I did not venture to ask the doctor what he thought of Aunt Polly, for

that would have been called impudent familiarity, punishable with

whipping at the "post;" but when I met young master in the entry, I

learned from him that the case was one of hopeless insanity.

Blood-letting, &c., had been resorted to, but with no effect. The doctor

gave it as his opinion that the case was "without remedy." Not knowing

that young master differed from his father and sisters, the doctor had,

in his jocose and unfeeling way, suggested that it was not much

difference; the old thing was of but little value; she was old and

worn-out. To all this young master made no other reply than a fixed look

from his meek eyes--a look which the doctor could not understand; for

the idea of sympathy with or pity for a slave would have struck him as

being a thing existing only in the bosom of a fanatical abolitionist,

whose conviction would not permit him to cross the line of Mason and

Dixon. Ah! little knew he (the coarse doctor) what a large heart full of

human charities had grown within; nay, was indigenous to this

south-western latitude. I believe, yes have reason to know, that the

pure sentiment of abolition is one that is near and dear to the heart of

many a Kentuckian; even those who are themselves the hereditary holders

of slaves are, in many instances, the most opposed to the system. This

sentiment is, perhaps, more largely developed in, and more openly

expressed by, the females of the State; and this is accounted for from

the fact that to be suspected of abolition tendencies is at once the

plague-mark whereby a man is ever after considered unfit for public

trust or political honor. It is the great question, the strong

conservative element of society. To some extent it likewise taboos, in

social circles, the woman who openly expresses such sentiments; though

as she has no popular interests to stake, in many cases her voice will

be on the side of right, not might.

In later years I remember to have overheard a colloquy between a lady

and gentleman (both slaveholders) in Kentucky. The gentleman had vast

possessions, about one-third of which consisted of slaves. The lady's

entire wealth was in six negroes, some of them under the age of ten.

They were hired out at the highest market prices, and by the proceeds

she was supported. She had been raised in a strongly conservative

community; nay, her own family were (to use a Kentuckyism) the "pick

and choose" of the pro-slavery party. Some of them had been considered

the able vindicators of the "system;" yet she, despite the force of

education and the influence of domestic training, had broken away from

old trammels and leash-strings, and was, both in thought and expression,

a bold, ingrain abolitionist. She defied the lions in their chosen dens.

On the occasion of this conversation, I heard her say that she could not

remain happy whilst she detained in bondage those creatures who could

claim, under the Constitution, alike with her, their freedom; and so

soon as she attained her majority, she intended to liberate them. "But,"

said she--and I shall never forget the mournful look of her dark

eye--"the statute of the State will not allow them to remain here ten

days after liberation; and one of these men has a wife (to whom he is

much attached), who is a slave to a master that will neither free her

nor sell her. Now, this poor captive husband would rather remain in

slavery to me, than be parted from his wife; and here is the point upon

which I always stand. I wish to be humane and just to him; and yet rid

myself from the horrid crime to which, from the accident of inheritance,

I have become accessory." The gentleman, who seemed touched by the

heroism of the girl, was beguiled into a candid acknowledgment of his

own sentiments; and freely declared to her that, if it were not for his

political aspirations, he would openly free every slave he owned, and

relieve his conscience from the weight of the "perilous stuff" that so

oppressed it. "But," said he, "were I to do it in Kentucky, I should be

politically dead. It would, besides, strike a blow at my legal practice,

and then what could I do? 'Othello's occupation would be gone.' Of what

avail, then, would be my 'quiddits, quillets; my cases, tenures and my

tricks?' I, who am high in political favor, should live to read my

shame. I, who now 'tower in my pride of place, should, by some mousing

owl, be hawked at and killed.' No, I must burden my conscience yet a

little longer."

The lady, with all a young girl's naïve and beautiful enthusiasm,

besought him to disregard popular praise and worldly distinction. "Seek

first," said she, "the kingdom of heaven, and all things else shall be

given you;" but the gentleman had grown hard in this world's devious

wiles. He preferred throwing off his allegiance to Providence, and,

single-handed and alone, making his fate. Talk to me of your thrifty

men, your popular characters, and I instantly know that you mean a

cringing, parasitical server of the populace; one who sinks soul, spirit

and manly independence for the mere garments that cover his perishable

body, and to whom the empty plaudits of the unthinking crowd are better

music than the thankful prayer of suffering humanity. Let such an one, I

say, have his full measure of the "clapping of hands," let him hear it

all the while; for he cannot see the frown that darkens the brow of the

guardian angel, who, with a sigh, records his guilt. Go on, thou worldly

Pharisee, but the day _will come_, when the lowly shall be exalted.

Trust and wait we longer. Oh, ye who "know the right, and yet the wrong

pursue," a fearful reckoning will be yours.

But young master was not of this sort; I felt that his lips were closed

from other and higher motives. If it had been of any avail, no matter

what the cost to himself, he would have spoken. His soul knew but one

sentiment, and that was "love to God and good will to men on earth." And

now, as he entered the room where the doctor and the ladies were seated,

and listened to their heartless conversation, he planted himself firmly

in their midst, saying:

"Sisters, the time has come when I _must_ speak. Patiently have I lived

beneath this my father's roof, and witnessed, without uttering one word,

scenes at which my whole soul revolted; I have heard that which has

driven me from your side. On my bare knees, in the gloom of the forest,

I have besought God to soften your hearts. I have asked that the dew of

mercy might descend upon the hoary head of my father, and that womanly

gentleness might visit your obdurate hearts. I have felt that I could

give my life up a sacrifice to obtain this; but my unworthy prayers have

not yet been answered. In vain, in vain, I have hoped to see a change

in you. Are you women or fiends? How can you persecute, to the death,

poor, ignorant creatures, whose only fault is a black skin? How can you

inhumanly beat those who have no protectors but you? Reverse the case,

and take upon yourselves their condition; how would you act? Could you

bear silently the constant "wear and tear" of body, the perpetual

imprisonment of the soul? Could you surrender yourselves entirely to the

keeping of another, and that other your primal foe--one who for ages has

had his arm uplifted against your race? Suppose you every day witnessed

a board groaning with luxuries (the result of your labor) devoured by

your persecutors, whilst you barely got the crumbs; your owners dressed

in purple and fine linen, whilst you wore the coarsest material, though

all their luxury was the product of your exertion; what think you would

be right for you to do? Or suppose I, whilst lingering at the little

spring, should be stolen off, gagged and taken to Algiers, kept there in

servitude, compelled to the most drudging labor; poorly clad and

scantily fed whilst my master lived like a prince; kept in constant

terror of the lash; punished severely for every venial offence, and my

poor heart more lacerated than my body;--what would you think of me, if

a man were to tell me that, with his assistance, I could make my escape

to a land of liberty, where my rights would be recognized, and my person

safe from violence; I say what would you think, if I were to decline,

and to say I preferred to remain with the Algerines?" He paused, but

none replied. With eyes wonderingly fixed upon him, the group remained

silent.

"You are silent all," he continued, "for conviction, like a swift arrow,

has struck your souls. Oh, God!" and he raised his eyes upward, "out of

the mouths of babes and sucklings let wisdom, holiness and truth

proceed. Touch their flinty hearts, and let the spark of grace be

emitted! Oh, sisters, know ye not that this Algerine captivity that I

have painted, is but a poor picture of the daily martyrdom which our

slaves endure? Look on that old woman, who, by a brutal blow from our

father, has been deprived of her reason. Look at that little haggard

orphan, Amy, who is the kicked football of you all. Look at the poor men

whom we have brutalized and degraded. Think of Lindy, driven by frenzy

to brave the passage to an unknown country rather than longer endure

what we have put upon her. Gaze, till your eyes are bleared, upon that

whipping-post, which rises upon our plantation; it is wet, even now,

with the blood that has gushed from innocent flesh. Look at the ill-fed,

ill-clothed creatures that live among us; and think they have immortal

souls, which we have tried to put out. Oh, ponder well upon these

things, and let this poor, wretched girl, who has sallied forth, let her

go, I say, to whatever land she wishes, and strive to forget the horrors

that haunted her here."

Again he paused, but none of them durst reply. Inspired by their

silence, he went on:

"And from you, Miss Bradly, I had expected better things. You were

reared in a State where the brutality of the slave system is not

tolerated. Your early education, your home influences, were all against

it. Why and how can your womanly heart turn away from its true

instincts? Is it for you, a Northerner and a woman, to put up your voice

in defence of slavery? Oh, shame! triple-dyed shame, should stain your

cheeks! Well may my sisters argue for slavery, when you, their teacher,

aid and abet them. Could you not have instilled better things into their

minds? I know full well that your heart and mind are against slavery;

but for the ease of living in our midst, enjoying our bounty, and

receiving our money, you will silence your soul and forfeit your

principles. Yea, for a salary, you will pander to this horrid crime.

Judas, for thirty pieces of silver, sold the Redeemer of the world; but

what remorse followed the dastard act! You will yet live to curse the

hour of your infamy. You might have done good. Upon the waxen minds of

these girls you might have written noble things, but you would not."

I watched Miss Bradly closely whilst he was speaking. She turned white

as a sheet. Her countenance bespoke the convicted woman. Not an eye

rested upon her but read the truth. Starting up at length from her

chair, Miss Jane shouted out, in a theatrical way,

"Treason! treason in our own household, and from one of our own number!

And so, Mr. John, you are the abolitionist that has sown dissension and

discontent among our domestics. We have thought you simple; but I

discover, sir, you are more knave than fool. Father shall know of this,

and take steps to arrest this treason."

"As you please, sister Jane; you can make what report you please, only

speak the truth."

At this she flew toward him, and, catching him by the collar, slapped

his cheeks severely.

"Right well done," said a clear, manly voice; and, looking up, I saw Mr.

Worth standing in the open door. "I have been knocking," said he, "for

full five minutes; but I am not surprised that you did not hear me, for

the strong speech to which I have listened had force enough to overpower

the sound of a thunder-storm."

Miss Jane recoiled a few steps, and the deepest crimson dyed her cheeks.

She made great pretensions to refinement, and could not bear, now, that

a gentleman (even though an abolitionist) should see her striking her

brother. Miss Tildy assumed the look of injured innocence, and smilingly

invited Mr. Worth to take a seat.

"Do not be annoyed by what you have seen. Jane is not passionate; but

the boy was rude to her, and deserved a reproof."

Without making a reply, but, with his eye fixed on young master, Mr.

Worth took the offered seat. Miss Bradly, with her face buried in her

hands, moved not; and the doctor sat playing with his half-filled glass

of wine; but young master remained standing, his eye flashing strangely,

and a bright crimson spot glowing on either cheek. He seemed to take no

note of the entrance of Mr. Worth, or in fact any of the group. There he

stood, with his golden locks falling over his white brow; and calm

serenity resting like a sunbeam on his face. Very majestic and imposing

was that youthful presence. High determination and everlasting truth

were written upon his face. With one look and a murmured "Father forgive

them, for they know not what they do," he turned away.

"Stop, stop, my brave boy," cried Mr. Worth, "stop, and let me look upon

you. Had the South but one voice, and that one yours, this country would

soon be clear of its great dishonor."

To this young master made no spoken reply; but the clear smile that lit

his countenance expressed his thanks; and seeing that Mr. Worth was

resolved to detain him, he said,

"Let me go, good sir, for now I feel that I need the woods," and soon

his figure was gliding along his well-beloved path, in the direction of

the spring. Who shall say that solitary communing with Nature unfits the

soul for active life? True, indeed, it does unfit it for baseness,

sordid dealings, and low detraction, by lifting it from its low

condition, and sending it out in a broad excursiveness.

Here, in the case of young master, was a sweet and glowing flower that

had blossomed in the wilds, and been nursed by nature only. The country

air had fanned into bloom the bud of virtue and the beauty of highest

truth.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE RETURN OF THE HUNTERS FLUSHED WITH SUCCESS--MR. PETERKIN'S VAGARY.

As young Master strode away, Misses Jane and Tildy regarded each other

in silent wonder. At length the latter, who caught the cue from her

sister, burst forth in a violent laugh, that I can define only by

calling it a romping laugh, so full of forced mirth. Miss Jane took up

the echo, and the house resounded with their assumed merriment. No one

else, however, seemed to take the infection; and they had the fun all to

themselves.

"Well, Ann," said Miss Tildy, putting on a quizzical air, "I suppose you

have been very much edified by your young master's explosion of

philanthropy and good-will toward you darkies."

Too well I knew my position to make an answer; so there I stood, silent

and submissive.

"Oh, yes, I suppose this young renegade has delivered abolition lectures

in the kitchen hall, to his 'dearly belubed' brederen ob de colored

race," added Miss Matilda, intending to be vastly witty.

"I think we had better send him on to an Anti-slavery convention, and

give him a seat 'twixt Lucy Stone and Fred Douglas. Wouldn't his white

complexion contrast well with that of the sable orator?" and this Miss

Jane designed should be exceedingly pungent.

Still no one answered. Mr. Worth's face wore a troubled expression; the

doctor still played with his wine-glass; and Miss Bradly's face was

buried deeper in her hands.

"Suppose father had been here; what do you think he would have said?"

asked Miss Jane.

This, no doubt, recalled Dr. Mandy to the fact that Mr. Peterkin's

patronage was well worth retaining, so he must speak _now_.

"Oh, your father, Miss Jane, is such a sensible man, that he would

consider it only the freak of an imprudent beardless boy."

"Is, then," I asked myself, "all expressed humanity but idle gibberish?

Is it only beardless boys who can feel for suffering slaves? Is all

noble philanthropy voted vapid by sober, serious, reflecting manhood? If

so, farewell hope, and welcome despair!" I looked at Mr. Worth; but his

face was rigid, and a snowy pallor overspread his gentle features. He

was young, and this was his first visit to Kentucky. In his home at the

North he had heard many stories of the manner in which slavery was

conducted in the West and South; but the stories, softened by distance,

had reached him in a mild form, consequently he was unprepared for what

he had witnessed since his arrival in Kentucky. He had, though desiring

liberty alike for all, both white and black, looked upon the system as

an unjust and oppressive one, but he had no thought that it existed in

the atrocious and cruel form which fact, not report, had now revealed to

him. His whole soul shuddered and shrivelled at what he saw. He

marvelled how the skies could be so blue and beautiful; how the flowers

could spring so lavishly, and the rivers roll so majestically, and the

stars burn so brightly over a land dyed with such horrible crimes.

"Father will not deal very leniently with this boy's follies; he will

teach Johnny that there's more virtue in honoring a father, than in

equalizing himself with negroes." Here Miss Jane tossed her head

defiantly.

Just then a loud noise was heard from the avenue, and, looking out the

window, we descried the hunters returning crowned with exultation, for,

alas! poor Lindy had been found, and there, handcuffed, she marched

between a guard of Jake on the one side, and Dan on the other. There

were marks of blood on her brow, and her dress was here and there

stained. Cool as was the day, great drops of perspiration rolled off her

face. With her head bowed low on her breast, she walked on amid the

ribald jests of her persecutors.

"Well, we has cotch dis 'ere runaway gal, and de way we did chase her

down is nuffen to nobody," said old Nace, who had led the troop. "I

tells you it jist takes dis here nigger and his hounds to tree the

runaway. I reckons, Miss Lindy, you'll not be fur trying ob it agin."

"No, dat hab fixed her," replied the obsequious Jake. Dan laughed

heartily, showing his stout teeth.

"Now, Masser," said Nace, as taking off his remnant of a hat he scraped

his foot back, and grinned terribly, "dis ar' nigger, if you pleases,

sar, would like to hab a leetle drap ob de critter dat you promise to

him."

"Oh, yes, you black rascal, you wants some ob my fust-rate whiskey, does

you? Wal, I 'spects, as you treed dat ar' d----d nigger-wench, you

desarves a drap or so."

"Why, yes, Masser, you see as how I did do my best for to ketch her, and

I is right much tired wid de run. You sees dese old legs is gettin'

right stiff; dese jints ain't limber like Jake and Dan's dar, yet I

tink, Masser, I did de bestest, an' I ought to hab a leetle drap de

most, please, sar."

"Come, 'long, come 'long, boys, arter we stores dis gal away I'll gib

you yer dram."

There had stood poor Lindy, never once looking up, crestfallen, broken

in heart, and bruised in body, awaiting a painful punishment, scarce

hoping to escape with life and limb. Striking her a blow with his huge

riding-whip, Mr. Peterkin shouted, "off with you to the lock-up!"

Now, that which was technically termed the "lock-up," was an old, strong

building, which had once been used as a smoke-house, but since the

erection of a new one, was employed for the very noble purpose of

confining negroes. It was a dark, damp place, without a window, and but

one low door, through which to enter. In this wretched place, bound and

manacled, the poor fugitive was thrust.

"There, you may run off if you ken," said Mr. Peterkin, as he drew the

rough door to, and fastened on the padlock with the dignified air of a

regularly-installed jailer. "Now, boys, come 'long and git the liquor."

This pleasing announcement seemed to give an additional impetus to the

spirits of the servants, and, with many a "ha, ha, ha," they followed

their master.

"Well, father," said Miss Jane, whilst she stood beside Mr. Peterkin,

who was accurately measuring out a certain quantity of whiskey to the

three smiling slaves, who stood holding their tin cups to receive it, "I

am glad you succeeded in arresting that audacious runaway. Where did you

find her? Who was with her? How did she behave? Oh, tell me all about

the adventure; it really does seem funny that such a thing should have

occurred in our family; and now that the wretch has been caught, I can

afford to laugh at it."

"Wal," answered Mr. Peterkin, as he replaced the cork in the brown jug,

and proceeded to lock it up in his private closet, "you does ax the most

questions in one breath of any gal I ever seed in all my life. Why, I

haint bin in the house five minutes, and you has put more questions to

me than a Philadelphy lawyer could answer. 'Pon my soul, Jane, you is a

fast 'un."

"Never mind my fastness, father, but tell me what I asked."

"Wal, whar is I to begin? You axed whar Lindy was found? These dogs

hunted her to Mr. Farland's barn. Thar they 'gan to smell and snort

round and cut up all sorts of capers, and old Nace clumb up to the hay

loft, and sung out, in a loud voice, 'Here she am, here she am.' Then I

hearn a mighty scrambling and shufflin' up dar, so I jist springed up

arter Nace, and thar was the gal, actually fightin' with Nace, who

wanted to fetch her right down to the ground whar we was a waitin'. I

tells you, now, one right good lick from my powder-horn fetched her all

right. She soon seen it was no kind of use to be opposin' of us, and so

she jist sot down right willin'. I then fetched several good licks, and

she knowed how to do, kase, when I seed I had drawed the blood, I didn't

kere to beat her any more. So I ordered her to git down outen that ar'

loft quicker than she got up. Then we bound her hands, and driv her long

through the woods like a bull. I tells you she was mighty-much 'umbled

and shamed; every now and thin she'd blubber out a cryin', but my whup

soon shot up her howlin'."

"I've a great notion to go," said Jane, "and torment her a little more,

the impudent hussy! I wonder if she thinks we will ever take her back to

live with us. She has lost a good home, for she shall not come here any

more. I want you to sell her, father, and at the highest price, to a

regular trader."

"That will I do, and there is a trader in this very neighborhood now.

I'll ride over this arternoon and make 'rangements with him fur her

sale. But come, Jane, I is powerful hungry; can't you git me something

to eat?"

"But, father, I have a word to say with you in private, draw near me."

"What ails you now, gals?" he said, as Miss Tildy joined them, with a

perplexed expression of countenance. As he drew close to them I heard

Miss Jane say, through her clenched teeth, in a hissing tone:

"Old Polly is insane; lost her reason from that blow which you gave her.

Do you think they could indict you?"

"Who, in the name of h--l, can say that I struck her? Who saw it? No,

I'd like fur to see the white man that would dar present Jeems Peterkin

afore the Grand Jury, and a nigger darn't think of sich a thing, kase as

how thar testimony ain't no count."

"Then we are safe," both of the ladies simultaneously cried.

"But whar is that d----d old hussy? She ain't crazy, only 'possuming so

as to shuffle outen the work. Let me git to her once, and I'll be bound

she will step as smart as ever. One shake of the old cowhide will make

her jump and talk as sensible as iver she did."

"'Tisn't worth while, father, going near her. I tell you, Doctor Mandy

says she is a confirmed lunatic."

"I tells yer I knows her constitution better 'an any of yer, doctors,

and all; and this here cowhide is allers the best medicine fur niggers;

they ain't like the white folks, no how nor ways."

So saying he, followed by his daughters, went to the cabin where poor

Aunt Polly was sitting, in all the touching simplicity of second

childhood, playing with some bits of ribbon, bright-colored calico, and

flashy artificial flowers. Looking up with a vacant stare at the group

she spoke not, but, slowly shaking her head in an imbecile way,

murmured:

"These are putty, but yer mustn't take 'em frum me; dese am all dat dis

ole nigger hab got, dese here am fadder, mudder, hustbund, an chile. Lit

me keep 'em."

"You old fool, what's you 'bout, gwine on at this here rate? Don't you

know I is yer master, and will beat the very life outen yer, if yer

don't git up right at once?"

"Now who is yer? Sure now, an' dis old nigger doesn't know yer. Yer is a

great big man, dat looks so cross and bad at me. I wish yer would go on

'bout yer own bisness, and be a lettin' me 'lone. I ain't a troublin' of

yer, no way."

"You ain't, arnt yer, you old fool? but I'll give yer a drap of medicine

that'll take the craze outen yer, and make yer know who yer master is.

How does you like that, and this, and this?" and, suiting the action to

the word, he dealt her blow after blow, in the most ferocious manner.

Her shoulders were covered with blood that gushed from the torn flesh. A

low howl (it could only be called a howl) burst from her throat, and

flinging up her withered hands, she cried, "Oh, good Lord Jesus, come

and help thy poor old servant, now in dis her sore time ob trouble."

"The Lord Jesus won't hear sich old nigger wretches as you," said Mr.

Peterkin.

"Oh, yes, de Lord Jesus will. He 'peared to me but a leetle bit ago,

and he was all dressed in white, wid a gold crown upon His head, and His

face war far and putty like young Masser's, only it seemed to be heap

brighter, and he smiled at dis poor old sufferin' nigger; and den

'peared like a low, little voice 'way down to de bottom ob my heart say,

Polly, be ob good cheer, de Lord Jesus is comin' to take you home. He no

care weder yer skin is white or black. He is gwine fur to make yer happy

in de next world. Oh, den me feel so good, me no more care for

anything."

"All of this is a crazy fancy," said Dr. Mandy, who stepped into the

cabin; but taking hold of Polly's wrist, and holding his fingers over

her pulse, his countenance changed. "She has excessive fever, and a

strong flow of blood to the brain. She cannot live long. Put her

instantly to bed, and let me apply leeches."

"Do yer charge extry for leeching, doctor?" asked Mr. Peterkin.

"Oh, yes, sir, but it is not much consideration, as you are one of my

best customers."

"I don't want to run any useless expense 'bout the old 'oman. You see

she has served my family a good many years."

"And you are for that reason much attached to her," interposed the

doctor.

"Not a bit of it, sir. I never was 'tached to a nigger. Even when I was

a lad I had no fancy fur 'em, not even yer bright yallow wenches; and I

ain't gwine fur to spend money on that old nigger, unless you cure her,

and make her able to work and pay fur the money that's bin laid out fur

her."

"I can't promise to do that; neither am I certain that the leeches will

do her any material good, but they will assuredly serve to mitigate her

sufferings, by decreasing the fever, which now rages so high."

"I don' care a cuss for that. Taint no use then of trying the leeches.

If she be gwine to die, why let her do it in the cheapest way."

Saying this, he went off with the young ladies, the doctor following in

the wake. As he was passing through the door-way, I caught him by the

skirts of his coat. Turning suddenly round, he saw who it was, and drew

within the cabin.

"Doctor," and I spoke with great timidity, "is she so ill? Will she,

must she die? Please try the leeches. Here," and I drew from an old

hiding-place in the wall the blessed half-dollar which Master Eddy had

given me as a keepsake. For years it had lain silently there, treasured

more fondly than Egyptian amulet or Orient gem. On some rare holiday I

had drawn it from its concealment to gloat over it with all a miser's

pride. I did not value it for the simple worth of the coin, for I had

sense enough to know that its actual value was but slight; yet what a

wealth of memories it called up! It brought _back_ the times when _I had

a mother_; when, as a happy, careless child (though a slave), I wandered

through the wild greenwood; where I ranged free as a bird, ere the

burden of a blow had been laid upon my shoulders; and when my young

master and mistress sometimes bestowed kind words upon me. The fair

locks and mild eyes of the latter gleamed upon me with dream-like

beauty. The kind, tearful face of Master Eddy, his gentle words on that

last most dreadful day that bounded and closed the last chapter of happy

childhood--all these things were recalled by the sight of this simple

little half-dollar! And now I was going to part with it. What a struggle

it was! I couldn't do it. No, I couldn't do it. It was the one _silver_

link between me and remembered joy. To part with it would be to wipe out

the _bright_ days of my life. It would be sacrilege, in justice, a

wrong; no, I replaced it in the old faded rag (in which it had been

wrapped for years), and closed my hand convulsively over it. There stood

the doctor! He had caught sight of the gleaming coin, and (small as it

was) his cupidity was excited, and when he saw my hand closed over the

shining treasure, the smile fled from his face, and he said:

"Girl, for what purpose did you detain me? My time is precious. I have

other patients to visit this morning, and cannot be kept here longer!"

"Oh, doctor, try the leeches."

"Your Master says he won't pay for them."

"But for the sake of charity, for the value of human life, you will do

it without pay."

"Will I, though? Trust me for that--and who will feed my wife and

children in the meantime. I can't be doctoring every old sick nigger

gratuitously. Her old fagged-out frame ain't worth the waste of my

leeches. I thought you were going to pay for it; but you see a nigger is

a nigger the world over. They are too stingy to do anything for one of

their own tribe."

"But this money is a keepsake, a parting-gift from my young Master, who

gave it to me years ago, when I was sold. I prize it because of the

recollections which it calls up."

"A sentimental nigger! Well, _that is_ something new; but if you cared

for that old woman's life you wouldn't hesitate," and, so saying, he

walked away. I looked upon poor Aunt Polly, and I fancied there was a

rebuking light in her feeble eye; and her withered hands seemed

stretched out to ask the help which I cruelly withheld.

And shall I desert her who has suffered so deeply for me? Well may she

reproach me with that "piteous action"--me, who for a romantic and

fanciful feeling withhold the means of saving her life. Oh, how I blamed

myself! How wicked and selfish I thought my heart.

"Doctor! come back, doctor! here is the money," I cried.

He had stood but a few steps without the cabin door, doubtless expecting

this change in my sentiments.

"You have done well, Ann, to deny yourself, and make some effort to save

the life of the old woman. You see I would have done it for nothing; but

the leeches cost me money. It is inconvenient to get them, and I have a

family, a very helpless one, to support, and you know it won't do to

neglect them, lest I be worse than a heathen and infidel. In your case,

my good girl, the case is quite different, for _niggers_ are taken care

of and supported by their Masters, and any little change that you may

have is an extra, for which you have no particular need."

An "extra" indeed it was, and a very rare one. One that had come but

once in my life, and, God be praised, it afforded me an opportunity of

doing the good Samaritan's work! I had seen how the Levite and the

priest had neglected the wounded woman, and with this little coin I

could do a noble deed; but as to my being well-cared and provided for, I

thought the doctor had shot wide of his mark. I was surprised at the

tone of easy familiarity which he assumed toward me; but this was

explained by the fact that he was what is commonly called a jolly

fellow, and had been pretty freely indulging in the "joyful glass."

Besides, I was going to pay him; then, maybe, he felt a little ashamed

of his avarice, and sought by familiar tone and manner to beguile me,

and satisfy his conscience.

His "medical bags" had been left in the entry, for Miss Jane, who

delighted in the Lubin-perfumed extracts, would tolerate nothing less

sweet-scented, and by her prohibitory fiat, the "bags" were denied

admittance to the house. Once, when the doctor was suddenly called to

see a white member of the family, he, either through forgetfulness or

obstinacy, violated the order, and Miss Jane had every carpet taken up

and shaken, and the floor scoured, for the odor seemed to haunt her for

weeks. Since then he had rigidly adhered to the rule; I suspect, with

many secret maledictions upon the acuteness of her olfactories.

Now he requested me to bring the bags to him, I found them, as I had

expected, sitting in the very spot where he usually placed them.

"There they are, doctor, now be quick. Cure her, help her, do anything,

but let her not die whilst this money can purchase her life, or afford

her ease."

He took the coin from my hand, surveyed it for a moment, a thing that I

considered very cruel, for, all the while, the victim was suffering

uncared for, unattended to.

"It is but a small piece, doctor, but it is my all; if I had more, you

should have it, but now please be quick in the application of your

remedy."

"This money will pay but for a few leeches, not enough to do the

contusion much good. You see there is a great deal of diseased blood

collected at the left temple; but I'll be charitable and throw in a few

leeches, for which you can pay me at some other time, when you happen to

have money."

"Certainly, doctor, I will give you _all_ that you demand as fast as I

get it."

After a little scarification he applied the leeches, twelve in number,

little, sleek, sharp, needle-pointed, oily-looking things. Quickly, as

if starved, the tiny vampires commenced their work of blood-sucking.

"She bore to be scarified better than any subject I ever saw. Not a

writhe or wince," remarked the doctor.

Ah, thought I, she has endured too much pain to tremble at a needle

prick like that. She, whose body had bled at every pore, whose skin had

been torn and mangled until it bore a thousand scars, could surely bear,

without writhing, a pain so delicate as that. Though I thought thus, I

said not a word; for (to me) the worst part of our slavery is that we

are not allowed to speak our opinion on any subject. We are to be mutes,

save when it suits our owners to let us answer in words obsequious

enough to please their greedy love of authority.

Silently I stood watching the leeches. From the loss of blood, Aunt

Polly seemed somewhat exhausted, and was soon soundly, sweetly sleeping.

"Let her sleep," said the doctor, as he removed the leeches and replaced

them in a little stone vase, "when she wakes she will probably be

better, and you will then owe me one dollar and a half, as the bill is

two dollars. It would have been more, but I allow part to go for

charity." So saying he left the cabin and returned to the house. Oh,

most noble Christian "charity"! Is this the blessed quality that is

destined to "cover a multitude of sins"? He would not even leech a

half-dying woman without a pecuniary reward. Oh, far advanced whites,

fast growing in grace and ripening in holiness!

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE ESSAY OF WIT--YOUNG ABOLITIONIST--HIS INFLUENCE--A NIGHT AT THE DOOR

OF THE "LOCK-UP."

After wiping the fresh blood-stains (produced by the severe beating of

Mr. Peterkin) from Aunt Polly's shoulders, and binding up her brow to

conceal the wounds made by the leeching process, I tenderly spread the

old coverlet over her form, and then turned away from her to go about my

usual avocations.

The doctor was just making his adieux, and the ladies had gathered round

him in quite a social and sportive way. Misses Jane and Tildy were

playfully disputing which one should take possession of his heart and

hand, in the event of Mrs. Mandy's sudden demise. All this merriment and

light-heartedness was exhibited, when but a few rods from them a poor,

old, faithful creature lay in the agonies of a torturing death, and a

young girl, who had striven for her liberty, and tried to achieve it at

a perilous risk, had just been bound, hand and foot, and cast into outer

darkness! Oh, this was a strange meeting of the extremes. What varied

colors the glass of life can show!

At length, with many funny speeches, and promises very ridiculous, the

doctor tore himself away from the chatty group.

Passing in and out of the house, through the hall or in the parlor, as

my business required, I saw Mr. Worth and Miss Bradly sitting quietly

and moodily apart, whilst, occasionally, Miss Tildy would flash out with

a coarse joke, or Miss Jane would speculate upon the feelings of Lindy,

in her present helpless and gloomy confinement.

"I reckon she does not relish Canada about this time."

"No; let us ask her _candid_ opinion of it," said Miss Tildy, who

considered herself _the wit_ of the family, and this last speech she

regarded as quite an extraordinary flash.

"That's very good, Till," said her patronizing sister, "but you are

always witty."

"Now, sister, ain't you ashamed to flatter me so?" and with the most

Laura Matilda-ish air, she turned her head aside and tried to blush.

I could read, from his clear, manly glance, that Mr. Worth was sick at

heart and goaded to anguish by what he saw and heard; yet, like many

another noble man, he sat in silent endurance. Miss Jane caught the idea

of his gloom, and, with a good deal of sly, vulpine malice, determined

to annoy him. She had not for him, as Miss Tildy had, a personal

admiration; so, by way of vexing him, as well as showing off her

smartness, she asked:

"Till, is there much Worth in Abolitionism?"

"I don't know, but there is a _Robin_ in it." This she thought a capital

repartee.

"Bravo! bravo, Till! who can equal you? You are the wittiest girl in

town or country."

"Wit is a precious gift," said Mr. Worth, as he satirically elevated his

brows.

"Indeed is it," replied Miss Tildy, "but I am not conscious of its

possession." Of course she expected he would gainsay her; but, as he was

silent, her cheeks blazed like a peony.

"What makes Miss Bradly so quiet and seemingly lachrymose? I do believe

Johnny's Abolition lecture has given her the blues."

"Not the lecture, but the necessity for the lecture," put in Mr. Worth.

"What's that? what's that 'bout Aberlitionists?" exclaimed Mr. Peterkin,

as he rushed into the room. "Is there one of 'em here? Let me know it,

and my roof shan't shelter the rascal. Whar is he?"

I looked toward Mr. Worth, for I feared that, on an occasion like this,

his principles would fail as Miss Bradly's had; but the fear was

quickly dissipated, as he replied in a manly tone:

"I, a vindicator of the anti-slavery policy, and a denouncer of the

slave system, stand before you, and declare myself proud of my

sentiments."

"You? ha! ha! ha! ha! that's too ridiculous; a mere boy; a stripling, no

bigger than my arm. I'd not disgrace my manhood with a fight with the

like of yer."

"So thought Goliath when David met him in warfare; but witness the

sequel, and then say if the battle is always to the strong, or the

victory with the proud. Might is not always right. I ask to be heard for

my cause. Stripling as you call me, I am yet able to vindicate my

abolition principles upon other and higher ground than mere brute

force."

"Oh, yes; you has larnt, I s'pose, to talk. That's all them windy

Aberlitionists ken do; they berate and talk, but they can't act."

A contemptuous smile played over the face of Mr. Worth, but he did not

deign to answer with words.

"Do you know, pa, that Johnny is an Abolitionist?" asked Miss Jane.

"What! John Peterkin? my son John?"

"The same," and Miss Jane bowed most significantly.

"Well, that's funny enuff; but I'll soon bring it outen him. He's a

quiet lad; not much sperrit, and I guess he's hearn some 'cock and bull

story' 'bout freedom and equality. All smart boys of his age is apt to

feel that way, but he'll come outen it. It's all bekase he has hearn too

many Fourth of July speeches; but I don't fear fur him, he is sure to

come outen it. The very idee of my son's being an Aberlitionist is too

funny."

"Funny is it, father, for your child to love mercy, and deal justly,

even with the lowliest?" As he said this, young master stood in the

doorway. He looked paler and even more spiritual than was his wont.

Mr. Peterkin sat for full five minutes, gazing at the boy; and, strange

to say, made no reply, but strode away from the room.

Miss Jane and Tildy regarded each other with evident surprise. They had

expected a violent outburst, and thus to see their father tamed and

subdued by the word and glance of their boy-brother, astonished them not

a little.

Miss Tildy turned toward young master, and said, in what was meant for a

most caustic tone,

"You are an embryo Van Amburgh, thus to tame the lion's rage."

"But you, Tildy, are too vulpine to be fascinated even by the glance of

Van Amburgh himself."

"Well, now, Johnny, you are getting impertinent as well as spicy."

"Pertinent, you mean," said Mr. Worth. Miss Tildy would not look angry

at _him_; for she was besieging the fortress of his affections, and she

deemed kind measures the most advantageous.

Were I to narrate most accurately the conversation that followed, the

repartees that flashed from the lips of some, and the anger that burned

blue in the faces of others, I should only amuse the reader, or what is

more likely, weary him.

I will simply mention that, after a few hours' sojourn, Mr. Worth took

his departure, not without first having a long conversation, in a

private part of the garden, with young master. Miss Bradly retired to

the young ladies' room (for they would not allow her to leave the

house), under pretext of headache. Often, as I passed in and out to ask

her if she needed anything, I found her weeping bitterly. Late in the

evening, about eight o'clock, Mr. Peterkin returned; throwing the reins

of his horse to Nace, he exclaimed:

"Well, I've made a good bargain of it; I've sold Lindy to a trader for

one thousand dollars--that is, if she answers the description which I

gave of her. He is comin' in the mornin' to look at her; and, with a

little riggin' up, I think she'll 'pear a rale good-lookin' wench."

When I went into the house to prepare some supper for Mr. Peterkin (the

family tea had been despatched two hours before), he was in an excellent

humor, well pleased, no doubt, with his good trade.

"Now, Ann, be brisk and smart, or you might find yourself in the

trader's hands afore long. Likely yellow gals like you sells mighty

well; and if you doesn't behave well you is a goner."

"Down the river" was not terrible to me, nor did I dread being "sold;"

yet one thing I did fear, and that was separation from young master. In

the last few days he had become to me everything I could respect; nay, I

loved him. Not that it was in his power to do me any signal act of good.

He could not soften the severity of his father and sisters toward me;

yet one thing he could and did do, he spoke an occasional kind, hopeful

word to me. Those whose hearts are fed upon kindness and love, can

little understand how dear to the lonely, destitute soul, is one word of

friendliness. We, to whom the husks are flung with an unfeeling tone,

appreciate as manna from heaven the word of gentleness; and now I

thought if I were to leave young master _my soul would die_. Had not his

blessed smile elevated and inspired my sinking spirit, and his sweet

tone softened my over-taxed heart? Oh, blessed one! even now I think of

thee, and with a full heart thank God that such beings have lived!

I watched master dispatch his supper in a most summary manner. At length

he settled himself back in his chair, and, taking his tooth-pick from

his waistcoat pocket, began picking his teeth.

"Wal, Ann," he said, as he swung himself back in his chair, "how's ole

Poll?"

"She is still asleep."

"Yes, I said she was possuming; but by to-morrow, if she ain't up outen

that ar' bunk of hers, I'll know the reason; and I'll sell her to the

trader that's comin' for Lindy."

"I wish you would sell her, father, and buy a new cook; she prepares

everything in such an old-fashioned manner--can't make a single French

dish," said Miss Jane.

"I don't care a cuss 'bout yer French dishes, or yer fashionable cooks;

I's gwine to sell her, becase the craps didn't yield me much this year,

and I wants money, so I must make it by sellin' off niggers."

"You must not sell Aunt Polly, and you shall not," said young master,

with a fearful emphasis.

"What do you mean, lad?" cried the infuriated father, and he sprang from

his seat, and was in the very act of rushing upon the offender; but

suddenly he quailed before the fixed, determined gaze of that eye. He

looked again, then cowered, reeled, and staggered like a drunken man,

and, falling back in his chair, he covered his face with his hands, and

uttered a fearful groan. The ladies were frightened; they had never seen

their father thus fearfully excited. They dared not speak one word. The

finger of an awful silence seemed laid upon each and every one present.

At length young master, with a slow step, approached his father, and,

taking the large hand, which swung listlessly, within his own, said,

"Fath--;" but before he had finished the syllable, Mr. Peterkin sprang

up, exclaiming,

"Off, I say! off! off! she sent you here; she told you to speak so to

me." Then gazing wildly at Johnny, he cried, "Those are her eyes, that

is her face. I say, away! away! leave me! you torment me with the sight

of that face! It's hers it's hers. Blood will have blood, and now you

comes to git mine!" and the strong man fell prostrate upon the floor, in

a paroxysm of agony. He foamed at the mouth, and rolled his great vacant

eyes around the room in a wildness fearful to behold.

"Oh Lor'," said old Nace, who appeared in the doorway, "oh Lor', him's

got a fit."

The ladies shrieked and screamed in a frightful manner. Young master was

almost preternaturally calm. He and Miss Bradly (after Nace and Jake had

placed master on the bed) rendered him every attention. Miss Bradly

chafed his temples with camphor, and moistened the lips and palms of

the hands with it. When he began to revive, he turned his face to the

wall and wept like a child. Then he fell off into a quiet sleep.

Young master and Miss Bradly watched beside that restless sleeper long

and faithfully. And from that night there grew up between them a fervent

friendship, which endured to the last of their mortal days.

Upon frequently going into Aunt Polly's cabin, I was surprised to find

her still sleeping. At length when my duties were all discharged in the

house, and I went to prepare for the night's rest, I thought I would

arouse her from her torpor and administer a little nourishment that

might benefit her.

To my surprise her arm felt rigid, and oh, so cold! What if she is dead!

thought I; and a cold thrill passed over my frame. The big drops burst

from my brow and stood in chilly dew upon my temples. Oh God! can it be

that she is dead! One look, one more touch, and the dreadful question

would be answered; yet, when I attempted to stretch forth my hand, it

was stiff and powerless. In a moment the very atmosphere seemed to grow

heavy; 'twas peopled with a strange, charnel gloom. My breath was thick

and broken, coming only at intervals and with choking gaspings. One more

desperate effort! I commanded myself, gathered all my courage, and,

seizing hold of the body with a power which was stronger than my own, I

turned it over--when, oh God of mercy, such a spectacle! the question

was answered with a fearful affirmation. There, rigid, still and

ghastly, she lay in death. The evident marks of a violent struggle were

stamped upon those features, which, despite their tough

hard-favoredness, and their gaunt gloom, were dear to me; for had she

not been my best of friends, nay proved her friendship by a martyrdom

which, if slower, was no less heroic than that which adorns the columns

of historical renown? Gently I closed those wide-staring, blank eyes,

and pressed tenderly together the distended jaws; and, taking from a box

a slipet of white muslin, bound up her cheeks. Slowly, and not without a

feeling of terror, I unwound the bandage from her brow, which concealed

the wound made by the leeches; this I replaced with my only

handkerchief. I then endeavored to straighten the contracted limbs, for

she had died lying upon her side, with her body drawn nearly double. I

found this a rather difficult task; yet was it a melancholy pleasure, a

duty that I performed irresolutely but with tenderness.

After all was done, and before getting the water to wash the body (for I

wished to enrobe her decently for the burial), I gave way to the luxury

of expressed grief, and, sinking down upon my knees beside that lifeless

form, thanked God for having taken her from this scene of trouble and

trial. "You are gone, my poor old friend; but that hereafter of which we

all entertain so much dread, cannot be to you so bad as this wretched

present; and though I am lonely without you, I rejoice that you have

left this land of bondage. And I believe that at this moment your tried

soul is free and happy!"

So saying, I stepped without the door of the cabin, and, looking up to

the clear, cold moon and the way-off stars, I smiled, even in my

bitterness, for I imagined I could see her emancipated soul soaring away

on its new-made wings, to the land forever flowing with milk and honey.

She had often in her earth-pilgrimage, as many tried martyrs had done

before her, fainted by the wayside; but then was she not sorely tempted,

and did not a life of captivity and seven-fold agony, atone for all her

short-comings? Besides, we are divinely informed that where little is

given, little is required. In view of this sacred assurance, let not the

sceptic reader think that my faith was stretched to an unwarranted

degree. Yes, I did and _do_ think that she was at that moment and is now

happy. If not, how am I to account for the strange feeling of peace that

settled over my mind and heart, when I thought of her! For a holy,

heavenly calm, like the dropping of a prophet's mantle, overspread my

heart; a cool sense of ease, refreshing as the night dew, and sustaining

as the high stars, seemed to gird me round!

I did not heed the cold air, but walked out a few rods in the direction

of the out-house, where Lindy was confined. "Yonder," I soliloquized,

"perishing for a kind word, lies a poor outcast, wretched being. I will

go to her, bury all thoughts of the past, and speak one kind word of

encouragement."

As I drew near to the "lock-up," the moon that had been sailing swift

and high through the heaven, passed beneath the screen of a dark cloud.

I paused in my steps and looked up to the sky. "Such," I thought, "is

the transit of a human soul across the vault of life; beneath clouds and

shadows the serene face is often hidden, and the spirit's mellow light

is often, by affliction, obscured from view."

Just then a sob of anguish fell upon my ear. I knew it was Lindy, and

moved hastily forward; but, light as was my foot-fall, it aroused the

sentinel-dog, and, with a loud bark, he sprang toward me. "Down, Cuff!

down!" said I, addressing the dog, who, as soon as he recognized me,

crouched lovingly at my feet. Just then the moon glided with a queenly

air from behind the clouds. "So," I said, "passeth the soul, with the

same Diana-like sweep, from the heavy fold and curtain of human sorrow."

Another moan, deeper and more fearful than the first! I was close beside

the door of the "lock-up," and, cowering down, with my mouth close to

the crevice, I called Lindy. "Who's dar? who's dar? For de love of

heaven somebody come to me," said Lindy, in a half-frantic tone.

"'Tis I, Lindy, don't you know my voice?"

"Yes, it's Ann! Oh, please, Ann, help me outen here. I's seen such orful

sights and hearn sich dreful sounds, I'd be a slave all my born days

jist to git way frum here. Oh, Ann, I's seed a _speerit_," and then she

gave such a fearful shriek, that I felt my flesh grow cold and stony as

death. Yet I knew it was my duty to appear calm, and try to persuade her

that it was not true or real.

"Oh, no, Lindy, you must not be frightened; only hope and trust in God,

and pray to Him. He will take you away from all this trouble. He loves

you. He cares for you, for 'twas He who made you, Your soul is precious

to Him. Oh, try to pray."

"Oh, but, Ann, I doesn't know how to pray. I never seed God, and I is

afraid of Him. He might be like master."

This was fearful ignorance, and how to begin to teach her the way to

believe was above my ability; yet I knew that every soul was precious to

God; so I made an endeavor to do all I could in the way of instruction.

"Say, Our Father, who art in heaven," Lindy.

"Our Father, who art in heaven," she repeated in a slow, nervous manner.

"Hallowed be Thy name." Again she repeated, and so on we prayed, she

following accurately after me, though the heavy door separated us. Think

ye not, oh, gentle reader, that this prayer was heard above? Never did

words come more truly from my heart; and with a low moan, they rung

plaintively upon the still, moonlit air! I could tell, from the fervent

tone in which Lindy followed, that her whole soul was engaged. When the

final amen had been said, she asked, "Ann, what's to become of me?"

I evaded her by saying, "how can I know what master will do?"

"Yes, but haven't you heard? Oh, don't fool me, Ann, but tell me all."

For a moment I hesitated, then said: "Yes, Lindy, I'll deal fairly with

you. I have heard that master intends selling you to-morrow to a trader,

whom he went to see to-day; and, if the trader is satisfied with you

to-morrow, the bargain will be closed."

"Oh, Lord! oh, Lord!" she groaned forth, "oh, is I gwine down de ribber?

Oh, Lord, kill me right now; but don't send me to dat dreful place, down

de ribber, down de ribber!"

"Oh, trust in the Lord, and He will protect you. Down the river can't be

much worse than here, maybe not so bad. For my part, Lindy, I would

rather be sold and run the risk of getting a good master, than remain

here where we are treated worse than dogs."

"Oh, dar isn't no sort ob hope ob my gitten any better home den dis

here one; den I knows you all, and way off dar 'mong strange black

folks, oh, no, I never can go; de Lord hab marcy on me."

This begging of the poor negroes to the Lord to have mercy on them,

though frequent, has no particular significance. It is more a plaint of

agony than a cry for actual mercy; and, in Lindy's case, it most

assuredly only expressed her grief, for she had no ripe faith in the

power and willingness of Our Father to send mercy to her. Religion she

believed consisted in going to church every Sunday twice; consequently

it was a luxury, which, like all luxuries, must be monopolized by the

whites. From the very depths of my heart I prayed that the light of

Divine grace might shine in upon her darkened intellect. Soul of Faith,

verily art thou soul of beauty! And though, as a special gift, faith is

not withheld from the lowliest, the most ignorant, yet does its

possession give to the poorest and most degraded Ethiopian a divine

consciousness, an inspiration, that as to what is grandest in the soul

exalts him above the noblest of poets.

Whilst talking to Lindy, I was surprised to hear the muffled sound of an

approaching footstep. Noiselessly I was trying to creep away, when young

master said in a low voice:

"Is this you, Ann? Wait a moment. Have you spoken to Lindy? Have you

told her--"

He did not finish the sentence, and I answered,

"Yes, I have told her that she is to be sold, and to a trader."

"Is she willing?"

"No, sir, she has a great terror of down the river."

"That is the way with them all, yet her condition, so far as treatment

is concerned, may be bettered, certainly it cannot be made worse."

"Will you speak to her, young Master, and reconcile her to her

situation?"

"Yes, I will do all I can."

"And now I will go and stay with the corpse of dear Aunt Polly;" here I

found it impossible to restrain my tears, and, convulsed with emotion,

I seated myself upon the ground with my back against the door of the

lock-up.

"Dead? dead? Aunt Polly dead?" he asked in a bewildered tone.

"Yes, young Master, I found her dead, and with every appearance of

having had a severe struggle."

I then told him about the leeching process, how the doctor had acted,

&c.

"Murdered! She was most cruelly murdered!" he murmured to himself.

In the excitement of conversation he had elevated his tone a good deal,

and the fearful news reached the ears of Lindy, and she shrieked out,

"Is Aunt Polly dead? Oh, tell me, for I thinks I sees her sperit now."

Then such entreaties as she made to get out were agonizing to hear.

"Oh, if you can't let me out, don't leave me! Oh, don't leave me, Ann! I

is so orful skeered. I do see such terrible sights, and it 'pears like

when you is here talking, dem orful things don't come arter me."

"You go, Ann, and watch with Aunt Polly's body; I will stay here with

this poor creature."

"What, you, young master; no, no, you shall not, it will kill you. Your

cough will increase, and it might prove fatal. No, I will stay here."

"But who will watch with Aunt Polly?"

"I will awaken Amy, and make her keep guard."

"No, she is too young, lacks nerve, will be frightened; besides, you

must not be found here in the morning. You would be severely punished

for it. Go now, good Ann, and leave me here."

"No, young master, I cannot leave you to what I am sure will be certain

death."

"That would be no misfortune to me."

And I shall never forget the calm and half-glorified expression of his

face, as he pronounced these words.

"Go, Ann," he continued, "leave me to watch and pray beside this forlorn

creature, and, if the Angel of Death spreads his wings on this midnight

blast, I think I should welcome him; for life, with its broken promises

and its cold humanity, sickens me--oh so much."

And his beautiful head fell languidly on his breast; and again I

listened to that low, husky cough. To-night it had an unusual sound,

and, forgetful of the humble relation in which I stood to him, I grasped

his arm firmly but lovingly, saying,

"Hark to that cough! Now you _must_ go in."

"No, I cannot. I know best; besides, since nothing less gentle will do,

I needs must use authority, and command you to go."

"I would that you did not exercise your authority against yourself."

But he waved me off. Reluctantly I obeyed him. Again I entered the cabin

and roused Amy, who slept on a pallet or heap of straw at the foot of

the bed, where the still, unbreathing form of my old friend lay. It was

difficult to awake her, for she was always wearied at night, and slept

with that deep soundness peculiar to healthful childhood; but, after

various shakes, I contrived to make her open her eyes and speak to me.

"Come Amy," I said, "rouse, I want you to help me."

"In what way and what fur you wake me up?" she said as she sat upright

on the straw, and began rubbing her eyes.

"Never mind, but you get up and I will tell you."

When she was fairly awake, she assisted me in lifting in a large tub of

water.

"Oh, is Aunt Polly any sicker?" she inquired.

"Amy, she is dead."

"Oh, Lord, den I ain't gwine to hope you, bekase I's afeared ob a dead

body."

"It can't harm you."

"Yes it ken; anyhow, I is feared ob it, and I ain't gwine to hope you."

"Well, you need not touch her, only sit up with me whilst I wash her and

dress her nicely."

"Well, I'll do dat much."

Accordingly, she crouched down in the corner and concealed her face with

her hands, whilst I proceeded to wash the body thoroughly and dress it

out in an old faded calico, which, in life, had constituted her finest

robe. Bare and undecked, but clean, appeared that tabernacle of flesh,

which had once enshrined a tried but immortal spirit. When all was

finished, I seated myself near the partly-opened door, and waited for

the coming of day. Ah, when was the morn of glad freedom to break for

me?

CHAPTER XIX.

SYMPATHY CASTETH OUT FEAR--CONSEQUENCE OF THE NIGHT'S WATCH--TROUBLED

REFLECTIONS.

Morn did break, bright and clear, over the face of the sleeping earth!

It was a still and blessed hour. Man, hushed from his rushing activity,

lay reposeful in the arms of "Death's counterfeit--sleep." All animated

nature was quiet and calm, till, suddenly, a gush of melody broke from

the clear throats of the wildwood birds and made the air vocal. Another

day was dawning; another day born to witness sins and cruelties the most

direful. Do we not often wonder why the sky can smile so blue and

lovingly, when such outrages are enacted beneath it? But I must not

anticipate.

As soon as the sun had fairly risen I knocked at the house-door, which

was opened by Miss Bradly, whose languid face and crumpled dress, proved

that she had taken no rest during the night. Bidding her a polite

good-morning, I inquired if the ladies had risen? She answered that they

were still asleep, and had rested well during the night. I next inquired

for master's health.

"Oh," said she, "I think he is well, quite well again. He slept soundly.

I think he only suffered from a violent and sudden mental excitement. A

good night's rest, and a sedative that I administered, have restored

him; but _to-day_, oh, _to-day_, how I do dread to-day."

To the latter part of this speech I made no answer; for, of late, I had

learned to distrust her. Even if her belief was right, I could not

recognize her as one heroic enough to promulgate it from the

house-tops. I saw in her only a weak, servile soul, drawn down from the

lofty purpose of philanthropy, seduced by the charm of "vile lucre."

Therefore I observed a rigid silence. Feeling a little embarrassed, I

began playing with the strings of my apron, for I was fearful that the

expression of my face might betray what was working in my mind.

"What is the matter, Ann?"

This recalled the tragedy that had occurred in the cabin, and I said, in

a faltering tone,

"Death has been among us. Poor Aunt Polly is gone."

"Is it possible? When did she die? Poor old creature!"

"She died some time before midnight. When I left the house I was

surprised to find her still sleeping, so I thought perhaps she was too

sluggish, and, upon attempting to arouse her, I discovered that she was

dead!"

"Why did you not come and inform me? I would have assisted you in the

last sad offices."

"Oh, I did not like to disturb you. I did everything very well myself."

"Johnny and I sat up all night; that is, I suppose he was up, though he

left the room a little after midnight, and has not since returned. I

should not wonder if he has been walking the better part of the night.

He so loves solitude and the night-time--but then," she added, musingly

"he has a bad cough, and it may be dangerous. The night was chilly, the

atmosphere heavy. What if this imprudence should rapidly develop a

fearful disease?" She seemed much concerned.

"I will go," said she, "and search for him;" but ere these words had

fairly died upon her lips, we were startled by a cough, and, looking up,

we beheld the subject of our conversation within a few steps of us. Oh,

how wretchedly he was changed! It appeared as if the wreck of years had

been accomplished in the brief space of a night. Haggard and pale, with

his eyes roving listlessly, dark purple lines of unusual depth

surrounding them, and with his bright, gold hair, heavy with the dew,

and hanging neglected around his noble head, even his clear, pearl-like

complexion appeared dark and discolored.

"Where have you been, Johnny?" asked Miss Bradly.

"To commune with the lonely and comfort the bound; at the door of the

'lock-up,' our miniature Bastile, I have spent the night." Here

commenced a paroxysm of coughing, so violent that he was obliged to seat

himself upon the door-sill.

"Oh, Johnny," exclaimed the terrified lady.

But as he attempted to check her fears, another paroxysm, still more

frightful, took place, and this time the blood gushed copiously from his

mouth. Miss Bradly threw her arms tenderly around him, and, after a

succession of rapid gushes of blood, his head fell languidly on her

shoulder, like a pale, broken lily!

I instantly ran to call up the ladies, when master approached from his

chamber; seeing young master lying so pale, cold, and insensible in the

arms of Miss Bradly, he concluded he was dead, and, crying out in a

frantic tone, he asked,

"In h--l's name, what has happened to my boy?"

"He has had a violent hemorrhage," replied Miss Bradly, with an

ill-disguised composure.

The sight of the blood, which lay in puddles and clots over the steps,

increased the terror of the father, and, frantically seizing his boy in

his arms, he covered the still, pale face with kisses.

"Oh, my boy! my boy! how much you are like _her_! This is her mouth,

eyes, and nose, and now you 'pears jist like she did when I seed her

last. These limbs are stiff and frozen. It can't be death; no, it can't

be. I haven't killed you, too--say, Miss Bradly, is he dead?"

"No, sir, only exhausted from the violence of the paroxysm, and the

copious hemorrhage, but he requires immediate medical treatment; send,

promptly, for Dr. Mandy."

Master turned to me, saying,

"Gal, go order Jake to mount the swiftest horse, and ride for life and

death to Dr. Mandy; tell him to come instantly, my son is dying."

I obeyed, and, with all possible promptitude, the message was

dispatched. Oh, how different when _his_ son was ill. Then you could see

that human life was valuable; had it been a negro, he would have waited

until after breakfast before sending for a doctor.

Mr. Peterkin bore his son into the house, placed him on the bed, and,

seating himself beside him, watched with a tenderness that I did not

think belonged to his harsh nature.

In a very short time Jake returned with Dr. Mandy, who, after feeling

young master's pulse, sounding his chest, and applying the stethescope,

said that he feared it was an incipient form of lung-fever. We had much

cause for apprehension. There was a perplexed expression upon the face

of the doctor, a tremulousness in his motions, which indicated that he

was in great fear and doubt as to the case. He left some powders, to be

administered every hour, and, after various and repeated injunctions to

Miss Bradly, who volunteered to nurse the patient, he left the house.

After taking the first powder, young master lay in a deep, unbroken

sleep. As I stood by his bedside I saw how altered he was. The cheek,

which, when he was walking, had seemed round and full, was now shrunk

and hollow, and a fiery spot burned there like a living coal; and the

dark, purple ring that encircled the eyes, and the sharp contraction of

the thin nostril, were to me convincing omens of the grave. Then, too,

the anxious, care-written face of Miss Bradly tended to deepen my

apprehension. How my friends were falling around me! Now, just when I

was beginning to live, came the fell destroyer of my happiness.

Happiness? Oh, does it not seem a mockery for the slave to employ that

word? As if he had anything to do with it! The slave, who owns nothing,

ay, literally nothing. His wife and children are all his master's. His

very wearing apparel becomes another's. He has no right to use it, save

as he is advised by his owner. Go, my kind reader, to the hotels of the

South and South-west, look at the worn and dejected countenances of the

slaves, and tell me if you do not read misery there. Look in at the

saloons of the restaurants, coffee-houses, &c., at late hours of the

night; there you will see them, tired, worn and weary, with their aching

heads bandaged up, sighing for a few moments' sleep. There the proud,

luxurious, idle whites sip their sherbets, drink wine, and crack their

everlasting jokes, but there must stand your obsequious slave, with a

smile on his face, waiter in hand, ready to attend to "Master's

slightest wish." No matter if his tooth is aching, or his child dying,

he must smile, or be flogged for gruffness. This "chattel personal,"

though he bear the erect form of a man, has no right to any privileges

or emotions. Oh, nation of the free, how long shall this be? Poor,

suffering Africa, country of my sires, how much longer upon thy bleeding

shoulders must the cross be pressed! Is there no tomb where, for a short

space, thou shalt lie, and then, bursting the bonds of night and death,

spring up free, redeemed and regenerate?

"Oh, will he die?" I murmured, "he who reconciles me to my bondage, who

is my only friend? Another affliction I cannot bear; I've been so tried

in the furnace, that I have not strength to meet another."

Those thoughts passed through my brain as I stood beside young master;

but the entrance of Mr. Peterkin diverted them, and, stepping up to him,

I said, "Master, Aunt Polly is dead."

"You lie!" he thundered out.

"No, Mr. Peterkin, the old woman is really dead," said Miss Bradly, in a

kind but mournful tone.

"Who killed her?" again he thundered.

Ay, who did kill her? Could I not have answered, "Thou art the man"? But

I did not. Silently I stood before him, never daring to trust myself

with a word.

"What time did she kick the bucket?" asked Mr. Peterkin, in one of the

favorite Kentucky vulgarisms, whereby the most solemn and awful debt of

nature is ridiculed by the unthinking.

I told him how I had found her, what I had done, &c., all of which is

known to the reader.

"I believe h--l is loose among the niggers. Now, here's Poll had to die

bekase she couldn't cut any other caper. I might have made a sight o'

money by her sale; and she, old fool, had to cut me outen it. Wal, I'll

only have to sell some of the others, fur I's bound to make up a sartin

sum of money to pay to some of my creditors in L----."

This speech was addressed to Miss Bradly, upon whom it made not half the

impression that it did upon me. How I hoped I should be one, for if

young master, as I began to believe, should die soon, the place would

become to me more horrible than a tiger's den. Any change was desirable.

When the young ladies rose from their beds I went in to attend on them,

and communicated the news of young master's illness and Aunt Polly's

death. For their brother they expressed much concern, but the faithful

old domestic, who had served them so long, was of no more consequence

than a dog. Miss Jane did seem provoked to think that she "had died on

their hands," as she expressed it. "If pa had sold her months ago, we

might have had the money, or something valuable, but now we must go to

the expense of furnishing her with a coffin."

"Coffin! hoity-toity! Father's not going to give her a coffin, an old

store-box is good enough to put her old carcass in." And thus they spoke

of one of God's dead.

Usually persons respect those upon whom death has set his ghastly

signet; but these barbarians (for such I think they must have been)

spoke with an irreverence of one whose body lay still and cold, only few

steps from them. To some people no thing or person is sacred.

After breakfast I waited in great anxiety to hear how and when master

intended to have Aunt Polly buried.

I had gone into the little desolate cabin, which was now consecrated by

the presence of the dead. There _she_ lay, cold and ashen; and the long

white strip that I had thrown over her was too thin to conceal the face.

It was an old muslin curtain that I had found in looking over the boxes

of the deceased, and out of respect had flung it over the remains. So

rigid and hard-set seemed her features in that last, deep sleep, so

tightly locked were those bony fingers, so mournful looked the

straightened, stiffened form, so devoid of speculation the half-closed

eyes, that I turned away with a shudder, saying inwardly:

"Oh, death, thou art revolting!" Yet when I bethought me of the peace

passing human understanding into which she had gone, the safe bourne

that she had attained, "where the wicked cease from troubling and the

weary are at rest;" when I thought of this, death lost its horror, and

the grave its gloom. Oh, Eternity, problem that the living can never

solve. Oh, death, full of victory to the Christian! wast thou not, to my

old and weary friend, a messenger of sweet peace; and was not the tomb a

gateway to new and undreamed-of happiness? Yes, so will I believe; for

so believing am I made joyful.

Relieved thus by faith from the burden of grief, I moved gently about

the room, trying to bring something like order to its ragged appearance;

for Jake, who had been dispatched for Doctor Mandy to come and see young

master, had met on the way a colored preacher, to whom he announced Aunt

Polly's death, and who had promised to come and preach a funeral sermon,

and attend the burial. This was to the other negroes a great treat; they

regarded a funeral as quite a gala occasion, inasmuch as we had never

had such a thing upon the farm. I had my own doubts, though I did not

express them, whether master would permit it.

Young master still slept, from the strong effects of the sleeping potion

which had been administered to him. Miss Bradly, overcome by the night's

watching, dozed in a large chair beside the bed, and an open Bible, in

which she had been reading, lay upon her lap. The blinds were closed,

but the dim light of a small fire that blazed on the hearth gave some

appearance of life to the room. Every one who passed in and out, stepped

on tip-toe, as if fearful of arousing the sleeper.

Oh, the comfort of a white skin! No darkened room, no comfortable air,

marked the place where she my friend had died. No hushed dread nor

whispered voice paid respect to the cabin-room where lay her dead body;

but, thanks to God, in the morning of the resurrection we shall come

forth alike, regardless of the distinctions of color or race, each one

to render a faithful account of the deeds done in the body.

Mr. Peterkin came to the kitchen-door, and called Nace, saying:

"Where is that old store-box that the goods and domestics for the house

was fetched home in, from L----, last fall?"

"It's in de smoke-house, Masser."

"Wal, go git it, and bury ole Poll in it."

"It's right dirty and greasy, Master," I ventured to say.

"Who keres if 'tis? What right has you to speak, slut?" and he gave me a

violent kick in the side with his rough brogan.

"Take that for yer imperdence. Who tole you to put yer mouth in?"

Nace and Dan soon produced the box, which had no top, and was dirty and

greasy, as it well might be from its year's lodgment in the meat-house.

"Now, go dig a hole and put Poll in it."

As master was turning away, he was met by a neatly-dressed black man,

who wore a white muslin cravat and white cotton gloves, and carried two

books in his hand. He had an humble, reverent expression, and I readily

recognized him as the free colored preacher of the neighborhood--a good,

religious man, God-fearing and God-serving. No one knew or could say

aught against him. How I did long to speak to him; to sit at his feet as

a disciple, and learn from him heavenly truths.

As master turned round, the preacher, with a polite air, took off his

hat, saying:

"Your servant, Master."

"What do you want, nigger?"

"Why, Master, I heard that one of your servants was dead, and I come to

ask your leave to convene the friends in a short prayer-meeting, if you

will please let us."

"No, I be d----d if you shall, you rascally free nigger; if you don't

git yourself off my place, I'll git my cowhide to you. I wants none of

yer tom-foolery here."

"I beg Master's pardon, but I meant no harm. I generally go to see the

sick, and hold prayer over the dead."

"You doesn't do it here; and now take your dirty black hide away, or it

will be the worse for you."

Without saying one word, the mortified preacher, who had meant well,

turned away. I trust he did as the apostles of old were bidden by their

Divine Master to do, "shook the dust from his feet against that house."

Oh, coarse and sense-bound man, you refused entertainment to an "angel,

unawares."

"Well, I sent that prayin' rascal a flyin' quick enough;" and with this

self-gratulatory remark, he entered the house.

Nace and Jake carried the box into the cabin, preceded by me.

Most reverently I laid away the muslin from the face and form; and

lifting the head, while Nace assisted at the feet, we attempted to place

the body in the box, but found it impossible, as the box was much too

short. Upon Nace's representing this difficulty to Mr. Peterkin, he only

replied:

"Wal, bury her on a board, without any more foolin' 'bout it."

This harsh mandate was obeyed to the letter. With great expedition, Nace

and Jake dug a hole in the earth, and laid a few planks at the bottom,

upon which I threw an old quilt, and on that hard bed they laid her.

Good and faithful servant, even in death thou wast not allowed a bed!

Over the form I spread a covering, and the men laid a few planks,

box-fashion, over that, and then began roughly throwing on the fresh

earth. "Dust to dust," I murmured, and, with a secret prayer, turned

from her unmarked resting-place. Mr. Peterkin expressly ordered that it

should not have a grave shape, and so it was patted and smoothed down,

until, save for the moisture and fresh color of the earth, you could not

have known that the ground had ever been broken.

CHAPTER XX.

THE TRADER--A TERRIBLE FRIGHT--POWER OF PRAYER--GRIEF OF THE HELPLESS.

About noon a gaudily-dressed and rough-looking man rode up to the gate,

and alighted from a fine bay horse. With that free and easy sort of way

so peculiar to a _certain class_ of mankind, he walked up the avenue to

the front door.

"Gal," he said, addressing me, "whar's yer master?"

"In the house. Will you walk in?"

"No, it is skersely worth while; jist tell him that me, Bill Tompkins,

wants to see him; but stay," he added, as I was turning to seek my

master, "is you the gal he sold to me yesterday?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Wal, you is devilish likely. Put out yer foot. Wal, it is nice enuff to

belong to a white 'ooman. You is a bright-colored mulatto. I _must_ have

you."

"Heavens! I hope not," was my half-uttered expression, as I turned away,

for I had caught the meaning of that lascivious eye, and shrank from the

threatened danger. Though I had been cruelly treated, yet had I been

allowed to retain my person inviolate; and I would rather, a

thousand-fold, have endured the brutality of Mr. Peterkin, than those

loathsome looks which I felt betokened ruin.

"Master, a man, calling himself Bill Tompkins, wishes to see you," said

I, as I entered his private apartment.

"Can't yer say Mr. Tompkins?"

"He told me to tell you Bill Tompkins; I only repeat his words."

"Whar is he?"

"At the front door."

"Didn't yer ax him in, hussy?"

"Yes, sir, but he refused, saying it was not worth while."

"Oh," thought I, when left alone, "am I sold to that monster? Am I to

become so utterly degraded? No, no; rather than yield my purity I will

give up my life, and trust to God to pardon the suicide."

In this state of mind I wandered up and down the yard, into the kitchen,

into the cabin, into the room where young master lay sleeping, into the

presence of the young ladies, and out again into the air; yet my

curious, feverish restlessness, could not be allayed. A trader was in

the house--a bold, obscene man, and into his possession I might fall!

Oh, happy indeed must be those who feel that he or they have the

exclusive custody of their own persons; but the poor negro has nothing,

not even--save in rare cases--the liberty of choosing a home.

I had not dared, since daylight, to go near the "lock-up," for a fearful

punishment would have been due the one whom Mr. Peterkin found loitering

there.

I was so tortured by apprehension, that my eyes burned and my head

ached. I had heard master say that the unlooked-for death of Aunt Polly

would force him to sell some of the other slaves, in order to realize a

certain sum of money, and Tompkins had expressed a desire for me. It was

likely that he would offer a good price; then should I be lost. Oh,

heavenly Virtue! do not desert me! Let me bear up under the fiercest

trials!

I had wandered about, in this half-crazed manner, never daring to

venture within "ear-shot" of master and Mr. Tompkins, fearing that the

latter might, upon a second sight of me, have the fire of his wicked

passions aroused, and then my fate would be sealed.

I determined to hide in the cabin, to pray there, in the room that had

been hallowed by the presence of God's angel of Death; but there,

cowering on the old brick hearth, like a hen with her brood of chickens,

I found, to my surprise, Amy, with little Ben in her arms, and the two

girls crouched close to her side, evidently feeling that her presence

was sufficient to protect them.

"Lor', Ann," said Amy, her wide eyes stretched to their utmost tension,

"thar is a trader talkin' wid Masser; I won'er whose gwine to be sole. I

hope tain't us."

I didn't dare reply to her. I feared for myself, and I feared for her.

Kneeling down in the corner of the cabin, I besought mercy of the

All-merciful; but somehow, my prayers fell back cold upon my heart. God

seemed a great way off, and I could not realize the presence of angels.

"Oh," I cried, "for the uplifting faith that hath so often blest me! oh

for the hopefulness, the trustingness of times past! Why, why is the

gate of heaven shut against me? Why am I thus self-bound? Oh, for a

wider, broader and more liberal view!" But I could not pray. Great God!

had that last and only soul-stay been taken from me? With a black

hopelessness gathering at my heart, I arose from my knees, and looked

round upon those desolate orphans, shrinking terror-stricken, hiding

away from the merciless pursuit of a giant; and then I bethought me of

my own desolation, and I almost arraigned the justice of Heaven. Most

wise Father! pardon me! Thou, who wast tempted by Satan, and to whom the

cup of mortality was bitter, pity me and forgive!

Turning away from the presence of those pleading children I entered the

kitchen, and there were Jake and Dan, terror written on their strong,

hard faces; for, no matter how hard is the negro's present master, he

always regards a change of owners as entailing new dangers; and no

wonder that, from education and experience, he is thus suspicious, for

so many troubles have come and do come upon him, that he cannot imagine

a change whereby he is to be benefited.

"Has you hearn anything, Ann?" asked Dan, with his great flabby lips

hanging loosely open, and his eyes considerably distended.

"Nothing."

"Who's gwine to be sole?" asked Jake.

"I don't know?"

"Hope tisn't me."

"And hope tisn't me," burst from the lips of both of them, and to this

my heart gave a fervent though silent echo.

"He is de one dat's bought Lindy," said old Nace, who now entered, "and

Masser's gwine to sell some de rest ob yer."

"Why do yer say de rest ob yer? Why mayn't it be you?" asked Dan.

"Bekase he ain't gwine to sell me, ha! ha! I sarved him too long fur

dat."

Ginsy and Sally came rushing in, frightened, like all the rest,

exclaiming,

"Oh, we's in danger; a nigger-trader is talkin' wid master."

We had no time for prolonged speculation, for the voice of Mr. Peterkin

was heard in the entry, and, throwing open the door, he entered,

followed by Tompkins.

"Here's the gang, and a devilish good-lookin' set they is."

"Yes, but let me fust see the one I have bought."

"Here, Nace," said master, "take this key, and tell Lindy to dress

herself and come here." The last part of this sentence was said in an

under-tone.

In terror I fled from the kitchen. Scarcely knowing what I did, I rushed

into the young ladies' room, into which Nace had conducted Lindy, upon

whom they were placing some of their old finery. A half-worn calico

dress, gingham apron and white collar, completed the costume. I never

shall forget the expression of Lindy's face, as she looked vacantly

around her, hunting for sympathy, yet finding none, from the cold,

haughty faces that gazed upon her.

"Now go," said Miss Jane, "and try to behave yourself in your new home."

"Good-bye, Miss Jane," said the humbled, weeping negro.

"Good-bye," was coldly answered; but no hand was extended to her.

"Good-bye, Miss Tildy."

Miss Tildy, who was standing at the glass arranging her hair, never

turned round to look upon the poor wretch, but carelessly said,

"Good-bye."

She looked toward me; her lip was quivering and tears were rolling down

her cheeks. I turned my head away, and she walked off with the farewell

unspoken.

Quickly I heard Jake calling for me. Then I knew that my worst fears

were on the point of realization. With a timid, hesitating step, I

walked to the kitchen. There, ranged in single file, stood the servants,

with anxious faces, where a variety of contending feelings were written.

I nerved myself for what I knew was to follow, and stepping firmly up,

joined the phalanx.

"That's the one," said Tompkins, as he eyed me with that _same_ look.

There he stood, twirling a heavy bunch of seals which depended from a

large, curiously-wrought chain. He looked more like a fiend than a

_man_.

"This here one is your'n," said Mr. Peterkin, pointing to Lindy; "and,

gal, that gentleman is yer master."

Lindy dropped a courtesy to him, and tried to wipe away her tears; for

experience had taught her that the only safe course was to stifle

emotions.

"Here, gal, open yer mouth," Tompkins said to Lindy. She obeyed.

"Now let me feel yer arms."

He then examined her feet, ankles, legs, passed his hands over various

parts of her body, made her walk and move her limbs in different ways,

and then, seemingly satisfied with the bargain, said,

"Wal, that trade is closed."

Looking toward me, his dissolute eyes began to glare furiously. Again my

soul quailed; but I tried to govern myself, and threw upon him a glance

as cold as ice itself.

"What will you take for this yallow gal?" he said, as he laid his hand

upon my shoulder. I shrank beneath his touch; yet resistance would only

have made the case worse, and I was compelled to submit.

"I ain't much anxious to sell her; she is my darter Jane's waitin'

'ooman, and, you see, my darters are putty much stuck up. They thinks

they must have a waitin'-maid; but, if you offer a far price, maybe we

will close in."

"Wal, as she is a fancy article, I'll jist say take twelve hundred

dollars, and that's more an' she's actilly worth; but I wants her fur my

_own use_; a sorter private gal like, you knows," and he gave a

lascivious blink, which Mr. Peterkin seemed to understand. I felt a deep

crimson suffuse my face. Oh, God! this was the heaviest of all

afflictions. _Sold!_ and for _such a purpose_!

"I reckon the bargain is closed, then," said Mr. Peterkin.

I felt despair coiling around my heart. Yet I knew that to make an

appeal to their humanity would be worse than idle.

"Who, which of them have you sold, father?" asked Miss Jane, who entered

the kitchen, doubtless for the humane object of witnessing the distress

of the poor creatures.

"Wal, Lindy's sold, and we are 'bout closing the bargain for Ann."

"Why, Ann belongs to me."

"Yes, but Tompkins offers twelve hundred dollars; and six hundred of it

you shill have to git new furniture."

"She shan't go for six thousand. I want an accomplished maid when I go

up to the city, and she just suits me. Remember I have your deed of

gift."

This relieved me greatly, for I understood her determination; and,

though I knew all sorts of severity would be exercised over me in my

present home, I felt assured that my honor would remain unstained.

The trader tried to persuade and coax Miss Jane; but she remained

impervious to all of his importunities.

"Wal, then," he said, after finding she would yield to no argument,

"haven't you none others you can let me have? I am 'bliged to fill up my

lot."

"Wal, since my darter won't trade nohow, I must try and let you have

some of the others, though I don't care much 'bout sellin'."

Mr. Peterkin was what was called tight on a trade; now, though he was

anxious enough to sell, he affected to be perfectly indifferent. This

was what would be termed an excellent ruse de guerre.

"If you want children, I think we can supply you," said Miss Jane, and,

looking round, she asked,

"Where are Amy and her sisters?"

My heart sank within me, and, though I knew full well where they were, I

would not speak.

Little Jim, the son of Ginsy, cried out,

"Yes, I know where dey is. I seed em in dar."

"Well, run you young rascal, and tell 'em to come here in a minnit,"

said Mr. Peterkin; and away the boy scampered. In a few moments he

returned, followed by Amy, who was bearing Ben in her arms; and, holding

on to her skirts, were the two girls, terror limned on their dark,

shining faces.

"Step up here to this gentleman, Amy, and say how would you like him for

a master?" said Mr. Peterkin.

"Please, sir," replied Amy, "I don't kere whar I goes, so I takes these

chillen wid me."

"I do not want Amy to be sold. Sell the children, father; but let us

keep Amy for a house-girl." Cold and unfeeling looked the lady as she

pronounced these words; but could you have seen the expression of Amy's

face! There is no human language, no painter's power, to show forth the

eye of frantic madness with which the girl glared around on all.

Clutching little Ben tightly, savagely to her bosom, she said no word,

and all seemed struck by the extreme wildness of her manner.

"Let's look at that boy," said the trader, as he attempted to unfasten

Amy's arms but were locked round her treasure.

"Dont'ee, dont'ee," shrieked the child.

"Yes, but he will," said Mr. Peterkin, as, with a giant's force, he

broke asunder the slight arms, "you imperdent hussy, arn't you my

property? mine to do what I pleases with; and do you dar' to oppose me?"

The girl said nothing; but the wild expression began to grow wilder,

fiercer, and more frightful. Little Ben, who was not accustomed to any

kind of notice, and felt at home nowhere except in Amy's arms, set up a

furious scream; but this the trader did not mind, and proceeded to

examine the limbs.

"Something is the matter with this boy, he's got hip-disease; I knows

from his teeth he is older than you says."

"Yes," said Amy seizing the idea, "he is weakly, he won't do no good

widout me; buy me too, please, Masser," and she crouched down at the

trader's feet, with her hands thrown up in an air of touching

supplication; but she had gone to the wrong tribunal for mercy. Who can

hope to find so fair a flower blooming amid the dreary brambles of a

negro-trader's breast?

Tompkins took no other notice of her than to give her a contemptuous

kick, as much as to say, "thing, get out of my way."

Turning to Mr. Peterkin he said,

"This boy is not sound. I won't have him at any price," and he handed

him back to Amy, who exclaimed, in a thrilling tone,

"Thank God! Bless you, Masser!" and she clasped the shy little Ben

warmly to her breast.

Ben, whose intellect seemed clouded, looked wonderingly around on the

group; then, as if slowly realizing that he had escaped a mighty

trouble, clung closer to Amy.

"Look here, nigger-wench, does you think to spile the sale of property

in that ar' way? Wal, I'll let you see I'll have things my way. No

nigger that ever was born, shall dictate to me."

"No, father, I'd punish her well, even if I had to give Ben away; he is

no account here, merely an expense; and do sell those other two girls,

Amy's sisters."

Mr. Peterkin then called up Lucy and Janey. I have mentioned these two

but rarely in the progress of this book, and for the reason that their

little lives were not much interwoven with the thread of mine. I saw

them often, but observed nothing particular about them. They were quiet,

taciturn, and what is usually called stupid children. They, like little

Ben, never ventured far away from Amy's protecting wing. Now, with a shy

step and furtive glance toward the trader, they obeyed their master's

summons. Poor Amy, with Ben clasped to her heart, strained her body

forward, and looked with stretched eyes and suspended breath toward

Tompkins, who was examining them.

"Wal, I'll give you three hundred and fifty a-piece for 'em. Now, come,

that's the highest I'll give, Peterkin, and you mustn't try to git any

more out of me. You are a hard customer; but I am in a hurry, so I makes

my largest offer right away: I ain't got the time to waste. That's more

'an anybody else would give for 'em; but I sees that they has good

fingers fur to pick cotton, therefore I gives a big price."

"It's a bargain, then. They is yourn;" and no doubt Mr. Peterkin thought

he had a good bargain, or he never would have chewed his tobacco in that

peculiarly self-satisfied manner.

"Stand aside, then," said the trader, pushing his new purchases, as if

they were a bundle of dry goods. Running up to Amy, they began to hold

to her skirts and tremble violently, scarcely knowing what the words of

Tompkins implied.

"Dey ain't sold?" asked Amy, turning first from one to the other; yet no

one answered. Mr. Peterkin and Tompkins were too busy with their trade,

and the negroes too much absorbed in their own fate, to attend to her.

For my part I had not strength to confirm her half-formed doubt. There

she stood, gathering them to her side with a motherly love.

"What will you give fur this one?" and Mr. Peterkin pointed to Ginsy,

who stood with an humble countenance. When called up she made a low

courtesy, and went through the examination. Name and age were given; a

fair price was offered for her and her child, and was accepted.

"Take this boy for a hundred dollars," said Mr. Peterkin, as he jerked

Ben from the arms of the half-petrified Amy.

"Wal, he isn't much 'count; but, rather then seem contrary, I'll give

that fur him."

And thus the trade was closed. Human beings were disposed of with as

little feeling as if they had been wild animals.

"I'm sorry you won't, young Miss, let me have that maid of yourn; but

I'll be 'long next fall, and, fur a good price, I 'spect you'll be

willin' to trade. I wants that yallow wench," and he clicked his fingers

at me.

"Say, Peterkin, ken you lend me a wagen to take 'em over to my pen?"

"Oh, yes; and Nace can drive 'em over."

Conscious of having got a good price, Mr. Peterkin was in a capital

humor.

"Come, go with me, Peterkin, and we'll draw up the papers, and I'll pay

you your money."

This was an agreeable sound to master. He ordered Nace to bring out the

wagon, and the order was hardly given before it was obeyed. Dismal

looked that red wagon, the same which years before had carried me away

from the insensible form of my broken-hearted mother. It appeared more

dark and dreary, to me, than a coffin or hearse.

"Say, Peterkin, don't let 'em take many close; jist a change. It tires

'em too much if they have big bundles to carry."

"They shan't be troubled with that."

"Now, niggers, git your bundles and come 'long," said master.

"Oh," cried Lindy, "can I git to see young master before I start? I

wants to thank him for de comfort he gib me last night," and she wiped

the tears from her eyes, and was starting toward the door of the house,

when Miss Jane intercepted her.

"No, you runaway hussy, you shan't go in to disturb him, and have a

scene here."

"Please, Miss Jane, I only wants to say good-bye."

"You shan't do it."

Mournfully, and with the tears streaming far down her cheeks, she turned

to me, saying, "Please, you, Ann, tell him good-bye fur me, and good-bye

to you. I hope you will forgive me for all de harm I has done to you."

I took her hand, but could not speak a word. Silently I pressed it.

"Whar's your close, gal?" asked Tompkins.

"I'm gwine to git 'em."

"Well, be in a hurry 'bout it."

She went off to gather up a few articles, scarcely sufficient to cover

her; for we were barely allowed a change of clothing, and that not very

decent.

Ginsy, leading her child with one hand, while she held in the other a

small bundle, walked up to Miss Jane, and dropping a low courtesy, said,

"Farewell, Miss Jane; can I see Miss Tildy and young master?"

"No, John is sick, and Tildy can't be troubled just now."

"Yes, ma'm; please tell 'em good-bye fur me; and I hopes young Masser

will soon be well agin. I'd like to see him afore I went, but I don't

want to 'sturb him."

"Well, that will do, go on now."

"Tell young Masser good-bye," Ginsy said, addressing her child.

"Good-bye," repeated Miss Jane very carelessly, scarcely looking toward

them, and they moved away, and shaking hands with the servants, they

marched on to the wagon.

All this time Amy had remained like one transfixed; little Ben held one

of her hands, whilst Janey and Luce grasped her skirts firmly. These

children had no clothes, for, as they performed no regular labor, they

were not allowed a change of apparel. On a Saturday night, whilst they

slept, Amy washed out the articles which they had worn during the week;

and now, poor things, they had no bundles to be made up.

"Come 'long wid yer, young ones," and Tompkins took Ben by the hand;

but he stoutly refused to go, crying out:

"Go 'way, and let me 'lone."

"Come on, I'll give you a lump of sugar."

"I won't, I won't."

All of them held tightly to Amy, whose vacant face was so stony in its

deep despair, that it struck terror to my soul.

"No more fuss," said Mr. Peterkin, and he raised his large whip to

strike the screaming Ben a blow; but that motherly instinct that had

taught Amy to protect them thus long, was not now dead, and upon her

outstretched arm the blow descended. A great, fearful gash was made,

from which the fresh blood streamed rapidly; but she minded it not.

What, to that lightning-burnt soul, were the wounds of the body?

Nothing, aye nothing!

"Oh, don't mark 'em, Peterkin, it will spile the sale," said Tompkins.

"Come 'long now, niggers, I has no more time to wait;" and, with a

strong wrench, he broke Ben's arms loose from Amy's form, and, holding

him firmly, despite his piteous cries, he ordered Jake to bring the

other two also. This order was executed, and quickly Luce and Janey were

in the grasp of Jake, and borne shrieking to the cart, in which all

three of them were bound and laid.

Speechless, stony, petrified, stood Amy. At length, as if gifted with a

supernatural energy, she leaped forward, as the cart drove off, and fell

across the path, almost under the feet of the advancing horses. But not

yet for thee, poor suffering child, will come the Angel of Death! It has

been decreed that you shall endure and wait a while longer.

By an adroit check upon the rein, Nace stopped the wagon suddenly, and

Jake, who was standing near by, lifted Amy up.

"Take her to the house, and see that she does herself no harm," said Mr.

Peterkin.

"Yes, Masser, I will," was the reply of the obsequious Jake.

And so the cart drove on. I shall never forget the sight! Those poor,

down-cast creatures, tied hand and foot, were conveyed they knew not

whither. The shrieks and screams of those children ring now in my ears.

Oh, doleful, most doleful! Why came there no swift execution of that

Divine threat, "Whoso causeth harm to one of these little ones, it were

better for him that a mill-stone were hung about his neck and that he

were drowned in the sea."

CHAPTER XXI.

TOUCHING FAREWELL FULL OF PATHOS--THE PARTING--MY GRIEF.

The half insensible form of Amy was borne by Jake into the cabin, and

laid upon the cot which had been Aunt Polly's. He then closed and

secured the door after him.

Where, all this time, was Miss Bradly? She, in her terror, had buried

her head upon the bed, on which young master still slept. She tried to

drown the sound of those frantic cries that reached her, despite the

closed door and barred shutter. Oh, did they not reach the ear of

Almighty love?

"Well, I am glad," exclaimed Miss Tildy, "that it is all over. Somehow,

Jane, I did not like the sound of those young children's cries. Might it

not have been well to let Amy go too?"

"No, of course not. Now that Lindy has been sold, we need a house-girl,

and Amy may be made a very good one; besides, she enraged me so by

attempting to spoil the sale of Ben."

"Did she do that? Oh, well, I have no pity for her."

"It would be something very new, Till, for you to pity a nigger."

"So it would--yet I was weak enough to feel badly when I heard the

children scream."

"Oh, you are only nervous."

"I believe I am, and think I will take some medicine."

"Take medicine," to stifle human pity!

"What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug would scour" the

slaveholder's nature of harshness and brutality? Could this be found,

"I would applaud to the very echo, that should applaud again;" but,

alas! there is no remedy for it. Education has taught many of them to

guard their "beloved institution" with a sort of patriotic fervor and

religious zeal.

When master returned that evening, he was elated to a wonderful degree.

Tompkins had paid him a large sum in ready cash, and this put him in a

good humor with himself and everybody else. He almost felt kindly toward

the negroes. But I looked upon him with more than my usual horror. That

great, bloated face, blazing now with joy and the effect of strong

drink, was revolting to me. Every expression of delight from his lips

brought to my mind the horrid troubles he had caused by the simple

exercise of his tyrannic will upon helpless women and children. The

humble appearance of Ginsy, the touching innocence of her child, the

unnoticed silent grief of Lindy, the fearful, heart-rending distraction

of Amy, the agony of her helpless sisters and brother, all rose to my

mind when I heard Mr. Peterkin's mirthful laugh ringing through the

house.

Late in the evening young master roused up. The effect of the somnolent

draught had died out, and he woke in full possession of his faculties.

Miss Bradly and I were with him when he woke. Raising himself quickly in

the bed, he asked,

"What hour is it?"

"About half-past six," said Miss Bradly.

"So late? Then am I afraid that all is over! Where is Lindy?"

"Try and rest a little more; then we can talk!"

"No, I must know _now_."

"Wait a while longer."

"Tell me instantly," he said with a nervous impatience very unusual to

him.

"Drink this, and I will then talk to you," said Miss Bradly, as she held

a cordial to his lips.

Obediently he swallowed it, and, as he returned the glass, he asked,

"How has this wretched matter terminated? What has become of that

unfortunate girl?"

"She has been sold."

"To the trader?"

"Yes, but don't talk about it; perhaps she is better off than we think."

"Is it wise for us thus to silence our sympathies?"

"Yes, it is, when we are powerless to act."

"But have we not, each of us, an influence?"

"Yes, but in such a dubious way, that in cases like the present, we had

better not openly manifest it."

"Offensive we should never be; but surely we ought to assume a defensive

position."

"Yes, but you must not excite yourself."

"Don't think of me. Already I fear I am too self-indulged. Too much time

I have wasted in inaction."

"What could you have done? And now what can you do?"