On the disappearing form of the colonel was fixed an ancient pair of
eyes that looked out at him from behind a still more ancient pair of
silver-rimmed spectacles with an expression of indescribable solicitude
and love.
These eyes were set in the head of an old gentleman--for such he
was--named Peter Cotton, who was the only one of the colonel's
former slaves that had remained inseparable from his person and his
altered fortunes. In early manhood Peter had been a wood-chopper;
but he had one day had his leg broken by the limb of a falling tree,
and afterwards, out of consideration for his limp, had been made
supervisor of the wood-pile, gardener, and a sort of nondescript
servitor of his master's luxurious needs.
Nay, in larger and deeper characters must his history be writ, he
having been, in days gone by, one of those ministers of the gospel whom
conscientious Kentucky masters often urged to the exercise of spiritual
functions in behalf of their benighted people. In course of preparation
for this august work, Peter had learned to read and had come to
possess a well-chosen library of three several volumes--_Webster's
Spelling-Book_, _The Pilgrim's Progress_, and the Bible. But even these
unusual acquisitions he deemed not enough; for being touched with a
spark of poetic fire from heaven, and fired by the African's fondness
for all that is conspicuous in dress, he had conceived for himself
the creation of a unique garment which should symbolize in perfection
the claims and consolations of his apostolic office. This was nothing
less than a sacred blue-jeans coat that he had had his old mistress
make him, with very long and spacious tails, whereon, at his further
direction, she embroidered sundry texts of Scripture which it pleased
him to regard as the fit visible annunciations of his holy calling.
And inasmuch as his mistress, who had had the coat woven on her own
looms from the wool of her finest sheep, was, like other gentlewomen
of her time, rarely skilled in the accomplishments of the needle,
and was moreover in full sympathy with the piety of his intent, she
wrought of these passages a border enriched with such intricate curves,
marvellous flourishes, and harmonious letterings, that Solomon never
reflected the glory in which Peter was arrayed whenever he put it on.
For after much prayer that the Almighty wisdom would aid his reason
in the difficult task of selecting the most appropriate texts, Peter
had chosen seven--one for each day in the week--with such tact, and
no doubt heavenly guidance, that when braided together they did truly
constitute an eloquent epitome of Christian duty, hope, and pleading.
From first to last they were as follows: "Woe is unto me if I preach
not the gospel;" "Servants, be obedient to them that are your masters
according to the flesh;" "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are
heavy laden;" "Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they
toil not, neither do they spin;" "Now abideth faith, hope, and charity,
these three; but the greatest of these is charity;" "I would not have
you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep;"
"For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive."
This concatenation of texts Peter wished to have duly solemnized,
and therefore, when the work was finished, he further requested his
mistress to close the entire chain with the word "Amen," introduced in
some suitable place.
But the only spot now left vacant was one of a few square inches,
located just where the coat-tails hung over the end of Peter's spine;
so that when any one stood full in Peter's rear, he could but marvel at
the sight of so solemn a word emblazoned in so unusual a locality.
Panoplied in this robe of righteousness, and with a worn leathern Bible
in his hand, Peter used to go around of Sundays, and during the week,
by night, preaching from cabin to cabin the gospel of his heavenly
Master.
The angriest lightnings of the sultriest skies often played amid the
darkness upon those sacred coat-tails and around that girdle of
everlasting texts, as though the evil spirits of the air would fain
have burned them and scattered their ashes on the roaring winds. The
slow-sifting snows of winter whitened them as though to chill their
spiritual fires; but winter and summer, year after year, in weariness
of body, often in sore distress of mind, for miles along this lonely
road and for miles across that rugged way, Peter trudged on and on,
withal perhaps as meek a spirit as ever grew foot sore in the paths
of its Master. Many a poor overburdened slave took fresh heart and
strength from the sight of that celestial raiment; many a stubborn,
rebellious spirit, whose flesh but lately quivered under the lash, was
brought low by its humble teaching; many a worn-out old frame, racked
with pain in its last illness, pressed a fevered lip to its hopeful
hem; and many a dying eye closed in death peacefully fixed on its
immortal pledges.
When Peter started abroad, if a storm threatened, he carried an old
cotton umbrella of immense size; and as the storm burst, he gathered
the tails of his coat carefully up under his armpits that they might be
kept dry. Or if caught by a tempest without his umbrella, he would take
his coat off and roll it up inside out, leaving his body exposed to the
fury of the elements. No care, however, could keep it from growing old
and worn and faded; and when the slaves were set free and he was called
upon by the interposition of Providence to lay it finally aside, it was
covered by many a patch and stain as proofs of its devoted usage.
One after another the colonel's old servants, gathering their children
about them, had left him, to begin their new life. He bade them all a
kind good-bye, and into the palm of each silently pressed some gift
that he knew would soon be needed. But no inducement could make Peter
or Phillis, his wife, budge from their cabin. "Go, Peter! Go, Phillis!"
the colonel had said time and again. "No one is happier that you are
free than I am; and you can call on me for what you need to set you
up in business." But Peter and Phillis asked to stay with him. Then
suddenly, several months before the time at which this sketch opens,
Phillis had died, leaving the colonel and Peter as the only relics of
that populous life which had once filled the house and the cabins. The
colonel had succeeded in hiring a woman to do Phillis's work; but her
presence was a strange note of discord in the old domestic harmony, and
only saddened the recollections of its vanished peace.
Peter had a short, stout figure, dark-brown skin, smooth-shaven face,
eyes round, deep-set and wide apart, and a short, stub nose which
dipped suddenly into his head, making it easy for him to wear the
silver-rimmed spectacles left him by his old mistress. A peculiar
conformation of the muscles between the eyes and the nose gave him
the quizzical expression of one who is about to sneeze, and this was
heightened by a twinkle in the eyes which seemed caught from the
shining of an inner sun upon his tranquil heart.
Sometimes, however, his face grew sad enough. It was sad on this
afternoon while he watched the colonel walk slowly up the pavement,
well overgrown with weeds, and enter the house, which the setting sun
touched with the last radiance of the finished day.