"Stop! stop!" exclaimed Miss Jane, and her face was livid with rage,

"you have no right to recur to that time. You are inhuman to introduce

it at this moment. Every one of common sense knows that brother was too

young to have formed a correct opinion upon a question of such momentous

value to the entire government; besides, a promise made to the dying is

never binding. Why should it be? We only wished to relieve him from

anxiety. Father would sell every drop of his blood before he would grant

a negro liberty. He is against it in principle. So am I. Negroes were

made to serve the whites; for that purpose only were they created, and I

am not one who is willing to thwart their Maker's wise design."

Miss Jane imagined she had spoken quite conclusively and displayed a

vast amount of learning. She looked around for admiration and applause,

which was readily given her by her complimentary sister.

"Ah, Jane, you should have been a man, and practiced law. The courts

would have been the place for the display of your brilliant talents."

"But the halls of legislation would not, I fear," said Miss Bradly,

"have had the benefit of her wise, just, and philanthropic views."

"I should never have allowed the Abolitionists their present weight of

influence, whilst the power of speech and the strength of action

remained to me," answered Miss Jane, very tartly.

"Oh no, doubtless you would have met the Douglas in his hall, and the

lion in his den," laughingly replied Miss Bradly.

Thus the conversation was carried on, upon no very friendly terms, until

Miss Jane espied me, when she thundered out,

"Leave the room, Ann, we've no use for negro company here, unless,

indeed, as I think most probable, Miss Bradly came to visit you, in

which case she had better be shown to the kitchen."

This insult roused Miss Bradly's resentment, and she rose, saying,

"Young ladies, I came this evening to take a pleasant adieu, little

expecting to meet with such treatment; but be it as you wish; I take my

leave;" and, with a slight inclination of the head, she departed.

"Oh, she is insulted!" cried Miss Tildy.

"I don't care if she is, we owe her nothing. For teaching us she was

well paid; now let her take care of herself."

"I am going after her to say I did not wish to insult her; for really,

notwithstanding her Abolition sentiments, I like her very much, and I

wish her always to like me."

So she started off and overtook Miss Bradly at the gate. The explanation

was, I presume, accepted, for they parted with kisses and tears.

That evening, when I was serving the table, Miss Jane reported the

conversation to her father, who applauded her manner of argument

greatly.

"Set my niggers free, indeed! Catch me doing any such foolish thing. I'd

sooner be shot. Don't you look for anything of the kind, Ann; I'd sooner

put you in my pocket."

And this was the way he kept a sacred promise to his dead son! But cases

such as this are numerous. The negro is lulled with promises by humane

masters--promises such as those that led the terror-stricken Macbeth on

to his fearful doom. They

"Keep the word of promise to the ear,

But break it to the hope."

How many of them are trifled with and lured on; buoyed up from year to

year with stories, which those who tell them are resolved shall never be

realized.

My memory runs back now to some such wretched recollections; and my

heart shrivels and crumbles at the bare thought, like scorched paper.

Oh, where is there to be found injustice like that which the American

slaves daily and hourly endure, without a word of complaint? "We die

daily"--die to love, to hope, to feeling, humanity, and all the high and

noble gifts that make existence something more than a mere breathing

span. We die to all enlargement of mind and expansion of heart. Our

every energy is bound down with many bolts and bars; yet whole folios

have been written by men calling themselves wise, to prove that we are

by far the happiest portion of the population of this broad Union! What

a commentary upon the liberality of free men!

After the conversation with Miss Bradly, the young ladies began to

resume their old severity, which the death of young master had checked;

but Mr. Peterkin still seemed moody and troubled. He drank to a

frightful excess. It seemed to have increased his moroseness. He slept

sounder at night, and later in the morning, and was swollen and bloated

to almost twice his former dimensions. His face was a dark crimson

purple; he spoke but little, and then never without an oath. His

daughters remarked the change, but sought not to dissuade him. Perhaps

they cared not if his excesses were followed by death. I had long known

that they treated him with respect only out of apprehension that they

would be cut short of patrimonial favors. But the death of young master

had almost certainly insured them against this, and they were unusually

insolent to their father; but this he appeared not to notice; for he

was too sottishly drunk even to heed them.

The necessity of wearing black, and the custom of remaining away from

places of amusement, had forced Miss Jane to decline, or at least,

postpone her trip to the city.

I shall ever remember that summer as one of unusual luxuriance. It

seemed to me, that the forests were more redundant of foliage than I had

ever before seen them. The wild flowers were gayer and brighter, and the

sky of a more glorious blue; even the little feathered songsters sang

more deliciously; and oh, the moonlight nights seemed wondrously soft

and silvery, and the hosts of stars seven times multiplied! I began to

live again. Away through the old primeval woods I took occasionally a

stolen ramble! Whole volumes of romance I drained from the ever-affluent

library of Nature. I truly found--

"Tongues in the trees; books, in the running brooks,

Sermons in stones, and good in everything."

It is impossible to imagine how much I enjoyed those solitary walks, few

and far between as they were. I used to wonder why the ladies did not

more enjoy the luxury of frequent communion with Nature in her loveliest

haunts! Strange, is it not, how little the privileged class value the

pleasures and benefits by which they are surrounded! I would have given

ten years of my life (though considering my trouble, the sacrifice would

have been small) to be allowed to linger long beside the winding,

murmuring brook, or recline at the fountain, looking far away into the

impenetrable blue above; or to gather wild flowers at will, and toy with

their tiny leaflets! but indulgences such as these would have been

condemned and punished as indolence.

I cannot now, honestly, recall a single pleasure that was allowed me,

during my long slavery to Mr. Peterkin. Then who can ask me, if I would

not rather go back into bondage than _live_, aye _live_ (that is the

word), with the proud sense of freedom mine? I have often been asked if

the burden of finding food and raiment for myself was not great enough

to make me wish to resign my liberty. No, a thousand times no! Let me go

half-clad, and meanly fed, but still give me the custody of my own

person, without a master to spy into and question out my up-risings and

down-sittings, and confine me like a leashed hound! Slavery in its

mildest phases (of which I have _only_ heard, for I've always seen it in

its darker terrors) must be unhappy. The very knowledge that you have no

control over yourself, that you are subject to the will, even whim, of

another; that every privilege you enjoy is yours only by concession, not

right, must depress and all but madden the victim. In no situation, with

no flowery disguises, can the revolting institution be made consistent

with the free-agency of man, which we all believe to be the Divine gift.

We have been and are cruelly oppressed; why may we not come out with our

petition of right, and declare ourselves independent? For this were the

infant colonies applauded; who then shall inveigh against us for a

practice of the same heroism? Every word contained in their admirable

Declaration, applies to us.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE AWFUL CONFESSION OF THE MASTER--DEATH; ITS COLD SOLEMNITY.

Time passed on; Mr. Peterkin drank more and more violently. He had grown

immense in size, and now slept nearly all the day as well as night. Dr.

Mandy had told the young ladies that there was great danger of apoplexy.

I frequently saw them standing off, talking, and looking at their father

with a strange expression, the meaning of which I could not divine; but

sure I am there was no love in it, 'twas more like a surmise or inquiry,

"How long will you be here?" I would not "set down aught in malice," I

would rather "extenuate," yet am I bound in truth to say that I think

their father's death was an event to which they looked with pleasure. He

had not been showy enough for them, nor had he loved such display as

they wished: true, he allowed them any amount of money; but he objected

to conforming to certain fashions, which they considered indispensable

to their own position; and this difference in ideas and tastes created

much discord. They were not girls of feeling and heart. To them, a

father was nothing more than an accidental guardian, whose duty it was

to supply them with money.

Late one night, when I had fallen into a profound sleep, such an one as

I had not known for months, almost years, I was suddenly aroused by a

loud knocking at the cabin-door, and a shout of--

"Ann! Ann!"

I instantly recognized the sharp staccato notes of Miss Jane's voice;

and, starting quickly up, I opened the door, but half-dressed, and

inquired what was wanting?

"Are you one of the Seven Sleepers, that it requires such knocking to

arouse you? Here I've been beating and banging the door, and yet you

still slept on."

I stammered out something like an excuse; and she told me master was

very ill, and I must instantly heat a large kettle of water; that Dr.

Mandy had been sent for, and upon his arrival, prescribed a hot bath.

As quickly as the fire, aided by mine and Sally's united efforts, could

heat the water, it was got ready. Jake, Nace, and Dan lifted the large

bathing-tub into Mr. Peterkin's room, filled it with the warm water, and

placed him in it. The case was as Dr. Mandy had predicted. Mr. P. had

been seized with a violent attack of apoplexy, and his life was

despaired of.

All the efforts of the physician seemed to fail. When Mr. Peterkin did

revive, it was frightful to listen to him. Such revolting oaths as he

used! Such horrid blasphemy as poured from his lips, I shrink from the

foulness of recording.

Raving like a madman, he called upon God to restore his son, or stand

condemned as unjust. His daughters, in sheer affright, sent for the

country preacher; but the good man could effect nothing. His pious words

were wasted upon ears duller than stone.

"I don't care a d--n for your religion. None of your hypocritical

prayin' round me," Mr. Peterkin would say, when the good parson sought

to beguile his attention, and lead him to the contemplation of divine

things.

Frightful it was, to me, to stand by his bed-side, and hear him call

with an oath for whiskey, which was refused.

He had drunk so long, and so deeply, that now, when he was suddenly

checked, the change was terrible to witness. He grew timid, and seemed

haunted by terrible spectres. Anon he would call to some fair-haired

woman, and shout out that there was blood, clotted blood, on her

ringlets; then, rolling himself up in the bed covering, he would shriek

for the skies and mountains to hide him from the meek reproach of those

girlish eyes!

"Something terrible is on his memory," said the doctor to Miss Jane.

"Do you know aught of this?"

"Nothing," she replied with a shudder.

"Don't you remember," asked Miss Tildy, "how often Johnny's eyes seemed

to recall a remorseful memory, and how father would, as now, cry for

them to shut out that look which so tormented him?"

"Yes, yes," and they both fled from the room, and did not again go near

their father. On the third evening of his illness, when Dr. Mandy (who

had been constantly with him) sat by his bed, holding his pulse, he

turned on his side, and asked in a mild tone, quite unusual to him,

"Doctor, must I die? Tell me the truth; I don't want to be deceived."

After a moment's pause, the doctor replied, "Yes, Mr. Peterkin, I will

speak the truth; I don't think you can recover from this attack, and, if

I am not very much mistaken, but a few hours of mortal life now remain

to you."

"Then I must speak on a matter what has troubled me a good deal. If I

was a good scholar I'd a writ it out, and left it fur you to read; but

as I warn't much edicated, I couldn't do that, so I'll jist tell you

all, and relieve my mind." Here Mr. Peterkin's face assumed a frightful

expression; his eyes rolled terribly in his head, and blazed with an

expression which no language can paint. His very hair seemed erect with

terror.

"Don't excite yourself; be calm! Wait until another time, then tell me."

"No, no, I must speak now, I feel it 'twill do me good. Long time ago I

had a good kind mother, and one lovely sister;" and here his voice sank

to a whisper. "My father I can't remember; he died when I was a baby. I

was a wild boy; a 'brick,' as they usin' to call me. 'Way off in old

Virginny I was born and raised. My mother was a good, easy sort of

woman, that never used any force with her children, jist sich a person

as should raise gals, not fit to manage onruly boys like me. I jist had

my own way; came and went when I pleased. Mother didn't often reprove

me; whenever she did, it was in a gentle sort of way that I didn't mind

at all. I'd promise far enough; but then, I'd go and do my own way. So I

growed up to the age of eighteen. I'd go off on little trips; get myself

in debt, and mother'd have to pay. She an' sis had to take in sewin' to

support 'emselves, and me too. Wal, they didn't make money fast enough

at this; so they went out an' took in washin'. Sis, poor little thing,

hired herself out by the day, to get extry money for to buy little

knic-nacs fur mother, whose health had got mighty bad. Wal, their rent

had fell due, and Lucy (my sister) and mother had bin savin' up money

fur a good while, without sayin' anything to me 'bout it; but of nights

when they thought I was asleep, I seed 'em slip the money in a drawer of

an old bureau, that stood in the room whar I slept. Wal, I owed some men

a parcel of money, gamblin' debts, and they had bin sorter quarrelin'

with me 'bout it, and railin' of me 'bout my want of spirit, and I was

allers sort of proud an' very high-tempered. So I 'gan to think mother

and Luce was a saving up money fur to buy finery fur 'emselves, an' I

'greed I'd fix 'em fur it. So one night I made my brags to the boys that

I'd pay the next night, with intrust. Some of 'em bet big that I

wouldn't do it. So then I was bound fur it. Accordin', next night I

tried to get inter the drawer; but found it fast locked. I tried agin.

At length, with a wrinch, I bust it open, an' thar before me, all in

bright specie, lay fifty dollars! A big sum it 'peared to me, and then I

was all afired with passion, for Luce had refused me when I had axed her

to lend me money. Jist as I had pocketed it, an' was 'about to drive out

of the room, Lucy opened the door, an' seein' the drawer wide open, she

guessed it all. She gave one loud scream, saying, 'Oh, all our hard

savin's is gone.' I made a sign to her to keep silent; but she went on

hallowin' and cotcht hold of me, an' by a sort of quare strength, she

got her arm round me, an' her hand in my pocket, where the money was."

"You musn't have this, indeed you musn't," said she, "for it is to pay

our rent."

"One desperate effort I made, an' knocked her to the floor. Her head

struck agin the sharp part of the bureau, and the blood gushed from it;

I give one loud yell for mother, an' then fled. Give me some water," he

added, in a hollow tone.

After moistening his lips, he continued:

"Reachin' my companions, I paid down every cent of the money, principal

and interest, then got my bet paid, and left 'em, throwin' a few dollars

toward 'em for the gineral treat.

"About midnight, soft as a cat, I crept along to our house; and I knew

from the light through the open shutter of the winder, that she was

either dead or dyin'; for it was a rule at our house to have the lights

put out afore ten.

"I slipped up close to the winder, and lookin' in, saw the very wust

that I had expected--Lucy in her shroud! A long, white sheet was spread

over the body! Two long candles burnt at the head and foot of the

corpse. Three neighbor-women was watchin' with her. While I still

looked, the side door opened, and mother came in, looking white as a

ghost. She turned down the sheet from the body. I pressed my face still

closer to the winder-pane; and saw that white, dead face; the forehead,

where the wound had been given, was bandaged up. Mother knelt down, and

cried out with a tone that froze my blood--

"'My child, my murdered child!' I did not tarry another minute; but with

one loud yell bounded away. This scream roused the women, who seized up

the candle and run out to the door. I looked back an' saw them with

candles in hand, examining round the house. For weeks I lived in the

woods on herbs and nuts; occasionally stoppin' at farm-houses, an'

buyin' a leetle milk and bread, still I journeyed on toward the West, my

land of promise. At last, on foot, after long travel, I reached

Kaintuck. I engaged in all sorts of head-work, but didn't succeed very

well till I began to trade in niggers; then I made money fast enough. I

was a hard master. It seemed like I was the same as that old Ishmael you

read of in the old book; my hand was agin every man, and every man's

agin me. After while, I got mighty rich from tradin' in niggers, and

married. These is my children. This is all of my story,--a bad one 'tis

too; but, doctor, that boy, my poor, dead Johnny, was so like Lucy that

he almost driv' me mad. At times he had a sartin look, jist like hern,

that driv' a dagger to my heart. Oh, Lord! if I die, what will become of

me? Give me some whiskey, doctor, I mus' have some, for the devil and

all his imps seem to be here."

He began raving in a frightful manner, and sprang out of bed so

furiously that the doctor deemed it necessary to have him confined.

Jake, Dan, and Nace were called in to assist in tying their master. It

was with difficulty they accomplished their task; but at last it was

done. Panting and foaming at the mouth, this Goliath of human

abominations lay! He, who had so often bound negroes, was now by them

bound down! If he had been fully conscious, his indignation would have

known no limits.

Miss Jane sent for me to come to her room. I found her in hysterics.

Immediately, at her command, I set about rubbing her head, and chafing

her temples and hands with cologne; but all that I could do seemed to

fall far short of affording any relief. It appeared to me that her lungs

were unusually strong, for such screams I hardly ever listened to; but

her life was stout enough to stand it. The wicked are long-lived!

Miss Tildy had more self-control. She moved about the house with her

usual indifference, caring for and heeding no one, except as she

bestowed upon me an occasional reprimand, which, to this day, I cannot

think I deserved. If she mislaid an article of apparel, she instantly

accused me of having stolen it; and persisted in the charge until it was

found. She always accompanied her accusations with impressive blows. It

is treatment such as this that robs the slave of all self-respect. He is

constantly taught to look upon himself as an animal, devoid of all good

attributes, without principle, and full of vice. If he really tries to

practice virtue and integrity, he gets no credit for it. "_Honest for a

nigger_," is a phrase much in use in Kentucky; the satirical

significance of which is perfectly understood by the astute African. I

knew that it was hard for me to hold fast to my principles amid such

fierce trials. It was so common a charge--that of liar and thief--that

despite my practice to the contrary, I almost began to accept the terms

as deserved. In some cases, the human conscience is a flexile thing!

but, thank Heaven! mine withstood the trial!

* * * * * * *

On the morning of the fifth day after Mr. Peterkin's illness, his

perturbed spirit, amid imprecations and blasphemies the most horrible,

took its leave of the mortal tenement. Whither went it, oh, angel of

mercy? A fearful charge had his guardian-angel to render up.

This was the second time I had witnessed the death of a human master. I

had no tears; and, as a veracious historian, I am bound to say that I

regard it as a beneficent dispensation of Divine Providence. He, my

tyrant, had gone to his Judge to render a fearful account of the

dreadful deeds done in the body.

After he was laid out and appropriately dressed, and the room darkened,

the young ladies came in to look at him. I believe they wept. At least,

I can testify to the premonitory symptoms of weeping, viz., the

fluttering of white pocket-handkerchiefs, in close proximity to the

eyes! The neighbors gathered round them with bottles of sal-volatile,

camphor, fans, &c., &c. There was no dearth of consolatory words, for

they were rich. Though Mr. Peterkin's possessions were vast, he could

carry no tithe of them to that land whither he had gone; and at that bar

before which he must stand, there would flash on him the stern eye of

Justice. His trial there would be equitable and rigid. His money could

avail him nought; for _there_ were allowed no "packed juries," bribed

and suborned witnesses, no wily attorneys to turn Truth astray; no

subtleties and quibbles of litigation; all is clear, straight, open,

even-handed justice, and his own deeds, like a mighty cloud of

evidence, would rise up against him--and so we consign him to his fate

and to his mother earth.

But he was befittingly buried, even with the rites of Christianity!

There was a man in a white neck-cloth, with a sombre face, who read a

psalm, offered up a well-worded prayer, gave out a text, and therefrom

preached an appropriate, elegiac sermon. Not one, to be sure, in which

the peculiar virtues of brother Peterkin were set forth, but a sort of

pious oration, wherein religion, practical and revealed, was duly

encouraged, and great sympathy offered to the _lovely_ and bereaved

daughters, &c., &c.

The body was placed in a very fine coffin, and interred in the family

burying-ground, near his wife and son! At the grave, Miss Jane, who well

understood scenic effect, contrived to get up an attack of syncope, and

fell prostrate beside the new-made grave. Of course "the friends"

gathered round her with restoratives, and, shouting for "air," they made

an opening in the crowd, through which she was borne to a carriage and

driven home.

I had lingered, tenderly, beside young master's tomb, little heeding

what was passing around, when this theatrical excitement roused me. Oh!

does not one who has real trouble, heart-agony, sicken when he hears of

these affectations of grief?

Slowly, but I suspect with right-willing hearts, the crowd turned away

from the grave, each betaking himself to his own home and pursuit.

A few weeks after, a stately monument, commemorative of his good deeds,

was erected to the memory of James Peterkin.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE BRIDAL--ITS CEREMONIES--A TRIP, AND A CHANGE OF HOMES--THE

MAGNOLIA--A STRANGER.

Weeks rolled monotonously by after the death of Mr. Peterkin. There was

nothing to break the cloud of gloom that enveloped everything.

The ladies were, as ever, cruel and abusive. Existence became more

painful to me than it had been before. It seemed as if every hope was

dead in my breast. An iron chain bound every aspiration, and I settled

down into the lethargy of despair. Even Nature, all radiant as she is,

had lost her former charms. I looked not beyond the narrow horizon of

the present. The future held out to me no allurements, whilst the dark

and gloomy past was an arid plain, without fountain, or flower, or

sunshine, over which I dared not send my broken spirit.

In this state of dreary monotony, I passed my life for months, until an

event occurred which changed my whole after-fate.

Mr. Summerville, who, it seems, had kept up a regular correspondence

with Miss Jane, made us a visit, and, after much secret talking in dark

parlors, long rambles through the woods, twilight and moonlight

whisperings on the gallery, Miss Jane announced that there would, on the

following evening, be performed a marriage ceremony of importance to

all, but of very particular interest to Mr. Summerville and herself.

Accordingly, on the evening mentioned, the marriage rite was solemnized

in the presence of a few social friends, among whom Dr. Mandy and wife

shone conspicuously. I duly plied the guests with wine, cakes and

confections.

Miss Tildy, by the advice of her bride-sister, enacted the pathetic

very perfectly. She wept, sighed, and, I do believe, fainted or tried to

faint. This was at the special suggestion of her sister, who duly

commended and appreciated her.

Mr. Summerville, for the several days that he remained with us, looked,

and was, I suppose, the very personification of delight.

In about a week or ten days after the solemnization of the matrimonial

rite, Mr. Summerville made his "better half" (or worse, I know not

which), understand that very important business urged his immediate

return to the city. Of course, whilst the novelty of the situation

lasted, she was as obedient and complaisant as the most exacting husband

could demand, and instantly consented to her lord's request. She bade me

get ready to accompany her; and, as she had heard that people from the

country were judged according to the wardrobe of their servants, she

prepared for me quite a decent outfit.

One bright morning, I shall ever remember it, we started off with

innumerable trunks, band-boxes, &c.--for the city of L----. Without one

feeling of regret, I turned my face from the Peterkin farm. I never saw

it after, save in dark and fearful dreams, from which I always awoke

with a shudder. I felt half-emancipated, when my back was turned against

it, and in the distance loomed up the city and freedom. I had a queer

fancy, that if the Peterkin influence were once thrown off, the rest

would speedily succeed!

If I had only been allowed, I could have shouted out like a school-boy

freed from a difficult lesson; but Miss Jane's checking glance was upon

me, and 'twas like winter's frozen breath over a gladsome lake.

I well remember the beautiful ride upon the boat, and how long and

lingeringly I gazed over the guard, looking down at the blue,

dolphin-like waves. All the day, whilst others lounged and talked, I was

looking at those same curling, frothy billows, making, in my own mind,

fifty fantastic comparisons, which then appeared to me very brilliant,

but, since I have learned to think differently. Truly, the foam has died

on the wave.

When night came on, wrapped in her sombre purple, yet glittering with a

cuirass of stars and a helmet of planets, the waters sparkled and danced

with a fairy-like beauty, and I thought I had never beheld anything half

so ecstatic! There was none on that crowded steamer who dreamed of the

glory that was nestling, like a thing of love, deep and close down in

the poor slave's breast!

To those who surrounded me, this was but an ordinary sight; to me it was

one of strange, unimagined loveliness. I was careful however, to

disguise my emotions. I would have given worlds (had I been their

possessor) to speak my joy in one wild word, or to shout it forth in a

single cry.

This pleasure, like all others, found its speedy end. The next morning,

about ten o'clock, we landed in L--, a city of some commercial

consequence in the West. Indeed, by old residents of the interior of

Kentucky, it is regarded as "_the city_." I have often since thought of

my first landing there; of its dusty, dirty coal-besmoked appearance; of

its hedge of drays, its knots of garrulous and noisy drivers, and then

the line of dusky warehouses, storage rooms, &c. All this instantly

rises to my mind when I hear that growing city spoken of.

Mr. Summerville engaged one of the neatest-looking coaches at the wharf;

and into it Miss Jane, baggage and servant were unceremoniously hurried.

I had not the privilege and scarcely the wish to look out of the

coach-window, yet, from my crowded and uncomfortable position, I could

catch a sight of an occasional ambitious barber's pole, or myriad-tinted

chemists' bottles; all these, be it remembered, were novelties to me,

who had never been ten miles from Mr. Peterkin's farm. At length the

driver drew a halt at the G---- House, as Mr. Summerville had directed,

and, at this palatial-looking building Mr. Summerville had taken

quarters. How well I recollect its wide hall, its gothic entrance and

hospitable-looking vestibule! The cane-colored floor cloth,

corresponding with the oaken walls struck me as the harmonious design of

an artistic mind.

For a few moments only was Miss Jane left in the neat reception-room,

when a nice-looking mulatto man entered, and, in a low, gentlemanly

tone, informed her that her room was ready. Taking the basket and

portmanteau from me, he politely requested that we would follow him to

room No. 225. Through winding corridors and interminable galleries, he

conducted us, until, at last, we reached it. Drawing a key from his

pocket, he applied it to the lock, and bade Miss Jane enter. She was

much pleased with the arrangement of the furniture, the adjustment of

the drapery, &c.

The floor was covered with a beautiful green velvet carpet, torn bouquet

pattern, whilst the design of the rug was one that well harmonized with

the disposition of the present tenant. It was a wild tiger reposing in

his native jungle.

After Miss Jane had made an elaborate toilette, she told me, as a great

favor, she would allow me to go down stairs, or walk through the halls

for recreation, as she had no further use for me.

I wandered about, passing many rooms, all numbered in gilt figures. The

most of them had their doors open, and I amused myself watching the

different expressions of face and manners of their occupants. This had

always been a habit of mine, for the indulgence of which, however, I had

had but little opportunity.

I strayed on till I reached the parlors, and they burst upon me with the

necromantic power of Aladdin's hall. A continuity of four apartments

rolled away into a seeming mist, and the adroit position of a mirror

multiplied their number and added greatly to the gorgeous effect. There

were purple and golden curtains, with their many tinsel ornaments;

carpets of the gayest style, from the richest looms. "Etruscan vases,

quaint and old" adorned the mantel-shelf, and easy divans and lounges of

mosaic-velvet were ranged tastefully around. An arcade, with its stately

pillars, divided two of the rooms, and the inter-columniations were

ornamented with statues and statuettes; and upon a marble table, in the

centre of one of the apartments, was a blooming magnolia, the first one

I had ever seen! That strange and mysterious odor, that, like a fine,

inner, sub-sense, pervades the nerve with a quickening power, stole over

me! I stood before the flower in a sort of delicious, delirious joy.

There, with its huge fan-like leaves of green, this pure white blossom,

queen of all the tribe of flowers, shed its glorious perfume and

unfolded its mysterious beauty. It seemed that a new life was opening

upon me. Surely, I said, this _is_ fairy land. For more than an hour I

lingered beside that splendid magnolia, vainly essaying to drink in its

glory and its mystery.

Miss Jane and Mr. Summerville had gone out to take a drive over the

city, and I was comparatively free, in their absence, to go

whithersoever I pleased.

Whilst I still loitered near the flower, a very sweet but manly voice

asked:

"Do you love flowers?"

I turned hastily, and to my surprise, beheld a fine-looking gentleman

standing in close contiguity to me. With pleasure I think now of his

broad, open face, written all over with love and kindness; his deep,

fervid blue eye, that wore such a gentle expression; and the scant, yet

fair hair that rolled away from his magnificent forehead! He appeared to

be slightly upwards of fifty; but I am sure from his face, that those

fifty years had been most nobly spent.

I trembled as I replied:

"Yes, I am very fond of flowers."

He noticed my embarrassment, and smiled most benignantly.

"Did you ever see a magnolia before?"

"Is this a magnolia?" I inquired, pointing to the luxurious flower.

"Yes, and one of the finest I ever saw. It belongs to the South. Are you

sure you never saw one before?" He fixed his eyes inquiringly upon me as

I answered:

"Oh, quite sure, sir; I never was ten miles from my master's farm in my

life."

"You are a slave?"

"Yes, sir, I am."

He waited a moment, then said:

"Are you happy?"

I dared not tell a falsehood, yet to have truly stated my feelings,

would have been dangerous; so I evasively replied:

"Yes, as much so as most slaves."

I thought I heard him sigh, as he slowly moved away.

My eyes followed him with inquiring wonder. Who could he be? Certain I

was that no malice had prompted the question he had asked me. The

circumstance created anxiety in my mind. All that day as I walked about,

or waited on Miss Jane, that stranger's face shone like a new-risen

moon upon my darkened heart. Had I found, accidentally, one of those

Northern Abolitionists, about whom I had heard so much? Often after when

sent upon errands for my mistress, I met him in the halls, and he always

gave me a kind smile and a friendly salutation. Once Miss Jane observed

this, and instantly accused me of having a dishonorable acquaintance

with him. My honor was a thing that I had always guarded with the utmost

vigilance, and to such a serious charge I perhaps made some hasty reply,

whereupon Miss Jane seized a riding-whip, and cut me most severely

across the face, leaving an ugly mark, a trace of which I still bear,

and suppose I shall carry to my grave. Mr. Summerville expostulated with

his wife, saying that it was better to use gentle means at first.

"No, husband," (she always thus addressed him,) "I know more about the

management of _niggers_ than you do."

This gross pronunciation of the word negro has a popular use even among

the upper and educated classes of Kentucky. I am at a loss to account

for it, in any other way than by supposing that they use it to express

their deepest contempt.

Mr. Summerville was rather disposed to be humane to his servants. He was

no advocate of the rod; he used to term it the relic of barbarism. He

preferred selling a refractory servant to whipping him. This did not

accord particularly well with Miss Jane's views, and the consequence was

they had many a little private argument that did not promise to end

well.

Miss Jane made many acquaintances among the boarders in the hotel, with

whom she was much pleased. She had frequent invitations to attend the

theatre, concerts, and even parties. Many of the fashionables of the

city called upon her, offering, in true Kentucky style, the

hospitalities of their mansions. With this she was quite delighted, and

her new life became one of intense interest and gratification, as her

letters to her sister proved.

She would often regret Tildy was not there to share in her delight; but

it had been considered best for her to remain at the old homestead until

some arrangement could be made about the division of the estate. Two of

the neighbors, a gentleman and his wife, took up their abode with her;

but she expected to visit the city so soon as Miss Jane went to

house-keeping, which would be in a few months. Miss Jane was frequently

out spending social days and evenings with her friends, thus giving me

the opportunity of going about more than I had ever done through the

house. In this way I formed a pleasant acquaintance with several of the

chambermaids, colored girls and free. Friendships thus grew up which

have lasted ever since, and will continue, I trust, until death closes

over us. One of the girls, Louise, a half-breed, was an especial

favorite. She had read some, and was tolerably well educated. From her I

often borrowed interesting books, compends of history, bible-stories,

poems, &c. I also became a furious reader of newspapers, thus picking

up, occasionally, much useful information. Louise introduced me,

formally, to the head steward, an intelligent mulatto man, named Henry,

of most prepossessing appearance; but the shadow of a great grief lurked

in the full look of his large dark eye! "I am a slave, God help me!"

seemed stamped upon his face; 'twas but seldom that I saw him smile, and

then it was so like the reflection of a tear, that it pained me full as

much as his sigh. He had access to the gentlemen's reading-room; and

through him I often had the opportunity of reading the leading

Anti-slavery journals. With what avidity I devoured them! How full they

were of the noblest philanthropy! Great exponents of real liberty! at

the words of your argument my heart leaped like a new-fledged bird!

Still pour forth your burning eloquence; it will yet blaze like a

watchfire on the Mount of Liberty! The gladness, the hope, the faith it

imparted to my long-bowed heart, would, I am sure, give joy to those

noble leaders of the great cause.

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE ARGUMENT.

One day, when Miss Jane and Mr. Summerville had gone out at an early

hour to spend the entire day, I little knew what to do with myself as I

had no books nor papers to read, and Louise had business that took her

out of the house.

The day was unusually soft and pleasant. I wandered through the halls,

and, drawing near a private gallery that ran along in front of the

gentlemen's room, I paused to look at a large picture of an English

fox-chase, that adorned the wall. Whilst examining its rare and peculiar

beauties, my ear was pleasantly struck by the sound of a much-esteemed

voice, saying--

"Well, very well! Let us take seats here, in this retired place, and

begin the conversation we have been threatening so long."

I glanced out at the crevice of the partially open door, and distinctly

recognized the gentleman who had spoken to me of the magnolia, and who

(I had learned) was James Trueman, of Boston, a man of high standing and

social position, and a successful practitioner of law in his native

State.

The other was a gentleman from Virginia, one of the very first families

(there are no second, I believe), by the name of Winston, a man reputed

of very vast possessions, a land-holder, and an extensive owner of

slaves. I had frequently observed him in company with Mr. Trueman, and

had inquired of Henry who and what he was.

I felt a little reluctant to remain in my position and hear this

conversation, not designed for me; yet a singular impulse urged me to

remain. I felt (and I scarce know why) that it had a bearing upon the

great moral and social question that so agitated the country. Whilst I

was debating with myself about the propriety of a retreat, I caught a

few words, which determined me to stay and hear what I believed would

prove an interesting discussion.

"Let us, my dear Mr. Winston," began Mr. Trueman, "indulge for a few

moments in a conversation upon this momentous subject. Both of us have

passed that time of life when the ardor and impetuosity of youthful

blood might unfit us for such a discussion, and we may say what we

please on this vexed question with the distinct understanding, that

however offensive our language may become, it will be regarded as

_general_, neither meant nor understood to have any application to

ourselves."

"I am quite willing and ready to converse as you propose," replied the

other, in a quick, unpleasant tone, "and I gladly accept the terms

suggested, in which you only anticipate my design. It is well to agree

upon such restraint; for though, as you remind me, our advancing years

have taken much of the fervor from our blood, and left us calm, sober,

thoughtful men, the agitating nature of the subject and the deep

interest which both of us feel in it, should put us on our guard. If,

then, during the progress of the conversation, either of us shall be

unduly excited, let the recollection of the conditions upon which we

engage in it, recall him to his accustomed good-humor."

"Well, we have settled the preliminaries without difficulty, and to

mutual satisfaction. And now, the way being clear, our discussion may

proceed. I assume, then, in the outset, that the institution of slavery,

as it exists in the South, is a monstrous evil. I assume this

proposition; not alone because it is the universal sentiment of the

'rest of mankind;' but also, because it is now very generally conceded

by slave-holders themselves."

"Pray, where did you learn that slave-holders ever made such a

concession? As to what may be the sentiment of the 'rest of mankind,' I

may speak by-and-bye. For the present, my concern is with the opinion of

that large slave-holding class to which I belong. I am extensively

acquainted among them, and if that is their opinion of our peculiar

institution, I am entirely ignorant of it."

"Your ignorance," said Mr. Trueman, with a smile, "in that regard, while

it by no means disproves my proposition, may be easily explained. With

your neighbors, who feel like yourself the dread responsibility of this

crying abomination, it is not pleasant, perhaps, to talk upon it, and

you avoid doing so without the slightest trouble; because you have other

and more engaging topics, such as the condition of your farms, the

prospect of fine crops, and all the 'changes of the varying year.' But,

read the declarations of your chosen Representatives, the favorite sons

of the South, in the high councils of our nation; and you will discover,

that in all the debates involving it, slavery, in itself, and in its

consequences, is frankly admitted to be a tremendous evil."

"Our Representatives may have sometimes thought proper to make such an

admission to appease the fanaticism of Northern Abolitionists, and to

quiet the agitations of the country in the spirit of generous

compromise: but _I_ am not bound to make it, and _I will not make it_.

Neither do I avoid conversations with my neighbors upon the subject of

slavery from the motive you intimate, nor from any other motive. I have

frequently talked with them upon it, boldly and candidly, as I am

prepared to talk to you or any reasonable man. Your proposition I

positively deny, and can quickly refute." I thought there was a little

anger in the tone in which he said this; but no excitement was

discernible in the clear, calm voice with which Mr. Trueman answered--

"Independently of the admission of your Representatives, which, I think,

ought to bind you (for you must have been aware of it, and since it was

public and undisputed, your acquiescence might be fairly presumed),

there are many considerations that establish the truth of my position.

But I cannot indorse your harsh reflection upon the Representatives of

your choice. I cannot believe them capable of admitting, for any

purpose, a proposition which, in their opinion and that of their

constituents, asserts a falsehood. The immortal Henry Clay and such men

as he are responsible for the admission, and not one of them was ever so

timid as to be under the dominion of fear, or so dishonest as to be

hypocritical."

A moment's pause ensued, when Mr. Winston appeared to rally, and said,

"I do not understand, then, if that was their real opinion, how it was

possible for them to continue to hold slaves. To say the least of it,

their practice was not in accordance with their theory. Hence I said,

that under certain circumstances and to serve a special purpose, they

may have conceded slavery to be an evil. For my own part, if I were

persuaded that this proposition is true, it would constrain me to

liberate all my slaves, whatever may be my attachment to them or the

loss I should necessarily suffer. Some of them have been acquired by

purchase; others by inheritance: all of them seem satisfied with their

treatment upon my estate; yet nothing could induce me to claim the

property I have hitherto thought I possessed in them, when convinced of

the evil which your proposition asserts."

"Nothing could be fairer, my dear Mr. Winston. Your conviction will

doubtless subject you to immense sacrifices: but these will only enhance

your real worth as a man, and I am sure you will make them without

hesitation, though it may be, not without reluctance. Now, it is a

principle of law, well settled, that no person can in any manner convey

a title, even to those things which are property, greater than that

which he rightfully possesses. If, for instance, I acquire, by theft or

otherwise, unlawful possession of your watch or other articles of value,

which is transferred, by the operation of purchase and sale, through

many hands, your right never ceases; and the process of law will enable

you to obtain possession. Each individual who purchased the article, may

have his remedy against him from whom he procured it, however extended

the series of purchasers: but, since whatever right any one of them has

was derived originally from me, and since my unlawful acquisition

conferred no right at all, it follows that none was transmitted.

Consequently, you were not divested, and the just spirit of law,

continuing to recognize your property in the article whenever found,

provides the ready means whereby you may reduce it once more to

possession. This principle of law is not peculiar to a single locality;

it enters into the remedial code of all civilized countries. Its

benefits are accessible to the free negro in this land of the dark

Southern border; and, I trust, it will not be long before those who are

now held in slavery may be embraced in its beneficent operation. Whether

it is recognized internationally, I am not fully prepared to say; but it

ought to be, if it is not, for it is the dictate of equity and common

sense. But, upon the hypothesis that it is so recognized, if the

property of an inhabitant of Africa were stolen from him by a citizen of

the United States, he might recover it. As for those people who, in the

Southern States, are held as slaves, they or their ancestors came here

originally not by their own choice, but by compulsion, from distant

Africa. You will hardly deny, I presume, what is, historically, so

evident--that "they were captured," as the phrase is, or, in our honest

vernacular, _stolen_ and brought by violence from their native homes.

Had they been the proper subjects of property, what could prevent the

application of the principle I have quoted?"

After two or three hems and haws, Mr. Winston began:

"I have never inquired particularly into the matter; but have always

entertained the impression which pervades the Southern mind, that our

negroes are legitimately our slaves, in pursuance of the malediction

denounced by God against Ham and his descendants, of whom they are a

part. And, so thinking, I believed we were entitled to the same right to

them which we exercise over the beasts of the field, the fowls of the

air, and the fishes of the deep. Moreover, your principle of law, which

is indeed very correct, is inapplicable to their case. There is also a

principle in the law of my State, incapacitating slaves to hold

property. They are property themselves; and property cannot hold

property. Apart from the terrible curse, which doomed them in the

beginning, they were slaves in their own country to men of their own

race; slaves by right of conquest. Therefore, taking the instance you

have suggested, by way of illustration, were any article of value

wrested from their possession, under this additional principle, the law

could not give them any redress. But, inasmuch as whatever they may

acquire becomes immediately the property of their master, to him the law

will furnish a remedy."

"You do not deny," and here Mr. Trueman's tone was elevated and a little

excited, "that the first of those who reached this country were stolen

in Africa. Now, for the sake of the argument merely, I will admit that

they were slaves at home. If they were slaves at home--it matters not

whether by 'right or conquest,' or 'in pursuance of _the curse_,' they

must have been the property of somebody, and those who stole them and

sold them into bondage in America could give no valid title to their

purchasers; for by the theft they had acquired none themselves. Hence,

if ever they were slaves, they are still the property of their masters

in Africa; but, if your interpretation of "the curse" is correct, those

masters were also slaves, and, being such, under the principle of law

which you have quoted, they could not for this reason hold property.

Therefore, those oppressed and outraged, though benighted people, who

were first sold into slavery, to the eternal disgrace of our land, were,

in sheer justice, either _free_, or the property--even after the

sale--of their African masters, if they had any; in neither case could

they belong to those of our citizens who were unfortunate enough to buy

them. They were not slaves of African masters: for, according to your

argument, all of the race are slaves, and slaves cannot own slaves any

more than horses can own horses; therefore, since no other people

claimed dominion over them, they were, necessarily, free. You cannot

escape from this dilemma, and the choice of either horn is fatal to your

cause. Being free, might they not have held property like other

nations? And, had any of it been stolen from them by those who are

amenable to our laws, would not consistency compel us, who recognize the

just principle I have quoted, to restore it to them? This is the course

pursued among ourselves; and it ceases not with restoration; but on the

offender it proceeds to inflict punishment, to prevent a repetition of

the offence. This is the course we should pursue toward that

down-trodden race whose greatest guilt is 'a skin not colored like our

own.'

"As the case stands, it is not a question of property, but of that more

valuable and sacred right, the right of _personal liberty_, of which we

now boast so loudly. What, in the estimation of the world, is the worth

of those multitudinous orations, apostrophies to liberty, which, on each

recurring Fourth of July, in whatever quarter of the globe Americans may

be assembled, penetrate the public ear? What are they worth to us, if,

while reminding us of early colonial and revolutionary struggles against

the galling tyranny of the British crown, they fail to inculcate the

easy lesson of respect for the rights of all mankind? In keeping those

poor Africans in the South still enslaved, you practically ignore this

lesson, and you trample with unholy feet that divine ordinance which

commands you 'to do unto others as you would have others do unto you.'

By the oppression to which we were subjected under the yoke of Britain,

and against which we wrestled so long, so patiently, so vigorously, in

so many ways, and at last so triumphantly, I adjure you to put an end,

at once and forever, to this business of holding slaves. This is

oppression indeed, in comparison with which, that which drew forth our

angry and bitter complaints, was very freedom. Let us, instead of

perpetuating this infamous institution, be true to ourselves; let us

vindicate the pretensions we set up when we characterize ours as 'the

land of liberty, the asylum of the oppressed,' by proclaiming to the

nations of the earth that, so soon as a slave touches the soil of

America, his manacles shall fall from him: let us verify the words

engraven in enduring brass on the old bell which from the tower of

Independence Hall rang out our glorious Declaration, and in deed and in

truth proclaim 'Liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison

doors to them that are bound.' As you value truth, honor, justice,

consistency, aye, humanity even, wipe out the black blot which defiles

the border of our escutcheon, and the country will then be in reality

what is now only in name, a _free_ country, loving liberty

disinterestedly for its own sake, and for that of all people, and

nations, and tribes, and tongues.

"You may still, if you choose, dispute and philosophize about the

inequality of races, and continue to insist on the boasted superiority

of _our_ Caucasian blood; but the greatest disadvantages which a

comparison can indicate will not prove that one's claim to liberty is

higher than another's. It may be that we of the white race, are vastly

superior to our African brethren. The differences, however, are not

flattering to us; for we should remember with shame and confusion of

face, that our injustice and cruelty have produced them. Having first

enslaved the poor Africans and subsequently withheld from them every

means of improvement, it is not strange that such differences should

exist as those on which we plume ourselves. But is it not intolerable

that we should now quote them with such brazen self-gratulation?

"Despite the manifold disadvantages that encumber and clog the movements

of the Africans, unfortunately for the validity of your argument their

race exhibits many proud specimens to prove their capability of culture,

and of the enjoyment of freedom. Give them but the same opportunities

that we have, and they will rival us in learning, refinement,

statesmanship, and general demeanor, as is incontestibly shown in the

lives and characters of many now living. Such men as Fred Douglas and

President Roberts, would honor any complexion; or, I ought rather to

say, should make us forget and despise the distinctions of color, since

they reach not below the surface of the skin, nor affect, in the least,

that better part that gives to man all his dignity and worth. Nor need I

point to these illustrious examples to rebut the inferences you deduce

from color. Every village and hamlet in your own sunny South, can

furnish an abundant refutation, in its obscure but eloquent 'colored

preachers'--noble patterns of industry and wisdom, who show forth, by

their exemplary bearing, all the beauty of holiness,--'allure to

brighter worlds and lead the way.'"

It is impossible to furnish even the faintest description of the

pleading earnestness of the speaker's tone. His full, round, rich voice,

grew intense, low and silvery in its harmonious utterance. As he

pronounced the last sentence, it was with difficulty I could repress a

cry of applause. Oh, surely, surely, I thought, our cause, the African's

cause, is not helpless, is not lost, whilst it still possesses such an

advocate. My eyes overflowed with grateful tears, and I longed to kiss

the hem of his garment.

"You forget," answered Mr. Winston, "or you would do well to consider,

that these cases are exceptional cases, which neither preclude my

inferences nor warrant your assumption."

"Exceptions, indeed, they are; but why?" inquired Mr. Trueman.

"Exceptions, you know, prove the rule. Now, you infer from the sooty

complexion of the Africans, a natural and necessary incapacity for the

blessings of self-government and the refinements of education. I have

mentioned individuals of this fatal complexion who are in the wise

enjoyment of these sublime privileges: one of them has acquired an

enviable celebrity as an orator, the other is the accomplished President

of the infant Liberian Republic. If color incapacitated, as you seem to

think, it would affect all alike; but it has not incapacitated these,

therefore it does not incapacitate at all. These are exceptions not to

the general _capacity_ of the blacks, but only to their general

opportunity. What they have done others may do--the opportunities being

equal."

"I have listened to you entire argument," rejoined Mr. Winston, "very

patiently, with the expectation of hearing the proposition sustained

with which you so vauntingly set out. You will, perhaps, accord to me

the credit of being--what in this age of ceaseless talk is rarely

met--'a good listener.' But, after all my patience and attention, I am

still unsatisfied--if not unshaken. You have failed to meet the

argument drawn from the 'curse' pronounced on the progenitors of the

unfortunate race: you have failed to present or notice what is generally

considered by theologians and moralists the right of a purchaser--in

your illustration from stolen goods--to something for the money with

which he parts; and here, I think, you manifested great unfairness; and,

above all, you have failed to propose any feasible remedy for the state

of things against which you inveigh. What have you to say on these

material points?"

"Very much, my good sir, as you will find, if, instead of taking

advantage of every momentary pause to make out such a 'failure' as you

desire, you only prolong your very complimentary patience. I wish you to

watch the argument narrowly; to expose the faintest flaw you can detect

in it; and, at the end, if unsatisfied, cry out 'failure,' or let it

wring from you a reluctant confession. You will, at least, before I

shall have done, withdraw the illiberal imputation of unfairness. It

would be an easy task for me to anticipate all you can say, and to

refute it; but such a course would leave you nothing to say, and, since

I intend this discussion to be strictly a conversation, I shall leave

you at liberty to present your own arguments in your own way. Now, as to

the argument from 'the curse,' you must permit me to observe, that your

interpretation is too free and latitudinarian. Mine is more literal,

more in accordance with the character of God; it fully satisfies the

Divine vengeance, and, whether correct or not, has, at least, as much

authority in its favor. Granting the dominion of the white over the

black race to be in virtue of 'the curse,' it by no means conveys such

power as your Southern institution seeks to justify. The word _slave_

nowhere occurs in that memorable malediction; but there is an obvious

distinction between _its_ import and that of the word _servant_, which

it _does_ employ. Surely, for the offence of looking upon the nakedness

of his father, Ham could not have incurred and entailed upon his

posterity a heavier punishment than they would necessarily suffer as

the simple servants of their brethren. And this consideration should

induce you to give them, at least, the same share of freedom as is

enjoyed by the _white servants_ to be found in many a household in the

South. Such servitude would be the utmost that a merciful God could

require. Even this, however, was under the old dispensation; and the

reign of its laws, customs, and punishments, should melt under the

genial rays of the sun of Christianity. Many of your own patriots,

headed by Washington and Jefferson, have long since thought so; and but

few in these days plead 'the curse' as excuse or justification for that

'damned spot' which all will come ultimately to consider the disgrace of

this enlightened age and nation. As to your next point, the right which

a purchaser of stolen goods may acquire in them in consideration of the

money which he pays, I grant all the benefit that even the most generous

theologian or moralist can allow in the best circumstances of such a

case. And what does this amount to? A return of the purchase-money, with

a reasonable or very high rate of interest for the detention, would be

as much as any one could demand. Applying this to the case of the stolen

Africans, how many of those who were forced from their native land to

this have died on their master's hands without yielding by their labor,

not alone the principal, but a handsome percentage upon the money

invested in their purchase? Thus purchasers were indemnified--abundantly

indemnified, against loss. The indemnity, however, should have been

sought from the seller, not from the article or person sold. But, at

best, purchasers of stolen goods, to entitle themselves to any

indemnity, should at least be innocent; for if they buy such goods,

_knowing them to be stolen_, they are guilty of a serious misdemeanor,

which is everywhere punishable under the law. 'He who asks equity must

do equity.' When, therefore, you of the South would realize the benefit

of the concession of theologians and moralists--the benefit of

justice--you should bring yourselves within the conditions they require;

you should come into court with clean hands, and with the intention of

acting in good faith. Have you done so? Did your fathers do so before

you? Not at all. They were not ignorant purchasers of the poor, ravished

African; they knew full well that he had been stolen and brought by

violence from his distant home: consequently, they were guilty of a

misdemeanor in purchasing; consequently, too, they come not within the

case proposed by the theologians and moralists, which might entitle them

to indemnity; nor were they in a condition to ask it. The present

generation, claiming through them, find themselves in the same

predicament, with the same title only, and the same unclean hands,

perpetuating their foul oppression. None of them, as I have shown, had a

right to claim indemnity by reason of having invested their money in

that way; and, if they ever had such right, they have been richly

indemnified already. Therefore, it is absurd for you to continue the

slave business upon this plea. Having thus answered your only objections

to my position, I might remind you of your determination, and call upon

you to 'liberate your slaves,' and take sides with me in opposition to

the cruel institution. You are greatly mistaken in supposing that my

omission to propose a plan, by which slave-holders could _conveniently,

and without pecuniary loss_, emancipate their slaves, constitutes the

slightest objection to the argument I have advanced. If you defer their

emancipation until such a plan is proposed; if you are unwilling to

incur even a little sacrifice, what nobility will there be in the act,

to entitle you to the consideration of the just and good, or to the

approval of your own consciences? I sought by this discussion, to

convince you that slavery is an enormous evil; the proposition was

declared in all its boldness. You volunteered a pledge to release your

slaves if I could sustain it, let the sacrifice be what it might. Some

sacrifice, then, you must have anticipated; and, should your conviction

now demand it, you have no cause to complain of me. Your pledge was

altogether voluntary; I did not even ask it; nor did I design to suggest

any such plan of universal emancipation as would suit the _convenience_

of everybody. I am not so extravagantly silly as to hope to do that.

But, after all, why wait for a _plan_? Immediate, universal

emancipation is not impracticable, and numberless methods might and

would at once be devised, if the people of your States were sincere when

they profess to desire its accomplishment. Their _real_ wish, however,

whatever it may be, need not interfere between your individual pledge,

and its prompt fulfilment."

Mr. Trueman paused for full five minutes, and, as I peered out from my

hiding-place, I thought there was a very quizzical sort of expression on

his fine face.

"Well, what have you to say?" he at length asked.

"It seems to me," Mr. Winston began, in an angry tone, "you speak very

flippantly and very wildly about general emancipation. Consider, sir,

that slavery is so woven into our society, that there is scarcely a

family that would not be more or less affected by a change. Fundamental

alterations in society, to be safely made, must be the slow work of

years:

'Not the hasty product of a day,

But the well-ripened fruit of wise delay.'

So it is only by almost imperceptible degrees that the emancipationists

and impertinent Abolitionists can ever attain 'the consummation' they

pretend to have so much at heart. If they would just stay at home and

devote their spare time to cleansing their own garments, leaving us of

the South to suffer alone what they are pleased to esteem the evil and

sin and curse, the shame, burden and abomination of slavery, we should

the sooner discover its blasting enormities, and strive more zealously

to abolish them and the institution from which they proceed. Their

super-serviceable interference, hitherto, has only riveted and tightened

the bondage of those with whom they sympathize; and such a result will

always attend it. Our slaves, as at present situated, are very well

satisfied, as, indeed, they ought to be: for they are exempt from the

anxious cares of the free, as to what they shall eat or what they shall

drink, or wherewithal they shall be clothed. Many poor men of our own

color would gladly exchange conditions with them, because they find life

to be a hard, an incessant struggle for the scantiest comforts, with

which our slaves are supplied at no cost of personal solicitude.

Besides, sir, our institution of slavery is vastly more burdensome to

ourselves than to the negroes for whom you affect so much fraternal

love."

"One would suppose, that if you thought it burdensome, you would be

making some effort to relieve yourselves," interposed Mr. Trueman, in

that clear and pointed manner that was his peculiarity; "and, if

immediate emancipation were deemed impracticable in consequence of the

radical hold which this institution has at the South, you might

naturally be expected to be doing something toward that end by the

encouragement of education among those in bondage, by the sanction of

marriage ties between them, and by other efforts to ameliorate their

condition. Certain inducements might be presented for the manumission of

slaves by individual owners, for there are some of this class, I am

happy to think, who, in tender humanity, would release their slaves, if

the stringency of the laws did not deter them from it. Would it not be

well to abate somewhat of this rigor, and allow all slaves, voluntarily

manumitted, to remain in the several States with at least the privileges

of the free negroes now resident therein, so that the olden ties, which

have grown up between themselves and their owners, might not be abruptly

snapped asunder? Besides, to enforce the propriety of this alteration of

the law, it would be well to reflect that the South is the native home

of most of the slaves, who cherish their local attachments quite as much

as ourselves; and hence the law which now requires them, when by any

means they have obtained their freedom, to remove beyond the limits of

the State, is a very serious hardship and should cease to exist. This

would be a long stride toward your own relief from the burden of which

you complain. As to the slaves, who you think should be content with

their condition, in which they have, as you say, 'no care for necessary

food and raiment,' I would suggest that they have the faculty of

distinguishing between slavery and bondage, and have sense enough to see

that though these things, which are generally of the coarsest kind, are

provided by their masters, the means by which they are furnished are but

a scanty portion of their own hard earnings. Were they free, they could

work in the same way, and be entitled to _all_ the fruits of their

labor. Then they would have the same inducements to toil that we now

have, and the same ambition to lift themselves higher and higher in the

social scale. Those white men whom you believe willing to exchange

situations with them, are too indolent to enjoy the privileges of

freedom, and would be utterly worthless as slaves. You declaim against

the course which the Abolitionists have pursued, and seem disposed, in

consequence, to tighten the cords of servitude. You would be let alone,

forsooth, to bear this burden as long as you please, and to get rid of

it at pleasure. So long as there was any hope that you would do what you

ought in the matter, you were let alone, and if you were the only

sufferers from your peculiar institution, you might continue

undisturbed; but the yoke lies heavy and galling upon the poor slaves

themselves, whose voices are stifled, and it is high time for the

friends of human rights to speak in their behalf, till they make

themselves heard. At this momentous period, when new States and

Territories are knocking for admission at the doors of our Union--States

and Territories of free and virgin soil, which you are seeking to defile

by the introduction of slavery--it is fit that they should persevere in

their noble efforts, that they should resist your endeavors, and strive

with all their energies to confine the obnoxious institution within its

already too-extended bounds; for they know, that, if they would attain

their object--the ultimate and entire abolition of slavery from our

land--they should oppose strenuously every movement tending to its

extension; for, the broader the surface over which it spreads, the more

formidable will be the difficulty of its removal. Therefore it is that

they are now so zealously engaged, and they address you as men whose

'judgment has not fled to brutish beasts,' with arguments against the

evil itself and the weight of anguish it entails. Thus they have ever

done, and you tell me that the result has been to rivet the chains of

those in whose behalf they plead. As well might the sinner, whose guilt

is pointed out to him by the minister of God, resolve for that very

reason to plunge more deeply into sin."

His voice became gradually calmer and calmer, until finally it sank into

the low notes of a solemn half-whisper. I held my breath in intense

excitement, but this transport was broken by the harsh tones of the

Virginian, who said:

"All this is very ridiculous as well as unjust; for, at the South slaves

are regarded as property, and, inasmuch as our territories are acquired

by the common blood and treasure of the whole country, we have as much

right to locate in them with our property as you have with any of those

things which are recognized as property at the North. In your great love

of human rights you might take some thought of us; but the secret of

your action is jealousy of our advancement by the aid of slave-labor,

which you would have at the North if you needed it. We understand you

well, and we are heartily tired of your insulting and impudent cant

about the evils of the system of slavery. We want no more of it."

Mr. Trueman, without noticing the insolence of Winston, continued in the

same impressive manner:

"We do take much thought of you at the South, and hence it is that we

dislike to see you passively submitting to the continuance of an

institution so fraught with evil in itself, and very burdensome, as even

you have admitted. We, of the North, feel strongly bound to you by the

recollection of common dangers, struggles and trials; and, with an

honorable pride, we wish our whole nation to stand fair, and, so far as

possible, blameless before the world. We are doing all we can to remove

the evils of every kind which exist at the North; and, as we are not

sectional in our purposes, we would stimulate you to necessary action in

regard to your especial system. We know its evils from sore experience,

for it once prevailed amongst us; but, fortunately, we opened our eyes,

and gave ourselves a blessed riddance of it. The example is well worthy

of your imitation, but, 'pleased as you are with the possession', says

Blackstone, speaking of the origin and growth of property, 'you seem

afraid to look back to the means by which it was acquired, as if fearful

of some defect in your title; or, at best, you rest satisfied with the

decision of the laws in your favor, without examining the reason or

authority upon which those laws have been built.' To the eyes of the

nations, who regard us from far across the ocean, and who see us, as a

body, better than we see ourselves, slavery is the great blot that

obscures the disc of our Republic, dimming the effulgence of its

Southern half, as a partial eclipse darkens the world's glorious

luminary. It is, therefore, not alone upon the score of human rights in

general, but from a personal interest in our National character, that

the Abolitionists interfere. Various Congressional enactments have

confirmed the justice of these views, which they are endeavoring to

enforce by moral suasion (for they deprecate violence) upon the South.

Those enactments assume jurisdiction, to some extent at least, upon the

subject of slavery, having gone so far as to prohibit the continuance of

the slave-trade, denouncing it as piracy, and punishing with death those

who are in any way engaged in it. I have yet to learn that the South has

ever protested against this law, in which the Abolitionists see a strong

confirmation of their own just principles. Why should they not go a step

further, and forbid all traffic in slaves, such as is pursued among your

people? Why do not the States themselves interpose their power to put

down at once and forever, such nefarious business? This would be

productive of vastly more good than anything which Colonization

societies can effect."

"Suppose, sir," began Mr. Winston, "we were to annul the present laws

regulating the manumission of slaves, and to abolish the institution

entirely from our midst; where would be the safety of our own white

race? There is great cause for the apprehension generally entertained,

of perpetual danger and annoyance, if they were permitted to remain

among us. They are there in large numbers, and, having once obtained

their freedom, with permission to reside where they now are, they would

seek to become 'a power in the State,' which would incite them, if

resisted, into fearful rebellion. These are contingencies which

sagacious statesmen have foreseen, and which they would be unable to

avert. Consequently, they had rather bear those ills they have, than fly

to others that they know not of."

"How infelicitous," Mr. Trueman suddenly retorted, "is your quotation,

for, truly, you 'know not' that these anticipated consequences would

ensue; but 'motes they are to trouble the mind's eye.' Your sagacious

statesmen might more wisely employ their thoughts in contemplating the

more probable results of continuing your slaves in their present abject

condition. Far more reason is there to apprehend rebellion and

insurrection now, than the distant dangers you predict. Even this last

objection is vain, unsubstantial, and, at best, only speculative,

resorted to as an unction to mollify the sores of conscience. Some of

your eminent men have expressed a hope that the colored race might be

removed from the South, and from slavery, through the instrumentality of

Colonization, by which, it is expected, that they would eventually be

transported to Africa, and encouraged to establish governments for

themselves. This proposal is liable, and with more emphasis, to the

objection I advanced a while ago, when speaking of the laws which

practically discourage manumission, for, if it is a hardship (as I

contend it is) for them to be driven from their native State to one

strange and unfamiliar to them, it is increasing that severity to

require them to seek a home in Africa, whose climate is as uncongenial

to them as to us, and with whose institutions they feel as little

interest, or identity, as we do. Admit, for a moment, the practicability

of such a scheme. We should, soon after, be called upon to recognize

them as one of the nations of the earth, with whom we should treat as we

do now with the English, French, German, and other nations. I will

suggest to your Southern sages, who delight in speculations, that, in

the progress of years, they might desire, in imitation of some other

people, to accept the invitations we extend to the oppressed and unhappy

of the earth. What is there, in that case, to hinder them from

immigrating in large numbers? Could you distinguish between immigrants

of their class, and those who now settle upon our soil? Either you could

or you could not. If you could not so distinguish, you would in all

likelihood have them speedily back, in greater numbers than they come

from Green Erin, or Fader-land. Thus you would be reduced to almost the

same condition as general emancipation would bring about; but, if you

could, and did make the distinction, is it not quite likely that deadly

offence would be given to their government, which, added to their

already accumulated wrongs, would light up the fires of a more frightful

war than the intestine rebellion you have talked of; or than any that

has ever desolated this continent? Bethink yourselves of these things

amid your gloomy forebodings, and you will find them pregnant with

fearful issues. You will discover, too, the folly of longer maintaining

your burdensome system, and the wisdom of heeding whilst you may, the

counsel of the philanthropic, which urges you to just, generous, speedy,

universal emancipation. But I have fatigued you, and will stop; hoping

soon to hear that you have magnanimously redeemed the promise which I

had the gratification to hear at the commencement of our conversation."

When Mr. Trueman paused, Mr. Winston sprang to his feet in a rage,

knocking over his chair in the excitement, and declaring that he had

most patiently listened to flimsy Abolition talk, in which there was no

shadow of argument, mere common cant; that he would advise Mr. Trueman

to be more particular in the dissemination of his dangerous and

obnoxious opinions; and, as to his own voluntary pledge, it was

conditional, and those conditions had not been complied with, and he did

not consider himself bound to redeem it. Mr. Trueman endeavored to calm

and soothe the hot-blooded Southerner; but his words had no effect upon

the illiberal man, whom he had so fairly demolished in argument.

As they passed my hiding-place, _en route_ to their respective

apartments, I peeped out through a crevice in the door at them. It was

very easy to detect the calm, self-poised man, the thoughtful reasoner,

in the still, pale face and erect form of Trueman; whilst the red,

hot-flushed countenance, the quick, peering eye and audacious manner of

the other, revealed his unpleasant disposition and unsystematized mind.

When the last echo of their retreating footsteps had died upon the ear,

I stole from my concealment, and ventured to my own quarters. Many new

thoughts sprang into existence in my mind, suggested by the conversation

to which I had listened.

I venerated Mr. Trueman more than ever. No disciple ever regarded the

face of his master so reverently as I watched his countenance, when I

chanced to meet him in any part of the house.

CHAPTER XXX.

THE MISDEMEANOR--THE PUNISHMENT--ITS CONSEQUENCE--FRIGHT.

The next day Miss Jane, observing my unusual thoughtfulness, said:

"Come, now, Ann, you are not quite free. From the airs that you have put

on, one would think you had been made so."

"What have I done, Miss Jane?" This was asked in a quiet tone, perhaps

not so obsequiously as she thought it should be. Thereupon she took

great offence.

"How dare you, Miss, speak _to me_ in that tone? Take that," and she

dealt me a blow across the forehead with a long, limber whalebone, that

laid the flesh open. I was so stunned by it that I reeled, and should

have fallen to the floor, had I not supported myself by the bed-post.

"Don't you dare to scream."

I attempted to bind up my brow with a handkerchief. This she regarded as

affectation.

"Take care, Miss Ann," she often prefixed the Miss when she was mad, by

way of taunting me; "give yourself none of those important airs. I'll

take you down a little."

When Mr. Summerville entered, she began to cry, saying:

"Husband, this nigger-wench has given me a great deal of impertinence.

Father never allowed it; now I want to know if you will not protect me

from such insults."

"Certainly, my love, I'll not allow any one, white or black, to insult

you. Ann, how dare you give your mistress impudence?"

"I did not mean it, Master William." I had thus addressed him ever since

his marriage.

I attempted to relate the conversation that had occurred, wherein Miss

Jane thought I had been impudent, when she suddenly sprang up,

exclaiming:

"Do you allow a negro to give testimony against your own wife?"

"Certainly not."

"Now, Mr. Summerville," she was getting angry with him, "I require you

to whip that girl severely; if you don't do it--why--" and she ground

her teeth fiercely.

"I will have her whipped, my dear, but I cannot whip her."

"Why can't you?" and the lady's eye flashed.

"Because I should be injured by it. _Gentlemen_ do not correct negroes;

they hire others to do that sort of business."

"Ah, well, then, hire some one who will do it well."

"Come with me, Ann," he said to me, as I stood speechless with fear and

mortification.

Seeing him again motion me to follow, I, forgetful of the injustice that

had been done me, and the honest resentment I should feel--forgetful of

everything but the humiliation to which they were going to subject

me--fell on my knees before Miss Jane, and besought her to excuse, to

forgive me, and I would never offend her again.

"Don't dare to ask mercy of me. You know that I am too much like father

to spare a nigger."

Ah, well I knew it! and vainly I sued to her. I might have known that

she rejoiced too much in the sport; and, had she been in the country,

would have asked no higher pleasure than to attend to it personally. A

negro's scream of agony was music to her ears.

I governed myself as well as I could while I followed Mr. Summerville

through the halls and winding galleries. Down flights of steps, through

passages and lobbys we went, until at last we landed in the cellar.

There Mr. Summerville surrendered me to the care of a Mr. Monkton, the

bar-keeper of the establishment duly appointed and fitted for the office

of slave-whipping.

"Here," said Mr. Summerville, "give this girl a good, genteel whipping;

but no cruelty, Monkton, and here is your fee;" so saying he handed him

a half-dollar, then left the dismal cellar.

I have since read long and learned accounts of the gloomy, subterranean

cells, in which the cruel ministers of the Spanish Inquisition performed

their horrible deeds; and I think this cellar very nearly resembled

them. There it was, with its low, damp, vault-like roof; its unwholesome

air, earthen floor, covered with broken wine bottles, and oyster cans,

the debris of many a wild night's revel! There stood the monster

Monkton, with his fierce, lynx eye, his profuse black beard, and frousy

brows; a great, stalwart man, of a hard face and manner, forming no bad

picture of those wolfish inquisitors of cruel, Catholic Spain!

Over this untempting scene a dim, waning lamp, threw its blue glare,

only rendering the place more hideous.

"Now, girl, I am to lick you well. You see the half-dollar. Well, I'm to

git the worth of it out of your hide. Now, what would you think if I

didn't give you a single lick?"

I looked him full in the face, and even by that equivocal light I had

power to discern his horrid purpose, and I quickly and proudly replied,

"I should think you did your duty poorly."

"And why?"

"Because you engaged to do _the job_, and even received your pay in

advance; therefore, if you fail to comply with your bargain, you are not

trustworthy."

"Wal, you're smart enough for a lawyer."

"Well, attend to your business."

"This is my business," and he held up a stout wagon-whip; "come, strip

off."

"That is not a part of the contract."

"Yes; but it's the way I always whips 'em."

"You were not told to use me so, and I am not going to remove one

article of my clothing."

"Yes, but you _shall_;" and he approached me, his wild eye glaring with

a lascivious light, and the deep passion-spot blazing on his cheek.

"Girl, you've got to yield to me. I'll have you now, if it's only to

show you that I can."

I drew back a few steps, and, seizing a broken bottle, waited, with a

deadly purpose, to see what he would do. He came so near that I almost

fancied his fetid breath played with its damnable heat upon my very

cheek.

"You've got to be mine. I'll give you a fine calico dress, and a pretty

pair of ear-bobs!"

This was too much for further endurance. What! must I give up the

angel-sealed honor of my life in traffic for trinkets? Where is the

woman that would not have hotly resented such an insult?

I turned upon him like a hungry lioness, and just as his wanton hand was

about to be laid upon me, I dexterously aimed, and hurled the bottle

directly against his left temple. With a low cry of pain he fell to the

floor, and the blood oozed freely from the wound.

As my first impression was that I had slain him, so was it my first

desperate impulse to kill myself; yet with a second thought came my

better intention, and, unlocking the door, I turned and left the gloomy

cell. I mounted the dust-covered steps, and rapidly threaded silent,

spider festooned halls, until I regained the upper courts. How beautiful

seemed the full gush of day-light to me! But the heavy weight of a

supposed crime bowed me to the earth.

My first idea was to proceed directly to Mr. Summerville's apartment and

make a truthful statement of the affair. What he would do or have done

to me was a matter upon which I had expended no thought. My apprehension

was altogether for the safety of my soul. Homicide was so fearful a

thing, that even when committed in actual self-defence, I feared for the

justice of it. The Divine interrogatory made to Cain rang with painful

accuracy in my mental ear! "Am I my brother's keeper?" I repeated it

again and again, and I lived years in the brief space of a moment. Away

over the trackless void of the future fled imagination, painting all

things and scenes with a sombre color.

The first recognizable person whom I met was Mr. Winston. I knew there

was but little to hope for from him, for ever since the argument between

himself and Mr. Trueman, he had appeared unusually haughty; and the

waiters said that he had become excessively overbearing, that he was

constantly knocking them around with his gold-headed cane, and swearing

that Kentucky slaves were almost as bad as Northern free negroes.

Henry (who had become a _most dear friend of mine_) told me that Mr.

Winston had on one or two occasions, without the slightest provocation,

struck him severely over the head; but these things were pretty

generally done in the presence of Mr. Trueman, and for no higher object,

I honestly believe, than to annoy that pure-souled philanthropist. So I

was assured that he was not one to entrust with my secret, especially as

a great intimacy had sprung up between him and Miss Jane. I, therefore,

hastily passed him, and a few steps on met Mr. Trueman. How serene

appeared his chaste, marble face! Who that looked upon him, with his

quiet, reflective eye, but knew that an angel sat enthroned within his

bosom? Do not such faces help to prove the perfectibility of the race?

If, as the transcendentalists believe, these noble characters are only

types of what the _whole man_ will be, may we not expect much from the

advent of that dubious personage?

"Mr. Trueman," I said, and my voice was clear and unfaltering, for

something in his face and manner exorcised all fear, "I have done a

fearful deed."

"What, child?" he asked, and his eye was full of solicitude.

I then gave him a hurried account of what had occurred in the cellar.

After a slight pause, he said:

"The best thing for you to do will be to make instant confession to Mr.

Summerville. Alas! I fear it will go hard with you, for _you are a

slave_."

I thanked him for the interest he had manifested in me, and passed on

to Miss Jane's room. I paused one moment at the door, before turning the

knob. What a variety of feelings were at work in my breast! Had I a

fellow-creature's blood upon my hands? I trembled in every limb, but at

length controlled myself sufficiently to enter.

There sat Miss Jane, engaged at her crochet-work, and Master William

playing with the balls of cotton and silk in her little basket.

"Well, Ann, I trust you've got your just deserts, a good whipping," said

Miss Jane, as she fixed her eyes upon me.

Very calmly I related all that had occurred. Mr. Summerville sprang to

his feet and rushed from the room, whilst Miss Jane set up a series of

screams loud enough to reach the most distant part of the house. All my

services were required to keep her from swooning, or _affecting to

swoon_.

The ladies from the adjoining rooms rushed in to her assistance, and

were soon busy chafing her hands, rubbing her feet, and bathing her

temples.

"Isn't this terrible!" ejaculated one.

"What _is_ the matter?" cried another.

"Poor creature, she is hysterical," was the explanation of a third.

I endeavored to explain the cause of Miss Jane's excitement.

"You did right," said one lady, whose truly womanly spirit burst through

all conventionality and restraint.

"What," said one, a genuine Southern conservative, "do you say it was

right for a slave to oppose and resist the punishment which her master

had directed?"

"Certainly not; but it was right for a female, no matter whether white

or black, to resist, even to the shedding of blood, the lascivious

advances of a bold libertine."

"Do you believe the girl's story?"

"Yes; why not?"

"I don't; it bears the impress of falsehood on its very face."

"No," added another Kentucky true-blue, "Mr. Monkton was going to whip

her, and she resisted him. That's the correct version of the story, I'll

bet my life on it."

To all of this aspersion upon myself, I was bound to be a silent

auditor, yet ever obeying their slightest order to hand them water,

cologne, &c. Is not this slavery indeed?

When Mr. Summerville left the room, he hastily repaired to the bar,

where he made the story known, and getting assistance, forthwith went to

the cellar, Mr. Winston forming one of the party of investigation. His

Southern prejudices were instantly aroused, and he was ready "to do or

die" for the propogation of the "peculiar institution."

The result of their trip was to find Monkton very feeble from the loss

of blood, and suffering from the cut made by the broken bottle, but with

enough life left in him for the fabrication of a falsehood, which was of

course believed, as he had a _white face_. He stated that he had

proceeded to the administration of the whipping, directed by my master;

that I resisted him; and finding it necessary to bind me, he was

attempting to do so, when I swore that I would kill him, and that

suiting the action to the word, I hurled the broken bottle at his

temples.

When Mr. Summerville repeated this to Miss Jane, in my presence, stating

that it was the testimony that Monkton was prepared to give in open

court, for I was to be arrested, I could not refrain from uttering a cry

of surprise, and saying:

"Mr. Monkton has misrepresented the case, as 'I can show.'"

"Yes, but you will not be allowed to give evidence," said Master

William.

"Will Mr. Monkton's testimony be taken?" I inquired.

"Certainly, but a negro cannot bear witness against a white person."

I said nothing, but many thoughts were troubling me.

"You see, Ann, what your bad conduct has brought _you to_," said Miss

Jane.

Again I attempted to tell the facts of the case, and defend myself, but

she interrupted me, saying:

"Do you suppose I believe a word of that? I can assure you I do not,

and, moreover, I'm not going to spend my money to have a lawyer employed

to keep you from the punishment you so richly deserve. So you must

content yourself to take the public hanging or whipping in the jail

yard, which is the penalty that will be affixed to your crime." Turning

to Mr. Summerville, she added, "I think it will do Ann good, for it will

take down her pride, and make her a valuable nigger. She has been too

proud of her character; for my part, I had rather she had had less

virtue. I've always thought she was virtuous because she did not want us

to increase in property, and was too proud to have her children live in

bondage."

I dared not make any remark; but there I stood in dread of the

approaching arrest, which came full soon.

As I was sewing for Miss Jane, Mr. Summerville opened the door, and said

to a rough man, pointing to me--

"There's the girl."

"Come along with me to jail, gal."

How fearfully sounded the command. The jail-house was a place of terror,

and though I had in my brief life "supped full of horrors," this was a

new species of torture that I had hoped to leave untasted.

Taking with me nothing but my bonnet, I followed Constable Calcraft down

stairs into the street. Upon one of the landings I met Henry, and I knew

from his kindly mournful glance, that he gave me all his compassion.

"Good-bye, Ann," he said, extending his hand to me, "good-bye, and keep

of good cheer; the Lord will be with you." I looked at him, and saw that

his lip was quivering; and his dark eye glittered with a furtive tear. I

dared not trust my voice, so, with a grateful pressure of the hand, I

passed him by, keeping up my composure right stoutly. At the foot of the

stair I met Louise, who was weeping.

"I believe you, Ann, we all believe you, and the Lord will make it

appear on the day of your trial that you are right, only keep up your

spirits, and read this," and she slipped a little pocket-Testament into

my hand, which was a welcome present.

Now, I thought, the last trial is over. All the tender ones who love me

have spoken their comforting words, and I may resume my pride and

hauteur; but no--standing within the vestibule was the man whom I

reverenced above all others, Mr. Trueman. One effort more, and then I

might be calm; but before the sunshine of his kindliness the snow and

ice of my pride melted and passed away in showers of tears. The first

glance of his pitying countenance made me weep. I was weary and

heavy-laden, and, even as to a mortal brother, I longed to pour into his

ear the pent-up agony of my soul.

"Poor girl," he said kindly, as he offered me his white and

finely-formed hand, "I believe you innocent; there is that in your

clear, womanly look, your unaffected utterance, that proves to me you

are worthy to be heard. Trust in God."

Oh, can I ever forget the diamond-like glister of his blue eyes! and

_that tear_ was evoked from its fountain for my sorrow; even then I felt

a thrill of joy. We love to have the sympathy and confidence of the

truly great. I made no reply, in words, to Mr. Trueman, but he

understood me.

Conducted by the constable, I passed through a number of streets, all

crowded with the busy and active, perhaps the _happy_. Ah, what a fable

that word seemed to express! I used to doubt every smiling face I saw,

and think it a _radiant lie_! but, since then, though in a subdued

sense, I have learned that mortals may be happy.

We stopped, after a long walk, in front of a large building of Ionic

architecture, and of dark brown stone, ornamented by beautiful flutings,

with a tasteful slope of rich sward in front, adorned with a variety of

flowers and shrubbery. Through this we passed and reached the first

court, which was surrounded by a high stone-wall. Passing through a low

door-way, we stood on the first pave; here I was surrendered to the

keeping of the jailer, a man apparently devoid of generosity and

humanity. After hearing from Constable Calcraft an account of the crime

for which I was committed, he observed--

"A sassy, impudent, _on_ruly gal, I guess; we have plenty _sich_; this

will larn her a lessin. Come with me," he said, as he turned his

besotted face toward me.

Through dirty, dark, filthy passages I went, until we reached a gloomy,

loathsome apartment, in which he rudely thrust me, saying--

"Thar's your quarters."

Such a place as it was! A small room of six by eight, with a dirty,

discolored floor, over which rats and mice scampered _ad libitum_. One

miserable little iron grate let in a stray ray of daylight, only

revealing those loathsome things which the friendly darkness would have

concealed. Cowering in the corner of this wretched pen was a poor,

neglected white woman, whose face seemed unacquainted with soap and

water, and her hair tagged, ragged, and unused to comb or brush. She

clasped to her breast a weasly suckling, that every now and then gave a

sickly cry, indicative of the cholic or a heated atmosphere.

"Poor comfort!" said the woman, as I entered, "poor comfort here, whare

the starved wretches are cryin' for ar. My baby has bin a sinkin' ever

sense I come here. I'd not keer much if we could both die."

"For what are you to be tried?"

"For takin' a loaf of bread to keep myself and child from starvin'."

She then asked me for what I stood accused. I told her my story, and we

grew quite talkative and sociable, thereby realizing the old axiom,

"Misery loves company."

* * * * * * *

For several days I lingered on thus, diversifying the time only by

reading my Testament, the gift of Louise, and occasionally having a long

talk with my companion, whom I learned to address by the name of Fanny.

She was a woman of remarkably sensitive feelings, quick and warm in all

her impulses; just such a creature as an education and kindly training

would have made lovely and lovable; but she had been utterly

neglected--had grown up a complete human weed.

Our meals were served round to us upon a large wooden drawer, as filthy

as dirt and grease could make it. The cuisine dashed our rations, a

slice of fat bacon and "pone" of corn bread to us, with as little

ceremony as though we had been dogs; and we were allowed one blanket to

sleep on.

One day, when I felt more than usually gloomy, I was agreeably

disappointed, as the cumbersome door opened to admit my kind friend

Louise. The jailer remarked:

"You may stay about a quarter of an hour, but no longer."

"Thank you, sir," she replied.

"This is very kind of you, Louise," for I was touched by the visit.

"I wanted to see you, Ann; and look what I brought you!" She held a

beautiful bouquet to me.

"Thank you, thank you a thousand times, this _is_ too kind," I said, as

I watered the lovely flowers with my tears.

"Oh, they were sent to you," she answered, with a smile.

"And who sent them?"

"Why, Henry, of course;" and again she smiled.

I know not why, but I felt the blood rushing warmly to my face, as I

bent my head very low, to conceal a confusion which I did not

understand.

"But here is something that I did bring you," and, opening a basket, she

drew out a nice, tempting pie, some very delicious fruit cake, and white

bread.

"I suppose your fare is miserable?"

"Oh, worse than miserable."

Fanny drew near me, and without the least timidity, stretched forth her

hand.

"Oh, please give me some, only a little; I'm nearly starved?"

I freely gave her the larger portion, for she could enjoy it. I had the

flowers, the blessed flowers, that Henry had sent, and they were food

and drink for me!

Louise informed me that, since my arrest, she had cleared up and

arranged Miss Jane's room; and she thought it was Mr. Summerville's

intention to sell me after the trial.

"Have you heard who will buy me?" I asked.

"Oh, no, I don't suppose an offer has yet been made; nor do I know that

it is their positive intention to sell you; but that is what I judged

from their conversation."

"If they get me a good master I am very willing to be sold; for I could

not find a worse home than I have now."

"I expect if he sells you, it will be to a trader; but, keep up your

heart and spirits. Remember, 'sufficient for the day is the evil

thereof.' But I hear the sound of footsteps; the jailer is coming; my

quarter of an hour is out."

"How came he to admit you?"

"Oh, I know Mr. Trayton very well. I've washed for his wife, and she

owes me a little bill of a couple of dollars; so when I came here, I

said by way of a bait, 'Now, Mrs. Trayton, I didn't come to dun you,

I'll make you a present of that little bill;' then she and he were both

in a mighty good humor with me. I then said, 'I've got a friend here,

and I'd take it as a favor if you'd let me see her for a little while.'"

"Mr. Trayton said:"

"'Oh, that can't be--it's against the rules.'"

"So his wife set to work, and persuaded him that he owed me a favor, and

he consented to let me see you for a quarter of an hour only. Before he

comes, tell me what message I am to give Henry for you. I know he will

be anxious to hear."

Again I felt the blood tingling in my veins, and overspreading my face.

I began to play with my flowers, and muttered out something about

gratitude for the welcome present, a message which, incoherent as it

was, her woman's wit knew to be sincere and gracious. After a few

moments the jailer came, saying:

"Louise, your time is up."

"I am ready to go," and she took up her basket. After bidding me a kind

adieu she departed, carrying with her much of the sunshine which her

presence had brought, but not all of it, for she left with me a ray or

so to illumine the darkened cell of recollection. There on my lap lay

the blooming flowers, _his_ gift! Flowers are always a joy to us--they

gladden and beautify our outer and every-day life; they preach us a

sermon of beauty and love; but to the weary, lonely captive, in his

dismal cell, they are particularly beautiful! They speak to him in a

voice which nothing else can, of the glory of the sun-lit world, from

which he is exiled. Thanks to God for flowers! Rude, and coarse, and

vile must be the nature that can trample them with unhallowed feet!

There I sat toying with them, inhaling their mystic odor, and

luxuriating upon the delicacy of their ephemeral beauty. All flowers

were dear to me; but these were particularly precious, and wherefore? Is

there a single female heart that will not divine "the wherefore"? You,

who are clad in satin, and decked with jewels, albeit your face is as

white as snow, cannot boast of emotions different from ours? Feeling,

emotion, is the same in the African and the white woman? We are made of

the same clay, and informed by the same spirit.

The better portion of the night I sat there, sadly wakeful, still

clutching those flowers to my breast, and covering them with kisses.

The heavy breathing of my companion sounded drowsily in my ear, yet

never wooed me to a like repose. Thus wore on the best part of the

night, until the small, shadowy hours, when I sank to a sweet dream. I

was wandering in a rich garden of tropical flowers, with Henry by my

side! Through enchanted gates we passed, hand in hand, singing as we

went. Long and dreamily we loitered by low-gurgling summer fountains,

listening to the lulling wail of falling water. Then we journeyed on

toward a fairy flower-palace, that loomed up greenly in the distance,

which ever, as we approached it, seemed to recede further.

I awoke before we reached the floral palace, and I am womanly enough to

confess, that I felt annoyed that the dream had been broken by the cry

of Fanny's babe. I puzzled myself trying to read its import. Are there

many women who would have differed from me? Yet I was distressed to

find Fanny's little boy-babe very sick, so much so as to require

medical attention; but, alas! she was too poor to offer remuneration to

a doctor, therefore none was sent for; and, as the child was attacked

with croup, it actually died for the want of medical attention. And this

occurred in a community boasting of its enlightenment and Christianity,

and in a city where fifty-two churches reared their gilded domes and

ornamented spires, in a God-fearing and God-serving community, proud of

its benevolent societies, its hospitals, &c. In what, I ask, are these

Christians better than the Pharisees of old, who prayed long, well, and

much, in their splendid temples?

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE DAY OF TRIAL--ANXIETY--THE VOLUNTEER COUNSEL--VERDICT OF THE JURY.

The day of my trial dawned as fair and bright as any that ever broke

over the sinful world. It rose upon my slumber mildly, and without

breaking its serenity. I slept better on the night preceding the trial,

than I had done since my incarceration.

I knew that I was friendless and alone, and on the eve of a trial

wherein I stood accused of a fearful crime; that I was defenceless; yet

I rested my cause with Him, who has bidden the weary and heavy-laden to

come unto Him, and He will give them rest. Strong in this consciousness,

I sank to the sweetest slumber and the rosiest dreams. Through my mind

gracefully flitted the phantom of Henry.

When Fanny woke me to receive my unrelished breakfast, she said:

"You've forgot that this is the day of trial; you sleep as unconsarned

as though the trial was three weeks off. For my part, now that the baby

is dead, I don't kere much what becomes of me."

"My cause," I replied, "is with God. To His keeping I have confided

myself; therefore, I can sleep soundly."

"Have you got any lawyer?"

"No; I am a slave, and my master will not employ one."

After a few hours we heard the sound of a bell, that announced the

opening of court. The jailer conducted me out of the jail yard into the

Court House. It was the first time I had ever seen the interior of a

court-room, when the court was in full session, and I was not very much

edified by the sight.

The outside of the building was very tasteful and elegant, with most

ornate decorations; but the interior was shocking. In the first place it

was unfinished, and the bald, unplastered walls struck me as being

exceedingly comfortless. Then the long, redundant cobwebs were gathered

in festoons from rafter to rafter, whilst the floor was fairly

tesselated with spots of tobacco-juice, which had been most dexterously

ejected from certain _legal_ orifices, commonly known as the _mouths of

lawyers_, who, for want of opportunity to _speak_, resorted to chewing.

The judge, a lazy-looking old gentleman, sat in a time-worn arm-chair,

ready to give his decision in the case of the Commonwealth _versus_ Ann,

slave of William Summerville; and seeming to me very much as though his

opinion was made up without a hearing.

And there, ranged round his Honor, were the practitioners and members of

the bar, all of them in seedy clothes, unshorn and unshaven. Here and

there you would find a veteran of the bar, who claimed it as his

especial privilege to outrage the King's or the President's English and

common decency; and, as a matter of course, all the younger ones were

aiming to imitate him; but, as it was impossible to do that in ability,

they succeeded, to admiration, in copying his ill-manners.

Two of them I particularly noticed, as I sat in the prisoner's dock,

awaiting the "coming up of my case." One of them the Court frequently

addressed as Mr. Spear, and a very pointless spear he seemed;--a little,

short, chunky man, with yellow, stiff, bristling hair, that stood out

very straight, as if to declare its independence of the brain, and away

it went on its owner's well-defined principle of "going it on your own

hook." He had a little snub of a nose that possessed the good taste to

turn away in disgust from its neighbor, a tobacco-stained mouth of no

particular dimensions, and, I should judge from the sneer of the said

nose, of no very pleasant odor; little, hard, flinty, grizzly-gray eyes,

that seemed to wink as though they were afraid of seeing the truth.

Altogether, it was the most disagreeably-comic phiz that I remember ever

to have seen. To complete the ludicrous picture, he was a

self-sufficient body, quite elate at the idea of speaking "in public on

the stage." His speech was made up of the frequent repetition of "my

client claims" so and so, and "may it please your Honor," and "I'll call

the attention of the Court to the fact," and such like phrases, but

whether his client was guilty of the charge set forth in the indictment,

he neither proved nor disproved.

The other individual whom I remarked, was a great, fat, flabby man,

whose flesh (like that of a rhinoceros) hung loosely on the bones. He

seemed to consider personal ease, rather than taste, in the arrangement

of his toilet; for he appeared in the presence of the court in a pair of

half-worn slippers, stockings "down-gyved," a shirt-bosom much spotted

with tobacco-juice, and a neck-cloth loosely adjusted about his red,

beefish throat. His little watery blue eye reminded me forcibly of

skimmed milk; whilst his big nose, as red as a peony, told the story

that he was no advocate of the Maine liquor law, and that he had "_voted

for license_."

He was said, by some of the bystanders, to have made an excellent speech

adverse to his client, and in favor of the side against which he was

employed.

"Hurrah for litigation," said an animadverter who stood in proximity to

me. After awhile, and in due course of docket, my case came up.

"Has she no counsel?" asked the judge.

After a moment's pause, some one answered, "No; she has none."

I felt a chill gathering at my heart, for there was a slight movement in

the crowd; and, upon looking round, I discovered Mr. Trueman making his

way through the audience. After a few words with several members of the

bar and the judge, he was duly sworn in, and introduced to the Court as

Mr. Trueman, a lawyer from Massachusetts, who desired to be admitted as

a practitioner at this bar. Thus duly qualified, he volunteered his

services in my defence. The look which I gave him came directly from my

overflowing heart, and I am sure spoke my thanks more effectual than

words could have done. But he gave me no other recognition than a faint

smile.

As the case began, my attention was arrested. The jury was selected

without difficulty; for, as none of the panel had heard of the case, the

counsel waived the privilege of challenging. After the reading of the

indictment, setting forth formally "an assault upon Mr. Monkton, with

intent to kill, by one Ann, slave of William Summerville," the

Commonwealth's attorney introduced Mr. Monkton himself as the only

witness in the case.

In a very minute and evidently pre-arranged story, he proceeded to

detail the circumstances of a violent and deadly assault, which seemed

to impress the jury greatly to my prejudice. When he had concluded, the

prosecutor remarked that he had no further evidence, and proposed to

submit the case, without argument, to the jury, as Mr. Trueman had no

witnesses in my favor. To this proposal, however, Mr. Trueman would not

accede; and so the prosecutor briefly argued upon the testimony and the

law applicable to it. Then Mr. Trueman rose, and a thrill seemed to run

through the audience as his tall, commanding form stood proud and erect,

his mild saint-like eyes glowing with a fire that I had never seen

before. He began by endeavoring to disabuse the minds of the jury of the

very natural ill-feeling they might entertain against a slave, supposed

to have made an attack upon the life of a white man; reviewed at length

the distinctions which are believed, at the South, to exist between the

two races; and dwelt especially upon those oppressive enactments which

virtually place the life of a slave at the mercy of even the basest of

the white complexion. Passing from these general observations, he

examined, with scrutiny the prepared story of Mr. Monkton, showing it to

be a vile fabrication of defeated malice, flatly contradictory in

essential particulars, and utterly unworthy of reliance under the wise

maxim of the law, that "being false in one thing, it was false in all."

In conclusion, he made a stirring appeal to the jury, exhorting them to

rescue this feeble woman from the foul machinations which had been

invented for her ruin; to rebuke, by their righteous verdict, this

swift and perjured witness; and to vindicate before the world the honor

of their dear old Commonwealth, which was no less threatened by this

ignominious proceeding than the safety of his poor and innocent client.

The officers of the Court could scarcely repress the applause which

succeeded this appeal.

"Finally, gentlemen," resumed Mr. Trueman, "permit me to take back to my

Northern home the warm, personal testimony to your love of justice,

which, unbiased by considerations of color, is dealt out to high and

low, rich and poor, white and black, with equal and impartial hands.

Disarm, by your verdict in this instance, the reproach by which Kentucky

may hereafter be assailed when her enemies shall taunt her with

injustice and cruelty. It has long been said, at the North, that 'the

South cannot show justice to a slave.' Now, gentlemen, 'tis for you, in

the character of sworn jurors, to disprove, by your verdict, this

oft-repeated, and, alas! in too many instances, well-authenticated

charge. And I conjure you as men, as Christians, as jurors, to deal

justly, kindly, humanely with this poor uncared-for slave-woman. As you

are men and fathers, slave-holders even, show her justice, and, if need

be, mercy, as in like circumstances you would have these dispensed to

your own daughters or slaves. She is a woman, it may be an uncultured

one; this place, this Court, is strange to her. There she sits alone,

and seemingly friendless, in the dock. Where was her master? Had he

prepared or engaged an advocate? No, sir; he left her helpless and

undefended; but that God, alike the God of the Jew and the Gentile, has,

in the hour of her need, raised up for her a friend and advocate. And be

ye, Gentlemen of the Jury, also the friend of the neglected female! By

all the artlessness of her sex, she appeals to you to rescue her name

from this undeserved aspersion, and her body from the tortures of the

lash or the halter. Mark, with your strongest reprobation, that lying

accuser of the powerless, who, thwarted in the attempt to violate one

article in the Decalogue, has here, and in your presence, accomplished

the outrage of another, invoking upon his soul, with unholy lips, the

maledictions with which God will sooner or later overwhelm the perjurer.

Look at him now as he cowers beneath my words. His blanched cheek and

shrivelling eye denote the detected villain. He dares not, like an

honest, truth-telling man, face the charges arrayed against him. No,

conscious guilt and wicked passion are bowing him now to the earth. Dare

he look me full in the eye? No; for he fears lest I, with a lawyer's

skill, should draw out and expose the malicious fiend that has urged him

on to the persecution of the innocent and defenceless. Send him from

your midst with the brand of severest condemnation, as an example of the

fate which awaits a false witness in the Courts of the Commonwealth of

Kentucky. Restore to this prisoner the peace of mind which has been

destroyed by this prosecution. Thus you will provide for yourselves a

source of consolation through all the future, and I shall thank heaven

with my latest breath for the chance that threw me, a stranger, in your

city to-day, and led me to this temple of justice to urge your minds to

the right conclusion."

He sat down amid such thunders of applause as incurred the censure of

the judge. When order was restored, the Commonwealth's attorney rose to

close the case. He said "he could see no reason for doubting the

veracity of his witness whom the opposition had so strenuously

endeavored to impeach. For his own part, he had long known Mr. Monkton,

and had always regarded him as a man of truth. The present was the first

attempt at his impeachment that he had ever heard of; and he felt

perfectly satisfied that Mr. Monkton would survive it. Had he been the

character which his adversary had described, it might have been possible

to find some witness who could invalidate his testimony. No one,

however, has appeared; and I take it that no one exists. The gentleman

would do well to observe a little more caution before he attacks so

recklessly the reputation of a man."

Mr. Trueman rising, requested the prosecutor to indulge him for one

moment.