A DISTRESSING INCIDENT
Hal May remained at home only two days, but in that time his old uniform
was patched and Aunt Decent plied him with food until he pleaded lack of
room for more, so that when he went away he had perceptibly improved in
appearance.
Again the May household settled down to the humdrum business of waiting
for news of the armies. And Sherman’s march through Georgia gave the
people of little Washington many anxious moments, though it soon became
apparent that their town would escape and that after Atlanta, Savannah
was the chief objective of the Federal expedition.
Of Val Tracy there was scarcely a word. He seemed to have dropped out of
sight, but not out of the minds of his friends. Dorothea, remembering
the last time she had seen him mount his horse and ride away, wondered
often what was happening to him. She and Miss Imogene talked much of the
young Irishman and speculated also upon the fortune of young Stanchfield
whose whereabouts were still unknown to them.
Dorothea had grown to be one of the family and her aunt treated her as
if she were another daughter. Harriot was her devoted slave, and at
first April had shown a fondness for her English cousin, which she had
been quick to return. But there was none of the close intimacy between
the two that Dorothea would have welcomed.
And the cause of this was not far to seek. Even Dorothea realized that a
certain change had come in her feelings toward the rights and wrongs of
the war. It was impossible for her to respond to April’s enthusiastic
support of everything the Confederacy represented. Nor could she condemn
the North in all things with the fervor April expected of those who
claimed sympathy with the South. Always there was the remembrance of her
visit to Mr. Lincoln. When she heard the Union execrated with unmeasured
bitterness she pictured in her mind the tall, gentle man in Washington
into whose eyes she had looked. There she had read the truth, and knew
that he had none of the sordid qualities that were attributed to him by
his unreasoning enemies. Dorothea did not believe that he could be wrong
in his efforts to solve the great problems confronting him, for she knew
that his heart held a great sympathy for the South.
Thus as the summer passed she began to realize that a change was taking
place in her thoughts about the conflict. And at about the same time she
felt that her relations with April had grown strained. She only became
aware of it gradually when she noted that her beautiful cousin was apt
to leave the room where she was. There were no longer any of the little
demonstrations of affection that had marked their earlier intimacy.
Constantly she caught April’s eyes upon her as if she was watched with
suspicion. There was no act or word that Dorothea could lay hold of, yet
all the time she realized a widening of the breach between them.
One rainy morning in the Autumn, Dorothea had gone out on the porch to
look for some sign of clearing weather, when her attention was attracted
by two drenched figures coming slowly up the drive toward the house.
They were colored servants, one an old woman and the other quite a lad,
and they were in a truly pitiable state. They were soaked through and
their clothing clung to them, dripping water as they walked.
At sight of Dorothea they hastened their steps and, arriving at the
porch, begged to be permitted to see “Ol’ Miss.”
Dorothea brought them in out of the wet and went in search of her aunt,
whom she found in the weaving-room. Together they returned to the porch,
and at sight of the forlorn couple Mrs. May gave an exclamation of
surprise.
“Why, Aunt Dilsey, is it you?” she cried. “What brings you here on a day
like this?”
For answer the old woman threw herself on her knees at Mrs. May’s feet,
her brown face working convulsively.
“Sam and me—we’s done run away!” she sobbed.
“Run away?” echoed Mrs. May as if she could scarcely believe her ears.
“Nonsense, Aunt Dilsey! You can’t run away. You’re one of the family.”
“Yes’m, I is,” the old woman moaned, “but we-all’s jes’ ’bliged to run
away, and we knows the patrollers will be out after us. That’s why
we-all done come hehe. I’s been mighty proud all my days. I’s always
said, ‘Dilsey can tote heh own skillet,’ but please, Ol’ Miss, Dilsey
can’t tote no skillet no mo’.”
The woman rocked herself with grief and Mrs. May looked down upon her
pityingly.
“Get up, Dilsey,” she said after a moment. “I don’t know what you’re
talking about. If you can’t explain, let Sam do it.”
The old colored woman continued to mumble unintelligibly till at last
Mrs. May silenced her.
“Now, Sam,” she said, turning to the boy, “what is the trouble?”
Somewhat sullenly Sam found his tongue.
“Ouah Ol’ Miss, she’s aimin’ to sell me down the river to Savannah,” he
began, “and Granny, heah, she don’t like it nohow, and I don’t like it
nohow neither, so I’s aimin’ to run away up North an’ be free.”
“I don’t believe a word of it,” Mrs. May replied incredulously. “You two
go into the kitchen and visit Aunt Decent and dry yourselves. I’ll send
you back home. Mrs. Stewart doesn’t sell her servants. It’s absurd.”
“Ouah Ol’ Miss done sold Casper and Manders to a man from Macon no
later’n yestehday, Miss ’Thenia,” Sam insisted doggedly. “They’re done
gone a’ready. If I’s done got to go away from Granny I’s goin’ No’th
whehe I’ll be free—less’n the houn’s catch me first.”
Dorothea had watched her aunt’s face grow graver and graver as she heard
these words.
“I cannot believe what you are saying, Sam,” she replied, though her
tone was not so positive now. “How could it have happened? Have the boys
been stealing or disobedient?”
“No’m,” the lad answered readily. “This man from Macon, he wanted
carpenters, and he was ready to pay for ’em in gold, Miss ’Thenia. So
ouah Ol’ Miss she done sol’ ’em, that’s all.”
“An’ now she’s aimin’ to sell Sam, too, the onlies’ one of my Dilly’s
pickaninnies what I done raise to comfort me. Please, Miss ’Thenia, buy
us bofe. We’ll work for you till we drops. Honest we will, and we’ll—”
The old woman’s voice trailed off into uncontrollable sobs.
“There is certainly some mistake,” Mrs. May said, turning to Dorothea.
“Would you mind, dear, fetching April for me.”
Dorothea ran off and soon returned with her cousin, to whom the
situation was explained at once.
“There is some misunderstanding, of course,” Mrs. May ended, “but it is
not a matter that can be delayed. It must be settled at once.”
“You’d better let me go, mother,” April suggested. “I can’t believe Aunt
Cora could possibly do what Aunt Dilsey thinks, and it’s very wet for
you.”
“No, I will leave Sam and Aunt Dilsey for you to look after,” Mrs. May
replied significantly, and it was plain to April that she did not wish
their story to be repeated throughout the quarters by the two. “I’ll
take Dorothea with me and go over to Cora’s. Send one of the boys to
tell Jastrow.”
April with Aunt Dilsey and Sam in tow disappeared. The carriage was
ready almost as soon as Mrs. May and Dorothea, and once on their way the
girl ventured to ask something about Aunt Dilsey and her grandson.
“She was Mother May’s cook when I was first married,” Mrs. May
explained. “Your Aunt Cora, who was married some years later, always
lived with her mother till the old lady died, so it was natural that she
should inherit all the old house servants. Aunt Dilsey’s children are
all dead too, and Sam is her only kin; so you see why she dreads to be
separated from him. It is quite unheard of with us to separate families
by selling them, and I am quite sure that there is some mistake. I am
only going over now to make certain.”
Dorothea hoped that this might be the case. This question of
slave-owning had puzzled wiser heads than hers, but so far she had seen
the best side of the matter. The May servants were fortunate, in that
their owners had their interests wholly at heart, indeed Dorothea
frequently observed that the child-like negroes took advantage of this
indulgence. On the other hand she had heard talk of hard masters who
worked their slaves without consideration; those with whom she had been
associated condemned this quite frankly, though as a body they felt that
they must uphold the practice of slave-owning no matter what its abuses
might be. Indeed they were quite sincere in their belief that their
people were unfit to take care of themselves and dreaded the future for
them in case the Federal Cause should triumph.
Now, however, the seriousness of the question was coming very near to
Dorothea. Right in the family was the possibility of a cruel separation.
Whatever Mrs. Stewart might have done, and whether she had sold her
servants or not, it was quite clear to Dorothea’s keen mind that she had
the power to do so, and that in itself did not seem right. Mrs. Stewart
might be just as thoughtful of those who were dependent upon her as was
Aunt Parthenia, but she was sure there must be many throughout the South
who would have no such consideration for the unfortunates over whom the
law gave them absolute control.
As they swept into the drive at Crosslands, Uncle Jastrow turned in his
seat and addressed his mistress.
“I on’y hopes, Ol’ Miss,” he said, referring to the mud that had
accumulated on the running gear of the carriage, “that none of the
fambly is gwine to see we-all comin’ into the place lookin’ like this.”
Mrs. May laughed.
“No one will blame you for the state of the roads, Uncle Jastrow,” she
said.
But this did not placate the old man.
“These hosses and this cahhiage don’t look like they eveh seen a
currycomb nor yet a shammy,” he grunted, and drove up to the house with
the air of a martyr at the stake.
Mrs. May and Dorothea were ushered into the parlor, where they found
Corinne and her mother busy counting gold pieces. On hearing the door
open Mrs. Stewart hastily swept some of the stacks of coin into her bag,
whereat Corinne was moved to protest.
“Now I’ll have to count them all over again, and it’s only Aunt ’Thenia
and Dorothea.”
Both greeted their visitors with great warmth, Corinne inquiring for
Harriot, (left at home with a visiting governess, much to that young
lady’s disgust,) and her mother rejoicing at the timelessness of the
visit.
“For really, my dear ’Thenia, I need your advice,” she began at once
though she was never known to follow any advice, no matter from what
source. “I have just learned how heavy gold is.”
“I didn’t know there was so much gold left in the Confederacy,” Mrs. May
returned, striving to speak lightly. The sight of the yellow coins
seemed to confirm all that the colored boy, Sam, had said.
Mrs. Stewart wagged her head sagely.
“It is not easy to make people produce it,” she remarked, “but if you
have something they want very much and won’t sell for anything
else—well, you see?” She pointed proudly to the table.
“And have you been selling your diamonds?” Mrs. May asked. She did not
wish her sister-in-law to know that she had heard a tale she was loath
to believe.
“Oh, no,” was the ready answer. “I’ve just disposed of two of the boys,
Casper and Manders.” She spoke so indifferently that Dorothea looked at
her in amazement. She had always thought her a silly woman, but she
could not believe her so utterly heartless.
“I thought Charles had encouraged Manders to marry,” Mrs. May remarked
calmly, concealing her disapproval. “But I suppose you sold his wife
with him?”
Mrs. Stewart pushed back her chair fretfully.
“My dear Parthenia, these are not times when one may consult one’s
feelings,” she replied irritably. “I must do the best I can. The man who
bought Manders would not have his wife, and so there was nothing
possible but to separate them. Charles has sent me word to realize on
anything I can and not to take payment in Confederate money. If I can’t
get coin I am to take State notes. And I was feeling mighty proud of my
bargain till you came along.”
“But now that I am here,” Mrs. May urged, “I hope I can persuade you to
give this gentleman back his money and tell him you have decided not to
separate families. You know it has never been the custom in our family.”
“No—nor have civil wars been the custom—nor have any of the family had
to face going to live in a strange country!” Mrs. Stewart burst out
wrathfully. “Here it wouldn’t so much matter if we were poor, because
every one else will be poor too, and they all know we’re Mays. But how
do I know the Mexicans ever heard of Wilkes County? I am simply obliged
to have money enough to keep up appearances. And besides, what’s the
odds what I do with these negroes of ours? The war will set them free
sooner or later. It’s a sort of a Yankee trick, but I think I’m rather
clever to find any one to buy them. I didn’t believe I could, till I
heard of this man from Macon.”
The cleverness of the bargain was not all that was interesting Mrs. May.
“Suppose, as you say, the war ends and the slaves are freed,” she said
genially; “don’t you realize that families once separated may never meet
again?”
“When they’re free they’ll have to learn to look out for themselves. And
if I wanted to, I couldn’t get the boys back now,” Mrs. Stewart replied
ungraciously. “This man who bought them wasn’t a gentleman, you
understand. He bought them because they were good mechanics. Moreover, I
don’t know where he has sent them. It may be he is going to sell their
labor.”
“Cora!” Mrs. May cried, “I am certain Charles never meant you to dispose
of your people.”
“Don’t let’s argue it, Parthenia,” Mrs. Stewart retorted, summoning all
her dignity to bolster an uneasy conscience. “I must be the judge of
what my husband desires, and whatever I may feel personally I put aside
when I remember my daughter. I was given full power to do as I thought
best and I have used it.”
Mrs. May rose to leave.
“I came here,” she said, with studied restraint, “because of what I
believed to be a mistake. Now I am afraid to ask you another
question—but can it be that you propose to separate Aunt Dilsey and
Sam?”
Mrs. Stewart had the grace to look somewhat embarrassed.
“I am hoping to sell Aunt Dilsey with Sam,” she answered. “You know
she’s getting on in years—but for all that she’s a wonderful cook, and I
told the man from Macon—”
A spot of red appeared in each of Mrs. May’s cheeks.
“That is all I wished to know,” she interrupted abruptly. “Aunt Dilsey
and Sam are at my house, and there they shall stay. Henry, at least,
would never forgive me the shame of it if that faithful old soul was
sold to strangers in her advanced age. We can ill-afford to take more
mouths to feed, not to speak of paying for them; but let me know the
price you propose to ask and I will see that the money reaches you.”
Mrs. Stewart beamed upon her sister-in-law.
“Now that’s just like you, ’Thenia!” she exclaimed delightedly. “It
relieves my mind of all anxiety. Charles will never worry about Aunt
Dilsey if she is to be kept in the family. And you needn’t bother about
the money till it’s convenient. In fact I’ve rather more gold in the
house now than I know what to do with. Good-by, my dear. I’m so glad you
came. I confess I was a little uneasy about Aunt Dilsey and Sam, but now
my mind is quite at ease. Good-by, Dorothea, honey.”
Back in the carriage again and outside the place Mrs. May tried to make
excuses for her sister-in-law, but her own indignation could hardly be
hidden.
“I did not believe it possible that one of our family could do such a
thing,” she burst out finally.
“But don’t you think, Aunt Parthenia,” Dorothea said, “it would be much
better if no one had the power to buy and sell human beings?”
Her aunt looked at her a moment intently, then she nodded her head a
little sadly.
“Perhaps so, Dorothea,” she answered half to herself. “Perhaps so.” And
they drove back the rest of the way in silence.