I took his hand for a second and then got upon the train that was to
bear me to my new field of duty.
Cyrus and I had been engaged to be married for fifteen years. He was
professor of chemistry in the Massachusetts State University. I had
received an offer of $40 a month to teach a private school in a little
town in Texas, and had accepted it. Cyrus received $20 per month from
his chair in the university. He had waited for fifteen years for me to
save up enough money for us to get married. I seized this chance in
Texas, resolved to live economically, and in fifteen more years, if I
kept the school that long, we could marry.
My board was to cost me nothing, as the DeVeres, one of the oldest and
most aristocratic families anywhere in the South, offered me a place
in their home. There were several children in the family, and they
were anxious to secure a competent teacher for the little school which
they attended.
The station where I got off was called Houston, and I found there a
team waiting to convey me to Vereton, the little town six miles away,
which was my destination.
The driver was a colored man, who approached me and asked respectfully
if I was Miss Cook. My trunk was placed in the vehicle, which was an
old rickety ambulance drawn by a pair of wretched mules, and I mounted
beside the driver, whose name, he said, was Pete.
While we were driving along a shady road, Pete suddenly burst into
tears and sobbed as if his heart were breaking.
"My friend," said I, "will you not tell me what is the matter?"
"Ah, missie," he said between sobs, "I happen to look at dat busted
link hangin' down from dat trace chain en it remind me of Massa Linkum
what am in heb'n, what gib us po' slaves freedom."
"Pete," said I, "do not weep. In the mansions of the blessed above,
your godlike liberator awaits you. Singing among the hosts of heaven,
Abraham Lincoln wears the brightest crown of glory."