A week later our fugitives started for Canada via Buffalo, N. Y., by a
circuitous path well known to Captain Brown. Mr. Maybee went along in
an improvised ambulance, much improved in health and bearing well the
fatigue of travel.
The Brown camp was deserted, and the Government troops, when they
arrived, found only the blackened remains of the once busy settlement.
Where the Rangers had paid the penalty of their crimes against the
farmers of Kansas, the grass covered the sod as if it had never been
disfigured or stained. The last gun had been fired in Kansas by
Brown’s forces, and he was next heard of in the Virginia insurrection
which ended so fatally for the intrepid leader.
After many startling adventures and narrow escapes from capture, a
group of bronzed and bearded men and one woman rode up one morning to
the entrance of the Grand Island Hotel. It was our friends and the
Brown family. The other refugees had passed in safety over the border
into Canada, and the fugitive slaves were, at last, rejoicing on free
soil.
The front of the hotel was deserted, the women being busy in the rear
with their morning duties, and the usual hangers-on not being about.
Mr. Maybee, who was lying on a bed in the bottom of the wagon, sat up
as the cavalcade paused, and cried:
“Ma’ Jane! Ma’--Jane!”
“Ya’as,” screamed a female voice from the rear, not “like a song from
afar;” or, if so, it was set in four sharps. “What’s up neow?”
To which Maybee, probably reckoning on the magnetic attraction of
female curiosity, made no reply, which diplomatic course instantly
drew his worthy better half--a big one, too--and far better than her
vocal organ. She came followed by the cook, Aunt Vinnie, and ’Tavius.
“Law sakes!” she cried, sticking her plump arms akimbo and staring
in amazement at the company before her, “if it ain’t Ebenezer--an’
the Englishman--an’ Jude!--an’ ’Nona!!” Her astonishment could go no
farther. The next instant she had folded the girlish form in her arms
in an agony of joy.
“My precious child! Thank heaven we’ve got you back safe! It’s been an
awful time fer you.”
“Wall, darn my skin!” cried Maybee, wiping his own eyes in sympathy
with the weeping woman, “here’s me, wyounded an’ dyin’, been a stranger
an’ a pilgrim in hos-tile parts fer months, an’ when I git home the
wife of my bosom ain’t no eyes fer me nor tears nuther--everybody else
is fus’. I call all you boys to witness my treatment; I enter a suit
for devorce at once. Ma’ Jane, I’m goin’ ter leave your bed an’ board.”
“You ain’t no call to be jealous, Maybee, as you well know. Ef you’re
sick, I’ll nuss you; ef you’re hungry, I’ll feed you.”
Then these pilgrims of the dusty roads received a royal welcome from
the bewildered woman. Their brown hands were shaken, their torn clothes
embraced, their sunburnt faces kissed with a rapture that was amazing.
“Come in, everybody. ’Tavius, git a move on with them hosses and
things! Vinnie, stop your grinnin’ an’ hustle with the dinner.”
Mrs. Maybee expanded, metaphorically,--literal expansion would have
jammed her in the doorway,--on hospitable cares intent.
’Tavius marched away grinning, while Mrs. Maybee ushered her guests
into the house. How long seemed the time to Winona and Judah since they
had been torn from that kindly shelter by the slave-hunters; terrible,
indeed, had been the times that followed so swiftly.
After the travelers were somewhat rested and refreshed, the story of
their adventures was rehearsed, and the stranger one of the wrongs and
sorrows of White Eagle and his true name and position in the world was
told to an interested crowd of listeners, for the news of Maybee’s
arrival with Winona and Judah had been industriously circulated by
’Tavius as soon as he could steal away from his duties, and a crowd of
leading citizens filled the office, hall and piazza, anxious to see the
wanderers and hear the miraculous story of their escape.
“Now, Ma’ Jane, you remember the papers I gave you--White Eagle’s
paper’s?”
“Of course.”
“I want you to fetch ’em out and give ’em to the child before us all.
Then Mr. Lawyer Maxwell will see ef they is all correc’.”
Mrs. Maybee brought a long tin box and placed it in her husband’s
hand. He opened it. “Let’s see. Three legal dockymen’s and a few
pieces of jewelry. Them’s ’em, I reckon. There you, my girl,” he said,
tenderly, as he handed the package to Winona. Her attitude was at once
tragic and pathetic as she drew back, for one instant, and stood in
silent self-repression. A dizziness swept over her. What would the
papers reveal? Their contents meant life or death to her hopes. She
took the papers without speaking and passed them on to Warren almost
mechanically.
“Read them--I cannot.”
“Right, child,” said Maybee.
There was breathless silence in the room as Warren unfolded the paper
lying on top of the packet like a thick letter. All--honor for dead and
living, ancient lands and name, home for the fondly loved child--lay
sealed in the certificate of marriage and birth lying in Maxwell’s
right hand. The other papers related to his own story--a record of
happenings after the fugitive from justice had arrived in America. The
jewelry was jeweled family portraits, including one of Captain Henry
when a young man; also a ring bearing the family crest. Nothing was
missing--the chain of evidence was complete, even to the trained eye of
the legal critic.
Then followed congratulations and good wishes from the friends who had
done so much to make the present joy possible.
“I for one,” said the representative to Congress, “from this day out
condemn this cursed ‘system’ of ours. We’re a laughing stock for the
whole world, to say nothing of the wickedness of the thing.”
“Right you are, Jameson: put them sentiments down for every man of us,”
cried a voice in the crowd.
Judah could say nothing, but he wrung Warren’s hand hard.
“You go with us to England, Judah, and share prosperity as you have
shared adversity. You shall choose your own path in life and be a man
among men.”
“I ain’t any words to say, my girl!” Maybee said huskily to Winona;
“but you know what’s in my ol’ heart, I reckon, by what’s in your own.
I know you won’t forget us when you’re a great lady. Poor White Eagle,
he had a rocky time of it, sure.”
* * * * *
Many visits were made to the island by our three friends before the day
when they embarked from Canada for old England. Oh, the rare delight
they felt in the movement of the light canoe as they glided over the
blue waters of the lake, and the thunders of Niagara sounded in their
ears like a mighty orchestra rejoicing in their joy.
Again they stood on the high ridge where lay the sun-flecked woods,
climbed the slopes and listened to the squirrel’s shrill, clear
chirp; watched the blackbirds winging the air in flight and heard the
robin’s mellow music gushing from the boughs above their heads. The
Indian-pipes with their faint pink stems lay concealed among the bushes
as of old.
Beneath the great pine that shaded White Eagle’s grave they rested
reverent, tempered sadness in their hearts. Winona buried her face in
her lover’s bosom with smothered, passionate sobs. Warren folded her
close to him.
“My heart’s dearest, you must not grieve; your time of mourning is
past. He is happy now as he sees your future assured. Through you he
has conquered death and the grave; justice and honor are his after many
years of shame.” And she was comforted.
They made no plans for the future. What necessity was there of making
plans for the future? They knew what the future would be. They loved
each other; they would marry sooner or later, after they reached
England, with the sanction of her grandfather, old Lord George; that
was certain. American caste prejudice could not touch them in their
home beyond the sea.
A long story full of deep interest might be written concerning the
subsequent fortunes of John Brown and his sons and their trusty
followers--a story of hardships, ruined homes and persecutions, and
retribution to their persecutors, after all, through the happenings of
the Civil War. But with these events we are all familiar. Judah never
returned to America. After the news of John Brown’s death had aroused
the sympathies of all christendom for the slaves, he gave up all
thoughts of returning to the land of his birth and entered the service
of the Queen. His daring bravery and matchless courage brought its own
reward; he was knighted; had honors and wealth heaped upon him, and
finally married into one of the best families of the realm.
Winona celebrated in her letters to Mr. Maybee the wonders of her life
in England, where all worshipped the last beautiful representative of
an ancient family. The premature, crushing experiences of her young
girlhood, its shocks and shameful surprises were not without good
fruit. She is a noble woman. She is fortified against misfortune now by
her deep knowledge of life and its inevitable sorrows, by love. Greater
joy than hers, no woman, she believes, has ever known.
* * * * *
At intervals Aunt Vinnie found herself the center of groups of curious
neighbors, white and black, who never tired of hearing her tell the
story of Winona’s strange fortunes. She invariably ended the tale with
a short sermon on the fate of her race.
“Glory to God, we’s boun’ to be free. Dar’s dat gal, she’s got black
blood nuff in her to put her on de block in this fersaken country, but
over dar she’s a lady with de top crus’ of de crus’. Somethin’s gwine
happen.”
An elderly white woman among the visitors drew a long breath, and
declared that she had been lifted out of her bed three times the
previous night.
“To be course,” said Aunt Vinnie. “That’s de angelic hos’ hoverin’
roun’ you. Somethin’s gwine drap. White folks been ridin’ a turrible
hoss in this country, an’ dat hoss gwine to fro ’em; you hyar me.”
“De mule kicked me three times dis mornin’ an’ he never did dat afore
in his life,” said a colored brother; “dat means good luck.”
“Jestice been settin’ on de sprangles ob de sun a long time watchin’
dese people how dey cuts der shines; um, um!” continued Vinnie.
“A rabbit run across my path twice comin’ through de graveyard las’
Sunday. I believe in my soul you’re right, Aunt Vinnie,” said ’Tavius.
“’Course I’m right. Watch de sun an’ see how he run; gwine to hear a
mighty rumblin’ ’mongst de dry bones ’cause jestice gwine plum’ de
line, an’ set de chillun free,” and as she retired to the kitchen her
voice came back to them in song:
“Ole Satan’s mad, an’ I am glad,
Send de angels down.
He missed the soul he thought he had,
O, send dem angels down.
Dis is de year of Jubilee,
Send dem angels down.
De Lord has come to set us free,
O, send dem angels down.”
(_The End._)
Transcribers Note: Typographical errors have been silently corrected.