Six o"clock arrives; the first bell rings; locks, bolts, and bars clank in ungrateful medley; rumbling voices are heard within the hollow-sounding aisles; whispers from above chime ominously with the dull shuffle rumbling from below. "Seven more cases,--how it rages!"
grumbles a monotonous voice, and the gate opens at the warden"s touch. "Who"s here?" he demands, with stern countenance unchanged, as he shrugs his formidable shoulders. "I see, (he continues, quickly), you have come for the dead debtor. Glad of it, my good fellow; this is the place to make dead men of debtors. Brought an order, I s"pose?" Saying "follow me," he turns about, hastens to the vestibule, receives the order from the hand of Duncan, the chief negro, reads it with grave attention, supposes it is all straight, and is about to show him the cell where the body lays, and which he is only too glad to release. "Hold a moment!" Mr. Winterflint--such is his name--says. Heaven knows he wants to get rid of the dead debtor; but the laws are so curious, creditors are so obdurate, and sheriffs have such a crooked way of doing straight things, that he is in the very bad position of not knowing what to do. Some doc.u.ment from the sheriff may be necessary; perhaps the creditors must agree to the compromise. He forgets that inexorable Death, as he is vulgarly styled, has forced a compromise: creditors must now credit "by decease." Upon this point, however, he must be satisfied by his superior. He now wishes Mr. Brien Moon would evince more exactness in holding inquests, and less anxiety for the fees. Mr. Winterflint depends not on his own decisions, where the laws relating to debtors are so absurdly mystical. "Rest here, boy," he says; "I won"t be a minute or two,--must do the thing straight." He seeks the presence of that extremely high functionary, the gaoler (high indeed wherever slavery rules), who, having weighed the points with great legal impartiality, gives it as his most distinguished opinion that no order of release from the high sheriff is requisite to satisfy the creditors of his death: take care of the order sent, and make a note of the n.i.g.g.e.rs who take him away, concludes that highly important gentleman, as comfortably his head reclines on soft pillow. To this end was Mr. Moon"s certificate essential.
Mr. Winterflint returns; enquires who owns the boys.
"Mas"r Rosebrook"s n.i.g.g.e.rs," Duncan replies, firmly; "but Missus send da order."
"Sure of that, now? Good n.i.g.g.e.rs them of Rosebrook"s: wouldn"t a"
gin it to n.o.body else"s n.i.g.g.e.rs. Follow me-zist, zist!" he says, crooking his finger at the other three, and scowling, as Duncan relieves their timidity by advancing. They move slowly and noiselessly up the aisle, the humid atmosphere of which, pregnant with death, sickens as it steals into the very blood. "In there-zist! make no noise; the dead debtor lies there," whispers the warden, laying his left hand upon Duncan"s shoulder, and, the forefinger of his right extended, pointing toward the last cell on the left. "Door"s open; not locked, I meant. Left it unsecured last night. Rap afore ye go in, though." At the methodical warden"s bidding Duncan proceeds, his foot falling lightly on the floor.
Reaching the door, he places his right hand on the swinging bolt, and for a few seconds seems listening. He hears the m.u.f.fled sound of a footfall pacing the floor, and then a muttering as of voices in secret communion, or dying echoes from the tomb. He has not mistaken the cell; its crevices give forth odours pergnant of proof. Two successive raps bring Harry to the door: they are admitted to the presence of the dead. One by one Harry receives them by the hand, but he must needs be told why Daddy is not with them. They know not.
He ate a morsel, and left late last night, says one of the negroes.
Harry is astonished at this singular intelligence: Daddy Bob never before was known to commit an act of unfaithfulness; he was true to Marston in life,--strange that he should desert him in death.
"Mas"r"s death-bed wasn"t much at last," says Duncan, as they gather round the cot, and, with curious faces, mingle their more curious remarks. Harry draws back the white handkerchief which Franconia had spread over the face of the corpse, as the negroes start back affrighted. As of nervous contortion, the ghastly face presents an awful picture. Swollen, discoloured, and contracted, no one outline of that once cheerful countenance can be traced. "Don"t look much like Mas"r Marston used to look; times must a" changed mightily since he used to look so happy at home," mutters Duncan, shaking his head, and telling the others not to be "fear"d; dead men can"t hurt n.o.body."
"Died penniless;--but e" war good on e" own plantation," rejoins another. "One ting be sartin "bout n.i.g.g.e.r-he know how he die wen "e time c.u.m; Mas"r don know how "e gwine to die!"
Having seen enough of the melancholy finale, they spread the litter in the aisle, as the warden enters the cell to facilitate the dead debtor"s exit. Harry again covers the face, and prepares to roll the body in a coverlit brought by Duncan. "I kind of liked him-he was so gentlemanly-has been with us so long, and did"nt seem like a prisoner. He was very quiet, and always civil when spoken to,"
interposes the warden, as, a.s.sisting the second shrouding, he presses the hand of the corpse in his own.
Now he is ready; they place his cold body on the litter; a few listless prisoners stand their sickly figures along the pa.s.sage, watch him slowly borne to the iron gate in the arched vault.
Death-less inexorable than creditors-has signed his release, thrown back prison bolts and bars, wrested him from the grasp of human laws, and now mocks at creditors, annuls fi fas, bids the dead debtor make his exit. Death pays no gaol fees; it makes that bequest to creditors; but it reserves the keys of heaven for another purpose. "One ration less," says the warden, who, closing the grated door, casts a lingering look after the humble procession, bearing away the remains of our departed.
With Harry as the only follower, they proceed along, through suburban streets, and soon reach the house of that generous woman. A minister of the gospel awaits his coming; the good man"s words are consoling, but he cannot remodel the past for the advantage of the dead. Soon the body is placed in a "ready-made coffin," and the good man offers up the last funeral rites; he can do no more than invoke the great protector to receive the departed into his bosom.
"How the troubles of this world rise up before me! Oh! uncle! uncle!
how I could part with the world and bury my troubles in the same grave!" exclaims Franconia, as, the ceremony having ended, they bear the body away to its last resting-place; and, in a paroxysm of grief, she shrieks and falls swooning to the floor.
In a neatly inclosed plat, a short distance from the Rosebrook Villa, and near the bank of a meandering rivulet, overhung with mourning willows and cl.u.s.tering vines, they lay him to rest. The world gave the fallen man nothing but a prison-cell wherein to stretch his dying body; a woman gives him a sequestered grave, and nature spreads it with her loveliest offering. It is the last resting-place of the Rosebrook family, which their negroes, partaking of that contentment so characteristic of the family, have planted with flowers they nurture with tenderest care. There is something touching in the calm beauty of the spot; something breathing of rural contentment. It is something to be buried in a pretty grave-to be mourned by a slave-to be loved by the untutored.
How abject the slave, and yet how true his affection! how dear his requiem over a departed friend! "G.o.d bless master-receive his spirit!" is heard mingling with the music of the gentle breeze, as Harry, sitting at the head of the grave, looks upward to heaven, while earth covers from sight the mortal relics of a once kind master.
It has been a day of sadness at the villa-a day of mourning and tribulation. How different the scene in the city! There, men whisper strange regrets. Sympathy is let loose, and is expanding itself to an unusual degree. Who was there that did not know Marston"s generous, gushing soul! Who was there that would not have stretched forth the helping hand, had they known his truly abject condition!
Who that was not, and had not been twenty times, on the very brink of wresting him from the useless tyranny of his obdurate creditors!
Who that had not waited from day to day, with purse-strings open, ready to pour forth the unmistakeable tokens of friendship! How many were only restrained from doing good-from giving vent to the fountains of their hospitality-through fear of being contaminated with that scandal rumour had thrown around his decline! Over his death hath sprung to life that curious fabric of living generosity, so ready to bespread a grave with unneeded bounties,--so emblematic of how many false mourners hath the dead. But Graspum would have all such expressions shrink beneath his glowing goodness. With honied words he tells the tale of his own honesty: his business intercourse with the deceased was in character most generous. Many a good turn did Marston receive at his hands; long had he been his faithful and unwearied friend. Fierce are the words with which he would execrate the tyrant creditors; yea, he would heap condign punishment on their obdurate heads. Time after time did he tell them the fallen man was penniless; how strange, then, that they tortured him to death within prison walls. He would sweep away such vengeance, bury it with his curses, and make obsolete such laws as give one man power to gratify his pa.s.sion on another. His burning, surging anger can find no relief; nor can he tolerate such antiquated debtor laws: to him they are the very essence of barbarism, tainting that enlightened civilisation so long implanted by the State, so well maintained by the people. It is on those enn.o.bling virtues of state, he says, the cherished doctrines of our democracy are founded. Graspum is, indeed, a well-developed type of our modern democracy, the flimsy fabric of which is well represented in the gasconade of the above outpouring philanthropy.
And now, as again the crimson clouds of evening soften into golden hues-as the sun, like a fiery chariot, sinks beneath the western landscape, and still night spreads her shadowy mantle down the distant hills, and over the broad lagoon to the north-two sable figures may be seen patting, sodding, and bespreading with fresh-plucked flowers the new grave. As the rippling brook gives out its silvery music, and earth seems drinking of the misty dew, that, like a bridal veil, spreads over its verdant hillocks, they whisper their requiem of regret, and mould the grave so carefully. "It"s mas"r"s last," says one, smoothing the cone with his hands.
"We will plant the tree now," returns the other, bringing forward a young cl.u.s.tering pine, which he places at the head of the grave, and on which he cuts the significant epitaph-"Good master lies here!"
Duncan and Harry have paid their last tribute. "He is at peace with this world," says the latter, as, at the gate, he turns to take a last look over the paling.
CHAPTER x.x.xIX.
HOW WE SHOULD ALL BE FORGIVING.
LET us forget the scenes of the foregoing chapters, and turn to something of pleasanter hue. In the meantime, let us freely acknowledge that we live in a land-our democratic south, we mean-where sumptuous living and abject misery present their boldest outlines,--where the ignorance of the many is excused by the polished education of a very few,--where autocracy sways its lash with bitterest absolutism,--where menial life lies prostrate at the feet of injustice, and despairingly appeals to heaven for succour,--where feasts and funerals rival each other,--and when pestilence, like a glutton, sends its victims to the graveyard most, the ball-room glitters brightest with its galaxy. Even here, where clamour cries aloud for popular government, men"s souls are most crushed-not with legal right, but by popular will! And yet, from out all this incongruous substance, there seems a genial spirit working itself upon the surface, and making good its influence; and it is to that influence we should award the credit due. That genial spirit is the good master"s protection; we would it were wider exercised for the good of all. But we must return to our narrative.
The Rosebrook Villa has a.s.sumed its usual cheerfulness; but while pestilence makes sad havoc among the inhabitants of the city, gaiety is equally rampant. In a word, even the many funeral trains which pa.s.s along every day begin to wear a sort of cheerfulness, in consequence of which, it is rumoured, the aristocracy-we mean those who have money to spend-have made up their minds not to depart for the springs yet awhile. As for Franconia, finding she could no longer endure M"Carstrow"s dissolute habits, and having been told by that very distinguished gentleman, but unamiable husband, that he despised the whole tribe of her poor relations, she has retired to private boarding, where, with the five dollars a week, he, in the outpouring of his southern generosity, allows her, she subsists plainly but comfortably. It is, indeed, a paltry pittance, which the M"Carstrow family will excuse to the public with the greatness of their name.
Harry has returned to the plantation, where the people have smothered him in a new suit of black. Already has he preached three sermons in it, which said sermons are declared wonderful proofs of his biblical knowledge. Even Daddy Daniel, who expended fourteen picayunes in a new pair of spectacles, with which to hear the new parson more distinctly, p.r.o.nounces the preaching prodigious. He is vehement in his exultation, lavishes his praise without stint; and as his black face glows with happiness, thanks missus for her great goodness in thus providing for their spiritual welfare. The Rosebrook "n.i.g.g.e.rs" were always extremely respectable and well ordered in their moral condition; but now they seem invested with a new impulse for working out their own good; and by the advice of missus, whom every sable son and daughter loves most dearly, Daddy Daniel has arranged a system of evening prayer meetings, which will be held in the little church, twice a week. And, too, there prevails a strong desire for an evening gathering now and then, at which the young shiners may be instructed how to grow. A curiously democratic law, however, offers a fierce impediment to this; and Daddy Daniel shakes his head, and aunt Peggy makes a belligerent muttering when told such gatherings cannot take place without endangering the state"s rights. It is, nevertheless, decided that Kate, and Nan, and Dorothy, and Webster, and Clay, and such like young folks, may go to "settings up" and funerals, but strictly abstain from all fandangoes. Dad Daniel and his brother deacons cannot countenance such fiddling and dancing, such break-downs, and shoutings, and whirlings, and flouncing and frilling, and gay ribboning, as generally make up the evening"s merriment at these fandangoes, so prevalent on neighbouring plantations about Christmas time. "Da don"
mount to no good!" Daniel says, with a broad guffaw. "n.i.g.g.e.r what spect t" git hi" way up in da world bes lef dem tings." And so one or two more screws are to be worked up for the better regulation of the machinery of the plantation. As for Master Rosebrook-why, he wouldn"t sell a n.i.g.g.e.r for a world of money; and he doesn"t care how much they learn; the more the better, provided they learn on the sly. They are all to be freed at a certain time, and although freedom is sweet, without learning they might make bad use of it.
But master has had a n.o.ble object in view for some days past, and which, after encountering many difficulties, he has succeeded in carrying out to the great joy of all parties concerned.
One day, as the people were all busily engaged on the plantation, Bradshaw"s familiar figure presents itself at the house, and demands to see Harry. He has great good news, but don"t want to tell him "nofin" till he arrives at the Villa. "Ah, good man" (Bradshaw"s face beams good tidings, as he approaches Harry, and delivers a note) "mas"r specs ye down da" wid no time loss." Bradshaw rubs his hands, and grins, and bows, his face seeming two shades blacker than ever, but no less cheerful.
"Master wants me to preach somewhere, next Sunday,--I know he does,"
says Harry, reading the note, which requests him to come immediately into the city. He will prepare to obey the summons, Dan and Sprat meanwhile taking good care of the horse and carriage, while Bradshaw makes a friendly visit to a few of the more distinguished cabins, and says "how de" to venerable aunties, who spread their best fare before him, and, with grave ceremony, invite him in to refresh before taking his return journey into the city; and Maum Betsy packs up six of her real smart made sweet cakes for the parson and Bradshaw to eat along the road. Betsy is in a strange state of bewilderment to know why master wants to take the new parson away just now, when he"s so happy, and is only satisfied when a.s.sured that he will be safely returned to-morrow. A signal is made for Dad Daniel, who hastens to the cabin in time to see everything properly arranged for the parson"s departure, and say: "G.o.d bless "um,--good by!"
"Now, what can master want with me?" enquires Harry, as, on the road, they roll away towards the city.
Bradshaw cracks his whip, and with a significant smile looks Harry in the face, and returns: "Don" ax dis child no mo" sich question.
Old mas"r and me neber break secret. Tell ye dis, do"h! Old mas"r do good ting, sartin."
"You know, but won"t tell me, eh?" rejoins Harry, his manly face wearing a solicitous look. Bradshaw shakes his head, and adds a cunning wink in reply.
It is three o"clock when they arrive at the Villa, where, without reserve, missus extends her hand, and gives him a cordial welcome,--tells him Franconia has been waiting to see him with great patience, and has got a present for him. Franconia comes rushing into the hall, and is so glad to see him; but her countenance wears an air of sadness, which does not escape his notice-she is not the beautiful creature she was years ago, care has sadly worn upon those rounded features. But master is there, and he looks happy and cheerful; and there is something about the house servants, as they gather round him to have their say, which looks of suspiciously good omen. He cannot divine what it is; his first suspicions being aroused by missus saying Franconia had been waiting to see him.
"We must not call him Harry any longer-it doesn"t become his profession: now that he is Elder of my plantation flock, he must, from this time, be called Elder!" says Rosebrook, touching him on the arm with the right hand. And the two ladies joined in, that it must be so. "Go into the parlour, ladies; I must say a word or two to the Elder," continued Rosebrook, taking Harry by the arm, and pacing through the hall into the conservatory at the back of the house. Here, after ordering Harry to be seated, he recounts his plan of emanc.i.p.ation, which, so far, has worked admirably, and, at the time proposed, will, without doubt or danger, produce the hoped-for result. "You, my good man," he says, "can be a useful instrument in furthering my ends; I want you to be that instrument!" His negroes have all an interest in their labour, which interest is preserved for them in missus"s savings-bank; and at a given time they are to have their freedom, but to remain on the plantation if they choose, at a stipulated rate of wages. Indeed, so strongly impressed with the good results of his proposed system is Rosebrook, that he long since scouted that contemptible fallacy, which must have had its origin in the very dregs of selfishness, that the two races can only live in proximity by one enslaving the other. Justice to each other, he holds, will solve the problem of their living together; but, between the oppressor and the oppressed, a volcano that may at any day send forth its devouring flame, smoulders. Rosebrook knows goodness always deserves its reward; and Harry a.s.sures him he never will violate the trust. Having said thus much, he rises from his chair, takes Harry by the arm, and leading him to the door of the conservatory, points him to a pa.s.sage leading to the right, and says: "In there!-proceed into that pa.s.sage, enter a door, first door on the left, and then you will find something you may consider your own."
Harry hesitated for a moment, watched master"s countenance doubtingly, as if questioning the singular command.
"Fear not! n.o.body will hurt you," continues Rosebrook.
"Master never had a bad intention," thinks Harry; "I know he would not harm me; and then missus is so good." Slowly and nervously he proceeds, and on reaching the door hears a familiar "come in"
answering his nervous rap. The door opened into a neat little room, with carpet and chairs, a mahogany bureau and prints, all so neatly arranged, and wearing such an air of cleanliness. No sooner has he advanced beyond the threshold than the emaciated figure of a black sister vaults into his arms, crying, "Oh Harry! Harry! Harry!-my dear husband!" She throws her arms about his neck, and kisses, and kisses him, and buries her tears of joy in his bosom. How she pours out her soul"s love!-how, in rapturous embraces, her black impulses give out the purest affection!
"And you!-you!-you!-my own dear Jane! Is it you? Has G.o.d commanded us to meet once more, to be happy once more, to live as heaven hath ordained us to live?" he returns, as fervently and affectionately he holds her in his arms, and returns her token of love. "Never! never!
I forget you, never! By night and by day I have prayed the protecting hand of Providence to guide you through life"s trials.
How my heart has yearned to meet you in heaven! happy am I we have met once more on earth; yea, my soul leaps with joy. Forgive them, Father, forgive them who separate us on earth, for heaven makes the anointed!" And while they embrace thus fondly, their tears mingling with joy, children, recognising a returned father as he entered the door, are clinging at his feet beseechingly. He is their father;--how like children they love! "Sam, Sue, and Beckie, too!" he says, as one by one he takes them in his arms and kisses them. But there are two more, sombre and strange. He had caught the fourth in his arms, unconsciously. "Ah, Jane!" he exclaims, turning toward her, his face filled with grief and chagrin, "they are not of me, Jane!" He still holds the little innocent by the hand, as nervously he waits her reply. It is not guilt, but shame, with which she returns an answer.
"It was not my sin, Harry! It was him that forced me to live with another,--that lashed me when I refused, and, bleeding, made me obey the will," she returns, looking at him imploringly. Virtue is weaker than the lash; none feel it more than the slave. She loved Harry, she followed him with her thoughts; but it was the Christian that reduced her to the level of the brute. Laying her coloured hand upon his shoulder, she besought his forgiveness, as G.o.d was forgiving.
"Why should I not forgive thee, Jane? I would not chide thee, for no sin is on thy garments. Injustice gave master the right to sell thee, to make of thee what he pleased. Heaven made thy soul purest,--man thy body an outcast for the unrighteous to feast upon.
How could I withhold forgiveness, Jane? I will be a father to them, a husband to thee; for what thou hast been compelled to do is right, in the land we live in." So saying, he again embraces her, wipes the tears from her eyes, and comforts her. How sweet is forgiveness! It freshens like the dew of morning on the drooping plant; it strengthens the weary spirit, it steals into the desponding soul, and wakes to life new hopes of bliss,--to the slave it is sweet indeed!
"I will kiss them, too," he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.es, taking them in his arms with the embrace of a fond father,--which simple expression of love they return with prattling. They know not the trials of their parents; how blessed to know them not!
And now they gather the children around them, and seat themselves on a little settee near the window, where Harry, overjoyed at meeting his dear ones once more, fondles them and listens to Jane, as with her left arm round his neck she discloses the sad tale of her tribulation. Let us beg the reader to excuse the recital; there is nothing fascinating in it, nor would we call forth the modest blushes of our generous south. A few words of the woman"s story, however, we cannot omit; and we trust the forgiving will pardon their insertion. She tells Harry she was not separated from her children; but that Romescos, having well considered her worth, sold her with her "young uns" to the Rev. Peter--, who had a small plantation down in Christ"s Parish. The reverend gentleman, being born and educated to the degrading socialities of democratic states, always says he is not to blame for "using" the rights the law gives him; nor does he forget to express sundry regrets that he cannot see as preachers at the north see. As for money, he thinks preachers have just as good a right to get it as gentlemen of any other honourable profession. Now and then he preaches to n.i.g.g.e.rs; and for telling them how they must live in the fear of the Lord, be obedient to their master, and pay for redemption by the sweat of their brows, he adds to his pile of coin. But he is strongly of the opinion that n.i.g.g.e.rs are inferior "brutes" of the human species, and in furtherance of this opinion (so popular in the whole south) he expects them to live a week on a peck of corn. As for Jane-we must excuse the reverend gentleman, because of his faith in southern principles-he compelled her to live with the man Absalom ere she had been two days on his plantation, and by the same Absalom she had two children, which materially increased the cash value of the Reverend Peter--"s slave property. Indeed, so well is the reverend gentleman known for his foul play, that it has been thrown up to him in open court-by wicked planters who never had the fear of G.o.d before their eyes-that he more than half starved his n.i.g.g.e.rs, and charged them toll for grinding their corn in his mill. Though the Reverend Peter --never failed to a.s.sure his friends and acquaintances of his generosity (a n.o.ble quality which had long been worthily maintained by the ancient family to which he belonged), the light of one generous act had never found its way to the public. In truth, so elastically did his reverend conscientiousness expand when he learned the strange motive which prompted Rosebrook to purchase Jane and her little ones, that he sorely regretted he had not put two hundred dollars more on the price of the lot. Fortunately Jane was much worn down by grief and toil, and was viewed by the reverend gentleman as a piece of property he would rather like to dispose of to the best advantage, lest she should suddenly make a void in his dollars and cents by sliding into some out of the way grave-yard.
But Rosebrook, duly appreciating the unchristian qualities of our worthy one"s generosity, kept his motive a profound secret until the negociation was completed. Now that it had become known that the Reverend Peter--(who dresses in blackest black, most sanctimoniously cut, whitest neckcloth wedded to his holy neck, and face so simply serious) a.s.sures Rosebrook he has got good people,--they are valuably promising-he will pray for them, that the future may prosper their wayfaring. He cannot, however, part with the good man without admonishing him how dangerous it is to give unto "n.i.g.g.e.rs" the advantage of a superior position.
Reader, let us hope the clergy of the south will take heed lest by permitting their brethren to be sold and stolen in this manner they bring the profession into contempt. Let us hope the southern church will not much longer continue to bring pure Christianity into disgrace by serving ends so vile that heaven and earth frowns upon them; for false is the voice raised in sanctimony to heaven for power to make a footstool of a fallen race!