One winter evening, when a little orphan in my seventh year, I climbed
upon my grandfather's knee, and begged that he would "tell me a story."
The candles were not yet lighted in the parlor, but the glowing fire
sent forth its red blaze, and its cheering heat seemed more grateful
from a fall of snow, which was rapidly collecting in piles of fleecy
whiteness on the lawn.
I had taken my favorite seat on the evening I have mentioned, just
as a poor negro with scarcely any covering appeared at the window,
and supplicated charity. His dark skin was deeply contrasted with the
unblemished purity of the falling snow, whilst his trembling limbs
seemed hardly able to support his shivering frame; and there he stood,
perishing in the land of boasted hospitality and freedom!
With all the active benevolence which my grandfather possessed,
he still retained the usual characteristics of the hardy seaman.
He discouraged everything which bore the smallest resemblance to
indolence. The idle vagrant dared not approach his residence; but he
prized the man of industrious habits, however lowly his station; and
his influence was ever extended to aid the destitute and to right the
injured.
On his first going to sea he had been cabin-boy on board a Liverpool
ship; he afterwards lived several years in the island of Trinidad, in
the West Indies, where the slaves were rigorously treated. He there
became well acquainted with the colored people, and now he no sooner
saw the dark face of the poor perishing creature at his window, than he
hastily rang the bell, and a footman entered.
"Robert," said he, "go and bring that poor fellow in here."
"Poor fellow, did you say?" inquired Robert.
"Yes, yes," replied my grandfather, "yonder man, fetch him here to me."
The servant quitted the room, and it was not without some feelings of
fear, as well as hopes of amusement that, a few minutes afterwards, I
saw the poor African stand bowing before the parlor door. The twilight
had faded away, and except the reflection from the snow, night had
thrown its sable shadows on the scene; but as the bright gleam of the
fire shed its red hue upon the features of the negro, and flashed upon
his rolling eyes, he presented rather a terrific appearance to my young
mind.
"Come in!" exclaimed my grandfather in a shrill voice; but the poor
fellow stood hesitatingly on the border of the carpet till the command
was repeated with more sternness than before, and then the trembling
African advanced a few steps towards the easy-chair in which the
veteran was sitting.
Never shall I forget the abject figure which the poor creature
displayed. He was a tall, large-boned man, but was evidently bent down
under the pressure of sickness and of want rather than of age. A pair
of old canvas trowsers hung loosely on his legs, but his feet were
quite naked. On the upper part of his body was a striped flannel shirt,
one of the sleeves of which was torn away. He had no covering for his
head; and the snow which had fallen on it having melted in the warmth
of the room, large, transparent drops of clear water hung glistening on
his thick woolly hair.
His look was inclined downwards, as if fearful of meeting the stern
gaze of my grandfather, who scanned him with the most minute attention,
not unmingled with agitation. Every joint of the poor fellow's limbs
shook as if struck with ague, and the cold seemed to have contracted
his sinews; for he crouched his body together, as if to shrink from the
keen blast. Tears were trickling down his cheek, and his spirit seemed
bowed to the earth by distress.
"Tell me," said my grandfather, "what brought you to England, and what
you mean by strolling about the country here as a beggar? I may order
you to be put in the stocks."
"Ah, massa," replied the negro, "buckra never have stocks in dis
country; yet he die if massa neber give him something to fill hungry
stomach."
While he was speaking my grandfather was restless and impatient. He
removed me from his knee, and looked with more earnestness at the poor
man, who never raised his head. "We have beggars enough of our own
nation," said my grandfather.
"Massa speak true," replied the African, meekly; "distress live
everywhere; come like race-horse, but go away softly, softly."
Again my grandfather looked sharply at the features of the man and
showed signs of agitation in his own. "Softly, softly," said he,
"that's just your cant. I know the whole gang of you, but you are not
going to deceive me; now wouldn't you sacrifice me and all I am worth
for a bunch of plantains?"
"Massa have eat the plantains, den," said the man, "and yet massa
think hard of poor negur who work to make them grow. God Almighty send
rain--God Almighty send sun--but God Almighty send negur too."
"Well, well," said my grandfather, softening his voice, "God is no
respecter of colors, and we must not let you starve, daddy; so, Robert,
tell the cook to get some warm broth, and bid her bear a hand about it."
"God forever bless massa," exclaimed the poor man, as he listened to
the order, and keenly directed his eye towards the person who had
issued it; but my grandfather had turned his head toward me, so his
face was not seen by the grateful man.
"So I suppose you are some runaway slave?" said my grandfather, harshly.
"No, massa," rejoined the African, "no, massa; never run away--I free
man. Good buckra give freedom; but then I lose kind massa, and"----
"Ay, ay," replied my grandfather, "but what about Plantation Joseph, in
Trinidad?"
"Ky!" responded the man, as his eyes were bent upon his questioner, who
again hid his face; "de buckra knows ebery ting; him like the angel of
light to know the secret of the heart."
"Come nearer to the fire, Daddy Davy," said my grandfather, as he bent
down to stir the burning coals with the poker.
Never shall I forget the look of the African; joy, wonder, and
admiration were pictured in his face, as he exclaimed, while advancing
forward--
"De buckra know my name too!--how dis?"
My grandfather having kindled a bright flame that illuminated the whole
room, turned his face towards the African; but no sooner had the poor
fellow caught sight of his features than, throwing himself at his feet,
he clasped the old sailor's knees, exclaiming, "My own massa!--what for
you give Davy him freedom? and now do poor negur die for want! but no,
neber see de day to go dead, now me find my massa."
"Willie, my boy," said my grandfather, turning to me, "fetch my
pocket-handkerchief off the sofa."
I immediately obeyed, but I used the handkerchief two or three times to
wipe the tears from my eyes before I delivered it to him.
At this moment Robert opened the door, and said the broth was ready,
but stood with amazement to see the half-naked man at his master's feet.
"Go, Davy," said my grandfather, "go and get some food; and, Robert,
tell the cook to have a warm bath ready, and the housemaid must run a
pan of coals over the little bed in the blue room, and put some extra
blankets on. You can sleep without a nightcap, I dare say, Davy. There,
go along, Davy, go along;" and the gratified negro left the room with
unfeigned ejaculations of "Gor Amighty for eber bless kind massa!"
As soon as the door was closed, and I was once more seated on my
grandfather's knee, he commenced his usual practice of holding converse
with himself. "What could have brought him here?" said he. "I gave him
his freedom, and a piece of land to cultivate. There was a pretty hut
upon it, too, with a double row of cocoa-nut trees in front, and a
garden of plantains behind, and a nice plot of guinea-grass for a cow,
and another of buckwheat--what has become of it all I wonder? Bless me,
how time flies! it seems but the other day that I saved the fellow from
a couple of bullets, and he repaid the debt by rescuing my Betsy--ah,
poor dear! She was your mother, William, and he snatched her from a
dreadful and terrific fate. How these things crowd upon my mind! The
earthquake shook every building to its foundation--the ground yawned
in horrible deformity, and your poor mother--we can see her gravestone
from the drawing-room window, you know, for she died since we have
been here, and left her old father's heart a dreary blank. Yet not so
either, my child," pressing me to his breast and laying his hoary head
on mine, "not so either, for she bequeathed you to my guardian care,
and you are now the solace of my gray hairs."
I afterwards learned that Davy had rescued my dear mother from
destruction, at the risk of his own life, during an earthquake in
Trinidad, for which my grandfather had given him his freedom, together
with the hut and the land. But he had no protector in the west: the
slaves plundered his property; sickness came, and no medical attendant
would minister to his wants without the accustomed fee; he contracted
debts, and his ground was sold to the estate on which it was situated,
to pay the lawyers. He quitted the island of Trinidad to go to Berbice;
but, being wrecked near Mahaica Creek, on the east coast of Demerara,
he lost his free papers, was seized by the government, and sold as a
slave, to pay the expense of advertising and his keep. He fortunately
fell into the hands of a kind master, who at his death once more set
him at liberty, and he had come to England in the hope of bettering his
condition. But here misfortune still pursued him: the gentleman whom he
accompanied died on the passage; he could obtain no employment on his
landing; he had been plundered of what little money he possessed, and
had since wandered about the country till the evening that he implored
charity and found a home.
My worthy grandfather is now numbered with the dead; and I love to
sit upon his gravestone at the evening hour; it seems as if I were
once more placed upon his knee, and listening to his tales of bygone
years. But Daddy Davy is still in existence, and living with me.
Indeed, whilst I have been writing, I have had occasion to put several
questions to him on the subject, and he has been fidgeting about the
room to try and ascertain what I was relating respecting him.
"I am only giving a _sketch_ of my grandfather, Davy," said I.
"_Catch_, massa! what he call _catch_?"
"About the schooner, and Trinidad, and the earthquake, Davy."
"And da old massa what sleep in de _Werk-en-rust_?"
"Yes, Davy, and the snow-storm."
"Ah, da buckra good man! Davy see him noder time up dare," pointing
toward the sky. "Gor Amighty for eber bless kind massa!"