CATHERINE’S PROGRESS.
And she grew a noble lady,
And her people loved her much.—TENNYSON.
Catherine’s arrangements for the year were all completed by the first of
January; and with less inconvenience to others, and consequently with
less pain to herself, than she had dared to anticipate.
She heard that Turnbull, the cashiered overseer, had purchased a piece
of land in the valley—(doubtless with the embezzled funds, but of that
she did not think)—built upon it a log cabin, and set up as a farmer
upon his own footing; and that he had taken his tribe of sons and
nephews to assist him. She was very much pleased to know that they were
out of the way of swindling others as they had swindled Clifton, and
also that they were equally removed from want and suffering.
Mrs. Mercer, by her warm recommendation, had found a very eligible
situation as housekeeper to an elderly, single gentleman—a planter in
the neighborhood—and her benevolence was set at rest in regard to the
old woman.
Lastly, she had let Hardbargain to excellent tenants—a young New
Englander and his wife—who took it ready furnished and stocked as it
was; and designed to work the land and keep a school.
The negroes had their usual carnival at Christmas, lasting till after
New Year—during which, all that had been engaged in the last twelve
months were married, and wedding parties were given and dances got up,
etc., etc.
But on the second of January, Catherine caused them all to be assembled
in her presence, and told them that she should, on the next Monday and
thereafter, set them to work in earnest; that their overseer was
gone—(“Thank Marster Lord for that,” exclaimed several)—but that she
herself would be their overseer for the ensuing year. (“You’ll be fair,
young mistress! We ain’t afeard o’ you,” said the same.) She waved her
hand for silence and attention, and then informed them farther—that
though they should find her hereafter as heretofore, just and moderate
and merciful; ready to give ear to their complaints, and settle their
difficulties, and reward their zeal—yet that she should certainly
require a more steady and systematic application to their duties than
they had ever before given. She said, in conclusion, that their health,
comfort, improvement and happiness, should be her care; but that even in
this also, she should need their co-operation—(“You shall hab it,
mist’ess, ’deed you shall, honey;” from some of the older negroes.)
Finally she dismissed them, telling them that she wished to see them all
together again on Sunday evening at early candle-light, in the
spinning-room, where she desired that they should assemble quietly.
On Saturday evening when the women were done spinning, Catherine
directed that all the wheels should be taken to one corner of the room,
and crowded together, and that the settees and benches from the piazza
and lawns, should be brought in and arranged around the walls; and
finally that a little reading stand and chair should be brought for her
own use. These preparations occupied but ten minutes, and the room was
fitted up for family worship.
On Sunday evening, at the appointed hour, Catherine met her assembled
laborers and servants there. When they were all seated and perfectly
still and attentive, she said to them—“I desired your presence here this
Sabbath evening, that I might make a proposition to you. I have been
thinking that we ought not to finish every day without remembering and
returning thanks to our Heavenly Father for His daily bounties,
protection and mercies to us, and asking a continuance of the same
blessings; and I think we should not dare to lie down and commit
ourselves to that helpless sleep that so resembles death, without
confessing to our Lord the sins we have committed against Him during the
day, imploring His forgiveness of them, and asking His watchful care
over us during the darkness of the night and the defencelessness of
sleep. Don’t you think so?”
“Yes, yes, mist’ess, we do, we do indeed,” answered several of the elder
negroes, clearly—while a modest murmur of assent ran through the
assembly. The negroes are strongly inclined to worship, and ever ready
to co-operate in anything of that sacred character.
Catherine resumed—
“We should each do this in private by our own bedsides, but we should
also do it together as a household—as the creatures of one God, the
children of one Father.” She paused a moment in thought, and then spoke
again. “I have been also reflecting that you ought all to know more of
the Bible than you have as yet had any opportunity of knowing. And I
think that most of you would be pleased to know more.” She paused for an
answer.
“Yes, yes, mist’ess, we do,” chimed in many eager voices, old and young.
“I know you do. Well, then, henceforth we will assemble in this room
every evening just before bed time, and as a household of the Lord, a
family of one Father, spend a short time together in reading and hearing
the Holy Scriptures, and in prayer. In beginning to read the Bible with
you, I shall commence with the first chapter of the New Testament, and
read a chapter every night, until we regularly read it through. And
afterwards, in the same manner, we will go through David’s Psalms and
the Prophets.”
Catherine finished and sat down, made a sign for silence, and opened the
New Testament and commenced her reading. Never had reader a more
attentive or interested audience. She passed over the long, hard
genealogical table in the first part of the chapter, and began with the
Angel’s visit to the Virgin Mary, and read also the second chapter,
describing the birth and infancy of the Saviour, sometimes stopping to
give explanations, which she knew the simplicity of her audience made
necessary. The family service was concluded with a prayer, and the
servants dismissed.
And this evening service became thenceforth a daily practice. And
Catherine’s people learned more of the life and doctrines of the Saviour
from her, than they would have acquired in a lifetime’s attendance upon
learned ministers, who preach only for the educated.
On Monday morning, Catherine entered upon her assumed duty of overseer.
And, never were the affairs of a plantation better administered than by
her. Her “good will was to it,” and all her faculties brought to bear
upon the business. And although she kept a firm hold upon the reins of
government, exacted the complete fulfillment of every duty, and kept
steadily at their post every man and woman, yet never was a mistress
more beloved and venerated. And certainly never was one so faithfully
served. All subordinates need—not harsh nor lax government—but a steady,
systematic, rational government, which they can understand and be
satisfied with, and such an one was that of Catherine. Her
administration was for her people a very wholesome change from the
capricious tyranny of the late overseer, who had been accustomed to
permit the utmost license and laxity among the laborers for four or five
days, and then, growing alarmed, to hurry and worry, and drive and
maltreat them for a week, to make up for lost time. Catherine’s
government was regular, firm, just and merciful. And she was loved,
respected and served accordingly. There were some exceptions, but they
were very few and unimportant, and soon fell under the general rule.
And thus, in the perfect performance of every duty, domestic and social,
that devolved upon her as wife, friend, mistress and Christian,
Catherine passed the winter. The spring brought the usual accession of
busy work, and she gave herself up to its direction with untiring energy
and activity. She prayed, and labored, and trusted in Heaven, and Heaven
prospered her work, and all went well. Before the first of June, she had
paid off all those heavy notes, which had been accumulating interest so
long. There were other heavy debts, but she saw her way clearly through,
discharging them before the end of the current year.
But she never, never heard from Major Clifton. He seemed just as lost to
her as if the grave had received him. She took all the principal
newspapers, for the sake of keeping the run of the campaign; and oh!
often her cheeks and very lips paled, and her heart sickened and sunk
with terror, to read of the awful perils of war, and to think that he
was exposed to them. But terror was not the only emotion raised by these
descriptions of engagements. No—her whole soul glowed with patriotic
ardor, when she read of the gallant repulse of the combined land and
naval forces of the British, under Admirals Warren and Cockburn, and
General Sir Sydney Beckwith, from Craney Island, by a mere handful of
our troops; and her heart swelled with love and enthusiasm, when in the
same account, she saw her husband’s name mentioned with the highest
encomiums upon his bravery, discretion, and invaluable services.
Autumn came, bringing along with its other associations intensely
distinct images of the last sweet, calm days she had passed at
Hardbargain with her dying mother, and these vivid recollections
stimulated afresh her devotion and her energy. During her
administration, to clear the estate of debt, and at its close, to
restore it unincumbered into the hands of her husband, was now her dear
object. When the harvest was gathered in, she consulted several of her
most intelligent and enterprising neighbors, concerning the state of the
agricultural markets, and afterwards proceeded to Baltimore in person in
order to obtain the best possible prices for her crops. She succeeded in
effecting highly advantageous sales, and with the proceeds she returned
home and paid off several of those heavy debts.
And so the autumn passed, and winter came, with its leisure, its stormy
days, and its long nights. Nothing occurred to break the monotony of
daily life until the last of December, when she collected the half
year’s rent from Hardbargain, and paid off all the remaining debts,
except one inconsiderable note of six hundred dollars. On the morning of
the first of January, she sent as usual to the village post-office for
her papers. When the boy returned, he handed her a letter directed in
the hand-writing of Major Clifton. Oh! joy at last!—she tore open the
envelope, and seized the enclosure—it was nothing but a check upon the
Bank of Richmond for five hundred dollars. She let it fall unheeded,
covered her face with her hands, and wept silently. But when her fit of
silent weeping was over, she arose, took the check, went and collected
what money she had left in the house, and ordered her carriage and drove
to L——, and lifted that last note. Then Catherine had the joy of seeing
the property entirely free from debt.
And so passed the winter and came the spring of 1814. And still she
heard nothing from Major Clifton. And since reading the account of his
gallant conduct on Craney Island, she learned nothing of him. And still
from her loop-hole of retreat, she anxiously watched the progress of the
war, seizing upon all the published accounts, and reading them with the
greatest avidity. How diligently she searched the papers to find his
name, and how eagerly her eyes darted down upon any officer’s name
beginning with a C, which always turned out to be Crutchfield, Corbin,
Carey, anything but Clifton! Oh, how barren was all this war news, after
all!
But Admiral Cockburn’s piratical fleet was now in the Chesapeake,
spreading devastation and terror through all its islands, coasts, and
tributary rivers; and every paper was filled with accounts of his
marauding incursions and savage atrocities, that defied just
description, much more exaggeration. Hear what a cotemporary historian
says of him:
“Throughout the waters and shores of the Chesapeake, Admiral Cockburn
now reigned supreme, ubiquitous and irresistible. The burglaries,
larcenies, incendiarisms, and mere marauding, perpetrated by Admiral
Cockburn, were as odious and ignoble, though less bloody and horrible,
than the inhuman atrocities of the British savages in the West. Slaves
in large numbers, large quantities of tobacco, furniture, and other
private property, protected by the laws of war, and seldom taken, even
if destroyed by land troops, were seized upon by the sea-faring warriors
with piratical rapacity. The predatory attacks of the enemy in the
Chesapeake were limited to isolated villages, poor farm-houses, and
other indefensible objects taken or destroyed. Destruction was the
punishment proclaimed and executed for resistance. The house and barn
were burned of whoever fired a shot, or drew a sword in self-defence.
Many respectable persons in comfortable circumstances were reduced to
poverty by these depredations. The poor were especial sufferers. With
shores so indented with creeks and bays, the whole force of a State
under arms would have been unequal to cope with such overwhelming
aggressors.”
Reading frequently such accounts as this, and even more alarming ones
than this, is it strange that Catherine sickened with terror and anxiety
for the safety of him who was exposed to all the horrors of this
unsparing warfare.
At length the shock came. It was on the evening of the day after
harvest-home, and she had given all her people a holyday, even down to
the messenger whose daily duty it was to bring her papers from the
post-office, telling him that he might take the whole day, and bring her
the mail when he returned home at night. Thus, instead of receiving her
papers, as usual, in the morning, Catherine had to wait until the boy’s
return in the evening. She was sitting in the spinning-room, awaiting
the assembling of her servants, whom she had just summoned to evening
worship, when they all entered, and with them the post-boy, who came up
and laid before her the single paper that had come that day. She took
it, to lay aside until after the evening’s devotions were over—but a
magic name on the outside arrested her attention. She caught up the
paper, and read in large capitals:
“ENGAGEMENT AT ST. LEONARD’S. _British forces under Admiral Cockburn
repulsed with considerable loss. Major Clifton dangerously wounded._”
She read no farther—the room swam around her—she reeled, and fell into
the arms of Henny, who sprang forward to receive her. Her people crowded
around her, in great anxiety. But only one moment she fainted thus—then
she recovered, controlled herself, resumed her seat, and after sending
the servants all back to their places, by a wave of her hand, opened the
Bible, and commenced the evening’s exercises. Her face was very pale,
her hands quivered in turning the leaves, and her voice faltered, so as
to be nearly inaudible, but she persevered, and got through with the
service, even unto the benediction. After it was all over, she detained
them a moment, by a gesture, and then said—
“Your master has been dangerously wounded.”
Murmurs of surprise, grief and anxiety agitated the assembly, and
testified to their affectionate concern.
“Go now quietly to your homes, and to-morrow perhaps I may be able to
tell you more.”
They dispersed slowly, turning glances of uneasiness and distress at the
silent anguish of her countenance.
She too, went out. How she spent the night is best known to Heaven. In
the morning when she appeared among her household—the wasted cheeks, the
sunken eyes, the hollow temples, and the written agony of the brow,
alone proved the consuming sorrow of her heart.
“Jack—I want Jack,” she said, as soon as she reached her parlor. And the
favorite servant appeared before her. “Jack, I think you love me,” she
said.
“Try me, mist’ess dear, an’ see ef I doesn’t.”
“And I think you love your master?”
“Ah! my Lor’! Try me—jes on’y try me, mist’ess—dat’s all.”
“I wish you to go to him from me.”
“Oh! do—do—do—_do_ sen’ me, mist’ess! It’s war I longs for to be.”
“I shall. The distance is over a hundred miles. You must pick the best
horse in the stable, and start within an hour, and ride day and night
until you reach your destination.”
“’Deed, mist’ess, I won’t let de grass grow onnerneaf of my feet.”
“Very well, then, go now—have you had your breakfast?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Go now, then, and prepare for your journey, while I write you a pass.
And when you are quite ready, come to me, and I will give you farther
directions about your journey.”
Jack hastened out—and his mistress remained for a few minutes, with her
hands pressed to her heart, repeating to herself, with agonizing
earnestness—
“Would—oh!—would to Heaven, I too, might go.” Soon she started, as with
sudden recollection, and hurried off to write the pass, and the
directions about the road. And when in less than half an hour Jack
appeared before her again, she was ready for him. “Here,” she said, “is
your pass, and written directions, lest you should forget what I tell
you.”
“Nebber fear me forgettin’, mist’ess, dear.”
“You must take the road to Alexandria, which is seventy miles from here.
When you reach that town, take the ferry-boat and cross the Potomac to
the Maryland side. Then inquire your road to the village of Benedict, on
the Patuxent, which is thirty or forty miles further down the country.
When you reach the village, ask the way to St. Leonard’s. Arrived at
your journey’s end, find Colonel Wadsworth, or Major Stuart, or Captain
Miller, show your pass and tell your errand, and they will direct you
where to find your master. Do you understand?”
“Yes, mist’ess.”
“All this that I have told you is written down here on this piece of
parchment; take care of it, lest you should forget, and lose your way.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll be berry cautiencious.”
“And now listen to me, Jack;” her voice broke down, some emotion seemed
struggling in her bosom for expression—she quelled it and went on—“When
you find your master, write to me at once; thank Heaven I taught you to
write! write then to me at once, and tell me how he is. Will you promise
me that?”
“Faithful, mist’ess—faithful.”
“And, Jack, when you have once found him, _be faithful unto death_ to
him. Never leave him. Nurse him, wait on him, watch over him day and
night—_do so_, if you love him, Jack;” again the inward struggle choked
her voice, and when she resumed, it was with broken and faltering
accents, “and, Jack, attend—take this note—and _when his fever is
off_—mind you, _when he is calm_—give it to him.”
“Yes, mist’ess, dear.”
“That is all I have to say to you. Now hasten. Good-bye; and may Heaven
bless and speed you.”