THE GARIES
AND
THEIR FRIENDS
Frank J. Webb
1857
Preface by Harriet Beecher Stowe
TO THE
LADY NOEL BYRON
THIS BOOK
IS, BY HER KIND PERMISSION,
MOST AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED,
WITH PROFOUND RESPECT,
BY HER GRATEFUL FRIEND,
THE AUTHOR.
PREFACE.
The book which now appears before the public may be of interest in relation
to a question which the late agitation of the subject of slavery has raised
in many thoughtful minds; viz.--Are the race at present held as slaves
capable of freedom, self-government, and progress?
The author is a coloured young man, born and reared in the city of
Philadelphia.
This city, standing as it does on the frontier between free and slave
territory, has accumulated naturally a large population of the mixed and
African race.
Being one of the nearest free cities of any considerable size to the slave
territory, it has naturally been a resort of escaping fugitives, or of
emancipated slaves.
In this city they form a large class--have increased in numbers, wealth,
and standing--they constitute a peculiar society of their own, presenting
many social peculiarities worthy of interest and attention.
The representations of their positions as to wealth and education are
reliable, the incidents related are mostly true ones, woven together by a
slight web of fiction.
The scenes of the mob describe incidents of a peculiar stage of
excitement, which existed in the city of Philadelphia years ago, when the
first agitation of the slavery question developed an intense form of
opposition to the free coloured people.
Southern influence at that time stimulated scenes of mob violence in
several Northern cities where the discussion was attempted. By prompt,
undaunted resistance, however, this spirit was subdued, and the right of
free inquiry established; so that discussion of the question, so far from
being dangerous in Free States, is now begun to be allowed in the Slave
States; and there are some subjects the mere discussion of which is a
half-victory.
The author takes pleasure in recommending this simple and truthfully-told
story to the attention and interest of the friends of progress and humanity
in England.
(Signed) H.B. Stowe.
ANDOVER, U.S.,
_August_ 17, 1857.
FROM LORD BROUGHAM.
I have been requested by one who has long known the deep interest I have
ever taken in the cause of Freedom, and in the elevation of the coloured
race, to supply a few lines of introduction to Mr. Webb's book.
It was the intention of Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe to introduce this work
to the British public, but I am truly sorry to learn that a severe domestic
affliction, since her return to America, has postponed the fulfilment of
her promise.
I am, however, able to state her opinion of the book, expressed in a letter
to one of her friends.
She says:--"There are points in the book of which I think very highly. The
style is simple and unambitious--the characters, most of them faithfully
drawn from real life, are quite fresh, and the incident, which is also much
of it fact, is often deeply interesting.
"I shall do what I can with the preface. I would not do as much unless I
thought the book of worth _in itself_. It shows what I long have wanted to
show; what the _free people of colour do attain_, and what they can do in
spite of all social obstacles."
I hope and trust that Mr. Webb's book will meet with all the success to
which its own merit, and the great interest of the subject, so well entitle
it. On this, Mrs. Stowe's authority is naturally of the greatest weight;
and I can only lament that this prefatory notice does not come accompanied
with her further remarks and illustrations.
4, Grafton-street, _July_ 29, 1857.
* * * * *
Note.--Since the above was written, the preface by Mrs. Stowe has been
received. It was deemed best, however, to still retain the introduction so
kindly given by Lord Brougham, whose deep interest in the freedom and
welfare of the African race none feel more grateful for than does the
author of the following pages.
CONTENTS
1.--In which the Reader is introduced to a Family of Peculiar
Construction
2.--A Glance at the Ellis Family
3.--Charlie's Trials
4.--In which Mr. Winston finds an Old Friend
5.--The Garies decide on a Change
6.--Pleasant News
7.--Mrs. Thomas has her Troubles
8.--Trouble in the Ellis Family
9.--Breaking up
10.--Another Parting
11.--The New Home
12.--Mr. Garie's Neighbour
13.--Hopes consummated
14.--Charlie at Warmouth
15.--Mrs. Stevens gains a Triumph
16.--Mr. Stevens makes a Discovery
17.--Plotting
18.--Mr. Stevens falls into Bad Hands
19.--The Alarm
20.--The Attack
21.--More Horrors
22.--An Anxious Day
23.--The Lost One Found
24.--Charlie distinguishes himself
25.--The Heir
26.--Home again
27.--Sudbury
28.--Charlie seeks Employment
29.--Clouds and Sunshine
30.--Many Years after
31.--The Thorn rankles
32.--Dear Old Ess again
33.--The Fatal Discovery
34.--"Murder will out"
35.--The Wedding
36.--And the Last
CHAPTER I.
In which the Reader is introduced to a Family of peculiar Construction.
It was at the close of an afternoon in May, that a party might have been
seen gathered around a table covered with all those delicacies that, in the
household of a rich Southern planter, are regarded as almost necessaries of
life. In the centre stood a dish of ripe strawberries, their plump red
sides peeping through the covering of white sugar that had been plentifully
sprinkled over them. Geeche limes, almost drowned in their own rich syrup,
temptingly displayed their bronze-coloured forms just above the rim of the
glass that contained them. Opposite, and as if to divert the gaze from
lingering too long over their luscious beauty, was a dish of peaches
preserved in brandy, a never-failing article in a Southern matron's
catalogues of sweets. A silver basket filled with a variety of cakes was in
close proximity to a plate of corn-flappers, which were piled upon it like
a mountain, and from the brown tops of which trickled tiny rivulets of
butter. All these dainties, mingling their various odours with the aroma of
the tea and fine old java that came steaming forth from the richly chased
silver pots, could not fail to produce a very appetising effect.
There was nothing about Mr. Garie, the gentleman who sat at the head of the
table, to attract more than ordinary attention. He had the ease of manner
usual with persons whose education and associations have been of a highly
refined character, and his countenance, on the whole, was pleasing, and
indicative of habitual good temper.
Opposite to him, and presiding at the tea-tray, sat a lady of marked
beauty. The first thing that would have attracted attention on seeing her
were her gloriously dark eyes. They were not entirely black, but of that
seemingly changeful hue so often met with in persons of African extraction,
which deepens and lightens with every varying emotion. Hers wore a subdued
expression that sank into the heart and at once riveted those who saw her.
Her hair, of jetty black, was arranged in braids; and through her
light-brown complexion the faintest tinge of carmine was visible. As she
turned to take her little girl from the arms of the servant, she displayed
a fine profile and perfectly moulded form. No wonder that ten years before,
when she was placed upon the auction-block at Savanah, she had brought so
high a price. Mr. Garie had paid two thousand dollars for her, and was the
envy of all the young bucks in the neighbourhood who had competed with him
at the sale. Captivated by her beauty, he had esteemed himself fortunate in
becoming her purchaser; and as time developed the goodness of her heart,
and her mind enlarged through the instructions he assiduously gave her, he
found the connection that might have been productive of many evils, had
proved a boon to both; for whilst the astonishing progress she made in her
education proved her worthy of the pains he took to instruct her, she
returned threefold the tenderness and affection he lavished upon her.
The little girl in her arms, and the boy at her side, showed no trace
whatever of African origin. The girl had the chestnut hair and blue eyes of
her father; but the boy had inherited the black hair and dark eyes of his
mother. The critically learned in such matters, knowing his parentage,
might have imagined they could detect the evidence of his mother's race, by
the slightly mezzo-tinto expression of his eyes, and the rather African
fulness of his lips; but the casual observer would have passed him by
without dreaming that a drop of negro blood coursed through his veins. His
face was expressive of much intelligence, and he now seemed to listen with
an earnest interest to the conversation that was going on between his
father and a dark-complexioned gentleman who sat beside him.
"And so you say, Winston, that they never suspected you were coloured?"
"I don't think they had the remotest idea of such a thing. At least, if
they did, they must have conquered their prejudices most effectually, for
they treated me with the most distinguished consideration. Old Mr. Priestly
was like a father to me; and as for his daughter Clara and her aunt, they
were politeness embodied. The old gentleman was so much immersed in
business, that he was unable to bestow much attention upon me; so he turned
me over to Miss Clara to be shown the lions. We went to the opera, the
theatre, to museums, concerts, and I can't tell where all. The Sunday
before I left I accompanied her to church, and after service, as we were
coming out, she introduced me to Miss Van Cote and her mamma. Mrs. Van Cote
was kind enough to invite me to her grand ball."
"And did you go?" interrupted Mr. Garie.
"Of course, I did--and what is more, as old Mr. Priestly has given up
balls, he begged me to escort Clara and her aunt."
"Well, Winston, that is too rich," exclaimed Mr. Garie, slapping his hand
on the table, and laughing till he was red in the face; "too good, by Jove!
Oh! I can't keep that. I must write to them, and say I forgot to mention in
my note of introduction that you were a coloured gentleman. The old man
will swear till everything turns blue; and as for Clara, what will become
of her? A Fifth-avenue belle escorted to church and to balls by a coloured
gentleman!" Here Mr. Garie indulged in another burst of laughter so
side-shaking and merry, that the contagion spread even to the little girl
in Mrs. Garie's arms, who almost choked herself with the tea her mother was
giving her, and who had to be hustled and shaken for some time before she
could be brought round again.
"It will be a great triumph for me," said Mr. Garie. "The old man prides
himself on being able to detect evidences of the least drop of African
blood in any one; and makes long speeches about the natural antipathy of
the Anglo-Saxon to anything with a drop of negro blood in its veins. Oh, I
shall write him a glorious letter expressing my pleasure at his great
change of sentiment, and my admiration of the fearless manner in which he
displays his contempt for public opinion. How he will stare! I fancy I see
him now, with his hair almost on end with disgust. It will do him good: it
will convince him, I hope, that a man can be a gentleman even though he has
African blood in his veins. I have had a series of quarrels with him,"
continued Mr. Garie; "I think he had his eye on me for Miss Clara, and that
makes him particularly fierce about my present connection. He rather
presumes on his former great intimacy with my father, and undertakes to
lecture me occasionally when opportunity is afforded. He was greatly
scandalized at my speaking of Emily as my wife; and seemed to think me
cracked because I talked of endeavouring to procure a governess for my
children, or of sending them abroad to be educated. He has a holy horror of
everything approaching to amalgamation; and of all the men I ever met,
cherishes the most unchristian prejudice against coloured people. He says,
the existence of "a gentleman" with African blood in his veins, is a moral
and physical impossibility, and that by no exertion can anything be made of
that description of people. He is connected with a society for the
deportation of free coloured people, and thinks they ought to be all sent
to Africa, unless they are willing to become the property of some good
master."
"Oh, yes; it is quite a hobby of his," here interposed Mr. Winston. "He
makes lengthy speeches on the subject, and has published two of them in
pamphlet form. Have you seen them?"
"Yes, he sent them to me. I tried to get through one of them, but it was
too heavy, I had to give it up. Besides, I had no patience with them; they
abounded in mis-statements respecting the free coloured people. Why even
here in the slave states--in the cities of Savanah and Charleston--they are
much better situated than he describes them to be in New York; and since
they can and do prosper here, where they have such tremendous difficulties
to encounter, I know they cannot be in the condition he paints, in a state
where they are relieved from many of the oppressions they labour under
here. And, on questioning him on the subject, I found he was entirely
unacquainted with coloured people; profoundly ignorant as to the real facts
of their case. He had never been within a coloured church or school; did
not even know that they had a literary society amongst them. Positively, I,
living down here in Georgia, knew more about the character and condition of
the coloured people of the Northern States, than he who lived right in the
midst of them. Would you believe that beyond their laundress and a drunken
negro that they occasionally employed to do odd jobs for them, they were
actually unacquainted with any coloured people: and how unjust was it for
him to form his opinion respecting a class numbering over twenty thousand
in his own state, from the two individuals I have mentioned and the negro
loafers he occasionally saw in the streets."
"It is truly unfortunate," rejoined Mr. Winston, "for he covers his
prejudices with such a pretended regard for the coloured people, that a
person would be the more readily led to believe his statements respecting
them to be correct; and he is really so positive about it, and apparently
go deaf to all argument that I did not discuss the subject with him to any
extent; he was so very kind to me that I did not want to run a tilt against
his favourite opinions."
"You wrote me he gave you letters to Philadelphia; was there one amongst
them to the Mortons?"
"Yes. They were very civil and invited me to a grand dinner they gave to
the Belgian Charge d'Affaires. I also met there one or two scions of the
first families of Virginia. The Belgian minister did not seem to be aware
that slavery is a tabooed subject in polite circles, and he was continually
bringing it forward until slaves, slavery, and black people in general
became the principal topic of conversation, relieved by occasional
discussion upon some new book or pictures, and remarks in praise of the
viands before us. A very amusing thing occurred during dinner. A
bright-faced little coloured boy who was assisting at the table, seemed to
take uncommon interest in the conversation. An animated discussion had
arisen as to the antiquity of the use of salad, one party maintaining that
one of the oldest of the English poets had mentioned it in a poem, and the
other as stoutly denying it. At last a reverend gentleman, whose remarks
respecting the intelligence of the children of Ham had been particularly
disparaging, asserted that nowhere in Chaucer, Spencer, nor any of the old
English poets could anything relating to it be found. At this, the little
waiter became so excited that he could no longer contain himself, and,
despite the frowns and nods of our hostess, exclaimed, 'Yes it can, it's in
Chaucer; here,' he continued, taking out a book from the book-case, 'here
is the very volume,'[*] and turning over the leaves he pointed out the
passage, to the great chagrin of the reverend gentleman, and to the
amusement of the guests. The Belgian minister enjoyed it immensely. 'Ah,'
said he, 'the child of Ham know more than the child of Shem, dis time.'
Whereupon Mrs. Morton rejoined that in this case it was not so wonderful,
owing to the frequent and intimate relations into which ham and salad were
brought, and with this joke the subject was dismissed. I can't say I was
particularly sorry when the company broke up."
[Footnote * See Chaucer, "Flower and the Leaf."]
"Oh, George, never mind the white people," here interposed Mrs. Garie.
"Never mind them; tell us about the coloured folks; they are the ones I
take the most interest in. We were so delighted with your letters, and so
glad that you found Mrs. Ellis. Tell us all about that."
"Oh, 'tis a long story, Em, and can't be told in a minute; it would take
the whole evening to relate it all."
"Look at the children, my dear, they are half asleep," said Mr. Garie.
"Call nurse and see them safe into bed, and when you come back we will have
the whole story."
"Very well;" replied she, rising and calling the nurse. "Now remember,
George, you are not to begin until I return, for I should be quite vexed to
lose a word."
"Oh, go on with the children, my dear, I'll guarantee he shall not say a
word on the subject till you come back."
With this assurance Mrs. Garie left the room, playfully shaking her finger
at them as she went out, exclaiming, "Not a word, remember now, not a
word."
After she left them Mr. Garie remarked, "I have not seen Em as happy as she
is this afternoon for some time. I don't know what has come over her
lately; she scarcely ever smiles now, and yet she used to be the most
cheerful creature in the world. I wish I knew what is the matter with her;
sometimes I am quite distressed about her. She goes about the house looking
so lost and gloomy, and does not seem to take the least interest in
anything. You saw," continued he, "how silent she has been all tea time,
and yet she has been more interested in what you have been saying than in
anything that has transpired for months. Well, I suppose women will be so
sometimes," he concluded, applying himself to the warm cakes that had just
been set upon the table.
"Perhaps she is not well," suggested Mr. Winston, "I think she looks a
little pale."
"Well, possibly you may be right, but I trust it is only a temporary
lowness of spirits or something of that kind. Maybe she will get over it in
a day or two;" and with this remark the conversation dropped, and the
gentlemen proceeded to the demolition of the sweetmeats before them. And
now, my reader, whilst they are finishing their meal, I will relate to you
who Mr. Winston is, and how he came to be so familiarly seated at Mr.
Garie's table.
Mr. Winston had been a slave. Yes! that fine-looking gentleman seated near
Mr. Garie and losing nothing by the comparison that their proximity would
suggest, had been fifteen years before sold on the auction-block in the
neighbouring town of Savanah--had been made to jump, show his teeth, shout
to test his lungs, and had been handled and examined by professed negro
traders and amateur buyers, with less gentleness and commiseration than
every humane man would feel for a horse or an ox. Now do not doubt me--I
mean that very gentleman, whose polished manners and irreproachable
appearance might have led you to suppose him descended from a long line of
illustrious ancestors. Yes--he was the offspring of a mulatto field-hand by
her master. He who was now clothed in fine linen, had once rejoiced in a
tow shirt that scarcely covered his nakedness, and had sustained life on a
peck of corn a week, receiving the while kicks and curses from a tyrannical
overseer.
The death of his master had brought him to the auction-block, from which,
both he and his mother were sold to separate owners. There they took their
last embrace of each other--the mother tearless, but heart-broken--the boy
with all the wildest manifestations of grief.
His purchaser was a cotton broker from New Orleans, a warm-hearted, kind
old man, who took a fancy to the boy's looks, and pitied him for his
unfortunate separation from his mother. After paying for his new purchase,
he drew him aside, and said, in a kind tone, "Come, my little man, stop
crying; my boys never cry. If you behave yourself you shall have fine times
with me. Stop crying now, and come with me; I am going to buy you a new
suit of clothes."
"I don't want new clothes--I want my mammy," exclaimed the child, with a
fresh burst of grief.
"Oh dear me!" said the fussy old gentleman, "why can't you stop--I don't
want to hear you cry. Here," continued he, fumbling in his pocket--"here's
a picayune."
"Will that buy mother back?" said the child brightening up.
"No, no, my little man, not quite--I wish it would. I'd purchase the old
woman; but I can't--I'm not able to spare the money."
"Then I don't want it," cried the boy, throwing the money on the ground.
"If it won't buy mammy, I don't want it. I want my mammy, and nothing
else."
At length, by much kind language, and by the prospect of many fabulous
events to occur hereafter, invented at the moment by the old gentleman, the
boy was coaxed into a more quiescent state, and trudged along in the rear
of Mr. Moyese--that was the name of his purchaser--to be fitted with the
new suit of clothes.
The next morning they started by the stage for Augusta. George, seated on
the box with the driver, found much to amuse him; and the driver's merry
chat and great admiration of George's new and gaily-bedizened suit, went a
great way towards reconciling that young gentleman to his new situation.
In a few days they arrived in New Orleans. There, under the kind care of
Mr. Moyese, he began to exhibit great signs of intelligence. The atmosphere
into which he was now thrown, the kindness of which he was hourly the
recipient, called into vigour abilities that would have been stifled for
ever beneath the blighting influences that surrounded him under his former
master. The old gentleman had him taught to read and write, and his aptness
was such as to highly gratify the kind old soul.
In course of time, the temporary absence of an out-door clerk caused
George's services to be required at the office for a few days, as
errand-boy. Here he made himself so useful as to induce Mr. Moyese to
keep him there permanently. After this he went through all the grades from
errand-boy up to chief-clerk, which post he filled to the full satisfaction
of his employer. His manners and person improved with his circumstances;
and at the time he occupied the chief-clerk's desk, no one would have
suspected him to be a slave, and few who did not know his history would
have dreamed that he had a drop of African blood in his veins. He was
unremitting in his attention to the duties of his station, and gained, by
his assiduity and amiable deportment, the highest regard of his employer.
A week before a certain New-year's-day, Mr. Moyese sat musing over some
presents that had just been sent home, and which he was on the morrow to
distribute amongst his nephews and nieces. "Why, bless me!" he suddenly
exclaimed, turning them over, "why, I've entirely forgotten George! That
will never do; I must get something for him. What shall it be? He has a
fine watch, and I gave him a pin and ring last year. I really don't know
what will be suitable," and he sat for some time rubbing his chin,
apparently in deep deliberation. "Yes, I'll do it!" he exclaimed, starting
up; "I'll do it! He has been a faithful fellow, and deserves it. I'll make
him a present of himself! Now, how strange it is I never thought of that
before--it's just the thing;--how surprised and delighted he will be!" and
the old gentleman laughed a low, gentle, happy laugh, that had in it so
little of selfish pleasure, that had you only heard him you must have loved
him for it.
Having made up his mind to surprise George in this agreeable manner, Mr.
Moyese immediately wrote a note, which he despatched to his lawyers,
Messrs. Ketchum and Lee, desiring them to make out a set of free papers for
his boy George, and to have them ready for delivery on the morrow, as it
was his custom to give his presents two or three days in advance of the
coming year.
The note found Mr. Ketchum deep in a disputed will case, upon the decision
of which depended the freedom of some half-dozen slaves, who had been
emancipated by the will of their late master; by which piece of posthumous
benevolence his heirs had been greatly irritated, and were in consequence
endeavouring to prove him insane.
"Look at that, Lee," said he, tossing the note to his partner; "if that old
Moyese isn't the most curious specimen of humanity in all New Orleans! He
is going to give away clear fifteen hundred dollars as a New-year's gift!"
"To whom?" asked Mr. Lee.
"He has sent me orders," replied Mr. Ketchum, "to make out a set of free
papers for his boy George."
"Well, I can't say that I see so much in that," said Lee; "how can he
expect to keep him? George is almost as white as you or I, and has the
manners and appearance of a gentleman. He might walk off any day without
the least fear of detection."
"Very true," rejoined Ketchum, "but I don't think he would do it. He is
very much attached to the old gentleman, and no doubt would remain with him
as long as the old man lives. But I rather think the heirs would have to
whistle for him after Moyese was put under ground. However," concluded Mr.
Ketchum, "they won't have much opportunity to dispute the matter, as he
will be a free man, no doubt, before he is forty-eight hours older."
A day or two after this, Mr. Moyese entertained all his nephews and nieces
at dinner, and each was gratified with some appropriate gift. The old man
sat happily regarding the group that crowded round him, their faces beaming
with delight. The claim for the seat of honour on Uncle Moyese's knee was
clamorously disputed, and the old gentleman was endeavouring to settle it
to the satisfaction of all parties, when a servant entered, and delivered a
portentous-looking document, tied with red tape. "Oh, the papers--now, my
dears, let uncle go. Gustave, let go your hold of my leg, or I can't get
up. Amy, ring the bell, dear." This operation Mr. Moyese was obliged to
lift her into the chair to effect, where she remained tugging at the
bell-rope until she was lifted out again by the servant, who came running
in great haste to answer a summons of such unusual vigour.
"Tell George I want him," said Mr. Moyese.
"He's gone down to the office; I hearn him say suffin bout de nordern mail
as he went out--but I duno what it was"--and as he finished he vanished
from the apartment, and might soon after have been seen with his mouth in
close contact with the drumstick of a turkey.
Mr. Moyese being now released from the children, took his way to the
office, with the portentous red-tape document that was to so greatly change
the condition of George Winston in his coat pocket. The old man sat down at
his desk, smiling, as he balanced the papers in his hand, at the thought of
the happiness he was about to confer on his favourite. He was thus engaged
when the door opened, and George entered, bearing some newly-arrived orders
from European correspondents, in reference to which he sought Mr. Moyese's
instructions.
"I think, sir," said he, modestly, "that we had better reply at once to
Ditson, and send him the advance he requires, as he will not otherwise be
able to fill these;" and as he concluded he laid the papers on the table,
and stood waiting orders respecting them.
Mr. Moyese laid down the packet, and after looking over the papers George
had brought in, replied: "I think we had. Write to him to draw upon us for
the amount he requires.--And, George," he continued, looking at him
benevolently, "what would you like for a New-year's present?"
"Anything you please, sir," was the respectful reply.
"Well, George," resumed Mr. Moyese, "I have made up my mind to make you a
present of----" here he paused and looked steadily at him for a few
seconds; and then gravely handing him the papers, concluded, "of yourself,
George! Now mind and don't throw my present away, my boy." George stood
for some moments looking in a bewildered manner, first at his master, then
at the papers. At last the reality of his good fortune broke fully upon
him, and he sank into a chair, and unable to say more than: "God bless you,
Mr. Moyese!" burst into tears.
"Now you are a pretty fellow," said the old man, sobbing himself, "it's
nothing to cry about--get home as fast as you can, you stupid cry-baby, and
mind you are here early in the morning, sir, for I intend to pay you five
hundred dollars a-year, and I mean you to earn it," and thus speaking he
bustled out of the room, followed by George's repeated "God bless you!"
That "God bless you" played about his ears at night, and soothed him to
sleep; in dreams he saw it written in diamond letters on a golden crown,
held towards him by a hand outstretched from the azure above. He fancied
the birds sang it to him in his morning walk, and that he heard it in the
ripple of the little stream that flowed at the foot of his garden. So he
could afford to smile when his relatives talked about his mistaken
generosity, and could take refuge in that fervent "God bless you!"
Six years after this event Mr. Moyese died, leaving George a sufficient
legacy to enable him to commence business on his own account. As soon as he
had arranged his affairs, he started for his old home, to endeavour to gain
by personal exertions what he had been unable to learn through the agency
of others--a knowledge of the fate of his mother. He ascertained that she
had been sold and re-sold, and had finally died in New Orleans, not more
than three miles from where he had been living. He had not even the
melancholy satisfaction of finding her grave. During his search for his
mother he had become acquainted with Emily, the wife of Mr. Garie, and
discovered that she was his cousin; and to this was owing the familiar
footing on which we find him in the household where we first introduced him
to our readers.
Mr. Winston had just returned from a tour through the Northern States,
where he had been in search of a place in which to establish himself in
business.
The introductions with which Mr. Garie had kindly favoured him, had enabled
him to see enough of Northern society to convince him, that, amongst the
whites, he could not form either social or business connections, should his
identity with, the African race be discovered; and whilst, on the other
hand, he would have found sufficiently refined associations amongst the
people of colour to satisfy his social wants, he felt that he could not
bear the isolation and contumely to which they were subjected. He,
therefore, decided on leaving the United States, and on going to some
country where, if he must struggle for success in life, he might do it
without the additional embarrassments that would be thrown in his way in
his native land, solely because he belonged to an oppressed race.