THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT.
The once neat and happy cottage, of which Old Tiff was the guardian
genius, soon experienced sad reverses. Polly Skinflint's violent and
domineering temper made her absence from her father's establishment
rather a matter of congratulation to Abijah. Her mother, one of those
listless and inefficient women, whose lives flow in a calm, muddy
current of stupidity and laziness, talked very little about it; but, on
the whole, was perhaps better contented to be out of the range of
Polly's sharp voice and long arms. It was something of a consideration,
in Abijah's shrewd view of things, that Cripps owned a nigger--the first
point to which the aspiration of the poor white of the South generally
tends. Polly, whose love of power was a predominant element in her
nature, resolutely declared, in advance, she'd make him shin round, or
she'd know the reason why. As to the children, she regarded them as the
incumbrances of the estate, to be got over with in the best way
possible; for, as she graphically remarked, "Every durned young un had
to look out when she was 'bout!"
The bride had been endowed with a marriage-portion, by her father, of
half a barrel of whiskey; and it was announced that Cripps was tired of
trading round the country, and meant to set up trading at home. In
short, the little cabin became a low grog-shop, a resort of the most
miserable and vicious portion of the community. The violent temper of
Polly soon drove Cripps upon his travels again, and his children were
left unprotected to the fury of their step-mother's temper. Every
vestige of whatever was decent about the house and garden was soon swept
away; for the customers of the shop, in a grand Sunday drinking-bout,
amused themselves with tearing down even the prairie-rose and
climbing-vine that once gave a sylvan charm to the rude dwelling.
Polly's course, in the absence of her husband, was one of gross,
unblushing licentiousness; and the ears and eyes of the children were
shocked with language and scenes too bad for repetition.
Old Tiff was almost heart-broken. He could have borne the beatings and
starvings which came on himself; but the abuse which came on the
children he could not bear. One night, when the drunken orgy was raging
within the house, Tiff gathered courage from despair.
"Miss Fanny," he said, "jist go in de garret, and make a bundle o' sich
tings as dere is, and throw 'em out o' de winder. I's been a praying
night and day; and de Lord says _He_'ll open some way or oder for us!
I'll keep Teddy out here under de trees, while you jist bundles up what
por clothes is left, and throws 'em out o' de winder."
Silently as a ray of moonlight, the fair, delicate-looking child glided
through the room where her step-mother and two or three drunken men were
revelling in a loathsome debauch.
"Halloa, sis!" cried one of the men, after her, "where are you going to?
Stop here, and give me a kiss!"
The unutterable look of mingled pride, and fear, and angry distress,
which the child cast, as, quick as thought, she turned from them and ran
up the ladder into the loft, occasioned roars of laughter.
"I say, Bill, why didn't you catch her?" said one.
"Oh, no matter for that," said another; "she'll come of her own accord,
one of these days."
Fanny's heart beat like a frightened bird, as she made up her little
bundle. Then, throwing it to Tiff, who was below in the dark, she called
out, in a low, earnest whisper,--
"Tiff, put up that board, and I'll climb down on it. I won't go back
among those dreadful men!"
Carefully and noiselessly as possible, Tiff lifted a long, rough slab,
and placed it against the side of the house. Carefully Fanny set her
feet on the top of it, and, spreading her arms, came down, like a little
puff of vapor, into the arms of her faithful attendant.
"Bress de Lord! Here we is, all right," said Tiff.
"Oh, Tiff, I'm so glad!" said Teddy, holding fast to the skirt of Tiff's
apron, and jumping for joy.
"Yes," said Tiff, "all right. Now de angel of de Lord'll go with us
into de wilderness!"
"Ther's plenty of angels there, an't there?" said Teddy, victoriously,
as he lifted the little bundle, with undoubting faith.
"Laws, yes!" said Tiff. "I don' know why dere shouldn't be in our days.
Any rate, de Lord 'peared to me in a dream, and says he, 'Tiff, rise and
take de chil'en and go in de land of Egypt, and be dere till de time I
tell dee.' Dem is de bery words. And 'twas 'tween de cock-crow and
daylight dey come to me, when I'd been lying dar praying, like a
hail-storm, all night, not gibing de Lord no rest! Says I to him, says
I, 'Lord, I don' know nothing what to do; and now, ef you was por as I
be, and I was great king, like you, I'd help you! And now, Lord,' says I
'you _must_ help us, 'cause we an't got no place else to go; 'cause, you
know, Miss Nina she's dead, and Mr. John Gordon, too! And dis yer woman
will ruin dese yer chil'en, ef you don't help us! And now I hope you
won't be angry! But I has to be very bold, 'cause tings have got so dat
we can't bar 'em no longer!' Den, yer see, I dropped 'sleep; and I
hadn't no more'n got to sleep, jist after cock-crow, when de voice
come!"
"And is this the land of Egypt," said Teddy, "that we're going to?"
"I spect so," said Tiff. "Don't you know de story Miss Nina read to you,
once, how de angel of de Lord 'peared to Hagar in de wilderness, when
she was sitting down under de bush. Den dere was anoder one come to
'Lijah, when he was under de juniper-tree, when he was wandering up and
down, and got hungry, and woke up; and dere, sure 'nough, was a
corn-cake baking for him on de coals! Don't you mind Miss Nina was
reading dat ar de bery last Sunday she come to our place? Bress de Lord
for sending her to us! I's got heaps o' good through dem readings."
"Do you think we really shall see any?" said Fanny, with a little shade
of apprehension in her voice. "I don't know as I shall know how to speak
to them."
"Oh, angels is pleasant-spoken, well-meaning folks, allers," said Tiff,
"and don't take no 'fence at us. Of course, dey knows we an't fetched
up in der ways, and dey don't spect it of us. It's my 'pinion," said
Tiff, "dat when folks is honest, and does de bery best dey can, dey
don't need to be 'fraid to speak to angels, nor nobody else; 'cause, you
see, we speaks to de Lord hisself when we prays, and, bress de Lord, he
don't take it ill of us, no ways. And now it's borne in strong on my
mind, dat de Lord is going to lead us through the wilderness, and bring
us to good luck. Now, you see, I's going to follow de star, like de wise
men did."
While they were talking, they were making their way through dense woods
in the direction of the swamp, every moment taking them deeper and
deeper into the tangled brush and underwood. The children were
accustomed to wander for hours through the wood; and, animated by the
idea of having escaped their persecutors, followed Tiff with alacrity,
as he went before them, clearing away the brambles and vines with his
long arms, every once in a while wading with them across a bit of
morass, or climbing his way through the branches of some uprooted tree.
It was after ten o'clock at night when they started. It was now after
midnight. Tiff had held on his course in the direction of the swamp,
where he knew many fugitives were concealed; and he was not without
hopes of coming upon some camp or settlement of them.
About one o'clock they emerged from the more tangled brushwood, and
stood on a slight little clearing, where a grape-vine, depending in
natural festoons from a sweet gum-tree, made a kind of arbor. The moon
was shining very full and calm, and the little breeze fluttered the
grape-leaves, casting the shadow of some on the transparent greenness of
others. The dew had fallen so heavily in that moist region, that every
once in a while, as a slight wind agitated the leaves, it might be heard
pattering from one to another, like rain-drops. Teddy had long been
complaining bitterly of fatigue. Tiff now sat down under this arbor, and
took him fondly into his arms.
"Sit down, Miss Fanny. And is Tiff's brave little man got tired? Well,
he shall go to sleep, dat he shall! We's got out a good bit now. I
reckon dey won't find us. We's out here wid de good Lord's works, and
dey won't none on 'em tell on us. So, now, hush, my por little man; shut
up your eyes!" And Tiff quavered the immortal cradle-hymn,--
"Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber!
Holy angels guard thy bed;
Heavenly blessings, without number,
Gently falling on thy head."
In a few moments Teddy was sound asleep, and Tiff, wrapping him in his
white great-coat, laid him down at the root of a tree.
"Bress de Lord, dere an't no whiskey here!" he said, "nor no drunken
critturs to wake him up. And now, Miss Fanny, por chile, your eyes is a
falling. Here's dis yer old shawl I put up in de pocket of my coat. Wrap
it round you, whilst I scrape up a heap of dem pine-leaves, yonder. Dem
is reckoned mighty good for sleeping on, 'cause dey's so healthy,
kinder. Dar, you see, I's got a desput big heap of 'em."
"I'm tired, but I'm not sleepy," said Fanny. "But, Tiff, what are _you_
going to do?"
"Do!" said Tiff, laughing, with somewhat of his old, joyous laugh. "Ho!
ho! ho! I's going to sit up for to meditate--a 'sidering on de fowls of
de air, and de lilies in de field, and all dem dar Miss Nina used to
read 'bout."
For many weeks, Fanny's bed-chamber had been the hot, dusty loft of the
cabin, with the heated roof just above her head, and the noise of
bacchanalian revels below. Now she lay sunk down among the soft and
fragrant pine-foliage, and looked up, watching the checkered roof of
vine-leaves above her head, listening to the still patter of falling
dew-drops, and the tremulous whirr and flutter of leaves. Sometimes the
soft night-winds swayed the tops of the pines with a long swell of
dashing murmurs, like the breaking of a tide on a distant beach. The
moonlight, as it came sliding down through the checkered, leafy roof,
threw fragments and gleams of light, which moved capriciously here and
there over the ground, revealing now a great silvery fern-leaf, and then
a tuft of white flowers, gilding spots on the branches and trunks of the
trees; while every moment the deeper shadows were lighted up by the
gleaming of fire-flies. The child would raise her head a while, and look
on the still scene around, and then sink on her fragrant pillow in
dreamy delight. Everything was so still, so calm, so pure, no wonder she
was prepared to believe that the angels of the Lord were to be found in
the wilderness. They who have walked in closest communion with nature
have ever found that they have not departed thence. The wilderness and
solitary places are still glad for them, and their presence makes the
desert to rejoice and blossom as the rose.
When Fanny and Teddy were both asleep, Old Tiff knelt down and addressed
himself to his prayers; and, though he had neither prayer-book, nor
cushion, nor formula, his words went right to the mark, in the best
English he could command for any occasion; and, so near as we could
collect from the sound of his words, Tiff's prayer ran as follows:--
"Oh, good Lord, now please do look down on dese yer chil'en. I started
'em out, as you telled me; and now whar we is to go, and whar we is to
get any breakfast, I's sure I don' know. But, oh good Lord, you has got
everyting in de world in yer hands, and it's mighty easy for you to be
helping on us; and I has faith to believe dat you will. Oh, bressed Lord
Jesus, dat was carried off into Egypt for fear of de King Herod, do,
pray, look down on dese yer por chil'en, for I's sure dat ar woman is as
bad as Herod, any day. Good Lord, you's seen how she's been treating on
'em; and now do pray open a way for us through de wilderness to de
promised land. Everlasting--Amen."
The last two words Tiff always added to his prayers, from a sort of
sense of propriety, feeling as if they rounded off the prayer, and made
it, as he would have phrased it, more like a white prayer. We have only
to say, to those who question concerning this manner of prayer, that, if
they will examine the supplications of patriarchs of ancient times, they
will find that, with the exception of the broken English and bad
grammar, they were in substance very much like this of Tiff.
The Bible divides men into two classes: those who trust in themselves,
and those who trust in God. The one class walk by their own light, trust
in their own strength, fight their own battles, and have no confidence
otherwise. The other, not neglecting to use the wisdom and strength
which God has given them, still trust in his wisdom and his strength to
carry out the weakness of theirs. The one class go through life as
orphans; the other have a Father.
Tiff's prayer had at least this recommendation, that he felt perfectly
sure that something was to come of it. Had he not told the Lord all
about it? Certainly he had; and of course he would be helped. And this
confidence Tiff took, as Jacob did a stone, for his pillow, as he lay
down between his children and slept soundly.
How innocent, soft, and kind, are all God's works! From the silent
shadows of the forest the tender and loving presence which our sin
exiled from the haunts of men hath not yet departed. Sweet fall the
moonbeams through the dewy leaves; peaceful is the breeze that waves the
branches of the pines; merciful and tender the little wind that shakes
the small flowers and tremulous wood-grasses fluttering over the heads
of the motherless children. Oh thou who bearest in thee a heart hot and
weary, sick and faint with the vain tumults and confusions of the haunts
of men, go to the wilderness, and thou shalt find _Him_ there who saith,
"As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you. I will be as
the dew to Israel. He shall grow as a lily, and cast forth his roots as
Lebanon."
Well, they slept there quietly, all night long. Between three and four
o'clock, an oriole, who had his habitation in the vine above their
heads, began a gentle twittering conversation with some of his
neighbors; not a loud song, I would give you to understand, but a
little, low inquiry as to what o'clock it was. And then, if you had been
in a still room at that time, you might have heard, through all the
trees of pine, beech, holly, sweet-gum, and larch, a little, tremulous
stir and flutter of birds awaking and stretching their wings. Little
eyes were opening in a thousand climbing vines, where soft, feathery
habitants had hung, swinging breezily, all night. Low twitterings and
chirpings were heard; then a loud, clear, echoing chorus of harmony
answering from tree to tree, jubilant and joyous as if there never had
been a morning before. The morning star had not yet gone down, nor were
the purple curtains of the east undrawn; and the moon, which had been
shining full all night, still stood like a patient, late-burning light
in a quiet chamber. It is not everybody that wakes to hear this first
chorus of the birds. They who sleep till sunrise have lost it, and with
it a thousand mysterious pleasures--strange, sweet communings,--which,
like morning dew, begin to evaporate when the sun rises.
But, though Tiff and the children slept all night we are under no
obligations to keep our eyes shut to the fact that between three and
four o'clock there came crackling through the swamps the dark figure of
one whose journeyings were more often by night than by day. Dred had
been out on one of his nightly excursions, carrying game, which he
disposed of for powder and shot at one of the low stores we have alluded
to. He came unexpectedly on the sleepers, while making his way back. His
first movement, on seeing them, was that of surprise; then, stooping and
examining the group more closely, he appeared to recognize them. Dred
had known Old Tiff before; and had occasion to go to him more than once
to beg supplies for fugitives in the swamps, or to get some errand
performed which he could not himself venture abroad to attend to. Like
others of his race, Tiff, on all such subjects, was so habitually and
unfathomably secret, that the children, who knew him most intimately,
had never received even a suggestion from him of the existence of any
such person.
Dred, whose eyes, sharpened by habitual caution, never lost sight of any
change in his vicinity, had been observant of that which had taken place
in Old Tiff's affairs. When, therefore, he saw him sleeping as we have
described, he understood the whole matter at once. He looked at the
children, as they lay nestled at the roots of the tree, with something
of a softened expression, muttering to himself, "They embrace the Rock
for shelter."
He opened a pouch which he wore on his side, and took from thence one or
two corn-dodgers and half a broiled rabbit, which his wife had put up
for hunting provision, the day before; and, laying them down on the
leaves, hastened on to a place where he had intended to surprise some
game in the morning.
The chorus of birds we have before described awakened Old Tiff,
accustomed to habits of early rising. He sat up, and began rubbing his
eyes and stretching himself. He had slept well, for his habits of life
had not been such as to make him at all fastidious with regard to his
couch.
"Well," he said to himself, "any way, dat ar woman won't get dese yer
chil'en, dis yer day!" And he gave one of his old hearty laughs, to
think how nicely he had outwitted her.
"Laws," he said to himself, "don't I hear her now! 'Tiff! Tiff! Tiff!'
she says. Holla away, old mist'! Tiff don't hear yer! no, nor de chil'en
eider, por blessed lambs!"
Here, in turning to the children, his eye fell on the provisions. At
first he stood petrified, with his hands lifted in astonishment. Had the
angel been there? Sure enough, he thought.
"Well, now, bress de Lord, sure 'nough, here's de bery breakfast I's
asking for last night! Well, I knowed de Lord would do something for us;
but I really didn't know as 't would come so quick! May be ravens
brought it, as dey did to 'Lijah--bread and flesh in de morning, and
bread and flesh at night. Well, dis yer 's 'couraging--'tis so. I won't
wake up de por little lambs. Let 'em sleep. Dey'll be mighty tickled
when dey comes fur to see de breakfast; and, den, out here it's so sweet
and clean! None yer nasty 'bacca spittins of folks dat doesn't know how
to be decent. Bress me, I's rather tired, myself. I spects I'd better
camp down again, till de chil'en wakes. Dat ar crittur 's kep me gwine
till I's got pretty stiff, wid her contrary ways. Spect she'll be as
troubled as King Herod was, and all 'Rusalem wid her!"
And Tiff rolled and laughed quietly, in the security of his heart.
"I say, Tiff, where are we?" said a little voice at his side.
"Whar is we, puppit?" said Tiff, turning over; "why, bress yer sweet
eyes, how does yer do, dis morning? Stretch away, my man! Neber be
'fraid; we's in de Lord's diggins now, all safe. And de angel's got a
breakfast ready for us, too!" said Tiff, displaying the provision which
he had arranged on some vine-leaves.
"Oh, Uncle Tiff, did the angels bring that?" said Teddy. "Why didn't you
wake me up? I wanted to see them. I never saw any angel, in all my
life!"
"Nor I neider, honey. Dey comes mostly when we's 'sleep. But, stay,
dere's Miss Fanny, a waking up. How is ye, lamb? Is ye 'freshed?"
"Oh, Uncle Tiff, I've slept so sound," said Fanny; "and I dreamed such a
beautiful dream!"
"Well, den, tell it right off, 'fore breakfast," said Tiff, "to make it
come true."
"Well," said Fanny, "I dreamed I was in a desolate place, where I
couldn't get out, all full of rocks and brambles, and Teddy was with me;
and while we were trying and trying, our ma came to us. She looked like
our ma, only a great deal more beautiful; and she had a strange white
dress on, that shone, and hung clear to her feet; and she took hold of
our hands, and the rocks opened, and we walked through a path into a
beautiful green meadow, full of lilies and wild strawberries; and then
she was gone."
"Well," said Teddy, "maybe 'twas she who brought some breakfast to us.
See here, what we've got!"
Fanny look surprised and pleased, but, after some consideration, said,--
"I don't believe mamma brought that. I don't believe they have corn-cake
and roast meat in heaven. If it had been manna, now, it would have been
more likely."
"Neber mind whar it comes from," said Tiff. "It's right good and we
bress de Lord for it."
And they sat down accordingly, and ate their breakfast with a good
heart.
"Now," said Tiff, "somewhar roun' in dis yer swamp dere's a camp o' de
colored people; but I don' know rightly whar 'tis. If we could get dar,
we could stay dar a while, till something or nuder should turn up. Hark!
what's dat ar?"
'Twas the crack of a rifle reverberating through the dewy, leafy
stillness of the forest.
"Dat ar an't fur off," said Tiff.
The children looked a little terrified.
"Don't you be 'fraid," he said. "I wouldn't wonder but I knowed who dat
ar was. Hark, now! 'tis somebody coming dis yer way."
A clear, exultant voice sung, through the leafy distance,--
"Oh, had I the wings of the morning,
I'd fly away to Canaan's shore."
"Yes," said Tiff, to himself, "dat ar's his voice. Now, chil'en," he
said, "dar's somebody coming; and you mustn't be 'fraid on him, 'cause I
spects he'll get us to dat ar camp I's telling 'bout."
And Tiff, in a cracked and strained voice, which contrasted oddly
enough with the bell-like notes of the distant singer, commenced singing
part of an old song, which might, perhaps, have been used as a signal:--
"Hailing so stormily,
Cold, stormy weder;
I want my true love all de day.
Whar shall I find him? Whar shall I find him?"
The distant singer stopped his song, apparently to listen, and, while
Tiff kept on singing, they could hear the crackling of approaching
footsteps. At last Dred emerged to view.
"So you've fled to the wilderness?" he said.
"Yes, yes," said Tiff with a kind of giggle, "we had to come to it, dat
ar woman was so aggravating on de chil'en. Of all de pizin critturs dat
I knows on, dese yer mean white women is de pizinest! Dey an't got no
manners, and no bringing up. Dey doesn't begin to know how tings ought
to be done 'mong 'spectable people. So we just tuck to de bush."
"You might have taken to a worse place," said Dred. "The Lord God giveth
grace and glory to the trees of the wood. And the time will come when
the Lord will make a covenant of peace, and cause the evil beast to
cease out of the land; and they shall dwell safely in the wilderness,
and shall sleep in the woods; and the tree of the field shall yield her
fruit, and they shall be safe in the land, when the Lord hath broken the
bands of their yoke, and delivered them out of the hands of those that
serve themselves of them."
"And you tink dem good times coming, sure 'nough?" said Tiff.
"The Lord hath said it," said the other. "But first the day of vengeance
must come."
"I don't want no sich," said Tiff. "I want to live peaceable."
Dred looked upon Tiff with an air of acquiescent pity, which had in it a
slight shade of contempt, and said, as if in soliloquy,--
"Issachar is a strong ass, couching down between two burdens; and he saw
that rest was good, and the land that it was pleasant, and bowed his
shoulder to bear, and became a servant unto tribute."
"As to rest," said Tiff, "de Lord knows I an't had much of dat ar, if I
be an ass. If I had a good, strong pack-saddle, I'd like to trot dese
yer chil'en out in some good cleared place."
"Well," said Dred, "you have served him that was ready to perish, and
not betrayed him who wandered; therefore the Lord will open for you a
fenced city in the wilderness."
"Jest so," said Tiff; "dat ar camp o'yourn is jest what I's arter. I's
willing to lend a hand to most anyting dat's good."
"Well," said Dred, "the children are too tender to walk where we must
go. We must bear them as an eagle beareth her young. Come, my little
man!"
And, as Dred spoke, he stooped down and stretched out his hands to
Teddy. His severe and gloomy countenance relaxed into a smile, and, to
Tiff's surprise, the child went immediately to him, and allowed him to
lift him in his arms.
"Now I'd thought he'd been skeered o' you!" said Tiff.
"Not he! I never saw a child or dog that I couldn't make come to me.
Hold fast, now, my little man!" he said, seating the boy on his
shoulder. "Trees have long arms; don't let them rake you off. Now,
Tiff," he said, "you take the girl and come after, and when we come into
the thick of the swamp, mind you step right in my tracks. Mind you don't
set your foot on a tussock if I haven't set mine there before you;
because the moccasons lie on the tussocks."
And thus saying, Dred and his companion began making their way towards
the fugitive camp.