TO THE ISLAND
On the cliff-bounded stream!
When it is summer noon,
And all the land is still,
But on the water’s face
The merry breeze is playing,
Whitening a ripple here and there.
H. ALFORD.
The pretty _White Dove_ lay rocking at its moorings. It was gray on the
outside and white within, and as clean and nice as any little boat need
be.
Old ’Sias handed his young passenger into it, and made her very
comfortable on a seat in the stern.
Then he loosened the chain of the boat, spread the snowy sail to the
breeze, took the tiller in his hand and steered for the island.
They had a beautiful run down the river.
The clear bosom of the water, reflecting the brilliant morning sky with
its sunlit clouds, displayed all the blending rainbow hues of rose,
violet, azure, gold and green.
The shore on the right hand was a wide range of high, undulating, wooded
hills, rising one behind the other until their outlines were melted amid
the vapors of the distant western horizon.
The shore on the left hand was a wall of lofty, rugged, moss-studded
cliffs, whose tops were lost among the clouds.
Before them, down the river, lay the lovely isle, with its girdle of
green trees, from the midst of which arose its velvety green hill,
crowned with its airy palace, whose high, white walls and many crystal
windows flashed and sparkled in the sunshine.
“Oh, how heavenly the country is!” exclaimed Em. “I always thought it
was beautiful, but I never dreamed it was so divine!”
“You come from the city, honey?” inquired the old man.
“Yes, but I never want to go back to it,” answered Em.
“Ay, ay! I never was in a city in my life. Dey say how ‘De Lord made de
country and man made de town.’ Do yer think dat is true, honey?” asked
’Sias.
“Yes, I _do_,” said Em., decidedly. “And if you could see a town you’d
think so, too.”
“Well, honey, I has libbed in dis yer sublunatic speer a hundred and
fifty years, more or _less_, and nebber sot eyes on a city, nor likewise
a town. But I libs in hopes to see one, or both, ’fore ebber I ’parts
for de glory land,” said old ’Sias.
Em. did not reply; indeed she scarcely heard his words, as her whole
attention was fixed upon the lovely isle, to whose shore they were now
approaching so near that the velvety green hill, crowned with its
glittering white mansion, was slowly sinking out of sight behind the
beautiful girdle of silver maple trees that encircled it like a halo of
soft light.
“Here we is, honey,” said old ’Sias, as he drew down the little sail,
and, taking an oar, pushed the boat up among a shoal of white
water-lilies that surrounded the shores.
Then ’Sias moved the _White Dove_ to a water-post, and got out and
offered his hand to his passenger, saying:
“Jump for it, honey, so as to clear de wet sand and light wid dry feet
on de rock here.”
Em. followed his direction and landed dry-shod.
Then they picked their way over a bank of violets and pansies,
snow-drops and other wild flowers, and then through a thicket of
eglantines, sweet-briers, and wild roses, and honeysuckles, and next
through a grove of acacias or flowering locusts, and finally through the
belt of silver maples and then up the verdant hill, that was beautifully
laid off in groves of fragrant, flowering trees, adorned with statues,
arbors and fountains; in parterres of the most brilliant and odoriferous
shrubs and flowers; and in green terraces, rising one above another, and
reached by white stone steps and leading quite up to the colonnaded
porch of the glistening white mansion, with its many sparkling, crystal
windows and its balconies, verandas and porches. Around the white
columns that supported the piazzas were twined the most beautiful and
fragrant rose-vines and climbing plants.
It was a place of more than ideal beauty; it was a home of paradisiacal
loveliness.
It was no dreamy solitude now, however. On the highest terrace in front
of the house were seated about seventy persons, of both sexes and all
ages, colors and conditions—a very small congregation, but making up in
devout attention for what they lacked in numbers, as they listened
silently, with upturned, intent faces, to the preacher, who was
concealed from the newcomers by an intervening, rose-wreathed column.
“I am afraid we are late,” whispered Em.
“Yes, honey, we is. The sermon is begun. We sha’n’t hear de tex’ ’less
he repeats it, which he may; but what we will hear will be wort’ comin’
for, I tell yer. Hush, honey; come ’long here. Here’s a good seat, and
right good view ob de preacher, too.”
Em. took the seat indicated on the broad pedestal of a group of
statuary, representing Faith, Hope and Charity, that stood on the second
terrace. Her position was a little below the crowd, but gave her a
plenty of space and a good view of the preacher.
And that preacher! How shall I be able to present him vividly before my
readers—that blind orator of the wilderness, who labored among the
few—the poor and the ignorant—but who ought to have had a world-wide
field and fame.
He stood on the highest step of the stairs leading up to the colonnaded
piazza in front of the house, so facing his audience. He was a man of
colossal stature, with the shoulders of Hercules and the beauty of
Apollo. His face was of the pure Grecian type, and his countenance was
full of intellect, majesty and tenderness. The top of his head was high,
spherical and perfectly bald, but a fringe of golden hair at the back of
his neck came around and almost touched the flow of golden beard that
fell from chin to bosom. His eyes were blue, large, full, clear and
wonderfully brilliant and mobile! He was dressed in a white linen coat
and white duck trousers, and wore white morocco slippers on his feet. He
stood by a great white marble vase, from which an almond tree grew, and
he rested his left hand upon the vase. That was the only support he had.
With parted lips, suspended breath and rapt attention Em. gazed on the
stranger. She had never seen so god-like a man. That the magnificent
form should have been struck with paralysis seemed incredible; that
those splendid, radiant, soaring eyes, with their flying glances and
rapt gaze, should be blind seemed impossible.
Em. could scarcely believe it.
“I should think they had light enough _within_ them to see in the dark;
that they would never need the sun as we do,” she whispered in
awe-struck tones.
“That’s what we all say, honey. He has the light _inside_ of his eyes.
But he is stone blind for all that, honey.”
“Hush! hush! Let me hear _him_,” said Em., as she bent her whole
attention upon the preacher.
He had evidently got well on in his sermon before the late arrival of
these last comers. They had not heard his text, but they soon
comprehended his subject. It was threefold—
Faith, Love, Works.
I shall not risk spoiling the blind preacher’s sermon by attempting any
report of it here. I will only say that in simple, eloquent words, which
went directly to every heart, he explained to them—
How Faith without Love was cold, and either, or both, without Works,
dead. How Faith and Love must go forth in good uses; must go forth,
through brain, heart and hand in good thoughts, good feelings and good
deeds to all.
He told them it was not enough we should cease to _do_ ill to our
neighbor, but we should cease to _speak_ ill, or even to _think_ ill of
him. We should do good to him or do nothing; speak well of him or be
silent; think the best of him or not at all; that thus, by the Lord’s
help, we should come into the life of Faith, Hope and Charity—the life
of love to the Lord and the neighbor, in which all men should live in
this world, and in which all should wish to enter the world beyond.
He told them the vast significance of this word “neighbor”; how it had
reached from the highest created being to the lowest; how he who
“needlessly set foot upon a worm,” sinned in the same manner, if not in
the same degree, as he who tortured or sacrificed a hero or a martyr.
He begged them to take this truth home with them that all might be the
better and the happier for it.
The sermon was followed by a fervent prayer, an inspiring hymn, in which
nearly all the congregation joined, and lastly, by the benediction.
Em. saw the blind preacher raise his radiant face toward heaven to
invoke the blessing, and she reverently bowed her head until he had
ceased to speak.
When she lifted it to look at him again he had disappeared and his
hearers were dispersing.
Em. turned inquiring eyes upon old Josias.
“He’s only dropped down in his chair, behind the rose-vines, honey.
Dat’s allers de way. ’Pears like arter de benediction he gibs right
out,” the old man explained.
“And you tell me that man is blind? ’Sias, I cannot realize it! Blind!
Why, ’Sias, how _could_ he be blind when, at several places in his
sermon that suited my case, he looked me right straight in the eyes as
if he pointed his words directly to me? How could he know I sat there
unless he could see me? How could he see me unless he had sight, and
very excellent sight, too?”
“Honey, I don’t know. Dat’s what ’stonishes us all; for dat’s de way he
looks at us all, right in our eyes, right into our hearts, too. I dunno
how it is. He is stone blind, dat is sartain sure, and yet he talks to
yer wid his eyes as plain as anybody can speak. Maybe, honey, _his
soul’s eyes sees your soul_; for he told us in one of his sermons how we
was all souls that had bodies to live in; and not bodies that had souls;
and how our souls were ourselves, and our bodies only our houses of
flesh, our clothing, our instrument, that we were always using up and
wearing out and having to repair by eating and drinking and breathing;
but how we ourselves never did wear out.”
“I should like to have heard that,” said Em., with a hungry look in her
eyes.
“’Nother time, honey, what do yer think he said? It was a hard sayin’
for us poor sinners, now I tell yer! He said the hardest resurrection
was the resurrection of our souls out of de death of selfishness.”
While the two had sat talking all the rest of the rural congregation had
separated and gone down by the various paths leading from the hill to
the shores of the island, all around which, at various landings, their
boats were moored.
At length the old man arose and put on his hat, saying:
“Come, honey.”
“Oh, Uncle ’Sias, don’t you think we might walk up these steps and walk
around the beautiful rose-wreathed piazza and see the lovely oriel
windows and balconies?” inquired Em. in a coaxing voice.
“Sartin sure, honey! Come along!” replied the good-natured old fellow,
leading the way.
Up they went to the elegant porch with its rows of white stone pillars,
wreathed around with climbing red and white roses, all in full bloom, on
the outer side, and adorned with rows of crystal windows on the inner
side. These windows had white shutters that closed within the house.
Em. looked at these closed shutters with the curiosity and longing of
Blue Beard’s wife when the latter contemplated the closed chamber.
“Would you like to see inside de house, honey?” demanded the old man.
“Oh! would I not?” exclaimed Em.
“Well, den you can, honey. De lady as owns it is the most free-hearted
lady as ebber you seed. She lets anybody walk ober and ober de island,
and t’rough and t’rough de house—less she dere herse’f, honey—den, to be
sure, she ’serves her private rooms. You sit down here, honey, at de
front door and wait for me, and I’ll go round to de housekeeper’s room,
which I knows her, and she’ll let you see de house if she can at my
recommend.”
“Oh, thank you, dear Uncle ’Sias. I will wait here joyfully until you
come back,” eagerly exclaimed Emolyn, as she seated herself on the
threshold of the front door.
The old man went down the front and around to the rear of the premises,
while Em., sitting on the threshold of this fairy palace, let her
delighted eyes rove around over rose-wreathed pillars, vine-clad
balconies, oriel windows, trellised terraces, flowery lawns, fountains,
statues, lakelets, groves and sparkling rivulets running down to the
river.
After a short absence the old man returned with a single key in his
hand, saying, as he twirled it in his fingers:
“I can show you de hall and de grand saloon, honey, and de drawing-rooms
and library, which are all on dis floor at dis front ob de house; but
all de oder rooms are closed and can’t be shown.”
“Is the lady at home, then?” inquired Em.
“No, honey.”
“Then why may we not see the whole of the house?”
“I dunno, chile; I didn’t ax her,” replied ’Sias, who was not so much
interested in the mystery as was the young questioner.
By this time he had slowly unlocked and opened the front door, admitting
them into the hall.
This hall was circular in shape, spacious in size and lofty in height,
reaching from the inlaid white marble floor to the crystal dome that
formed the roof and lighted the whole scene. Around the polished white
walls of this fair circle were doorways, hung with curtains of blue silk
and white lace, leading into many lovely rooms.
The old guide beckoned Em. to follow him, and pulling aside the blue and
white curtains of a doorway on his left, led the way into an oval-shaped
saloon, with an oval window in front and a semi-circular mirror exactly
opposite in the rear. This mirror was so artistically contrived that it
reflected all the varied island scenery from the oriel window, and gave
the saloon the appearance of being open and illimitable in length. This
beautiful room was furnished entirely in white and blue—the walls being
of polished white panels that shone like porcelain and having cornices
of blue; the side windows and doorways draped with blue silk and white
lace; the carpet white velvet bordered with blue; the chairs and sofas
covered with white velvet trimmed with blue; the stands and tables of
pure white marble tops, supported on blue-veined marble pedestals; the
statues and statuettes, both in groups and single pieces, all of Parian
marble; the jars and vases of blue Sèvres china. And what was still more
unique in its harmony, the pictures that filled up all the spaces
between the side doors and windows were framed in frosted silver plate,
and the subjects were all of a bright, aerial, happy type—“Spring,”
“Morning,” “Hope,” “Youth.”
Em., “embarrassed with the riches” of these beauties, gazed in delight
upon the whole room, and then began to examine the pictures, pausing in
a rapture of admiration before each.
But suddenly in her progress she started, uttered a slight cry and stood
perfectly still before a picture that hung between two lofty windows on
the side of the saloon opposite to the door leading into the hall.
It was the full-length portrait of a lady, tall, elegantly formed,
gracefully posed and clothed in white from head to foot; a white satin
robe that fell from her rounded bust to her feet and drifted about them
in soft white clouds; white satin hanging sleeves, open from the
shoulders and half revealing the shapely arms; and over all, head, bust
and waist, a large, flowing silver gauze veil that fell to her feet,
half concealing, half revealing the resplendant beauty of the head and
face with the bright, sun-gilded, auburn hair; with the perfect,
chiseled Grecian features, the snowwhite complexion and large, mournful
blue eyes half hidden under their snowy, drooping lids. The background
of this form was a deep, cloudless, twilight sky. There was nothing
else, nothing to divert attention from the beautiful, spiritual,
mysterious form of the lady.
Em. gazed upon it with breathless attention. It was not the spiritual
beauty and mystery of this veiled figure alone that fixed her gaze—it
was the “counterfeit presentment” of the moonlight apparition she had
seen in the old hall.
“Whose portrait is this?” she demanded in low, breathless tones of the
old man, who had come to her side.
“I dunno, honey, ’less it’s de White Spirit’s. Seems like it might be,
from all accounts of her,” replied ’Sias.
Em. said no more, but remained gazing fixedly at the picture, as she
would not have dared to gaze at the apparition.
Yes, it was the very same form! the very same features! the same sunlit,
auburn tresses! the same pure, clear-cut, alabaster profile! the same
large, drooping blue eyes—even the same flowing silver gauze veil and
white satin robe!
Em. shivered, half in terror, half in admiration, and felt for the
moment as if she should lose her reason.
Old ’Sias waited with exemplary patience, but as minute after minute
passed and the young girl stood there as motionless as if she had “taken
root,” the old man thought proper at last to break the spell by saying:
“Come, honey, it’s getting on to two o’clock. If yer want to see de
drawing-rooms and de library and de boody we’d better be a-movin’.”
“No, I will not look at anything else this morning,” said Em., with her
eyes still fixed upon the picture.
In his surprise old ’Sias stared at the spellbound girl, and then
suddenly uttered a loud exclamation that startled even her.
“Why, what is the matter, Uncle ’Sias?” she inquired, turning sharply
around.
“Oh, my law, honey!” cried the old man, staring first at her and then at
the picture.
“What is it, then?” she repeated.
“Oh, honey, de _likeness_! _de ’strornary likeness!_” exclaimed the
amazed old man.
“What likeness, Uncle ’Sias?” inquired Em.
“’Twixt you and de picter, honey!—’twixt you and de picter! Let alone de
diffunce in de clo’s, de picter is de image ob yer, honey! de same face,
de same eyes, de same hair! Well, law, I nebber did see such a likeness
’twixt two in all de days ob my life!”
“_Is_ the picture so much like me? How strange,” said Em. in perplexity
as she gazed at the portrait and tried to remember how her own face
looked in the glass; but could not do so.
“_Like_ yer, honey? Well, chile, I has libbed in dis yer sublunatic
speer for a hund’ed and fifty year, more or less, honey, more or less,
an’ I nebber see no sech a likeness before, dere!” solemnly replied the
old negro.
“It is very wonderful! but everything about the picture and—the lady,
too—is wonderful,” said Em., as her mind reverted to the apparition of
the night previous.
“Come, honey, I d’want to hurry yer; but de time is gettin’ on, an’
Sereny—I promised of her to get back to dinner at two o’clock, honey,
an’ Sereny do have sich a wiolent temper!” said old ’Sias uneasily.
“Sereny?” questioned Em.
“Yes, honey, Sereny; that’s my wife, my second one, chile, not my fust
one, as has passed away to de gloryland long ago, dough she wasn’t
nuffin nigh as old as I was; no, honey, Sereny is my young wife as I
took las’ year to keep me warm in my ole age—accordin’ to King David and
Abishey, honey, and true nuff, she _do_ keep me warm—wid her temper and
her tongue, let alone de broomstick and de hoe-helve, honey! An’ ef I
don’t get home by two o’clock, chile, I shall get hoe-helve ’stead of
hoe-cake for dinner, mine I tell you!” said the old man, sighing.
“Oh, let us hurry, then, and get back. I would not bring you into
trouble for anything in this world! But why do you let a young woman
treat a man of your venerable age so disrespectfully and cruelly?”
exclaimed Em., as she turned to follow her conductor from the saloon.
“Well, dare’s jes’ where it is! It’s _’cause_ ob my wenerable ole age!
I’m de weakest—in de body, honey! in de body! not in de mine! And she’s
de strongest—in de body, honey! in de body! not in de mine! and so she
gets de better ob me! And serb me right, too, come to think ob it! I had
no business to take Sereny! I wa’n’t no King David! And she had no
business to take me, which she did ’sake ob libbin’ in de purty
gate-lodge, so much purtier dan de log cabins de odder colored folks lib
in. But she keeps me warm—dat’s so—wid de broomstick and de hoe-helve!
But, patience! it can’t las’ forebber, and some ob dese days I shall go
to sleep down here an’ wake up in de glory land, where my _own_ ole
’oman is waitin’ for me,” concluded ’Sias as he carefully locked the
outside door; and then he went slowly down the steps and around to the
rear of the premises to restore the key to the housekeeper.
Em. remained standing where he had left her, with her eyes fixed upon
the ground, in a deep reverie, which continued unbroken until the return
of the old man, saying as he came up: “Now, den, honey, for de boat.”
Em. followed him down through the terraced grounds, with their arbors,
statues, fountains, parterres of flowers, groves and ponds, and then
through the wood of silver maples, and the fragrant, blooming wood of
acacias, to the sandy shore, where sat the little _White Dove_ brooding
on the waters.
Em. entered the boat and seated herself in the stern.
The old man followed her, hoisted the sail, and took the tiller in his
hand.
Leaving the lovely island behind he headed up stream and steered for the
Valley of the Wilderness. Now their course lay half way between the
river shores, having the lofty, rugged, gray, rocky precipices on their
right hand, and the beautiful, undulating green and wooded hills on
their left.
Their progress was a little slower up stream than it had been down, and
so it was near three o’clock when at length they landed at the foot of
the little dilapidated pier belonging to the old boat-house of the
Wilderness.
Old ’Sias secured his boat and followed Em., who was hurrying along the
woodland walk that led from the landing through the forest to the park
gate.
“Yes, honey, it is late. Sereny’ll be wiolent, I tell yer!” said ’Sias
as he came up quite breathlessly.
Em. heard him, and wondered how she might save the poor old man from
suffering at the hands of his Xantippe.
At length, without stopping in her hurried walk, she unpinned a pretty
new neck-tie that she wore on her white dress, smoothed out the folds
and rolled it up, saying to herself:
“Bright blue ribbons must be rare luxuries of dress in this Wilderness,
and if it does not mollify the temper of Madame Sereny, I do not know
what will!”
They reached the park gate at last and passed through.
And there, sure enough, at the door of the lodge stood the tall,
handsome mulatto woman called, or rather miscalled, Serena.
A heavy thunder-cloud was on her brow.
Her little, old, black dwarf of a husband shrank behind Em., who walked
smilingly up to the woman, saying frankly:
“See what I have brought you, as a testimonial of my gratitude to your
husband for taking me to the island to hear the blind preacher.”
And with these words she placed the bright blue scarf in the woman’s
hand.
Serena smiled, showing all her large, white, regular ivories, and said:
“Thanky, Miss. How purty! Dere ain’t sich a scaff in de whole county as
dis! ’Deed, I’m ebber so much obleeged to yer! Won’t yer come in an’
res’?”
“No, I thank you. I have to hurry home to my father and mother,” said
Em.
“Yes, honey, dat’s right, too! Be dutiful to yer parients. Thanky agin,
Miss! And if ebber, so be, yer want my ’Sias to take yer a rowin’ or a
sailin’, he’ll _do_ it, or I’ll know the reason why he _don’t_. Come in,
’Sias, honey, yer dinner’s all ready for yer,” concluded Sereny in a
tone of such good will that the old man smilingly followed her into the
lodge, while Em. hurried home feeling that all was well.