LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF A NIGHT
Aun' Sheba, with a devotion which quite equalled that to her own
offspring, returned to Mara with the intention of watching Mrs. Hunter
while the girl slept. She found Mrs. Bodine sitting with Mara, but the old
colored woman was received with a warmth of welcome and sympathy which put
her at ease at once. Mrs. Hunter had sunk into a kind of stupor rendering
her unconscious of what was passing, and therefore they conversed in low
tones.
"I reckon we need have no secrets from Aun' Sheba," said Mrs. Bodine.
"No," answered Mara, taking her old mammy's hand. "If ever a motherless
girl had a true friend I have one in Aun' Sheba."
"Yes, honey, you'se right dar, an' I hopes you git right on some oder
tings. I put a spoke in de hon'ble business an' I'se ready to put mo' in."
She then briefly related her interview with Clancy and concluded, "Missy
Mara, fo' da Lawd, wot kin you do but mar'y Marse Clancy arter wot happen
wen he come fer you an' ole missus?"
Mara made no reply, but sat with her face buried in her hands.
"Aun' Sheba, this matter is all settled and settled honorably, too, as far
as it can be. Captain Bodine has released Mara in words of the utmost
kindness."
"Well, now, he am quality!" ejaculated Aun' Sheba in hearty appreciation.
"But," sobbed Mara, "it just breaks my heart--"
"No, honey lam', it won' break you heart, nor his nuther. Doin' what's
right an' nat'ral an 'cordin to de Lawd doan break no hearts. It's de oder
ting wot dus in de long run, an' mar'in' gen'ly means a long run. You'd
hab ter begin by lyin' 'miscuously, as I tole Marse Clancy, an no good ud
come ob dat."
"Well, it is all settled as far as Mara is concerned," said Mrs. Bodine,
with a little laugh, "and there need be no 'miscuous lying. How Mr. Clancy
will get out of his scrape remains to be seen."
"Well, I tells you how he git out. I'se keep an eye on dat
limpsey-slimpsey runaway as well as on de pots an kittles, an she's gwine
ter run away agin from dis yere town jes as soon as de way open. Dat'll be
de las you see ob her."
"She's had a hard time of it, poor thing," said Mrs. Bodine, charitably,
"and we can't expect her to feel about Charleston as we do. The question
is, will Mr. Clancy feel obliged to follow her eventually?"
"I tink he's 'bliged not ter."
"Well, Aun' Sheba, I'm glad you have such strong religious ideas of
marriage."
"I'se feerd I ain't bery 'ligious 'bout anyting. I put myself on 'bation
while ago, but I kin'er forgits 'bout dat 'bation, I hab so much to tink
ob."
Mrs. Bodine began to laugh as she said, "I thought you were a sensible
woman, Aun' Sheba."
"Yes, I know. I did tole Marse Clancy dat I hab hoss-sense."
"Then you were lying 'miscuously."
"How dat, missus?"
"Why, Aun' Sheba, do you think you have been hiding your light under a
bushel basket all this time? Old Hannah--poor old Hannah! I wonder what
has become of her--she and Mara have told me how you do for the sick and
poor. Don't you know that the Bible says, 'Inasmuch as ye have done it
unto one of the least of these My brethren ye have done it unto Me'?
You've sent me nice things more than once. I'm 'one of the least of
these.' You don't do these things to be seen of men."
"No, nor I doesn't do it kase I specs ter git anoder string to my harp
bime-by. I does it kase I'se kin'er sorry fer de po' critters."
"Exactly. That is why He fed the hungry and healed the sick. He was sorry
for them. Come, Aun' Sheba, don't be foolish any more."
"I feels it kin'er sumptious ter be so shuah."
"Now, Aun' Sheba, you _are_ doing wrong," said Mrs. Bodine, gravely and
earnestly. "The Lord has been very patient with you--more so than I would
be. If I had made you promises and you kept saying, 'I don't feel sure
about them,' I'd give you a piece of my mind."
"Lor, missus, how you puts it! Is it dataway?"
"Certainly."
"Well, den, I jes takes myse'f off 'bation. I'se gwine ter hang onter de
promises. Lawd, Lawd, missus, I s'posed I'd hab ter groan so dey heah me
all ober de square fo' I could be 'ligious."
"Oh, dear, hear it now! Such groaning makes every one else groan. The
voice that God hears is the wish of the heart and not a hullabaloo. How
shall we get through the night if this keeps up? If you'll help me to my
quarters I'll try to get what rest I can."
When Aun' Sheba returned, Mara insisted on her lying down till she was
called. "I shall do something in this time of trouble except make
trouble," said the girl resolutely, and she would take no denial.
Clancy found that his friend needed much attention, which he gave until
warned by his own symptoms that he must see a physician. He found George
lying on a blanket by a small fire, and that all the others were either
sleeping or resting. "I declare I hate to waken Dr. Devoe," he said, "but
I feel as if I were going to be ill."
George felt the hand of his friend, and sprang up, saying, "I'll waken Dr.
Devoe with or without your leave."
After a brief examination the physician said:
"Why did you not come to me before?"
Clancy explained that he had been caring for a sick friend, to which the
doctor replied testily:
"I don't believe he was half so ill as you are. Well, you must obey me now
as long as you are rational, and I fear that won't be very long." And he
promptly placed Clancy under the open part of the awning, which was the
sleeping-room for the men by night, and general living-room by day. Having
given his patient a remedy, he returned and said, "Here you are, too,
Houghton, up and around. Do you wish to break down also?"
"You forget, doctor, that I had some sleep last night. Feel my pulse."
"Slightly febrile, but then I know what's the matter with _you_. If I were
not so old and bald-headed I'd cut out a slow coach like you. I'm half a
mind to try it as it is."
"Go ahead, doctor. You'll be only one more. How many are there now, do you
suppose?"
"I know how many there should be after what I've seen. But bah! you
Northern young chaps lay siege to a girl at such long range that she
surrenders to some other fellow before you find it out."
"Would you have me call her now, shake her awake, and propose?" asked
George, irritably.
"No, I'd have you fight shy and give me a chance. There, you are too far
gone for a jest. What are you up for?"
"Because I'm not sleepy, for one thing, and I think some one should be on
guard. What's more, I don't like the way those negroes are performing.
They seem to be going wild."
"Yes, and they are doing a lot of harm to the sick and feeble. If they
don't stop at midnight I'll find out whether there's any law in this city.
I say, Houghton, since you are going to sit up, give Clancy this medicine
every half hour, and call me at twelve." He then wrapped himself in a
blanket and was asleep in a minute.
If George had been wide awake before, the doctor's raillery so increased
his impatience and worry that for a time he paced up and down before the
fire. Was he faint-hearted in wooing Ella? Suppose some bold Southerner
should forestall him? The thought was torture; yet it seemed ungenerous
and unkind to seek her openly while she was in a sense his guest and
dependent upon him. "Well," he growled at last, "I won't do it. When she
first spoke to me she said I was a gentleman, and I'll be hanged if I
don't remain one and take my chances."
He threw himself down again by the fire with his back to the awning.
Before very long he heard a light step. Turning hastily he saw Ella's
startled face by the light of the fire.
"Oh, Mr. Houghton! is it you? Pardon me for disturbing you," and she was
about to retreat.
He was on his feet instantly and said, "You will only disturb me by going
away, that is--I mean if you are not tired and sleepy."
"There is such a dreadful noise I can't sleep any more," she replied,
hesitating a moment.
"Suppose--you might help me watch a little while then," he stammered.
"I'll watch if you will rest."
"Certainly;" and he brought her a chair and then reclined near her feet.
"But I meant that you should sleep."
"I only promised to rest."
"But you need sleep if any one does. I've had a good nap and feel much
better. How late is it?"
"Nearly eleven, and time for Clancy's medicine." When he returned he told
her about Clancy.
"Poor fellow!" she said, sympathetically,
"Clancy seems to have trouble on his mind. We all have enough, but he more
than his share."
"I should think you would be worried out of your senses with so many
people to think about and care for. No wonder you can't sleep."
"Thoughts of _people_ do not keep me awake, and I am glad to say my
father's resting quietly. He and your father are born soldiers."
"Your father's to blame for my making a fool of myself at the
supper-table. He spoke so kindly and sympathetically, and I was so tired
and silly that I couldn't stand anything. Then you looked reproachfully at
me because I couldn't eat all you sent--enough to make Uncle Sheba ill."
"Now, Miss Bodine, I didn't look at you reproachfully."
"Who's that snoring over there?"
"Dr. Devoe. My facial muscles must have been shaken out of shape to have
given you so false an impression. Anyhow, I seem to have driven you away,
and I've been miserable ever since."
"Why, Mr. Houghton! The idea of letting a tired girl's weakness disturb
you! You will soon be as ill as Mr. Clancy."
"I'm only stating a fact."
"Well, facts are very queer nowadays. I suppose we shouldn't be surprised
at anything."
"Yet you are a continual surprise to me, Miss Bodine. Do you think I've
forgotten anything since you carried Mrs. Bodine out of her tottering
house?"
"Oh, Mr. Houghton! my memory goes further back than that. I can see a tall
man leap into a sinking boat and--and--oh, why did you sink with it? My
father's agony over the thought that you had died for him turned his hair
white."
"I couldn't help sinking, Miss Bodine. If it hadn't been for that blasted
pole--Well, perhaps it saved all our lives, for my boat was overloaded as
it was. But don't think about that affair. It might have turned out
worse."
"It might indeed. If you knew how we all felt when we thought you were
drowned!"
"Well, I thank God that I happened to be near."
"Happened! You seemed to have a presentiment of evil, and kept near."
"I was facing a certainty of evil then, Miss Bodine. I expected to go
North in a few days, and feared I might not see you again. There, I
shouldn't speak so now. My memory goes back further than yours. I remember
a blue-eyed stranger who drew near to me when I was facing a street bully,
as if she meditated becoming my protector. I saw a noble woman's soul in
those clear eyes, and she said 'I was a gentleman.' I must remember her
words now with might and main. All that I ask is that you won't let any
one else--that you will give me a chance when in your own home. Your
father has--"
"Mr. Houghton, is it not time for Mr. Clancy's medicine?"
"Yes, and past time," he replied, ruefully.
When he returned she said demurely, "I think I can promise what you ask.
Now surely, since your mind is at rest, you can sleep. I will watch."
"I'm too happy to sleep."
"How absurd!"
"Oh, the shock this morning did not disturb me half so much as to see
those fellows around with their devouring eyes."
"Mr. Houghton, don't you think that if we asked them, those colored people
would be less loud? It must be dreadful for those who are sick, and there
are so many."
"They will be brutal indeed if they don't yield to you," and he led the
way to the nearest centre of disturbance.
"Oh, see! Mr. Houghton, there's our old Hannah."
He saw an old woman swaying back and forth, her lips moving spasmodically,
but uttering no sound. The crowd watched her in a sort of breathless
suspense. Suddenly she burst out with the hymn, "Oh, Raslin' Jacob! let me
go," and the throng joined in the mighty refrain. The women swayed to and
fro violently, all going together in a sort of rhythmic motion, meantime
clapping their hands in an ecstasy of emotion. A man dropped to the earth
"converted." He yelled rather than prayed for mercy, then suddenly swooned
and became rigid as a corpse. Others, both men and women, were prostrated
also; and to bring as many as possible into this helpless condition
appeared to be the general object as far as any purpose was manifested.
The crowd seemed to regard poor, demented Hannah as inspired, for a space
was kept clear before her. When she began to sway in her weird fashion,
and her face to twitch, she was the priestess and the oracle. The hymn she
began was taken up first by two self-appointed exhorters, then by all.
"Oh, Hannah!" cried Ella, when her voice could be heard, "do stop and come
away. You are harming the sick and the injured."
The old woman started, and on seeing the girl rushed forward, crying,
"Down on you knees. Now you chance. Pray, bruders, pray, sistahs. De
quakes neber stop till a white man or woman converted--converted till dere
proud heads in de bery dus'"--and she sought to force Ella on her knees.
In a moment Ella was surrounded by the worshippers, whose groans, shouts,
prayers and ejaculations created Pandemonium. The girl was terrified, but
George encircled her with his arm, and thundered, "Give way. I'll brain
the first man who stops us."
Awed for an instant they yielded to George's vigorous push out and away,
and then returned to their former wild indulgence of religious frenzy.
For several paces after their escape he seemed to forget that his arm was
still around Ella, nor did she remind him. Suddenly he removed it, saying,
"Pardon me, Miss Bodine, I am that enraged with those lunatics that I'd
like to give them something to howl about."
"Please be calm, Mr. Houghton," said Ella gently. "I'm not afraid now, and
should not have been afraid at all. I know these people better than you
do. They wouldn't have harmed us, and I fear they don't know any better.
It's only their looks, tones, and words that seem blasphemous, that are
frightful. It was I who took you there and I should have known better."
"Oh, Ella!--beg pardon--Miss Bodine, what a savage a man would be if you
couldn't manage him!"
"Then promise you won't go near those people any more."
"You are too brave a girl to ask that when you learn that Dr. Devoe is
going to tackle them with the police if they don't quiet down by
midnight."
They spoke in low tones as he again held her hand, while they picked their
way among the extemporized shelters and uneasy refugees in the square. As
they approached their own quarters she faltered, "I'm not very brave
tonight, and I have long since learned that you are only too brave."
He paused, still retaining her hand as he said, "What a strange scene this
is! How wild and unearthly those sounds now seem! How odd it all is--our
homes yonder deserted and we here under the stars. It's stranger than any
dream I ever had, yet if it were a dream I would not wish to wake with
you--"
"Mr. Houghton, what's that, that, _that?_"
Far oft in the southeast there were sounds like faint explosions which
grew rapidly louder. Instinctively he drew her nearer, and saw her face
grow white even in the faint radiance of the stars.
"Oh!" she gasped shuddering as the deep roar of the coming earthquake
began. Then his arm drew her close, and she hid her face on his breast.
"Ella," he said solemnly, "I love you, God knows if these words were my
last I would still say I love you."
The mighty roar gradually deepened, and with it blended the cry of
thousands; the earth quivered and swayed, then the thunder passed on,
accompanied by sounds like the distant crash of falling buildings.
George kissed the bowed head and whispered, "There, it's over and we are
safe."
"Oh, thank God! you were with me!" she sobbed.
"May I not be with you always, Ella?"
"God grant it! Oh, George, George, I would have leaped after you into the
water if they had not held me. How could I do without you now?"
"Come, my brave little wife, come with me to my father and reassure him."
"George," cried Mr. Houghton.
"We are here," he answered, drawing aside the screen.
"We?"
"Yes, Ella and I. That last shock has rather hastened matters."
"Ella, my dear child! Truly God is bringing good out of evil;" and he took
the girl into his arms. Then he added, "You'll forgive me and be my own
dear daughter?"
"Yes, Mr. Houghton. You'll find I am rich in love if nothing else."
"Ah! Ella dear, the world seems going to pieces, and my wealth with it,
but love only grows more real and more precious."
"My father's calling me;" and kissing him a hasty good-by she vanished.
Miss Ainsley again ran shrieking out, calling upon Clancy, but Dr. Devoe
met her and drew her away from his muttering, half-conscious patient. When
she became sufficiently quiet he told her that Clancy was dangerously ill,
and that nothing must be said or done to excite him. This seemed to her
only another proof of general disaster, and, in almost abject tones, she
begged, "Oh, doctor, make me sleep till--my father will surely come
to-morrow, and then I can get away."
Her entreaty was so loud that even Mara could not help hearing her. The
physician rather contemptuously thought that it would be better for all if
she were quiet, and gave the anodyne. So far from feeling sympathy for
Clancy she was almost vindictive toward him for having failed her.
Fear, uncontrolled, becomes one of the most debasing of the emotions. It
can lead to panic even among soldiers with arms in their hands; sailors
will trample on women and children in their blind rush for the boats; men
will even deny their convictions, their faith, and cringe to brutal power;
crimes the most vile are committed from fear, and fear had virtually
obliterated womanhood in Miss Ainsley's soul. She was in a mood to accept
any conditions for the assurance of safety, and she gave not a thought to
any one or anything that offered no help. With the roar of the earthquake
still in her ears, and in the dark midnight she knew there was no help, no
way of escape, and so with the impulse of the shipwrecked who break into
the spirit room she besought the opiate which could at least bring
oblivion. Her eyes, which could be so beautiful, had the wild, hunted look
of an animal, and her form, usually grace itself, writhed into
distortions. Her demoralization under the long-continued terror was
complete, and all were glad when she became unconscious and could be
hidden from sight. As Aun' Sheba made her way to her own household she
grunted, "A lun'tic out ob a 'sylem wouldn' mar'y dat gal if he seed wot I
seed."