It was probably an advantage to Hester Sommers that she had been
subjected to so severe a test at that time, for, not many weeks
afterwards, she experienced a shock which put her powers of
self-restraint to a much severer trial.
It happened thus. Sally and she were on their way home from market one
day; the former with a large basket of vegetables on her head, and the
latter with a lighter basket of oranges on her arm, for the use of the
master at home. They had come to one of the wider of the narrow streets
of the town, where the small shops were numerous, and the throng of
passers-by was considerable--as also was the noise, for Jews, Moors,
Cabyles, and negroes were conversing and jostling each other in all
directions.
Presently a band of slaves approached, and, as it passed, Hester nearly
fainted, for among them she beheld her father, with irons on his legs,
and a shovel and pick on his shoulder.
"Father!" she exclaimed, in a faint voice, and, stretching out her arms,
made an effort to run towards him.
Quick as lightning Sally grasped the situation, and, rising to the
occasion with that prompt energy which betokens true genius, she seized
Hester by the nape of the neck, hurled her to the ground, and sent her
oranges flying in all directions! At the same time she began to storm
at her with a volubility of invective that astonished herself as well as
the amused bystanders. As for poor Hugh Sommers, the noise had
prevented him from hearing the word "father!" and all that met his eyes
was one black girl roughly using another. Alas! the poor man had been
by that time so much accustomed to witness acts of cruelty that the
incident gave him little concern. He passed doggedly onward to his
thankless, unremitting toil, which had been rendered all the more severe
of late in consequence of his despairing violence having compelled his
drivers to put the heavy irons on his limbs.
Meanwhile Sally, having made Hester pick up some of the oranges, seized
her by an arm and hurried her away. Nor did she desist scolding until
she had her fairly down in the back regions of their cellar-home.
"I will never forgive you!" exclaimed Hester, with flashing eyes,
doubling up her small fists, and apparently wishing that at least for
one quarter of an hour she might be transformed into a female Samson.
"Oh yes, you will," returned the negress coolly; "you'll forgib me when
I tells you dat I hab sab' your fadder's life, an' p'r'aps your own
too!"
"How? What do you mean?" demanded Hester, relaxing her little fists
slightly, though still coruscating in the region of the eyes.
"I means dat if you got hold ob yer fadder dat time, he bery likely grip
you tight an' refuse to part wid you at no price ebermore; so den, ob
course, dey tear him away, an' he kick up a shindy an' try to kill
somebody--p'r'aps _do_ it! Oh, its's allers de way. I's oftin seen it
wid the big strong men--an' your fadder am big. Dat was him, wasn't it,
wid de broad shoulders an' de nice face--a leetle wild-like, p'r'aps,
but no wonder--an' de grey beard?"
"Yes; that was him--my darling father!"
"Well, ob course dey take him away an' bastinado him till he die, or
strangle him, or frow him on de hooks; an' dey take you right away back
to Osman, or wuss. I doo'd it for de best, Geo'giana."
"Oh! Sally, dear, _dear_ Sally, forgive me! But it was such an awful
disappointment to be hurried away so, _just_ as I saw him. I--I--am
_very_ wicked, Sally, will you forgive me?" said poor little Hester,
bursting suddenly into tears, throwing her arms round her friend's neck
and kissing her.
"Forgib you, Geo'giana! Das not difficult to do, but I'll _neber_
forgib you if you go slobberin' like dat, an' dirtyin' my face wid your
black cheeks. Dar now, I's got to polish you up again!"
This "polishing up," it may be remarked, was a duty which Sally was
called on to perform rather frequently, in consequence of Hester's
inveterate tendency to think of her father and shed tears! But her
sable friend, whose stolid exterior concealed a wealth of affection,
rather enjoyed the process of "polishing up," and while engaged in it
broke out into quite eloquent dissertations as to the impropriety of
washing one's face with tears when there was plenty of soap and water:
coupled with earnest exhortations to "keep up heart," and
recommendations not to "gib in," "neber to say die," and the like.
On this particular occasion the sympathetic Sally gave her friend
inexpressible comfort by assuring her that, having at last seen her
father and the gang to which he belonged, she could now easily follow
them up and find out where they were set to work. "And so, Geo'giana,"
said she, in conclusion, "somet'ing may come ob dis meetin', p'r'aps
more'n you t'ink."
Something certainly did come of it, as we shall see presently; but just
now we must turn to another danger which threatened our English slave,
and in regard to which the previous testing of her powers of
self-restraint was but a trifle.
One morning Hester was seated in the usual corner, busily engaged with
her embroidery, and with her mind still more busily employed in devising
all sorts of impossible schemes for the deliverance of her father--for
Sally had discovered the exact spot on the fortifications where Hugh
Sommers was at work, and only prevented Hester from rushing out at once
to see him by resolutely refusing for a time to tell where that spot
was.
Mrs Lilly and Hester were alone at the time we refer to, Sally having
gone out to the market.
"Dearie, I 'spec's Peter de Great dis arternoon," said Mrs Lilly,
raising herself from a culinary pot to which she had been devoting her
attention. "Dis am about de time he or'nar'ly comes to see you and tell
you how de land lies. Now dat he knows you's seed your fadder, he'll
likely hab somet'ing 'tickler to say to you."
"God grant that he may have something hopeful to suggest," said Hester,
without looking up from her work.
"You may be sure dat prayer is answered, dearie, for you trust de Lord,
an' no one does dat in vain."
As the woman spoke, the familiar voice was heard outside, "Hi, Missis
Lilly! how's you all git along down dar?" At the same moment the
opening to the street was darkened by Peter's bulky form as he descended
the narrow stair.
Shaking hands with Hester, who rose eagerly to greet him, the negro was
about to begin an earnest talk with her as to how she should act in
regard to her father if she should again meet him, when a voice was
heard that sent a deadly chill alike to the hearts of Hester and the
negro.
"Is the cellar far from this?" asked the voice, which was that of Osman.
"No; here it is! Guard your feet; the second step is broken, and the
place is rather dark," replied the owner of the house.
"Osman!" whispered Peter, glaring and clenching his fists in an agony of
uncertainty how to act.
Mrs Lilly, however, black-woman-like, rose to the occasion.
"Go down dar, you black wretch!" she cried, thrusting Hester quickly
down into the coffee-hole; "how you s'pose massa git his dollars if you
not work? Go to work, or I'll skin you!"
Truly those negroes, male and female, seemed to possess most effective
capacity for, and original methods of, coming to the rescue of their
friends in moments of danger!
As Mrs Lilly uttered the last words the two visitors stood in the
cellar. At the same instant the thud of the great pestle began, and so
intelligently did Hester perform her part that the familiar gasp of
Sally--admirably imitated--came up with every blow.
"What, Peter the Great! You here!" cried Osman, in extreme surprise.
"Yes, massa, I's here on a little bit ob business wid Missis Lilly.
She's a fri'nd ob my sister Dinah," answered Peter humbly.
"Oh, indeed! With my father's permission, I suppose?"
"Yes, Massa Osman. I neber dar to come in de town widout your fadder's
purmission."
Osman turned and addressed a few words in an undertone to the master of
the house, who thereupon turned to Mrs Lilly.
"You are a wise woman, Lilly," he said, "so I have come to consult you.
It seems that one of the slaves belonging to Ben-Ahmed of Mustapha has
made her escape, and it is rumoured that she has taken refuge with some
one in this very street, or in one not far from it. Now, as you are
well acquainted with almost every one in the neighbourhood, I thought it
best to come in the first place to you to ask your advice about the
matter."
The gasp that came from the coffee-hole when this speech was made had
something very real in it, and immediately afterwards the pounding was
redoubled.
"Was the slabe white or black?" asked Mrs Lilly, with childlike
simplicity, and more for the purpose of gaining time to think than
anything else.
"She was white," interposed Osman, "and very beautiful,--in fact, one of
the ladies of the harem."
On hearing this Mrs Lilly looked inquiringly upwards, as if she
expected inspiration to flow from the bricks that formed the vaulted
ceiling. Then she looked suddenly at Peter the Great, and said--
"Das mus' be de lady you was tole me about, Peter,--Ister--Hister--w'at
you call 'er?"
"Yes--Hester! Das so. De same as I tole you all about her 'scape,"
answered Peter, quaking with anxiety and astonishment at the woman's
calm boldness, yet ready to fall in with any plan that her words might
suggest. At the same time the gasping in the hole became more and more
genuine, and the pounding more and more emphatic.
"No, massa, I don' know of no white slabe as hab took refuge wid any ob
our neighbours. Indeed I's kite sure dat none ob de neighbours knows
not'ing at all about dis Is--Es--w'at you call her? Ester! Das so,
Peter?"
"Yes, das so, Missis Lilly."
"Stop that horrible noise in the hole there! What is it?" said Osman
impatiently.
"It is only one of my negro slaves," said the master of the house.
"Call her up, Lilly, and set her to something quieter until we go."
Rendered desperate now, Peter the Great started forward with glaring
eyes. "Massa," he said, "an idea hab just struck me. Will you come out
a momint? I wants to tell you somet'ing _bery hard_."
The appearance, not less than the earnestness, of the negro, inclined
Osman to comply with his request; but, hesitating, he said--
"Why not tell me here, Peter? We are all friends, you know."
"Oh yes, I know dat, Massa Osman; but womans can never be trusted wid
t'ings ob importance, 'specially black womans! But ob course if you not
'fraid ob Missis Lilly, _I_ a'n't 'fraid ob her lettin' de secret out.
I darsay she's as good a creetur as de best ob 'um."
This readiness to give in was a politic stroke. Osman agreed to go
outside with the negro, and while the latter was ascending the short
stair to the street, he was making superhuman efforts to invent
something, for, as yet, he had not the faintest idea what his intended
communication should be. But Peter the Great was a genius, and it is
one of the characteristics of genius to be bold even to recklessness.
Trusting to some sort of inspiration, he began, with looks and tones of
the deepest solemnity, "I s'pose you guess, Massa Osman, dat I've been
inwestigatin' that coorious business ob de English gal what runned
away?"
"No, I did not guess that," answered the Moor shortly.
"Oh! but it's true!" said Peter. "Eber since she flooed away I's bin
goin' about dem suspekid places, lookin' arter her, and, do you know,
Massa Osman, dat at last," (here he dropped his voice and looked
unutterable things),--"at _last_ I's found--"
"Well--found what?" asked the Moor eagerly.
"Found her _fadder_!"
"Bah! What do I care for her father, you fool?"
"Das troo, massa; but don't you t'ink dat p'r'aps she'd be likely to try
for find her fadder; an' if she find 'im she'd be likely to remain _wid_
her fadder? An' so all dat we'd hab to do would be to find her fadder
too. Ob course I don't say she's doo'd all dat; but suppose, for de
sake ob argiment, dat she _hab_ doo'd it all, won't we--won't we--we--
No, I's lost de t'read ob my discoorse. I'll begin again fro' de
beginning. Das de on'y way I kin--"
"Is that all you had to tell me?" interrupted the Moor, in rising wrath.
"No--not kite all," returned Peter humbly. "Dey do say dat de fadder is
at work on de for'fications on de sout' side ob de Kasba."
"Well, you are a greater fool than I took you for," said Osman, in whom
contempt was quickly taking the place of anger.
"I s'pose I is, massa. An' I s'pose it am part ob my foolishness to be
lookin' arter dis yar gal--but den, you see, I lubs Ben-Ahmed, so--"
"Well, well, Peter, I believe you mean well--"
"I's _sure_ I does, Massa Osman!"
"Don't interrupt me, you black villain! Can't you see that if Hester's
father is a Bagnio slave there is no chance of her having found refuge
with him?"
"Das true, massa. I do s'pose you's right. I's a born ijit altogidder.
But, you know, when a man gits off de scent ob a t'ing, anyt'ing dat
looks de least bit like a clue should be follered up. An' dere's no
sayin' what might come ob seein' de fadder--for we's off de scent
entirely jist now."
"There's little doubt of that, Peter," said Osman, pausing, and looking
meditatively at the ground.
"Moreober," suggested the negro, "when a man wid a cleber head an' a
purswavis tongue like you tackles a t'ing, it's bery strange indeed if
not'ing comes ob it."
"Well, you may be right after all," returned the Moor slowly. "I will
go and see this father. At all events it can do no harm."
"None whateber, massa. An' I better run back and send Ali arter you."
"Why? What has he to do with it?"
"Oh! I only t'ought dat you was huntin' togidder. It's ob no
consikence. But I t'ink he knows de janissary officer what has charge
ob de gang, an' if _you_ don't know him Ali might be useful."
"There is wisdom in what you say."
"Eben zough I _is_ a `fool?'" asked the negro simply.
Osman laughed.
"At all events you are an honest fool, Peter, and I'm sorry I burned
your back the other day. You didn't deserve it."
"Oh, nebber mind dat," returned Peter, feeling really uneasy. "De
back's all right now. Moreober I _did_ deserb it, for I's an awrful
sinner! Wuss dan you t'ink! Now, if you keep right up as you go, an'
when you comes to de Kasba turn to de right an' keep so till you comes
to de right angle ob de sout' wall. De fadder he work dar. I'll send
Ali arter you, quick's I can."
They parted, and while the Moor stalked sedately up the street, the
negro hurried back to the cellar with a message to Ali to follow Osman
without a moment's delay.
Meanwhile Ali had been cleverly engaged by the ready-witted Mrs Lilly,
who, after fiercely ordering the coffee-pounder to "stop her noise,"
come out of the hole, and retire to the kitchen, drew forth a large
leathern purse, which she wisely chinked, and, going towards the stairs,
invited her master to "come to de light an' receibe de money which she
hab made by de last sale ob slippers."
Of course the bait took--none other could have been half so successful.
But Hester apparently had not courage to take advantage of the
opportunity, for she did not quit the hole. Fortunately Peter arrived
before the cash transaction was completed. On receiving Osman's message
Ali balanced accounts promptly by thrusting the purse and its contents
into his pocket and hastening away.
Then Peter the Great and Lilly sat down, took a long grave look at each
other, threw back their heads, opened their cavernous mouths, and
indulged in a quiet but hearty laugh.
"Now you kin come out, dearie," said Lilly, turning to the coffee-hole
on recovering composure.