"That is the very question that agitates me. Oh, that I knew my mission,

and had the power to fulfil it!"

"Who of the others are sold?" he asked, turning to me.

"Amy's sisters and brother," and I could not avoid tears.

"Amy, too?"

"No, sir."

"Oh, God, this is too bad! and is she not half-distracted?"

I made no reply, for an admonitory look from Miss Bradly warned me to be

careful as to what I said.

"Where is father?"

"In his chamber."

"Ann, go tell him I wish to speak with him."

Before obeying I looked toward Miss Bradly, and, finding nothing adverse

in her expression, I went to do as he bade.

"Is he any worse?" master asked, when I had delivered the message.

"No, sir; he does not appear to be worse, yet I think he is very

feeble."

"What right has you to think anything 'bout it?" he said, as he took

from the mantle a large, black bottle and drank from it.

I made no reply, but followed him into young master's room, and

pretended to busy myself about some trifling matter.

"What is it you want, Johnny?"

"Father, you have done a wicked thing!"

"What do you mean, boy?"

"You have sold Amy's sisters and brothers away from her."

"And what's wicked in selling a nigger?"

"Hasn't a negro human feeling?"

"Why, they don't feel like white people; of course not."

"That must be proved, father."

"Oh, now, my boy, 'taint no use for yer to be wastin' of yer good

feelin's on them miserable, ongrateful niggers."

"They are not ungrateful; miserable they are, for they have had much

misery imposed upon them."

"Oh, 'taint no use of talking 'bout it, child, go to sleep."

"Yes, father, I shall soon sleep soundly enough, in our graveyard."

Mr. Peterkin moved nervously in his chair, and young master continued,

"I do not wish to live longer. I can do no good here, and the sight of

so much misery only makes me more wretched. Father, draw close to me, I

have lost a great deal of blood. My chest and throat are very sore. I

feel that the tide of life ebbs low. I am going fast. My little hour

upon earth is almost spent. Ere long, the great mystery of existence

will be known to me. A cold shadow, with death-dews on its form, hovers

round me. I know, by many signs unknown to others, that death is now

upon me. This difficult and labored speech, this failing breath and

filmy eye, these heavy night-sweats--all tell me that the golden bowl is

about to be broken: the silver cord is tightened to its utmost tension.

I am young, father; I have forborne to speak to you upon a subject that

has lain near, near, very near my heart." A violent paroxysm of coughing

here interrupted him. Instantly Miss Bradly was beside him with a

cordial, which he drank mechanically. "There," he continued, as he

poised himself upon his elbow, "there, good Miss Emily, cordials are of

no avail. I do not wish to stay. Father, do you not want me to rest

quietly in my grave?"

"I don't want you to go to the grave at all, my boy, my boy," and Mr.

Peterkin burst into tears.

"Yes, but, father, I am going there fast, and no human power can stay

me. I shall be happy and resigned, if I can elicit from you one

promise."

"What promise is that?"

"Liberate your slaves."

"Never!"

"Look at me, father."

"Good God!" cried Mr. Peterkin, as his eye met the calm, clear, fixed

gaze of his son, "where did you get that look? heaven and h--l! it will

kill me;" and, rushing from the room, he sought his own apartment, where

he drank long and deeply from the black bottle that graced his

mantel-shelf. This was his drop of comfort. Always after lashing a

negro, he drank plentifully, as if to drown his conscience. Alas! many

another man has sought relief from memory by such libations! Yet these

are the voters, the noblesse, the lords so superior to the lowly

African. These are the men who vote for a perpetuation of our captivity.

Can we hope for a mitigation of our wrongs when such men are our

sovereigns? Cool, clear-visioned men are few, noble philanthropic ones

are fewer. What then have we to hope for? Our interests are at war with

old established usages. The prejudices of society are against us. The

pride of the many is adverse to us. All this we have to fight against;

and strong must be the moral force that can overcome it.

Mr. Peterkin did not venture in young master's room for several hours

after; and not without having been sent for repeatedly. Meanwhile I

sought Amy, and found her lying on the floor of the cabin, with her face

downwards. She did not move when I entered, nor did she answer me when

I spoke. I lifted her up, but the hard, stony expression of her face,

frightened me.

"Amy, I will be your friend."

"I don't want any friend."

"Yes you do, you like me."

"No I don't, I doesn't like anybody."

"Amy, God loves you."

"I doesn't love Him."

"Don't talk that way, child."

"Well, you go off, and let me 'lone."

"I wish to comfort you."

"I doesn't want no comfort."

"Come," said I, "talk freely to me. It will do you good."

"I tells you I doesn't want no good for to happen to me. I'd rather be

like I is."

"Amy," and it was with reluctance I ventured to allude to a subject so

painful; but I deemed it necessary to excite her painfully rather than

leave her in that granite-like despair, "you may yet have your sisters

and little brother restored to you."

"How? how? and when?" she screamed with joy, and started up, her wild

eyes beaming with exultation.

"Don't be so wild," I said, softly, as I took her little, hard hand, and

pressed it tenderly.

"But, say, Ann, ken I iver git de chilen back? Has Masser said anything

'bout it? Oh, it 'pears like too much joy fur me to iver know any more.

Poor little Ben, it 'pears like I kan't do nothin' but hear him cry. And

maybe dey is a beatin' of him now. Oh, Lor' a marcy! what shill I do?"

and she rocked her body back and forward in a transport of grief.

There are some sorrows for which human sympathy is unavailing. What to

that broken heart were words of condolence? Did she care to know that

others felt for her? that another heart wept for her grief? No, like

Rachel of old, she would not be comforted.

"Oh, Ann!" she added, "please leave me by myself. It 'pears like I

kan't get my breath when anybody is by me. I wants to be by myself. Jist

let me 'lone for a little while, then I'll talk to you."

I understood the feeling, and complied with her request.

The slave is so distrustful of sympathy, he is so accustomed to

deception, that he feels secure in the indulgence of his grief only when

he is alone. The petted white, who has friends to cluster round him in

the hour of affliction, cannot understand the loneliness and solitude

which the slave covets as a boon.

For several days young master lingered on, declining visibly. The hectic

flush deepened upon his cheek, and the glitter of his eye grew fearfully

bright, and there was that sharp contraction of his features that

denoted the certain approach of death. His cough became low and even

harder, and those dreadful night-sweats increased. He lay in a stupid

state, half insensible from the effects of sedatives. Dr. Mandy, who

visited him three times a day, did not conceal from Mr. Peterkin the

fact of his son's near dissolution.

"Save his life, doctor, and you shall have all I own."

"If my art could do it, sir, I would, without fee, exert myself for his

restoration."

Yet for a poor old negro his art could do nothing unfeed. Do ye wonder

that we are goaded on to acts of desperation, when every day, nay, every

moment, brings to our eyes some injustice that is done us--and all

because our faces are dark?

"Mislike us not for our complexion,

The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun,

To whom we are as neighbors, and near bred;

Bring us the fairest creature Northward born,

Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles,

And let us make incision for your love

To prove whose blood is reddest, his or ours."

During young master's illness I had but little communication with Amy.

By Miss Jane's order she had been brought into the house to assist in

the dining-room. I gave her all the instruction in my power. She

appeared to listen to me, and learned well; yet everything was done with

that vacant, unmeaning manner, that showed she felt no interest in what

she was doing. I had never heard her allude to "the children" since the

conversation just recorded. Indeed, she appeared to eschew all talk. At

night I had attempted to draw her into conversation, but she always

silenced me by saying,

"I'm tired, Ann, and wants to sleep."

This was singular in one so young, who had been reared in such a

reckless manner. I should have been better satisfied if she had talked

more freely of her sorrows; that stony, silent agony that seemed frozen

upon her face, terrified me more than the most volcanic grief; that

sorrow is deeply-rooted and hopeless, that denies itself the relief of

speech. Heaven help the soul thus cut off from the usual sources of

comfort. Oh, young Miss, spoiled daughter of wealth, you whose earliest

breath opened to the splendors of home in its most luxurious form; you

who have early and long known the watchful blessing of maternal love,

and whose soft cheek has flushed to the praises of a proud and happy

father, whose lip has thrilled beneath the pressure of a brother's kiss;

you who have slept upon the sunny slope of life, have strayed 'mid the

flowers, and reposed beneath the myrtles, and beside the fountains,

where fairy fingers have garlanded flowers for your brow, oh, bethink

you of some poor little negro girl, whom you often meet in your daily

walks, whose sad face and dejected air you have often condemned as

sullen, and I ask you now, in the name of sweet humanity, to judge her

kindly. Look, with a pitying eye, upon that face which trouble has

soured and abuse contracted. Repress the harsh word; give her kindness;

'tis this that she longs for. Be you the giver of the cup of cold water

in His name.

CHAPTER XXII.

A CONVERSATION--HOPE BLOSSOMS OUT, BUT CHARLESTOWN IS FULL OF

EXCITABILITY.

One evening, during young master's illness, when he was able to sit up

beside the fire, Dr. Mandy came to see him, and, as I sat in his room,

sewing on some fancy work for Miss Jane, I heard the conversation that

passed between them.

"Have you coughed much?" the doctor asked.

"A great deal last night."

"Do the night-sweats continue?"

"Yes, sir, and are violent."

"Let me feel your pulse. Here--it is very quick--face is flushed--high

fever."

"Yes, doctor, I am sinking fast."

"Oh, keep up your spirits. I have been thinking that the best thing for

you would be to take a trip to Havana. This climate is too variable for

your complaint."

Young master shook his head mournfully.

"The change of scene," the doctor went on, "would be of service to you.

A healthful excitement of the imagination, and a different train of

thought, would, undoubtedly, benefit you."

"What in the South could induce a different train of thought? Oh,

doctor, the horrid system, that there flourishes with such rank power,

would only deepen my train of thought, and make me more wretched than I

am; I would not go near New Orleans, or pass those dreadful plantations,

even to secure the precious boon of health."

"You will not see anything of the kind. You will only see life at

hotels; and there the slaves are all happy and well used. Besides, my

good boy, the negroes on the plantations are much better used than you

think; and I assure you they are very happy. If you could overhear them

laughing and singing of an evening, you would be convinced that they are

well cared for."

"Ah, disguise thee as thou wilt, yet, Slavery, thou art horrid and

revolting."

"You are morbid on the subject."

"No, only humane; but have I not seen enough to make me morbid?"

"These are subjects upon which I deem it best to say nothing."

"That is the invariable argument of self-interest."

"No, of prudence, Mr. John; I have no right to quarrel with and rail out

against an institution that has the sanction of the law, and which is

acceptable to the interests of my best friends and patrons."

"Exactly so; the whole matter, so vital to the happiness of others, so

fraught with great humanitarian interests, must be quietly laid on the

shelf, because it may lose you or me a few hundred dollars."

"Not precisely that either; but, granting, for the sake of hypothesis

only, that slavery is a wrong, what good would all my arguments do?

None, but rather an injury to the very cause they sought to benefit. You

must not exasperate the slave-holders. Leave them to time and their own

reflections. I believe many of the Western States--yes, Kentucky

herself--would at this moment be free from slavery, if it had not been

for the officious interference of the North. The people of the West and

South are hot, fiery and impetuous. They may be persuaded and coaxed

into a measure, but never driven. All this talk and gasconade of

Abolitionists have but the tighter bound the negroes."

"I am sorry to hear you thus express yourself, for you give me a more

contemptible opinion of the Southern and Western men, or rather the

slave-holding class, than I had before. And so they are but children,

who must be coaxed, begged, and be-sugar-plumed into doing a simple act

of justice. Have they not the manhood to come out boldly, and say this

thing is wrong, and that they will no longer countenance it in their

midst; that they will, for the sake of justice and sympathy with

humanity, liberate these creatures, whom they have held in an unjust and

wicked bondage? Were they to act thus, then might they claim for

themselves the title of chevaliers."

"Yes; but they take a different view of the subject; they look upon

slavery as just and right--a dispensation of Providence, and feel that

they are as much entitled to their slaves as another man is to his

house, carriage, or horse."

"Oh, how they shut their hearts against the voice of misery, and close

their eyes to the rueful sigh of human grief. I never heard a

pro-slavery man who could, upon any reasonable ground, defend his

position. The slavery argument is not only a wicked, but an absurd one.

How wise men can be deluded by it I am at a loss to understand.

Infatuated they must be, else they could not uphold a system as

tyrannous as it is base."

"Well, we will say no more upon this subject," said the doctor, as Mr.

Peterkin entered.

"What's the matter?" the latter inquired, as he listlessly threw himself

into a chair.

"Nothing, only Mr. John is not all right on the 'goose,'" replied Dr.

Mandy, with a facetious smile.

"And not likely to be," said Mr. Peterkin; "Johnny has given me a great

deal of trouble 'bout this matter; but I hope he will outgrow it. 'Tis

only a foolish notion. He was 'lowed to gad 'bout too much with them ar'

devilish niggers, an' so 'bibed their quare ideas agin slavery. Now, in

my 'pinion, my niggers is a darned sight better off than many of them

poor whites at the North."

"But are they as free?" asked young master.

"No, to be sure they is not," and here Mr. Peterkin ejected from his

mouth an amount of tobacco-juice that nearly extinguished the fire.

"Woe be unto the man who takes from a fellow-being the priceless right

of personal liberty!" exclaimed young master, with his fine eyes

fervently raised.

"Yes, but everybody don't desarve liberty. Niggers ain't fit for to

govern 'emselves nohow. They has bin too long 'customed to havin'

masters. Them that's went to Libery has bin of no 'count to 'emselves

nor nobody else. I tell yer, niggers was made to be slaves, and yer

kan't change their Creator's design. Why, you see, doctor, a nigger's

mind is never half as good as a white man's;" and Mr. Peterkin conceived

this speech to be the very best extract of lore and sapience.

"Why is not the African mind equal to the Caucasian?" inquired young

master, with that pointed naivete for which he was so remarkable.

"Oh, it tain't no use, Johnny, fur you to be talkin' that ar' way. It's

all fine enoff in newspapers, but it won't do to bring it into practice,

'specially out here in the West."

"No, father, I begin to fear that it is of no avail to talk common sense

and preach humanity in a community like this."

"Don't talk any more on this subject," said the doctor; "I am afraid it

does Mr. John no particular good to be so painfully excited. I was going

to propose to you, Mr. Peterkin, to send him South, either on a little

coasting trip, or to Havana _via_ New Orleans. I think this climate is

too rigorous and uncertain for one of his frail constitution to remain

in it during the winter."

"Well, doctor, I am perfectly willin' fur him to go, if I had anybody to

go with him; but you see it wouldn't be safe to trust him by himself.

Now an idee has jist struck me, which, if you'll agree to, will 'zackly

suit me. 'Tis for you to go 'long; then he'd have a doctor to rinder him

any sarvice he might need. Now Doct. if you'll go, I'll foot the bill,

and pay you a good bonus in the bargain."

"Well, it will be a great professional sacrifice; but I'm willing to

make it for a friend like you, and for a patient in whose recovery or

improvement I feel so deeply interested."

"Make no sacrifices for me, dear doctor; my poor wreck of life is not

worth a sacrifice; I can weather it out a little longer in this region.

It requires a stronger air than that of the tropics to restore strength

to my poor decayed lungs."

"Yes, but you must not despond," said the doctor.

"No, my boy, you musn't give up. You are too young to die. You are my

only son, and I can't spare you." Again Mr. Peterkin turned uneasily in

his chair.

"But tell me, doctor," he added, "don't you think he is growin'

stronger?"

"Why, yes I do; and if he will consent to go South, I shall have strong

hope of him."

"He must consent," exclaimed Mr. Peterkin, with a decided emphasis.

"You know my objection, doctor, yet I cannot oppose my wish against

father's judgment; so I will go, but 'twill be without the least

expectation of ever again seeing home."

"Oh, don't, don't, my boy," and Mr. Peterkin's voice faltered, and his

eyes were very moist.

"Idols of clay!" I thought, "how frail ye are; albeit ye are

manufactured out of humanity's finest porcelain, yet a rude touch, a

slight jar, and the beautiful fabric is destroyed forever!"

Mr. Peterkin's treasure, his only son, was wasting slowly, inch by inch,

before his eyes--dying with slow and silent certainty. The virus was in

his blood, and no human aid could check its strides. The father looked

on in speechless dread. He saw the insidious marks of the incurable

malady. He read its ravages upon the broad white brow of his son, where

the pulsing veins lay like tightly-drawn cords; and on the hueless lip,

that was shrivelled like an autumn leaf; in the dilated pupil of that

prophet-like eye; in the fiery spot that blazed upon each hollow cheek;

and in the short, disturbed breathing that seemed to come from a brazen

tube; in all these he traced the omens of that stealthy disease that

robs us, like a thief in the night-time, of our richest treasures.

"Well, my boy," began Mr. Peterkin, "you must prepare to start in the

course of a few days."

"I am ready to leave at any moment, father; and, if we do not start

very soon, I am thinking you will have to consign me to the earth,

rather than send me on a voyage pleasure-hunting."

A bright smile, though mournful as twilight's shadows, flitted over the

pale face of young master as he said this.

"Why, Johnny, you are better this evening," said Miss Bradly, as she

entered the room, rushed up to him, and began patting him affectionately

on either cheek.

"Yes, I am better, good Miss Emily; but still feeble, oh so feeble! My

spirits are better, but the restless fire that burns eternally here will

give me no rest," and he placed his hand over his breast.

"Yes, but you must quench that fire."

"Where is the draught clear and pure enough to quench a flame so

consuming?"

"The dew of divine grace can do it."

"Yes, but it descends not upon my dried and burnt spirit."

Mr. Peterkin turned off, and affected to take no note of this little

colloquy, whilst Doctor Mandy began to chew furiously.

The fact is, the Peterkin family had begun to distrust Miss Bradly's

principles ever since the day young master administered such a reproof

to her muffled conscience; and in truth, I believe she had half-declared

her opposition to the slave system; and they began to abate the fervor

of their friendship for her. The young ladies, indeed, kept up their

friendly intercourse with her, though with a modification of their

former warmth.

I fancied that Miss Bradly looked happier, now that she had cast off

disguise and stood forth in her true character. That cloud of faltering

distrust that once hung round her like a filmy web, had been dissipated

and she stood out, in full relief, with the beautiful robe of truth

draping and dignifying her nature. Woman, when once she interests

herself in the great cause of humanity, goes to work with an ability and

ardor that put to shame the colder and slower action of man. The heart

and mind co-work, and thus a woman, as if by the dictate of inspiration,

will achieve with a single effort the mighty deed, for the attainment of

which men spend years in idle planning. Women have done much, and may

yet achieve more toward the emancipation and enfranchisement of the

world. The historic pages glitter with the noble acts of heroic

womanhood, and histories yet unwritten will, I believe, proclaim the

good which they shall yet do. Who but the Maid of Orleans rescued her

country? Whose hand but woman's dealt the merited death-blow to one of

France's bloodiest tyrants? In all times, she has been most loyal to the

highest good. Woman has ever been brave! She was the instrument of our

redemption, and the early watcher at the tomb of our Lord. To her heart

the Saviour's doctrine came with a special welcome message. And I now

believe that through her agency will yet come the political ransom of

the slaves! God grant it, and speed on the blessed day!

I now looked upon Miss Bradly with the admiring interest with which I

used to regard her; and though I had never had from her an explanation

of the change or changes through which she had passed since that

memorable conversation recorded in the earlier pages of this book, I

felt assured from the fact that young master had learned to love her,

that all was right at the core of her heart; and I was willing to

forgive her for the timidity and vacillation that had caused her to play

the dissembler. The memorable example of the loving but weak Apostle

Peter should teach us to look leniently upon all those who cannot pass

safely through the ordeal of human contempt, without having their

principles, or at least actions, a little warped. Of course there are

higher natures, from whose fortitude the rack and the stake can provoke

nothing but smiles; but neither good St. Peter nor Miss Bradly were of

such material.

"I am going to leave you very soon, Miss Emily."

"And where are you going, John?"

"They will send me to the South. As the poor slaves say, I'm going down

the river;" and a sweet smile flitted over that gentle face.

"Who will accompany you?"

"Father wishes Doctor Mandy to go; but I fear it will be too great a

professional sacrifice."

"Oh, some one must go with you. You shall not go alone."

"I do not wish to go at all. I shall see nothing in the South to please

me. Those magnificent plantations of rice, sugar, and cotton, those

lordly palaces, embowered in orange trees, those queenly magnolia

groves, and all the thousand splendors that cover the coast with

loveliness, will but recall to my mind the melancholy fact that

slave-labor produces the whole. I shall fancy that some poor

heart-broken negro man, or some hopeless mother or lonely wife watered

those fields with tears. Oh, that the dropping of those sad eyes had,

like the sowing of the dragon's teeth, produced a band of armed,

bristling warriors, strong enough to conquer all the tyrants and

liberate the captives!"

"This can never be accomplished suddenly. It must be the slow and

gradual work of years. Like all schemes of reformation, it moves but by

inches. Wise legislators have proposed means for the final abolition of

slavery; but, though none have been deemed practicable, I look still for

the advent of the day when the great sun shall look goldenly down upon

the emancipation of this dusky tribe, and when the word slave shall

nowhere find expression upon the lips of Christian men."

"When do you predict the advent of that millennial day?"

"I fear it is far distant; yet is it pleasant to think that it will

come, no matter at how remote an epoch."

"Distant is it only because men are not thoroughly Christianized. No man

that will willingly hold his brother in bondage is a Christian.

Moreover, the day is far off in the future, because of the ignorant

pride of men. They wish to send the poor negro away to the unknown land

from whence his ancestors were stolen. We virtually say to the Africans,

now you have cultivated and made beautiful our continent, we have no

further use for you. You have grown up, it is true, beneath the shadow

of our trees, you were born upon our soil, your early associations are

here. Your ignorance precludes you from the knowledge of the excellence

of any other land: yet for all this we take no care, it is our business

to drive you hence. Cross the ocean you must. Find a home in a strange

country; lay your broad shoulder to the work, and make for yourself an

interest there. What wonder is it, if the poor, ignorant negro shakes

his head mournfully, and says: "No, I would rather stay here; I am a

slave, it is true, but then I was born here, and here I will be buried.

I am tightly kept, have a master and a mistress, but then I know what

this is. Hard to endure, I grant it--but then it is known to me. I can

bear on a little longer, till death sets me free. No, this is my native

shore; here let me stay." Their very ignorance begets a kind of

philosophy that

"Makes them rather bear those ills they have,

Than fly to others that they know not of."

Now, why, I ask, have they not as much right to remain here as we have?

This is their birthplace as well as ours. We are, likewise, descendants

of foreigners. If we drive them hence, what excuse have we for it? Our

forefathers were not the aborigines of this country. As well might the

native red men say to us: "Fly, leave the Western continent, 'tis our

home; we will not let you stay here. You have cultivated it, now _we_

will enjoy it. Go and labor elsewhere." What would we think of this? Yet

such is our line of conduct toward those poor creatures, who have toiled

to adorn our homes. Then again, we allow the Irish, Germans, and

Hungarians, to dwell among us. Why ban the African?"

"These, my young friend, are questions that have puzzled the wisest

brains."

"If it entered more into the hearts, and disturbed the brains less, it

would be better for them and for the slaves."

"Now, come, Miss Emily, I'm tired of hearing you and that boy talk all

that nonsense. It's time you were both thinking of something else. You

are too old to be indulgin' of him in that ar' stuff. It will never

come to any good. Them ar' niggers is allers gwine to be slaves, and

white folks had better be tendin' to what consarns 'emselves."

Such arguments as the foregoing were carried on every day. Meanwhile we,

who formed the subject of them, still went on in our usual way, half-fed

and half-clad, knocked and kicked like dogs.

Amy went about her assigned work, with the same hard-set composure with

which she had begun. Talking little to any one, she tried to discharge

her duties with a docility and faithfulness very remarkable. Yet she

sternly rebuked all conversation. I made many efforts to draw her out

into a free, sociable talk, and was always told that it was not

agreeable to her.

I now had no companionship among those of my own color. Aunt Polly was

in the grave; Amy wrapped in the silence of her own grief; and Sally

(the successor of Aunt Polly in the culinary department) was a sulky,

ignorant woman, who did not like to be sociable; and the men, with their

beastly instincts, were objects of aversion to me. So my days and nights

passed in even deeper gloom than I had ever before known.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE SUPPER--ITS CONSEQUENCES--LOSS OF SILVER--A LONELY NIGHT--AMY.

The winter was now drawing to a close. The heavy, dreary winter, that

had hung like an incubus upon my hours, was fast drawing to an end. Many

a little, tuneful bird came chirping with the sunny days of the waning

February. Already the sunbeam had begun to give us a hint of the

spring-warmth; the ice had melted away, and the moistened roofs of the

houses began to smoke with the drying breath of the sun, and little

green pods were noticeable upon the dried branches of the forest trees.

It was on such a day, when the eye begins to look round upon Nature, and

almost expects to solve the wondrous phenomenon of vegetation, that I

was engaged arranging Miss Jane's wardrobe. I had just done up some

laces for her, and finished off a nice silk morning-dress. She was

making extensive preparations for a visit to the city of L. The

protracted rigors of the winter and her own fancied ill-health had

induced her to postpone the trip until the opening of spring.

It was decided that I should accompany her as lady's maid; and the fact

is, I was desirous of any change from the wearying monotony of my life.

Young master had been absent during the whole winter. Frequent letters

from Dr. Mandy (who had accompanied him) informed the family of his

slowly-improving health; yet the doctor stated in each communication

that he was not strong enough to write a letter himself. This alarmed

me, for I knew that he must be excessively weak, if he denied himself

the gratification of writing to his family. Miss Bradly came to the

house but seldom; and then only to inquire the news from young master.

Her principles upon the slavery question had become pretty well known in

the neighborhood; so her residence there was not the most pleasant.

Inuendoes, of a most insulting character, had been thrown out, highly

prejudicial to her situation. Foul slanders were in busy circulation

about her, and she began to be a taboed person. So I was not surprised

to hear her tell Miss Jane that she thought of returning to the North

early in the spring. I had never held any private conversation with her

since that memorable one; for now that her principles were known, she

was too much marked for a slave to be allowed to speak with her alone.

Her sorrowful face struck me with pity. I knew her to be one of that

time-serving kind, by whom the loss of caste and social position is

regarded as the most fell disaster.

As I turned the key of Miss Jane's wardrobe, she came into the room,

with an unusually excited manner, exclaiming,

"Ann, where is your Miss Tildy?"

Upon my answering that I did not know, she bade me go and seek her

instantly, and say that she wished to speak with her. As I left the

room, I observed Miss Jane draw a letter from the folds of her dress.

This was hint enough. My mother-wit told me the rest.

Finding Miss Tildy with a book, in a quiet corner of the parlor, I

delivered Miss Jane's message, and withdrew. The contents of Miss Jane's

letter soon became known; for it was, to her, of such an exciting

nature, that it could not be held in secresy. The letter was from Mr.

Summerville, and announced that he would pay her a visit in the course

of a few days.

And, for the next "few days," the whole house was in a perfect

consternation. All hands were at work. Carpets were taken up, shaken,

and put down again with the "clean side" up. Paint was scoured, windows

were washed; the spare bedroom was re-arranged, and adjusted in style;

the French couch was overspread with Miss Tildy's silk quilt, that had

taken the prize at the Agricultural Fair; and fresh bouquets were

collected from the green-house, and placed upon the mantel. Everything

looked very nice about the house, and in the kitchen all sorts of

culinary preparations had gone on. Cakes, cookies, and confections had

been made in abundance. As Amy expressed it, in her quaintly comical

way, "Christmas is comin' again." It was the first and only time since

the departure of "the children," that I had heard her indulge in any of

her old drollery.

At length the "day" arrived, and with it came Mr. Summerville. Whilst he

remained with us, everything went off in the way that Miss Jane desired.

There were fine dinners, with plenty of wine, roast turkey, curry

powder, desserts, &c. The silver and best china had been brought out,

and Mr. Peterkin behaved himself as well as he could. He even consented

to use a silver fork, which, considering his prejudice against the

article, was quite a concession for him to make.

Time sped on (as it always will do), and brought the end of the week,

and with it, the end of Mr. Summerville's visit. I thought, from a

certain softening of Miss Jane's eye, and from the length of the parting

interview, that "_matters_" had been arranged between her and Mr.

Summerville. After the last adieu had been given, and Miss Jane had

rubbed her eyes enough with her fine pocket-handkerchief (or, perhaps,

in this case, it would be well to employ the suggestion of a modern

author, and say her "lachrymal,") I say, after all was over, and Mr.

Summerville's interesting form was fairly lost in the distance, Miss

Tildy proposed that they should settle down to their usual manner of

living. Accordingly, the silver was all rubbed brightly by Amy, whose

business it was, then handed over to Miss Tildy to be locked up in the

bureau.

For a few weeks matters went on with their usual dullness. Master was

still smoking his cob-pipe, kicking negroes, and blaspheming; and Miss

Jane making up little articles for the approaching visit to the city.

She and Miss Tildy sat a great deal in their own room, talking and

speculating upon the coming joys. Passing in and out, I frequently

caught fragments of conversation that let me into many of their

secrets. Thus I learned that Miss Jane's chief object in visiting the

city was to purchase a bridal trousseau, that Mr. Summerville "had

proposed," and, of course, been accepted. He lived in the city; so it

was decided that, after the celebration of the nuptial rite, Miss Tildy

should accompany the bride to her new home, and remain with her for

several weeks.

Sundry little lace caps were manufactured; handkerchiefs embroidered;

dresses made and altered; collars cut, and an immence deal of

"transfering" was done by the sisters Peterkin.

We, of the "colored population," were stinted even more than formerly;

for they deemed it expedient to economize, in order to be the better

able to meet the pecuniary exigencies of the marriage. Thus time wore

along, heavily enough for the slaves; but doubtless delightful to the

white family. The enjoyment of pleasure, like all other prerogatives,

they considered as exclusively their own.

Time, in its rugged course, had brought no change to Amy. If her heart

had learned to bear its bereavement better, or had grown more tender in

its anxious waiting, we knew it not from her word or manner. The same

settled, rocky look, the same abstracted air, marked her deportment.

Never once had I heard her laugh, or seen her weep. She still avoided

conversation, and was assiduous in the discharge of her domestic duties.

If she did a piece of work well, and was praised for it, she received

the praise with the same indifferent air; or if, as was most frequently

the case, she was harshly chided and severely punished, 'twas all the

same. No tone or word could move those rigid features.

One evening Miss Bradly came over to see the young ladies, and inquire

the latest news from young master. Miss Jane gave orders that the table

should be set with great care, and all the silver displayed. They had

long since lost their olden familiarity, and, out of respect to the

present coldness that existed between them, they (the Misses Peterkin)

desired to show off "before the discredited school-mistress." I heard

Miss Bradly ask Mr. Peterkin when he heard from young master.

"I've just got a letter from Dr. Mandy. They ar' still in New Orleans;

but expected to start for home in 'bout three days. The doctor gives me

very little cause for hope; says Johnny is mighty weak, and had a pretty

tough cough. He says the night-sweats can't be broke; and the boy is

very weak, not able to set up an hour at a time. This is very

discouragin', Miss Emily. Sometimes it 'pears like 'twould kill me, too,

my heart is so sot 'pon that boy;" and here Mr. Peterkin began to smoke

with great violence, a sure sign that he was laboring under intense

excitement.

"He is a very noble youth," said Miss Bradly, with a quivering voice and

a moist eye; "I am deeply attached to him, and the thought of his death

is one fraught with pain to me. I hope Doctor Mandy is deceived in the

prognostics he deems so bad. Johnny's life is a bright example, and one

that is needed."

"Yes, you think it will aid the Abolition cause; but not in this region,

I can assure you," said Miss Tildy, as she tossed her head knowingly.

"I'd like to know where Johnny learned all the Anti-slavery cant. Do you

know, Miss Emily, that your incendiary principles lost you caste in this

neighborhood, where you once stood as a model?"

Miss Tildy had touched Miss Bradly in her vulnerable point. "Caste" was

a thing that she valued above reputation, and reckoned more desirable

than honor. Had it not been for a certain goodness of heart, from which

she could not escape (though she had often tried) she would have

renounced her Anti-slavery sentiments and never again avowed them; but

young master's words had power to rescue her almost shipwrecked

principles, and then, whilst smarting under the lash of his rebuke, she

attempted, like many an astute politician, to "run on both sides of the

question;" but this was an equivocal position that the "out and out"

Kentuckians were not going to allow. She had to be, in their distinct

phraseology, "one thing or the other;" and, accordingly, aided by young

master and her sense of justice, she avowed herself "the other." And,

of course, with this avowal, came the loss of cherished friends. In

troops they fell away from her. Their averted looks and distant nods

nearly drove her mad. If young master had been by to encourage and

sustain her with gracious words, she could have better borne it; but,

single-handed and alone, she could not battle against adversity. And now

this speech of Miss Tildy's was very untimely. She winced under it, yet

dared not reply. What a contemptible character, to the brave mind, seems

one lacking moral courage!

"I want to see Johnny once again, and then I shall leave for the North,"

said Miss Bradly, in a pitiful tone.

"See Naples and die, eh?" laughed Miss Tildy.

"Always and ever ready with your fun," replied Miss Bradly.

At first her wiry turnings, her open and shameless sycophancy, and now

her cringing and fawning upon the Peterkins, caused me to lose all

respect for her. In the hour of her trouble, when deserted by those whom

she had loved as friends, when her pecuniary prospects were blighted, I

felt deeply for her, and even forgave the falsehood; but now when I saw

her shrink from the taunt and invective of Miss Tildy, and then minister

to her vanity, I felt that she was too little even for contempt. At tea,

that evening, whilst serving the table, I was surprised to observe Miss

Jane's face very red with anger, and her manner exceedingly irascible. I

began to wonder if I had done anything to exasperate her; but could

think of no offence of which I had been guilty. I knew from the way in

which she conversed with all at the table, that none of them were

offenders. I was the more surprised at her anger, as she had been, for

the last week, in such an excellent humor, getting herself ready for the

visit to the city. Oh, how I dreaded to see Miss Bradly leave, for then,

I knew the storm would break in all its fury!

I was standing in the kitchen, alone, trying to think what could have

offended Miss Jane, when Amy came up to me, saying,

"Oh, Ann, two silver forks is lost, an' Miss Tildy done 'cuse me of

stealin' 'em, an' I declar 'fore heaven, I gib ebery one of 'em to Miss

Tildy de mornin' Misser Summerbille lef, an' now she done told Miss Jane

dat I told a lie, and that I stole 'em. Lor' knows what dey is gwine to

do 'long wid me; but I don't kere much, so dey kills me soon and sets me

out my misery at once."

"When did they miss the forks?"

"Wy, to-night, when I went to set de table, I found dat two of 'em

wasn't dar; so I axed Miss Tildy whar dey was, an' she said she didn't

know. Den I axed Miss Jane; she say, 'ax Miss Tildy.' Den when I told

Miss Tildy dat, she got mad; struck me a lick right cross my face. Den I

told her bout de time Mr. Summerbille lef, when I give 'em to her. She

say, 'you's a liar, an' hab stole 'em.' Den I begun to declar I hadn't,

and she call Miss Jane, and say to her dat she knowed I hab stole 'em,

and Miss Jane got mad; kicked me, pulled my har till I screamed; den I

'spose she did 'ant want Miss Bradly to hear me; so she stopped, but

swar she'd beat me to death if I didn't get 'em fur her right off. Now,

Ann, I doesn't know whar dey is, if I was to be kilt for it."

She drew the back of her hand across her eyes, and I saw that it was

moist. I was glad of this, for her silent endurance was more horrible to

look upon than this physical softness.

"Oh, God!" I exclaimed, "I would that young master were here."

"What fur, Ann?"

"He might intercede and prevent them from using you so cruelly."

"I doesn't wish he was har; for I lubs young Masser, an' he is good; if

he was to see me a sufferin' it wud stress him, an' make his complaint

worse; an' he couldn't do no good; for dey will beat me, no matter who

begs. Ob, it does seem so strange that black people was eber made. I is

glad dat de chillen isn't har; for de sight ob dem cryin' round de

'post,' wud nearly kill me. I can bar anythin' fur myself, but not fur

'em. Oh, I hopes dey is dead."

And here she heaved a dreadful groan. This was the first time I had

heard her allude to them, and I felt a choking rush in my throat.

"Don't cry, Ann, take kere ob yourself. It 'pears like my time has come.

I don't feel 'feard, an' dis is de fust time I'se eber bin able to speak

'bout de chillen. If eber you sees 'em, (I niver will), tell 'em dat I

niver did forget 'em; dat night an' day my mind was sot on 'em, an'

please, Ann, gib 'em dis."

Here she took from her neck a string that held her mother's gift, and

the coin young master had given her, suspended to it. She looked at it

long and wistfully, then, slowly pressing it to her lips, she said in a

low, plaintive voice that went to my heart, "Poor Mammy."

I then took it from her, and hid it in my pocket. A cold horror stole

over me. I had not the power to gainsay her; for an instinctive idea

that something terrible was going to occur, chained my lips.

"Ann, I thanks you for all your kindness to me. I hopes you may hab a

better time den I has hab. I feel, Ann, as if I niver should come down

from dat post alive.

"Trust in God, Amy."

She shook her head despairingly.

"He will save you."

"No, God don't kare for black folks."

"What did young master tell you about that? Did he not say God loved all

His creatures alike?"

"Yes, but black folks aint God's critters."

"Yes, they are, just as much as white people."

"No dey aint."

"Oh, Amy, I wish I could make you understand how it is."

"You kant make me belieb dat ar' way, no how you can fix it. God don't

kare what a comes ob niggers; an' I is glad he don't, kase when I dies,

I'll jist lay down and rot like de worms, and dere wont be no white

folks to 'buse me."

"No, there will be no white folks to abuse you in heaven; but God and

His angels will love you, if you will do well and try to get there."

"I don't want to go ther, for God is one of the white people, and, in

course, he'd beat de niggers."

Oh, was not this fearful, fearful ignorance? Through the solid rock of

her obtusity, I could, with no argument of mine, make an aperture for a

ray of heavenly light to penetrate. Do Christians, who send off

missionaries, realize that heathendom exists in their very midst; aye,

almost at their own hearthstone? Let them enlighten those that dwell in

the bonds of night on their own borders; then shall their efforts in

distant lands be blest. Numberless instances, such as the one I have

recorded, exist in the slave States. The masters who instruct their

slaves in religion, could be numbered; and I will venture to assert

that, if the census were taken in the State of Kentucky, the number

would not exceed twenty. Here and there you will find an instance of a

mistress who will, perhaps, on a Sunday evening, talk to a female slave

about the propriety of behaving herself; but the gist of the argument,

the hinge upon which it turns, is--"obey your master and mistress;" upon

this one precept hang all the law and the prophets.

That night, after my house duties were discharged, I went to the cabin,

where I found Amy lying on her face, weeping bitterly. I lifted her up,

and tried to console her; but she exclaimed, with more energy than I had

ever heard her,

"Ann, every ting seems so dark to me. I kan't see past to-morrow. I has

bin thinkin' of Aunt Polly; I keeps seein' her, no matter what way I

turns."

"You are frightened," I ventured to say.

"No, I isn't, but I feels curus."

"Let me teach you to pray."

"Will it do me any good?"

"Yes, if you put faith in God."

"What's faith?"

"Believe that God is strong and willing to save you; that is faith."

"Who is God? I never seed him."

"No, but He sees you."

"Whar is He?" and she looked fearfully around the room, in which the

scanty fire threw a feeble glare.

"Everywhere. He is everywhere," I answered.

"Is He in dis room?" she asked in terror, and drew near me.

"Yes, He is here."

"Oh lor! He may tell Masser on me."

This ignorance may, to the careless reader, seem laughable; but, to me,

it was most horrible, and I could not repress my tears. Here was the

force of education. Master was to her the strongest thing or person in

existence. Of course she could not understand a higher power than that

which had governed her life. There are hundreds as ignorant; but no

missionaries come to enlighten them!

"Oh, don't speak that way; you know God made you."

"Yes, but dat was to please Masser. He made me fur to be a slave."

Now, how would the religious slave-holder answer that?

I strove, but with no success, to make her understand that over her

soul, her temporal master had no control; but her ignorance could not

see a difference between the body and soul. Whoever owned the former,

she thought, was entitled to the latter. Finding I could make no

impression upon her mind, I lay down and tried to sleep; but rest was an

alien to me. I dreaded the breaking of the morn. Poor Amy slept, and I

was glad that she did. Her overtaxed body yielded itself up to the most

profound rest. In the morning, when I saw her sleeping so soundly on the

pallet, I disliked to arouse her. I felt, as I fancied a human jailer

must feel, whose business it is to awaken a criminal on the morning of

his execution; yet I had it to do, for, if she had been tardy at her

work, it would have enraged her tyrants the more, and been worse for

her.

Rubbing her eyes, she sat upright on the pallet and murmured,

"Dis is de day. I's to be led to de post, and maybe kilt."

I dared not comfort her, and only bade her to make haste and attend to

her work.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE PUNISHMENT--CRUELTY--ITS FATAL CONSEQUENCE--DEATH.

At breakfast, Miss Jane shook her head at Amy, saying,

"I'll settle accounts with you, presently."

I wondered if that tremulous form, that stood eyeing her in affright,

did not soften her; but no, the "shaking culprit," as she styled Amy,

was the very creature upon whom she desired to deal swift justice.

Pitiable was the sight in the kitchen, where Jake and Dan, great stout

fellows, were making their breakfasts off of scraps of meat, old bones

and corn-bread, whilst the aroma of coffee, broiled chicken, and

egg-cakes was wafted to them from the house-table.

"I wish't I had somepin' more to eat," said Dan.

"You's never satisfy," replied Sally, the cook; "you gits jist as much

as de balance, yit you makes de most complaints."

"No I doesn't."

"Yes, you does; don't he, Jake?"

"Why, to be sartain he does," said Jake, who of late had agreed to live

with Sally as a wife. Of course no matrimonial rite was allowed, for Mr.

Peterkin was consistent enough to say, that, as the law did not

recognize the validity of negro marriages, he saw no use of the

tomfoolery of a preacher in the case; and this is all reasonable enough.

"You allers takes Sal's part," said Dan, "now sense she has got to be

your wife; you and her is allers colloged together agin' de rest ov us."

"Wal, haint I right for to 'tect my ole 'oman?"

"Now, ha, ha!" cried Nace, as he entered, "de idee ob yer 'tectin' a

wife! I jist wisht Masser sell yer apart, den whar is yer 'tection ob

one anoder?"

"Oh, dat am very different. Den I'd jist git me anoder ole 'oman, an'

she'd git her anoder ole man."

"Sure an' I would," was Sally's reply; "hain't I done had five old men

already, an' den if Jake be sole, I'de git somebody else."

"White folks don't do dat ar' way," interposed Dan, as he picked away at

a bone.

"In course dey don't. Why should dey?" put in Nace. "Ain't dey our

Massers, and habn't dey dar own way in ebery ting?"

"I wisht I'd bin born white," added Dan.

"Ya, ya, dat is funny!"

"Do de free colored folks live like de whites?" asked Sally.

"Why, laws, yes; once when I went with Masser to L.," Nace began, "at de

tavern whar we put up, dar was a free collored man what waited on de

table, and anoder one what kipt barber-shop in de tavern. Wal, dey was

drest as nice as white men. Dar dey had dar standin' collar, and nice

cravat, and dar broadcloth, and dar white handkersher; and de barber, he

had some wool growin' on his upper lip jist like de quality men. Ya, ya,

but I sed dis am funny; so when I 'gin to talk jist as dough dey was

niggers same as I is, dey straighten 'emselves up and tell me dat I was

a speakin' to a gemman. Wal, says I, haint your faces black as mine?

Niggers aint gemmen, says I, for I thought I'd take dar airs down; but

den, dey spunk up and say dey was not niggers, but colored pussons, and

dey call one anoder Mr. Wal, I t'ought it was quare enoff; and more an'

dat, white folks speak 'spectable to 'em, jist same as dey war white.

Whole lot ob white gemmans come in de barber-shop to be shaved; and den

dey'd pay de barber, and maybe like as not, set down and talk 'long wid

him."

There is no telling how long the garrulous Nace would have continued the

narration of what he saw in L--, had he not been suddenly interrupted

by the entrance of Miss Tildy, inquiring for Amy.

Instantly all of them assumed that cheerful, smiling, sycophantic

manner, which is well known to all who have ever looked in at the

kitchen of a slaveholder. Amy stood out from the group to answer Miss

Tildy's summons. I shall never forget the expression of subdued misery

that was limned upon her face.

"Come in the house and account for the loss of those forks," said Miss

Tildy, in the most peremptory manner.

Amy made no reply to this; but followed the lady into the house. There

she was court-marshalled, and of course, found guilty of a high

misdemeanor.

"Wal," said Mr. Peterkin, "we'll see if the 'post' can't draw from you

whar you've put 'em. Come with me."

With a face the picture of despair, she followed.

Upon reaching the post, she was fastened to it by the wrist and ankle

fetters; and Mr. Peterkin, foaming with rage, dipped his cowhide in the

strongest brine that could be made, and drawing it up with a flourish,

let it descend upon her uncovered back with a lacerating stroke.

Heavens! what a shriek she gave! Another blow, another and a deeper

stripe, and cry after cry came from the hapless victim!

"Whar is the forks?" thundered Mr. Peterkin, "tell me, or I'll have the

worth out of yer cussed hide."

"Indeed, indeed, Masser, I doesn't know."

"You are a liar," and another and a severer blow.

"Whar is they?"

"I give 'em to Miss Jane, Masser, indeed I did."

"Take that, you liar," and again he struck her, and thus he continued

until he had to stop from exhaustion. There she stood, partially naked,

bleeding at every wound, yet none of us dared go near and offer her even

a glass of cold water.

"Has she told where they are?" asked Miss Tildy.

"No, she says she give 'em to you."

"Well, she tells an infamous lie; and I hope you will beat her until

pain forces her to acknowledge what she has done with them."

"Oh, I'll git it out of her yet, and by blood, too."

"Yes, father, Amy needs a good whipping," said Miss Jane, "for she has

been sulky ever since we took her in the house. Two or three times I've

thought of asking you to have her taken to the post."

"Yes, I've noticed that she's give herself a good many ars. It does me

rale good to take 'em out of her."

"Yes, father, you are a real negro-breaker. They don't dare behave badly

where you are."

This, Mr. Peterkin regarded as high praise; for, whenever he related the

good qualities of a favorite friend, he invariably mentioned that he was

a "tight master;" so he smiled at his daughter's compliment.

"Yes," said Miss Tildy, "whenever father approaches, the darkies should

set up the tune, 'See the conquering hero comes.'"

"Good, first-rate, Tildy," replied Miss Jane.

"'Till is a wit."

"Yes, you are both high-larn't gals, a-head of yer pappy."

"Oh, father, please don't speak in that way."

"It was the fashion when I was edicated."

"Just listen," they both exclaimed.

"Jake," called out Mr. Peterkin, whose wrath was getting excited by the

criticisms of his daughters, "go and bring Amy here."

In a few moments Jake returned, accompanied by Amy. The blood was oozing

through the body and sleeves of the frock that she had hastily thrown

on.

"Whar's the spoons?" thundered out Mr. Peterkin.

"I give 'em to Miss Tildy."

"You are a liar," said Miss Tildy, as she dashed up to her, and struck

her a severe blow on the temple with a heated poker. Amy dared not parry

the blow; but, as she received it, she fell fainting to the floor. Mr.

Peterkin ordered Jake to take her out of their presence.

She was taken to the cabin and left lying on the floor. When I went in

to see her, a horrid spectacle met my view! There she lay stretched upon

the floor, blood oozing from her whole body. I washed it off nicely and

greased her wounds, as poor Aunt Polly had once done for me; but these

attentions had to be rendered in a very secret manner. It would have

been called treason, and punished as such, if I had been discovered.

I had scarcely got her cleansed, and her wounds dressed, before she was

sent for again.

"Now," said Miss Tildy, "if you will tell me what you did with the

forks, I will excuse you; but, if you dare to say you don't know, I'll

beat you to death with this," and she held up a bunch of briery

switches, that she had tied together. Now only imagine briars digging

and scraping that already lacerated flesh, and you will not blame the

equivocation to which the poor wretch was driven.

"Where are they?" asked Miss Jane, and her face was frightful as the

Medusa's.

"I hid 'em under a barrel out in the back yard."

"Well, go and get them."

"Stay," said Miss Jane, "I'll go with you, and see if they are there."

Accordingly she went off with her, but they were not there.

"Now, where are they, _liar_?" she asked.

"Oh, Miss Jane, I put 'em here; but I 'spect somebody's done stole 'em."

"No, you never put them there," said Miss Tildy. "Now tell me where they

are, or I'll give you this with a vengeance," and she shook the briers.

"I put 'em in my box in the cabin."

And thither they went to look for them. Not finding them there, the

tortured girl then named some other place, but with as little success

they looked elsewhere.

"Now," said Miss Tildy, "I have done all that the most humane or just

could demand; and I find that nothing but a touch of this can get the

truth from you, so come with me." She took her to the "lock-up," and

secured the door within. Such screams as issued thence, I pray heaven I

may never hear again. It seemed as if a fury's strength endowed Miss

Tildy's arm.

When she came out she was pale from fatigue.

"I've beaten that girl till I've no strength in me, and she has less

life in her; yet she will not say what she did with the forks."

"I'll go in and see if I can't get it out of her," said Miss Jane.

"Wait awhile, Jane, maybe she will, after a little reflection, agree to

tell the truth about it."

"Never," said Miss Jane, "a nigger will never tell the truth till it is

beat out of her." So saying she took the key from Miss Tildy, and bade

me follow her. I had rather she had told me to hang myself.

When she unlocked the door, I dared not look in. My eyes were riveted to

the ground until I heard Miss Jane say:

"Get up, you hussy."

There, lying on the ground, more like a heap of clotted gore than a

human being, I beheld the miserable Amy.

"Why don't she get up?" inquired Miss Jane. I did not reply. Taking the

cowhide, she gave her a severe lick, and the wretch cried out, "Oh,

Lord!"

"The Lord won't hear a liar," said Miss Jane.

"Oh, what will 'come of me?"

"_Death_, if you don't confess what you did with the forks."

"Oh God, hab mercy! Miss Jane, please don't beat me any more. My poor

back is so sore. It aches and smarts dreadful," and she lifted up her

face, which was one mass of raw flesh; and wiping or trying to wipe the

blood away from her eyes with a piece of her sleeve that had been cut

from her body, she besought Miss Jane to have mercy on her; but the

spirit of her father was too strongly inherited for Jane Peterkin to

know aught of human pity.

"Where are the forks?"

"Oh, law! oh, law!" Amy cried out, "I swar I doesn't know anything 'bout

'em."

Such blows as followed I have not the heart to describe; for they

descended upon flesh already horribly mangled.

The poor girl looked up to me, crying out:

"Oh, Ann, beg for me."

"Miss Jane," I ventured to say; but the tigress turned and struck me

such a blow across the face, that I was blinded for full five minutes.

"There, take that! you impudent hussy. Do you dare to ask me not to

punish a thief?"

I made no reply, but withdrew from her presence to cleanse my face from

the blood that was flowing from the wound.

As I bathed my face and bound it up, I wondered if acts such as these

had ever been reported to those clergymen, who so stoutly maintain that

slavery is just, right, _and almost_ available unto salvation. I cannot

think that they do understand it in all its direful wrongs. They look

upon the institution, doubtless, as one of domestic servitude, where a

strong attachment exists between the slave and his owner; but, alas! all

that is generally fabulous, worse than fictitious. I can fearlessly

assert that I never knew a single case, where this sort of feeling was

cherished. The very nature of slavery precludes the existence of such a

feeling. Read the legal definition of it as contained in the statute

books of Kentucky and Virginia, and how, I ask you, can there be, on the

slave's part, a love for his owner? Oh, no, that is the strangest

resort, the fag-end of argument; that most transparent fiction. Love,

indeed! The slave-master love his slave! Did Cain love Abel? Did Herod

love those innocents, whom, by a bloody edict, he consigned to death? In

the same category of lovers will we place the slave-owner.

When Miss Jane had beaten Amy until _she_ was satisfied, she came, with

a face blazing, like Mars, from the "lock-up."

"Well, she confesses now, that she put the forks under the corner of a

log, near the poultry coop."

"Its only another one of her lies," replied Miss Tildy.

"Well, if it is, I'll beat her until she tells the truth, or I'll kill

her."

So saying, she started off to examine the spot. I felt that this was but

another subterfuge, devised by the poor wretch to gain a few moments'

respite.

The examination proved, as I had anticipated, a failure.

"What's to be done?" inquired Miss Tildy.

"Leave her a few moments longer to herself, and then if the truth is not

obtained from her, kill her." These words came hissing though her

clenched teeth.

"It won't do to kill her," said Miss Tildy.

"I don't care much if I do."

"We would be tried for murder."

"Who would be our accusers? Who the witnesses? You forget that Jones is

not here to testify."

"Ah, and so we are safe."

"Oh, I never premeditate anything without counting the cost."

"But then the loss of property!"

"I'd rather gratify my revenge than have five hundred dollars, which

would be her highest market value."

Tell me, honest reader, was not she, at heart, a murderess? Did she not

plan and premeditate the deed? Who were her accusers? That God whose

first law she had outraged; that same God who asked Cain for his slain

brother.

"Now," said Miss Jane, after she had given the poor creature only a few

moments relief, "now let me go and see what that wretch has to say about

the forks."

"More lies," added Miss Tildy.

"Then her fate is sealed," said the human hyena.

Turning to me, she added, in the most authoritative manner,

"Come with me, and mind that you obey me; none of your impertinent

tears, or I'll give you this."

And she struck me a lick across the shoulders. I can assure you I felt

but little inclination to do anything whereby such a penalty might be

incurred. Taking the key of the "lock up" from her pocket, she ordered

me to open the door. With a trembling hand I obeyed. Slowly the old,

rusty-hinged door swung open, and oh, heavens! what a sight it revealed!

There, in the centre of the dismal room, suspended from a spoke, about

three feet from the ground, was the body of Amy! Driven by desperation,

goaded to frenzy, she had actually hung herself! Oh, God! that fearful

sight is burnt in on my brain, with a power that no wave of Lethe can

ever wash out! There, covered with clotted blood, bruised and mangled,

hung the wretched girl! There, a bleeding, broken monument of the white

man's and white woman's cruelty! God of my sires! is there for us no

redress? And Miss Jane--what did she do? Why, she screamed, and almost

swooned with fright! Ay, too late it was to rend the welkin with her

cries of distress. She had done the deed! Upon her head rested the sin

of that freshly-shed blood! She was the real murderess. Oh, frightful

shall be her nights! Peopled with racks, execution-blocks, and ghastly

gallows-poles, shall be her dreams! At the lone hour of midnight, a wan

and bloody corse shall glide around her bed-side, and shriek into her

trembling ear the horrid word "murderess!" Let me still remain in

bondage, call me still by the ignoble title of slave, but leave me the

unbought and priceless inheritance of a stainless conscience. I am free

of murder before God and man. Still riot in your wealth; still batten on

inhumanity, women of the white complexion, but of the black hearts! I

envy you not. Still let me rejoice in a darker face, but a snowy,

self-approving conscience.

Miss Jane's screams brought Mr. Peterkin, Miss Tildy and the servants to

her side. There, in front of the open door of the lock-up, they stood,

gazing upon that revolting spectacle! No word was spoken. Each regarded

the others in awe. At length, Mr. Peterkin, whose heartlessness was

equal to any emergency, spoke to Jake:

"Cut down that body, and bury it instantly."

With this, they all turned away from the tragical spot; but I, though

physically weak of nerve, still remained. That poor, bereaved girl had

been an object of interest to me; and I could not now leave her

distorted and lifeless body. Cold-hearted ones were around her; no

friendly eye looked upon her mangled corse, and I shuddered when I saw

Jake and Dan rudely handle the body upon which death had set its sacred

seal.

"One more unfortunate,

Weary of breath;

Rashly importunate,

Gone to her death.

* * * * *

Swift to be hurled,

Anywhere, anywhere,

Out of the world."

This I felt had been her history! This should have been her epitaph;

but, alas for her, there would be reared no recording stone. All that

she had achieved in life was the few inches of ground wherein they laid

her, and the shovel full of dirt with which they covered her. Poor

thing! I was not allowed to dress the body for the grave. Hurriedly they

dug a hole and tossed her in. I was the only one who consecrated the

obsequies with funeral tears. A coarse joy and ribald jests rang from

the lips of the grave-diggers; but I was there to weep and water the

spot with tributary tears.

"Perishing gloomily,

Spurred by contumely,

Cold inhumanity,

Burning insanity,

Into her rest,

Cross her hands humbly,

As if praying dumbly,

Over her breast."

CHAPTER XXV.

CONVERSATION OF THE FATHER AND SON--THE DISCOVERY; ITS

CONSEQUENCES--DEATH OF THE YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL.

Very lonely to me were the nights that succeeded Amy's death. I spent

them alone in the cabin. A strange kind of superstition took possession

of me! The room was peopled with unearthly guests. I buried my face in

the bed-covering, as if that could protect me or exclude supernatural

visitors. For two weeks I scarcely slept at all; and my constitution had

begun to sink under the over-taxation. This was all the worse, as Amy's

death entailed upon me a double portion of work.

"What!" said Mr. Peterkin to me, one day, "are you agoin to die, too,

Ann? Any time you gits in the notion, jist let me know, and I'll give

you rope enough to do it."

In this taunting way he frequently alluded to that fatal tragedy which

should have bowed his head with shame and remorse.

Young master had returned, but not at all benefited by his trip. A deep

carnation was burnt into his shrivelled cheek, and he walked with a

feeble, tottering step. The least physical exertion would bring on a

violent paroxysm of coughing. The unnatural glitter of his eye, with its

purple surroundings, gave me great uneasiness; but he was the same

gentle, kind-spoken young master that he had ever been. His glossy,

golden hair had a dead, dry appearance; whilst his chest was fearfully

sunken; yet his father refused to believe that all these marks were the

heralds of the great enemy's approach.

"The spring will cure you, my boy."

"No, father, the spring is coming fast; but long before its flowers

begin to scent the vernal gales, I shall have passed through the narrow

gateway of the tomb."

"No, it shall not be. All my money shall go to save you."

"I am purchased, father, with a richer price than gold; the inestimable

blood of the Lamb has long since paid my ransom; I go to my father in

heaven."

"Oh, my son! you want to go; you want to leave me. You do not love your

father."

"Yes, I do love you, father, very dearly; and I would that you were

going with me to that lovely land."

"I shill never go thar."

"'Tis that fear that is killing me, father."

"What could I, now, do to be saved?"

"Believe in the Lord Jesus, and be baptized."

"Is that all?"

"Yes, that is all; but it embraces a good deal, dear father; a good deal

more than most persons deserve. In order to a perfect belief in the Lord

Jesus, you must act consistently with that belief. You must deal justly.

Abundantly give to the poor, and, above all, you must love mercy, and do

mercifully to all. Now I approach the great subject upon which I fear

you will stumble. You must," and he pronounced the words very slowly,

"liberate your slaves." There was a fair gleam from his eyes when he

said this.

Mr. Peterkin turned uneasily in his chair. He did not wish to encourage

a conversation upon this subject.

One evening, when it had been raining for two or three days, and the

damp condition of the atmosphere had greatly increased young master's

complaint, he called me to his bedside.

"Ann," he said, in that deep, sepulchral tone, "I wish to ask you a

question, and I urge you not to deceive me. Remember I am dying, and it

will be a great crime to tell me a falsehood."

I assured him that I would answer him with a faithful regard to truth.

"Then tell me what occasioned Amy's death? Did she come to it by

violence?"

I shall never forget the deep, penetrating glance that he fixed upon

me. It was an inquiry that went to my soul. I could not have answered

him falsely.

Calmly, quietly, and without exaggeration, I told him all the

circumstances of her death.

"Murder!" he exclaimed, "murder, foul and most unnatural!"

I saw him wipe the tears from his hollow eyes, and that sunken chest

heaved with vivid emotion.

Mr. Peterkin came in, and was much surprised to find young master so

excited.

"What is the matter, my boy?"

"The same old trouble, father, these unfortunate negroes."

"Hang 'em; let them go to the d--l, at once. They are not worth all this

consarn on your part."

"Father, they possess immortal souls, and are a part of Christ's

purchase."

"Oh, that kind of talk does very well for preachers and church members."

"It should do for all humanity."

"I doesn't know what pity means whar a nigger is consarned."

"And 'tis this feeling in you that has cost me my life."

"Confound thar black hides. Every one of 'em that ever growed in Afriky

isn't worth that price."

"Their souls are as precious in God's eyes as ours, and the laws of man

should recognize their lives as valuable."

"Oh, now, my boy! don't talk any more 'bout it. It only 'stresses you

for nothing."

"No, it distresses me for a great deal. For the value of

Christ-purchased souls."

Mr. Peterkin concluded the argument as he usually did, when it reached a

knotty point, by leaving. All that evening I noticed that young master

was unusually restless and feverish. His mournful eyes would follow me

withersoever I moved about the room. From the constant and earnest

movement of his lips, I knew that he was engaged in prayer.

When Miss Bradly came in and looked at him, I thought, from the

frightened expression of her face, that she detected some alarming

symptoms. This apprehension was confirmed by the manner of Dr. Mandy.

All the rest of the evening I wandered near Miss Bradly and the doctor,

trying to catch, from their conversation, what they thought of young

master's condition; but they were very guarded in what they said, well

knowing how acutely sensitive Mr. Peterkin was on the subject. Miss Jane

and Miss Tildy did not appear in the least anxious or uneasy about him.

They sewed away upon their silks and laces, never once thinking that the

angel of death was hovering over their household and about to snatch

from their embrace one of their most cherished idols. Verily, oh, Death,

thou art like a thief in the night; with thy still, feline tread, thou

enterest our chambers and stealest our very breath away without one

admonition of thy coming!

But not so came he to young master. As a small-voiced angel, with

blessings concealed beneath his shadowy wing, he came, the herald of

better days to him! As a well-loved bridegroom to a waiting bride, was

the angel of the tombs to that expectant spirit! 'Twas painful, yet

pleasant, to watch with what patient courage he endured bodily pain.

Often, unnoticed by him, did I watch, with a terrible fascination, the

heroic struggle with which he wrestled with suffering and disease. Sad

and piteous were the shades and inflections of severe agony that passed

over his noble face! I recall now with sorrow, the memory of that time!

How well, in fancy, can I see him, as he lay upon that downy bed, with

his beautiful gold hair thrown far back from his sunken temples, his

blue, upturned eyes, fringed by their lashes of fretted gold, and those

pale, thin hands that toyed so fitfully with the drapery of the couch,

and the restless, loving look which he so frequently cast upon each of

the dear ones who drew around him. It must be that the "sun-set of life"

gives us a keener, quicker sense, else why do we love the more fondly as

the curtain of eternity begins to descend upon us? Surely, there must be

a deeper, undeveloped sense lying beneath the surface of general

feeling, which only the tightening of life's cords can reveal! He grew

gentler, if possible, as his death approached. Very heavenly seemed he

in those last, most trying moments! All that had ever been earthly of

him, began to recede; the fleshly taints (if there were any) grew

fainter and fainter, and the glorious spiritual predominated! Angel more

than mortal, seemed he. The lessons which his life taught me have sunk

deep in my nature; and I can well say, "it was good for him to have been

here."

It was a few weeks after the death of Amy, when Miss Tildy was

overlooking the bureau that contained the silver and glass ware, she

gave a sudden exclamation, that, without knowing why, startled me very

strangely. A thrill passed over my frame, an icy contraction of the

nerves, and I knew that something awful was about to be revealed.

"What _is_ the matter with you?" asked Miss Jane.

Still she made no reply, but buried her face in her hands, and remained

thus for several minutes; when she did look up, I saw that something

terrible was working in her breast. "Culprit," was written all over her

face. It was visible in the downcast terror of her eye, and in the

blanched contraction of the lips, and quivered in the dilating nostril,

and was stamped upon the whitening brow!

"What ails you, Tildy?" again inquired her sister.

"_Why, look here!_" and she held up, to my terror, the two missing

forks!

Oh, heavens! and for her own carelessness and mistake had Amy been

sacrificed? I make no comment. I merely state the case, and leave others

to draw their own conclusions. Yet, this much I will add, that there

were no Caucasian witnesses to the bloody deed, therefore no legal

cognizance could be taken of it! Most noble and righteous American laws!

Who that lives beneath your shelter, would dare to say they are not wise

and sacred as the laws of the Decalogue? Thrice a day should their

authors go up into the Temple, and thank our Lord that they are not like

publicans and sinners.

One evening--oh! I shall long remember it, as one full of sacredness,

full of sorrow, and yet tinged with a hue of heaven! It was in the deep,

delicious beauty of the flowering month of May. The twilight was

unusually red and refulgent. The evening star shone like the full eye of

love upon the dreamy earth! The flowers, each with a dew-pearl

glittering on its petals, lay lulled by the calm of the hour. Young

master, fair saint, lay on his bed near the open window, through which

the scented gales stole sweetly, and fanned his wasted cheek! Thick and

hard came his breath, and we, who stood around him, could almost see the

presence of the "monster grim," whose skeleton arms were fast locking

him about!

Flitting round the bed, like a guardian spirit, was Miss Bradly, whilst

her tearful eye never wandered for an instant from that face now growing

rigid with the kiss of death! Miss Jane stood at the head of the bed

wiping the cold damps from his brow, and Miss Tildy was striving to

impart some of her animal warmth to his icy feet. Mr. Peterkin sat with

one of those thin hands grasped within his own, as if disputing and

defying the advance of that enemy whom no man is strong enough to

baffle.

Slowly the invalid turned upon his couch, and, looking out upon the

setting sun, he heaved a deep sigh.

"Father," he said, as he again turned his face toward Mr. Peterkin, who

still clasped his hand, "do you not know from my failing pulse, that my

life is almost spent?"

"Oh, my boy, it is too, too hard to give you up."

"Yet you _must_ nerve yourself for it.

"I have no nerve to meet this trouble."

"Go to God, He will give you ease."

"I want Him to give me you."

"Me He lent you for a little while. Now He demands me at your hands, and

His requisition you must obey."

"Oh, I won't give up; maybe you'll yet be spared to me."

"No, God's decree it is, that I should go."

"It cannot, shall not be."

"Father, father, you do but blaspheme."

"I will do anything rather than see you die."

"I am willing to die. I have only one request to make of you. Will you

grant it? If you refuse me, I shall die wretched and unhappy."

"I will promise you anything."

"But will you keep your promise?"

"Yes, my boy."

"Do you promise most faithfully?"

"I do."

"Then promise me that you will instantly manumit your slaves."

Mr. Peterkin hesitated a moment.

"Father, I shall not die happy, if you refuse me."

"Then I promise faithfully to do it."

A glad smile broke over the sufferer's face, like a sunbeam over a

snow-cloud.

"Now, at least I can die contentedly! God will bless your effort, and a

great weight has been removed from my oppressed heart."

Dr. Mandy now entered the room; and, taking young master's hand within

his own, began to count the pulsations. A very ominous change passed

over his face.

"Oh, doctor," cried the patient, "I read from your countenance the

thoughts that agitate your mind; but do not fear to make the disclosure

to my friends even here. It will do me no harm. I know that my hours are

numbered; but I am willing, nay, anxious to go. Life has been one round

of pain, and now, as I am about to leave the world, I take with me a

blessed assurance that I have not lived in vain. Doctor, I call upon

you, and all the dear ones here present, to witness the fact that my

father has most solemnly promised me to liberate each of his slaves and

never again become the holder of such property? Father, do you not

promise before these witnesses?"

"I do, my child, I do," said the weeping father.

"Sisters," continued young master, "will you promise to urge or offer

no objection to the furtherance of this sacred wish of your dying

brother?"

"I do," "I do," they simultaneously exclaimed.

"And neither of you will ever become the owner of slaves?"

"Never," "never," was the stifled reply.

"Come, now, Death, for I am ready for thee!"

"You have exerted yourself too much already," said the doctor, "now pray

take this cordial and try to rest; you have overtaxed your power. Your

strength is waning fast."

"No, doctor, I cannot be silent; whilst I've the strength, pray let me

talk. I wish this death-bed to be an example. Call in the servants. Let

me speak with them. I wish to devote my power, all that is left of me

now, to them."

To this Mr. Peterkin and the doctor objected, alleging that his life

required quiet.

"Do not think of me, kind friends, I shall soon be safe, and am now

well-cared for. If I did not relieve myself by speech, the anxiety would

kill me. As a kind favor, I beg that you will not interrupt me. Call the

good servants."

Instantly they all, headed by Nace, came into the chamber, each weeping

bitterly.

"Good friends," he began, and now I noticed that his voice was weak and

trembling, "I am about to leave you. On earth you will never see me

again; but there is a better world, where I trust to meet you all. You

have been faithful and attentive to me. I thank you from the bottom of

my soul for it, and, if ever I have been harsh or unkind to you in any

way, I now beg that you will forgive me. Do not weep," he continued, as

their loud sobs began to drown his feeble voice. "Do not weep, I am

going to a happy home, where trouble and pain will never harm me more.

Now let me tell you, that my father has promised me that each of you

shall be free immediately after my death."

This announcement was like a panic to the poor, broken-spirited

wretches. They looked wonderingly at young master, and then at each

other, never uttering a word.

"Come, do not look so bewildered. Ah, you do not believe me; but, good

as is this news, it is true; is it not, father?"

"Yes, my son, it is true."

When Mr. Peterkin spoke, they simultaneously started. That voice had

power to recall them from the wildest dream of romance. Though softened

by sorrow and suffering, there was still enough of the wonted harshness

to make those poor wretches know it was Mr. Peterkin who spoke, and they

quaked with fear.

"In the new home and new position in life, which you will take, my

friends, I hope you will not forget me; but, above all things, try to

save your souls. Go to church; pray much and often. Place yourselves

under God's protection, and all will be right. You, Jake, had better

select as an occupation that of a farmer, or manager of a farm for some

one of those wealthy but humane men of the Northern States. You, Dan,

can make an excellent dray driver; and at that business, in some of the

Northern cities, you would make money. Sally can get a situation as

cook; and Ann, where is Ann?" he said, as he looked around.

I stepped out from a retired corner of the room, into which I had shrunk

for the purpose of indulging my grief unobserved.

"Don't weep, Ann," he began; "you distress me when you do so. You ought,

rather, to rejoice, because I shall so soon be set free from this

unhappy condition. If you love me, prepare to meet me in heaven. This

earth is not our home; 'tis but a transient abiding-place, and, to one

of my sensitive temperament, it has been none the happiest. I am glad

that I am going; yet a few pangs I feel, in bidding you farewell; but

think of me only as one gone upon a pleasant journey from snow-clad

regions to a land smiling with tropic beauty, rich in summer bloom and

vocal with the melody of southern birds! Think of me as one who has

exchanged the garments of a beggar for the crown of a king and the

singing-robes of a prophet. I hope you will do well in life, and I would

advise that you improve your education, and then become a teacher. You

are fitted for that position. You could fill it with dignity. Do all

you can to elevate the mind as well as manners of your most unfortunate

race. And now, poor old Nace, what pursuit must I recommend to you?"

After a moment's pause, he added with a smile, "I will point out none;

for you are Yankee enough, Nace, to get along anywhere."

He then requested that we should all kneel, whilst he besought for us

and himself the blessings of Divine grace.

I can never forget the words of that beautiful prayer. How like fairy

pearls they fell from his lips! And I do not think there was a single

heart present that did not send out a fervent response! It seemed as if

his whole soul were thrown into that one burning appeal to heaven. His

mellow eyes grew purple in their intense passionateness; his pale lip

quivered; and the throbbing veins, that wandered so blue and beautifully

through his temples, were swollen with the rapid tide of emotion.

As we rose from our knees, he elevated himself upon his elbow, and

looking earnestly at each one of us, said solemnly,

"God bless all of you!" then sank back upon the pillow; a bright smile

flitted over his face, and he held his hand out to Miss Bradly, who

clasped it lovingly.

"Good-bye, kind friend," he murmured, "never forsake the noble

Anti-slavery cause. Cling to it as a rock and anchor of safety.

Good-bye, and God bless you."

He then gave his other hand to Dr. Mandy, but, in attempting to speak,

he was checked by a violent attack of coughing, and blood gushed from

his mouth. The doctor endeavored to arrest the flow, but in vain; the

crimson tide, like a stream broken loose from its barrier, flowed with a

stifling rush.

Soon we discovered, from the ghastly whiteness of the patient's face,

and the calm, set stare of the eyes, that his life was almost gone. Oh,

God! how hard, pinched and contracted appeared those once beauteous

features! How terrible was the blank fixedness of those blue orbs! No

motion of the hand could distract their look.

"Heavens!" cried Miss Jane, "his eyes are set!"

"No, no," exclaimed Mr. Peterkin, and with many gestures, he attempted

to draw the staring eyes away from the object upon which they were

fastened; but vain were all his endeavors. He had no power to call back

a parting spirit; he, who had sent others to an unblest grave, could not

now breathe fresh vigor into a frame over which Death held his skeleton

arm. Where was Remorse, the unsleeping fiend, in that moment?

I was looking earnestly at young master's face, when the great change

passed over it. I saw Dr. Mandy slowly press down the marble eye-lids

and gently straighten the rigid limbs; then, very softly turning to the

friends, whose faces were hidden by their clasped hands, he murmured,

"All is over!"

Great heaven! what screams burst from the afflicted family.

Mr. Peterkin was crazy. His grief knew no bounds! He raved, he tore his

hair, he struck his breast violently, and then blasphemed. He did

everything but pray. And that was a thing so unfamiliar to him, that he

did not know how to do it. Miss Jane swooned, whilst Miss Tildy raved

out against the injustice of Providence in taking her brother from her.

Miss Bradly and I laid the body out, dressed it in a suit of pure white,

and filletted his golden curls with a band of white rose-buds. Like a

gentle infant resting in its first, deep sleep, lay he there!

After spreading the snowy drapery over the body, Miss Bradly covered all

the furniture with white napkins, giving to the room the appearance of a

death-like chill. There were no warm, rosy, life-like tints. Upon

entering it, the very heart grew icy and still. The family, one by one,

retired to their own apartments for the indulgence of private and sacred

grief!

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE FUNERAL--MISS BRADLY'S DEPARTURE--THE DISPUTE--SPIRIT QUESTIONS.

When I entered the kitchen, I found the servants still weeping

violently.

"Poor soul," said Sally, "he's at rest now. If he hain't gone to heaven,

'taint no use of havin' any; fur he war de best critter I iver seed. He

never gived me a cross word in all his life-time. Oh, Lord, he am gone

now!"

"I 'members de time, when Mister Jones whipt me, dat young masser comed

to me wid some grease and rubbed me all over, and talked so kind to me.

Den he tell me not to say nothin' 'bout it, and I niver did mention it

from dat day until dis."

"Wal, he was mighty good," added Jake, "and I's sorry he's dead."

"I'se glad he got us our freedom afore he died. I wonder if we'll git

it?" asked Nace, who was always intent upon selfishness.

"Laws! didn't he promise? Den he mus' keep his word," added Jake.

I made no comment. My thoughts upon the subject I kept locked in the

depths of my own bosom. I knew then, as now, that natures like Mr.

Peterkin's could be changed only by the interposition of a miracle. He

had now shrunk beneath the power of a sudden blow of misfortune; but

this would soon pass away, and the savage nature would re-assert itself.

All that gloomy night, I watched with Miss Bradly and Dr. Mandy beside

the corpse. Often whilst the others dozed, would I steal to the bed and

turn down the covering, to gaze upon that still pale face! Reverently I

placed my hand upon that rich golden head, with its band of flowers.

There is an angel-like calm in the repose of death; a subdued awe that

impresses the coldest and most unbelieving hearts! As I looked at that

still body, which had so lately been illumined by a radiant soul, and

saw the noble look which the face yet wore, I inwardly exclaimed, 'Tis

well for those who sleep in the Lord!

All that long night I watched and waited, hoped and prayed. The deep,

mysterious midnight passed, with all its fearful power of passion and

mystery; the still, small hours glided on as with silver slippers, and

then came the purple glory of a spring dawn! I left the chamber of

death, and went out to muse in the hazy day-break. And, as I there

reflected, my soul grew sick and sore afraid. One by one my friends had

been falling around me, and now I stood alone. There was no kind voice

to cheer me on; no gentle, loving hand stretched forth to aid me; no

smile of friendship to encourage me. In the thickest of the fight,

unbucklered, I must go. Up the weary, craggy mountain I must climb. The

burning sands I must tread alone! What wonder that my spirit, weak and

womanly, trembled and turned away, asking for the removal of the cup of

life! Only the slave can comprehend the amount of agony that I endured.

He alone who clanks the chain of African bondage, can know what a cloud

of sorrow swept over my heart.

I saw the great sun rise, like a blood-stained gladiator, in the East,

and the diamond dew that glittered in his early light. I saw the roses

unclose fragrantly to his warming call; yet my heart was chill. Through

the flower-decked grounds I walked, and the aroma of rarest blooms

filled my senses with delight, yet woke no answering thrill in my bosom.

Must it not be wretchedness indeed, when the heart refuses to look

around upon blooming, vernal Nature, and answer her with a smile of

freshness?

A little after daylight I re-entered the house, and found Miss Bradly

dozing in a large arm-chair, with one hand thrown upon the cover of the

bed where lay young master's body. Dr. Mandy was outstretched upon the

lounge in a profound sleep. The long candles had burnt very low in the

sockets, and every now and then sent up that flicker, which has been so

often likened to the struggles of expiring humanity. I extinguished

them, and closed the shutters, to exclude the morning rays that would

else have stolen in to mar the rest of those who needed sleep. Then

returning to the yard, I culled a fresh bouquet and placed it upon the

breast of the dead. Gently touching Miss Bradly, I roused her and begged

that she would seek some more comfortable quarters, whilst I watched

with the body. She did so, having first imprinted a kiss upon the brow

of the heavenly sleeper.

When she withdrew, I took from my apron a bundle of freshly-gathered

flowers, and set about weaving fairy chains and garlands, which I

scattered in fantastic profusion over and around the body.

A beautiful custom is it to decorate the dead with fresh flowers! There

is something in the delicate, fairy-like perfume, and in the magical

shadings and formation of flowers, that make them appropriate offerings

to the dead. Strange mystical things that they are, seemingly instinct

with a new and inchoate life; breathing in their heavenly fragrance of a

hidden blessing, telling a story which our dull ears of clay can never

comprehend. Symbols of diviner being, expressions of quickening beauty,

we understand ye not. We only _feel_ that ye are God's richest blessing

to us, therefore we offer ye to our loved and holy dead!

When the broad daylight began to beam in through the crevices of the

shutters, and noise of busy life sounded from without, the family rose.

Separately they entered the room, each turning down the spread, and

gazing tearfully upon the ghastly face. Often and often they kissed the

brow, cheek, and lips.

"How lovely he was in life," said Miss Jane.

"Indeed he was, and he is now an angel," replied Miss Tildy, with a

fresh gush of emotion.

"My poor, poor boy," said Mr. Peterkin, as he sank down on the bed

beside the body; "how proud I was of him. I allers knowed he'd be tuck

'way from me. He was too putty an' smart an' good fur this world. My

heart wus so sot on him! yit sometimes he almost run me crazy. I don't

think it was just in Providence to take my only boy. I could have better

spared one of the gals. Oh, tain't right, no how it can be fixed."

And thus he rambled on, perfectly unconscious of the bold blasphemy

which he was uttering with every breath he drew. To impugn the justice

of his Maker's decrees was a common practice with him. He had so long

rejoiced in power, and witnessed the uncomplaining vassalage of slaves,

that he began to regard himself as the very highest constituted

authority! This is but one of the corrupting influences of the

slave-system.

That long, wearing day, with its weight of speechless grief, passed at

last. The neighbors came and went. Each praised the beauty of the

corpse, and inquired who had dressed it. At length the day closed, and

was succeeded by a lovely twilight. Another night, with its star-fretted

canopy, its queenly, slow-moving moon, its soft aromatic air and pearly

dew. And another gray, hazy day-break, yet still, as before, I watched

near the dead. But on the afternoon of this day, there came a long,

black coffin, with its silver plate and mountings; its interior

trimmings of white satin and border of lace, and within this they laid

the form of young master! His pale, fair hands were crossed prayerfully

upon his breast; and a fillet of fresh white buds bound his smooth brow,

whilst a large bouquet lay on his breast, and the wreaths I had woven

were thrown round him and over his feet. Then the lid was placed on and

tightly screwed down. Then came the friends and neighbors, and a good

man who read the Bible and preached a soothing and ennobling sermon. The

friends gave one more look, another, a longer and more clinging kiss,

then all was over. The slow procession followed after the vehicle that

carried the coffin, the servants walking behind. Poor, uncared-for

slaves, as we were, we paid a heart-felt tribute to his memory, and

watered his new-made grave with as sincere tears as ever flowed from

eyes that had looked on happier times.

I lingered until long after the last shovel-full of dirt was thrown

upon him. Others, even his kindred, had left the spot ere I turned away.

That little narrow grave was dearer and nearer to me, as there it lay so

fresh and damp, shapen smoothly with the sexton's spade, than when,

several weeks after, a patrician obelisk reared its Parian head towards

the blue sky. I have always looked upon grave-monuments as stony

barriers, shutting out the world from the form that slowly moulders

below. When the wild moss and verdant sward alone cover the grave, 'tis

easy for us to imagine death only a sleep; but the grave-stone, with its

carvings and frescoes, seems a sort of prison, cold and grim in its

aristocratic splendor. For the grave of those whom I love, I ask no

other decoration than the redundant grass, the enamelled mosaic of wild

flowers, a stream rolling by with its dirge-like chime, a weeping

willow, and a moaning dove.

The shades of evening were falling darkly ere I left the burial-ground.

There, amid the graves of his ancestors, beside the tomb of his mother,

I left him sleeping pleasantly. "Life's fitful fever over," his calm

soul rests well.

* * * * * * *

In a few weeks after his death, the family settled back to their

original manner of life. Mr. Peterkin grew sulky in his grief. He chewed

and drank incessantly. The remonstrances of his daughters had no effect

upon him. He took no notice of them, seemed almost to ignore their

existence. Feeding sullenly on his own rooted sorrow, he cared nothing

for those around him.

We, the servants, had been allowed a rather better time; for as he was

entirely occupied with his own moody reflections, he bestowed upon us no

thought. Yet we had heard no word about his compliance with the sacred

promise he had made to the dead. Did he feel no touch of remorse, or was

he so entirely sold to the d--l, as to be incapable of regret?

The young ladies had been busy making up their mourning, and took but

little notice of domestic affairs. Miss Jane concluded to postpone her

visit to the city, on account of their recent bereavement; but later in

the summer, she proposed going.

One afternoon, several weeks after the burial of young master, Miss

Bradly came over to see the ladies, for the purpose, as she said, of

bidding them farewell, as early on the following morning she expected to

start North, to rejoin her family, from whom she had been so long

separated. Miss Jane received the announcement with her usual haughty

smile; and Miss Tildy, who was rather more of a hypocrite, expressed

some regret at parting from her old teacher.

"I fear, dear girls, that you will soon forget me. I hoped that an

intimate friendship had grown up between us, which nothing could

destroy; but it seems as if, in the last half-year, you have ceased to

love me, or care for me."

"I can only answer for myself, dear Miss Bradly," said Miss Tildy, "and

I shall ever gratefully and fondly remember you, and my interesting

school-days."

"So shall I pleasantly recollect my school-hours, and Miss Bradly as our

preceptress; and, had she not chosen to express and defend those awfully

disgraceful and incendiary principles of the North, I should have

continued to think of her with pleasure." Miss Jane said this with her

freezing air of hauteur.

"But I remained silent, dear Jane, for years. I lived in your midst, in

the very families where slave-labor was employed; yet I molested none. I

did not inveigh against your peculiar domestic institution; though,

Heaven knows, every principle of my nature cried out against it. Surely

for all this I deserve some kind consideration."

"'Tis a great pity your prudence did not hold out to the last; and I can

assure you 'tis well for the safety of your life and person that you

were a woman, else would it have gone hard with you. Kited through the

streets with a coat of tar and a plumage of hen-feathers, you would have

been treated to a rail-ride, none the most complimentary." Here Miss

Jane laughed heartily at the ridiculous picture she had drawn.

Miss Bradly's face reddened deeply as she replied:

"And all this would have been inflicted upon me because I dared to have

an opinion upon a subject of vital import to this our proud Republic.

This would have been the gracious hospitality, which, as chivalry-loving

Southerners, you would have shown to a stranger from the North! If this

be your mode and manner of carrying out the Comity of States, I am

heartily glad that I am about returning to the other side of the

border."

"And we give you joy of your swift return. Pray, tell all your Abolition

friends that such will be their reception, should they dare to venture

among us."

"Yet, as with tearful eyes you stood round your brother's death-bed, you

solemnly promised him that his dying wish, with regard to the liberation

of your father's slaves, should be carried out, and that you would never

become the owner of such property."