Often, too, the boy gave evidence of reflection and of feeling, beyond his years; as, for instance, once, when he was but nine years old, a lady, who delighted in his childish beauty, grace, and wit, allowed him frequently to ride in the carriage with her, and accompany her, when making visits, or on going to places of amus.e.m.e.nt. One day, when she was gently stroking his silky curls, he suddenly dropped his head into his hands, and burst into tears.
"Why, Valley! what is the matter?" she asked, again caressing his beautiful head. But, at the gentle caress and the gentle tone, he wept more pa.s.sionately than ever. "Why, Valley! what is the matter? Have I hurt your feelings? Have any of us hurt your feelings?" she asked, knowing his sensitive nature, and imagining that some thoughtlessness on her part, or on some one else"s, might have wounded it. "Have any of us hurt your feelings, Valley?"
"Yes, you have! all of you have! and you do all the time!"
The lady laughed, for it struck her as very droll to hear such a charge from the spoiled and petted boy. But the boy went on to speak with warmth and vehemence:
"You all treat me like a little poodle dog, or like a monkey; for you feed me, and you dress me up, and pet me, and laugh at me, and by and by you will drive me out."
Another time, he was sitting in the parlor with a lady, who had diverted herself a good deal with his precocious wit and intelligence, and had allowed him to play with the rings on her fingers, the bracelets on her wrists, and the pearls that bound her dark tresses, and then to follow her to the piano, and stand close by her side while she played and sang, until suddenly down dropped his head upon his hands, and he burst into a pa.s.sion of tears. The lady broke off in astonishment, turned around, drew him up to her, took his hands from his face, and looked kindly at him, without saying a word. But the boy dropped upon the floor, and crouching, wept more vehemently than before. The lady stooped and raised his head, and laid it on her lap, and laid her hand soothingly upon his silken curls, but spoke no word. When his pa.s.sion of tears had pa.s.sed, and he had sobbed himself into something like composure, he looked up into her face, and said:
"You did not laugh at me, Mrs. Hewitt, and you didn"t ask me what I was crying for; but I couldn"t help it, because--because I know this good time will go away; and I shall get taller, and then you won"t let me stay and hear you talk, and hear you sing, and--and--and--I wish I never could grow any taller. I wish I may die before I grow older."
Ah! poor, fated boy! would indeed, that he had died before he grew taller! before those evil days his childhood"s prophet heart foretold!
But they came on apace.
The first trial that he suffered might seem light enough to an outside looker-on, but it was heavy enough to Valentine. When he was eleven years of age, and Oswald nine, Oswald was sent to school, and he remained at home.
Up to this time they had been playmates and companions, faring alike in all respects, and sharing equally all pleasures, even the favors of the visitors.
Now, therefore, Valentine keenly felt the new state of things, which in more than one way deeply grieved his heart; first, in the separation from his friend and playmate whom he dearly loved; and then in the denial of knowledge to his thirsting intellect, for there existed a statute law against educating a slave--a law, too, that was of late very strictly enforced, except in the case of children, who frequently transgressed it, and always with impunity; for slaves are often taught to read and write by their nurslings, the master"s children.
Valentine was thus far kin to us all, that he was a lineal descendant of Eve, and inherited all her longing desire for forbidden knowledge. And, in like manner, Oswald had received a goodly portion of that Adamic propensity to do just precisely what he was commanded not to do.
No grief of Valentine could long be hid from Oswald, and it followed, of course, that when he discovered the great trouble of his playmate to be his desire for education, all that Oswald learned at school by day was taught to Valentine at home by night. And peace and good-will was once more restored to the boys.
Thus the time went on till the lads were fourteen and sixteen respectively.
Then Oswald was placed as a boarder at an academy in a neighboring city.
Before leaving home, Oswald had begged, prayed, and insisted upon Valentine being permitted to accompany him, and had finally gained his object--an almost unheard-of indulgence--but one, nevertheless, that could not be refused by the father of his cherished son. So Valentine, ostensibly as a servant, but really as friend and companion, accompanied Oswald to his school.
Here also Oswald took every opportunity to impart his acquired knowledge to his companion.
And now Valentine"s taste in literature and art began to develop itself.
His mind was by no means an "omnium-gatherem." _Belle-lettres_, rather than cla.s.sic lore or mathematical science, was his attraction.
Astronomy, botany, poetry, rhetoric, oratory, elocution, music, painting, and the drama--these, and other studies only in proportion as they related to these, were his delights. An aesthetic rather than a strong intellect distinguished him. A love of beauty, elegance, and refinement, in all things--in art, science, and the drama, as well as in his own person, dress, and surroundings--began to reveal itself. And those who did not understand or like Valentine, began to sneer at him for a _pet.i.t-maitre_ and a dandy.
A change began to creep over the relations between the youths. Oswald was no longer a boy, but a young man. He could no longer instruct his companion, because he would thereby render himself obnoxious to public opinion, as well as to the laws of the State, to which his age now made him responsible. Neither could he bear the good-humored jests and the ridicule of his school-fellows, who bantered him unmercifully upon his friendship for his "man," calling them the foster-brothers, the Siamese twins, Valentine and Orson, etc.; and Valentine was beginning to suffer from the occasional slights, neglect, contempt, and inequality in temper of his young master, when fortunately the scene changed. Oswald was withdrawn from the Academy of M----, and sent to the University of Virginia, whither Valentine, as his valet, attended him.
CHAPTER II.
THE MANIAC"S CURSE.
Life is before ye! Oh, if ye would look Into the secrets of that sealed book, Strong as ye are in youth and hope and faith, Ye would sink down and falter, "Give us Death!"--f.a.n.n.y KEMBLE.
Oswald Waring remained three years at the University of Virginia, and during the whole of that period he had not returned home once. The vacations had been spent at various Northern watering-places, to which he went, accompanied by his inseparable companion and valet, Valentine.
His fellow-students at the university often warned him of what they called the reckless imprudence of taking his slave with him to the North, expressing their belief that one day the fellow would give him the slip. But Oswald laughed, in his reckless, confiding good humor, and declared, if the rascal could have the heart to leave him, he was perfectly welcome to do so, at the same time expressing his belief that the boy understood his true interests too well to do anything of the sort. But the fact was, Valentine loved his master much too well to leave him lightly.
Oswald Waring never distinguished himself at the university, or anywhere else, for anything but good nature, generosity, and reckless extravagance. He never graduated; but at the close of his third year, being some months past his legal majority, he left the university finally, and went on a tour through the Northern States and Canada, before embarking for Europe. He was accompanied, as usual, by Valentine.
And the youth did not avail himself of that opportunity to leave his master, perhaps from the fascination of their easy, careless, roving life, as well as the affection that bound them together.
Mr. Waring had reached New York, on his return from Canada, and was making a short stay in that city, previous to embarking for his European travels, when he received a letter from his father"s attorney, Mr.
Pettigrew, announcing the death of old Madam Waring, and the extreme illness of Colonel Waring, and pressing for the immediate return of his son.
Mr. Waring lost no time in commencing his homeward journey, and attended by his favorite, in less than a fortnight from the day of leaving New York, he reached the city near to which was his father"s plantation.
But there fatal news met him. He was too late. The virulent fever of that lat.i.tude had quickly done its work; and Colonel Waring"s funeral had taken place the week previous. As this result had been dreaded by Oswald, the shock of hearing of it lost half its force. There was nothing to do but to hasten to the plantation, to examine into the confused condition of affairs there. Leaving a note for Mr. Pettigrew to meet him there the next day, Oswald took a carriage, and, with Valentine by his side, drove rapidly out to the plantation. They were met by Phaedra, who had been tacitly left in sole charge of the house, and who saluted her young master with grave respect, and greeted her long absent son with a silent pressure of the hand, deferring all expression of interest in or affection for Valentine, until they should be alone together.
The next morning Mr. Pettigrew arrived, and the examination of the condition of the estate of the deceased began.
The lawyer expressed his opinion that there was no will of his late client in existence; and, further, that none had ever been made by him.
Colonel Waring had never spoken to him, as his legal adviser, upon the subject, as he would have been likely to have done had he contemplated making one. Colonel Waring was a hale, sanguine man, in the prime of life, and not likely to entertain the thought of the contingency of his own death. And the fever that terminated his existence had been too sudden in its attack and delirium--insensibility and death had followed with too fatal rapidity, to admit of such a possibility as his executing his will. However, a search for a possible one was inst.i.tuted; the library, secretaries, bureau, strong boxes--in fact, the whole house was ransacked for a will, or some memento of one; but neither will, nor sign of will, could be discovered.
Perhaps the person most deeply interested in the search was Phaedra. As soon as her quick intelligence discovered that there was a doubt relative to the existence of a will, her interest became intense. When coming into the house to attend her young master or the lawyer, she paused, loitered near them; and, whenever she was allowed to do so, she a.s.sisted in the search with a zeal not equaled by either of the others.
And when at last this search was abandoned as fruitless, she looked so unutterably wretched, as she hurried from the room, that both gentlemen gazed after her in astonishment.
"Why, what is the matter with Phaedra?" inquired Mr. Waring, looking interrogatively at the lawyer.
"She is disappointed, most probably."
"But in what respect? I do not understand."
"She was a favorite slave, was she not?"
"Yes--that is to say, she was a very faithful servant to my late father, and was very well treated. But what has that to do with it?"
"Why, that she probably expected to be left free by your father"s will."
"And that accounts for her anxiety that the will should be found."
"I think so."
"What a fool that woman must be! Free, indeed! Why should she want to be free--at her age, too. What can be her object? What would she do if she were free? How in the world came she to get such an idea into her head?
Who could have put it there, do you think?"
"No one, I suppose."
"But how should she ever think of such nonsense as her freedom?"
"It is a notion they all have, I believe."
"A notion! I should think it was a notion, and a very foolish one, on her part; I am really half inclined to cure her of her folly by setting her free, and letting her try her freedom on, to see how it fits.