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HUBERT'S WIFE:
A Story for You.
by
MINNIE MARY LEE.
"There is a way which seemeth just to a man, but the end thereof leadeth
unto death."--Prov. xlv, 12.
Baltimore:
Published by John B. Piet
Late Kelly, Piet & Co.
Entered, according to an act of Congress, in the year 1873, by
Kelly, Piet & Company,
in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.
CONTENTS.
I. A Black Conference 1
II. The Master of Kennons 7
III. An Interruption to Duncan's Reverie 14
IV. Philip St. Leger 19
V. The Missionary's Retrospect 30
VI. Missionary Life 37
VII. The Distinguished Traveler's Views 45
VIII. The Visitation by Spirit and by Death 52
IX. The New Choice 60
X. "A Dream which was not all a Dream" 71
XI. Althea's Guardians 77
XII. The Christening 88
XIII. New Mistress at Kennons 97
XIV. China--Uncle Mat's Prayer Meeting 109
XV. Kizzie 118
XVI. Time and Change 126
XVII. The St. Legers 135
XVIII. St. Mark's or St. Patrick's? 145
XIX. "In such an hour as ye think not" 154
XX. Juliet 164
XXI. "The Spider and the Fly" 172
XXII. Althea--Death of Little Johnny 181
XXIII. Hubert Lisle at Vine Cottage 193
XXIV. Jealousy 201
XXV. The Awakening 208
XXVI. Light after Darkness 213
XXVII. The Convert's Trials 221
XXVIII. Mysterious Disappearance 231
XXIX. Hubert's Second Visit 235
XXX. "And the Sea shall give up its Dead" 240
XXXI. Conclusion 243
CHAPTER I.
A BLACK CONFERENCE.
It was the night after the funeral. Ellice Lisle, the loving wife,
devoted mother, kind mistress, and generous friend, had been laid away
to rest; over her pulseless bosom had been thrown the red earth of her
adopted Virginia, and, mingled with its mocking freshness, was the
bitter rain of tears from the eyes of all who had known the lowly
sleeper. Even Nature joined the general weeping; for, though the early
morning had been bright and beautiful, ere the mourners' feet had left
the new-made grave, the skies had lowered, and a gentle rain descended.
"_You_ have pity upon me, O Heaven, and you weep for me, O earth," had
exclaimed Duncan Stuart Lisle, as, leading his little Hubert by the
hand, he turned away from his lost Ellice.
As night deepened, the rain increased, and the darkness became intense.
The house-servants, timid and superstitious, had all congregated in Aunt
Amy's cabin. Amidst their grief, sincere and profound, was yet a subject
of indignation, which acted as a sort of safety-valve to their over-much
sorrowing.
"A nice, pretty piece of impudence it was, to be sure, when she hadn't
been in the house for five year, to 'trude herself the minute Miss
Ellice's breath had left her precious body, the poor dear!" ejaculated
Chloe, the cook, who was intensely black, and fat to immensity.
"Much as ever Massa Duncan 'peared to notice her, not'standing she make
herself so 'ficious," said Amy, who looked more the Indian than African.
"He never set eyes on her but once," said young China, the favorite
housemaid, whose dialect and manners were superior to those of the other
servants, "only just once, and that was when she looked at him so long
and fierce-like he couldn't actually keep his eyes down."
"I see it my own self," added Chloe, whose small orbs were almost buried
beneath overhanging cliffs of brow and uprising mountains of cheek, "and
I'll tell you what I tinks: I tinks just den and dere, dat if we's meet
de ole one hisself he wouldn't hab no eyes, cause Misses Rusha Rush jes
done gone an' stole 'em."
This dark reference caused a closer grouping of the sable dames and
damsels. Trembling hands drew small plaid shawls closer about the
shoulders, while one bolder than the rest cast a huge pine-knot upon the
glowing coals.
Amy was first to break the brief silence.
"Mighty pity Jude Rush ever fell off 'Big Thunderbolt' and broke his
slim neck! But Massa Duncan knew nuf once to let Miss Rusha 'lone; he's
not gwine to be 'veigled by none o' her hilofical airs--you may 'pend on
dat; 'specially when he's had dat sweet saint all to hisself now dese so
many year--no, neber."
And Amy reiterated this over and over, as if to kill the secret thought
which haunted her against her will.
"She persume to come here and order you dis way an' I dat way, an' all
us all 'round ebry which way--oo--but I gived her a piece o' my mind,"
spake Margery, the weaver, very irate.
"Umph! I never seed ye speak to her," said Amy, doubtingly.
"Not wid my tongue, mind ye. I knows better den dat. But I jes spit fire
at her out of my eyes."
"Fire neber burn Miss Rusha; she too ugly for dat. S'pose fire burn de
ole Nick? Den he be done dead and gone, which ain't so; derefore nuthin'
ever fall Miss Rusha; she never sick, nor die, nor drown, nor burn up.
Miss Ellice she sick, she die, 'cause she be an angel; she go home to
glory; but Miss Rusha she live, jes to trouble white folks, jes to
torment niggers."
Wrathful Amy, as she said this, glanced triumphantly at Margery, who was
about to speak, when Chloe took the floor, figuratively.
"Tank de Lord, we ain't de niggers what she's got to torment; and she
needn't be setting her cap for our own good Massa Duncan; she may jes
hang up high her fiddle on de willows o' Bab'lon; she sit down an' weep
on de streams; she neber hab good Massa Duncan; neber while de trees on
Kennons grow and de stars 'bove Kennons shine."
Kennons was the name of the Lisle plantation.
"She'd like to jine the two plantations. One is too little for her to
rule. She's allus wanted our south 'bacco patch. Her hundred niggers and
Massa's hundred would make a crew. O, she's a shrewd one; she sees
further than her nose. She'd make my shettle fly fast as Aunt Kizzie's."
"Somebody ought to make your shuttle fly faster than is its habit,
Margery," returned China, usually quiet and gentle. "But what if you are
all mistaken, and Mistress Rush has no idea of making a rush upon
Kennons and our good master."
"O, you poor innocent," quoth Chloe and Amy at the same time. "Haven't
we eyes? What's they for if not to see with? They ain't in the backs of
our heads neither. We've got ears too; we don't hear with our elbows.
What for did she bring nice things and pretties for Hubert? and what for
did she take such a wonderful interest in de poor baby? Bress us, is de
baby wake or sleep, or what is come of it? We's all forgettin' de dear
precious objec. Sakes alive, an' its nearly smuddered in its soft
blankets, worked so beau'fully wid its own moder's hand."
A sleeping-powder, administered to the three days' old infant had, for a
time, quieted its incessant cries. This sudden mention brought every
dark face to bend low over the cradle, which Bessie, the nurse, had
brought hither from the house, that she might share the gossip of her
companions.
Worn out with weeping and watching, Bessie lay prone and sleeping upon
the floor at the cradle's side. Satisfied that the baby still breathed,
Chloe, Amy, Margery, China and Dinah settled back into their seats, like
so many crows upon a branch.
Dinah, the last-named, had been thus far fast asleep; and provoked with
herself that she had lost a share of the gossip, she gave Bessie a
vigorous push with her foot as she passed her, not through charity, nor
yet through malice, but through a sudden spasm of ill-nature.
Bessie gave a groan and sat up. She gazed around wildly--slowly
comprehended the scene, the present, the past, and, with another groan,
flung herself upon the floor again.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Dinah, to disturb Bessie in that
way," said China, between whom and Bessie was a warm friendship. "She
has cried so, and broken her heart."
"She needn't be in people's way, then--who's going 'round Robinhood's
barn for sake o' likes o' her?" said Dinah, complainingly.
"Shut your mouth, black Dinah," cried Amy authoritatively. "Ye's a
pretty one to knock around a sleepin' nigger. You's been asleep yourself
the last hour. S'pose we'd all been like you--you'd been kicked into a
heap--but we ain't--and you never _did_ have a drop o' human kindness."
"O, go 'way wid your quarreling. Dinah is jis like a firebran'; let her
'lone. What she got to do wid dis subjec-matter in han', I like a-know?"
queried Aunt Chloe, swaying up to the mantle, filling her pipe with
tobacco, and adding thereto the smallest glowing coal upon the hearth.
Meantime, while she is preparing for a smoke, her companions have taken
from their pockets, each a tin snuff-box and a mop, which mop consists
of a small twig, chewed at the end into threads or fibers. This mop, wet
with saliva, is thrust into the box of Scotch snuff, thence thrust into
the mouth, and worked around upon the teeth much to the delight and
constant spitting of the performer. This operation, so prevalent both
among white and black women of the South, is called "_dipping_ snuff."
Having followed our sable friends from grief to indignation, and from
indignation to the charming amusement of snuff-dipping, we will enter
the house and make acquaintance with its master.