words
of fervent cheer to the weeping congregation.
"I tell ye they ha'n't killed old John Brown," said she; "'cause they
_couldn't_ kill him. The angel that opened the prison doors for Peter
has let him out, and sent him abroad in a different way from what we
'spected; that's all."