THE SLAVE WE LEFT BEHIND US.
"Zillah was really ill, and for her sake we were detained in that little
hamlet on the coast for three weeks. Even then she was unable to travel,
and General Harrington resolved to move on without her. The barren
little village had no attractions for him, and he certainly was not a
man to sacrifice much time or convenience to a slave against whom he had
prejudices.
"Why had I become so painfully interested in that girl? Why was it that
my heart grew heavy, when James Harrington expostulated with his father
so earnestly against the abandonment of that poor girl, as he called
her, in a strange place and among people whose language was unknown to
her.
"But the General was resolute. The girl could follow them to Seville, he
said, when she became well enough to travel, no harm need come to her
and she could be well spared. Mrs. Harrington had improved so much in
her health that Zillah could have plenty of time to get well without
much inconvenience to her mistress. Miss Crawford's little maid was
always at her disposal.
"James Harrington did not seem satisfied with this reasoning, but he
said nothing more, and the next day we went up to Cadiz, leaving Zillah
behind.
"The girl was greatly distressed, and protested that she was well enough
to travel anywhere with her mistress, that everything would go wrong if
she was left behind, that the people were strange and would not know how
to direct her. She attempted to leave her bed and put on a traveling
dress, but fainted as her foot touched the floor. I was sorry for the
poor creature, and my heart ached at the necessity of leaving her
alone; but like her I was powerless in the hands of my guardian.
"Just before we left, General Harrington went in to speak with her. She
was acting very unreasonably, he said, and deserved chastisement for her
folly. Did she expect his whole family to wait in that dull place till
it was her pleasure to get well? The truth was, James had spoiled the
girl.
"He must have been harsh with the poor thing, though that was not at all
like him, for she was sobbing as if her heart would break ten minutes
after, when I went into her room, and said many bitter things of her
master's cruelty, which in common charity I shall never repeat.
Certainly the girl does seem to be terribly spoiled. I wish her no harm,
poor wretch, but if she were going back home a free woman my heart would
be lighter. I wonder if they would let me purchase her and give her the
freedom which belongs to every one of God's creatures. She has managed
to pick up a tolerable education, and in a country where hundreds of the
blue blood are darker than she is, might do well; for she certainly is
beautiful and has bright native talent enough to carve out a happy
future for herself. As for the money, a year's income would be nothing
compared with the relief of seeing her happy, free, and of all things,
away from us. I will speak of this to Mrs. Harrington; no woman ever had
a kinder heart or a keener sense of justice; the difficulty with her is
that she spoils her servants with too much kindness. That is a thing
which people just out of barbarism are apt to mistake for weakness.
"I think this girl has been made unhappy by the education which lifts
her out of the common herd of slaves. She feels the disgrace of caste
with terrible acuteness, and in no strata of society can find a place
for herself. In order to make the slaves useful or happy, they must be
educated in masses. It does not do to lift one from among his fellows
as a specimen of what they can possibly become. Open a future for the
slaves, give them intelligence and freedom at the same time; but I need
not go on. How many times has all this been said. But the day will come
when justice shall be brought about.
"We are leaving Cadiz for Seville, where General Harrington proposes to
spend the holy week. I have had no opportunity to speak with Mrs.
Harrington yet, but the fate of the poor girl we have left behind hangs
heavily on my spirits. James Harrington, too, seems depressed. Is
it--can it be? No, no, no! A thousand times no! How dare I form it in
thought? Still, she is beautiful, clever, elevated by her intelligence
far above some of my own order. She has caressing ways, too, when it
pleases her to assume them, and a look out of those almond-shaped eyes
when she is pleased or grieved, that troubles even me with painful
admiration. No, if money can buy her she shall be out of her thraldom,
and happy as a bird, but only on condition that she flies away to her
own country, or stays in this after we leave it. Strive as I will for
charity, nothing on earth, I do think, will ever make me like that girl
even as a servant.
"Our steamboat is just now turning into the mouth of the Guadalquiver.
What strange, barren-looking things are these Spanish castles! Their
walls, of a dull, yellowish red, seem more like an upheaving of the soil
itself, than massive stone piled up by the labor of man. They are bare,
too, of the rich vines and tremulous leafage which makes the ruins of
Italy so picturesque, and those of England so grand in their decay. Here
is a massive building on our right, full of historic interest, I dare
say, and it may be rich in Moorish embellishments if I could see the
interior; but at this distance it looks bleak and barren as a prison. My
own vague 'castles in Spain' are ten thousand times more beautiful.
"I said this to James Harrington as he came and stood beside me on the
deck.
"'Oh,' he answered with a sigh, 'Who of us does not build air castles
only to see them vanish into mist. As you say, mine have been more
beautiful than that heap of stones. After all, architecture is severely
perfect, which Nature does not claim after it leaves the hand of its
constructor. The struggle which she makes to draw art back into her own
bosom, is always beautiful.'
"Thus he will talk to me for hours, but never of himself. What have I
done that we are driven so far apart,--that he so studiously turns his
eyes away when mine question him with unconscious
earnestness,--unconscious till some look of his reminds me that for a
moment I have been off my guard. Then I grow angry with myself, and
avoid him with what must seem to him childish caprice. Does he
understand all that I think and suffer? Does he know how that day among
the water lilies haunts my memory?"