was able to watch that they got into no mischief. They were both great favourites with the captain and steward, and, between the two, were so stuffed and crammed with sweets as to place their health in considerable jeopardy.
It was a delightful morning when they sailed into the harbour of New York. The waters were dancing and rippling in the morning sun, and the gaily-painted ferry-boats were skimming swiftly across its surface in their trips to and from the city, which was just awaking to its daily life of bustling toil.
“What an immense city it is!” said Mrs. Garie–“how full of life and bustle! Why there are more ships at one pier here than there are in the whole port of Savanah!”
“Yes, dear,” rejoined her husband; “and what is more, there always will be. Our folks in Georgia are not waked up yet; and when they do arouse themselves from their slumber, it will be too late. But we don’t see half the shipping from here–this is only one side of the city–there is much more on the other. Look over there,” continued he, pointing to Jersey city,–“that is where we take the cars for Philadelphia; and if we get up to dock in three or four hours, we shall be in time for the mid-day train.”
In less time than they anticipated they were alongside the wharf; the trunks were brought up, and all things for present use were safely packed together and despatched, under the steward’s care, to the office of the railroad.
Mr. and Mrs. Garie, after bidding good-bye to the captain, followed with the children, who were thrown into a great state of excitement by the noise and bustle of the crowded thoroughfare.
“How this whirl and confusion distracts me,” said Mrs. Garie, looking out of the carriage-window. “I hope Philadelphia is not as noisy a place as this.”
“Oh, no,” replied Mr. Garie; “it is one of the most quiet and clean cities in the world, whilst this is the noisiest and dirtiest. I always hurry out of New York; it is to me such a disagreeable place, with its extortionate hackmen and filthy streets.”
On arriving at the little steamer in which they crossed the ferry, they found it about to start, and therefore had to hurry on board with all possible speed.
Under the circumstances, the hackman felt that it would be flying in the face of Providence if he did not extort a large fare, and he therefore charged an extravagant price. Mr. Garie paid him, as he had no time to parley, and barely succeeded in slipping a _douceur_ into the steward’s hand, when the boat pushed off from the pier.
In a few moments they had crossed the river, and were soon comfortably seated in the cars whirling over the track to Philadelphia.
As the conductor came through to examine the tickets, he paused for a moment before Mrs. Garie and the children. As he passed on, his assistant inquired, “Isn’t that a nigger?”
“Yes, a half-white one,” was the reply.
“Why don’t you order her out, then?–she has no business to ride in here,” continued the first speaker.
“I guess we had better let her alone,” suggested the conductor, “particularly as no one has complained; and there might be a row if she turned out to be the nurse to those children. The whole party are Southerners, that’s clear; and these Southerners are mighty touchy about their niggers sometimes, and kick and cut like the devil about them. I guess we had better let her alone, unless some one complains about her being there.”
As they drove through the streets of Philadelphia on the way to their new home, Mrs. Garie gave rent to many expressions of delight at the appearance of the city. “Oh, what a sweet place! everything is so bright and fresh-looking; why the pavement and doorsteps look as if they were cleaned twice a day. Just look at that house, how spotless it is; I hope ours resembles that. Ours is a new house, is it not?” she inquired. “Not entirely; it has been occupied before, but only for a short time, I believe,” was her husband’s reply.
It had grown quite dark by the time they arrived at Winter-street, where Caddy had been anxiously holding watch and ward in company with the servants who had been procured for them. A bright light was burning in the entry as the coachman stopped at the door.
“This is No. 27,” said he, opening the door of the carriage, “shall I ring?”
“Yes, do,” replied Mr. Garie; but whilst he was endeavouring to open the gate of the little garden in front, Caddy, who had heard the carriage stop, bounded out to welcome them. “This is Mr. Garie, I suppose,” said she, as he alighted.
“Yes, I am; and you, I suppose, are the daughter of Mr. Ellis?”
“Yes, sir; I’m sorry mother is not here to welcome you; she was here until very late last night expecting your arrival, and was here again this morning,” said Caddy, taking at the same time one of the little carpet bags. “Give me the little girl, I can take care of her too,” she continued; and with little Em on one arm and the carpet bag on the other, she led the way into the house.
“We did not make up any fire,” said she, “the weather is very warm to us. I don’t know how it may feel to you, though.”
“It is a little chilly,” replied Mrs. Garie, as she sat down upon the sofa, and looked round the room with a smile of pleasure, and added, “All this place wants, to make it the most bewitching of rooms, is a little fire.”
Caddy hurried the new servants from place to place remorselessly, and set them to prepare the table and get the things ready for tea. She waylaid a party of labourers, who chanced to be coming that way, and hired them to carry all the luggage upstairs–had the desired fire made–mixed up some corn-bread, and had tea on the table in a twinkling. They all ate very heartily, and Caddy was greatly praised for her activity.
“You are quite a housekeeper,” said Mrs. Garie to Caddy. “Do you like it?”
“Oh, yes,” she replied. “I see to the house at home almost entirely; mother and Esther are so much engaged in sewing, that they are glad enough to leave it in my hands, and I’d much rather do that than sew.”
“I hope,” said Mrs. Garie, “that your mother will permit you to remain with us until we get entirely settled.”
“I know she will,” confidently replied Caddy. “She will be up here in the morning. She will know you have arrived by my not having gone home this evening.”
The children had now fallen asleep with their heads in close proximity to their plates, and Mrs. Garie declared that she felt very much fatigued and slightly indisposed, and thought the sooner she retired the better it would be for her. She accordingly went up to the room, which she had already seen and greatly admired, and was soon in the land of dreams.
As is always the case on such occasions, the children’s night-dresses could not be found. Clarence was put to bed in one of his father’s shirts, in which he was almost lost, and little Em was temporarily accommodated with a calico short gown of Caddy’s, and, in default of a nightcap, had her head tied up in a Madras handkerchief, which gave her, when her back was turned, very much the air of an old Creole who had been by some mysterious means deprived of her due growth.
The next morning Mrs. Garie was so much indisposed at to be unable to rise, and took her breakfast in bed. Her husband had finished his meal, and was sitting in the parlour, when he observed a middle-aged coloured lady coming into the garden.
“Look, Caddy,” cried he, “isn’t this your mother?”
“Oh, yes, that is she,” replied Caddy, and ran and opened the door, exclaiming, “Oh, mother, they’re come;” and as she spoke, Mr. Garie came into the entry and shook hands heartily with her. “I’m so much indebted to you,” said he, “for arranging everything so nicely for us–there is not a thing we would wish to alter.”
“I am very glad you are pleased; we did our best to make it comfortable,” was her reply.
“And you succeeded beyond our expectation; but do come up,” continued he, “Emily will be delighted to see you. She is quite unwell this morning; has not even got up yet;” and leading the way upstairs, he ushered Mrs. Ellis into the bedroom.
“Why, can this be you?” said she, surveying Emily with surprise and pleasure. “If I had met you anywhere, I should never have known you. How you have altered! You were not so tall as my Caddy when I saw you last; and here you are with two children–and pretty little things they are too!” said she, kissing little Em, who was seated on the bed with her brother, and sharing with him the remains of her mother’s chocolate.
“And you look much younger that I expected to see you,” replied Mrs. Garie. “Draw a chair up to the bed, and let us have a talk about old times. You must excuse my lying down; I don’t intend to get up to-day; I feel quite indisposed.”
Mrs. Ellis took off her bonnet, and prepared for a long chat; whilst Mr. Garie, looking at his watch, declared it was getting late, and started for down town, where he had to transact some business.
“You can scarcely think, Ellen, how much I feel indebted to you for all you have done for us; and we are so distressed to hear about Charlie’s accident. You must have had a great deal of trouble.”
“Oh, no, none to speak of–and had it been ever so much, I should have been just as pleased to have done it; I was so glad you were coming. What did put it in your heads to come here to live?” continued Mrs. Ellis.
“Oh, cousin George Winston praised the place so highly, and you know how disagreeable Georgia is to live in. My mind was never at rest there respecting these,” said she, pointing to the children; “so that I fairly teased Garie into it. Did you recognize George?”
“No, I didn’t remember much about him. I should never have taken him for a coloured man; had I met him in the street, I should have supposed him to be a wealthy white Southerner. What a gentleman he is in his appearance and manners,” said Mrs. Ellis.
“Yes, he is all that–my husband thinks there is no one like him. But we won’t talk about him now; I want you to tell me all about yourself and family, and then I’ll tell you everything respecting my own fortunes.” Hereupon ensued long narratives from both parties, which occupied the greater part of the morning.
Mr. Garie, on leaving the house, slowly wended his way to the residence of Mr. Walters. As he passed into the lower part of the city, his attention was arrested by the number of coloured children he saw skipping merrily along with their bags of books on their arms.
“This,” said he to himself, “don’t much resemble Georgia.”[*]
[Footnote *: It is a penal offence in Georgia to teach coloured children to read.]
After walking some distance he took out a card, and read, 257, Easton-street; and on inquiry found himself in the very street. He proceeded to inspect the numbers, and was quite perplexed by their confusion and irregularity.
A coloured boy happening to pass at the time, he asked him: “Which way do the numbers run, my little man?”
The boy looked up waggishly, and replied: “They don’t run at all; they are permanently affixed to each door.”
“But,” said Mr. Garie, half-provoked, yet compelled to smile at the boy’s pompous wit, “you know what I mean; I cannot find the number I wish; the street is not correctly numbered.”
“The street is not numbered at all,” rejoined the boy, “but the houses are,” and he skipped lightly away.
Mr. Garie was finally set right about the numbers, and found himself at length before the door of Mr. Walters’s house. “Quite a handsome residence,” said he, as he surveyed the stately house, with its spotless marble steps and shining silver door-plate.
On ringing, his summons was quickly answered by a well-dressed servant, who informed him that Mr. Walters was at home, and ushered him into the parlour. The elegance of the room took Mr. Garie completely by surprise, as its furniture indicated not only great wealth, but cultivated taste and refined habits. The richly-papered walls were adorned by paintings from the hands of well-known foreign and native artists. Rich vases and well-executed bronzes were placed in the most favourable situations in the apartment; the elegantly-carved walnut table was covered with those charming little bijoux which the French only are capable of conceiving, and which are only at the command of such purchasers as are possessed of more money than they otherwise can conveniently spend.
Mr. Garie threw himself into a luxuriously-cushioned chair, and was soon so absorbed in contemplating the likeness of a negro officer which hung opposite, that he did not hear the soft tread of Mr. Walters as he entered the room. The latter, stepping slowly forward, caught the eye of Mr. Garie, who started up, astonished at the commanding figure before him.
“Mr. Garie, I presume?” said Mr. Walters.
“Yes,” he replied, and added, as he extended his hand; “I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Walters, I suppose?”
Mr. Walters bowed low as he accepted the proffered hand, and courteously requested his visitor to be seated.
As Mr. Garie resumed his seat, he could not repress a look of surprise, which Mr. Walters apparently perceived, for a smile slightly curled his lip as he also took a seat opposite his visitor.
Mr. Walters was above six feet in height, and exceedingly well-proportioned; of jet-black complexion, and smooth glossy skin. His head was covered with a quantity of woolly hair, which was combed back from a broad but not very high forehead. His eyes were small, black, and piercing, and set deep in his head. His aquiline nose, thin lips, and broad chin, were the very reverse of African in their shape, and gave his face a very singular appearance. In repose, his countenance was severe in its expression; but when engaged in agreeable conversation, the thin sarcastic-looking lips would part, displaying a set of dazzlingly white teeth, and the small black eyes would sparkle with animation. The neatness and care with which he was dressed added to the attractiveness of his appearance. His linen was the perfection of whiteness, and his snowy vest lost nothing by its contact therewith. A long black frock coat, black pants, and highly-polished boots, completed his attire.
“I hope,” said he, “your house suits you; it is one of my own, and has never been rented except for a short time to a careful tenant, who was waiting for his own house to be finished. I think you will find it comfortable.”
“Oh, perfectly so, I am quite sure. I must thank you for the prompt manner in which you have arranged everything for us. It seems more like coming to an old home than to a new residence,” replied Mr. Garie.
“I am delighted to hear you say so,” said Mr. Walters. “I shall be most happy to call and pay my respects to Mrs. Garie when agreeable to her. Depend upon it, we will do all in our power to make our quiet city pleasant to you both.”
Mr. Garie thanked him, and after some further conversation, rose to depart.
As he was leaving the room, he stopped before the picture which had so engaged his attention, when Mr. Walters entered.
“So you, too, are attracted by that picture,” said Mr. Walters, with a smile. “All white men look at it with interest. A black man in the uniform of a general officer is something so unusual that they cannot pass it with a glance.” “It is, indeed, rather a novelty,” replied Mr. Garie, “particularly to a person from my part of the country. Who is it?”
“That is Toussaint l’Ouverture,” replied Mr. Walters; “and I have every reason to believe it to be a correct likeness. It was presented to an American merchant by Toussaint himself–a present in return for some kindness shown him. This merchant’s son, not having the regard for the picture that his father entertained for it, sold it to me. That,” continued Mr. Walters, “looks like a man of intelligence. It is entirely different from any likeness I ever saw of him. The portraits generally represent him as a monkey-faced person, with a handkerchief about his head.”
“This,” said Mr. Garie, “gives me an idea of the man that accords with his actions.”
Thus speaking, he continued looking at the picture for a short time, and then took his departure, after requesting Mr. Walters to call upon him at an early opportunity.
CHAPTER XII.
Mr. Garie’s Neighbour.
We must now introduce our readers into the back parlour of the house belonging to Mr. Garie’s next-door neighbour, Mr. Thomas Stevens.
We find this gentleman standing at a window that overlooked his garden, enjoying a fragrant Havannah. His appearance was not by any means prepossessing; he was rather above than below the middle height, with round shoulders, and long, thin arms, finished off by disagreeable-looking hands. His head was bald on the top, and the thin greyish-red hair, that grew more thickly about his ears, was coaxed up to that quarter, where an attempt had been made to effect such a union between the cords of the hair from each side as should cover the place in question.
The object, however, remained unaccomplished; as the hair was either very obstinate and would not be induced to lie as desired, or from extreme modesty objected to such an elevated position, and, in consequence, stopped half-way, as if undecided whether to lie flat or remain erect, producing the effect that would have been presented had he been decorated with a pair of horns. His baldness might have given an air of benevolence to his face, but for the shaggy eyebrows that over-shadowed his cunning-looking grey eyes. His cheekbones were high, and the cadaverous skin was so tightly drawn across them, as to give it a very parchment-like appearance. Around his thin compressed lips there was a continual nervous twitching, that added greatly to the sinister aspect of his face.
On the whole, he was a person from whom you would instinctively shrink; and had he been president or director of a bank in which you had money deposited, his general aspect would not have given you additional confidence in the stable character or just administration of its affairs.
Mr. George Stevens was a pettifogging attorney, who derived a tolerable income from a rather disreputable legal practice picked up among the courts that held their sessions in the various halls of the State-house. He was known in the profession as Slippery George, from the easy manner in which he glided out of scrapes that would have been fatal to the reputation of any other lawyer. Did a man break into a house, and escape without being actually caught on the spot with the goods in his possession, Stevens was always able to prove an alibi by a long array of witnesses. In fact, he was considered by the swell gentry of the city as their especial friend and protector, and by the members of the bar generally as anything but an ornament to the profession.
He had had rather a fatiguing day’s labour, and on the evening of which we write, was indulging in his usual cigar, and amusing himself at the same time by observing the gambols of Clarence and little Em, who were enjoying a romp in their father’s garden.
“Come here, Jule,” said he, “and look at our new neighbour’s children–rather pretty, ain’t they?”
He was joined by a diminutive red-faced woman, with hair and eyes very much like his own, and a face that wore a peevish, pinched expression.
“Rather good-looking,” she replied, after observing them for a few minutes, and then added, “Have you seen their parents?”
“No, not yet,” was the reply. “I met Walters in the street this morning, who informed me they are from the South, and very rich; we must try and cultivate them–ask the children in to play with ours, and strike up an intimacy in that way, the rest will follow naturally, you know. By the way, Jule,” continued he, “how I hate that nigger Walters, with his grand airs. I wanted some money of him the other day on rather ticklish securities for a client of mine, and the black wretch kept me standing in his hall for at least five minutes, and then refused me, with some not very complimentary remarks upon my assurance in offering him such securities. It made me so mad I could have choked him–it is bad enough to be treated with _hauteur_ by a white man, but contempt from a nigger is almost unendurable.”
“Why didn’t you resent it in some way? I never would have submitted to anything of the kind from him,” interrupted Mrs. Stevens.
“Oh, I don’t dare to just now; I have to be as mild as milk with him. You forget about the mortgage; don’t you know he has me in a tight place there, and I don’t see how to get out of it either. If I am called Slippery George, I tell you what, Jule, there’s not a better man of business in the whole of Philadelphia than that same Walters, nigger as he is; and no one offends him without paying dear for it in some way or other. I’ll tell you something he did last week. He went up to Trenton on business, and at the hotel they refused to give him dinner because of his colour, and told him they did not permit niggers to eat at their tables. What does he do but buy the house over the landlord’s head. The lease had just expired, and the landlord was anxious to negotiate another; he was also making some arrangements with his creditors, which could not be effected unless he was enabled to renew the lease of the premises he occupied. On learning that the house had been sold, he came down to the city to negotiate with the new owner, and to his astonishment found him to be the very man he had refused a meal to the week before. Blunt happened to be in Walters’s office at the time the fellow called. Walters, he says, drew himself up to his full height, and looked like an ebony statue.
“Sir,” said he, “I came to your house and asked for a meal, for which I was able to pay; you not only refused it to me, but heaped upon me words such as fall only from the lips of blackguards. You refuse to have me in your house–I object to have you in mine: you will, therefore, quit the premises immediately.” The fellow sneaked out quite crestfallen, and his creditors have broken him up completely.
“I tell you what, Jule, if I was a black,” continued he, “living in a country like this, I’d sacrifice conscience and everything else to the acquisition of wealth.”
As he concluded, he turned from the window and sat down by a small table, upon which a lighted lamp had been placed, and where a few law papers were awaiting a perusal.
A little boy and girl were sitting opposite to him. The boy was playing with a small fly-trap, wherein he had already imprisoned a vast number of buzzing sufferers. In appearance he bore a close resemblance to his father; he had the same red hair and sallow complexion, but his grey eyes had a dull leaden hue.
“Do let them go, George, do!” said the little girl, in a pleading tone. “You’ll kill them, shut up there.”
“I don’t care if I do,” replied he, doggedly; “I can catch more–look here;” and as he spoke he permitted a few of the imprisoned insects to creep partly out, and then brought the lid down upon them with a force that completely demolished them.
The little girl shuddered at this wanton exhibition of cruelty, and offered him a paper of candy if he would liberate his prisoners, which he did rather reluctantly, but promising himself to replenish the box at the first opportunity.
“Ah!” said he, in a tone of exultation, “father took me with him to the jail to-day, and I saw all the people locked up. I mean to be a jailer some of these days. Wouldn’t you like to keep a jail, Liz?” continued he, his leaden eyes receiving a slight accession of brightness at the idea.
“Oh, no!” replied she; “I would let all the people go, if I kept the jail.”
A more complete contrast than this little girl presented to her parents and brother, cannot be imagined. She had very dark chestnut hair, and mild blue eyes, and a round, full face, which, in expression, was sweetness itself. She was about six years old, and her brother’s junior by an equal number of years.
Her mother loved her, but thought her tame and spiritless in her disposition; and her father cherished as much affection for her as he was capable of feeling for any one but himself.
Mrs. Stevens, however, doted on their eldest hope, who was as disagreeable as a thoroughly spoiled and naturally evil-disposed boy could be.
As the evenings had now become quite warm, Mr. Garie frequently took a chair and enjoyed his evening cigar upon the door-step of his house; and as Mr. Stevens thought his steps equally suited to this purpose, it was very natural he should resort there with the same object.
Mr. Stevens found no difficulty in frequently bringing about short neighbourly conversations with Mr. Garie. The little folk, taking their cue from their parents, soon became intimate, and ran in and out of each other’s houses in the most familiar manner possible. Lizzy Stevens and little Em joined hearts immediately, and their intimacy had already been cemented by frequent consultations on the various ailments wherewith they supposed their dolls afflicted.
Clarence got on only tolerably with George Stevens; he entertained for him that deference that one boy always has for another who is his superior in any boyish pastime; but there was little affection lost between them–they cared very little for each other’s society.
Mrs. Garie, since her arrival, had been much confined to her room, in consequence of her protracted indisposition. Mrs. Stevens had several times intimated to Mr. Garie her intention of paying his wife a visit; but never having received any very decided encouragement, she had not pressed the matter, though her curiosity was aroused, and she was desirous of seeing what kind of person Mrs. Garie could be.
Her son George in his visits had never been permitted farther than the front parlour; and all the information that could be drawn from little Lizzy, who was frequently in Mrs. Garie’s bedroom, was that “she was a pretty lady, with great large eyes.” One evening, when Mr. Garie was occupying his accustomed seat, he was accosted from the other side by Mrs. Stevens, who, as usual, was very particular in her inquiries after the state of his wife’s health; and on learning that she was so much improved as to be down-stairs, suggested that, perhaps, she would be willing to receive her.
“No doubt she will,” rejoined Mr. Garie; and he immediately entered the house to announce the intended visit. The lamps were not lighted when Mrs. Stevens was introduced, and faces could not, therefore, be clearly distinguished.
“My dear,” said Mr. Garie, “this is our neighbour, Mrs. Stevens.”
“Will you excuse me for not rising?” said Mrs. Garie, extending her hand to her visitor. “I have been quite ill, or I should have been most happy to have received you before. My little folks are in your house a great deal–I hope you do not find them troublesome.”
“Oh, by no means! I quite dote on your little Emily, she is such a sweet child–so very affectionate. It is a great comfort to have such a child near for my own to associate with–they have got quite intimate, as I hope we soon shall be.”
Mrs. Garie thanked her for the kindness implied in the wish, and said she trusted they should be so.
“And how do you like your house?” asked Mrs. Stevens; “it is on the same plan as ours, and we find ours very convenient. They both formerly belonged to Walters; my husband purchased of him. Do you intend to buy?”
“It is very probable we shall, if we continue to like Philadelphia,” answered Mr. Garie.
“I’m delighted to hear that,” rejoined she–“very glad, indeed. It quite relieves my mind about one thing: ever since Mr. Stevens purchased our house we have been tormented with the suspicion that Walters would put a family of niggers in this; and if there is one thing in this world I detest more than another, it is coloured people, I think.”
Mr. Garie here interrupted her by making some remark quite foreign to the subject, with the intention, no doubt, of drawing her off this topic. The attempt was, however, an utter failure, for she continued–“I think all those that are not slaves ought to be sent out of the country back to Africa, where they belong: they are, without exception, the most ignorant, idle, miserable set I ever saw.”
“I think,” said Mr. Garie, “I can show you at least one exception, and that too without much trouble. Sarah,” he cried, “bring me a light.”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Stevens, “I suppose you refer to Walters–it is true he is an exception; but he is the only coloured person I ever saw that could make the least pretension to anything like refinement or respectability.
“Let me show you another,” said Mr. Garie, as he took the lamp from the servant and placed it upon the table near his wife.
As the light fell on her face, their visitor saw that she belonged to the very class that she had been abusing in such unmeasured terms and so petrified was she with confusion at the _faux pas_ she had committed, that she was entirely unable to improvise the slightest apology.
Mrs. Garie, who had been reclining on the lounge, partially raised herself and gave Mrs. Stevens a withering look. “I presume, madam,” said she, in a hurried and agitated tone, “that you are very ignorant of the people upon whom you have just been heaping such unmerited abuse, and therefore I shall not think so hardly of you as I should, did I deem your language dictated by pure hatred; but, be its origin what it may, it is quite evident that our farther acquaintance could be productive of no pleasure to either of us–you will, therefore, permit me,” continued she, rising with great dignity, “to wish you good evening;” and thus speaking, she left the room.
Mrs. Stevens was completely demolished by this unexpected _denouement_ of her long-meditated visit, and could only feebly remark to Mr. Garie that it was getting late, and she would go; and rising, she suffered herself to be politely bowed out of the house. In her intense anxiety to relate to her husband the scene which had just occurred, she could not take time to go round and through the gate, but leaped lightly over the low fence that divided the gardens, and rushed precipitately into the presence of her husband.
“Good heavens! George, what do you think?” she exclaimed; “I’ve had such a surprise!”
“I should think that you had, judging from appearances,” replied he. “Why, your eyes are almost starting out of your head! What on earth has happened?” he asked, as he took the shade off the lamp to get a better view of his amiable partner.
“You would not guess in a year,” she rejoined; “I never would have dreamed it–I never was so struck in my life!”
“Struck with what? Do talk sensibly, Jule, and say what all this is about,” interrupted her husband, in an impatient manner. “Come, out with it–what has happened?”
“Why, would you have thought it,” said she; “Mrs. Garie is a nigger woman–a real nigger–she would be known as such anywhere?”
It was now Mr. Stevens’s turn to be surprised. “Why, Jule,” he exclaimed, “you astonish me! Come, now, you’re joking–you don’t mean a real black nigger?”
“Oh, no, not jet black–but she’s dark enough. She is as dark as that Sarah we employed as cook some time ago.”
“You don’t say so! Wonders will never cease–and he such a gentleman, too!” resumed her husband.
“Yes; and it’s completely sickening,” continued Mrs. Stevens, “to see them together; he calls her my dear, and is as tender and affectionate to her as if she was a Circassian–and she nothing but a nigger–faugh! it’s disgusting.”
Little Clarence had been standing near, unnoticed by either of them during this conversation, and they were therefore greatly surprised when he exclaimed, with a burst of tears, “My mother is not a nigger any more than you are! How dare you call her such a bad name? I’ll tell my father!”
Mr. Stevens gave a low whistle, and looking at his wife, pointed to the door. Mrs. Stevens laid her hand on the shoulder of Clarence, and led him to the door, saying, as she did so, “Don’t come in here any more–I don’t wish you to come into my house;” and then closing it, returned to her husband.
“You know, George,” said she, “that I went in to pay her a short visit. I hadn’t the remotest idea that she was a coloured woman, and I commenced giving my opinion respecting niggers very freely, when suddenly her husband called for a light, and I then saw to whom I had been talking. You may imagine my astonishment–I was completely dumb–and it would have done you good to have seen the air with which she left the room, after as good as telling me to leave the house.”
“Well,” said Mr. Stevens, “this is what may be safely termed an unexpected event. But, Jule,” he continued, “you had better pack these young folks off to bed, and then you can tell me the rest of it.”
Clarence stood for some time on the steps of the house from which he had been so unkindly ejected, with his little heart swelling with indignation. He had often heard the term nigger used in its reproachful sense, but never before had it been applied to him or his, at least in his presence. It was the first blow the child received from the prejudice whose relentless hand was destined to crush him in after-years.
It was his custom, when any little grief pressed upon his childish heart, to go and pour out his troubles on the breast of his mother; but he instinctively shrunk from confiding this to her; for, child as he was, he knew it would make her very unhappy. He therefore gently stole into the house, crept quietly up to his room, lay down, and sobbed himself to sleep.
CHAPTER XIII.
Hopes consummated.
To Emily Winston we have always accorded the title of Mrs. Garie; whilst, in reality, she had no legal claim to it whatever.
Previous to their emigration from Georgia, Mr. Garie had, on one or two occasions, attempted, but without success, to make her legally his wife.
He ascertained that, even if he could have found a clergyman willing to expose himself to persecution by marrying them, the ceremony itself would have no legal weight, as a marriage between a white and a mulatto was not recognized as valid by the laws of the state; and he had, therefore, been compelled to dismiss the matter from his mind, until an opportunity should offer for the accomplishment of their wishes.
Now, however, that they had removed to the north, where they would have no legal difficulties to encounter, he determined to put his former intention into execution. Although Emily had always maintained a studied silence on the subject, he knew that it was the darling wish of her heart to be legally united to him; so he unhesitatingly proceeded to arrange matters for the consummation of what he felt assured would promote the happiness of both. He therefore wrote to Dr. Blackly, a distinguished clergyman of the city, requesting him to perform the ceremony, and received from him an assurance that he would be present at the appointed time.
Matters having progressed thus far, he thought it time to inform Emily of what he had done. On the evening succeeding the receipt of an answer from the Rev. Dr. Blackly–after the children had been sent to bed–he called her to him, and, taking her hand, sat down beside her on the sofa.
“Emily,” said he, as he drew her closer to him, “my dear, faithful Emily! I am about to do you an act of justice–one, too, that I feel will increase the happiness of us both. I am going to marry you, my darling! I am about to give you a lawful claim to what you have already won by your faithfulness and devotion. You know I tried, more than once, whilst in the south, to accomplish this, but, owing to the cruel and unjust laws existing there, I was unsuccessful. But now, love, no such difficulty exists; and here,” continued he, “is an answer to the note I have written to Dr. Blackly, asking him to come next Wednesday night, and perform the ceremony.–You are willing, are you not, Emily?” he asked.
“Willing!” she exclaimed, in a voice tremulous with emotion–“willing! Oh, God! if you only knew how I have longed for it! It has been my earnest desire for years!” and, bursting into tears, she leaned, sobbing, on his shoulder.
After a few moments she raised her head, and, looking searchingly in his face, she asked: “But do you do this after full reflection on the consequences to ensue? Are you willing to sustain all the odium, to endure all the contumely, to which your acknowledged union with one of my unfortunate race will subject you? Clarence! it will be a severe trial–a greater one than any you have yet endured for me–and one for which I fear my love will prove but a poor recompense! I have thought more of these things lately; I am older now in years and experience. There was a time when I was vain enough to think that my affection was all that was necessary for your happiness; but men, I know, require more to fill their cup of content than the undivided affection of a woman, no matter how fervently beloved. You have talents, and, I have sometimes thought, ambition. Oh, Clarence! how it would grieve me, in after-years, to know that you regretted that for me you had sacrificed all those views and hopes that are cherished by the generality of your sex! Have you weighed it well?”
“Yes, Emily–well,” replied Mr. Garie; “and you know the conclusion. My past should be a guarantee for the future. I had the world before me, and chose you–and with, you I am contented to share my lot; and feel that I receive, in your affection, a full reward for any of the so-called sacrifices I may make. So, dry your tears, my dear,” concluded he, “and let us hope for nothing but an increase of happiness as the result.”
After a few moments of silence, he resumed: “It will be necessary, Emily, to have a couple of witnesses. Now, whom would you prefer? I would suggest Mrs. Ellis and her husband. They are old friends, and persons on whose prudence we can rely. It would not do to have the matter talked about, as it would expose us to disagreeable comments.”
Mrs. Garie agreed perfectly with him as to the selection of Mr. and Mrs. Ellis; and immediately despatched a note to Mrs. Ellis, asking her to call at their house on the morrow.
When she came, Emily informed her, with some confusion of manner, of the intended marriage, and asked her attendance as witness, at the same time informing her of the high opinion her husband entertained of their prudence in any future discussion of the matter.
“I am really glad he is going to marry you, Emily,” replied Mrs. Ellis, “and depend upon it we will do all in our power to aid it. Only yesterday, that inquisitive Mrs. Tiddy was at our house, and, in conversation respecting you, asked if I knew you to be married to Mr. Garie. I turned the conversation somehow, without giving her a direct answer. Mr. Garie, I must say, does act nobly towards you. He must love you, Emily, for not one white man in a thousand would make such a sacrifice for a coloured woman. You can’t tell how we all like him–he is so amiable, so kind in his manner, and makes everyone so much at ease in his company. It’s real good in him, I declare, and I shall begin to have some faith in white folks, after all.–Wednesday night,” continued she; “very well–we shall be here, if the Lord spare us;” and, kissing Emily, she hurried off, to impart the joyful intelligence to her husband.
The anxiously looked for Wednesday evening at last arrived, and Emily arrayed herself in a plain white dress for the occasion. Her long black hair had been arranged in ringlets by Mrs. Ellis, who stood by, gazing admiringly at her.
“How sweet you look, Emily–you only want a wreath of orange blossoms to complete your appearance. Don’t you feel a little nervous?” asked her friend.
“A little excited,” she answered, and her hand shook as she put back one of the curls that had fallen across her face. Just then a loud ringing at the door announced the arrival of Dr. Blackly, who was shown into the front parlour.
Emily and Mrs. Ellis came down into the room where Mr. Garie was waiting for them, whilst Mr. Ellis brought in Dr. Blackly. The reverend gentleman gazed with some surprise at the party assembled. Mr. Garie was so thoroughly Saxon in appearance, that no one could doubt to what race he belonged, and it was equally evident that Emily, Mrs. Ellis, and her husband, were coloured persons.
Dr. Blackly looked from one to the other with evident embarrassment, and then said to Mr. Garie, in a low, hesitating tone:–
“I think there has been some mistake here–will you do me the favour to step into another room?”
Mr. Garie mechanically complied, and stood waiting to learn the cause of Dr. Blackly’s strange conduct.
“You are a white man, I believe?” at last stammered forth the doctor.
“Yes, sir; I presume my appearance is a sufficient guarantee of that,” answered Mr. Garie.
“Oh yes, I do not doubt it, and for that reason you must not be surprised if I decline to proceed with the ceremony.”
“I do not see how my being a white man can act as a barrier to its performance,” remarked Mr. Garie in reply. “It would not, sir, if all the parties were of one complexion; but I do not believe in the propriety of amalgamation, and on no consideration could I be induced to assist in the union of a white man or woman with a person who has the slightest infusion of African blood in their veins. I believe the negro race,” he continued, “to be marked out by the hand of God for servitude; and you must pardon me if I express my surprise that a gentleman of your evident intelligence should seek such a connection–you must be labouring under some horrible infatuation.”
“Enough, sir,” replied Mr. Garie, proudly; “I only regret that I did not know it was necessary to relate every circumstance of appearance, complexion, &c. I wished to obtain a marriage certificate, not a passport. I mistook you for a _Christian minister_, which mistake you will please to consider as my apology for having troubled you;” and thus speaking, he bowed Dr. Blackly out of the house. Mr. Garie stepped back to the door of the parlour and called out Mr. Ellis.
“We are placed in a very difficult dilemma,” said he, as he was joined by the latter. “Would you believe it? that prejudiced old sinner has actually refused to marry us.”
“It is no more than you might have expected of him–he’s a thorough nigger-hater–keeps a pew behind the organ of his church for coloured people, and will not permit them to receive the sacrament until all the white members of his congregation are served. Why, I don’t see what on earth induced you to send for him.”
“I knew nothing of his sentiments respecting coloured people. I did not for a moment have an idea that he would hesitate to marry us. There is no law here that forbids it. What can we do?” said Mr. Garie, despairingly.
“I know a minister who will marry you with pleasure, if I can only catch him at home; he is so much engaged in visiting the sick and other pastoral duties.”
“Do go–hunt him up, Ellis. It will be a great favour to me, if you can induce him to come. Poor Emily–what a disappointment this will be to her,” said he, as he entered the room where she was sitting.
“What is the matter, dear?” she asked, as she observed Garie’s anxious face. “I hope there is no new difficulty.”
Mr. Garie briefly explained what had just occurred, and informed her, in addition, of Mr. Ellis having gone to see if he could get Father Banks, as the venerable old minister was called.
“It seems, dear,” said she, despondingly, “as if Providence looked unfavourably on our design; for every time you have attempted it, we have been in some way thwarted;” and the tears chased one another down her face, which had grown pale in the excitement of the moment.
“Oh, don’t grieve about it, dear; it is only a temporary disappointment. I can’t think all the clergymen in the city are like Dr. Blackly. Some one amongst them will certainly oblige us. We won’t despair; at least not until Ellis comes back.”
They had not very long to wait; for soon after this conversation footsteps were heard in the garden, and Mr. Ellis entered, followed by the clergyman.
In a very short space of time they were united by Father Banks, who seemed much affected as he pronounced his blessing upon them.
“My children,” he said, tremulously, “you are entering upon a path which, to the most favoured, is full of disappointment, care, and anxieties; but to you who have come together under such peculiar circumstances, in the face of so many difficulties, and in direct opposition to the prejudices of society, it will be fraught with more danger, and open to more annoyances, than if you were both of one race. But if men revile you, revile not again; bear it patiently for the sake of Him who has borne so much for you. God bless you, my children,” said he, and after shaking hands with them all, he departed.
Mr. and Mrs. Ellis took their leave soon after, and then Mrs. Garie stole upstairs alone into the room where the children were sleeping. It seemed to her that night that they were more beautiful than ever, as they lay in their little beds quietly slumbering. She knelt beside them, and earnestly prayed their heavenly Father that the union which had just been consummated in the face of so many difficulties might prove a boon to them all.
“Where have you been, you runaway?” exclaimed her husband as she re-entered the parlour. “You stayed away so long, I began to have all sorts of frightful ideas–I thought of the ‘mistletoe hung in the castle hall,’ and of old oak chests, and all kind of terrible things. I’ve been sitting here alone ever since the Ellises went: where have you been?”
“Oh, I’ve been upstairs looking at the children. Bless their young hearts! they looked so sweet and happy–and how they grow! Clarence is getting to be quite a little man; don’t you think it time, dear, that he was sent to school? I have so much more to occupy my mind here than I had in Georgia, so many household duties to attend to, that I am unable to give that attention to his lessons which I feel is requisite. Besides, being so much at home, he has associated with that wretched boy of the Stevens’s, and is growing rude and noisy; don’t you think he had better be sent to school?”
“Oh yes, Emily, if you wish it,” was Mr. Garie’s reply. “I will search out a school to-morrow, or next day;” and taking out his watch, he continued, “it is near twelve o’clock–how the night has flown away–we must be off to bed. After the excitement of the evening, and your exertions of to-day, I fear that you will be indisposed to-morrow.”
Clarence, although over nine years old, was so backward in learning, that they were obliged to send him to a small primary school which had recently been opened in the neighbourhood; and as it was one for children of both sexes, it was deemed advisable to send little Em with him.
“I do so dislike to have her go,” said her mother, as her husband proposed that she should accompany Clarence; “she seems so small to be sent to school. I’m afraid she won’t be happy.”
“Oh! don’t give yourself the least uneasiness about her not being happy there, for a more cheerful set of little folks I never beheld. You would be astonished to see how exceedingly young some of them are.”
“What kind of a person is the teacher?” asked Mrs. Garie.
“Oh! she’s a charming little creature; the very embodiment of cheerfulness and good humour. She has sparkling black eyes, a round rosy face, and can’t be more than sixteen, if she is that old. Had I had such a teacher when a boy, I should have got on charmingly; but mine was a cross old widow, who wore spectacles and took an amazing quantity of snuff, and used to flog upon the slightest pretence. I went into her presence with fear and trembling. I could never learn anything from her, and that must be my excuse for my present literary short-comings. But you need have no fear respecting Em getting on with Miss Jordan: I don’t believe she could be unkind to any one, least of all to our little darling.”
“Then you will take them down in the morning,” suggested Mrs. Garie; “but on no account leave Emily unless she wishes to stay.”
CHAPTER XIV.
Charlie at Warmouth.
After the departure of Mrs. Bird to visit her sick friend, Betsey turned to Charlie and bid him follow her into the kitchen. “I suppose you haven’t been to breakfast,” said she, in a patronizing manner; “if you haven’t, you are just in time, as we will be done ours in a little while, and then you can have yours.”
Charlie silently followed her down into the kitchen, where a man-servant and the younger maid were already at breakfast; the latter arose, and was placing another plate upon the table, when Betsey frowned and nodded disapprovingly to her. “Let him wait,” whispered she; “I’m not going to eat with niggers.”
“Oh! he’s such a nice little fellow,” replied Eliza, in an undertone; “let him eat with us.”
Betsey here suggested to Charlie that he had better go up to the maple chamber, wash his face, and take his things out of his trunk, and that when his breakfast was ready she would call him.
“What on earth can induce you to want to eat with a nigger?” asked Betsey, as soon as Charlie was out of hearing. “I couldn’t do it; my victuals would turn on my stomach. I never ate at the same table with a nigger in my life.”
“Nor I neither,” rejoined Eliza; “but I see no reason why I should not. The child appears to have good manners, he is neat and good-looking, and because God has curled his hair more than he has ours, and made his skin a little darker than yours or mine, that is no reason we should treat him as if he was not a human being.” Alfred, the gardener, had set down his saucer and appeared very much astonished at this declaration of sentiment on the part of Eliza, and sneeringly remarked, “You’re an Abolitionist, I suppose.”
“No, I am not,” replied she, reddening; “but I’ve been taught that God made all alike; one no better than the other. You know the Bible says God is no respecter of persons.”
“Well, if it does,” rejoined Alfred, with a stolid-look, “it don’t say that man isn’t to be either, does it? When I see anything in my Bible that tells me I’m to eat and drink with niggers, I’ll do it, and not before. I suppose you think that all the slaves ought to be free, and all the rest of the darned stuff these Abolitionists are preaching. Now if you want to eat with the nigger, you can; nobody wants to hinder you. Perhaps he may marry you when he grows up–don’t you think you had better set your cap at him?”
Eliza made no reply to this low taunt, but ate her breakfast in silence.
“I don’t see what Mrs. Bird brought him here for; she says he is sick,–had a broken arm or something; I can’t imagine what use she intends to make of him,” remarked Betsey.
“I don’t think she intends him to be a servant here, at any rate,” said Eliza; “or why should she have him put in the maple chamber, when there are empty rooms enough in the garret?”
“Well, I guess I know what she brought him for,” interposed Alfred. “I asked her before she went away to get a little boy to help me do odd jobs, now that Reuben is about to leave; we shall want a boy to clean the boots, run on errands, drive up the cows, and do other little chores.[*] I’m glad he’s a black boy; I can order him round more, you know, than if he was white, and he won’t get his back up half as often either. You may depend upon it, that’s what Mrs. Bird has brought him here for.” The gardener, having convinced himself that his view of the matter was the correct one, went into the garden for his day’s labour, and two or three things that he had intended doing he left unfinished, with the benevolent intention of setting Charlie at them the next morning.
[Footnote *: A Yankeeism, meaning little jobs about a farm.]
Charlie, after bathing his face and arranging his hair, looked from the window at the wide expanse of country spread out before him, all bright and glowing in the warm summer sunlight. Broad well-cultivated fields stretched away from the foot of the garden to the river beyond, and the noise of the waterfall, which was but a short distance off, was distinctly heard, and the sparkling spray was clearly visible through the openings of the trees. “What a beautiful place,–what grand fields to run in; an orchard, too, full of blossoming fruit-trees! Well, this is nice,” exclaimed Charlie, as his eye ran over the prospect; but in the midst of his rapture came rushing back upon him the remembrance of the cavalier treatment he had met with below-stairs, and he said with a sigh, as the tears sprang to his eyes, “But it is not home, after all.” Just at this moment he heard his name called by Betsey, and he hastily descended into the kitchen. At one end of the partially-cleared table a clean plate and knife and fork had been placed, and he was speedily helped to the remains of what the servants had been eating.
“You mustn’t be long,” said Betsey, “for to-day is ironing day, and we want the table as soon as possible.”
The food was plentiful and good, but Charlie could not eat; his heart was full and heavy,–the child felt his degradation. “Even the servants refuse to eat with me because I am coloured,” thought he. “Oh! I wish I was at home!”
“Why don’t you eat?” asked Betsey.
“I don’t think I want any breakfast; I’m not hungry,” was the reply.
“I hope you are not sulky,” she rejoined; “we don’t like sulky boys here; why don’t you eat?” she repeated.
The sharp, cold tones of her voice struck a chill into the child’s heart, and his lip quivered as he stammered something farther about not being hungry; and he hurried away into the garden, where he calmed his feelings and allayed his home-sickness by a hearty burst of tears. After this was over, he wandered through the garden and fields until dinner; then, by reading his book and by another walk, he managed to get through the day.
The following morning, as he was coming down stairs, he was met by Alfred, who accosted him with, “Oh! you’re up, are you; I was just going to call you.” And looking at Charlie from head to foot, he inquired, “Is that your best suit?”
“No, it’s my worst,” replied Charlie. “I have two suits better than this;” and thinking that Mrs. Bird had arrived, he continued, “I’ll put on my best if Mrs. Bird wants me.”
“No, she ain’t home,” was the reply; “it’s me that wants you; come down here; I’ve got a little job for you. Take this,” said he, handing him a dirty tow apron, “and tie it around your neck; it will keep the blacking off your clothes, you know. Now,” continued he, “I want you to clean these boots; these two pairs are Mr. Tyndall’s–them you need not be particular with; but this pair is mine, and I want ’em polished up high,–now mind, I tell you. I’m going to wear a new pair of pants to meetin’ to-morrow, and I expect to cut a dash, so you’ll do ’em up slick, now won’t you?”
“I’ll do my best,” said Charlie, who, although he did not dislike work, could not relish the idea of cleaning the servants’ boots. “I’m afraid I shall find this a queer place,” thought he. “I shall not like living here, I know–wait for my meals until the servants have finished, and clean their boots into the bargain. This is worse than being with Mrs. Thomas.”
Charlie, however, went at it with a will, and was busily engaged in putting the finishing touches on Alfred’s boots, when he heard his name called, and on looking up, saw Mrs. Bird upon the piazza above. “Why, bless me! child, what are you about?–whose boots are those, and why are you cleaning them?”
“Oh!” he replied, his face brightening up at the sight of Mrs. Bird, “I’m so glad you’re come; those are Mr. Tyndall’s boots, and these,” he continued, holding up the boots on which he was engaged, “are the gardener’s.”
“And who, pray, instructed you to clean them?”
“The gardener,” replied Charlie.
“He did, did he?” said Mrs. Bird, indignantly. “Very well; now do you take off that apron and come to me immediately; before you do, however, tell Alfred I want him.”
Charlie quickly divested himself of the tow apron, and after having informed the gardener that Mrs. Bird desired his presence in the parlour, he ran up there himself. Alfred came lumbering up stairs, after giving his boots an unusual scraping and cleansing preparatory to entering upon that part of the premises which to him was generally forbidden ground.
“By whose direction did you set the child at that dirty work?” asked Mrs. Bird, after he had entered the room.
“I hadn’t anybody’s direction to set him to work, but I thought you brought him here to do odd jobs. You know, ma’am, I asked you some time ago to get a boy, and I thought this was the one.”
“And if he had been, you would have taken a great liberty in assigning him any duties without first consulting me. But he is not a servant here, nor do I intend him to be such; and let me inform you, that instead of his cleaning your boots, it will be your duty henceforth to clean his. Now,” continued she, “you know his position here, let me see that you remember yours. You can go.” This was said in so peremptory a manner, as to leave no room for discussion or rejoinder, and Alfred, with a chagrined look, went muttering down stairs.
“Things have come to a pretty pass,” grumbled he. “I’m to wait on niggers, black their boots, and drive them out, too, I suppose. I’d leave at once if it wasn’t such a good situation. Drat the old picture–what has come over her I wonder–she’ll be asking old Aunt Charity, the black washerwoman to dine with her next. She has either gone crazy or turned abolitionist, I don’t know which; something has happened to her, that’s certain.”
“Now, Charlie,” said Mrs. Bird, as the door closed upon the crest-fallen gardener, “go to your room and dress yourself nicely. After I’ve eaten my breakfast, I am going to visit a friend, and I want you to accompany me; don’t be long.”
“Can’t I eat mine first, Mrs. Bird?” he asked, in reply.
“I thought you had had yours, long ago,” rejoined she.
“The others hadn’t finished theirs when you called me, and I don’t get mine until they have done,” said Charlie.
“Until they have done; how happens that?” asked Mrs. Bird.
“I think they don’t like to eat with me, because I’m coloured,” was Charlie’s hesitating reply.
“That is too much,” exclaimed Mrs. Bird; “if it were not so very ridiculous, I should be angry. It remains for me, then,” continued she, “to set them an example. I’ve not eaten my breakfast yet–come, sit down with me, and we’ll have it together.”
Charlie followed Mrs. Bird into the breakfast-room, and took the seat pointed out by her. Eliza, when she entered with the tea-urn, opened her eyes wide with astonishment at the singular spectacle she beheld. Her mistress sitting down to breakfast _vis-a-vis_ to a little coloured boy! Depositing the urn upon the table, she hastened back to the kitchen to report upon the startling events that were occurring in the breakfast-room.
“Well, I never,” said she; “that beats anything I ever did see; why, Mrs. Bird must have turned abolitionist. Charlie is actually sitting at the same table with her, eating his breakfast as natural and unconcerned as if he was as white as snow! Wonders never will cease. You see I’m right though. I said that child wasn’t brought here for a servant–we’ve done it for ourselves now–only think how mad she’ll be when she finds he was made to wait for his meals until we have done. I’m glad I wasn’t the one who refused to eat with him.”
“I guess she has been giving Alfred a blowing up,” said Betsy, “for setting him at boot cleaning; for he looked like a thunder-cloud when he came down stairs, and was muttering something about a consarned pet-nigger–he looked anything but pleased.”
Whilst the lower powers were discussing what they were pleased to regard as an evidence of some mental derangement on the part of Mrs. Bird, that lady was questioning Charlie respecting his studies, and inquired if he would like to go to school in Warmouth.
“After a while, I think I should,” he replied; “but for a week I’d like to be free to run about the fields and go fishing, and do lots of things. This is such a pretty place; and now that you have come I shall have nice times–I know I shall.”
“You seem to have great confidence in my ability to make you happy. How do you know that I am as kind as you seem to suppose?” asked Mrs. Bird, with a smile.
“I know you are,” answered Charlie, confidently; “you speak so pleasantly to me. And do you know, Mrs. Bird,” continued he, “that I liked you from the first day, when you praised me so kindly when I recited my lessons before you. Did you ever have any little boys of your own?”
A change immediately came over the countenance of Mrs. Bird, as she replied: “Oh, yes, Charlie; a sweet, good boy about your own age:” and the tears stood in her eyes as she continued. “He accompanied his father to England years ago–the ship in which they sailed was never heard of–his name was Charlie too.”
“I didn’t know that, or I should not have asked,” said Charlie, with some embarrassment of manner caused by the pain he saw he had inflicted. “I am very sorry,” he continued.
Mrs. Bird motioned him to finish his breakfast, and left the table without drinking the tea she had poured out for herself.
There were but one or two families of coloured people living in the small town of Warmouth, and they of a very humble description; their faces were familiar to all the inhabitants, and their appearance was in accordance with their humble condition. Therefore, when Charlie made his debut, in company with Mrs. Bird, his dress and manners differed so greatly from what they were accustomed to associate with persons of his complexion, that he created quite a sensation in the streets of the usually quiet and obscure little town.
He was attired with great neatness; and not having an opportunity of playing marbles in his new suit, it still maintained its spotless appearance. The fine grey broadcloth coat and pants fitted him to a nicety, the jaunty cap was set slightly on one side of his head giving him, a somewhat saucy look, and the fresh colour now returning to his cheeks imparted to his face a much healthier appearance than it had worn for months.
He and his kind friend walked on together for some time, chatting about the various things that attracted their attention on the way, until they reached a cottage in the garden of which a gentleman was busily engaged in training a rosebush upon a new trellis.
So completely was he occupied with his pursuit that he did not observe the entrance of visitors, and quite started when he was gently tapped upon the shoulder by Mrs. Bird.
“How busy we are,” said she, gaily, at the same time extending her hand–“so deeply engaged, that we can scarcely notice old friends that we have not seen for months.”
“Indeed, this is a pleasant surprise,” he remarked, when he saw by whom he had been interrupted. “When did you arrive?”
“Only this morning; and, as usual, I have already found something with which to bore you–you know, Mr. Whately, I always have something to trouble you about.”
“Don’t say trouble, my dear Mrs. Bird; if you will say ‘give me something to occupy my time usefully and agreeably,’ you will come much nearer the mark. But who is this you have with you?”
“Oh, a little _protege_ of mine, poor little fellow–he met with a sad accident recently–he broke his arm; and I have brought him down here to recruit. Charlie, walk around and look at the garden–I have a little matter of business to discuss with Mr. Whately, and when we shall have finished I will call you.”
Mr. Whately led the way into his library, and placing a seat for Mrs. Bird, awaited her communication.
“You have great influence with the teacher of the academy, I believe,” said she.
“A little,” replied Mr. Whately, smiling.
“Not a little,” rejoined Mrs. Bird, “but a great deal; and, my dear Mr. Whately, I want you to exercise it in my behalf. I wish to enter as a scholar that little boy I brought with me this morning.”
“Impossible!” said Mr. Whately. “My good friend, the boy is coloured!”
“I am well aware of that,” continued Mrs. Bird; “if he were not there would not be the least trouble about his admission; nor am I sure there will be as it is, if you espouse his cause. One who has been such a benefactor to the academy as yourself, could, I suppose, accomplish anything.”
“Yes; but that is stretching my influence unduly. I would be willing to oblige you in almost anything else, but I hesitate to attempt this. Why not send him to the public school?–they have a separate bench for black children; he can be taught there all that is necessary for him to know.”
“He is far in advance of any of the scholars there. I attended the examination of the school to which he was attached,” said Mrs. Bird, “and I was very much surprised at the acquirements of the pupils; this lad was distinguished above all the rest–he answered questions that would have puzzled older heads, with the greatest facility. I am exceedingly anxious to get him admitted to the academy, as I am confident he will do honour to the interest I take in him.”
“And a very warm interest it must be, my dear Mrs. Bird, to induce you to attempt placing him in such an expensive and exclusive school. I am very much afraid you will have to give it up: many of the scholars’ parents, I am sure, will object strenuously to the admission of a coloured boy as a scholar.”
“Only tell me that you will propose him, and I will risk the refusal,” replied Mrs. Bird–“it can be tried at all events; and if you will make the effort I shall be under deep obligations to you.”
“Well, Mrs. Bird, let us grant him admitted–what benefit can accrue to the lad from an education beyond his station? He cannot enter into any of the learned professions: both whilst he is there, and after his education is finished, he will be like a fish out of water. You must pardon me if I say I think, in this case, your benevolence misdirected. The boy’s parents are poor, I presume?”
“They certainly are not rich,” rejoined Mrs. Bird; “and it is for that reason I wish to do all that I can for him. If I can keep him with me, and give him a good education, it may be greatly for his advantage; there may be a great change in public sentiment before he is a man–we cannot say what opening there may be for him in the future.”
“Not unless it changes very much. I never knew prejudice more rampant than it is at this hour. To get the boy admitted as a right is totally out of the question: if he is received at all, it will be as a special favour, and a favour which–I am sure it will require all my influence to obtain. I will set about it immediately, and, rely upon it, I will do my best for your _protege_.”
Satisfied with the promise, which was as much as Mrs. Bird had dared to hope for, she called Charlie, then shook hands with Mr. Whately and departed.
CHAPTER XV.
Mrs. Stevens gains a Triumph.
The Garies had now become thoroughly settled in Philadelphia, and, amongst the people of colour, had obtained a very extensive and agreeable acquaintance.
At the South Mr. Garie had never borne the reputation of an active person. Having an ample fortune and a thoroughly Southern distaste for labour, he found it by no means inconvenient or unpleasant to have so much time at his disposal. His newspaper in the morning, a good book, a stroll upon the fashionable promenade, and a ride at dusk, enabled him to dispose of his time without being oppressed with _ennui_.
It was far happier for him that such was his disposition, as his domestic relations would have been the means of subjecting him to many unpleasant circumstances, from which his comparative retirement in a great measure screened him.
Once or twice since his settlement in the North his feelings had been ruffled, by the sneering remarks of some of his former friends upon the singularity of his domestic position; but his irritation had all fled before the smiles of content and happiness that beamed from the faces of his wife and children.
Mrs. Garie had nothing left to wish for; she was surrounded by every physical comfort and in the enjoyment of frequent intercourse with intelligent and refined people, and had been greatly attracted toward Esther Ellis with whom she had become very intimate.
One morning in November, these two were in the elegant little bed-room of Mrs. Garie, where a fire had been kindled, as the weather was growing very chilly and disagreeable. “It begins to look quite like autumn,” said Mrs. Garie, rising and looking out of the window. “The chrysanthemums are drooping and withered, and the dry leaves are whirling and skimming through the air. I wonder,” she continued, “if the children were well wrapped up this morning?”
“Oh, yes; I met them at the corner, on their way to school, looking as warm and rosy as possible. What beautiful children they are! Little Em has completely won my heart; it really seems a pity for her to be put on the shelf, as she must be soon.”
“How–what do you mean?” asked Mrs. Garie.
“Oh, this will explain,” archly rejoined Esther, as she held up to view one of the tiny lace trimmed frocks that she was making in anticipation of the event that has been previously hinted.
Mrs. Garie laughed, and turned to look out of the window again.
“Do you know I found little Lizzy Stevens, your neighbour’s daughter, shivering upon the steps in a neighbouring street, fairly blue with cold? She was waiting there for Clarence and Em. I endeavoured to persuade her to go on without them, but she would not. From what I could understand, she waits for them there every day.”
“Her mother cannot be aware of it, then; for she has forbidden her children to associate with mine,” rejoined Mrs. Garie. “I wonder she permits her little girl to go to the same school. I don’t think she knows it, or it is very likely she would take her away.”
“Has she ever spoken to you since the night of her visit?” asked Esther.
“Never! I have seen her a great many times since; she never speaks, nor do I. There she goes now. That,” continued Mrs. Garie, with a smile, “is another illustration of the truthfulness of the old adage, ‘Talk of–well, I won’t say who,–‘and he is sure to appear.'” And, thus speaking, she turned from the window, and was soon deeply occupied in the important work of preparing for the expected little stranger. Mrs. Garie was mistaken in her supposition that Mrs. Stevens was unaware that Clarence and little Em attended the same school to which her own little girl had been sent; for the evening before the conversation we have just narrated, she had been discussing the matter with her husband.
“Here,” said she to him, “is Miss Jordan’s bill for the last quarter. I shall never pay her another; I am going to remove Lizzy from that school.”
“Remove her! what for? I thought I heard you say, Jule, that the child got on excellently well there,–that she improved very fast?”
“So she does, as far as learning is concerned; but she is sitting right next to one of those Garie children, and that is an arrangement I don’t at all fancy. I don’t relish the idea of my child attending the same school that niggers do; so I’ve come to the determination to take her away.”
“I should do no such thing,” coolly remarked Mr. Stevens. “I should compel the teacher to dismiss the Garies, or I should break up her school. Those children have no right to be there whatever. I don’t care a straw how light their complexions are, they are niggers nevertheless, and ought to go to a nigger school; they are no better than any other coloured children. I’ll tell you what you can do, Jule,” continued he: “call on Mrs. Kinney, the Roths, and one or two others, and induce them to say that if Miss Jordan won’t dismiss the Garies that they will withdraw their children; and you know if they do, it will break up the school entirely. If it was any other person’s children but his, I would wink at it; but I want to give him a fall for his confounded haughtiness. Just try that plan, Jule, and you will be sure to succeed.”
“I am not so certain about it, Stevens. Miss Jordan, I learn, is very fond of their little Em. I must say I cannot wonder at it. She is the most loveable little creature I ever saw. I will say that, if her mother is a nigger.”
“Yes, Jule, all that may be; but I know the world well enough to judge that, when she becomes fully assured that it will conflict with her interests to keep them, she will give them up. She is too poor to be philanthropic, and, I believe, has sufficient good sense to know it.”
“Well, I’ll try your plan,” said Mrs. Stevens; “I will put matters in train to-morrow morning.”
Early the next morning, Mrs. Stevens might have been seen directing her steps to the house of Mrs. Kinney, with whom she was very intimate. She reached it just as that lady was departing to preside at a meeting of a female missionary society for evangelizing the Patagonians.
“I suppose you have come to accompany me to the meeting,” said she to Mrs. Stevens, as soon as they had exchanged the usual courtesies.
“Oh, dear, no; I wish I was,” she replied. “I’ve got a troublesome little matter on my hands; and last night my husband suggested my coming to ask your advice respecting it. George has such a high opinion of your judgment, that he would insist on my troubling you.”
Mrs. Kinney smiled, and looked gratified at this tribute to her importance.
“And moreover,” continued Mrs. Stevens, “it’s a matter in which your interest, as well as our own, is concerned.”
Mrs. Kinney now began to look quite interested, and, untying the strings of her bonnet, exclaimed, “Dear me, what can it be?”
“Knowing,” said Mrs. Stevens, “that you entertain just the same sentiments that we do relative to associating with coloured people, I thought I would call and ask if you were aware that Miss Jordan receives coloured as well as white children in her school.”
“Why, no! My dear Mrs. Stevens, you astound me. I hadn’t the remotest idea of such a thing. It is very strange my children never mentioned it.”
“Oh, children are so taken up with their play, they forget such things,” rejoined Mrs. Stevens. “Now,” continued she, “husband said he was quite confident you would not permit your children to continue their attendance after this knowledge came to your ears. We both thought it would be a pity to break up the poor girl’s school by withdrawing our children without first ascertaining if she would expel the little darkies. I knew, if I could persuade you to let me use your name as well as ours, and say that you will not permit your children to continue at her school unless she consents to our wishes, she, knowing the influence you possess, would, I am sure, accede to our demands immediately.”
“Oh, you are perfectly at liberty to use my name, Mrs. Stevens, and say all that you think necessary to effect your object. But do excuse me for hurrying off,” she continued, looking at her watch: “I was to have been at the meeting at ten o’clock, and it is now half-past. I hope you won’t fail to call, and let me know how you succeed;” and, with her heart overflowing with tender care for the poor Patagonian, Mrs. Kinney hastily departed.
“That’s settled,” soliloquized Mrs. Stevens, with an air of intense satisfaction, as she descended the steps–“her four children would make a serious gap in the little school; and now, then,” continued she, “for the Roths.”
Mrs. Stevens found not the slightest difficulty in persuading Mrs. Roth to allow her name to be used, in connection with Mrs. Kinney’s, in the threat to withdraw their children if the little Garies were not immediately expelled. Mrs. Roth swore by Mrs. Kinney, and the mere mention of that lady’s name was sufficient to enlist her aid.
Thus armed, Mrs. Stevens lost no time in paying a visit to Miss Jordan’s school. As she entered, the busy hum of childish voices was somewhat stilled; and Lizzy Stevens touched little Em, who sat next her, and whispered, “There is my mother.”
Mrs. Stevens was welcomed very cordially by Miss Jordan, who offered her the seat of honour beside her.
“Your school seems quite flourishing,” she remarked, after looking around the room, “and I really regret being obliged to make a gap in your interesting circle.”
“I hope you don’t intend to deprive me of your little girl,” inquired Miss Jordan; “I should regret to part with her–not only because I am very fond of her, but in consideration of her own interest–she is coming on so rapidly.”
“Oh, I haven’t the slightest fault to find with her progress. _That_,” said she, “is not the reason. I have another, of much more weight. Of course, every one is at liberty to do as they choose; and we have no right to dictate to you what description of scholars you should receive; but, if they are not such, as we think proper companions for our children, you can’t complain if we withdraw them.”
“I really do not understand you, Mrs. Stevens,” said the teacher, with an astonished look: “I have none here but the children of the most respectable persons–they are all as well behaved as school children generally are.”
“I did not allude to behaviour; that, for all that I know to the contrary, is irreproachable; it is not character that is in question, but colour. I don’t like my daughter to associate with coloured children.”
“Coloured children!” repeated the now thoroughly bewildered teacher–“coloured children! My dear madam,” continued she, smiling, “some one has been hoaxing you–I have no coloured pupils–I could not be induced to receive one on any account.”
“I am very glad to hear you say so,” rejoined Mrs. Stevens, “for that convinces me that my fears were groundless. I was under the impression you had imbibed some of those pestilent abolition sentiments coming into vogue. I see you are not aware of it, but you certainly have two coloured scholars; and there,” said she, pointing to Clarence, “is one of them.”
Clarence, who, with his head bent over his book, was sitting so near as to overhear a part of this conversation, now looked up, and found the cold, malignant, grey eyes of Mrs. Stevens fastened on him. He looked at her for a moment–then apparently resumed his studies.
The poor boy had, when she entered the room, an instinctive knowledge that her visit boded no good to them. He was beginning to learn the anomalous situation he was to fill in society. He had detested Mrs. Stevens ever since the night she had ejected him so rudely from her house, and since then had learned to some extent what was meant by the term _nigger woman_.
“You must certainly be misinformed,” responded Miss Jordan. “I know their father–he has frequently been here. He is a Southerner, a thorough gentleman in his manners; and, if ever a man was white, I am sure he is.”
“Have you seen their mother?” asked Mrs. Stevens, significantly.
“No, I never have,” replied Miss Jordan; “she is in poor health; but she must unquestionably be a white woman–a glance at the children ought to convince you of that.”
“It might, if I had not seen her, and did not know her to be a coloured woman. You see, my dear Miss Jordan,” continued she, in her blandest tone, “I am their next-door neighbour and have seen their mother twenty times and more; she is a coloured woman beyond all doubt.”
“I never could have dreamed of such a thing!” exclaimed Miss Jordan, as an anxious look overspread her face; then, after a pause, she continued: “I do not see what I am to do–it is really too unfortunate–I don’t know how to act. It seems unjust and unchristian to eject two such children from my school, because their mother has the misfortune to have a few drops of African blood in her veins. I cannot make up my mind to do it. Why, you yourself must admit that they are as white as any children in the room.”
“I am willing to acknowledge they are; but they have nigger blood in them, notwithstanding; and they are, therefore, as much niggers as the blackest, and have no more right to associate with white children than if they were black as ink. I have no more liking for white niggers than for black ones.”
The teacher was perplexed, and, turning to Mrs. Stevens, said, imploringly: “This matter seems only known to you; let me appeal to your generosity–say nothing more about it. I will try to keep your daughter away from them, if you wish–but pray do not urge me to the performance of an act that I am conscious would be unjust.”
Mrs. Stevens’s face assumed a severe and disagreeable expression. “I hoped you would look at this matter in a reasonable light, and not compel those who would be your friends to appear in the light of enemies. If this matter was known to me alone, I should remove my daughter and say nothing more about it; but, unfortunately for you, I find that, by some means or other, both Mrs. Kinney and Mrs. Roth have become informed of the circumstance, and are determined to take their children away. I thought I would act a friend’s part by you, and try to prevail on you to dismiss these two coloured children at once. I so far relied upon your right judgment as to assure them that you would not hesitate for a moment to comply with their wishes; and I candidly tell you, that it was only by my so doing that they were prevented from keeping their children at home to-day.”
Miss Jordan looked aghast at this startling intelligence; if Mrs. Roth and Mrs. Kinney withdrew their patronage and influence, her little school (the sole support of her mother and herself) would be well-nigh broken up.
She buried her face in her hands, and sat in silence for a few seconds; then looking at Mrs. Stevens, with tearful eyes, exclaimed, “God forgive me if it must be so; nothing but the utter ruin that stares me in the face if I refuse induces me to accede to your request.”
“I am sorry that you distress yourself so much about it. You know you are your own mistress, and can do as you choose,” said Mrs. Stevens; “but if you will be advised by me, you will send them away at once.”
“After school I will,” hesitatingly replied Miss Jordan.
“I hate to appear so pressing,” resumed Mrs. Stevens; “but I feel it my duty to suggest that you had better do it at once, and before the rest of the scholars. I did not wish, to inform you to what extent this thing had gone; but it really has been talked of in many quarters, and it is generally supposed that you are cognisant of the fact that the Garies are coloured; therefore you see the necessity of doing something at once to vindicate yourself from the reproach of abolitionism.”
At the pronunciation of this then terrible word in such connection with herself, Miss Jordan turned quite pale, and for a moment struggled to acquire sufficient control of her feelings to enable her to do as Mrs. Stevens suggested; at last, bursting into tears, she said, “Oh, I cannot–will not–do it. I’ll dismiss them, but not in that unfeeling manner; that I cannot do.”
The children were now entirely neglecting their lessons, and seemed much affected by Miss Jordan’s tears, of which they could not understand the cause. She observing this, rang the bell, the usual signal for intermission.
Mrs. Stevens, satisfied with the triumph she had effected, took leave of Miss Jordan, after commending her for the sensible conclusion at which she had arrived, and promising to procure her two more pupils in the room of those she was about to dismiss.
Miss Jordan was a long time writing the note that she intended sending to Mr. Garie; and one of the elder girls returned to the school-room, wondering at the unusually long time that had been given for recreation.
“Tell Clarence and his sister to come here,” said she to the girl who had just entered; and whilst they were on their way upstairs, she folded the note, and was directing it when Clarence entered.
“Clarence,” said she, in a soft voice, “put on your hat; I have a note of some importance for you to take to your father–your father remember–don’t give it to any one else.” Taking out her watch, she continued, “It is now so late that you would scarcely get back before the time for dismissal, so you had better take little Emily home with you.”
“I hope, ma’am, I haven’t done anything wrong?” asked Clarence.
“Oh, no!” quickly replied she; “you’re a dear, good boy, and have never given me a moment’s pain since you came to the school.” And she hurried out into the hall to avoid farther questioning.
She could not restrain the tears as she dressed little Em, whose eyes were large with astonishment at being sent home from school at so early an hour.
“Teacher, is school out?” asked she.
“No, dear, not quite; I wanted to send a note to your pa, and so I have let Clary go home sooner than usual,” replied Miss Jordan, kissing her repeatedly, whilst the tears were trickling down her cheek.
“Don’t cry, teacher, I love you,” said the little blue-eyed angel, whose lip began to quiver in sympathy; “don’t cry, I’ll come back again to-morrow.”
This was too much for the poor teacher, who clasped the child in her arms, and gave way to a burst of uncontrollable sorrow. At last, conquering herself with an effort, she led the children down stairs, kissed them both again, and then opening the door she turned them forth into the street–turned away from her school these two little children, such as God received into his arms and blessed, because they were the children of a “_nigger woman_.”
CHAPTER XVI.
Mr. Stevens makes a Discovery.
“Well, Jule, old Aunt Tabitha is gone at last, and I am not at all sorry for it, I assure you; she’s been a complete tax upon me for the last eight years. I suppose you won’t lament much, nor yet go into mourning for her,” continued Mr. Stevens, looking at her jocularly.
“I’m not sorry, that I admit,” rejoined Mrs. Stevens; “the poor old soul is better off, no doubt; but then there’s no necessity to speak of the matter in such an off-hand manner.”
“Now, Jule, I beg you won’t attempt to put on the sanctified; that’s too much from you, who have been wishing her dead almost every day for the last eight years. Why, don’t you remember you wished her gone when she had a little money to leave; and when she lost that, you wished her off our hands because she had none. Don’t pretend to be in the least depressed; that won’t do with me.”
“Well, never mind that,” said Mrs. Stevens, a little confused; “what has become of her things–her clothing, and furniture?”
“I’ve ordered the furniture to be sold; and all there is of it will not realize sufficient to pay her funeral expenses. Brixton wrote me that she has left a bundle of letters directed to me, and I desired him to send them on.”
“I wonder what they can be,” said Mrs. Stevens.
“Some trash, I suppose; an early love correspondence, of but little value to any one but herself. I do not expect that they will prove of any consequence whatever.”
“Don’t you think one or the other of us should go to the funeral?” asked Mrs. Stevens. “Nonsense. No! I have no money to expend in that way–it is as much as I can do to provide comfortably for the living, without spending money to follow the dead,” replied he; “and besides, I have a case coming on in the Criminal Court next week that will absorb all my attention.”
“What kind of a case is it?” she inquired.
“A murder case. Some Irishmen were engaged in a row, when one of the party received a knock on his head that proved too much for him, and died in consequence. My client was one of the contending parties; and has been suspected, from some imprudent expressions of his, to have been the man who struck the fatal blow. His preliminary examination comes off to-morrow or next day, and I must be present as a matter of course.”
At an early hour of the morning succeeding this conversation, Mr. Stevens might have been seen in his dingy office, seated at a rickety desk which was covered with various little bundles, carefully tied with red tape. The room was gloomy and cheerless, and had a mouldy disagreeable atmosphere. A fire burned in the coal stove, which, however, seemed only to warm, but did not dry the apartment; and the windows were covered with a thin coating of vapour.
Mr. Stevens was busily engaged in writing, when hearing footsteps behind him, he turned and saw Mr. Egan, a friend of his client, entering the room.
“Good morning, Mr. Egan,” said he, extending his hand; “how is our friend McCloskey this morning?”
“Oh, it’s far down in the mouth he is, be jabers–the life a’most scared out of him!”
“Tell him to keep up a good heart and not to be frightened at trifles,” laughingly remarked Mr. Stevens.
“Can’t your honour come and see him?” asked Egan.
“I can’t do that; but I’ll give you a note to Constable Berry, and he will bring McCloskey in here as he takes him to court;” and Mr. Stevens immediately wrote the note, which Egan received and departed.
After the lapse of a few hours, McCloskey was brought by the accommodating constable to the office of Mr. Stevens. “He’ll be safe with you, I suppose, Stevens;” said the constable, “but then there is no harm in seeing for one’s self that all’s secure;” and thus speaking, he raised the window and looked into the yard below. The height was too great for his prisoner to escape in that direction; then satisfying himself that the other door only opened into a closet, he retired, locking Mr. Stevens and his client in the room.
Mr. Stevens arose as soon as the door closed behind the constable, and stuffed a piece of damp sponge into the keyhole; he then returned and took a seat by his client.
“Now, McCloskey,” said he, in a low tone, as he drew his chair closely in front of the prisoner, and fixed his keen grey eyes on him–“I’ve seen Whitticar. And I tell you what it is–you’re in a very tight place. He’s prepared to swear that he saw you with a slung shot in your hand–that he saw you drop it after the man fell; he picked it up, and whilst the man was lying dead at his tavern, awaiting the coroner’s inquest, he examined the wound, and saw in the skull two little dents or holes, which were undoubtedly made by the little prongs that are on the leaden ball of the weapon, as they correspond in depth and distance apart; and, moreover, the ball is attached to a twisted brace which proves to be the fellow to the one found upon a pair of your trousers. What can you say to all this?”
McCloskey here gave a smothered groan, and his usually red face grew deadly pale in contemplation of his danger.
“Now,” said Mr. Stevens, after waiting long enough for his revelation to have its due effect upon him, “there is but one thing to be done. We must buy Whitticar off. Have you got any money? I don’t mean fifty or a hundred dollars–that would be of no more use than as many pennies. We must have something of a lump–three or four hundred at the very least.”
The prisoner drew his breath very hard at this, and remained silent.
“Come, speak out,” continued Mr. Stevens, “circumstances won’t admit of our delaying–this man’s friends will raise Heaven and earth to secure your conviction; so you see, my good fellow, it’s your money or your life. You can decide between the two–you know which is of the most importance to you.”
“God save us, squire! how am I to raise that much money? I haven’t more nor a hunther dollars in the world.”
“You’ve got a house, and a good horse and dray,” replied Mr. Stevens, who was well posted in the man’s pecuniary resources. “If you expect me to get you out of this scrape, you must sell or mortgage your house, and dispose of your horse and dray. Somehow or other four hundred dollars must be raised, or you will be dangling at a rope’s end in less than six months.”
“I suppose it will have to go then,” said McCloskey, reluctantly.
“Then give me authority,” continued Mr. Stevens, “to arrange for the disposal of the property, and I will have your affairs all set straight in less than no time.”
The constable here cut short any further colloquy by rapping impatiently on the door, then opening it, and exclaiming, “Come, now it is ten o’clock–time that you were in court;” and the two started out, followed by Mr. Stevens.
After having, by some of those mysterious plans with which lawyers are familiar, been enabled to put off the examination for a few days, Mr. Stephens returned to his office, and found lying upon his table the packet of letters he was expecting from New York.
Upon breaking the seal, and tearing off the outer covering, he discovered a number of letters, time-worn and yellow with age; they were tied tightly together with a piece of cord; cutting this, they fell scattered over the desk.
Taking one of them up, he examined it attentively, turning it from side to side to endeavour to decipher the half-effaced post-mark. “What a ninny I am, to waste time in looking at the cover of this, when the contents will, no doubt, explain the whole matter?” Thus soliloquising he opened the letter, and was soon deeply absorbed in its contents. He perused and re-perused it; then opened, one after another, the remainder that lay scattered before him. Their contents seemed to agitate him exceedingly; as he walked up and down the room with hasty strides, muttering angrily to himself, and occasionally returning to the desk to re-peruse the letters which had so strangely excited him.
Whilst thus engaged, the door was opened by no less a personage than Mr. Morton, who walked in and seated himself in a familiar manner.
“Oh, how are you, Morton. You entered with such a ghostly tread, that I scarcely heard you,” said Mr. Stevens, with a start; “what has procured me the honour of a visit from you this morning?”
“I was strolling by, and thought I would just step in and inquire how that matter respecting the Tenth-street property has succeeded.”
“Not at all–the old fellow is as obstinate as a mule; he won’t sell except on his own terms, which are entirely out of all reason. I am afraid you will be compelled to abandon your building speculation in that quarter until his demise–he is old and feeble, and can’t last many years; in the event of his death you may be able to effect some more favourable arrangement with his heirs.”
“And perhaps have ten or fifteen years to wait–no, that won’t do. I’d better sell out myself. What would you, advise me to do, Stevens?”
Mr. Stevens was silent for a few moments; then having opened the door and looked into the entry, he closed it carefully, placed the piece of sponge in the key-hole, and returned to his seat at the desk, saying:–
“We’ve transacted enough business together to know one another pretty well. So I’ve no hesitation in confiding to you a little scheme I’ve conceived for getting into our hands a large proportion of property in one of the lower districts, at a very low figure; and ’tis probable, that the same plan, if it answers, will assist you materially in carrying out your designs. It will require the aid of two or three moneyed men like yourself; and, if successful, will without doubt be highly remunerative.”
“If successful,” rejoined Mr. Morton; “yes, there is the rub. How are you to guarantee success?”
“Hear my plan, and then you can decide. In the first place, you know as well as I that a very strong feeling exists in the community against the Abolitionists, and very properly too; this feeling requires to be guided into some proper current, and I think we can give it that necessary guidance, and at the same time render it subservient to our own purposes. You are probably aware that a large amount of property in the lower part of the city is owned by niggers; and if we can create a mob and direct it against them, they will be glad to leave that quarter, and remove further up into the city for security and protection. Once get the mob thoroughly aroused, and have the leaders under our control, and we may direct its energies against any parties we desire; and we can render the district so unsafe, that property will be greatly lessened in value–the houses will rent poorly, and many proprietors will be happy to sell at very reduced prices. If you can furnish me the means to start with, I have men enough at my command to effect the rest. We will so control the elections in the district, through these men, as to place in office only such persons as will wink at the disturbances. When, through their agency, we have brought property down sufficiently low, we will purchase all that we can, re-establish order and quiet, and sell again at an immense advantage.”
“Your scheme is a good one, I must confess, and I am ready to join you at any time. I will communicate with Carson, who, I think, will be interested, as he desired to invest with me in those Tenth-street improvements. I will call in to-morrow, and endeavour to persuade him to accompany me, and then we can discuss the matter more fully.”
“Well, do; but one word before you go. You appear to know everybody–who is anybody–south of Mason and Dixon’s line; can you give me any information respecting a family by the name of Garie, who live or formerly did live in the vicinity of Savannah?”
“Oh, yes–I know them, root and branch; although there is but little of the latter left; they are one of the oldest families in Georgia–those of whom I have heard the most are of the last two generations. There now remain of the family but two persons–old John or Jack Garie as he is called, a bachelor–and who I have recently learned is at the point of death; and a crack-brained nephew of his, living in this city–said to be married to a nigger woman–actually married to her. Dr. Blackly informed me last week, that he sent for him to perform the ceremony, which he very properly refused to do. I have no doubt, however, that he has been successful in procuring the services of some one else. I am sorry to say, there are some clergymen in our city who would willingly assist in such a disgraceful proceeding. What ever could have induced a man with his prospects to throw himself away in that manner, I am at loss to determine–he has an independent fortune of about one hundred thousand dollars, besides expectations from his uncle, who is worth a considerable sum of money. I suppose these little darkies of his will inherit it,” concluded Mr. Morton.
“Are there no other heirs?” asked Mr. Stevens, in a tone of deep interest.
“There may be. He had an aunt, who married an exceedingly low fellow from the North, who treated her shamefully. The mercenary scoundrel no doubt expected to have acquired a fortune with her, as it was generally understood that she was sole heiress of her mother’s property–but it turned out to be an entire mistake. The circumstance made considerable stir at the time. I remember having heard my elders discuss it some years after its occurrence. But why do you take such an interest in it? You charged me with coming upon you like a ghost. I could return the compliment. Why, man, you look like a sheet. What ails you?” “Me!–I–oh, nothing–nothing! I’m perfectly well–that is to say, I was up rather late last night, and am rather fatigued to day–nothing more.”
“You looked so strange, that I could not help being frightened–and you seemed so interested. You must have some personal motive for inquiring.”
“No more than a lawyer often has in the business of his clients. I have been commissioned to obtain some information respecting these people–a mere matter of business, nothing more, believe me. Call in again soon, and endeavour to bring Carson; but pray be discreet–be very careful to whom you mention the matter.”
“Never fear,” said Mr. Morton, as he closed the door behind him, and sauntered lazily out of the house.
Mr. Morton speculated in stocks and town-lots in the same spirit that he had formerly betted at the racecourse and cockpit in his dear Palmetto State. It was a pleasant sort of excitement to him, and without excitement of some kind, he would have found it impossible to exist. To have frequented gaming hells and race courses in the North would have greatly impaired his social position; and as he set a high value upon that he was compelled to forego his favourite pursuits, and associate himself with a set of men who conducted a system of gambling operations upon ‘Change, of a less questionable but equally exciting character.
Mr. Stevens sat musing at his desk for some time after the departure of his visitor; then, taking up one of the letters that had so strongly excited him, he read and re-read it; then crushing it in his hand, arose, stamped his feet, and exclaimed, “I’ll have it! if I–” here he stopped short, and, looking round, caught a view of his face in the glass; he sank back into the chair behind him, horrified at the lividness of his countenance.
“Good God!” he soliloquized, “I look like a murderer already,” and he covered his face with his hands, and turned away from the glass. “But I am wrong to be excited thus; men who accomplish great things approach them coolly, so must I. I must plot, watch, and wait;” and thus speaking, he put on his hat and left the office.
As Mr. Stevens approached his house, a handsome carriage drove up to the door of his neighbour, and Mr. Garie and his wife, who had been enjoying a drive along the bank of the river, alighted and entered their residence. The rustle of her rich silk dress grated harshly on his ear, and the soft perfume that wafted toward him as she glided by, was the very reverse of pleasant to him.
Mr. Garie bowed stiffly to him as they stood on the steps of their respective residences, which were only divided by the low iron fence; but, beyond the slight inclination of the head, took no further notice of him.
“The cursed haughty brute,” muttered Mr. Stevens, as he jerked the bell with violence; “how I hate him! I hated him before I knew–but now I—-;” as he spoke, the door was opened by a little servant that Mrs. Stevens had recently obtained from a charity institution.
“You’ve kept me standing a pretty time,” exclaimed he savagely, as he seized her ear and gave it a spiteful twist; “can’t you manage to open the door quicker?”
“I was up in the garret, and didn’t hear the bell,” she replied, timidly.
“Then I’ll improve your hearing,” he continued malignantly, as he pulled her by the ear; “take that, now, and see if you’ll keep me standing at the door an hour again.”
Striding forward into the back parlour, he found his wife holding a small rattan elevated over little Lizzy in a threatening attitude.
“Will you never mind me? I’ve told you again and again not to go, and still you persist in disobeying me. I’ll cut you to pieces if you don’t mind. Will you ever go again?” she almost screamed in the ears of the terrified child.
“Oh, no, mother, never; please don’t whip me, I’ll mind you;” and as she spoke, she shrank as far as possible into the corner of the room. “What’s all this–what’s the matter, Jule? What on earth are you going to whip Liz for?”
“Because she deserves it,” was the sharp reply; “she don’t mind a word I say. I’ve forbid her again and again to go next door to visit those little niggers, and she will do it in spite of me. She slipped off this afternoon, and has been in their house over an hour; and it was only this morning I detected her kissing their Clarence through the fence.”
“Faugh,” said Mr. Stevens, with a look of disgust; “you kissed a nigger! I’m ashamed of you, you nasty little thing; your mother ought to have taken a scrubbing-brush and cleaned your mouth, never do such a thing again; come here to me.”
As he spoke, he extended his hand and grasped the delicately rounded arm of his little girl.