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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/12352-0.txt b/12352-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5aff9c1 --- /dev/null +++ b/12352-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8514 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12352 *** + +IOLA LEROY, + +OR + +SHADOWS UPLIFTED. + +BY + +FRANCES E.W. HARPER. + + + + +1893, Philadelphia + +TO MY DAUGHTER + +MARY E. HARPER, + +THIS BOOK IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED. + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + +I confess when I first learned that Mrs. Harper was about to write "a +story" on some features of the Anglo-African race, growing out of what +was once popularly known as the "peculiar institution," I had my doubts +about the matter. Indeed it was far from being easy for me to think that +she was as fortunate as she might have been in selecting a subject which +would afford her the best opportunity for bringing out a work of merit +and lasting worth to the race--such a work as some of her personal +friends have long desired to see from her graphic pen. However, after +hearing a good portion of the manuscript read, and a general statement +with regard to the object in view, I admit frankly that my partial +indifference was soon swept away; at least I was willing to wait for +further developments. + +Being very desirous that one of the race, so long distinguished in the +cause of freedom for her intellectual worth as Mrs. Harper has had the +honor of being, should not at this late date in life make a blunder +which might detract from her own good name, I naturally proposed to +await developments before deciding too quickly in favor of giving +encouragement to her contemplated effort. + +However, I was perfectly aware of the fact that she had much material in +her possession for a most interesting book on the subject of the +condition of the colored people in the South. I know of no other woman, +white or colored, anywhere, who has come so intimately in contact with +the colored people in the South as Mrs. Harper. Since emancipation she +has labored in every Southern State in the Union, save two, Arkansas and +Texas; in the colleges, schools, churches, and the cabins not excepted, +she has found a vast field and open doors to teach and speak on the +themes of education, temperance, and good home building, industry, +morality, and the like, and never lacked for evidences of hearty +appreciation and gratitude. + +Everywhere help was needed, and her heart being deeply absorbed in the +cause she willingly allowed her sympathies to impel her to perform most +heroic services. + +With her it was no uncommon occurrence, in visiting cities or towns, to +speak at two, three, and four meetings a day; sometimes to promiscuous +audiences composed of everybody who would care to come. + +But the kind of meetings she took greatest interest in were meetings +called exclusively for women. In this attitude she could pour out her +sympathies to them as she could not do before a mixed audience; and +indeed she felt their needs were far more pressing than any other class. + +And now I am prepared to most fully indorse her story. I doubt whether +she could, if she had tried ever so much, have hit upon a subject so +well adapted to reach a large number of her friends and the public with +both entertaining and instructive matter as successfully as she has done +in this volume. + +The grand and ennobling sentiments which have characterized all her +utterances in laboring for the elevation of the oppressed will not be +found missing in this book. + +The previous books from her pen, which have been so very widely +circulated and admired, North and South--"Forest Leaves," "Miscellaneous +Poems," "Moses, a Story of the Nile," "Poems," and "Sketches of Southern +Life" (five in number)--these, I predict, will be by far eclipsed by +this last effort, which will, in all probability, be the crowning effort +of her long and valuable services in the cause of humanity. + +While, as indicated, Mrs. Harper has done a large amount of work in the +South, she has at the same time done much active service in the +temperance cause in the North, as thousands of this class can testify. + +Before the war she was engaged as a speaker by anti-slavery +associations; since then, by appointment of the Women's Christian +Temperance Union, she has held the office of "Superintendent of Colored +Work" for years. She has also held the office of one of the Directors of +the Women's Congress of the United States. + +Under the auspices of these influential, earnest, and intelligent +associations, she has been seen often on their platforms with the +leading lady orators of the nation. + +Hence, being widely known not only amongst her own race but likewise by +the reformers, laboring for the salvation of the intemperate and others +equally unfortunate, there is little room to doubt that the book will be +in great demand and will meet with warm congratulations from a goodly +number outside of the author's social connections. + +Doubtless the thousands of colored Sunday-schools in the South, in +casting about for an interesting, moral story-book, full of practical +lessons, will not be content to be without "IOLA LEROY, OR SHADOWS +UPLIFTED." + +WILLIAM STILL. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +Chapter + +I. The Mystery of Market Speech and Prayer Meetings + +II. Contraband of War + +III. Uncle Daniel's Story + +IV. Arrival of the Union Army + +V. Release of Iola Leroy + +VI. Robert Johnson's Promotion and Religion + +VII. Tom Anderson's Death + +VIII. The Mystified Doctor + +IX. Eugene Leroy and Alfred Lorraine + +X. Shadows in the Home + +XI. The Plague and the Law + +XII. School-girl Notions + +XIII. A Rejected Suitor + +XIV. Harry Leroy + +XV. Robert and his Company + +XVI. After the Battle + +XVII. Flames in the School-Room + +XVIII. Searching for Lost Ones + +XIX. Striking Contrasts + +XX. A Revelation + +XXI. A Home for Mother + +XXII. Further Lifting of the Veil + +XXIII. Delightful Reunions + +XXIV. Northern Experience + +XXV. An Old Friend + +XXVI. Open Questions + +XXVII. Diverging Paths + +XXVIII. Dr. Latrobe's Mistake + +XXIX. Visitors from the South + +XXX. Friends in Council + +XXXI. Dawning Affections + +XXXII. Wooing and Wedding + +XXXIII. Conclusion + +Note + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +MYSTERY OF MARKET SPEECH AND PRAYER-MEETING. + +"Good mornin', Bob; how's butter dis mornin'?" + +"Fresh; just as fresh, as fresh can be." + +"Oh, glory!" said the questioner, whom we shall call Thomas Anderson, +although he was known among his acquaintances as Marster Anderson's Tom. + +His informant regarding the condition of the market was Robert Johnson, +who had been separated from his mother in his childhood and reared by +his mistress as a favorite slave. She had fondled him as a pet animal, +and even taught him to read. Notwithstanding their relation as mistress +and slave, they had strong personal likings for each other. + +Tom Anderson was the servant of a wealthy planter, who lived in the city +of C----, North Carolina. This planter was quite advanced in life, but +in his earlier days he had spent much of his time in talking politics in +his State and National capitals in winter, and in visiting pleasure +resorts and watering places in summer. His plantations were left to the +care of overseers who, in their turn, employed negro drivers to aid them +in the work of cultivation and discipline. But as the infirmities of age +were pressing upon him he had withdrawn from active life, and given the +management of his affairs into the hands of his sons. As Robert Johnson +and Thomas Anderson passed homeward from the market, having bought +provisions for their respective homes, they seemed to be very +light-hearted and careless, chatting and joking with each other; but +every now and then, after looking furtively around, one would drop into +the ears of the other some news of the battle then raging between the +North and South which, like two great millstones, were grinding slavery +to powder. + +As they passed along, they were met by another servant, who said in +hurried tones, but with a glad accent in his voice:-- + +"Did you see de fish in de market dis mornin'? Oh, but dey war splendid, +jis' as fresh, as fresh kin be." + +"That's the ticket," said Robert, as a broad smile overspread his face. +"I'll see you later." + +"Good mornin', boys," said another servant on his way to market. "How's +eggs dis mornin'?" + +"Fust rate, fust rate," said Tom Anderson. "Bob's got it down fine." + +"I thought so; mighty long faces at de pos'-office dis mornin'; but I'd +better move 'long," and with a bright smile lighting up his face he +passed on with a quickened tread. + +There seemed to be an unusual interest manifested by these men in the +state of the produce market, and a unanimous report of its good +condition. Surely there was nothing in the primeness of the butter or +the freshness of the eggs to change careless looking faces into such +expressions of gratification, or to light dull eyes with such gladness. +What did it mean? + +During the dark days of the Rebellion, when the bondman was turning his +eyes to the American flag, and learning to hail it as an ensign of +deliverance, some of the shrewder slaves, coming in contact with their +masters and overhearing their conversations, invented a phraseology to +convey in the most unsuspected manner news to each other from the +battle-field. Fragile women and helpless children were left on the +plantations while their natural protectors were at the front, and yet +these bondmen refrained from violence. Freedom was coming in the wake of +the Union army, and while numbers deserted to join their forces, others +remained at home, slept in their cabins by night and attended to their +work by day; but under this apparently careless exterior there was an +undercurrent of thought which escaped the cognizance of their masters. +In conveying tidings of the war, if they wished to announce a victory of +the Union army, they said the butter was fresh, or that the fish and +eggs were in good condition. If defeat befell them, then the butter and +other produce were rancid or stale. + +Entering his home, Robert set his basket down. In one arm he held a +bundle of papers which he had obtained from the train to sell to the +boarders, who were all anxious to hear from the seat of battle. He +slipped one copy out and, looking cautiously around, said to Linda, the +cook, in a low voice:-- + +"Splendid news in the papers. Secesh routed. Yankees whipped 'em out of +their boots. Papers full of it. I tell you the eggs and the butter's +mighty fresh this morning." + +"Oh, sho, chile," said Linda, "I can't read de newspapers, but ole +Missus' face is newspaper nuff for me. I looks at her ebery mornin' wen +she comes inter dis kitchen. Ef her face is long an' she walks kine o' +droopy den I thinks things is gwine wrong for dem. But ef she comes out +yere looking mighty pleased, an' larffin all ober her face, an' steppin' +so frisky, den I knows de Secesh is gittin' de bes' ob de Yankees. +Robby, honey, does you really b'lieve for good and righty dat dem +Yankees is got horns?" + +"Of course not." + +"Well, I yered so." + +"Well, you heard a mighty big whopper." + +"Anyhow, Bobby, things goes mighty contrary in dis house. Ole Miss is in +de parlor prayin' for de Secesh to gain de day, and we's prayin' in de +cabins and kitchens for de Yankees to get de bes' ob it. But wasn't Miss +Nancy glad wen dem Yankees run'd away at Bull's Run. It was nuffin but +Bull's Run an' run away Yankees. How she did larff and skip 'bout de +house. An' den me thinks to myself you'd better not holler till you gits +out ob de woods. I specs 'fore dem Yankees gits froo you'll be larffin +tother side ob your mouf. While you was gone to market ole Miss com'd +out yere, her face looking as long as my arm, tellin' us all 'bout de +war and saying dem Yankees whipped our folks all to pieces. And she was +'fraid dey'd all be down yere soon. I thought they couldn't come too +soon for we. But I didn't tell her so." + +"No, I don't expect you did." + +"No, I didn't; ef you buys me for a fool you loses your money shore. She +said when dey com'd down yere she wanted all de men to hide, for dey'd +kill all de men, but dey wouldn't tech de women." + +"It's no such thing. She's put it all wrong. Why them Yankees are our +best friends." + +"Dat's jis' what I thinks. Ole Miss was jis' tryin to skeer a body. An' +when she war done she jis' set down and sniffled an' cried, an' I war so +glad I didn't know what to do. But I had to hole in. An' I made out I +war orful sorry. An' Jinny said, 'O Miss Nancy, I hope dey won't come +yere.' An' she said, 'I'se jis' 'fraid dey will come down yere and +gobble up eberything dey can lay dere hands on.' An' she jis' looked as +ef her heart war mos' broke, an' den she went inter de house. An' when +she war gone, we jis' broke loose. Jake turned somersets, and said he +warnt 'fraid ob dem Yankees; he know'd which side his brad was buttered +on. Dat Jake is a cuter. When he goes down ter git de letters he cuts up +all kines ob shines and capers. An' to look at him skylarking dere while +de folks is waitin' for dere letters, an' talkin' bout de war, yer +wouldn't think dat boy had a thimbleful of sense. But Jake's listenin' +all de time wid his eyes and his mouf wide open, an' ketchin' eberything +he kin, an' a heap ob news he gits dat way. As to Jinny, she jis' +capered and danced all ober de flore. An' I jis' had to put my han' ober +her mouf to keep ole Miss from yereing her. Oh, but we did hab a good +time. Boy, yer oughter been yere." + +"And, Aunt Linda, what did you do?" + +"Oh, honey, I war jis' ready to crack my sides larffin, jis' to see what +a long face Jinny puts on wen ole Miss is talkin', an' den to see dat +face wen missus' back is turned, why it's good as a circus. It's nuff to +make a horse larff." + +"Why, Aunt Linda, you never saw a circus?" + +"No, but I'se hearn tell ob dem, and I thinks dey mus' be mighty funny. +An' I know it's orful funny to see how straight Jinny's face looks wen +she's almos' ready to bust, while ole Miss is frettin' and fumin' 'bout +dem Yankees an' de war. But, somehow, Robby, I ralely b'lieves dat we +cullud folks is mixed up in dis fight. I seed it all in a vision. An' +soon as dey fired on dat fort, Uncle Dan'el says to me: 'Linda, we's +gwine to git our freedom.' An' I says: 'Wat makes you think so?" An' he +says: 'Dey've fired on Fort Sumter, an' de Norf is boun' to whip.'" + +"I hope so," said Robert. "I think that we have a heap of friends up +there." + +"Well, I'm jis' gwine to keep on prayin' an' b'lievin'." + +Just then the bell rang, and Robert, answering, found Mrs. Johnson +suffering from a severe headache, which he thought was occasioned by her +worrying over the late defeat of the Confederates. She sent him on an +errand, which he executed with his usual dispatch, and returned to some +work which he had to do in the kitchen. Robert was quite a favorite with +Aunt Linda, and they often had confidential chats together. + +"Bobby," she said, when he returned, "I thinks we ort ter hab a +prayer-meetin' putty soon." + +"I am in for that. Where will you have it?" + +"Lem me see. Las' Sunday we had it in Gibson's woods; Sunday 'fore las', +in de old cypress swamp; an' nex' Sunday we'el hab one in McCullough's +woods. Las' Sunday we had a good time. I war jis' chock full an' runnin' +ober. Aunt Milly's daughter's bin monin all summer, an' she's jis' come +throo. We had a powerful time. Eberythin' on dat groun' was jis' alive. +I tell yer, dere was a shout in de camp." + +"Well, you had better look out, and not shout too much, and pray and +sing too loud, because, 'fore you know, the patrollers will be on your +track and break up your meetin' in a mighty big hurry, before you can +say 'Jack Robinson.'" + +"Oh, we looks out for dat. We's got a nice big pot, dat got cracked las' +winter, but it will hole a lot o' water, an' we puts it whar we can tell +it eberything. We has our own good times. An' I want you to come Sunday +night an' tell all 'bout the good eggs, fish, and butter. Mark my words, +Bobby, we's all gwine to git free. I seed it all in a vision, as plain +as de nose on yer face." + +"Well, I hope your vision will come out all right, and that the eggs +will keep and the butter be fresh till we have our next meetin'." + +"Now, Bob, you sen' word to Uncle Dan'el, Tom Anderson, an' de rest ob +dem, to come to McCullough's woods nex' Sunday night. I want to hab a +sin-killin' an' debil-dribin' time. But, boy, you'd better git out er +yere. Ole Miss'll be down on yer like a scratch cat." + +Although the slaves were denied unrestricted travel, and the holding of +meetings without the surveillance of a white man, yet they contrived to +meet by stealth and hold gatherings where they could mingle their +prayers and tears, and lay plans for escaping to the Union army. +Outwitting the vigilance of the patrollers and home guards, they +established these meetings miles apart, extending into several States. + +Sometimes their hope of deliverance was cruelly blighted by hearing of +some adventurous soul who, having escaped to the Union army, had been +pursued and returned again to bondage. Yet hope survived all these +disasters which gathered around the fate of their unfortunate brethren, +who were remanded to slavery through the undiscerning folly of those who +were strengthening the hands which were dealing their deadliest blows at +the heart of the Nation. But slavery had cast such a glamour over the +Nation, and so warped the consciences of men, that they failed to read +aright the legible transcript of Divine retribution which was written +upon the shuddering earth, where the blood of God's poor children had +been as water freely spilled. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +CONTRABAND OF WAR. + +A few evenings after this conversation between Robert and Linda, a +prayer-meeting was held. Under the cover of night a few dusky figures +met by stealth in McCullough's woods. + +"Howdy," said Robert, approaching Uncle Daniel, the leader of the +prayer-meeting, who had preceded him but a few minutes. + +"Thanks and praise; I'se all right. How is you, chile?" + +"Oh, I'm all right," said Robert, smiling, and grasping Uncle Daniel's +hand. + +"What's de news?" exclaimed several, as they turned their faces eagerly +towards Robert. + +"I hear," said Robert, "that they are done sending the runaways back to +their masters." + +"Is dat so?" said a half dozen earnest voices. "How did you yere it?" + +"I read it in the papers. And Tom told me he heard them talking about it +last night, at his house. How did you hear it, Tom? Come, tell us all +about it." + +Tom Anderson hesitated a moment, and then said:-- + +"Now, boys, I'll tell you all 'bout it. But you's got to be mighty mum +'bout it. It won't do to let de cat outer de bag." + +"Dat's so! But tell us wat you yered. We ain't gwine to say nuffin to +nobody." + +"Well," said Tom, "las' night ole Marster had company. Two big +ginerals, and dey was hoppin' mad. One ob dem looked like a turkey +gobbler, his face war so red. An' he sed one ob dem Yankee ginerals, I +thinks dey called him Beas' Butler, sed dat de slaves dat runned away +war some big name--I don't know what he called it. But it meant dat all +ob we who com'd to de Yankees should be free." + +"Contraband of war," said Robert, who enjoyed the distinction of being a +good reader, and was pretty well posted about the war. Mrs. Johnson had +taught him to read on the same principle she would have taught a pet +animal amusing tricks. She had never imagined the time would come when +he would use the machinery she had put in his hands to help overthrow +the institution to which she was so ardently attached. + +"What does it mean? Is it somethin' good for us?" + +"I think," said Robert, a little vain of his superior knowledge, "it is +the best kind of good. It means if two armies are fighting and the +horses of one run away, the other has a right to take them. And it is +just the same if a slave runs away from the Secesh to the Union lines. +He is called a contraband, just the same as if he were an ox or a horse. +They wouldn't send the horses back, and they won't send us back." + +"Is dat so?" said Uncle Daniel, a dear old father, with a look of +saintly patience on his face. "Well, chillen, what do you mean to do?" + +"Go, jis' as soon as we kin git to de army," said Tom Anderson. + +"What else did the generals say? And how did you come to hear them, +Tom?" asked Robert Johnson. + +"Well, yer see, Marster's too ole and feeble to go to de war, but his +heart's in it. An' it makes him feel good all ober when dem big ginerals +comes an' tells him all 'bout it. Well, I war laying out on de porch +fas' asleep an' snorin' drefful hard. Oh, I war so soun' asleep dat wen +Marster wanted some ice-water he had to shake me drefful hard to wake me +up. An' all de time I war wide 'wake as he war." + +"What did they say?" asked Robert, who was always on the lookout for +news from the battle-field. + +"One ob dem said, dem Yankees war talkin' of puttin' guns in our han's +and settin' us all free. An' de oder said, 'Oh, sho! ef dey puts guns in +dere hands dey'll soon be in our'n; and ef dey sets em free dey wouldn't +know how to take keer ob demselves.'" + +"Only let 'em try it," chorused a half dozen voices, "an' dey'll soon +see who'll git de bes' ob de guns; an' as to taking keer ob ourselves, I +specs we kin take keer ob ourselves as well as take keer ob dem." + +"Yes," said Tom, "who plants de cotton and raises all de crops?" + + "'They eat the meat and give us the bones, + Eat the cherries and give us the stones,' + +"And I'm getting tired of the whole business," said Robert. + +"But, Bob," said Uncle Daniel, "you've got a good owner. You don't hab +to run away from bad times and wuss a comin'." + +"It isn't so good, but it might be better. I ain't got nothing 'gainst +my ole Miss, except she sold my mother from me. And a boy ain't nothin' +without his mother. I forgive her, but I never forget her, and never +expect to. But if she were the best woman on earth I would rather have +my freedom than belong to her. Well, boys, here's a chance for us just +as soon as the Union army gets in sight. What will you do?" + +"I'se a goin," said Tom Anderson, "jis' as soon as dem Linkum soldiers +gits in sight." + +"An' I'se a gwine wid you, Tom," said another. "I specs my ole +Marster'll feel right smart lonesome when I'se gone, but I don't keer +'bout stayin' for company's sake." + +"My ole Marster's room's a heap better'n his company," said Tom +Anderson, "an' I'se a goner too. Dis yer freedom's too good to be lef' +behind, wen you's got a chance to git it. I won't stop to bid ole Marse +good bye." + +"What do you think," said Robert, turning to Uncle Daniel; "won't you go +with us?" + +"No, chillen, I don't blame you for gwine; but I'se gwine to stay. +Slavery's done got all de marrow out ob dese poor ole bones. Ef freedom +comes it won't do me much good; we ole one's will die out, but it will +set you youngsters all up." + +"But, Uncle Daniel, you're not too old to want your freedom?" + +"I knows dat. I lubs de bery name of freedom. I'se been praying and +hoping for it dese many years. An' ef I warn't boun', I would go wid you +ter-morrer. I won't put a straw in your way. You boys go, and my prayers +will go wid you. I can't go, it's no use. I'se gwine to stay on de ole +place till Marse Robert comes back, or is brought back." + +"But, Uncle Daniel," said Robert, "what's the use of praying for a +thing if, when it comes, you won't take it? As much as you have been +praying and talking about freedom, I thought that when the chance came +you would have been one of the first to take it. Now, do tell us why you +won't go with us. Ain't you willing?" + +"Why, Robbie, my whole heart is wid you. But when Marse Robert went to +de war, he called me into his room and said to me, 'Uncle Dan'el, I'se +gwine to de war, an' I want you to look arter my wife an' chillen, an' +see dat eberything goes right on de place'. An' I promised him I'd do it, +an' I mus' be as good as my word. 'Cept de overseer, dere isn't a white +man on de plantation, an' I hear he has to report ter-morrer or be +treated as a deserter. An' der's nobody here to look arter Miss Mary an' +de chillen, but myself, an' to see dat eberything goes right. I promised +Marse Robert I would do it, an' I mus' be as good as my word." + +"Well, what should you keer?" said Tom Anderson. "Who looked arter you +when you war sole from your farder and mudder, an' neber seed dem any +more, and wouldn't know dem to-day ef you met dem in your dish?" + +"Well, dats neither yere nor dere. Marse Robert couldn't help what his +father did. He war an orful mean man. But he's dead now, and gone to see +'bout it. But his wife war the nicest, sweetest lady dat eber I did see. +She war no more like him dan chalk's like cheese. She used to visit de +cabins, an' listen to de pore women when de overseer used to cruelize +dem so bad, an' drive dem to work late and early. An' she used to sen' +dem nice things when they war sick, and hab der cabins whitewashed an' +lookin' like new pins, an' look arter dere chillen. Sometimes she'd try +to git ole Marse to take dere part when de oberseer got too mean. But +she might as well a sung hymns to a dead horse. All her putty talk war +like porin water on a goose's back. He'd jis' bluff her off, an' tell +her she didn't run dat plantation, and not for her to bring him any +nigger news. I never thought ole Marster war good to her. I often +ketched her crying, an' she'd say she had de headache, but I thought it +war de heartache. 'Fore ole Marster died, she got so thin an' peaked I +war 'fraid she war gwine to die; but she seed him out. He war killed by +a tree fallin' on him, an' ef eber de debil got his own he got him. I +seed him in a vision arter he war gone. He war hangin' up in a pit, +sayin' 'Oh! oh!' wid no close on. He war allers blusterin', cussin', and +swearin' at somebody. Marse Robert ain't a bit like him. He takes right +arter his mother. Bad as ole Marster war, I think she jis' lob'd de +groun' he walked on. Well, women's mighty curious kind of folks anyhow. +I sometimes thinks de wuss you treats dem de better dey likes you." + +"Well," said Tom, a little impatiently, "what's yer gwine to do? Is yer +gwine wid us, ef yer gits a chance?" + +"Now, jes' you hole on till I gits a chance to tell yer why I'se gwine +to stay." + +"Well, Uncle Daniel, let's hear it," said Robert. + +"I was jes' gwine to tell yer when Tom put me out. Ole Marster died when +Marse Robert war two years ole, and his pore mother when he war four. +When he died, Miss Anna used to keep me 'bout her jes' like I war her +shadder. I used to nuss Marse Robert jes' de same as ef I were his own +fadder. I used to fix his milk, rock him to sleep, ride him on my back, +an' nothin' pleased him better'n fer Uncle Dan'el to ride him +piggy-back." + +"Well, Uncle Daniel," said Robert, "what has that got to do with your +going with us and getting your freedom?" + +"Now, jes' wait a bit, and don't frustrate my mine. I seed day arter day +Miss Anna war gettin' weaker and thinner, an' she looked so sweet and +talked so putty, I thinks to myself, 'you ain't long for dis worl'.' And +she said to me one day, 'Uncle Dan'el, when I'se gone, I want you to be +good to your Marster Robert.' An' she looked so pale and weak I war +almost ready to cry. I couldn't help it. She hed allers bin mighty good +to me. An' I beliebs in praisin' de bridge dat carries me ober. She +said, 'Uncle Dan'el, I wish you war free. Ef I had my way you shouldn't +serve any one when I'm gone; but Mr. Thurston had eberything in his +power when he made his will. I war tied hand and foot, and I couldn't +help it.' In a little while she war gone--jis' faded away like a flower. +I belieb ef dere's a saint in glory, Miss Anna's dere." + +"Oh, I don't take much stock in white folks' religion," said Robert, +laughing carelessly. + +"The way," said Tom Anderson, "dat some of dese folks cut their cards +yere, I think dey'll be as sceece in hebben as hen's teeth. I think wen +some of dem preachers brings de Bible 'round an' tells us 'bout mindin +our marsters and not stealin' dere tings, dat dey preach to please de +white folks, an' dey frows coleness ober de meetin'." + +"An' I," said Aunt Linda, "neber did belieb in dem Bible preachers. I +yered one ob dem sayin' wen he war dyin', it war all dark wid him. An' +de way he treated his house-girl, pore thing, I don't wonder dat it war +dark wid him." + +"O, I guess," said Robert, "that the Bible is all right, but some of +these church folks don't get the right hang of it." + +"May be dat's so," said Aunt Linda. "But I allers wanted to learn how to +read. I once had a book, and tried to make out what war in it, but ebery +time my mistus caught me wid a book in my hand, she used to whip my +fingers. An' I couldn't see ef it war good for white folks, why it +warn't good for cullud folks." + +"Well," said Tom Anderson, "I belieb in de good ole-time religion. But +arter dese white folks is done fussin' and beatin' de cullud folks, I +don't want 'em to come talking religion to me. We used to hab on our +place a real Guinea man, an' once he made ole Marse mad, an' he had him +whipped. Old Marse war trying to break him in, but dat fellow war spunk +to de backbone, an' when he 'gin talkin' to him 'bout savin' his soul +an' gittin' to hebbin, he tole him ef he went to hebbin an' foun' he war +dare, he wouldn't go in. He wouldn't stay wid any such rascal as he +war." + +"What became of him?" asked Robert. + +"Oh, he died. But he had some quare notions 'bout religion. He thought +dat when he died he would go back to his ole country. He allers kep' his +ole Guinea name." + +"What was it?" + +"Potobombra. Do you know what he wanted Marster to do 'fore he died?" +continued Anderson. + +"No." + +"He wanted him to gib him his free papers." + +"Did he do it?" + +"Ob course he did. As de poor fellow war dying an' he couldn't sell him +in de oder world, he jis' wrote him de papers to yumor him. He didn't +want to go back to Africa a slave. He thought if he did, his people +would look down on him, an' he wanted to go back a free man. He war +orful weak when Marster brought him de free papers. He jis' ris up in de +bed, clutched dem in his han's, smiled, an' gasped out, 'I'se free at +las'; an' fell back on de pillar, an' he war gone. Oh, but he war +spunky. De oberseers, arter dey foun' out who he war, gin'rally gabe him +a wide birth. I specs his father war some ole Guinea king." + +"Well, chillen," said Uncle Daniel, "we's kept up dis meeting long +enough. We'd better go home, and not all go one way, cause de patrollers +might git us all inter trouble, an' we must try to slip home by hook or +crook." + +"An' when we meet again, Uncle Daniel can finish his story, an' be ready +to go with us," said Robert. + +"I wish," said Tom Anderson, "he would go wid us, de wuss kind." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +UNCLE DANIEL'S STORY. + +The Union had snapped asunder because it lacked the cohesion of justice, +and the Nation was destined to pass through the crucible of disaster and +defeat, till she was ready to clasp hands with the negro and march +abreast with him to freedom and victory. + +The Union army was encamping a few miles from C----, in North Carolina. +Robert, being well posted on the condition of affairs, had stealthily +contrived to call a meeting in Uncle Daniel's cabin. Uncle Daniel's wife +had gone to bed as a sick sister, and they held a prayer-meeting by her +bedside. It was a little risky, but as Mr. Thurston did not encourage +the visits of the patrollers, and heartily detested having them prying +into his cabins, there was not much danger of molestation. + +"Well, Uncle Daniel, we want to hear your story, and see if you have +made up your mind to go with us," said Robert, after he had been seated +a few minutes in Uncle Daniel's cabin. + +"No, chillen, I've no objection to finishin' my story, but I ain't made +up my mind to leave the place till Marse Robert gits back." + +"You were telling us about Marse Robert's mother. How did you get along +after she died?" + +"Arter she war gone, ole Marster's folks come to look arter things. But +eberything war lef' to Marse Robert, an' he wouldn't do widout me. Dat +chile war allers at my heels. I couldn't stir widout him, an' when he +missed me, he'd fret an' cry so I had ter stay wid him; an' wen he went +to school, I had ter carry him in de mornin' and bring him home in de +ebenin'. An' I learned him to hunt squirrels, an' rabbits, an' ketch +fish, an' set traps for birds. I beliebs he lob'd me better dan any ob +his kin'. An' he showed me how to read." + +"Well," said Tom, "ef he lob'd you so much, why didn't he set you free?" + +"Marse Robert tole me, ef he died fust he war gwine ter leave me +free--dat I should neber sarve any one else." + +"Oh, sho!" said Tom, "promises, like pie crusts, is made to be broken. I +don't trust none ob dem. I'se been yere dese fifteen years, an' I'se +neber foun' any troof in dem. An' I'se gwine wid dem North men soon's I +gits a chance. An' ef you knowed what's good fer you, you'd go, too." + +"No, Tom; I can't go. When Marster Robert went to de front, he called me +to him an' said: 'Uncle Daniel,' an' he was drefful pale when he said +it, 'I are gwine to de war, an' I want yer to take keer of my wife an' +chillen, jis' like yer used to take keer of me wen yer called me your +little boy.' Well, dat jis' got to me, an' I couldn't help cryin', to +save my life." + +"I specs," said Tom, "your tear bags must lie mighty close to your eyes. +I wouldn't cry ef dem Yankees would make ebery one ob dem go to de +front, an' stay dere foreber. Dey'd only be gittin' back what dey's been +a doin' to us." + +"Marster Robert war nebber bad to me. An' I beliebs in stannin' by dem +dat stans by you. Arter Miss Anna died, I had great 'sponsibilities on +my shoulders; but I war orful lonesome, an' thought I'd like to git a +wife. But dere warn't a gal on de plantation, an' nowhere's roun', dat +filled de bill. So I jis' waited, an' 'tended to Marse Robert till he +war ole 'nough to go to college. Wen he went, he allers 'membered me in +de letters he used to write his grandma. Wen he war gone, I war +lonesomer dan eber. But, one day, I jis' seed de gal dat took de rag off +de bush. Gundover had jis' brought her from de up-country. She war putty +as a picture!" he exclaimed, looking fondly at his wife, who still bore +traces of great beauty. "She had putty hair, putty eyes, putty mouth. +She war putty all over; an' she know'd how to put on style." + +"O, Daniel," said Aunt Katie, half chidingly, "how you do talk." + +"Why, it's true. I 'member when you war de puttiest gal in dese diggins; +when nobody could top your cotton." + +"I don't," said Aunt Katie. + +"Well, I do. Now, let me go on wid my story. De fust time I seed her, I +sez to myself, 'Dat's de gal for me, an' I means to hab her ef I kin git +her.' So I scraped 'quaintance wid her, and axed her ef she would hab me +ef our marsters would let us. I warn't 'fraid 'bout Marse Robert, but I +warn't quite shore 'bout Gundover. So when Marse Robert com'd home, I +axed him, an' he larf'd an' said, 'All right,' an' dat he would speak to +ole Gundover 'bout it. He didn't relish it bery much, but he didn't +like to 'fuse Marse Robert. He wouldn't sell her, for she tended his +dairy, an' war mighty handy 'bout de house. He said, I mought marry her +an' come to see her wheneber Marse Robert would gib me a pass. I wanted +him to sell her, but he wouldn't hear to it, so I had to put up wid what +I could git. Marse Robert war mighty good to me, but ole Gundover's wife +war de meanest woman dat I eber did see. She used to go out on de +plantation an' boss things like a man. Arter I war married, I had a +baby. It war de dearest, cutest little thing you eber did see; but, pore +thing, it got sick and died. It died 'bout three o'clock; and in de +mornin', Katie, habbin her cows to milk, lef her dead baby in de cabin. +When she com'd back from milkin' her thirty cows, an' went to look for +her pore little baby, some one had been to her cabin an' took'd de pore +chile away an' put it in de groun'. Pore Katie, she didn't eben hab a +chance to kiss her baby 'fore it war buried. Ole Gundover's wife has +been dead thirty years, an' she didn't die a day too soon. An' my little +baby has gone to glory, an' is wingin' wid the angels an' a lookin' out +for us. One ob de las' things ole Gundover's wife did 'fore she died war +to order a woman whipped 'cause she com'd to de field a little late when +her husband war sick, an' she had stopped to tend him. Dat mornin' she +war taken sick wid de fever, an' in a few days she war gone out like de +snuff ob a candle. She lef' several sons, an' I specs she would almos' +turn ober in her grave ef she know'd she had ten culled granchillen +somewhar down in de lower kentry." + +"Isn't it funny," said Robert, "how these white folks look down on +colored people, an' then mix up with them?" + +"Marster war away when Miss 'Liza treated my Katie so mean, an' when I +tole him 'bout it, he war tearin' mad, an' went ober an' saw ole +Gundover, an' foun' out he war hard up for money, an' he bought Katie +and brought her home to lib wid me, and we's been a libin in clover eber +sence. Marster Robert has been mighty good to me. He stood by me in my +troubles, an' now his trouble's come, I'm a gwine to stan' by him. I +used to think Gundover's wife war jealous ob my Katie. She war so much +puttier. Gundover's wife couldn't tech my Katie wid a ten foot pole." + +"But, Aunt Katie, you have had your trials," said Robert, now that +Daniel had finished his story; "don't you feel bitter towards these +people who are fighting to keep you in slavery?" + +Aunt Katie turned her face towards the speaker. It was a thoughtful, +intelligent face, saintly and calm. A face which expressed the idea of a +soul which had been fearfully tempest tossed, but had passed through +suffering into peace. Very touching was the look of resignation and hope +which overspread her features as she replied, with the simple child-like +faith which she had learned in the darkest hour, "The Lord says, we must +forgive." And with her that thought, as coming from the lips of Divine +Love, was enough to settle the whole question of forgiveness of injuries +and love to enemies. + +"Well," said Thomas Anderson, turning to Uncle Daniel, "we can't count +on yer to go wid us?" + +"Boys," said Uncle Daniel, and there was grief in his voice, "I'se +mighty glad you hab a chance for your freedom; but, ez I tole yer, I +promised Marse Robert I would stay, an' I mus' be as good as my word. +Don't you youngsters stay for an ole stager like me. I'm ole an' mos' +worn out. Freedom wouldn't do much for me, but I want you all to be as +free as the birds; so, you chillen, take your freedom when you kin get +it." + +"But, Uncle Dan'el, you won't say nothin' 'bout our going, will you?" +said the youngest of the company. + +Uncle Daniel slowly arose. There was a mournful flash in his eye, a +tremor of emotion in his voice, as he said, "Look yere, boys, de boy dat +axed dat question war a new comer on dis plantation, but some ob you's +bin here all ob your lives; did you eber know ob Uncle Dan'el gittin' +any ob you inter trouble?" + +"No, no," exclaimed a chorus of voices, "but many's de time you've held +off de blows wen de oberseer got too mean, an' cruelized us too much, +wen Marse Robert war away. An' wen he got back, you made him settle de +oberseer's hash." + +"Well, boys," said Uncle Daniel, with an air of mournful dignity, "I'se +de same Uncle Dan'el I eber war. Ef any ob you wants to go, I habben't a +word to say agin it. I specs dem Yankees be all right, but I knows Marse +Robert, an' I don't know dem, an' I ain't a gwine ter throw away dirty +water 'til I gits clean." + +"Well, Uncle Ben," said Robert, addressing a stalwart man whose towering +form and darkly flashing eye told that slavery had failed to put the +crouch in his shoulders or general abjectness into his demeanor, "you +will go with us, for sure, won't you?" + +"Yes," spoke up Tom Anderson, "'cause de trader's done took your wife, +an' got her for his'n now." + +As Ben Tunnel looked at the speaker, a spasm of agony and anger darkened +his face and distorted his features, as if the blood of some strong +race were stirring with sudden vigor through his veins. He clutched his +hands together, as if he were struggling with an invisible foe, and for +a moment he remained silent. Then suddenly raising his head, he +exclaimed, "Boys, there's not one of you loves freedom more than I do, +but--" + +"But what?" said Tom. "Do you think white folks is your bes' friends?" + +"I'll think so when I lose my senses." + +"Well, now, I don't belieb you're 'fraid, not de way I yeard you talkin' +to de oberseer wen he war threatnin' to hit your mudder. He saw you +meant business, an' he let her alone. But, what's to hinder you from +gwine wid us?" + +"My mother," he replied, in a low, firm voice. "That is the only thing +that keeps me from going. If it had not been for her, I would have gone +long ago. She's all I've got, an' I'm all she's got." + +It was touching to see the sorrow on the strong face, to detect the +pathos and indignation in his voice, as he said, "I used to love Mirandy +as I love my life. I thought the sun rose and set in her. I never saw a +handsomer woman than she was. But she fooled me all over the face and +eyes, and took up with that hell-hound of a trader, Lukens; an' he gave +her a chance to live easy, to wear fine clothes, an' be waited on like a +lady. I thought at first I would go crazy, but my poor mammy did all she +could to comfort me. She would tell me there were as good fish in the +sea as were ever caught out of it. Many a time I've laid my poor head on +her lap, when it seemed as if my brain was on fire and my heart was +almost ready to burst. But in course of time I got over the worst of +it; an' Mirandy is the first an' last woman that ever fooled me. But +that dear old mammy of mine, I mean to stick by her as long as there is +a piece of her. I can't go over to the army an' leave her behind, for if +I did, an' anything should happen, I would never forgive myself." + +"But couldn't you take her with you," said Robert, "the soldiers said we +could bring our women." + +"It isn't that. The Union army is several miles from here, an' my poor +mammy is so skeery that, if I were trying to get her away and any of +them Secesh would overtake us, an' begin to question us, she would get +skeered almost to death, an' break down an' begin to cry, an' then the +fat would be in the fire. So, while I love freedom more than a child +loves its mother's milk, I've made up my mind to stay on the plantation. +I wish, from the bottom of my heart, I could go. But I can't take her +along with me, an' I don't want to be free and leave her behind in +slavery. I was only five years old when my master and, as I believe, +father, sold us both here to this lower country, an' we've been here +ever since. It's no use talking, I won't leave her to be run over by +everybody." + +A few evenings after this interview, the Union soldiers entered the town +of C----, and established their headquarters near the home of Thomas +Anderson. + +Out of the little company, almost every one deserted to the Union army, +leaving Uncle Daniel faithful to his trust, and Ben Tunnel hushing his +heart's deep aspirations for freedom in a passionate devotion to his +timid and affectionate mother. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +ARRIVAL OF THE UNION ARMY. + +A few evenings before the stampede of Robert and his friends to the +army, and as he sat alone in his room reading the latest news from the +paper he had secreted, he heard a cautious tread and a low tap at his +window. He opened the door quietly and whispered:-- + +"Anything new, Tom?" + +"Yes." + +"What is it? Come in." + +"Well, I'se done bin seen dem Yankees, an' dere ain't a bit of troof in +dem stories I'se bin yerin 'bout 'em." + +"Where did you see 'em?" + +"Down in de woods whar Marster tole us to hide. Yesterday ole Marse sent +for me to come in de settin'-room. An' what do you think? Instead ob +makin' me stan' wid my hat in my han' while he went froo a whole +rigamarole, he axed me to sit down, an' he tole me he 'spected de +Yankees would want us to go inter de army, an' dey would put us in front +whar we'd all git killed; an' I tole him I didn't want to go, I didn't +want to git all momached up. An' den he said we'd better go down in de +woods an' hide. Massa Tom and Frank said we'd better go as quick as eber +we could. Dey said dem Yankees would put us in dere wagons and make us +haul like we war mules. Marse Tom ain't libin' at de great house jis' +now. He's keepin' bachellar's hall." + +"Didn't he go to the battle?" + +"No; he foun' a pore white man who war hard up for money, an' he got him +to go." + +"But, Tom, you didn't believe these stories about the Yankees. Tom and +Frank can lie as fast as horses can trot. They wanted to scare you, and +keep you from going to the Union army." + +"I knows dat now, but I didn't 'spect so den." + +"Well, when did you see the soldiers? Where are they? And what did they +say to you?" + +"Dey's right down in Gundover's woods. An' de Gineral's got his +headquarters almos' next door to our house." + +"That near? Oh, you don't say so!" + +"Yes, I do. An', oh, golly, ain't I so glad! I jis' stole yere to told +you all 'bout it. Yesterday mornin' I war splittin' some wood to git my +breakfas', an' I met one ob dem Yankee sogers. Well, I war so skeered, +my heart flew right up in my mouf, but I made my manners to him and +said, 'Good mornin', Massa.' He said, 'Good mornin'; but don't call me +"massa."' Dat war de fust white man I eber seed dat didn't want ter be +called 'massa,' eben ef he war as pore as Job's turkey. Den I begin to +feel right sheepish, an' he axed me ef my marster war at home, an' ef he +war a Reb. I tole him he hadn't gone to de war, but he war Secesh all +froo, inside and outside. He war too ole to go to de war, but dat he war +all de time gruntin' an' groanin', an' I 'spected he'd grunt hisself to +death." + +"What did he say?" + +"He said he specs he'll grunt worser dan dat fore dey get froo wid him. +Den he axed me ef I would hab some breakfas,' an' I said, 'No, t'ank +you, sir.' 'An' I war jis' as hungry as a dorg, but I war 'feared to +eat. I war 'feared he war gwine to pizen me." + +"Poison you! don't you know the Yankees are our best friends?" + +"Well, ef dat's so, I'se mighty glad, cause de woods is full ob dem." + +"Now, Tom, I thought you had cut your eye-teeth long enough not to let +them Anderson boys fool you. Tom, you must not think because a white man +says a thing, it must be so, and that a colored man's word is no account +'longside of his. Tom, if ever we get our freedom, we've got to learn to +trust each other and stick together if we would be a people. Somebody +else can read the papers as well as Marse Tom and Frank. My ole Miss +knows I can read the papers, an' she never tries to scare me with big +whoppers 'bout the Yankees. She knows she can't catch ole birds with +chaff, so she is just as sweet as a peach to her Bobby. But as soon as I +get a chance I will play her a trick the devil never did." + +"What's that?" + +"I'll leave her. I ain't forgot how she sold my mother from me. Many a +night I have cried myself to sleep, thinking about her, and when I get +free I mean to hunt her up." + +"Well, I ain't tole you all. De gemman said he war 'cruiting for de +army; dat Massa Linkum hab set us all free, an' dat he wanted some more +sogers to put down dem Secesh; dat we should all hab our freedom, our +wages, an' some kind ob money. I couldn't call it like he did." + +"Bounty money," said Robert. + +"Yes, dat's jis' what he called it, bounty money. An' I said dat I war +in for dat, teeth and toe-nails." + +Robert Johnson's heart gave a great bound. Was that so? Had that army, +with freedom emblazoned on its banners, come at last to offer them +deliverance if they would accept it? Was it a bright, beautiful dream, +or a blessed reality soon to be grasped by his willing hands? His heart +grew buoyant with hope; the lightness of his heart gave elasticity to +his step and sent the blood rejoicingly through his veins. Freedom was +almost in his grasp, and the future was growing rose-tinted and +rainbow-hued. All the ties which bound him to his home were as ropes of +sand, now that freedom had come so near. + +When the army was afar off, he had appeared to be light-hearted and +content with his lot. If asked if he desired his freedom, he would have +answered, very naively, that he was eating his white bread and believed +in letting well enough alone; he had no intention of jumping from the +frying-pan into the fire. But in the depths of his soul the love of +freedom was an all-absorbing passion; only danger had taught him +caution. He had heard of terrible vengeance being heaped upon the heads +of some who had sought their freedom and failed in the attempt. Robert +knew that he might abandon hope if he incurred the wrath of men whose +overthrow was only a question of time. It would have been madness and +folly for him to have attempted an insurrection against slavery, with +the words of McClellan ringing in his ears: "If you rise I shall put you +down with an iron hand," and with the home guards ready to quench his +aspirations for freedom with bayonets and blood. What could a set of +unarmed and undisciplined men do against the fearful odds which beset +their path? + +Robert waited eagerly and hopefully his chance to join the Union army; +and was ready and willing to do anything required of him by which he +could earn his freedom and prove his manhood. He conducted his plans +with the greatest secrecy. A few faithful and trusted friends stood +ready to desert with him when the Union army came within hailing +distance. When it came, there was a stampede to its ranks of men ready +to serve in any capacity, to labor in the tents, fight on the fields, or +act as scouts. It was a strange sight to see these black men rallying +around the Stars and Stripes, when white men were trampling them under +foot and riddling them with bullets. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +THE RELEASE OF IOLA LEROY. + +"Well, boys," said Robert to his trusted friends, as they gathered +together at a meeting in Gundover's woods, almost under the shadow of +the Union army, "how many of you are ready to join the army and fight +for your freedom." + +"All ob us." + +"The soldiers," continued Robert, "are camped right at the edge of the +town. The General has his headquarters in the heart of the town, and one +of the officers told me yesterday that the President had set us all +free, and that as many as wanted to join the army could come along to +the camp. So I thought, boys, that I would come and tell you. Now, you +can take your bag and baggage, and get out of here as soon as you +choose." + +"We'll be ready by daylight," said Tom. "It won't take me long to pack +up," looking down at his seedy clothes, with a laugh. "I specs ole +Marse'll be real lonesome when I'm gone. An' won't he be hoppin' mad +when he finds I'm a goner? I specs he'll hate it like pizen." + +"O, well," said Robert, "the best of friends must part. Don't let it +grieve you." + +"I'se gwine to take my wife an' chillen," said one of the company. + +"I'se got nobody but myself," said Tom; "but dere's a mighty putty +young gal dere at Marse Tom's. I wish I could git her away. Dey tells me +dey's been sellin' her all ober de kentry; but dat she's a reg'lar +spitfire; dey can't lead nor dribe her." + +"Do you think she would go with us?" said Robert. + +"I think she's jis' dying to go. Dey say dey can't do nuffin wid her. +Marse Tom's got his match dis time, and I'se glad ob it. I jis' glories +in her spunk." + +"How did she come there?" + +"Oh, Marse bought her ob de trader to keep house for him. But ef you +seed dem putty white han's ob hern you'd never tink she kept her own +house, let 'lone anybody else's." + +"Do you think you can get her away?" + +"I don't know; 'cause Marse Tom keeps her mighty close. My! but she's +putty. Beautiful long hair comes way down her back; putty blue eyes, an' +jis' ez white ez anybody's in dis place. I'd jis' wish you could see her +yoresef. I heerd Marse Tom talkin' 'bout her las' night to his brudder; +tellin' him she war mighty airish, but he meant to break her in." + +An angry curse rose to the lips of Robert, but he repressed it and +muttered to himself, "Graceless scamp, he ought to have his neck +stretched." Then turning to Tom, said:-- + +"Get her, if you possibly can, but you must be mighty mum about it." + +"Trus' me for dat," said Tom. + +Tom was very anxious to get word to the beautiful but intractable girl +who was held in durance vile by her reckless and selfish master, who had +tried in vain to drag her down to his own low level of sin and shame. +But all Tom's efforts were in vain. Finally he applied to the Commander +of the post, who immediately gave orders for her release. The next day +Tom had the satisfaction of knowing that Iola Leroy had been taken as a +trembling dove from the gory vulture's nest and given a place of +security. She was taken immediately to the General's headquarters. The +General was much impressed by her modest demeanor, and surprised to see +the refinement and beauty she possessed. Could it be possible that this +young and beautiful girl had been a chattel, with no power to protect +herself from the highest insults that lawless brutality could inflict +upon innocent and defenseless womanhood? Could he ever again glory in +his American citizenship, when any white man, no matter how coarse, +cruel, or brutal, could buy or sell her for the basest purposes? Was it +not true that the cause of a hapless people had become entangled with +the lightnings of heaven, and dragged down retribution upon the land? + +The field hospital was needing gentle, womanly ministrations, and Iola +Leroy, released from the hands of her tormentors, was given a place as +nurse; a position to which she adapted herself with a deep sense of +relief. Tom was doubly gratified at the success of his endeavors, which +had resulted in the rescue of the beautiful young girl and the +discomfiture of his young master who, in the words of Tom, "was mad +enough to bite his head off" (a rather difficult physical feat). + +Iola, freed from her master's clutches, applied herself readily to her +appointed tasks. The beautiful, girlish face was full of tender +earnestness. The fresh, young voice was strangely sympathetic, as if +some great sorrow had bound her heart in loving compassion to every +sufferer who needed her gentle ministrations. + +Tom Anderson was a man of herculean strength and remarkable courage. +But, on account of physical defects, instead of enlisting as a soldier, +he was forced to remain a servant, although he felt as if every nerve in +his right arm was tingling to strike a blow for freedom. He was well +versed in the lay of the country, having often driven his master's +cotton to market when he was a field hand. After he became a coachman, +he had become acquainted with the different roads and localities of the +country. Besides, he had often accompanied his young masters on their +hunting and fishing expeditions. Although he could not fight in the +army, he proved an invaluable helper. When tents were to be pitched, +none were more ready to help than he. When burdens were to be borne, +none were more willing to bend beneath them than Thomas Anderson. When +the battle-field was to be searched for the wounded and dying, no hand +was more tender in its ministrations of kindness than his. As a general +factotum in the army, he was ever ready and willing to serve anywhere +and at any time, and to gather information from every possible source +which could be of any service to the Union army. As a Pagan might +worship a distant star and wish to call it his own, so he loved Iola. +And he never thought he could do too much for the soldiers who had +rescued her and were bringing deliverance to his race. + +"What do you think of Miss Iola?" Robert asked him one day, as they were +talking together. + +"I jis' think dat she's splendid. Las' week I had to take some of our +pore boys to de hospital, an' she war dere, lookin' sweet an' putty ez +an angel, a nussin' dem pore boys, an' ez good to one ez de oder. It +looks to me ez ef dey ralely lob'd her shadder. She sits by 'em so +patient, an' writes 'em sech nice letters to der frens, an' yit she +looks so heart-broke an' pitiful, it jis' gits to me, an' makes me mos' +ready to cry. I'm so glad dat Marse Tom had to gib her up. He war too +mean to eat good victuals." + +"He ought," said Robert, "to be made to live on herrings' heads and cold +potatoes. It makes my blood boil just to think that he was going to have +that lovely looking young girl whipped for his devilment. He ought to be +ashamed to hold up his head among respectable people." + +"I tell you, Bob, de debil will neber git his own till he gits him. When +I seed how he war treating her I neber rested till I got her away. He +buyed her, he said, for his housekeeper; as many gals as dere war on de +plantation, why didn't he git one ob dem to keep house, an' not dat nice +lookin' young lady? Her han's look ez ef she neber did a day's work in +her life. One day when he com'd down to breakfas,' he chucked her under +de chin, an' tried to put his arm roun' her waist. But she jis' frew it +off like a chunk ob fire. She looked like a snake had bit her. Her eyes +fairly spit fire. Her face got red ez blood, an' den she turned so pale +I thought she war gwine to faint, but she didn't, an' I yered her say, +'I'll die fust.' I war mad 'nough to stan' on my head. I could hab +tore'd him all to pieces wen he said he'd hab her whipped." + +"Did he do it?" + +"I don't know. But he's mean 'nough to do enythin'. Why, dey say she +war sole seben times in six weeks, 'cause she's so putty, but dat she +war game to de las'." + +"Well, Tom," said Robert, "getting that girl away was one of the best +things you ever did in your life." + +"I think so, too. Not dat I specs enytin' ob it. I don't spose she would +think ob an ugly chap like me; but it does me good to know dat Marse Tom +ain't got her." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +ROBERT JOHNSON'S PROMOTION AND RELIGION. + +Robert Johnson, being able to meet the army requirements, was enlisted +as a substitute to help fill out the quota of a Northern regiment. With +his intelligence, courage, and prompt obedience, he rose from the ranks +and became lieutenant of a colored company. He was daring, without being +rash; prompt, but not thoughtless; firm, without being harsh. Kind and +devoted to the company he drilled, he soon won the respect of his +superior officers and the love of his comrades. + +"Johnson," said a young officer, Captain Sybil, of Maine, who had become +attached to Robert, "what is the use of your saying you're a colored +man, when you are as white as I am, and as brave a man as there is among +us. Why not quit this company, and take your place in the army just the +same as a white man? I know your chances for promotion would be better." + +"Captain, you may doubt my word, but to-day I would rather be a +lieutenant in my company than a captain in yours." + +"I don't understand you." + +"Well, Captain, when a man's been colored all his life it comes a little +hard for him to get white all at once. Were I to try it, I would feel +like a cat in a strange garret. Captain, I think my place is where I am +most needed. You do not need me in your ranks, and my company does. +They are excellent fighters, but they need a leader. To silence a +battery, to capture a flag, to take a fortification, they will rush into +the jaws of death." + +"Yes, I have often wondered at their bravery." + +"Captain, these battles put them on their mettle. They have been so long +taught that they are nothing and nobody, that they seem glad to prove +they are something and somebody." + +"But, Johnson, you do not look like them, you do not talk like them. It +is a burning shame to have held such a man as you in slavery." + +"I don't think it was any worse to have held me in slavery than the +blackest man in the South." + +"You are right, Johnson. The color of a man's skin has nothing to do +with the possession of his rights." + +"Now, there is Tom Anderson," said Robert, "he is just as black as black +can be. He has been bought and sold like a beast, and yet there is not a +braver man in all the company. I know him well. He is a noble-hearted +fellow. True as steel. I love him like a brother. And I believe Tom +would risk his life for me any day. He don't know anything about his +father or mother. He was sold from them before he could remember. He can +read a little. He used to take lessons from a white gardener in +Virginia. He would go between the hours of 9 P.M. and 4 A.M. He got a +book of his own, tore it up, greased the pages, and hid them in his hat. +Then if his master had ever knocked his hat off he would have thought +them greasy papers, and not that Tom was carrying his library on his +head. I had another friend who lived near us. When he was nineteen +years old he did not know how many letters there were in the ABC's. One +night, when his work was done, his boss came into his cabin and saw him +with a book in his hand. He threatened to give him five hundred lashes +if he caught him again with a book, and said he hadn't work enough to +do. He was getting out logs, and his task was ten logs a day. His +employer threatened to increase it to twelve. He said it just harassed +him; it set him on fire. He thought there must be something good in that +book if the white man didn't want him to learn. One day he had an errand +in the kitchen, and he heard one of the colored girls going over the +ABC's. Here was the key to the forbidden knowledge. She had heard the +white children saying them, and picked them up by heart, but did not +know them by sight. He was not content with that, but sold his cap for a +book and wore a cloth on his head instead. He got the sounds of the +letters by heart, then cut off the bark of a tree, carved the letters on +the smooth inside, and learned them. He wanted to learn how to write. He +had charge of a warehouse where he had a chance to see the size and form +of letters. He made the beach of the river his copybook, and thus he +learned to write. Tom never got very far with his learning, but I used +to get the papers and tell him all I knew about the war." + +"How did you get the papers?" + +"I used to have very good privileges for a slave. All of our owners were +not alike. Some of them were quite clever, and others were worse than +git out. I used to get the morning papers to sell to the boarders and +others, and when I got them I would contrive to hide a paper, and let +some of the fellow-servants know how things were going on. And our +owners thought we cared nothing about what was going on." + +"How was that? I thought you were not allowed to hold meetings unless a +white man were present." + +"That was so. But we contrived to hold secret meetings in spite of their +caution. We knew whom we could trust. My ole Miss wasn't mean like some +of them. She never wanted the patrollers around prowling in our cabins, +and poking their noses into our business. Her husband was an awful +drunkard. He ran through every cent he could lay his hands on, and she +was forced to do something to keep the wolf from the door, so she set up +a boarding-house. But she didn't take in Tom, Dick, and Harry. Nobody +but the big bugs stopped with her. She taught me to read and write, and +to cast up accounts. It was so handy for her to have some one who could +figure up her accounts, and read or write a note, if she were from home +and wanted the like done. She once told her cousin how I could write and +figure up. And what do you think her cousin said?" + +"'Pleased,' I suppose, 'to hear it.'" + +"Not a bit of it. She said, if I belonged to her, she would cut off my +thumbs; her husband said, 'Oh, then he couldn't pick cotton.' As to my +poor thumbs, it did not seem to be taken into account what it would cost +me to lose them. My ole Miss used to have a lot of books. She would let +me read any one of them except a novel. She wanted to take care of my +soul, but she wasn't taking care of her own." + +"Wasn't she religious?" + +"She went for it. I suppose she was as good as most of them. She said +her prayers and went to church, but I don't know that that made her any +better. I never did take much stock in white folks' religion." + +"Why, Robert, I'm afraid you are something of an infidel." + +"No, Captain, I believe in the real, genuine religion. I ain't got much +myself, but I respect them that have. We had on our place a dear, old +saint, named Aunt Kizzy. She was a happy soul. She had seen hard times, +but was what I call a living epistle. I've heard her tell how her only +child had been sold from her, when the man who bought herself did not +want to buy her child. Poor little fellow! he was only two years old. I +asked her one day how she felt when her child was taken away. 'I felt,' +she said, 'as if I was going to my grave. But I knew if I couldn't get +justice here, I could get it in another world.'" + +"That was faith," said Captain Sybil, as if speaking to himself, "a +patient waiting for death to redress the wrongs of life." + +"Many a time," continued Robert, "have I heard her humming to herself in +the kitchen and saying, 'I has my trials, ups and downs, but it won't +allers be so. I specs one day to wing and wing wid de angels, +Hallelujah! Den I specs to hear a voice sayin', "Poor ole Kizzy, she's +done de bes' she kin. Go down, Gabriel, an' tote her in." Den I specs to +put on my golden slippers, my long white robe, an' my starry crown, an' +walk dem golden streets, Hallelujah!' I've known that dear, old soul to +travel going on two miles, after her work was done, to have some one +read to her. Her favorite chapter began with, 'Let not your heart be +troubled, ye believe in God, believe also in Me.'" + +"I have been deeply impressed," said Captain Sybil, "with the child-like +faith of some of these people. I do not mean to say that they are +consistent Christians, but I do think that this faith has in a measure +underlain the life of the race. It has been a golden thread woven amid +the sombre tissues of their lives. A ray of light shimmering amid the +gloom of their condition. And what would they have been without it?" + +"I don't know. But I know what she was with it. And I believe if there +are any saints in glory, Aunt Kizzy is one of them." + +"She is dead, then?" + +"Yes, went all right, singing and rejoicing until the last, +'Troubles over, troubles over, and den my troubles will be over. We'll +walk de golden streets all 'roun' in de New Jerusalem.' Now, Captain, +that's the kind of religion that I want. Not that kind which could ride +to church on Sundays, and talk so solemn with the minister about heaven +and good things, then come home and light down on the servants like a +thousand of bricks. I have no use for it. I don't believe in it. I never +did and I never will. If any man wants to save my soul he ain't got to +beat my body. That ain't the kind of religion I'm looking for. I ain't +got a bit of use for it. Now, Captain, ain't I right?" + +"Well, yes, Robert, I think you are more than half right. You ought to +know my dear, old mother who lives in Maine. We have had colored company +at our house, and I never saw her show the least difference between her +colored and white guests. She is a Quaker preacher, and don't believe +in war, but when the rest of the young men went to the front, I wanted +to go also. So I thought it all over, and there seemed to be no way out +of slavery except through the war. I had been taught to hate war and +detest slavery. Now the time had come when I could not help the war, but +I could strike a blow for freedom. So I told my mother I was going to +the front, that I expected to be killed, but I went to free the slave. +It went hard with her. But I thought that I ought to come, and I believe +my mother's prayers are following me." + +"Captain," said Robert, rising, "I am glad that I have heard your story. +I think that some of these Northern soldiers do two things--hate slavery +and hate niggers." + +"I am afraid that is so with some of them. They would rather be whipped +by Rebels than conquer with negroes. Oh, I heard a soldier," said +Captain Sybil, "say, when the colored men were being enlisted, that he +would break his sword and resign. But he didn't do either. After Colonel +Shaw led his charge at Fort Wagner, and died in the conflict, he got +bravely over his prejudices. The conduct of the colored troops there and +elsewhere has done much to turn public opinion in their favor. I suppose +any white soldier would rather have his black substitute receive the +bullets than himself." + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +TOM ANDERSON'S DEATH. + +"Where is Tom?" asked Captain Sybil; "I have not seen him for several +hours." + +"He's gone down the sound with some of the soldiers," replied Robert. +"They wanted Tom to row them." + +"I am afraid those boys will get into trouble, and the Rebs will pick +them off," responded Sybil. + +"O, I hope not," answered Robert. + +"I hope not, too; but those boys are too venturesome." + +"Tom knows the lay of the land better than any of us," said Robert. "He +is the most wide-awake and gamiest man I know. I reckon when the war is +over Tom will be a preacher. Did you ever hear him pray?" + +"No; is he good at that?" + +"First-rate," continued Robert. "It would do you good to hear him. He +don't allow any cursing and swearing when he's around. And what he says +is law and gospel with the boys. But he's so good-natured; and they +can't get mad at him." + +"Yes, Robert, there is not a man in our regiment I would sooner trust +than Tom. Last night, when he brought in that wounded scout, he couldn't +have been more tender if he had been a woman. How gratefully the poor +fellow looked in Tom's face as he laid him down so carefully and +staunched the blood which had been spurting out of him. Tom seemed to +know it was an artery which had been cut, and he did just the right +thing to stop the bleeding. He knew there wasn't a moment to be lost. He +wasn't going to wait for the doctor. I have often heard that colored +people are ungrateful, but I don't think Tom's worst enemy would say +that about him." + +"Captain," said Robert, with a tone of bitterness in his voice, "what +had we to be grateful for? For ages of poverty, ignorance, and slavery? +I think if anybody should be grateful, it is the people who have +enslaved us and lived off our labor for generations. Captain, I used to +know a poor old woman who couldn't bear to hear any one play on the +piano." + +"Is that so? Why, I always heard that colored people were a musical +race." + +"So we are; but that poor woman's daughter was sold, and her mistress +took the money to buy a piano. Her mother could never bear to hear a +sound from it." + +"Poor woman!" exclaimed Captain Sybil, sympathetically; "I suppose it +seemed as if the wail of her daughter was blending with the tones of the +instrument. I think, Robert, there is a great deal more in the colored +people than we give them credit for. Did you know Captain Sellers?" + +"The officer who escaped from prison and got back to our lines?" asked +Robert. + +"Yes. Well, he had quite an experience in trying to escape. He came to +an aged couple, who hid him in their cabin and shared their humble food +with him. They gave him some corn-bread, bacon, and coffee which he +thought was made of scorched bran. But he said that he never ate a meal +that he relished more than the one he took with them. Just before he +went they knelt down and prayed with him. It seemed as if his very hair +stood on his head, their prayer was so solemn. As he was going away the +man took some shingles and nailed them on his shoes to throw the +bloodhounds off his track. I don't think he will ever cease to feel +kindly towards colored people. I do wonder what has become of the boys? +What can keep them so long?" + +Just as Captain Sybil and Robert were wondering at the delay of Tom and +the soldiers they heard the measured tread of men who were slowly +bearing a burden. They were carrying Tom Anderson to the hospital, +fearfully wounded, and nigh to death. His face was distorted, and the +blood was streaming from his wounds. His respiration was faint, his +pulse hurried, as if life were trembling on its frailest cords. + +Robert and Captain Sybil hastened at once towards the wounded man. On +Robert's face was a look of intense anguish, as he bent pityingly over +his friend. + +"O, this is dreadful! How did it happen?" cried Robert. + +Captain Sybil, pressing anxiously forward, repeated Robert's question. + +"Captain," said one of the young soldiers, advancing and saluting his +superior officer, "we were all in the boat when it struck against a mud +bank, and there was not strength enough among us to shove her back into +the water. Just then the Rebels opened fire upon us. For awhile we lay +down in the boat, but still they kept firing. Tom took in the whole +situation, and said: 'Someone must die to get us out of this. I +mought's well be him as any. You are soldiers and can fight. If they +kill me, it is nuthin'.' So Tom leaped out to shove the boat into the +water. Just then the Rebel bullets began to rain around him. He received +seven or eight of them, and I'm afraid there is no hope for him." + +"O, Tom, I wish you hadn't gone. O, Tom! Tom!" cried Robert, in tones of +agony. + +A gleam of grateful recognition passed over the drawn features of Tom, +as the wail of his friend fell on his ear. He attempted to speak, but +the words died upon his lips, and he became unconscious. + +"Well," said Captain Sybil, "put him in one of the best wards. Give him +into Miss Leroy's care. If good nursing can win him back to life, he +shall not want for any care or pains that she can bestow. Send +immediately for Dr. Gresham." + +Robert followed his friend into the hospital, tenderly and carefully +helped to lay him down, and remained awhile, gazing in silent grief upon +the sufferer. Then he turned to go, leaving him in the hands of Iola, +but hoping against hope that his wounds would not be fatal. + +With tender devotion Iola watched her faithful friend. He recognized her +when restored to consciousness, and her presence was as balm to his +wounds. He smiled faintly, took her hand in his, stroked it tenderly, +looked wistfully into her face, and said, "Miss Iola, I ain't long fer +dis! I'se 'most home!" + +"Oh, no," said Iola, "I hope that you will soon get over this trouble, +and live many long and happy days." + +"No, Miss Iola, it's all ober wid me. I'se gwine to glory; gwine to +glory; gwine to ring dem charmin' bells. Tell all de boys to meet me in +heben; dat dey mus' 'list in de hebenly war." + +"O, Mr. Tom," said Iola, tenderly, "do not talk of leaving me. You are +the best friend I have had since I was torn from my mother. I should be +so lonely without you." + +"Dere's a frien' dat sticks closer dan a brudder. He will be wid yer in +de sixt' trial, an' in de sebbent' he'll not fo'sake yer." + +"Yes," answered Iola, "I know that. He is all our dependence. But I +can't help grieving when I see you suffering so. But, dear friend, be +quiet, and try to go to sleep." + +"I'll do enythin' fer yer, Miss Iola." + +Tom closed his eyes and lay quiet. Tenderly and anxiously Iola watched +over him as the hours waned away. The doctor came, shook his head +gravely, and, turning to Iola, said, "There is no hope, but do what you +can to alleviate his sufferings." + +As Iola gazed upon the kind but homely features of Tom, she saw his eyes +open and an unexpressed desire upon his face. + +Tenderly and sadly bending over him, with tears in her dark, luminous +eyes, she said, "Is there anything I can do for you?" + +"Yes," said Tom, with laboring breath; "let me hole yore han', an' sing +'Ober Jordan inter glory' an' 'We'll anchor bye and bye.'" + +Iola laid her hand gently in the rough palm of the dying man, and, with +a tremulous voice, sang the parting hymns. + +Tenderly she wiped the death damps from his dusky brow, and imprinted +upon it a farewell kiss. Gratitude and affection lit up the dying eye, +which seemed to be gazing into the eternities. Just then Robert entered +the room, and, seating himself quietly by Tom's bedside, read the death +signs in his face. + +"Good-bye, Robert," said Tom, "meet me in de kingdom." Suddenly a look +of recognition and rapture lit up his face, and he murmured, "Angels, +bright angels, all's well, all's well!" + +Slowly his hand released its pressure, a peaceful calm overspread his +countenance, and without a sigh or murmur Thomas Anderson, Iola's +faithful and devoted friend, passed away, leaving the world so much +poorer for her than it was before. Just then Dr. Gresham, the hospital +physician, came to the bedside, felt for the pulse which would never +throb again, and sat down in silence by the cot. + +"What do you think, Doctor," said Iola, "has he fainted?" + +"No," said the doctor, "poor fellow! he is dead." + +Iola bowed her head in silent sorrow, and then relieved the anguish of +her heart by a flood of tears. Robert rose, and sorrowfully left the +room. + +Iola, with tearful eyes and aching heart, clasped the cold hands over +the still breast, closed the waxen lid over the eye which had once +beamed with kindness or flashed with courage, and then went back, after +the burial, to her daily round of duties, feeling the sad missing of +something from her life. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +THE MYSTIFIED DOCTOR. + +"Colonel," said Dr. Gresham to Col. Robinson, the commander of the post, +"I am perfectly mystified by Miss Leroy." + +"What is the matter with her?" asked Col. Robinson. "Is she not faithful +to her duties and obedient to your directions?" + +"Faithful is not the word to express her tireless energy and devotion to +her work," responded Dr. Gresham. "She must have been a born nurse to +put such enthusiasm into her work." + +"Why, Doctor, what is the matter with you? You talk like a lover." + +A faint flush rose to the cheek of Dr. Gresham as he smiled, and said, +"Oh! come now, Colonel, can't a man praise a woman without being in love +with her?" + +"Of course he can," said Col. Robinson; "but I know where such +admiration is apt to lead. I've been there myself. But, Doctor, had you +not better defer your love-making till you're out of the woods?" + +"I assure you, Colonel, I am not thinking of love or courtship. That is +the business of the drawing-room, and not of the camp. But she did +mystify me last night." + +"How so?" asked Col. Robinson. + +"When Tom was dying," responded the doctor, "I saw that beautiful and +refined young lady bend over and kiss him. When she found that he was +dead, she just cried as if her heart was breaking. Well, that was a new +thing to me. I can eat with colored people, walk, talk, and fight with +them, but kissing them is something I don't hanker after." + +"And yet you saw Miss Leroy do it?" + +"Yes; and that puzzles me. She is one of the most refined and lady-like +women I ever saw. I hear she is a refugee, but she does not look like +the other refugees who have come to our camp. Her accent is slightly +Southern, but her manner is Northern. She is self-respecting without +being supercilious; quiet, without being dull. Her voice is low and +sweet, yet at times there are tones of such passionate tenderness in it +that you would think some great sorrow has darkened and overshadowed her +life. Without being the least gloomy, her face at times is pervaded by +an air of inexpressible sadness. I sometimes watch her when she is not +aware that I am looking at her, and it seems as if a whole volume was +depicted on her countenance. When she smiles, there is a longing in her +eyes which is never satisfied. I cannot understand how a Southern lady, +whose education and manners stamp her as a woman of fine culture and +good breeding, could consent to occupy the position she so faithfully +holds. It is a mystery I cannot solve. Can you?" + +"I think I can," answered Col. Robinson. + +"Will you tell me?" queried the doctor. + +"Yes, on one condition." + +"What is it?" + +"Everlasting silence." + +"I promise," said the doctor. "The secret between us shall be as deep as +the sea." + +"She has not requested secrecy, but at present, for her sake, I do not +wish the secret revealed. Miss Leroy was a slave." + +"Oh, no," said Dr. Gresham, starting to his feet, "it can't be so! A +woman as white as she a slave?" + +"Yes, it is so," continued the Colonel. "In these States the child +follows the condition of its mother. This beautiful and accomplished +girl was held by one of the worst Rebels in town. Tom told me of it and +I issued orders for her release." + +"Well, well! Is that so?" said Dr. Gresham, thoughtfully stroking his +beard. "Wonders will never cease. Why, I was just beginning to think +seriously of her." + +"What's to hinder your continuing to think?" asked Col. Robinson. + +"What you tell me changes the whole complexion of affairs," replied the +doctor. + +"If that be so I am glad I told you before you got head over heels in +love." + +"Yes," said Dr. Gresham, absently. + +Dr. Gresham was a member of a wealthy and aristocratic family, proud of +its lineage, which it could trace through generations of good blood to +its ancestral isle. He had become deeply interested in Iola before he +had heard her story, but after it had been revealed to him he tried to +banish her from his mind; but his constant observation of her only +increased his interest and admiration. The deep pathos of her story, the +tenderness of her ministrations, bestowed alike on black and white, and +the sad loneliness of her condition, awakened within him a desire to +defend and protect her all through her future life. The fierce clashing +of war had not taken all the romance out of his nature. In Iola he saw +realized his ideal of the woman whom he was willing to marry. A woman, +tender, strong, and courageous, and rescued only by the strong arm of +his Government from a fate worse than death. She was young in years, but +old in sorrow; one whom a sad destiny had changed from a light-hearted +girl to a heroic woman. As he observed her, he detected an undertone of +sorrow in her most cheerful words, and observed a quick flushing and +sudden paling of her cheek, as if she were living over scenes that were +thrilling her soul with indignation or chilling her heart with horror. +As nurse and physician, Iola and Dr. Gresham were constantly thrown +together. His friends sent him magazines and books, which he gladly +shared with her. The hospital was a sad place. Mangled forms, stricken +down in the flush of their prime and energy; pale young corpses, +sacrificed on the altar of slavery, constantly drained on her +sympathies. Dr. Gresham was glad to have some reading matter which might +divert her mind from the memories of her mournful past, and also furnish +them both with interesting themes of conversation in their moments of +relaxation from the harrowing scenes through which they were constantly +passing. Without any effort or consciousness on her part, his friendship +ripened into love. To him her presence was a pleasure, her absence a +privation; and her loneliness drew deeply upon his sympathy. He would +have merited his own self-contempt if, by word or deed, he had done +anything to take advantage of her situation. All the manhood and +chivalry of his nature rose in her behalf, and, after carefully +revolving the matter, he resolved to win her for his bride, bury her +secret in his Northern home, and hide from his aristocratic relations +all knowledge of her mournful past. One day he said to Iola:-- + +"This hospital life is telling on you. Your strength is failing, and +although you possess a wonderful amount of physical endurance, you must +not forget that saints have bodies and dwell in tabernacles of clay, +just the same as we common mortals." + +"Compliments aside," she said, smiling; "what are you driving at, +Doctor?" + +"I mean," he replied, "that you are running down, and if you do not quit +and take some rest you will be our patient instead of our nurse. You'd +better take a furlough, go North, and return after the first frost." + +"Doctor, if that is your only remedy," replied Iola, "I am afraid that I +am destined to die at my post. I have no special friends in the North, +and no home but this in the South. I am homeless and alone." + +There was something so sad, almost despairing in her tones, in the +drooping of her head, and the quivering of her lip, that they stirred +Dr. Gresham's heart with sudden pity, and, drawing nearer to her, he +said, "Miss Leroy, you need not be all alone. Let me claim the privilege +of making your life bright and happy. Iola, I have loved you ever since +I have seen your devotion to our poor, sick boys. How faithfully you, a +young and gracious girl, have stood at your post and performed your +duties. And now I ask, will you not permit me to clasp hands with you +for life? I do not ask for a hasty reply. Give yourself time to think +over what I have proposed." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +EUGENE LEROY AND ALFRED LORRAINE. + +Nearly twenty years before the war, two young men, of French and Spanish +descent, sat conversing on a large verandah which surrounded an ancient +home on the Mississippi River. It was French in its style of +architecture, large and rambling, with no hint of modern improvements. + +The owner of the house was the only heir of a Creole planter. He had +come into possession of an inheritance consisting of vast baronial +estates, bank stock, and a large number of slaves. Eugene Leroy, being +deprived of his parents, was left, at an early age, to the care of a +distant relative, who had sent him to school and college, and who +occasionally invited him to spend his vacations at his home. But Eugene +generally declined his invitations, as he preferred spending his +vacations at the watering places in the North, with their fashionable +and not always innocent gayeties. Young, vivacious, impulsive, and +undisciplined, without the restraining influence of a mother's love or +the guidance of a father's hand, Leroy found himself, when his college +days were over, in the dangerous position of a young man with vast +possessions, abundant leisure, unsettled principles, and uncontrolled +desires. He had no other object than to extract from life its most +seductive draughts of ease and pleasure. His companion, who sat opposite +him on the verandah, quietly smoking a cigar, was a remote cousin, a +few years older than himself, the warmth of whose Southern temperament +had been modified by an infusion of Northern blood. + +Eugene was careless, liberal, and impatient of details, while his +companion and cousin, Alfred Lorraine, was selfish, eager, keen, and +alert; also hard, cold, methodical, and ever ready to grasp the main +chance. Yet, notwithstanding the difference between them, they had +formed a warm friendship for each other. + +"Alfred," said Eugene, "I am going to be married." + +Lorraine opened his eyes with sudden wonder, and exclaimed: "Well, +that's the latest thing out! Who is the fortunate lady who has bound you +with her silken fetters? Is it one of those beautiful Creole girls who +were visiting Augustine's plantation last winter? I watched you during +our visit there and thought that you could not be proof against their +attractions. Which is your choice? It would puzzle me to judge between +the two. They had splendid eyes, dark, luminous, and languishing; lovely +complexions and magnificent hair. Both were delightful in their manners, +refined and cultured, with an air of vivacity mingled with their repose +of manner which was perfectly charming. As the law only allows us one, +which is your choice? Miss Annette has more force than her sister, and +if I could afford the luxury of a wife she would be my choice." + +"Ah, Alf," said Eugene, "I see that you are a practical business man. In +marrying you want a wife to assist you as an efficient plantation +mistress. One who would tolerate no waste in the kitchen and no disorder +in the parlor." + +"Exactly so," responded Lorraine; "I am too poor to marry a mere parlor +ornament. You can afford to do it; I cannot." + +"Nonsense, if I were as poor as a church mouse I would marry the woman I +love." + +"Very fine sentiments," said Lorraine, "and were I as rich as you I +would indulge in them also. You know, when my father died I had great +expectations. We had always lived in good style, and I never thought for +a moment he was not a rich man, but when his estate was settled I found +it was greatly involved, and I was forced to face an uncertain future, +with scarcely a dollar to call my own. Land, negroes, cattle, and horses +all went under the hammer. The only thing I retained was the education I +received at the North; that was my father's best investment, and all my +stock in trade. With that only as an outfit, it would be madness for me +to think of marrying one of those lovely girls. They remind me of +beautiful canary birds, charming and pretty, but not fitted for the wear +and tear of plantation life. Well, which is your choice?" + +"Neither," replied Eugene. + +"Then, is it that magnificent looking widow from New Orleans, whom we +met before you had that terrible spell of sickness and to whom you +appeared so devoted?" + +"Not at all. I have not heard from her since that summer. She was +fascinating and handsome, but fearfully high strung." + +"Were you afraid of her?" + +"No; but I valued my happiness too much to trust it in her hands." + +"Sour grapes!" said Lorraine. + +"No! but I think that slavery and the lack of outside interests are +beginning to tell on the lives of our women. They lean too much on their +slaves, have too much irresponsible power in their hands, are narrowed +and compressed by the routine of plantation life and the lack of +intellectual stimulus." + +"Yes, Eugene, when I see what other women are doing in the fields of +literature and art, I cannot help thinking an amount of brain power has +been held in check among us. Yet I cannot abide those Northern women, +with their suffrage views and abolition cant. They just shock me." + +"But your mother was a Northern woman," said Eugene. + +"Yes; but she got bravely over her Northern ideas. As I remember her, +she was just as much a Southerner as if she had been to the manor born. +She came here as a school-teacher, but soon after she came she married +my father. He was easy and indulgent with his servants, and held them +with a very loose rein. But my mother was firm and energetic. She made +the niggers move around. No shirking nor dawdling with her. When my +father died, she took matters in hand, but she only outlived him a few +months. If she had lived I believe that she would have retrieved our +fortune. I know that she had more executive ability than my father. He +was very squeamish about selling his servants, but she would have put +every one of them in her pocket before permitting them to eat her out of +house and home. But whom _are_ you going to marry?" + +"A young lady who graduates from a Northern seminary next week," +responded Eugene. + +"I think you are very selfish," said Lorraine. "You might have invited +a fellow to go with you to be your best man." + +"The wedding is to be strictly private. The lady whom I am to marry has +negro blood in her veins." + +"The devil she has!" exclaimed Lorraine, starting to his feet, and +looking incredulously on the face of Leroy. "Are you in earnest? Surely +you must be jesting." + +"I am certainly in earnest," answered Eugene Leroy. "I mean every word I +say." + +"Oh, it can't be possible! Are you mad?" exclaimed Lorraine. + +"Never was saner in my life." + +"What under heaven could have possessed you to do such a foolish thing? +Where did she come from." + +"Right here, on this plantation. But I have educated and manumitted her, +and I intend marrying her." + +"Why, Eugene, it is impossible that you can have an idea of marrying one +of your slaves. Why, man, she is your property, to have and to hold to +all intents and purposes. Are you not satisfied with the power and +possession the law gives you?" + +"No. Although the law makes her helpless in my hands, to me her +defenselessness is her best defense." + +"Eugene, we have known each other all of our lives, and, although I have +always regarded you as eccentric, I never saw you so completely off your +balance before. The idea of you, with your proud family name, your vast +wealth in land and negroes, intending to marry one of them, is a mystery +I cannot solve. Do explain to me why you are going to take this +extremely strange and foolish step." + +"You never saw Marie?" + +"No; and I don't want to." + +"She is very beautiful. In the North no one would suspect that she has +one drop of negro blood in her veins, but here, where I am known, to +marry her is to lose caste. I could live with her, and not incur much if +any social opprobrium. Society would wink at the transgression, even if +after she had become the mother of my children I should cast her off and +send her and them to the auction block." + +"Men," replied Lorraine, "would merely shrug their shoulders; women +would say you had been sowing your wild oats. Your money, like charity, +would cover a multitude of faults." + +"But if I make her my lawful wife and recognize her children as my +legitimate heirs, I subject myself to social ostracism and a senseless +persecution. We Americans boast of freedom, and yet here is a woman whom +I love as I never loved any other human being, but both law and public +opinion debar me from following the inclination of my heart. She is +beautiful, faithful, and pure, and yet all that society will tolerate is +what I would scorn to do." + +"But has not society the right to guard the purity of its blood by the +rigid exclusion of an alien race?" + +"Excluding it! How?" asked Eugene. + +"By debarring it from social intercourse." + +"Perhaps it has," continued Eugene, "but should not society have a +greater ban for those who, by consorting with an alien race, rob their +offspring of a right to their names and to an inheritance in their +property, and who fix their social status among an enslaved and outcast +race? Don't eye me so curiously; I am not losing my senses." + +"I think you have done that already," said Lorraine. "Don't you know +that if she is as fair as a lily, beautiful as a houri, and chaste as +ice, that still she is a negro?" + +"Oh, come now; she isn't much of a negro." + +"It doesn't matter, however. One drop of negro blood in her veins curses +all the rest." + +"I know it," said Eugene, sadly, "but I have weighed the consequences, +and am prepared to take them." + +"Well, Eugene, your course is _so_ singular! I do wish that you would +tell me why you take this unprecedented step?" + +Eugene laid aside his cigar, looked thoughtfully at Lorraine, and said, +"Well, Alfred, as we are kinsmen and life-long friends, I will not +resent your asking my reason for doing that which seems to you the +climax of absurdity, and if you will have the patience to listen I will +tell you." + +"Proceed, I am all attention." + +"My father died," said Eugene, "as you know, when I was too young to +know his loss or feel his care and, being an only child, I was petted +and spoiled. I grew up to be wayward, self-indulgent, proud, and +imperious. I went from home and made many friends both at college and in +foreign lands. I was well supplied with money and, never having been +forced to earn it, was ignorant of its value and careless of its use. My +lavish expenditures and liberal benefactions attracted to me a number +of parasites, and men older than myself led me into the paths of vice, +and taught me how to gather the flowers of sin which blossom around the +borders of hell. In a word, I left my home unwarned and unarmed against +the seductions of vice. I returned an initiated devotee to debasing +pleasures. Years of my life were passed in foreign lands; years in which +my soul slumbered and seemed pervaded with a moral paralysis; years, the +memory of which fills my soul with sorrow and shame. I went to the +capitals of the old world to see life, but in seeing life I became +acquainted with death, the death of true manliness and self-respect. You +look astonished; but I tell you, Alf, there is many a poor clod-hopper, +on whom are the dust and grime of unremitting toil, who feels more +self-respect and true manliness than many of us with our family +prestige, social position, and proud ancestral halls. After I had lived +abroad for years, I returned a broken-down young man, prematurely old, +my constitution a perfect wreck. A life of folly and dissipation was +telling fearfully upon me. My friends shrank from me in dismay. I was +sick nigh unto death, and had it not been for Marie's care I am certain +that I should have died. She followed me down to the borders of the +grave, and won me back to life and health. I was slow in recovering and, +during the time, I had ample space for reflection, and the past unrolled +itself before me. I resolved, over the wreck and ruin of my past life, +to build a better and brighter future. Marie had a voice of remarkable +sweetness, although it lacked culture. Often when I was nervous and +restless I would have her sing some of those weird and plaintive +melodies which she had learned from the plantation negroes. Sometimes I +encouraged her to talk, and I was surprised at the native vigor of her +intellect. By degrees I became acquainted with her history. She was all +alone in the world. She had no recollection of her father, but +remembered being torn from her mother while clinging to her dress. The +trader who bought her mother did not wish to buy her. She remembered +having a brother, with whom she used to play, but she had been separated +from him also, and since then had lost all trace of them. After she was +sold from her mother she became the property of an excellent old lady, +who seems to have been very careful to imbue her mind with good +principles; a woman who loved purity, not only for her own daughters, +but also for the defenseless girls in her home. I believe it was the +lady's intention to have freed Marie at her death, but she died +suddenly, and, the estate being involved, she was sold with it and fell +into the hands of my agent. I became deeply interested in her when I +heard her story, and began to pity her." + +"And I suppose love sprang from pity." + +"I not only pitied her, but I learned to respect her. I had met with +beautiful women in the halls of wealth and fashion, both at home and +abroad, but there was something in her different from all my experience +of womanhood." + +"I should think so," said Lorraine, with a sneer; "but I should like to +know what it was." + +"It was something such as I have seen in old cathedrals, lighting up the +beauty of a saintly face. A light which the poet tells was never seen on +land or sea. I thought of this beautiful and defenseless girl adrift in +the power of a reckless man, who, with all the advantages of wealth and +education, had trailed his manhood in the dust, and she, with simple, +childlike faith in the Unseen, seemed to be so good and pure that she +commanded my respect and won my heart. In her presence every base and +unholy passion died, subdued by the supremacy of her virtue." + +"Why, Eugene, what has come over you? Talking of the virtue of these +quadroon girls! You have lived so long in the North and abroad, that you +seem to have lost the cue of our Southern life. Don't you know that +these beautiful girls have been the curse of our homes? You have no idea +of the hearts which are wrung by their presence." + +"But, Alfred, suppose it is so. Are they to blame for it? What can any +woman do when she is placed in the hands of an irresponsible master; +when she knows that resistance is vain? Yes, Alfred, I agree with you, +these women are the bane of our Southern civilization; but they are the +victims and we are the criminals." + +"I think from the airs that some of them put on when they get a chance, +that they are very willing victims." + +"So much the worse for our institution. If it is cruel to debase a +hapless victim, it is an increase of cruelty to make her contented with +her degradation. Let me tell you, Alf, you cannot wrong or degrade a +woman without wronging or degrading yourself." + +"What is the matter with you, Eugene? Are you thinking of taking +priest's orders?" + +"No, Alf," said Eugene, rising and rapidly pacing the floor, "you may +defend the system as much as you please, but you cannot deny that the +circumstances it creates, and the temptations it affords, are sapping +our strength and undermining our character." + +"That may be true," said Lorraine, somewhat irritably, "but you had +better be careful how you air your Northern notions in public." + +"Why so?" + +"Because public opinion is too sensitive to tolerate any such +discussions." + +"And is not that a proof that we are at fault with respect to our +institutions?" + +"I don't know. I only know we are living in the midst of a magazine of +powder, and it is not safe to enter it with a lighted candle." + +"Let me proceed with my story," continued Eugene. "During the long +months in which I was convalescing, I was left almost entirely to the +companionship of Marie. In my library I found a Bible, which I began to +read from curiosity, but my curiosity deepened into interest when I saw +the rapt expression on Marie's face. I saw in it a loving response to +sentiments to which I was a stranger. In the meantime my conscience was +awakened, and I scorned to take advantage of her defenselessness. I felt +that I owed my life to her faithful care, and I resolved to take her +North, manumit, educate, and marry her. I sent her to a Northern +academy, but as soon as some of the pupils found that she was colored, +objections were raised, and the principal was compelled to dismiss her. +During my search for a school I heard of one where three girls of mixed +blood were pursuing their studies, every one of whom would have been +ignominiously dismissed had their connection with the negro race been +known. But I determined to run no risks. I found a school where her +connection with the negro race would be no bar to her advancement. She +graduates next week, and I intend to marry her before I return home. She +was faithful when others were faithless, stood by me when others +deserted me to die in loneliness and neglect, and now I am about to +reward her care with all the love and devotion it is in my power to +bestow. That is why I am about to marry my faithful and devoted nurse, +who snatched me from the jaws of death. Now that I have told you my +story, what say you?" + +"Madness and folly inconceivable!" exclaimed Lorraine. + +"What to you is madness and folly is perfect sanity with me. After all, +Alf, is there not an amount of unreason in our prejudices?" + +"That may be true; but I wasn't reasoned into it, and I do not expect to +be reasoned out of it." + +"Will you accompany me North?" + +"No; except to put you in an insane asylum. You are the greatest crank +out," said Lorraine, thoroughly disgusted. + +"No, thank you; I'm all right. I expect to start North to-morrow. You +had better come and go." + +"I would rather follow you to your grave," replied Lorraine, hotly, +while an expression of ineffable scorn passed over his cold, proud face. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +SHADOWS IN THE HOME. + +On the next morning after this conversation Leroy left for the North, to +attend the commencement and witness the graduation of his ward. Arriving +in Ohio, he immediately repaired to the academy and inquired for the +principal. He was shown into the reception-room, and in a few moments +the principal entered. + +"Good morning," said Leroy, rising and advancing towards him; "how is my +ward this morning?" + +"She is well, and has been expecting you. I am glad you came in time for +the commencement. She stands among the foremost in her class." + +"I am glad to hear it. Will you send her this?" said Leroy, handing the +principal a card. The principal took the card and immediately left the +room. + +Very soon Leroy heard a light step, and looking up he saw a radiantly +beautiful woman approaching him. + +"Good morning, Marie," he said, greeting her cordially, and gazing upon +her with unfeigned admiration. "You are looking very handsome this +morning." + +"Do you think so?" she asked, smiling and blushing. "I am glad you are +not disappointed; that you do not feel your money has been spent in +vain." + +"Oh, no, what I have spent on your education has been the best +investment I ever made." + +"I hope," said Marie, "you may always find it so. But Mas----" + +"Hush!" said Leroy, laying his hand playfully on her lips; "you are +free. I don't want the dialect of slavery to linger on your lips. You +must not call me that name again." + +"Why not?" + +"Because I have a nearer and dearer one by which I wish to be called." + +Leroy drew her nearer, and whispered in her ear a single word. She +started, trembled with emotion, grew pale, and blushed painfully. An +awkward silence ensued, when Leroy, pressing her hand, exclaimed: "This +is the hand that plucked me from the grave, and I am going to retain it +as mine; mine to guard with my care until death us do part." + +Leroy looked earnestly into her eyes, which fell beneath his ardent +gaze. With admirable self-control, while a great joy was thrilling her +heart, she bowed her beautiful head and softly repeated, "Until death us +do part." + +Leroy knew Southern society too well to expect it to condone his offense +against its social customs, or give the least recognition to his wife, +however cultured, refined, and charming she might be, if it were known +that she had the least infusion of negro blood in her veins. But he was +brave enough to face the consequences of his alliance, and marry the +woman who was the choice of his heart, and on whom his affections were +centred. + +After Leroy had left the room, Marie sat awhile thinking of the +wonderful change that had come over her. Instead of being a lonely slave +girl, with the fatal dower of beauty, liable to be bought and sold, +exchanged, and bartered, she was to be the wife of a wealthy planter; a +man in whose honor she could confide, and on whose love she could lean. + +Very interesting and pleasant were the commencement exercises in which +Marie bore an important part. To enlist sympathy for her enslaved race, +and appear to advantage before Leroy, had aroused all of her energies. +The stimulus of hope, the manly love which was environing her life, +brightened her eye and lit up the wonderful beauty of her countenance. +During her stay in the North she had constantly been brought in contact +with anti-slavery people. She was not aware that there was so much +kindness among the white people of the country until she had tested it +in the North. From the anti-slavery people in private life she had +learned some of the noblest lessons of freedom and justice, and had +become imbued with their sentiments. Her theme was "American +Civilization, its Lights and Shadows." + +Graphically she portrayed the lights, faithfully she showed the shadows +of our American civilization. Earnestly and feelingly she spoke of the +blind Sampson in our land, who might yet shake the pillars of our great +Commonwealth. Leroy listened attentively. At times a shadow of annoyance +would overspread his face, but it was soon lost in the admiration her +earnestness and zeal inspired. Like Esther pleading for the lives of her +people in the Oriental courts of a despotic king, she stood before the +audience, pleading for those whose lips were sealed, but whose condition +appealed to the mercy and justice of the Nation. Strong men wiped the +moisture from their eyes, and women's hearts throbbed in unison with the +strong, brave words that were uttered in behalf of freedom for all and +chains for none. Generous applause was freely bestowed, and beautiful +bouquets were showered upon her. When it was known that she was to be +the wife of her guardian, warm congratulations were given, and earnest +hopes expressed for the welfare of the lonely girl, who, nearly all her +life, had been deprived of a parent's love and care. On the eve of +starting South Leroy procured a license, and united his destiny with the +young lady whose devotion in the darkest hour had won his love and +gratitude. + +In a few days Marie returned as mistress to the plantation from which +she had gone as a slave. But as unholy alliances were common in those +days between masters and slaves, no one took especial notice that Marie +shared Leroy's life as mistress of his home, and that the family silver +and jewelry were in her possession. But Leroy, happy in his choice, +attended to the interests of his plantation, and found companionship in +his books and in the society of his wife. A few male companions visited +him occasionally, admired the magnificent beauty of his wife, shook +their heads, and spoke of him as being very eccentric, but thought his +marriage the great mistake of his life. But none of his female friends +ever entered his doors, when it became known that Marie held the +position of mistress of his mansion, and presided at his table. But she, +sheltered in the warm clasp of loving arms, found her life like a joyous +dream. + +Into that quiet and beautiful home three children were born, unconscious +of the doom suspended over their heads. + +"Oh, how glad I am," Marie would often say, "that these children are +free. I could never understand how a cultured white man could have his +own children enslaved. I can understand how savages, fighting with each +other, could doom their vanquished foes to slavery, but it has always +been a puzzle to me how a civilized man could drag his own children, +bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh, down to the position of social +outcasts, abject slaves, and political pariahs." + +"But, Marie," said Eugene, "all men do not treat their illegitimate +children in the manner you describe. The last time I was in New Orleans +I met Henri Augustine at the depot, with two beautiful young girls. At +first I thought that they were his own children, they resembled him so +closely. But afterwards I noticed that they addressed him as 'Mister.' +Before we parted he told me that his wife had taken such a dislike to +their mother that she could not bear to see them on the place. At last, +weary of her dissatisfaction, he had promised to bring them to New +Orleans and sell them. Instead, he was going to Ohio to give them their +freedom, and make provision for their future." + +"What a wrong!" said Marie. + +"Who was wronged?" said Leroy, in astonishment. + +"Every one in the whole transaction," answered Marie. "Your friend +wronged himself by sinning against his own soul. He wronged his wife by +arousing her hatred and jealousy through his unfaithfulness. He wronged +those children by giving them the _status_ of slaves and outcasts. He +wronged their mother by imposing upon her the burdens and cares of +maternity without the rights and privileges of a wife. He made her crown +of motherhood a circlet of shame. Under other circumstances she might +have been an honored wife and happy mother. And I do think such men +wrong their own legitimate children by transmitting to them a weakened +moral fibre." + +"Oh, Marie, you have such an uncomfortable way of putting things. You +make me feel that we have done those things which we ought not to have +done, and have left undone those things which we ought to have done." + +"If it annoys you," said Marie, "I will stop talking." + +"Oh, no, go on," said Leroy, carelessly; and then he continued more +thoughtfully, "I know a number of men who have sent such children North, +and manumitted, educated, and left them valuable legacies. We are all +liable to err, and, having done wrong, all we can do is to make +reparation." + +"My dear husband, this is a wrong where reparation is impossible. +Neither wealth nor education can repair the wrong of a dishonored birth. +There are a number of slaves in this section who are servants to their +own brothers and sisters; whose fathers have robbed them not simply of +liberty but of the right of being well born. Do you think these things +will last forever?" + +"I suppose not. There are some prophets of evil who tell us that the +Union is going to dissolve. But I know it would puzzle their brains to +tell where the crack will begin. I reckon we'll continue to jog along as +usual. 'Cotton fights, and cotton conquers for American slavery.'" + +Even while Leroy dreamed of safety the earthquake was cradling its fire; +the ground was growing hollow beneath his tread; but his ear was too +dull to catch the sound; his vision too blurred to read the signs of the +times. + +"Marie," said Leroy, taking up the thread of the discourse, "slavery is +a sword that cuts both ways. If it wrongs the negro, it also curses the +white man. But we are in it, and what can we do?" + +"Get out of it as quickly as possible." + +"That is easier said than done. I would willingly free every slave on my +plantation if I could do so without expatriating them. Some of them have +wives and children on other plantations, and to free them is to separate +them from their kith and kin. To let them remain here as a free people +is out of the question. My hands are tied by law and custom." + +"Who tied them?" asked Marie. + +"A public opinion, whose meshes I cannot break. If the negro is the +thrall of his master, we are just as much the thralls of public +opinion." + +"Why do you not battle against public opinion, if you think it is +wrong?" + +"Because I have neither the courage of a martyr, nor the faith of a +saint; and so I drift along, trying to make the condition of our slaves +as comfortable as I possibly can. I believe there are slaves on this +plantation whom the most flattering offers of freedom would not entice +away." + +"I do not think," said Marie, "that some of you planters understand your +own slaves. Lying is said to be the vice of slaves. The more intelligent +of them have so learned to veil their feelings that you do not see the +undercurrent of discontent beneath their apparent good humor and +jollity. The more discontented they are, the more I respect them. To me +a contented slave is an abject creature. I hope that I shall see the +day when there will not be a slave in the land. I hate the whole thing +from the bottom of my heart." + +"Marie, your Northern education has unfitted you for Southern life. You +are free, yourself, and so are our children. Why not let well enough +alone?" + +"Because I love liberty, not only for myself but for every human being. +Think how dear these children are to me; and then for the thought to be +forever haunting me, that if you were dead they could be turned out of +doors and divided among your relatives. I sometimes lie awake at night +thinking of how there might be a screw loose somewhere, and, after all, +the children and I might be reduced to slavery." + +"Marie, what in the world is the matter with you? Have you had a +presentiment of my death, or, as Uncle Jack says, 'hab you seed it in a +vision?'" + +"No, but I have had such sad forebodings that they almost set me wild. +One night I dreamt that you were dead; that the lawyers entered the +house, seized our property, and remanded us to slavery. I never can be +satisfied in the South with such a possibility hanging over my head." + +"Marie, dear, you are growing nervous. Your imagination is too active. +You are left too much alone on this plantation. I hope that for your own +and the children's sake I will be enabled to arrange our affairs so as +to find a home for you where you will not be doomed to the social +isolation and ostracism that surround you here." + +"I don't mind the isolation for myself, but the children. You have +enjoined silence on me with respect to their connection with the negro +race, but I do not think we can conceal it from them very long. It will +not be long before Iola will notice the offishness of girls of her own +age, and the scornful glances which, even now, I think, are leveled at +her. Yesterday Harry came crying to me, and told me that one of the +neighbor's boys had called him 'nigger.'" + +A shadow flitted over Leroy's face, as he answered, somewhat soberly, +"Oh, Marie, do not meet trouble half way. I have manumitted you, and the +children will follow your condition. I have made you all legatees of my +will. Except my cousin, Alfred Lorraine, I have only distant relatives, +whom I scarcely know and who hardly know me." + +"Your cousin Lorraine? Are you sure our interests would be safe in his +hands?" + +"I think so; I don't think Alfred would do anything dishonorable." + +"He might not with his equals. But how many men would be bound by a +sense of honor where the rights of a colored woman are in question? Your +cousin was bitterly opposed to our marriage, and I would not trust any +important interests in his hands. I do hope that in providing for our +future you will make assurance doubly sure." + +"I certainly will, and all that human foresight can do shall be done for +you and our children." + +"Oh," said Marie, pressing to her heart a beautiful child of six +summers, "I think it would almost make me turn over in my grave to know +that every grace and charm which this child possesses would only be so +much added to her value as an article of merchandise." + +As Marie released the child from her arms she looked wonderingly into +her mother's face and clung closely to her, as if to find refuge from +some unseen evil. Leroy noticed this, and sighed unconsciously, as an +expression of pain flitted over his face. + +"Now, Marie," he continued, "stop tormenting yourself with useless +fears. Although, with all her faults, I still love the South, I will +make arrangements either to live North or go to France. There life will +be brighter for us all. Now, Marie, seat yourself at the piano and +sing:-- + + 'Sing me the songs that to me were so dear, + Long, long ago. + Sing me the songs I delighted to hear, + Long, long ago." + +As Marie sang the anxiety faded from her face, a sense of security stole +over her, and she sat among her loved ones a happy wife and mother. What +if no one recognized her on that lonely plantation! Her world was, +nevertheless, there. The love and devotion of her husband brightened +every avenue of her life, while her children filled her home with music, +mirth, and sunshine. + +Marie had undertaken their education, but she could not give them the +culture which comes from the attrition of thought, and from contact with +the ideas of others. Since her school-days she had read extensively and +thought much, and in solitude her thoughts had ripened. But for her +children there were no companions except the young slaves of the +plantation, and she dreaded the effect of such intercourse upon their +lives and characters. + +Leroy had always been especially careful to conceal from his children +the knowledge of their connection with the negro race. To Marie this +silence was oppressive. + +One day she said to him, "I see no other way of finishing the education +of these children than by sending them to some Northern school." + +"I have come," said Leroy, "to the same conclusion. We had better take +Iola and Harry North and make arrangements for them to spend several +years in being educated. Riches take wings to themselves and fly away, +but a good education is an investment on which the law can place no +attachment. As there is a possibility of their origin being discovered, +I will find a teacher to whom I can confide our story, and upon whom I +can enjoin secrecy. I want them well fitted for any emergency in life. +When I discover for what they have the most aptitude I will give them +especial training in that direction." + +A troubled look passed over the face of Marie, as she hesitatingly said: +"I am so afraid that you will regret our marriage when you fully realize +the complications it brings." + +"No, no," said Leroy, tenderly, "it is not that I regret our marriage, +or feel the least disdain for our children on account of the blood in +their veins; but I do not wish them to grow up under the contracting +influence of this race prejudice. I do not wish them to feel that they +have been born under a proscription from which no valor can redeem them, +nor that any social advancement or individual development can wipe off +the ban which clings to them. No, Marie, let them go North, learn all +they can, aspire all they may. The painful knowledge will come all too +soon. Do not forestall it. I want them simply to grow up as other +children; not being patronized by friends nor disdained by foes." + +"My dear husband, you may be perfectly right, but are you not preparing +our children for a fearful awakening? Are you not acting on the plan, +'After me the deluge?'" + +"Not at all, Marie. I want our children to grow up without having their +self-respect crushed in the bud. You know that the North is not free +from racial prejudice." + +"I know it," said Marie, sadly, "and I think one of the great mistakes +of our civilization is that which makes color, and not character, a +social test." + +"I think so, too," said Leroy. "The strongest men and women of a +down-trodden race may bare their bosoms to an adverse fate and develop +courage in the midst of opposition, but we have no right to subject our +children to such crucial tests before their characters are formed. For +years, when I lived abroad, I had an opportunity to see and hear of men +of African descent who had distinguished themselves and obtained a +recognition in European circles, which they never could have gained in +this country. I now recall the name of Ira Aldridge, a colored man from +New York City, who was covered with princely honors as a successful +tragedian. Alexander Dumas was not forced to conceal his origin to +succeed as a novelist. When I was in St. Petersburg I was shown the +works of Alexander Sergevitch, a Russian poet, who was spoken of as the +Byron of Russian literature, and reckoned one of the finest poets that +Russia has produced in this century. He was also a prominent figure in +fashionable society, and yet he was of African lineage. One of his +paternal ancestors was a negro who had been ennobled by Peter the +Great. I can't help contrasting the recognition which these men had +received with the treatment which has been given to Frederick Douglass +and other intelligent colored men in this country. With me the wonder is +not that they have achieved so little, but that they have accomplished +so much. No, Marie, we will have our children educated without being +subjected to the depressing influences of caste feeling. Perhaps by the +time their education is finished I will be ready to wind up my affairs +and take them abroad, where merit and ability will give them entrance +into the best circles of art, literature, and science." + +After this conversation Leroy and his wife went North, and succeeded in +finding a good school for their children. In a private interview he +confided to the principal the story of the cross in their blood, and, +finding him apparently free from racial prejudice, he gladly left the +children in his care. Gracie, the youngest child, remained at home, and +her mother spared no pains to fit her for the seminary against the time +her sister should have finished her education. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +THE PLAGUE AND THE LAW. + +Years passed, bringing no special change to the life of Leroy and his +wife. Shut out from the busy world, its social cares and anxieties, +Marie's life flowed peacefully on. Although removed by the protecting +care of Leroy from the condition of servitude, she still retained a deep +sympathy for the enslaved, and was ever ready to devise plans to +ameliorate their condition. + +Leroy, although in the midst of slavery, did not believe in the +rightfulness of the institution. He was in favor of gradual +emancipation, which would prepare both master and slave for a moral +adaptation to the new conditions of freedom. While he was willing to +have the old rivets taken out of slavery, politicians and planters were +devising plans to put in new screws. He was desirous of having it ended +in the States; they were clamorous to have it established in the +Territories. + +But so strong was the force of habit, combined with the feebleness of +his moral resistance and the nature of his environment, that instead of +being an athlete, armed for a glorious strife, he had learned to drift +where he should have steered, to float with the current instead of nobly +breasting the tide. He conducted his plantation with as much lenity as +it was possible to infuse into a system darkened with the shadow of a +million crimes. + +Leroy had always been especially careful not to allow his children to +spend their vacations at home. He and Marie generally spent that time +with them at some summer resort. + +"I would like," said Marie, one day, "to have our children spend their +vacations at home. Those summer resorts are pleasant, yet, after all, +there is no place like home. But," and her voice became tremulous, "our +children would now notice their social isolation and inquire the cause." +A faint sigh arose to the lips of Leroy, as she added: "Man is a social +being; I've known it to my sorrow." + +There was a tone of sadness in Leroy's voice, as he replied: "Yes, +Marie, let them stay North. We seem to be entering on a period fraught +with great danger. I cannot help thinking and fearing that we are on the +eve of a civil war." + +"A civil war!" exclaimed Marie, with an air of astonishment. "A civil +war about what?" + +"Why, Marie, the thing looks to me so wild and foolish I hardly know how +to explain. But some of our leading men have come to the conclusion that +North and South had better separate, and instead of having one to have +two independent governments. The spirit of secession is rampant in the +land. I do not know what the result will be, and I fear it will bode no +good to the country. Between the fire-eating Southerners and the +meddling Abolitionists we are about to be plunged into a great deal of +trouble. I fear there are breakers ahead. The South is dissatisfied with +the state of public opinion in the North. We are realizing that we are +two peoples in the midst of one nation. William H. Seward has +proclaimed that the conflict between freedom and slavery is +irrepressible, and that the country cannot remain half free and half +slave." + +"How will _you_ go?" asked Marie. + +"My heart is with the Union. I don't believe in secession. There has +been no cause sufficient to justify a rupture. The North has met us time +and again in the spirit of concession and compromise. When we wanted the +continuance of the African slave trade the North conceded that we should +have twenty years of slave-trading for the benefit of our plantations. +When we wanted more territory she conceded to our desires and gave us +land enough to carve out four States, and there yet remains enough for +four more. When we wanted power to recapture our slaves when they fled +North for refuge, Daniel Webster told Northerners to conquer their +prejudices, and they gave us the whole Northern States as a hunting +ground for our slaves. The Presidential chair has been filled the +greater number of years by Southerners, and the majority of offices has +been shared by our men. We wanted representation in Congress on a basis +which would include our slaves, and the North, whose suffrage represents +only men, gave us a three-fifths representation for our slaves, whom we +count as property. I think the step will be suicidal. There are +extremists in both sections, but I hope, between them both, wise +counsels and measures will prevail." + +Just then Alfred Lorraine was ushered into the room. Occasionally he +visited Leroy, but he always came alone. His wife was the only daughter +of an enterprising slave-trader, who had left her a large amount of +property. + +Her social training was deficient, her education limited, but she was +too proud of being a pure white woman to enter the home of Leroy, with +Marie as its presiding genius. Lorraine tolerated Marie's presence as a +necessary evil, while to her he always seemed like a presentiment of +trouble. With his coming a shadow fell upon her home, hushing its music +and darkening its sunshine. A sense of dread oppressed her. There came +into her soul an intuitive feeling that somehow his coming was fraught +with danger. When not peering around she would often catch his eyes bent +on her with a baleful expression. + +Leroy and his cousin immediately fell into a discussion on the condition +of the country. Lorraine was a rank Secessionist, ready to adopt the +most extreme measures of the leaders of the movement, even to the +reopening of the slave trade. Leroy thought a dissolution of the Union +would involve a fearful expenditure of blood and treasure for which, +before the eyes of the world, there could be no justification. The +debate lasted late into the night, leaving both Lorraine and Leroy just +as set in their opinions as they were before they began. Marie listened +attentively awhile, then excused herself and withdrew. + +After Lorraine had gone Marie said: "There is something about your +cousin that fills me with nameless dread. I always feel when he enters +the room as if some one were walking over my grave. I do wish he would +stay at home." + +"I wish so, too, since he disturbs you. But, Marie, you are growing +nervous. How cold your hands are. Don't you feel well?" + +"Oh, yes; I am only a little faint. I wish he would never come. But, as +he does, I must make the best of it." + +"Yes, Marie, treat him well for my sake. He is the only relative I have +who ever darkens our doors." + +"I have no faith in his friendship for either myself or my children. I +feel that while he makes himself agreeable to you he hates me from the +bottom of his heart, and would do anything to get me out of the way. Oh, +I am _so_ glad I am your lawful wife, and that you married me before you +brought me back to this State! I believe that if you were gone he +wouldn't have the least scruple against trying to prove our marriage +invalid and remanding us to slavery." + +Leroy looked anxiously and soberly at his wife, and said: "Marie, I do +not think so. Your life is too lonely here. Write your orders to New +Orleans, get what you need for the journey, and let us spend the summer +somewhere in the North." + +Just then Marie's attention was drawn to some household matters, and it +was a short time before she returned. + +"Tom," continued Leroy, "has just brought the mail, and here is a letter +from Iola." + +Marie noticed that he looked quite sober as he read, and that an +expression of vexation was lingering on his lips. + +"What is the matter?" asked Marie. + +"Nothing much; only a tempest in a teapot. The presence of a colored +girl in Mr. Galen's school has caused a breeze of excitement. You know +Mr. Galen is quite an Abolitionist, and, being true to his principles, +he could not consistently refuse when a colored woman applied for her +daughter's admission. Of course, when he took her he was compelled to +treat her as any other pupil. In so doing he has given mortal offense to +the mother of two Southern boys. She has threatened to take them away if +the colored girl remains." + +"What will he do about it?" asked Marie, thoughtfully. + +"Oh, it is a bitter pill, but I think he will have to swallow it. He is +between two fires. He cannot dismiss her from the school and be true to +his Abolition principles; yet if he retains her he will lose his +Southern customers, and I know he cannot afford to do that." + +"What does Iola say?" + +"He has found another boarding place for her, but she is to remain in +the school. He had to throw that sop to the whale." + +"Does she take sides against the girl?" + +"No, I don't think she does. She says she feels sorry for her, and that +she would hate to be colored. 'It is so hard to be looked down on for +what one can't help.'" + +"Poor child! I wish we could leave the country. I never would consent to +her marrying any one without first revealing to him her connection with +the negro race. This is a subject on which I am not willing to run any +risks." + +"My dear Marie, when you shall have read Iola's letter you will see it +is more than a figment of my imagination that has made me so loth to +have our children know the paralyzing power of caste." + +Leroy, always liberal with his wife and children, spared neither pains +nor expense to have them prepared for their summer outing. Iola was to +graduate in a few days. Harry was attending a school in the State of +Maine, and his father had written to him, apprising him of his intention +to come North that season. In a few days Leroy and his wife started +North, but before they reached Vicksburg they were met by the +intelligence that the yellow fever was spreading in the Delta, and that +pestilence was breathing its bane upon the morning air and distilling +its poison upon the midnight dews. + +"Let us return home," said Marie. + +"It is useless," answered Leroy. "It is nearly two days since we left +home. The fever is spreading south of us with fearful rapidity. To +return home is to walk into the jaws of death. It was my intention to +have stopped at Vicksburg, but now I will go on as soon as I can make +the connections." + +Early next morning Leroy and his wife started again on their journey. +The cars were filled with terror-stricken people who were fleeing from +death, when death was everywhere. They fled from the city only to meet +the dreaded apparition in the country. As they journeyed on Leroy grew +restless and feverish. He tried to brace himself against the infection +which was creeping slowly but insidiously into his life, dulling his +brain, fevering his blood, and prostrating his strength. But vain were +all his efforts. He had no armor strong enough to repel the invasion of +death. They stopped at a small town on the way and obtained the best +medical skill and most careful nursing, but neither skill nor art +availed. On the third day death claimed Leroy as a victim, and Marie +wept in hopeless agony over the grave of her devoted husband, whose sad +lot it was to die from home and be buried among strangers. + +But before he died he placed his will in Marie's hands, saying: "I have +left you well provided for. Kiss the children for me and bid them +good-bye." + +He tried to say a parting word to Gracie, but his voice failed, and he +fainted into the stillness of death. A mortal paleness overspread his +countenance, on which had already gathered the shadows that never +deceive. In speechless agony Marie held his hand until it released its +pressure in death, and then she stood alone beside her dead, with all +the bright sunshine of her life fading into the shadows of the grave. +Heart-broken and full of fearful forebodings, Marie left her cherished +dead in the quiet village of H---- and returned to her death-darkened +home. + +It was a lovely day in June, birds were singing their sweetest songs, +flowers were breathing their fragrance on the air, when Mam Liza, +sitting at her cabin-door, talking with some of the house servants, saw +a carriage approaching, and wondered who was coming. + +"I wonder," she said, excitedly, "whose comin' to de house when de folks +is done gone." + +But her surprise was soon changed to painful amazement, when she saw +Marie, robed in black, alighting from the carriage, and holding Gracie +by the hand. She caught sight of the drooping head and grief-stricken +face, and rushed to her, exclaiming:-- + +"Whar's Marse Eugene?" + +"Dead," said Marie, falling into Mammy Liza's arms, sobbing out, "dead! +_ died_ of yellow fever." + +A wild burst of sorrow came from the lips of the servants, who had +drawn near. + +"Where is he?" said Mam Liza, speaking like one suddenly bewildered. + +"He is buried in H----. I could not bring him home," said Marie. + +"My pore baby," said Mam Liza, with broken sobs. "I'se drefful sorry. My +heart's most broke into two." Then, controlling herself, she dismissed +the servants who stood around, weeping, and led Marie to her room. + +"Come, honey, lie down an' lem'me git yer a cup ob tea." + +"Oh, no; I don't want anything," said Marie, wringing her hands in +bitter agony. + +"Oh, honey," said Mam Liza, "yer musn't gib up. Yer knows whar to put +yer trus'. Yer can't lean on de arm of flesh in dis tryin' time." +Kneeling by the side of her mistress she breathed out a prayer full of +tenderness, hope, and trust. + +Marie grew calmer. It seemed as if that earnest, trustful prayer had +breathed into her soul a feeling of resignation. + +Gracie stood wonderingly by, vainly trying to comprehend the great +sorrow which was overwhelming the life of her mother. + +After the first great burst of sorrow was over, Marie sat down to her +desk and wrote a letter to Iola, informing her of her father's death. By +the time she had finished it she grew dizzy and faint, and fell into a +swoon. Mammy Liza tenderly laid her on the bed, and helped restore her +to consciousness. + +Lorraine, having heard of his cousin's death, came immediately to see +Marie. She was too ill to have an interview with him, but he picked up +the letter she had written and obtained Iola's address. + +Lorraine made a careful investigation of the case, to ascertain whether +Marie's marriage was valid. To his delight he found there was a flaw in +the marriage and an informality in the manumission. He then determined +to invalidate Marie's claim, and divide the inheritance among Leroy's +white relations. In a short time strangers, distant relatives of her +husband, became frequent visitors at the plantation, and made themselves +offensively familiar. At length the dreadful storm burst. + +Alfred Lorraine entered suit for his cousin's estate, and for the +remanding of his wife and children to slavery. In a short time he came +armed with legal authority, and said to Marie:-- + +"I have come to take possession of these premises." + +"By what authority?" she gasped, turning deathly pale. He hesitated a +moment, as if his words were arrested by a sense of shame. + +"By what authority?" she again demanded. + +"By the authority of the law," answered Lorraine, "which has decided +that Leroy's legal heirs are his white blood relations, and that your +marriage is null and void." + +"But," exclaimed Marie, "I have our marriage certificate. I was Leroy's +lawful wife." + +"Your marriage certificate is not worth the paper it is written on." + +"Oh, you must be jesting, cruelly jesting. It can't be so." + +"Yes; it is so. Judge Starkins has decided that your manumission is +unlawful; your marriage a bad precedent, and inimical to the welfare of +society; and that you and your children are remanded to slavery." + +Marie stood as one petrified. She seemed a statue of fear and despair. +She tried to speak, reached out her hand as if she were groping in the +dark, turned pale as death as if all the blood in her veins had receded +to her heart, and, with one heart-rending cry of bitter agony, she fell +senseless to the floor. Her servants, to whom she had been so kind in +her days of prosperity, bent pityingly over her, chafed her cold hands, +and did what they could to restore her to consciousness. For awhile she +was stricken with brain fever, and her life seemed trembling on its +frailest cord. + +Gracie was like one perfectly dazed. When not watching by her mother's +bedside she wandered aimlessly about the house, growing thinner day by +day. A slow fever was consuming her life. Faithfully and carefully Mammy +Liza watched over her, and did all she could to bring smiles to her lips +and light to her fading eyes, but all in vain. Her only interest in life +was to sit where she could watch her mother as she tossed to and fro in +delirium, and to wonder what had brought the change in her once happy +home. Finally she, too, was stricken with brain fever, which intervened +as a mercy between her and the great sorrow that was overshadowing her +young life. Tears would fill the servants' eyes as they saw the dear +child drifting from them like a lovely vision, too bright for earth's +dull cares and weary, wasting pain. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + +SCHOOL-GIRL NOTIONS. + +During Iola's stay in the North she found a strong tide of opposition +against slavery. Arguments against the institution had entered the +Church and made legislative halls the arenas of fierce debate. The +subject had become part of the social converse of the fireside, and had +enlisted the best brain and heart of the country. Anti-slavery +discussions were pervading the strongest literature and claiming, a +place on the most popular platforms. + +Iola, being a Southern girl and a slave-holder's daughter, always +defended slavery when it was under discussion. + +"Slavery can't be wrong," she would say, "for my father is a +slave-holder, and my mother is as good to our servants as she can be. My +father often tells her that she spoils them, and lets them run over her. +I never saw my father strike one of them. I love my mammy as much as I +do my own mother, and I believe she loves us just as if we were her own +children. When we are sick I am sure that she could not do anything more +for us than she does." + +"But, Iola," responded one of her school friends, "after all, they are +not free. Would you be satisfied to have the most beautiful home, the +costliest jewels, or the most elegant wardrobe if you were a slave?" + +"Oh, the cases are not parallel. Our slaves do not want their freedom. +They would not take it if we gave it to them." + +"That is not the case with them all. My father has seen men who have +encountered almost incredible hardships to get their freedom. Iola, did +you ever attend an anti-slavery meeting?" + +"No; I don't think these Abolitionists have any right to meddle in our +affairs. I believe they are prejudiced against us, and want to get our +property. I read about them in the papers when I was at home. I don't +want to hear my part of the country run down. My father says the slaves +would be very well contented if no one put wrong notions in their +heads." + +"I don't know," was the response of her friend, "but I do not think that +that slave mother who took her four children, crossed the Ohio River on +the ice, killed one of the children and attempted the lives of the other +two, was a contented slave. And that other one, who, running away and +finding herself pursued, threw herself over the Long Bridge into the +Potomac, was evidently not satisfied. I do not think the numbers who are +coming North on the Underground Railroad can be very contented. It is +not natural for people to run away from happiness, and if they are so +happy and contented, why did Congress pass the Fugitive Slave Bill?" + +"Well, I don't think," answered Iola, "any of our slaves would run away. +I know mamma don't like slavery very much. I have often heard her say +that she hoped the time would come when there would not be a slave in +the land. My father does not think as she does. He thinks slavery is not +wrong if you treat them well and don't sell them from their families. I +intend, after I have graduated, to persuade pa to buy a house in New +Orleans, and spend the winter there. You know this will be my first +season out, and I hope that you will come and spend the winter with me. +We will have such gay times, and you will so fall in love with our sunny +South that you will never want to come back to shiver amid the snows and +cold of the North. I think one winter in the South would cure you of +your Abolitionism." + +"Have you seen her yet?" + +This question was asked by Louis Bastine, an attorney who had come North +in the interests of Lorraine. The scene was the New England village +where Mr. Galen's academy was located, and which Iola was attending. +This question was addressed to Camille Lecroix, Bastine's intimate +friend, who had lately come North. He was the son of a planter who lived +near Leroy's plantation, and was familiar with Iola's family history. +Since his arrival North, Bastine had met him and communicated to him his +intentions. + +"Yes; just caught a glimpse of her this morning as she was going down +the street," was Camille's reply. + +"She is a most beautiful creature," said Louis Bastine. "She has the +proud poise of Leroy, the most splendid eyes I ever saw in a woman's +head, lovely complexion, and a glorious wealth of hair. She would bring +$2000 any day in a New Orleans market." + +"I always feel sorry," said Camille, "when I see one of those Creole +girls brought to the auction block. I have known fathers who were deeply +devoted to their daughters, but who through some reverse of fortune were +forced to part with them, and I always think the blow has been equally +terrible on both sides. I had a friend who had two beautiful daughters +whom he had educated in the North. They were cultured, and really belles +in society. They were entirely ignorant of their lineage, but when their +father died it was discovered that their mother had been a slave. It was +a fearful blow. They would have faced poverty, but the knowledge of +their tainted blood was more than they could bear." + +"What became of them?" + +"They both died, poor girls. I believe they were as much killed by the +blow as if they had been shot. To tell you the truth, Bastine, I feel +sorry for this girl. I don't believe she has the least idea of her negro +blood." + +"No, Leroy has been careful to conceal it from her," replied Bastine. + +"Is that so?" queried Camille. "Then he has made a great mistake." + +"I can't help that," said Bastine; "business is business." + +"How can you get her away?" asked Camille. "You will have to be very +cautious, because if these pesky Abolitionists get an inkling of what +you're doing they will balk your game double quick. And when you come to +look at it, isn't it a shame to attempt to reduce that girl to slavery? +She is just as white as we are, as good as any girl in the land, and +better educated than thousands of white girls. A girl with her apparent +refinement and magnificent beauty, were it not for the cross in her +blood, I would be proud to introduce to our set. She would be the +sensation of the season. I believe to-day it would be easier for me to +go to the slums and take a young girl from there, and have her +introduced as my wife, than to have society condone the offense if I +married that lovely girl. There is not a social circle in the South that +would not take it as a gross insult to have her introduced into it." + +"Well," said Bastine, "my plan is settled. Leroy has never allowed her +to spend her vacations at home. I understand she is now very anxious to +get home, and, as Lorraine's attorney, I have come on his account to +take her home." + +"How will you do it?" + +"I shall tell her her father is dangerously ill, and desires her to come +as quickly as possible." + +"And what then?" + +"Have her inventoried with the rest of the property." + +"Don't she know that her father is dead?" + +"I think not," said Bastine. "She is not in mourning, but appeared very +light-hearted this morning, laughing and talking with two other girls. I +was struck with her great beauty, and asked a gentleman who she was. He +said, 'Miss Leroy, of Mississippi.' I think Lorraine has managed the +affair so as to keep her in perfect ignorance of her father's death. I +don't like the job, but I never let sentiment interfere with my work." + +Poor Iola! When she said slavery was not a bad thing, little did she +think that she was destined to drink to its bitter dregs the cup she was +so ready to press to the lips of others. + +"How do you think she will take to her situation?" asked Camille. + +"O, I guess," said Bastine, "she will sulk and take it pretty hard at +first; but if she is managed right she will soon get over it. Give her +plenty of jewelry, fine clothes, and an easy time." + +"All this business must be conducted with the utmost secrecy and speed. +Her mother could not have written to her, for she has been suffering +with brain fever and nervous prostration since Leroy's death. Lorraine +knows her market value too well, and is too shrewd to let so much +property pass out of his hands without making an effort to retain it." + +"Has she any brothers or sisters?" + +"Yes, a brother," replied Bastine; "but he is at another school, and I +have no orders from Lorraine in reference to him. If I can get the girl +I am willing to let well enough alone. I dread the interview with the +principal more than anything else. I am afraid he will hem and haw, and +have his doubts. Perhaps, when he sees my letters and hears my story, I +can pull the wool over his eyes." + +"But, Louis, this is a pitiful piece of business. I should hate to be +engaged in it." + +A deep flush of shame overspread for a moment the face of Lorraine's +attorney, as he replied: "I don't like the job, but I have undertaken +it, and must go through with it." + +"I see no '_must_' about it. Were I in your place I would wash my hands +of the whole business." + +"I can't afford it," was Bastine's hard, business-like reply. On the +next morning after this conversation between these two young men, Louis +Bastine presented himself to the principal of the academy, with the +request that Iola be permitted to leave immediately to attend the +sick-bed of her father, who was dangerously ill. The principal +hesitated, but while he was deliberating, a telegram, purporting to come +from Iola's mother, summoned Iola to her father's bedside without delay. +The principal, set at rest in regard to the truthfulness of the +dispatch, not only permitted but expedited her departure. + +Iola and Bastine took the earliest train, and traveled without pausing +until they reached a large hotel in a Southern city. There they were +obliged to wait a few hours until they could resume their journey, the +train having failed to make connection. Iola sat in a large, lonely +parlor, waiting for the servant to show her to a private room. She had +never known a great sorrow. Never before had the shadows of death +mingled with the sunshine of her life. + +Anxious, travel-worn, and heavy-hearted, she sat in an easy chair, with +nothing to divert her from the grief and anxiety which rendered every +delay a source of painful anxiety. + +"Oh, I hope that he will be alive and growing better!" was the thought +which kept constantly revolving in her mind, until she fell asleep. In +her dreams she was at home, encircled in the warm clasp of her father's +arms, feeling her mother's kisses lingering on her lips, and hearing the +joyous greetings of the servants and Mammy Liza's glad welcome as she +folded her to her heart. From this dream of bliss she was awakened by a +burning kiss pressed on her lips, and a strong arm encircling her. +Gazing around and taking in the whole situation, she sprang from her +seat, her eyes flashing with rage and scorn, her face flushed to the +roots of her hair, her voice shaken with excitement, and every nerve +trembling with angry emotion. + +"How dare you do such a thing! Don't you know if my father were here he +would crush you to the earth?" + +"Not so fast, my lovely tigress," said Bastine, "your father knew what +he was doing when he placed you in my charge." + +"My father made a great mistake, if he thought he had put me in charge +of a gentleman." + +"I am your guardian for the present," replied Bastine. "I am to see you +safe home, and then my commission ends." + +"I wish it were ended now," she exclaimed, trembling with anger and +mortification. Her voice was choked by emotion, and broken by smothered +sobs. Louis Bastine thought to himself, "she is a real spitfire, but +beautiful even in her wrath." + +During the rest of her journey Iola preserved a most freezing reserve +towards Bastine. At length the journey was ended. Pale and anxious she +rode up the avenue which led to her home. + +A strange silence pervaded the place. The servants moved sadly from +place to place, and spoke in subdued tones. The windows were heavily +draped with crape, and a funeral air pervaded the house. + +Mammy Liza met her at the door, and, with streaming eyes and convulsive +sobs, folded her to her heart, as Iola exclaimed, in tones of hopeless +anguish:-- + +"Oh, papa's dead!" + +"Oh, my pore baby!" said mammy, "ain't you hearn tell 'bout it? Yore +par's dead, an' your mar's bin drefful sick. She's better now." + +Mam Liza stepped lightly into Mrs. Leroy's room, and gently apprised her +of Iola's arrival. In a darkened room lay the stricken mother, almost +distracted by her late bereavement. + +"Oh, Iola," she exclaimed, as her daughter entered, "is this you? I am +so sorry you came." + +Then, burying her head in Iola's bosom, she wept convulsively. "Much as +I love you," she continued, between her sobs, "and much as I longed to +see you, I am sorry you came." + +"Why, mother," replied Iola, astonished, "I received your telegram last +Wednesday, and I took the earliest train I could get." + +"My dear child, I never sent you a telegram. It was a trick to bring you +down South and reduce you to slavery." + +Iola eyed her mother curiously. What did she mean? Had grief dethroned +her reason? Yet her eye was clear, her manner perfectly rational. + +Marie saw the astounded look on Iola's face, and nerving herself to the +task, said: "Iola, I must tell you what your father always enjoined me +to be silent about. I did not think it was the wisest thing, but I +yielded to his desires. I have negro blood in my veins. I was your +father's slave before I married him. His relatives have set aside his +will. The courts have declared our marriage null and void and my +manumission illegal, and we are all to be remanded to slavery." + +An expression of horror and anguish swept over Iola's face, and, turning +deathly pale, she exclaimed, "Oh, mother, it can't be so! you must be +dreaming!" + +"No, my child; it is a terrible reality." + +Almost wild with agony, Iola paced the floor, as the fearful truth broke +in crushing anguish upon her mind. Then bursting into a paroxysm of +tears succeeded by peals of hysterical laughter, said:-- + +"I used to say that slavery is right. I didn't know what I was talking +about." Then growing calmer, she said, "Mother, who is at the bottom of +this downright robbery?" + +"Alfred Lorraine; I have always dreaded that man, and what I feared has +come to pass. Your father had faith in him; I never had." + +"But, mother, could we not contest his claim. You have your marriage +certificate and papa's will." + +"Yes, my dear child, but Judge Starkins has decided that we have no +standing in the court, and no testimony according to law." + +"Oh, mother, what can I do?" + +"Nothing, my child, unless you can escape to the North." + +"And leave you?" + +"Yes." + +"Mother, I will never desert you in your hour of trial. But can nothing +be done? Had father no friends who would assist us?" + +"None that I know of. I do not think he had an acquaintance who approved +of our marriage. The neighboring planters have stood so aloof from me +that I do not know where to turn for either help or sympathy. I believe +it was Lorraine who sent the telegram. I wrote to you as soon as I could +after your father's death, but fainted just as I finished directing the +letter. I do not think he knows where your brother is, and, if possible, +he must not know. If you can by any means, _do_ send a letter to Harry +and warn him not to attempt to come home. I don't know how you will +succeed, for Lorraine has us all under surveillance. But it is according +to law." + +"What law, mother?" + +"The law of the strong against the weak." + +"Oh, mother, it seems like a dreadful dream, a fearful nightmare! But I +cannot shake it off. Where is Gracie?" + +"The dear child has been running down ever since her papa's death. She +clung to me night and day while I had the brain fever, and could not be +persuaded to leave me. She hardly ate anything for more than a week. She +has been dangerously ill for several days, and the doctor says she +cannot live. The fever has exhausted all her rallying power, and yet, +dear as she is to me, I would rather consign her to the deepest grave +than see her forced to be a slave." + +"So would I. I wish I could die myself." + +"Oh, Iola, do not talk so. Strive to be a Christian, to have faith in +the darkest hour. Were it not for my hope of heaven I couldn't stand all +this trouble." + +"Mother, are these people Christians who made these laws which are +robbing us of our inheritance and reducing us to slavery? If this is +Christianity I hate and despise it. Would the most cruel heathen do +worse?" + +"My dear child, I have not learned my Christianity from them. I have +learned it at the foot of the cross, and from this book," she said, +placing a New Testament in Iola's hands. "Some of the most beautiful +lessons of faith and trust I have ever learned were from among our lowly +people in their humble cabins." + +"Mamma!" called a faint voice from the adjoining room. Marie +immediately arose and went to the bedside of her sick child, where Mammy +Liza was holding her faithful vigils. The child had just awakened from a +fitful sleep. + +"I thought," she said, "that I heard Iola's voice. Has she come?" + +"Yes, darling; do you want to see her?" + +"Oh, yes," she said, as a bright smile broke over her dying features. + +Iola passed quickly into the room. Gracie reached out her thin, +bloodless hand, clasped Iola's palm in hers, and said: "I am so glad you +have come. Dear Iola, stand by mother. You and Harry are all she has. It +is not hard to die. You and mother and Harry must meet me in heaven." + +Swiftly the tidings went through the house that Gracie was dying. The +servants gathered around her with tearful eyes, as she bade them all +good-bye. When she had finished, and Mammy had lowered the pillow, an +unwonted radiance lit up her eye, and an expression of ineffable +gladness overspread her face, as she murmured: "It is beautiful, so +beautiful!" Fainter and fainter grew her voice, until, without a +struggle or sigh, she passed away beyond the power of oppression and +prejudice. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +A REJECTED SUITOR. + +Very unexpected was Dr. Gresham's proposal to Iola. She had heartily +enjoyed his society and highly valued his friendship, but he had never +been associated in her mind with either love or marriage. As he held her +hand in his a tell-tale flush rose to her cheek, a look of grateful +surprise beamed from her eye, but it was almost immediately succeeded by +an air of inexpressible sadness, a drooping of her eyelids, and an +increasing pallor of her cheek. She withdrew her hand from his, shook +her head sadly, and said:-- + +"No, Doctor; that can never be. I am very grateful to you for your +kindness. I value your friendship, but neither gratitude nor friendship +is love, and I have nothing more than those to give." + +"Not at present," said Dr. Gresham; "but may I not hope your friendship +will ripen into love?" + +"Doctor, I could not promise. I do not think that I should. There are +barriers between us that I cannot pass. Were you to know them I think +you would say the same." + +Just then the ambulance brought in a wounded scout, and Iola found +relief from the wounds of her own heart in attending to his. + +Dr. Gresham knew the barrier that lay between them. It was one which his +love had surmounted. But he was too noble and generous to take advantage +of her loneliness to press his suit. He had lived in a part of the +country where he had scarcely ever seen a colored person, and around the +race their misfortunes had thrown a halo of romance. To him the negro +was a picturesque being, over whose woes he had wept when a child, and +whose wrongs he was ready to redress when a man. But when he saw the +lovely girl who had been rescued by the commander of the post from the +clutches of slavery, all the manhood and chivalry in his nature arose in +her behalf, and he was ready to lay on the altar of her heart his first +grand and overmastering love. Not discouraged by her refusal, but +determined to overcome her objections, Dr. Gresham resolved that he +would abide his time. + +Iola was not indifferent to Dr. Gresham. She admired his manliness and +respected his character. He was tall and handsome, a fine specimen of +the best brain and heart of New England. He had been nurtured under +grand and ennobling influences. His father was a devoted Abolitionist. +His mother was kind-hearted, but somewhat exclusive and aristocratic. +She would have looked upon his marriage with Iola as a mistake and +feared that such an alliance would hurt the prospects of her daughters. + +During Iola's stay in the North, she had learned enough of the racial +feeling to influence her decision in reference to Dr. Gresham's offer. +Iola, like other girls, had had her beautiful day-dreams before she was +rudely awakened by the fate which had dragged her into the depths of +slavery. In the chambers of her imagery were pictures of noble deeds; of +high, heroic men, knightly, tender, true, and brave. In Dr. Gresham she +saw the ideal of her soul exemplified. But in her lonely condition, +with all its background of terrible sorrow and deep abasement, she had +never for a moment thought of giving or receiving love from one of that +race who had been so lately associated in her mind with horror, +aversion, and disgust. His kindness to her had been a new experience. +His companionship was an unexpected pleasure. She had learned to enjoy +his presence and to miss him when absent, and when she began to question +her heart she found that unconsciously it was entwining around him. + +"Yes," she said to herself, "I do like him; but I can never marry him. +To the man I marry my heart must be as open as the flowers to the sun. I +could not accept his hand and hide from him the secret of my birth; and +I could not consent to choose the happiest lot on earth without first +finding my poor heart-stricken and desolate mother. Perhaps some day I +may have the courage to tell him my sad story, and then make my heart +the sepulchre in which to bury all the love which might have gladdened +and brightened my whole life." + +During the sad and weary months which ensued while the war dragged its +slow length along, Dr. Gresham and Iola often met by the bedsides of the +wounded and dying, and sometimes he would drop a few words at which her +heart would beat quicker and her cheek flush more vividly. But he was so +kind, tender, and respectful, that Iola had no idea he knew her race +affiliations. She knew from unmistakable signs that Dr. Gresham had +learned to love her, and that he had power to call forth the warmest +affection of her soul; but she fought with her own heart and repressed +its rising love. She felt that it was best for his sake that they should +not marry. When she saw the evidences of his increasing love she +regretted that she had not informed him at the first of the barrier that +lay between them; it might have saved him unnecessary suffering. +Thinking thus, Iola resolved, at whatever cost of pain it might be to +herself, to explain to Dr. Gresham what she meant by the insurmountable +barrier. Iola, after a continuous strain upon her nervous system for +months, began to suffer from general debility and nervous depression. +Dr. Gresham saw the increasing pallor on Iola's cheek and the loss of +buoyancy in her step. One morning, as she turned from the bed of a young +soldier for whom she had just written a letter to his mother, there was +such a look of pity and sorrow on her face that Dr. Gresham's whole +heart went out in sympathy for her, and he resolved to break the silence +he had imposed upon himself. + +"Iola," he said, and there was a depth of passionate tenderness in his +voice, a volume of unexpressed affection in his face, "you are wronging +yourself. You are sinking beneath burdens too heavy for you to bear. It +seems to me that besides the constant drain upon your sympathies there +is some great sorrow preying upon your life; some burden that ought to +be shared." He gazed upon her so ardently that each cord of her heart +seemed to vibrate, and unbidden tears sprang to her lustrous eyes, as +she said, sadly:-- + +"Doctor, you are right." + +"Iola, my heart is longing to lift those burdens from your life. Love, +like faith, laughs at impossibilities. I can conceive of no barrier too +high for my love to surmount. Consent to be mine, as nothing else on +earth is mine." + +"Doctor, you know not what you ask," replied Iola. "Instead of coming +into this hospital a self-sacrificing woman, laying her every gift and +advantage upon the altar of her country, I came as a rescued slave, glad +to find a refuge from a fate more cruel than death; a fate from which I +was rescued by the intervention of my dear dead friend, Thomas Anderson. +I was born on a lonely plantation on the Mississippi River, where the +white population was very sparse. We had no neighbors who ever visited +us; no young white girls with whom I ever played in my childhood; but, +never having enjoyed such companionship, I was unconscious of any sense +of privation. Our parents spared no pains to make the lives of their +children (we were three) as bright and pleasant as they could. Our home +was so happy. We had a large number of servants, who were devoted to us. +I never had the faintest suspicion that there was any wrongfulness in +slavery, and I never dreamed of the dreadful fate which broke in a storm +of fearful anguish over our devoted heads. Papa used to take us to New +Orleans to see the Mardi Gras, and while there we visited the theatres +and other places of amusement and interest. At home we had books, +papers, and magazines to beguile our time. Perfectly ignorant of my +racial connection, I was sent to a Northern academy, and soon made many +friends among my fellow-students. Companionship with girls of my own age +was a new experience, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I spent several years +in New England, and was busily preparing for my commencement exercises +when my father was snatched away--died of yellow fever on his way North +to witness my graduation. Through a stratagem, I was brought hurriedly +from the North, and found that my father was dead; that his nearest +kinsman had taken possession of our property; that my mother's marriage +had been declared illegal, because of an imperceptible infusion of negro +blood in her veins; and that she and her children had been remanded to +slavery. I was torn from my mother, sold as a slave, and subjected to +cruel indignities, from which I was rescued and a place given to me in +this hospital. Doctor, I did not choose my lot in life, but I have no +other alternative than to accept it. The intense horror and agony I felt +when I was first told the story are over. Thoughts and purposes have +come to me in the shadow I should never have learned in the sunshine. I +am constantly rousing myself up to suffer and be strong. I intend, when +this conflict is over, to cast my lot with the freed people as a helper, +teacher, and friend. I have passed through a fiery ordeal, but this +ministry of suffering will not be in vain. I feel that my mind has +matured beyond my years. I am a wonder to myself. It seems as if years +had been compressed into a few short months. In telling you this, do you +not, can you not, see that there is an insurmountable barrier between +us?" + +"No, I do not," replied Dr. Gresham. "I love you for your own sake. And +with this the disadvantages of birth have nothing to do." + +"You say so now, and I believe that you are perfectly sincere. Today +your friendship springs from compassion, but, when that subsides, might +you not look on me as an inferior?" + +"Iola, you do not understand me. You think too meanly of me. You must +not judge me by the worst of my race. Surely our country has produced a +higher type of manhood than the men by whom you were tried and tempted." + +"Tried, but not tempted," said Iola, as a deep flush overspread her +face; "I was never tempted. I was sold from State to State as an article +of merchandise. I had outrages heaped on me which might well crimson the +cheek of honest womanhood with shame, but I never fell into the clutches +of an owner for whom I did not feel the utmost loathing and intensest +horror. I have heard men talk glibly of the degradation of the negro, +but there is a vast difference between abasement of condition and +degradation of character. I was abased, but the men who trampled on me +were the degraded ones." + +"But, Iola, you must not blame all for what a few have done." + +"A few have done? Did not the whole nation consent to our abasement?" +asked Iola, bitterly. + +"No, Miss Iola, we did not all consent to it. Slavery drew a line of +cleavage in this country. Although we were under one government we were +farther apart in our sentiments than if we had been divided by lofty +mountains and separated by wide seas. And had not Northern sentiment +been brought to bear against the institution, slavery would have been +intact until to-day." + +"But, Doctor, the negro is under a social ban both North and South. Our +enemies have the ear of the world, and they can depict us just as they +please." + +"That is true; but the negro has no other alternative than to make +friends of his calamities. Other men have plead his cause, but out of +the race must come its own defenders. With them the pen must be +mightier than the sword. It is the weapon of civilization, and they must +use it in their own defense. We cannot tell what is in them until they +express themselves." + +"Yes, and I think there is a large amount of latent and undeveloped +ability in the race, which they will learn to use for their own benefit. +This my hospital experience has taught me." + +"But," said Dr. Gresham, "they must learn to struggle, labor, and +achieve. By facts, not theories, they will be judged in the future. The +Anglo-Saxon race is proud, domineering, aggressive, and impatient of a +rival, and, as I think, has more capacity for dragging down a weaker +race than uplifting it. They have been a conquering and achieving +people, marvelous in their triumphs of mind over matter. They have +manifested the traits of character which are developed by success and +victory." + +"And yet," said Iola, earnestly, "I believe the time will come when the +civilization of the negro will assume a better phase than you +Anglo-Saxons possess. You will prove unworthy of your high vantage +ground if you only use your superior ability to victimize feebler races +and minister to a selfish greed of gold and a love of domination." + +"But, Iola," said Dr. Gresham, a little impatiently, "what has all this +to do with our marriage? Your complexion is as fair as mine. What is to +hinder you from sharing my Northern home, from having my mother to be +your mother?" The tones of his voice grew tender, as he raised his eyes +to Iola's face and anxiously awaited her reply. + +"Dr. Gresham," said Iola, sadly, "should the story of my life be +revealed to your family, would they be willing to ignore all the +traditions of my blood, forget all the terrible humiliations through +which I have passed? I have too much self-respect to enter your home +under a veil of concealment. I have lived in New England. I love the +sunshine of her homes and the freedom of her institutions. But New +England is not free from racial prejudice, and I would never enter a +family where I would be an unwelcome member." + +"Iola, dear, you have nothing to fear in that direction." + +"Doctor," she said, and a faint flush rose to her cheek, "suppose we +should marry, and little children in after years should nestle in our +arms, and one of them show unmistakable signs of color, would you be +satisfied?" + +She looked steadfastly into his eyes, which fell beneath her +truth-seeking gaze. His face flushed as if the question had suddenly +perplexed him. Iola saw the irresolution on his face, and framed her +answer accordingly. + +"Ah, I see," she said, "that you are puzzled. You had not taken into +account what might result from such a marriage. I will relieve you from +all embarrassment by simply saying I cannot be your wife. When the war +is over I intend to search the country for my mother. Doctor, were you +to give me a palace-like home, with velvet carpets to hush my tread, and +magnificence to surround my way, I should miss her voice amid all other +tones, her presence amid every scene. Oh, you do not know how hungry my +heart is for my mother! Were I to marry you I would carry an aching +heart into your home and dim its brightness. I have resolved never to +marry until I have found my mother. The hope of finding her has colored +all my life since I regained my freedom. It has helped sustain me in the +hour of fearful trial. When I see her I want to have the proud +consciousness that I bring her back a heart just as loving, faithful, +and devoted as the last hour we parted." + +"And is this your final answer?" + +"It is. I have pledged my life to that resolve, and I believe time and +patience will reward me." + +There was a deep shadow of sorrow and disappointment on the face of Dr. +Gresham as he rose to leave. For a moment he held her hand as it lay +limp in his own. If she wavered in her determination it was only for a +moment. No quivering of her lip or paling of her cheek betrayed any +struggle of her heart. Her resolve was made, and his words were +powerless to swerve her from the purpose of her soul. + +After Dr. Gresham had gone Iola went to her room and sat buried in +thought. It seemed as if the fate of Tantalus was hers, without his +crimes. Here she was lonely and heart-stricken, and unto her was +presented the offer of love, home, happiness, and social position; the +heart and hand of a man too noble and generous to refuse her +companionship for life on account of the blood in her veins. Why should +she refuse these desirable boons? But, mingling with these beautiful +visions of manly love and protecting care she saw the anguish of her +heart-stricken mother and the pale, sweet face of her dying sister, as +with her latest breath she had said, "Iola, stand by mamma!" + +"No, no," she said to herself; "I was right to refuse Dr. Gresham. How +dare I dream of happiness when my poor mamma's heart may be slowly +breaking? I should be ashamed to live and ashamed to die were I to +choose a happy lot for myself and leave poor mamma to struggle alone. I +will never be satisfied till I get tidings of her. And when I have found +her I will do all I can to cheer and brighten the remnant of her life." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + +HARRY LEROY. + +It was several weeks after Iola had written to her brother that her +letter reached him. The trusty servant to whom she delivered it watched +his opportunity to mail it. At last he succeeded in slipping it into +Lorraine's mail and dropping them all into the post office together. +Harry was studying at a boys' academy in Maine. His father had given +that State the preference because, while on a visit there, he had been +favorably impressed with the kindness and hospitality of the people. He +had sent his son a large sum of money, and given him permission to spend +awhile with some school-chums till he was ready to bring the family +North, where they could all spend the summer together. Harry had +returned from his visit, and was looking for letters and remittances +from home, when a letter, all crumpled, was handed him by the principal +of the academy. He recognized his sister's handwriting and eagerly +opened the letter. As he read, he turned very pale; then a deep flush +overspread his face and an angry light flashed from his eyes. As he read +on, his face became still paler; he gasped for breath and fell into a +swoon. Appalled at the sudden change which had swept over him like a +deadly sirocco, the principal rushed to the fallen boy, picked up the +missive that lay beside him, and immediately rang for help and +dispatched for the doctor. The doctor came at once and was greatly +puzzled. Less than an hour before, he had seen him with a crowd of +merry, laughter-loving boys, apparently as light-hearted and joyous as +any of them; now he lay with features drawn and pinched, his face deadly +pale, as if some terrible suffering had sent all the blood in his veins +to stagnate around his heart. Harry opened his eyes, shuddered, and +relapsed into silence. The doctor, all at sea in regard to the cause of +the sudden attack, did all that he could to restore him to consciousness +and quiet the perturbation of his spirit. He succeeded, but found he was +strangely silent. A terrible shock had sent a tremor through every +nerve, and the doctor watched with painful apprehension its effect upon +his reason. Giving him an opiate and enjoining that he should be kept +perfectly quiet, the doctor left the room, sought the principal, and +said:-- + +"Mr. Bascom, here is a case that baffles my skill. I saw that boy pass +by my window not more than half an hour ago, full of animation, and now +he lies hovering between life and death. I have great apprehension for +his reason. Can you throw any light on the subject?" + +Mr. Bascom hesitated. + +"I am not asking you as a matter of idle curiosity, but as a physician. +I must have all the light I can get in making my diagnosis of the case." + +The principal arose, went to his desk, took out the letter which he had +picked up from the floor, and laid it in the physician's hand. As the +doctor read, a look of indignant horror swept over his face. Then he +said: "Can it be possible! I never suspected such a thing. It must be a +cruel, senseless hoax." + +"Doctor," said Mr. Bascom, "I have been a life-long Abolitionist and +have often read of the cruelties and crimes of American slavery, but +never before did I realize the low moral tone of the social life under +which such shameless cruelties could be practiced on a defenseless widow +and her orphaned children. Let me read the letter again. Just look at +it, all tear-blotted and written with a trembling hand:-- + + + 'DEAR BROTHER:--I have dreadful news for you and I hardly know how + to tell it. Papa and Gracie are both dead. He died of yellow fever. + Mamma is almost distracted. Papa's cousin has taken possession of + our property, and instead of heirs we are chattels. Mamma has + explained the whole situation to me. She was papa's slave before she + married. He loved her, manumitted, educated, and married her. When + he died Mr. Lorraine entered suit for his property and Judge + Starkins has decided in his favor. The decree of the court has made + their marriage invalid, robbed us of our inheritance, and remanded + us all to slavery. Mamma is too wretched to attempt to write + herself, but told me to entreat you not to attempt to come home. You + can do us no good, and that mean, cruel Lorraine may do you much + harm. Don't attempt, I beseech you, to come home. Show this letter + to Mr. Bascom and let him advise you what to do. But don't, for our + sake, attempt to come home. + + 'Your heart-broken sister, + + 'IOLA LEROY.'" + + +"This," said the doctor, "is a very awkward affair. The boy is too ill +to be removed. It is doubtful if the nerves which have trembled with +such fearful excitement will ever recover their normal condition. It is +simply a work of mercy to watch over him with the tenderest care." + +Fortunately for Harry he had fallen into good hands, and the most tender +care and nursing were bestowed upon him. For awhile Harry was strangely +silent, never referring to the terrible misfortune which had so suddenly +overshadowed his life. It seemed as if the past were suddenly blotted +out of his memory. But he was young and of an excellent constitution, +and in a few months he was slowly recovering. + +"Doctor," said he one day, as the physician sat at his bedside, "I seem +to have had a dreadful dream, and to have dreamt that my father was +dead, and my mother and sister were in terrible trouble, but I could not +help them. Doctor, was it a dream, or was it a reality? It could not +have been a dream, for when I fell asleep the grass was green and the +birds were singing, but now the winds are howling and the frost is on +the ground. Doctor, tell me how it is? How long have I been here?" + +Sitting by his bedside, and taking his emaciated hand in his, the doctor +said, in a kind, fatherly tone: "My dear boy, you have been very ill, +and everything depends on your keeping quiet, very quiet." + +As soon as he was strong enough the principal gave him his letter to +read. + +"But, Mr. Bascom," Harry said, "I do not understand this. It says my +mother and father were legally married. How could her marriage be set +aside and her children robbed of their inheritance? This is not a +heathen country. I hardly think barbarians would have done any worse; +yet this is called a Christian country." + +"Christian in name," answered the principal. "When your father left you +in my care, knowing that I was an Abolitionist, he confided his secret +to me. He said that life was full of vicissitudes, and he wished you to +have a good education. He wanted you and your sister to be prepared for +any emergency. He did not wish you to know that you had negro blood in +your veins. He knew that the spirit of caste pervaded the nation, North +and South, and he was very anxious to have his children freed from its +depressing influences. He did not intend to stay South after you had +finished your education." + +"But," said Harry, "I cannot understand. If my mother was lawfully +married, how could they deprive her of her marital rights?" + +"When Lorraine," continued Mr. Bascom, "knew your father was dead, all +he had to do was to find a flaw in her manumission, and, of course, the +marriage became illegal. She could not then inherit property nor +maintain her freedom; and her children followed her condition." + +Harry listened attentively. Things which had puzzled him once now became +perfectly clear. He sighed heavily, and, turning to the principal, said: +"I see things in a new light. Now I remember that none of the planters' +wives ever visited my mother; and we never went to church except when my +father took us to the Cathedral in New Orleans. My father was a +Catholic, but I don't think mamma is." + +"Now, Harry," said the principal, "life is before you. If you wish to +stay North, I will interest friends in your behalf, and try to get you a +situation. Going South is out of the question. It is probable that by +this time your mother and sister are removed from their home. You are +powerless to fight against the law that enslaved them. Should you fall +into the clutches of Lorraine, he might give you a great deal of +trouble. You would be pressed into the Confederate service to help them +throw up barricades, dig trenches, and add to the strength of those who +enslaved your mother and sister." + +"Never! never!" cried Harry. "I would rather die than do it! I should +despise myself forever if I did." + +"Numbers of our young men," said Mr. Bascom, "have gone to the war which +is now raging between North and South. You have been sick for several +months, and much has taken place of which you are unaware. Would you +like to enlist?" + +"I certainly would; not so much for the sake of fighting for the +Government, as with the hope of finding my mother and sister, and +avenging their wrongs. I should like to meet Lorraine on the +battle-field." + +"What kind of a regiment would you prefer, white or colored?" + +Harry winced when the question was asked. He felt the reality of his +situation as he had not done before. It was as if two paths had suddenly +opened before him, and he was forced to choose between them. On one side +were strength, courage, enterprise, power of achievement, and memories +of a wonderful past. On the other side were weakness, ignorance, +poverty, and the proud world's social scorn. He knew nothing of colored +people except as slaves, and his whole soul shrank from equalizing +himself with them. He was fair enough to pass unchallenged among the +fairest in the land, and yet a Christless prejudice had decreed that he +should be a social pariah. He sat, thoughtful and undecided, as if a +great struggle were going on in his mind. Finally the principal said, "I +do not think that you should be assigned to a colored regiment because +of the blood in your veins, but you will have, in such a regiment, +better facilities for finding your mother and sister." + +"You are right, Mr. Bascom. To find my mother and sister I call no task +too heavy, no sacrifice too great." + +Since Harry had come North he had learned to feel profound pity for the +slave. But there is a difference between looking on a man as an object +of pity and protecting him as such, and being identified with him and +forced to share his lot. To take his place with them on the arena of +life was the test of his life, but love was stronger than pride. + +His father was dead. His mother and sister were enslaved by a mockery of +justice. It was more than a matter of choice where he should stand on +the racial question. He felt that he must stand where he could strike +the most effective blow for their freedom. With that thought strong in +his mind, and as soon as he recovered, he went westward to find a +colored regiment. He told the recruiting officer that he wished to be +assigned to a colored regiment. + +"Why do you wish that," said the officer, looking at Harry with an air +of astonishment. + +"Because I am a colored man." + +The officer look puzzled. It was a new experience. He had seen colored +men with fair complexions anxious to lose their identity with the +colored race and pose as white men, but here was a man in the flush of +his early manhood, to whom could come dreams of promotion from a simple +private to a successful general, deliberately turning his back upon +every gilded hope and dazzling opportunity, to cast his lot with the +despised and hated negro. + +"I do not understand you," said the officer. "Surely you are a white +man, and, as such, I will enlist you in a white regiment." + +"No," said Harry, firmly, "I am a colored man, and unless I can be +assigned to a colored regiment I am not willing to enter the army." + +"Well," said the officer, "you are the d----d'st fool I ever saw--a man +as white as you are turning his back upon his chances of promotion! But +you can take your choice." + +So Harry was permitted to enter the army. By his promptness and valor he +soon won the hearts of his superior officers, and was made drill +sergeant. Having nearly all of his life been used to colored people, and +being taught by his mother to be kind and respectful to them, he was +soon able to gain their esteem. He continued in the regiment until Grant +began the task of opening the Mississippi. After weeks of fruitless +effort, Grant marched his army down the west side of the river, while +the gunboats undertook the perilous task of running the batteries. Men +were found for the hour. The volunteers offered themselves in such +numbers that lots were cast to determine who should have the opportunity +to enlist in an enterprise so fraught with danger. Harry was one on whom +the lot fell. + +Grant crossed the river below, coiled his forces around Vicksburg like +a boa-constrictor, and held it in his grasp. After forty-seven days of +endurance the city surrendered to him. Port Hudson, after the surrender +of Vicksburg, gave up the unequal contest, and the Mississippi was open +to the Gulf. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + +ROBERT AND HIS COMPANY. + +"Good morning, gentlemen," said Robert Johnson, as he approached Colonel +Robinson, the commander of the post, who was standing at the door of his +tent, talking with Captain Sybil. + +"Good morning," responded Colonel Robinson, "I am glad you have come. I +was just about to send for you. How is your company getting on?" + +"First rate, sir," replied Robert. + +"In good health?" + +"Excellent. They are all in good health and spirits. Our boys are used +to hardship and exposure, and the hope of getting their freedom puts new +snap into them." + +"I am glad of it," said Colonel Robinson. "They make good fighters and +very useful allies. Last night we received very valuable intelligence +from some fugitives who had escaped through the Rebel lines. I do not +think many of the Northern people realize the service they have been to +us in bringing information and helping our boys when escaping from Rebel +prisons. I never knew a full-blooded negro to betray us. A month ago, +when we were encamped near the Rebel lines, a colored woman managed +admirably to keep us posted as to the intended movements of the enemy. +She was engaged in laundry work, and by means of hanging her sheets in +different ways gave us the right signals." + +"I hope," said Captain Sybil, "that the time will come when some +faithful historian will chronicle all the deeds of daring and-service +these people have performed during this struggle, and give them due +credit therefor." + +"Our great mistake," said Colonel Robinson, "was our long delay in +granting them their freedom, and even what we have done is only partial. +The border States still retain their slaves. We ought to have made a +clean sweep of the whole affair. Slavery is a serpent which we nourished +in its weakness, and now it is stinging us in its strength." + +"I think so, too," said Captain Sybil. "But in making his proclamation +of freedom, perhaps Mr. Lincoln went as far as he thought public opinion +would let him." + +"It is remarkable," said Colonel Robinson, "how these Secesh hold out. +It surprises me to see how poor white men, who, like the negroes, are +victims of slavery, rally around the Stripes and Bars. These men, I +believe, have been looked down on by the aristocratic slaveholders, and +despised by the well-fed and comfortable slaves, yet they follow their +leaders into the very jaws of death; face hunger, cold, disease, and +danger; and all for what? What, under heaven, are they fighting for? +Now, the negro, ignorant as he is, has learned to regard our flag as a +banner of freedom, and to look forward to his deliverance as a +consequence of the overthrow of the Rebellion." + +"I think," said Captain Sybil "that these ignorant white men have been +awfully deceived. They have had presented to their imaginations utterly +false ideas of the results of Secession, and have been taught that its +success would bring them advantages which they had never enjoyed in the +Union." + +"And I think," said Colonel Robinson, "that the women and ministers have +largely fed and fanned the fires of this Rebellion, and have helped to +create a public opinion which has swept numbers of benighted men into +the conflict. Well might one of their own men say, 'This is a rich man's +war and a poor man's fight.' They were led into it through their +ignorance, and held in it by their fears." + +"I think," said Captain Sybil, "that if the public school had been +common through the South this war would never have occurred. Now things +have reached such a pass that able-bodied men must report at +headquarters, or be treated as deserters. Their leaders are desperate +men, of whom it has been said: 'They have robbed the cradle and the +grave.'" + +"They are fighting against fearful odds," said Colonel Robinson, "and +their defeat is only a question of time." + +"As soon," said Robert, "as they fired on Fort Sumter, Uncle Daniel, a +dear old father who had been praying and hoping for freedom, said to me: +'Dey's fired on Fort Sumter, an' mark my words, Bob, de Norf's boun' +ter whip.'" + +"Had we freed the slaves at the outset," said Captain Sybil, "we +wouldn't have given the Rebels so much opportunity to strengthen +themselves by means of slave labor in raising their crops, throwing up +their entrenchments, and building their fortifications. Slavery was a +deadly cancer eating into the life of the nation; but, somehow, it had +cast such a glamour over us that we have acted somewhat as if our +national safety were better preserved by sparing the cancer than by +cutting it out." + +"Political and racial questions have sadly complicated this matter," +said Colonel Robinson. "The North is not wholly made up of anti-slavery +people. At the beginning of this war we were not permeated with justice, +and so were not ripe for victory. The battle of Bull Run inaugurated the +war by a failure. Instead of glory we gathered shame, and defeat in +place of victory." + +"We have been slow," said Captain Sybil, "to see our danger and to do +our duty. Our delay has cost us thousands of lives and millions of +dollars. Yet it may be it is all for the best. Our national wound was +too deep to be lightly healed. When the President issued his +Emancipation Proclamation my heart overflowed with joy, and I said: +'This is the first bright rift in the war cloud.'" + +"And did you really think that they would accept the terms of freedom +and lay down their arms?" asked Robert. + +"I hardly thought they would," continued Captain Sybil. "I did not think +that their leaders would permit it. I believe the rank and file of their +army are largely composed of a mass of ignorance, led, manipulated, and +moulded by educated and ambitious wickedness. In attempting to overthrow +the Union, a despotism and reign of terror were created which +encompassed them as fetters of iron, and they will not accept the +conditions until they have reached the last extremity. I hardly think +they are yet willing to confess that such extremity has been reached." + +"Captain," said Robert, as they left Colonel Robinson's tent, "I have +lived all my life where I have had a chance to hear the 'Secesh' talk, +and when they left their papers around I used to read everything I could +lay my hands on. It seemed to me that the big white men not only ruled +over the poor whites and made laws for them, but over the whole nation." + +"That was so," replied Captain Sybil. "The North was strong but +forbearing. It was busy in trade and commerce, and permitted them to +make the Northern States hunting-grounds for their slaves. When we sent +back Simms and Burns from beneath the shadow of Bunker Hill Monument and +Faneuil Hall, they mistook us; looked upon us as a lot of +money-grabbers, who would be willing to purchase peace at any price. I +do not believe when they fired on the 'Star of the West' that they had +the least apprehension of the fearful results which were to follow their +madness and folly." + +"Well, Captain," asked Robert, "if the free North would submit to be +called on to help them catch their slaves, what could be expected of us, +who all our lives had known no other condition than that of slavery? How +much braver would you have been, if your first recollections had been +those of seeing your mother maltreated, your father cruelly beaten, or +your fellow-servants brutally murdered? I wonder why they never enslaved +the Indians!" + +"You are mistaken, Robert, if you think the Indians were never enslaved. +I have read that the Spaniards who visited the coasts of America +kidnapped thousands of Indians, whom they sent to Europe and the West +Indies as slaves. Columbus himself, we are informed, captured five +hundred natives, and sent them to Spain. The Indian had the lesser power +of endurance, and Las Cassas suggested the enslavement of the negro, +because he seemed to possess greater breadth of physical organization +and stronger power of endurance. Slavery was an old world's crime which, +I have heard, the Indians never practiced among themselves. Perhaps it +would have been harder to reduce them to slavery and hold them in +bondage when they had a vast continent before them, where they could +hide in the vastnesses of its mountains or the seclusion of its forests, +than it was for white men to visit the coasts of Africa and, with their +superior knowledge, obtain cargoes of slaves, bring them across the +ocean, hem them in on the plantations, and surround them with a pall of +dense ignorance." + +"I remember," said Robert, "in reading a history I once came across at +our house, that when the Africans first came to this country they did +not all speak one language. Some had only met as mutual enemies. They +were not all one color, their complexions ranging from tawny yellow to +deep black." + +"Yes," said Captain Sybil, "and in dealing with the negro we wanted his +labor; in dealing with the Indian we wanted his lands. For one we had +weapons of war; for the other we had real and invisible chains, the +coercion of force, and the terror of the unseen world." + +"That's exactly so, Captain! When I was a boy I used to hear the old +folks tell what would happen to bad people in another world; about the +devil pouring hot lead down people's throats and stirring them up with a +pitch-fork; and I used to get so scared that I would be afraid to go to +bed at night. I don't suppose the Indians ever heard of such things, +or, if they had, I never heard of them being willing to give away all +their lands on earth, and quietly wait for a home in heaven." + +"But, surely, Robert, you do not think religion has degraded the negro?" + +"Oh, I wouldn't say that. But a man is in a tight fix when he takes his +part, like Nat Turner or Denmark Veasy, and is made to fear that he will +be hanged in this world and be burned in the next. And, since I come to +think of it, we colored folks used to get mightily mixed up about our +religion. Mr. Gundover had on his plantation a real smart man. He was +religious, but he would steal." + +"Oh, Robert," queried Sybil, "how could he be religious and steal?" + +"He didn't think," retorted Robert, "it was any harm to steal from his +master. I guess he thought it was right to get from his master all he +could. He would have thought it wrong to steal from his fellow-servants. +He thought that downright mean, but I wouldn't have insured the lives of +Gundover's pigs and chickens, if Uncle Jack got them in a tight place. +One day there was a minister stopping with Mr. Gundover. As a matter of +course, in speaking of his servants, he gave Jack's sins an airing. He +would much rather confess Jack's sins than his own. Now Gundover wanted +to do two things, save his pigs and poultry, and save Jack's soul. He +told the minister that Jack was a liar and a thief, and gave the +minister a chance to talk with Uncle Jack about the state of his soul. +Uncle Jack listened very quietly, and when taxed with stealing his +master's wheat he was ready with an answer. 'Now Massa Parker,' said +Jack, 'lem'me tell yer jis' how it war 'bout dat wheat. Wen ole Jack +com'd down yere, dis place war all growed up in woods. He go ter work, +clared up de groun' an' plowed, an' planted, an' riz a crap, an' den wen +it war all done, he hadn't a dollar to buy his ole woman a gown; an' he +jis' took a bag ob wheat.'" + +"What did Mr. Parker say?" asked Sybil. + +"I don't know, though I reckon he didn't think it was a bad steal after +all, but I don't suppose he told Jack so. When he came to the next +point, about Jack's lying, I suppose he thought he had a clear case; but +Jack was equal to the occasion." + +"How did he clear up that charge?" interrogated Captain Sybil. + +"Finely. I think if he had been educated he would have made a first-rate +lawyer. He said, 'Marse Parker, dere's old Joe. His wife don't lib on +dis plantation. Old Joe go ober ter see her, but he stayed too long, an' +didn't git back in time fer his work. Massa's oberseer kotched him an' +cut him all up. When de oberseer went inter de house, pore old Joe war +all tired an' beat up, an' so he lay down by de fence corner and go ter +sleep. Bimeby Massa oberseer com'd an' axed, "all bin a workin' libely?" +I say "Yes, Massa."' Then said Mr. Parker, 'You were lying, Joe had been +sleeping, not working.' 'I know's dat, but ef I tole on Joe, Massa +oberseer cut him all up again, and Massa Jesus says, "Blessed am de +Peacemaker."' I heard, continued Robert, that Mr. Parker said to +Gundover, 'You seem to me like a man standing in a stream where the +blood of Jesus can reach you, but you are standing between it and your +slaves. How will you answer that in the Day of Judgment?'" + +"What did Gundover say?" asked Captain Sybil. + +"He turned pale, and said, 'For God's sake don't speak of the Day of +Judgment in connection with slavery.'" + +Just then a messenger brought a communication to Captain Sybil. He read +it attentively, and, turning to Robert, said, "Here are orders for an +engagement at Five Forks to-morrow. Oh, this wasting of life and +scattering of treasure might have been saved had we only been wiser. But +the time is passing. Look after your company, and see that everything is +in readiness as soon as possible." + +Carefully Robert superintended the arrangements for the coming battle of +a strife which for years had thrown its crimson shadows over the land. +The Rebels fought with a valor worthy of a better cause. The disaster of +Bull Run had been retrieved. Sherman had made his famous march to the +sea. Fighting Joe Hooker had scaled the stronghold of the storm king and +won a victory in the palace chamber of the clouds; the Union soldiers +had captured Columbia, replanted the Stars and Stripes in Charleston, +and changed that old sepulchre of slavery into the cradle of a new-born +freedom. Farragut had been as triumphant on water as the other generals +had been victorious on land, and New Orleans had been wrenched from the +hands of the Confederacy. The Rebel leaders were obstinate. Misguided +hordes had followed them to defeat and death. Grant was firm and +determined to fight it out if it took all summer. The closing battles +were fought with desperate courage and firm resistance, but at last the +South was forced to succumb. On the ninth day of April, 1865, General +Lee surrendered to General Grant. The lost cause went down in blood and +tears, and on the brows of a ransomed people God poured the chrism of a +new era, and they stood a race newly anointed with freedom. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + +AFTER THE BATTLE. + +Very sad and heart-rending were the scenes with which Iola came in +constant contact. Well may Christian men and women labor and pray for +the time when nations shall learn war no more; when, instead of bloody +conflicts, there shall be peaceful arbitration. The battle in which +Robert fought, after his last conversation with Captain Sybil, was one +of the decisive struggles of the closing conflict. The mills of doom and +fate had ground out a fearful grist of agony and death, + + "And lives of men and souls of States + Were thrown like chaff beyond the gates." + +Numbers were taken prisoners. Pale, young corpses strewed the earth; +manhood was stricken down in the flush of its energy and prime. The +ambulances brought in the wounded and dying. Captain Sybil laid down his +life on the altar of freedom. His prediction was fulfilled. Robert was +brought into the hospital, wounded, but not dangerously. Iola remembered +him as being the friend of Tom Anderson, and her heart was drawn +instinctively towards him. For awhile he was delirious, but her presence +had a soothing effect upon him. He sometimes imagined that she was his +mother, and he would tell her how he had missed her; and then at times +he would call her sister. Iola, tender and compassionate, humored his +fancies, and would sing to him in low, sweet tones some of the hymns +she had learned in her old home in Mississippi. One day she sang a few +verses of the hymn beginning with the words-- + + "Drooping souls no longer grieve, + Heaven is propitious; + If on Christ you do believe, + You will find Him precious." + +"That," said he, looking earnestly into Iola's face, "was my mother's +hymn. I have not heard it for years. Where did you learn it?" + +Iola gazed inquiringly upon the face of her patient, and saw, by his +clear gaze and the expression of his face, that his reason had returned. + +"In my home, in Mississippi, from my own dear mother," was Iola's reply. + +"Do you know where she learned it?" asked Robert. + +"When she was a little girl she heard her mother sing it. Years after, a +Methodist preacher came to our house, sang this hymn, and left the book +behind him. My father was a Catholic, but my mother never went to any +church. I did not understand it then, but I do now. We used to sing +together, and read the Bible when we were alone." + +"Do you remember where she came from, and who was her mother?" asked +Robert, anxiously. + +"My dear friend, you must be quiet. The fever has left you, but I will +not answer for the consequences if you get excited." + +Robert lay quiet and thoughtful for awhile and, seeing he was wakeful, +Iola said, "Have you any friends to whom you would like to send a +letter?" + +A pathetic expression flitted over his face, as he sadly replied, "I +haven't, to my knowledge, a single relation in the world. When I was +about ten years old my mother and sister were sold from me. It is more +than twenty years since I have heard from them. But that hymn which you +were singing reminded me so much of my mother! She used to sing it when +I was a child. Please sing it again." + +Iola's voice rose soft and clear by his bedside, till he fell into a +quiet slumber. She remembered that her mother had spoken of her brother +before they had parted, and her interest and curiosity were awakened by +Robert's story. While he slept, she closely scrutinized Robert's +features, and detected a striking resemblance between him and her +mother. + +"Oh, I _do_ wonder if he can be my mother's brother, from whom she has +been separated so many years!" + +Anxious as she was to ascertain if there was any relationship between +Robert and her mother, she forebore to question him on the subject which +lay so near her heart. But one day, when he was so far recovered as to +be able to walk around, he met Iola on the hospital grounds, and said to +her:-- + +"Miss Iola, you remind me so much of my mother and sister that I cannot +help wondering if you are the daughter of my long-lost sister." + +"Do you think," asked Iola, "if you saw the likeness of your sister you +would recognize her?" + +"I am afraid not. But there is one thing I can remember about her: she +used to have a mole on her cheek, which mother used to tell her was her +beauty spot." + +"Look at this," said Iola, handing him a locket which contained her +mother's picture. + +Robert grasped the locket eagerly, scanned the features attentively, +then, handing it back, said: "I have only a faint remembrance of my +sister's features; but I never could recognize in that beautiful woman +the dear little sister with whom I used to play. Oh, the cruelty of +slavery! How it wrenched and tore us apart! Where is _your_ mother now?" + +"Oh, I cannot tell," answered Iola. "I left her in Mississippi. My +father was a wealthy Creole planter, who fell in love with my mother. +She was his slave, but he educated her in the North, freed, and married +her. My father was very careful to have the fact of our negro blood +concealed from us. I had not the slightest suspicion of it. When he was +dead the secret was revealed. His white relations set aside my father's +will, had his marriage declared invalid, and my mother and her children +were remanded to slavery." Iola shuddered as she pronounced the horrid +word, and grew deadly pale; but, regaining her self-possession, +continued: "Now, that freedom has come, I intend to search for my mother +until I find her." + +"I do not wonder," said Robert, "that we had this war. The nation had +sinned enough to suffer." + +"Yes," said Iola, "if national sins bring down national judgments, then +the nation is only reaping what it sowed." + +"What are your plans for the future, or have you any?" asked Robert. + +"I intend offering myself as a teacher in one of the schools which are +being opened in different parts of the country," replied Iola. "As soon +as I am able I will begin my search for my dear mother. I will advertise +for her in the papers, hunt for her in the churches, and use all the +means in my power to get some tidings of her and my brother Harry. What +a cruel thing it was to separate us!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + +FLAMES IN THE SCHOOL-ROOM. + +"Good morning," said Dr. Gresham, approaching Robert and Iola. "How are +you both? You have mended rapidly," turning to Robert, "but then it was +only a flesh wound. Your general health being good, and your blood in +excellent condition, it was not hard for you to rally." + +"Where have you been, Doctor? I have a faint recollection of having seen +you on the morning I was brought in from the field, but not since." + +"I have been on a furlough. I was running down through exhaustion and +overwork, and I was compelled to go home for a few weeks' rest. But now, +as they are about to close the hospital, I shall be permanently +relieved. I am glad that this cruel strife is over. It seemed as if I +had lived through ages during these last few years. In the early part of +the war I lost my arm by a stray shot, and my armless sleeve is one of +the mementos of battle I shall carry with me through life. Miss Leroy," +he continued, turning respectfully to Iola, "would you permit me to ask +you, as I would have someone ask my sister under the same circumstances, +if you have matured any plans for the future, or if I can be of the +least service to you? If so, I would be pleased to render you any +service in my power." + +"My purpose," replied Iola, "is to hunt for my mother, and to find her +if she is alive. I am willing to go anywhere and do anything to find +her. But I will need a standpoint from whence I can send out lines of +inquiry. It must take time, in the disordered state of affairs, even to +get a clue by which I may discover her whereabouts." + +"How would you like to teach?" asked the Doctor. "Schools are being +opened all around us. Numbers of excellent and superior women are coming +from the North to engage as teachers of the freed people. Would you be +willing to take a school among these people? I think it will be uphill +work. I believe it will take generations to get over the duncery of +slavery. Some of these poor fellows who came into our camp did not know +their right hands from their left, nor their ages, nor even the days of +the month. It took me some time, in a number of cases, to understand +their language. It saddened my heart to see such ignorance. One day I +asked one a question, and he answered, "I no shum'." + +"What did he mean?" asked Iola. + +"That he did not see it," replied the doctor. "Of course, this does not +apply to all of them. Some of them are wide-awake and sharp as steel +traps. I think some of that class may be used in helping others." + +"I should be very glad to have an opportunity to teach," said Iola. "I +used to be a great favorite among the colored children on my father's +plantation." + +In a few days after this conversation the hospital was closed. The sick +and convalescent were removed, and Iola obtained a position as a +teacher. Very soon Iola realized that while she was heartily appreciated +by the freedmen, she was an object of suspicion and dislike to their +former owners. The North had conquered by the supremacy of the sword, +and the South had bowed to the inevitable. But here was a new army that +had come with an invasion of ideas, that had come to supplant ignorance +with knowledge, and it was natural that its members should be unwelcome +to those who had made it a crime to teach their slaves to read the name +of the ever blessed Christ. But Iola had found her work, and the freed +men their friend. + +When Iola opened her school she took pains to get acquainted with the +parents of the children, and she gained their confidence and +co-operation. Her face was a passport to their hearts. Ignorant of +books, human faces were the scrolls from which they had been reading for +ages. They had been the sunshine and shadow of their lives. + +Iola had found a school-room in the basement of a colored church, where +the doors were willingly opened to her. Her pupils came from miles +around, ready and anxious to get some "book larnin'." Some of the old +folks were eager to learn, and it was touching to see the eyes which had +grown dim under the shadows of slavery, donning spectacles and trying to +make out the words. As Iola had nearly all of her life been accustomed +to colored children she had no physical repulsions to overcome, no +prejudices to conquer in dealing with parents and children. In their +simple childish fashion they would bring her fruits and flowers, and +gladden her lonely heart with little tokens of affection. + +One day a gentleman came to the school and wished to address the +children. Iola suspended the regular order of the school, and the +gentleman essayed to talk to them on the achievements of the white race, +such as building steamboats and carrying on business. Finally, he asked +how they did it? + +"They've got money," chorused the children. + +"But how did they get it?" + +"They took it from us," chimed the youngsters. Iola smiled, and the +gentleman was nonplussed; but he could not deny that one of the powers +of knowledge is the power of the strong to oppress the weak. + +The school was soon overcrowded with applicants, and Iola was forced to +refuse numbers, because their quarters were too cramped. The school was +beginning to lift up the home, for Iola was not satisfied to teach her +children only the rudiments of knowledge. She had tried to lay the +foundation of good character. But the elements of evil burst upon her +loved and cherished work. One night the heavens were lighted with lurid +flames, and Iola beheld the school, the pride and joy of her pupils and +their parents, a smouldering ruin. Iola gazed with sorrowful dismay on +what seemed the cruel work of an incendiary's torch. While she sat, +mournfully contemplating the work of destruction, her children formed a +procession, and, passing by the wreck of their school, sang:-- + + "Oh, do not be discouraged, + For Jesus is your friend." + +As they sang, the tears sprang to Iola's eyes, and she said to herself, +"I am not despondent of the future of my people; there is too much +elasticity in their spirits, too much hope in their hearts, to be +crushed out by unreasoning malice." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + +SEARCHING FOR LOST ONES. + +To bind anew the ties which slavery had broken and gather together the +remnants of his scattered family became the earnest purpose of Robert's +life. Iola, hopeful that in Robert she had found her mother's brother, +was glad to know she was not alone in _her_ search. Having sent out +lines of inquiry in different directions, she was led to hope, from some +of the replies she had received, that her mother was living somewhere in +Georgia. + +Hearing that a Methodist conference was to convene in that State, and +being acquainted with the bishop of that district, she made arrangements +to accompany him thither. She hoped to gather some tidings of her mother +through the ministers gathered from different parts of that State. + +From her brother she had heard nothing since her father's death. On his +way to the conference, the bishop had an engagement to dedicate a +church, near the city of C----, in North Carolina. Iola was quite +willing to stop there a few days, hoping to hear something of Robert +Johnson's mother. Soon after she had seated herself in the cars she was +approached by a gentleman, who reached out his hand to her, and greeted +her with great cordiality. Iola looked up, and recognized him +immediately as one of her last patients at the hospital. It was none +other than Robert Johnson. + +"I am so glad to meet you," he said. "I am on my way to C---- in search +of my mother. I want to see the person who sold her last, and, if +possible, get some clew to the direction in which she went." + +"And I," said Iola, "am in search of _my_ mother. I am convinced that +when we find those for whom we are searching they will prove to be very +nearly related. Mamma said, before we were parted, that her brother had +a red spot on his temple. If I could see that spot I should rest assured +that my mother is your sister." + +"Then," said Robert, "I can give you that assurance," and smilingly he +lifted his hair from his temple, on which was a large, red spot. + +"I am satisfied," exclaimed Iola, fixing her eyes, beaming with hope and +confidence, on Robert. "Oh, I am so glad that I can, without the least +hesitation, accept your services to join with me in the further search. +What are your plans?" + +"To stop for awhile in C----," said Robert, "and gather all the +information possible from those who sold and bought my mother. I intend +to leave no stone un-turned in searching for her." + +"Oh, I _do_ hope that you will succeed. I expect to stop over there a +few days, and I shall be so glad if, before I leave, I hear your search +has been crowned with success, or, a least, that you have been put on +the right track. Although I was born and raised in the midst of +slavery, I had not the least idea of its barbarous selfishness till I +was forced to pass through it. But we lived so much alone I had no +opportunity to study it, except on our own plantation. My father and +mother were very kind to their slaves. But it was slavery, all the same, +and I hate it, root and branch." + +Just then the conductor called out the station. + +"We stop here," said Robert. "I am going to see Mrs. Johnson, and hunt +up some of my old acquaintances. Where do you stop?" + +"I don't know," replied Iola. "I expect that friends will be here to +meet us. Bishop B----, permit me to introduce you to Mr. Robert Johnson, +whom I have every reason to believe is my mother's brother. Like myself, +he is engaged in hunting up his lost relatives." + +"And I," said Robert, "am very much pleased to know that we are not +without favorable clues." + +"Bishop," said Iola, "Mr. Johnson wishes to know where I am to stop. He +is going on an exploring expedition, and wishes to let me know the +result." + +"We stop at Mrs. Allston's, 313 New Street," said the bishop. "If I can +be of any use to you, I am at your service." + +"Thank you," said Robert, lifting his hat, as he left them to pursue his +inquiries about his long-lost mother. + +Quickly he trod the old familiar streets which led to his former home. +He found Mrs. Johnson, but she had aged very fast since the war. She was +no longer the lithe, active woman, with her proud manner and resolute +bearing. Her eye had lost its brightness, her step its elasticity, and +her whole appearance indicated that she was slowly sinking beneath a +weight of sorrow which was heavier far than her weight of years. When +she heard that Robert had called to see her she was going to receive him +in the hall, as she would have done any of her former slaves, but her +mind immediately changed when she saw him. He was not the light-hearted, +careless, mischief-loving Robby of former days, but a handsome man, +with heavy moustache, dark, earnest eyes, and proud military bearing. He +smiled, and reached out his hand to her. She hardly knew how to address +him. To her colored people were either boys and girls, or "aunties and +uncles." She had never in her life addressed a colored person as "Mr. or +Mrs." To do so now was to violate the social customs of the place. It +would be like learning a new language in her old age. Robert immediately +set her at ease by addressing her under the old familiar name of "Miss +Nancy." This immediately relieved her of all embarrassment. She invited +him into the sitting-room, and gave him a warm welcome. + +"Well, Robby," she said, "I once thought that you would have been the +last one to leave me. You know I never ill-treated you, and I gave you +everything you needed. People said that I was spoiling you. I thought +you were as happy as the days were long. When I heard of other people's +servants leaving them I used to say to myself, 'I can trust my Bobby; he +will stick to me to the last.' But I fooled myself that time. Soon as +the Yankee soldiers got in sight you left me without saying a word. That +morning I came down into the kitchen and asked Linda, 'Where's Robert? +Why hasn't he set the table?' She said 'she hadn't seen you since the +night before.' I thought maybe you were sick, and I went to see, but you +were not in your room. I couldn't believe at first that you were gone. +Wasn't I always good to you?" + +"Oh, Miss Nancy," replied Robert; "you were good, but freedom was +better." + +"Yes," she said, musingly, "I suppose I would have done the same. But, +Robby, it did go hard with me at first. However, I soon found out that +my neighbors had been going through the same thing. But its all over +now. Let by-gones be by-gones. What are you doing now, and where are +you living?" + +"I am living in the city of P----. I have opened a hardware store there. +But just now I am in search of my mother and sister." + +"I hope that you may find them." + +"How long," asked Robert, "do you think it has been since they left +here?" + +"Let me see; it must have been nearly thirty years. You got my letter?" + +"Yes, ma'am; thank you." + +"There have been great changes since you left here," Mrs. Johnson said. +"Gundover died, and a number of colored men have banded together, bought +his plantation, and divided it among themselves. And I hear they have a +very nice settlement out there. I hope, since the Government has set +them free, that they will succeed." + +After Robert's interview with Mrs. Johnson he thought he would visit the +settlement and hunt up his old friends. He easily found the place. It +was on a clearing in Gundover's woods, where Robert and Uncle Daniel had +held their last prayer-meeting. Now the gloomy silence of those woods +was broken by the hum of industry, the murmur of cheerful voices, and +the merry laughter of happy children. Where they had trodden with fear +and misgiving, freedmen walked with light and bounding hearts. The +school-house had taken the place of the slave-pen and auction-block. +"How is yer, ole boy?" asked one laborer of another. + +"Everything is lobly," replied the other. The blue sky arching overhead +and the beauty of the scenery justified the expression. + +Gundover had died soon after the surrender. Frank Anderson had grown +reckless and drank himself to death. His brother Tom had been killed in +battle. Their mother, who was Gundover's daughter, had died insane. +Their father had also passed away. The defeat of the Confederates, the +loss of his sons, and the emancipation of his slaves, were blows from +which he never recovered. As Robert passed leisurely along, delighted +with the evidences of thrift and industry which constantly met his eye, +he stopped to admire a garden filled with beautiful flowers, clambering +vines, and rustic adornments. + +On the porch sat an elderly woman, darning stockings, the very +embodiment of content and good humor. Robert looked inquiringly at her. +On seeing him, she almost immediately exclaimed, "Shore as I'se born, +dat's Robert! Look yere, honey, whar did yer come from? I'll gib my head +fer a choppin' block ef dat ain't Miss Nancy's Bob. Ain't yer our Bobby? +Shore yer is." + +"Of course I am," responded Robert. "It isn't anybody else. How did you +know me?" + +"How did I know yer? By dem mischeebous eyes, ob course. I'd a knowed +yer if I had seed yer in Europe." + +"In Europe, Aunt Linda? Where's that?" + +"I don't know. I specs its some big city, somewhar. But yer looks jis' +splendid. Yer looks good 'nuff ter kiss." + +"Oh, Aunt Linda, don't say that. You make me blush." + +"Oh you go 'long wid yer. I specs yer's got a nice little wife up dar +whar yer comes from, dat kisses yer ebery day, an' Sunday, too." + +"Is that the way your old man does you?" + +"Oh, no, not a bit. He isn't one ob de kissin' kine. But sit down," she +said, handing Robert a chair. "Won't yer hab a glass ob milk? Boy, I'se +a libin' in clover. Neber 'spected ter see sich good times in all my +born days." + +"Well, Aunt Linda," said Robert, seating himself near her, and drinking +the glass of milk which she had handed him, "how goes the battle? How +have you been getting on since freedom?" + +"Oh, fust rate, fust rate! Wen freedom com'd I jist lit out ob Miss +Johnson's kitchen soon as I could. I wanted ter re'lize I war free, an' +I couldn't, tell I got out er de sight and soun' ob ole Miss. When de +war war ober an' de sogers war still stopping' yere, I made pies an' +cakes, sole em to de sogers, an' jist made money han' ober fist. An' I +kep' on a workin' an' a savin' till my ole man got back from de war wid +his wages and his bounty money. I felt right set up an' mighty big wen +we counted all dat money. We had neber seen so much money in our lives +befo', let alone hab it fer ourselbs. An' I sez, 'John, you take dis +money an' git a nice place wid it.' An' he sez, 'Dere's no use tryin', +kase dey don't want ter sell us any lan'.' Ole Gundover said, 'fore he +died, dat he would let de lan' grow up in trees 'fore he'd sell it to +us. An' dere war Mr. Brayton; he buyed some lan' and sole it to some +cullud folks, an' his ole frien's got so mad wid him dat dey wouldn't +speak ter him, an' he war borned down yere. I tole ole Miss Anderson's +daughter dat we wanted ter git some homes ob our ownselbs. She sez, 'Den +you won't want ter work for us?' Jis' de same as ef we could eat an' +drink our houses. I tell yer, Robby, dese white folks don't know +eberything." + +"That's a fact, Aunt Linda." + +"Den I sez ter John, 'wen one door shuts anoder opens.' An' shore +'nough, ole Gundover died, an' his place war all in debt, an' had to be +sole. Some Jews bought it, but dey didn't want to farm it, so dey gib us +a chance to buy it. Dem Jews hez been right helpful to cullud people wen +dey hab lan' to sell. I reckon dey don't keer who buys it so long as dey +gits de money. Well, John didn't gib in at fust; didn't want to let on +his wife knowed more dan he did, an' dat he war ruled ober by a woman. +Yer know he is an' ole Firginian, an' some ob dem ole Firginians do so +lub to rule a woman. But I kep' naggin at him, till I specs he got tired +of my tongue, an' he went and buyed dis piece ob lan'. Dis house war on +it, an' war all gwine to wrack. It used to belong to John's ole marster. +His wife died right in dis house, an' arter dat her husband went right +to de dorgs; an' now he's in de pore-house. My! but ain't dem tables +turned. When we knowed it war our own, warn't my ole man proud! I seed +it in him, but he wouldn't let on. Ain't you men powerful 'ceitful?" + +"Oh, Aunt Linda, don't put me in with the rest!" + +"I don't know 'bout dat. Put you all in de bag for 'ceitfulness, an' I +don't know which would git out fust." + +"Well, Aunt Linda, I suppose by this time you know how to read and +write?" + +"No, chile, sence freedom's com'd I'se bin scratchin' too hard to get a +libin' to put my head down to de book." + +"But, Aunt Linda, it would be such company when your husband is away, to +take a book. Do you never get lonesome?" + +"Chile, I ain't got no time ter get lonesome. Ef you had eber so many +chickens to feed, an' pigs squealin' fer somethin' ter eat, an' yore +ducks an' geese squakin' 'roun' yer, yer wouldn't hab time ter git +lonesome." + +"But, Aunt Linda, you might be sick for months, and think what a comfort +it would be if you could read your Bible." + +"Oh, I could hab prayin' and singin'. Dese people is mighty good 'bout +prayin' by de sick. Why, Robby, I think it would gib me de hysterics ef +I war to try to git book larnin' froo my pore ole head. How long is yer +gwine to stay? An' whar is yer stoppin?" + +"I got here to-day," said Robert, "but I expect to stay several days." + +"Well, I wants yer to meet my ole man, an' talk 'bout ole times. +Couldn't yer come an' stop wid me, or isn't my house sniptious 'nuff?" + +"Yes, thank you; but there is a young lady in town whom I think is my +niece, my sister's daughter, and I want to be with her all I can." + +"Your niece! Whar did you git any niece from?" + +"Don't you remember," asked Robert, "that my mother had a little +daughter, when Mrs. Johnson sold her? Well, I believe this young lady is +that daughter's child." + +"Laws a marcy!" exclaimed Aunt Linda, "yer don't tell me so! Whar did +yer ketch up wid her?" + +"I met her first," said Robert, "at the hospital here, when our poor Tom +was dying; and when I was wounded at Five Forks she attended me in the +field hospital there. She was just as good as gold." + +"Well, did I eber! You jis' fotch dat chile to see me, ef she ain't too +fine. I'se pore, but I'se clean, an' I ain't forgot how ter git up good +dinners. Now, I wants ter hab a good talk 'bout our feller-sarvants." + +"Yes, and I," said Robert, "want to hear all about Uncle Daniel, and +Jennie, and Uncle Ben Tunnel." + +"Well, I'se got lots an' gobs ter tell yer. I'se kep' track ob dem all. +Aunt Katie died an' went ter hebben in a blaze ob glory. Uncle Dan'el +stayed on de place till Marse Robert com'd back. When de war war ober he +war smashed all ter pieces. I did pity him from de bottom ob my heart. +When he went ter de war he looked so brave an' han'some; an' wen he +com'd back he looked orful. 'Fore he went he gib Uncle Dan'el a bag full +ob money ter take kere ob. 'An wen he com'd back Uncle Dan'el gibed him +ebery cent ob it. It warn't ebery white pusson he could hab trusted wid +it. 'Cause yer know, Bobby, money's a mighty temptin' thing. Dey tells +me dat Marster Robert los' a heap ob property by de war; but Marse +Robert war always mighty good ter Uncle Dan'el and Aunt Katie. He war +wid her wen she war dyin' an' she got holt his han' an' made him promise +dat he would meet her in glory. I neber seed anybody so happy in my +life. She singed an' prayed ter de last. I tell you dis ole time +religion is good 'nuff fer me. Mr. Robert didn't stay yere long arter +her, but I beliebs he went all right. But 'fore he went he looked out +fer Uncle Dan'el. Did you see dat nice little cabin down dere wid de +green shutters an' nice little garden in front? Well, 'fore Marse Robert +died he gib Uncle Dan'el dat place, an' Miss Mary and de chillen looks +arter him yet; an' he libs jis' as snug as a bug in a rug. I'se gwine +ter axe him ter take supper wid you. He'll be powerful glad ter see +you." + +"Do you ever go to see old Miss?" asked Robert. + +"Oh, yes; I goes ebery now and den. But she's jis' fell froo. Ole +Johnson jis' drunk hisself to death. He war de biggest guzzler I eber +seed in my life. Why, dat man he drunk up ebery thing he could lay his +han's on. Sometimes he would go 'roun' tryin' to borrer money from pore +cullud folks. 'Twas rale drefful de way dat pore feller did frow hisself +away. But drink did it all. I tell you, Bobby, dat drink's a drefful +thing wen it gits de upper han' ob you. You'd better steer clar ob it." + +"That's so," assented Robert. + +"I know'd Miss Nancy's fadder and mudder. Dey war mighty rich. Some ob +de real big bugs. Marse Jim used to know dem, an' come ober ter de +plantation, an' eat an' drink wen he got ready, an' stay as long as he +choose. Ole Cousins used to have wine at dere table ebery day, an' Marse +Jim war mighty fon' ob dat wine, an' sometimes he would drink till he +got quite boozy. Ole Cousins liked him bery well, till he foun' out he +wanted his darter, an' den he didn't want him fer rags nor patches. But +Miss Nancy war mighty headstrong, an' allers liked to hab her own way; +an' dis time she got it. But didn't she step her foot inter it? Ole +Johnson war mighty han'some, but when dat war said all war said. She +run'd off an' got married, but wen she got down she war too spunkey to +axe her pa for anything. Wen you war wid her, yer know she only took big +bugs. But wen de war com'd 'roun' it tore her all ter pieces, an' now +she's as pore as Job's turkey. I feel's right sorry fer her. Well, +Robby, things is turned 'roun' mighty quare. Ole Mistus war up den, an' +I war down; now, she's down, an' I'se up. But I pities her, 'cause she +warn't so bad arter all. De wuss thing she eber did war ta sell your +mudder, an' she wouldn't hab done dat but she snatched de whip out ob +her han' an gib her a lickin'. Now I belieb in my heart she war 'fraid +ob your mudder arter dat. But we women had ter keep 'em from whippin' +us, er dey'd all de time been libin' on our bones. She had no man ter +whip us 'cept dat ole drunken husband ob hern, an' he war allers too +drunk ter whip hisself. He jis' wandered off, an' I reckon he died in +somebody's pore-house. He warn't no 'count nohow you fix it. Weneber I +goes to town I carries her some garden sass, er a little milk an' +butter. An' she's mighty glad ter git it. I ain't got nothin' agin her. +She neber struck me a lick in her life, an' I belieb in praising de +bridge dat carries me ober. Dem Yankees set me free, an' I thinks a +powerful heap ob dem. But it does rile me ter see dese mean white men +comin' down yere an' settin' up dere grog-shops, tryin' to fedder dere +nests sellin' licker to pore culled people. Deys de bery kine ob men dat +used ter keep dorgs to ketch de runaways. I'd be chokin' fer a drink +'fore I'd eber spen' a cent wid dem, a spreadin' dere traps to git de +black folks' money. You jis' go down town 'fore sun up to-morrer +mornin' an' you see ef dey don't hab dem bars open to sell dere drams to +dem hard workin' culled people 'fore dey goes ter work. I thinks some +niggers is mighty big fools." + +"Oh, Aunt Linda, don't run down your race. Leave that for the white +people." + +"I ain't runnin' down my people. But a fool's a fool, wether he's white +or black. An' I think de nigger who will spen' his hard-earned money in +dese yere new grog-shops is de biggest kine ob a fool, an' I sticks ter +dat. You know we didn't hab all dese low places in slave times. An' what +is dey fer, but to get the people's money. An' its a shame how dey do +sling de licker 'bout 'lection times." + +"But don't the temperance people want the colored people to vote the +temperance ticket?" + +"Yes, but some ob de culled people gits mighty skittish ef dey tries to +git em to vote dare ticket 'lection time, an' keeps dem at a proper +distance wen de 'lection's ober. Some ob dem say dere's a trick behine +it, an' don't want to tech it. Dese white folks could do a heap wid de +culled folks ef dey'd only treat em right." + +"When our people say there is a trick behind it," said Robert, "I only +wish they could see the trick before it--the trick of worse than wasting +their money, and of keeping themselves and families poorer and more +ignorant than there is any need for them to be." + +"Well, Bobby, I beliebs we might be a people ef it warn't for dat +mizzable drink. An' Robby, I jis' tells yer what I wants; I wants some +libe man to come down yere an' splain things ter dese people. I don't +mean a politic man, but a man who'll larn dese people how to bring up +dere chillen, to keep our gals straight, an' our boys from runnin' in de +saloons an' gamblin' dens." + +"Don't your preachers do that?" asked Robert. + +"Well, some ob dem does, an' some ob dem doesn't. An' wen dey preaches, +I want dem to practice wat dey preach. Some ob dem says dey's called, +but I jis' thinks laziness called some ob dem. An' I thinks since +freedom come deres some mighty pore sticks set up for preachers. Now +dere's John Anderson, Tom's brudder; you 'member Tom." + +"Yes; as brave a fellow and as honest as ever stepped in shoe leather." + +"Well, his brudder war mighty diffrent. He war down in de lower kentry +wen de war war ober. He war mighty smart, an' had a good head-piece, an' +a orful glib tongue. He set up store an' sole whisky, an' made a lot ob +money. Den he wanted ter go to de legislatur. Now what should he do but +make out he'd got 'ligion, an' war called to preach. He had no more +'ligion dan my ole dorg. But he had money an' built a meetin' house, +whar he could hole meeting, an' hab funerals; an' you know cullud folks +is mighty great on funerals. Well dat jis' tuck wid de people, an' he +got 'lected to de legislatur. Den he got a fine house, an' his ole wife +warn't good 'nuff for him. Den dere war a young school-teacher, an' he +begun cuttin' his eyes at her. But she war as deep in de mud as he war +in de mire, an' he jis' gib up his ole wife and married her, a fusty +thing. He war a mean ole hypocrit, an' I wouldn't sen' fer him to bury +my cat. Robby, I'se down on dese kine ob preachers like a thousand +bricks." + +"Well, Aunt Linda, all the preachers are not like him." + +"No; I knows dat; not by a jug full. We's got some mighty good men down +yere, an' we's glad when dey comes, an' orful sorry when dey goes 'way. +De las preacher we had war a mighty good man. He didn't like too much +hollerin'." + +"Perhaps," said Robert, "he thought it were best for only one to speak +at a time." + +"I specs so. His wife war de nicest and sweetest lady dat eber I did +see. None ob yer airish, stuck up folks, like a tarrapin carryin' +eberything on its back. She used ter hab meetins fer de mudders, an' +larn us how to raise our chillen, an' talk so putty to de chillen. I +sartinly did lub dat woman." + +"Where is she now?" asked Robert. + +"De Conference moved dem 'bout thirty miles from yere. Deys gwine to hab +a big meetin' ober dere next Sunday. Don't you 'member dem meetins we +used to hab in de woods? We don't hab to hide like we did den. But it +don't seem as ef de people had de same good 'ligion we had den. 'Pears +like folks is took up wid makin' money an' politics." + +"Well, Aunt Linda, don't you wish those good old days would come back?" + +"No, chile; neber! neber! Wat fer you take me? I'd ruther lib in a +corn-crib. Freedom needn't keep me outer heben; an' ef I'se sich a fool +as ter lose my 'ligion cause I'se free, I oughtn' ter git dere." + +"But, Aunt Linda, if old Miss were able to take care of you, wouldn't +you just as leave be back again?" + +There was a faint quiver of indignation in Aunt Linda's voice, as she +replied:-- + +"Don't yer want yer freedom? Well I wants ter pat my free foot. +Halleluyah! But, Robby, I wants yer ter go ter dat big meetin' de wuss +kine." + +"How will I get there?" asked Robert. + +"Oh, dat's all right. My ole man's got two ob de nicest mules you eber +set yer eyes on. It'll jis' do yer good ter look at dem. I 'spect you'll +see some ob yer ole frens dere. Dere's a nice settlemen' of cullud folks +ober dere, an' I wants yer to come an' bring dat young lady. I wants dem +folks to see wat nice folks I kin bring to de meetin'. I hope's yer +didn't lose all your 'ligion in de army." + +"Oh, I hope not," replied Robert. + +"Oh, chile, yer mus' be shore 'bout dat. I don't want yer to ride hope's +hoss down to torment. Now be shore an' come to-morrer an' bring dat +young lady, an' take supper wid me. I'se all on nettles to see dat +chile." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + +STRIKING CONTRASTS. + +The next day, Robert, accompanied by Iola, went to the settlement to +take supper with Aunt Linda, and a very luscious affair it was. Her +fingers had not lost their skill since she had tasted the sweets of +freedom. Her biscuits were just as light and flaky as ever. Her jelly +was as bright as amber, and her preserves were perfectly delicious. +After she had set the table she stood looking in silent admiration, +chuckling to herself: "Ole Mistus can't set sich a table as dat. She +ought'er be yere to see it. Specs 'twould make her mouf water. Well, I +mus' let by-gones be by-gones. But dis yere freedom's mighty good." + +Aunt Linda had invited Uncle Daniel, and, wishing to give him a pleasant +surprise, she had refrained from telling him that Robert Johnson was the +one she wished him to meet. + +"Do you know dis gemmen?" said Aunt Linda to Uncle Daniel, when the +latter arrived. + +"Well, I can't say's I do. My eyes is gittin dim, an I disremembers +him." + +"Now jis' you look right good at him. Don't yer 'member him?" + +Uncle Daniel looked puzzled and, slowly scanning Robert's features, +said: "He do look like somebody I used ter know, but I can't make him +out ter save my life. I don't know whar to place him. Who is de gemmen, +ennyhow?" + +"Why, Uncle Dan'el," replied Aunt Linda, "dis is Robby; Miss Nancy's +bad, mischeebous Robby, dat war allers playin' tricks on me." + +"Well, shore's I'se born, ef dis ain't our ole Bobby!" exclaimed Uncle +Daniel, delightedly. "Why, chile, whar did yer come from? Thought you +war dead an' buried long 'go." + +"Why, Uncle Daniel, did you send anybody to kill me?" asked Robert, +laughingly. + +"Oh, no'n 'deed, chile! but I yeard dat you war killed in de battle, an' +I never 'spected ter see you agin." + +"Well, here I am," replied Robert, "large as life, and just as natural. +And this young lady, Uncle Daniel, I believe is my niece." As he spoke +he turned to Iola. "Do you remember my mother?" + +"Oh, yes," said Uncle Daniel, looking intently at Iola as she stepped +forward and cordially gave him her hand. + +"Well, I firmly believe," continued Robert, "that this is the daughter +of the little girl whom Miss Nancy sold away with my mother." + +"Well, I'se rale glad ter see her. She puts me mighty much in mine ob +dem days wen we war all young togedder; wen Miss Nancy sed, 'Harriet war +too high fer her.' It jis' seems like yisterday wen I yeard Miss Nancy +say, 'No house could flourish whar dere war two mistresses.' Well, Mr. +Robert--" + +"Oh, no, no, Uncle Daniel," interrupted Robert, "don't say that! Call me +Robby or Bob, just as you used to." + +"Well, Bobby, I'se glad klar from de bottom of my heart ter see yer." + +"Even if you wouldn't go with us when we left?" + +"Oh, Bobby, dem war mighty tryin' times. You boys didn't know it, but +Marster Robert hab giben me a bag ob money ter take keer ob, an' I +promised him I'd do it an' I had ter be ez good ez my word." + +"Oh, Uncle Daniel, why didn't you tell us boys all about it? We could +have helped you take care of it." + +"Now, wouldn't dat hab bin smart ter let on ter you chaps, an' hab you +huntin' fer it from Dan ter Barsheba? I specs some ob you would bin a +rootin' fer it yit!" + +"Well, Uncle Daniel, we were young then; I can't tell what we would have +done if we had found it. But we are older now." + +"Yes, yer older, but I wouldn't put it pas' yer eben now, ef yer foun' +out whar it war." + +"Yes," said Iola, laughing, "they say 'caution is the parent of +safety.'" + +"Money's a mighty tempting thing," said Robert, smiling. + +"But, Robby, dere's nothin' like a klar conscience; a klar conscience, +Robby!" + +Just then Aunt Linda, who had been completing the preparations for her +supper, entered the room with her husband, and said, "Salters, let me +interdoos you ter my fren', Mr. Robert Johnson, an' his niece, Miss +Leroy." + +"Why, is it possible," exclaimed Robert, rising, and shaking hands, +"that you are Aunt Linda's husband?" + +"Dat's what de parson sed," replied Salters. + +"I thought," pursued Robert, "that your name was John Andrews. It was +such when you were in my company." + +"All de use I'se got fer dat name is ter git my money wid it; an' wen +dat's done, all's done. Got 'nuff ob my ole Marster in slave times, +widout wearin' his name in freedom. Wen I got done wid him, I got done +wid his name. Wen I 'listed, I war John Andrews; and wen I gits my +pension, I'se John Andrews; but now Salters is my name, an' I likes it +better." + +"But how came you to be Aunt Linda's husband? Did you get married since +the war?" + +"Lindy an' me war married long 'fore de war. But my ole Marster sole me +away from her an' our little gal, an' den sole her chile ter somebody +else. Arter freedom, I hunted up our little gal, an' foun' her. She war +a big woman den. Den I com'd right back ter dis place an' foun' Lindy. +She hedn't married agin, nuther hed I; so we jis' let de parson marry us +out er de book; an' we war mighty glad ter git togedder agin, an' feel +hitched togedder fer life." + +"Well, Uncle Daniel," said Robert, turning the conversation toward him, +"you and Uncle Ben wouldn't go with us, but you came out all right at +last." + +"Yes, indeed," said Aunt Linda, "Ben got inter a stream of luck. Arter +freedom com'd, de people had a heap of fath in Ben; an' wen dey wanted +some one to go ter Congress dey jist voted for Ben ter go. An' he went, +too. An' wen Salters went to Washin'ton to git his pension, who should +he see dere wid dem big men but our Ben, lookin' jist as big as any ob +dem." + +"An' it did my ole eyes good jist ter see it," broke in Salters; "if I +couldn't go dere myself, I war mighty glad to see some one ob my people +dat could. I felt like de boy who, wen somebody said he war gwine to +slap off his face, said, 'Yer kin slap off my face, but I'se got a big +brudder, an' you can't slap off his face.' I went to see him 'fore I lef, +and he war jist de same as he war wen we war boys togedder. He hadn't +got de big head a bit." + +"I reckon Mirandy war mighty sorry she didn't stay wid him. I know I +should be," said Aunt Linda. + +"Uncle Daniel," asked Robert, "are you still preaching?" + +"Yes, chile, I'se still firing off de Gospel gun." + +"I hear some of the Northern folks are down here teaching theology, that +is, teaching young men how to preach. Why don't you study theology?" + +"Look a yere, boy, I'se been a preachin' dese thirty years, an' you come +yere a tellin' me 'bout studying yore ologies. I larn'd my 'ology at de +foot ob de cross. You bin dar?" + +"Dear Uncle Daniel," said Iola, "the moral aspect of the nation would be +changed if it would learn at the same cross to subordinate the spirit of +caste to the spirit of Christ." + +"Does yer 'member Miss Nancy's Harriet," asked Aunt Linda, "dat she sole +away kase she wouldn't let her whip her? Well, we think dis is Harriet's +gran'chile. She war sole away from her mar, an' now she's a lookin' fer +her." + +"Well, I hopes she may fine her," replied Salters. "I war sole 'way from +my mammy wen I war eighteen mont's ole, an' I wouldn't know her now from +a bunch ob turnips." + +"I," said Iola, "am on my way South seeking for my mother, and I shall +not give up until I find her." + +"Come," said Aunt Linda, "we mustn't stan' yer talkin', or de grub'll +git cole. Come, frens, sit down, an' eat some ob my pore supper." + +Aunt Linda sat at the table in such a flutter of excitement that she +could hardly eat, but she gazed with intense satisfaction on her guests. +Robert sat on her right hand, contrasting Aunt Linda's pleasant +situation with the old days in Mrs. Johnson's kitchen, where he had +played his pranks upon her, and told her the news of the war. + +Over Iola there stole a spirit of restfulness. There was something so +motherly in Aunt Linda's manner that it seemed to recall the bright, +sunshiny days when she used to nestle in Mam Liza's arms, in her own +happy home. The conversation was full of army reminiscences and +recollections of the days of slavery. Uncle Daniel was much interested, +and, as they rose from the table, exclaimed:-- + +"Robby, seein' yer an' hearin' yer talk, almos' puts new springs inter +me. I feel 'mos' like I war gittin' younger." + +After the supper, Salters and his guests returned to the front room, +which Aunt Linda regarded with so much pride, and on which she bestowed +so much care. + +"Well, Captin," said Salters, "I neber 'spected ter see you agin. Do you +know de las' time I seed yer? Well, you war on a stretcher, an' four ob +us war carryin' you ter de hospital. War you much hurt? + +"No," replied Robert, "it was only a flesh wound; and this young lady +nursed me so carefully that I soon got over it." + +"Is dat de way you foun' her?" + +"Yes, Andrews,"-- + +"Salters, ef you please," interrupted Salters. I'se only Andrews wen I +gits my money." + +"Well, Salters," continued Robert, "our freedom was a costly thing. Did +you know that Captain Sybil was killed in one of the last battles of the +war? These young chaps, who are taking it so easy, don't know the +hardships through which we older ones passed. But all the battles are +not fought, nor all the victories won. The colored man has escaped from +one slavery, and I don't want him to fall into another. I want the young +folks to keep their brains clear, and their right arms strong, to fight +the battles of life manfully, and take their places alongside of every +other people in this country. And I cannot see what is to hinder them if +they get a chance." + +"I don't nuther," said Salters. "I don't see dat dey drinks any more dan +anybody else, nor dat dere is any meanness or debilment dat a black man +kin do dat a white man can't keep step wid him." + +"Yes," assented Robert, "but while a white man is stealing a thousand +dollars, a black man is getting into trouble taking a few chickens." + +"All that may be true," said Iola, "but there are some things a white +man can do that we cannot afford to do." + +"I beliebs eberybody, Norf and Souf, is lookin' at us; an' some ob dem +ain't got no good blood fer us, nohow you fix it," said Salters. + +"I specs cullud folks mus' hab done somethin'," interposed Aunt Linda. + +"O, nonsense," said Robert. "I don't think they are any worse than the +white people. I don't believe, if we had the power, we would do any +more lynching, burning, and murdering than they do." + +"Dat's so," said Aunt Linda, "it's ralely orful how our folks hab been +murdered sence de war. But I don't think dese young folks is goin' ter +take things as we's allers done." + +"We war cowed down from the beginnin'," said Uncle Daniel, "but dese +young folks ain't comin' up dat way." + +"No," said Salters, "fer one night arter some ob our pore people had +been killed, an' some ob our women had run'd away 'bout seventeen miles, +my gran'son, looking me squar in de face, said: 'Ain't you got five +fingers? Can't you pull a trigger as well as a white man?' I tell yer, +Cap, dat jis' got to me, an' I made up my mine dat my boy should neber +call me a coward." + +"It is not to be expected," said Robert, "that these young people are +going to put up with things as we did, when we weren't permitted to hold +a meeting by ourselves, or to own a club or learn to read." + +"I tried," said Salters, "to git a little out'er de book wen I war in de +army. On Sundays I sometimes takes a book an' tries to make out de +words, but my eyes is gittin' dim an' de letters all run togedder, an' I +gits sleepy, an' ef yer wants to put me to sleep jis' put a book in my +han'. But wen it comes to gittin' out a stan' ob cotton, an' plantin' +corn, I'se dere all de time. But dat gran'son ob mine is smart as a +steel trap. I specs he'll be a preacher." + +Salters looked admiringly at his grandson, who sat grinning in the +corner, munching a pear he had brought from the table. + +"Yes," said Aunt Linda, "his fadder war killed by the Secesh, one night, +comin' home from a politic meetin', an' his pore mudder died a few +weeks arter, an' we mean to make a man ob him." + +"He's got to larn to work fust," said Salters, "an' den ef he's right +smart I'se gwine ter sen' him ter college. An' ef he can't get a libin' +one way, he kin de oder." + +"Yes," said Iola, "I hope he will turn out an excellent young man, for +the greatest need of the race is noble, earnest men, and true women." + +"Job," said Salters, turning to his grandson, "tell Jake ter hitch up de +mules, an' you stay dere an' help him. We's all gwine ter de big +meetin'. Yore grandma hab set her heart on goin', an' it'll be de same +as a spell ob sickness ef she don't hab a chance to show her bes' bib +an' tucker. That ole gal's as proud as a peacock." + +"Now, John Salters," exclaimed Aunt Linda, "ain't you 'shamed ob +yourself? Allers tryin' to poke fun at yer pore wife. Never mine; wait +till I'se gone, an' you'll miss me." + +"Ef I war single," said Salters, "I could git a putty young gal, but it +wouldn't be so easy wid you." + +"Why not?" said Iola, smiling. + +"'Cause young men don't want ole hens, an' ole men want young pullets," +was Salter's reply. + +"Robby, honey," said Aunt Linda, "when you gits a wife, don't treat her +like dat man treats me." + +"Oh, his head's level," answered Robert; "at least it was in the army." + +"Dat's jis' de way; you see dat, Miss Iola? One man takin' up for de +oder. But I'll be eben wid you bof. I must go now an' git ready." + +Iola laughed. The homely enjoyment of that evening was very welcome to +her after the trying scenes through which she had passed. Further +conversation was interrupted by the appearance of the wagon, drawn by +two fine mules. John Salters stopped joking his wife to admire his +mules. + +"Jis' look at dem," he said. "Ain't dey beauties? I bought 'em out ob my +bounty-money. Arter de war war ober I had a little money, an' I war +gwine ter rent a plantation on sheers an' git out a good stan' ob +cotton. Cotton war bringin' orful high prices den, but Lindy said to me, +'Now, John, you'se got a lot ob money, an' you'd better salt it down. +I'd ruther lib on a little piece ob lan' ob my own dan a big piece ob +somebody else's. Well, I says to Lindy, I dun know nuthin' 'bout buyin' +lan', an' I'se 'fraid arter I'se done buyed it an' put all de marrer ob +dese bones in it, dat somebody's far-off cousin will come an' say de +title ain't good, an' I'll lose it all." + +"You're right thar, John," said Uncle Daniel. "White man's so unsartain, +black man's nebber safe." + +"But somehow," continued Salters, "Lindy warn't satisfied wid rentin', +so I buyed a piece ob lan', an' I'se glad now I'se got it. Lindy's got a +lot ob gumption; knows most as much as a man. She ain't got dat long +head fer nuffin. She's got lots ob sense, but I don't like to tell her +so." + +"Why not?" asked Iola. "Do you think it would make her feel too happy?" + +"Well, it don't do ter tell you women how much we thinks ob you. It sets +you up too much. Ole Gundover's overseer war my marster, an' he used ter +lib in dis bery house. I'se fixed it up sence I'se got it. Now I'se +better off dan he is, 'cause he tuck to drink, an' all his frens is +gone, an' he's in de pore-house." + +Just then Linda came to the door with her baskets. + +"Now, Lindy, ain't you ready yet? Do hurry up." + +"Yes, I'se ready, but things wouldn't go right ef you didn't hurry me." + +"Well, put your chicken fixins an' cake right in yere. Captin, you'll +ride wid me, an' de young lady an' my ole woman'll take de back seat. +Uncle Dan'el, dere's room for you ef you'll go." + +"No, I thank you. It's time fer ole folks to go to bed. Good night! An', +Bobby, I hopes to see you agin'." + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + +A REVELATION. + +It was a lovely evening for the journey. The air was soft and balmy. The +fields and hedges were redolent with flowers. Not a single cloud +obscured the brightness of the moon or the splendor of the stars. The +ancient trees were festooned with moss, which hung like graceful +draperies. Ever and anon a startled hare glided over the path, and +whip-poor-wills and crickets broke the restful silence of the night. +Robert rode quietly along, quaffing the beauty of the scene and thinking +of his boyish days, when he gathered nuts and wild plums in those woods; +he also indulged pleasant reminiscences of later years, when, with Uncle +Daniel and Tom Anderson, he attended the secret prayer-meetings. Iola +rode along, conversing with Aunt Linda, amused and interested at the +quaintness of her speech and the shrewdness of her intellect. To her the +ride was delightful. + +"Does yer know dis place, Robby," asked Aunt Linda, as they passed an +old resort. + +"I should think I did," replied Robert. "It is the place where we held +our last prayer-meeting." + +"An' dere's dat ole broken pot we used, ter tell 'bout de war. But +warn't ole Miss hoppin' wen she foun' out you war goin' to de war! I +thought she'd go almos' wile. Now, own up, Robby, didn't you feel kine +ob mean to go off widout eben biddin' her good bye? An' I ralely think +ole Miss war fon' ob yer. Now, own up, honey, didn't yer feel a little +down in de mouf wen yer lef' her." + +"Not much," responded Robert. "I only thought she was getting paid back +for selling my mother." + +"Dat's so, Robby! yore mudder war a likely gal, wid long black hair, an' +kine ob ginger-bread color. An' you neber hearn tell ob her sence dey +sole her to Georgia?" + +"Never," replied Robert, "but I would give everything I have on earth to +see her once more. I _do_ hope, if she is living, that I may meet her +before I die." + +"You's right, boy, cause she lub'd you as she lub'd her own life. Many a +time hes she set in my ole cabin an' cried 'bout yer wen you war fas' +asleep. It's all ober now, but I'se gwine to hole up fer dem Yankees dat +gib me my freedom, an' sent dem nice ladies from de Norf to gib us some +sense. Some ob dese folks calls em nigger teachers, an' won't hab nuffin +to do wid 'em, but I jis' thinks dey's splendid. But dere's some +triflin' niggers down yere who'll sell der votes for almost nuffin. Does +you 'member Jake Williams an' Gundover's Tom? Well dem two niggers is de +las' ob pea-time. Dey's mighty small pertaters an' few in a hill." + +"Oh, Aunt Linda," said Robert, "don't call them niggers. They are our +own people." + +"Dey ain't my kine ob people. I jis' calls em niggers, an' niggers I +means; an' de bigges' kine ob niggers. An' if my John war sich a nigger +I'd whip him an' leave him." + +"An' what would I be a doin'," queried John, suddenly rousing up at the +mention of his name. + +"Standing still and taking it, I suppose," said Iola, who had been +quietly listening to and enjoying the conversation. + +"Yes, an' I'd ketch myself stan'in' still an' takin' it," was John's +plucky response. + +"Well, you oughter, ef you's mean enough to wote dat ticket ter put me +back inter slavery," was Aunt Linda's parting shot. "Robby," she +continued, "you 'member Miss Nancy's Jinnie?" + +"Of course I do," said Robert. + +"She married Mr. Gundover's Dick. Well, dere warn't much git up an' go +'bout him. So, wen 'lection time com'd, de man he war workin' fer tole +him ef he woted de radical ticket he'd turn him off. Well, Jinnie war so +'fraid he'd do it, dat she jis' follered him fer days." + +"Poor fellow!" exclaimed Robert. "How did he come out?" + +"He certainly was between two fires," interposed Iola. + +"Oh, Jinnie gained de day. She jis' got her back up, and said, 'Now ef +yer wote dat ticket ter put me back inter slavery, you take yore rags +an' go.' An' Dick jis' woted de radical ticket. Jake Williams went on de +Secesh side, woted whar he thought he'd git his taters, but he got +fooled es slick es greese." + +"How was that?" asked Robert. + +"Some ob dem folks, dat I 'spects buyed his wote, sent him some flour +an' sugar. So one night his wife hab company ter tea. Dey made a big +spread, an' put a lot ob sugar on de table fer supper, an' Tom jis' went +fer dat sugar. He put a lot in his tea. But somehow it didn't tase +right, an' wen dey come ter fine out what war de matter, dey hab sent +him a barrel ob san' wid some sugar on top, an' wen de sugar war all +gone de san' war dare. Wen I yeard it, I jis' split my sides a larfin. +It war too good to keep; an' wen it got roun', Jake war as mad as a +March hare. But it sarved him right." + +"Well, Aunt Linda, you musn't be too hard on Uncle Jake; you know he's +getting old." + +"Well he ain't too ole ter do right. He ain't no older dan Uncle Dan'el. +An' I yered dey offered him $500 ef he'd go on dere side. An' Uncle +Dan'el wouldn't tech it. An' dere's Uncle Job's wife; why didn't she go +dat way? She war down on Job's meanness." + +"What did she do?" + +"Wen 'lection time 'rived, he com'd home bringing some flour an' meat; +an' he says ter Aunt Polly, 'Ole woman, I got dis fer de wote.' She jis' +picked up dat meat an' flour an' sent it sailin' outer doors, an' den +com'd back an' gib him a good tongue-lashin'. 'Oder people,' she said, +'a wotin' ter lib good, an' you a sellin' yore wote! Ain't you got 'nuff +ob ole Marster, an' ole Marster bin cuttin' you up? It shan't stay +yere.' An' so she wouldn't let de things stay in de house." + +"What did Uncle Job do?" + +"He jis' stood dere an' cried." + +"And didn't you feel sorry for him?" asked Iola. + +"Not a bit! he hedn't no business ter be so shabby." + +"But, Aunt Linda," pursued Iola, "if it were shabby for an ignorant +colored man to sell his vote, wasn't it shabbier for an intelligent +white man to buy it?" + +"You see," added Robert, "all the shabbiness is not on our side." + +"I knows dat," said Aunt Linda, "but I can't help it. I wants my people +to wote right, an' to think somethin' ob demselves." + +"Well, Aunt Linda, they say in every flock of sheep there will be one +that's scabby," observed Iola. + +"Dat's so! But I ain't got no use fer scabby sheep." + +"Lindy," cried John, "we's most dar! Don't you yere dat singin'? Dey's +begun a'ready." + +"Neber mine," said Aunt Linda, "sometimes de las' ob de wine is de +bes'." + +Thus discoursing they had beguiled the long hours of the night and made +their long journey appear short. + +Very soon they reached the church, a neat, commodious, frame building, +with a blue ceiling, white walls within and without, and large windows +with mahogany-colored facings. It was a sight full of pathetic interest +to see that group which gathered from miles around. They had come to +break bread with each other, relate their experiences, and tell of their +hopes of heaven. In that meeting were remnants of broken +families--mothers who had been separated from their children before the +war, husbands who had not met their wives for years. After the bread had +been distributed and the handshaking was nearly over, Robert raised the +hymn which Iola had sung for him when he was recovering from his wounds, +and Iola, with her clear, sweet tones, caught up the words and joined +him in the strain. When the hymn was finished a dear old mother rose +from her seat. Her voice was quite strong. With still a lingering light +and fire in her eye, she said:-- + +"I rise, bredren an' sisters, to say I'm on my solemn march to glory." + +"Amen!" "Glory!" came from a number of voices. + +"I'se had my trials an' temptations, my ups an' downs; but I feels I'll +soon be in one ob de many mansions. If it hadn't been for dat hope I +'spects I would have broken down long ago. I'se bin through de deep +waters, but dey didn't overflow me; I'se bin in de fire, but de smell ob +it isn't on my garments. Bredren an' sisters, it war a drefful time when +I war tored away from my pore little chillen." + +"Dat's so!" exclaimed a chorus of voices. Some of her hearers moaned, +others rocked to and fro, as thoughts of similar scenes in their own +lives arose before them. + +"When my little girl," continued the speaker, "took hole ob my dress an' +begged me ter let her go wid me, an' I couldn't do it, it mos' broke my +heart. I had a little boy, an' wen my mistus sole me she kep' him. She +carried on a boardin' house. Many's the time I hab stole out at night +an' seen dat chile an' sleep'd wid him in my arms tell mos' day. Bimeby +de people I libed wid got hard up fer money, an' dey sole me one way an' +my pore little gal de oder; an' I neber laid my eyes on my pore chillen +sence den. But, honeys, let de wind blow high or low, I 'spects to +outwedder de storm an' anchor by'm bye in bright glory. But I'se bin a +prayin' fer one thing, an' I beliebs I'll git it; an' dat is dat I may +see my chillen 'fore I die. Pray fer me dat I may hole out an' hole on, +an' neber make a shipwrack ob faith, an' at las' fine my way from earth +to glory." + +Having finished her speech, she sat down and wiped away the tears that +flowed all the more copiously as she remembered her lost children. When +she rose to speak her voice and manner instantly arrested Robert's +attention. He found his mind reverting to the scenes of his childhood. +As she proceeded his attention became riveted on her. Unbidden tears +filled his eyes and great sobs shook his frame. He trembled in every +limb. Could it be possible that after years of patient search through +churches, papers, and inquiring friends, he had accidentally stumbled on +his mother--the mother who, long years ago, had pillowed his head upon +her bosom and left her parting kiss upon his lips? How should he reveal +himself to her? Might not sudden joy do what years of sorrow had failed +to accomplish? Controlling his feelings as best he could, he rose to +tell his experience. He referred to the days when they used to hold +their meetings in the lonely woods and gloomy swamps. How they had +prayed for freedom and plotted to desert to the Union army; and +continuing, he said: "Since then, brethren and sisters, I have had my +crosses and trials, but I try to look at the mercies. Just think what it +was then and what it is now! How many of us, since freedom has come, +have been looking up our scattered relatives. I have just been over to +visit my old mistress, Nancy Johnson, and to see if I could get some +clue to my long-lost mother, who was sold from me nearly thirty years +ago." + +Again there was a chorus of moans. + +On resuming, Robert's voice was still fuller of pathos. + +"When," he said, "I heard that dear old mother tell her experience it +seemed as if some one had risen from the dead. She made me think of my +own dear mother, who used to steal out at night to see me, fold me in +her arms, and then steal back again to her work. After she was sold +away I never saw her face again by daylight. I have been looking for her +ever since the war, and I think at last I have got on the right track. +If Mrs. Johnson, who kept the boarding-house in C----, is the one who +sold that dear old mother from her son, then she is the one I am looking +for, and I am the son she has been praying for." + +The dear old mother raised her eyes. They were clear and tearless. An +expression of wonder, hope, and love flitted over her face. It seemed as +if her youth were suddenly renewed and, bounding from her seat, she +rushed to the speaker in a paroxysm of joy. "Oh, Robby! Robby! is dis +you? Is dat my pore, dear boy I'se been prayin' 'bout all dese years? +Oh, glory! glory!" And overflowing with joyous excitement she threw her +arms around him, looking the very impersonation of rapturous content. It +was a happy time. Mothers whose children had been torn from them in the +days of slavery knew how to rejoice in her joy. The young people caught +the infection of the general happiness and rejoiced with them that +rejoiced. There were songs of rejoicing and shouts of praise. The +undertone of sadness which had so often mingled with their songs gave +place to strains of exultation; and tears of tender sympathy flowed from +eyes which had often been blurred by anguish. The child of many prayers +and tears was restored to his mother. + +Iola stood by the mother's side, smiling, and weeping tears of joy. When +Robert's mother observed Iola, she said to Robert, "Is dis yore wife?" + +"Oh, no," replied Robert, "but I believe she is your grandchild, the +daughter of the little girl who was sold away from you so long ago. She +is on her way to the farther South in search of her mother." + +"Is she? Dear chile! I hope she'll fine her! She puts me in mine ob my +pore little Marie. Well, I'se got one chile, an' I means to keep on +prayin' tell I fine my daughter. I'm _so_ happy! I feel's like a new +woman!" + +"My dear mother," said Robert, "now that I have found you, I mean to +hold you fast just as long as you live. Ever since the war I have been +trying to find out if you were living, but all efforts failed. At last, +I thought I would come and hunt you myself and, now that I have found +you, I am going to take you home to live with me, and to be as happy as +the days are long. I am living in the North, and doing a good business +there. I want you to see joy according to all the days wherein you have +seen sorrow. I do hope this young lady will find _her_ ma and that, when +found, she will prove to be your daughter!" + +"Yes, pore, dear chile! I specs her mudder's heart's mighty hungry fer +her. I does hope she's my gran'chile." + +Tenderly and caressingly Iola bent over the happy mother, with her heart +filled with mournful memories of her own mother. + +Aunt Linda was induced to stay until the next morning, and then gladly +assisted Robert's mother in arranging for her journey northward. The +friends who had given her a shelter in their hospitable home, learned to +value her so much that it was with great reluctance they resigned her to +the care of her son. Aunt Linda was full of bustling activity, and her +spirits overflowed with good humor. + +"Now, Harriet," she said, as they rode along on their return journey, +"you mus' jis' thank me fer finin' yore chile, 'cause I got him to come +to dat big meetin' wid me." + +"Oh, Lindy," she cried, "I'se glad from de bottom ob my heart ter see +you's all. I com'd out dere ter git a blessin', an' I'se got a double +po'tion. De frens I war libin' wid war mighty good ter me. Dey lib'd wid +me in de lower kentry, an' arter de war war ober I stopped wid 'em and +helped take keer ob de chillen; an' when dey com'd up yere dey brought +me wid 'em. I'se com'd a way I didn't know, but I'se mighty glad I'se +com'd." + +"Does you know dis place?" asked Aunt Linda, as they approached the +settlement. + +"No'n 'deed I don't. It's all new ter me." + +"Well, dis is whar I libs. Ain't you mighty tired? I feels a little +stiffish. Dese bones is gittin' ole." + +"Dat's so! But I'se mighty glad I'se lib'd to see my boy 'fore I crossed +ober de riber. An' now I feel like ole Simeon." + +"But, mother," said Robert, "if you are ready to go, I am not willing to +let you. I want you to stay ever so long where I can see you." + +A bright smile overspread her face. Robert's words reassured and +gladdened her heart. She was well satisfied to have a pleasant aftermath +from life on this side of the river. + +After arriving home Linda's first thought was to prepare dinner for her +guests. But, before she began her work of preparation, she went to the +cupboard to get a cup of home-made wine. + +"Here," she said, filling three glasses, "is some wine I made myself +from dat grape-vine out dere. Don't it look nice and clar? Jist taste +it. It's fus'rate." + +"No, thank you," said Robert. "I'm a temperance man, and never take +anything which has alcohol in it." + +"Oh, dis ain't got a bit ob alcohol in it. I made it myself." + +"But, Aunt Linda, you didn't make the law which ferments grape-juice and +makes it alcohol." + +"But, Robby, ef alcohol's so bad, w'at made de Lord put it here?" + +"Aunt Lindy," said Iola, "I heard a lady say that there were two things +the Lord didn't make. One is sin, and the other alcohol." + +"Why, Aunt Linda," said Robert, "there are numbers of things the Lord +has made that I wouldn't touch with a pair of tongs." + +"What are they?" + +"Rattlesnakes, scorpions, and moccasins." + +"Oh, sho!" + +"Aunt Linda," said Iola, "the Bible says that the wine at last will bite +like a serpent and sting like an adder." + +"And, Aunt Linda," added Robert, "as I wouldn't wind a serpent around my +throat, I don't want to put something inside of it which will bite like +a serpent and sting as an adder." + +"I reckon Robby's right," said his mother, setting down her glass and +leaving the wine unfinished. "You young folks knows a heap more dan we +ole folks." "Well," declared Aunt Linda, "you all is temp'rence to de +backbone. But what could I do wid my wine ef we didn't drink it?" + +"Let it turn to vinegar, and sign the temperance pledge," replied +Robert. + +"I don't keer 'bout it myself, but I don't 'spect John would be willin' +ter let it go, 'cause he likes it a heap." + +"Then you must give it up for his sake and Job's," said Robert. "They +may learn to like it too well." + +"You know, Aunt Linda," said Iola, "people don't get to be drunkards all +at once. And you wouldn't like to feel, if Job should learn to drink, +that you helped form his appetite." + +"Dat' so! I beliebs I'll let dis turn to winegar, an' not make any +more." + +"That's right, Aunt Linda. I hope you'll hold to it," said Robert, +encouragingly. + +Very soon Aunt Linda had an excellent dinner prepared. After it was over +Robert went with Iola to C----, where her friend, the bishop, was +awaiting her return. She told him the wonderful story of Robert's +finding his mother, and of her sweet, childlike faith. + +The bishop, a kind, fatherly man, said, "Miss Iola, I hope that such +happiness is in store for you. My dear child, still continue to pray and +trust. I am old-fashioned enough to believe in prayer. I knew an old +lady living in Illinois, who was a slave. Her son got a chance to come +North and beg money to buy his mother. The mother was badly treated, and +made up her mind to run away. But before she started she thought she +would kneel down to pray. And something, she said, reasoned within her, +and whispered, 'Stand still and see what I am going to do for you.' So +real was it to her that she unpacked her bundle and desisted from her +flight. Strange as it may appear to you, her son returned, bringing +with him money enough to purchase her freedom, and she was redeemed from +bondage. Had she persisted in running away she might have been lost in +the woods and have died, exhausted by starvation. But she believed, she +trusted, and was delivered. Her son took her North, where she could find +a resting place for the soles of her feet." + +That night Iola and the bishop left for the South. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + +A HOME FOR MOTHER. + +After Iola had left the settlement, accompanied by Robert as far as the +town, it was a pleasant satisfaction for the two old friends to settle +themselves down, and talk of times past, departed friends, and +long-forgotten scenes. + +"What," said Mrs. Johnson, as we shall call Robert's mother, "hab become +ob Miss Nancy's husband? Is he still a libin'?" + +"Oh, he drunk hisself to death," responded Aunt Linda. + +"He used ter be mighty handsome." + +"Yes, but drink war his ruination." + +"An' how's Miss Nancy?" + +"Oh, she's com'd down migh'ly. She's pore as a church mouse. I thought +'twould com'd home ter her wen she sole yer 'way from yore chillen. +Dere's nuffin goes ober de debil's back dat don't come under his belly. +Do yo 'member Miss Nancy's fardder?" + +"Ob course I does!" + +"Well," said Aunt Linda, "he war a nice ole gemmen. Wen he died, I said +de las' gemmen's dead, an' dere's noboddy ter step in his shoes." + +"Pore Miss Nancy!" exclaimed Robert's mother. "I ain't nothin' agin her. +But I wouldn't swap places wid her, 'cause I'se got my son; an' I +beliebs he'll do a good part by me." + +"Mother," said Robert, as he entered the room, "I've brought an old +friend to see you. Do you remember Uncle Daniel?" + +Uncle Daniel threw back his head, reached out his hand, and manifested +his joy with "Well, Har'yet! is dis you? I neber 'spected to see you in +dese lower grouns! How does yer do? an' whar hab you bin all dis time?" + +"O, I'se been tossin' roun' 'bout; but it's all com'd right at las'. +I'se lib'd to see my boy 'fore I died." + +"My wife an' boys is in glory," said Uncle Daniel. "But I 'spects to see +'em 'fore long. 'Cause I'se tryin' to dig deep, build sure, an' make my +way from earth ter glory." + +"Dat's de right kine ob talk, Dan'el. We ole folks ain't got long ter +stay yere." + +They chatted together until Job and Salters came home for supper. After +they had eaten, Uncle Daniel said:-- + +"We'll hab a word ob prayer." + +There, in that peaceful habitation, they knelt down, and mingled their +prayers together, as they had done in by-gone days, when they had met by +stealth in lonely swamps or silent forests. + +The next morning Robert and his mother started northward. They were well +supplied with a bountiful luncheon by Aunt Linda, who had so thoroughly +enjoyed their sojourn with her. On the next day he arrived in the city +of P----, and took his mother to his boarding-house, until he could find +a suitable home into which to install her. He soon came across one which +just suited his taste, but when the agent discovered that Robert's +mother was colored, he told him that the house had been previously +engaged. In company with his mother he looked at several other houses in +desirable neighborhoods, but they were constantly met with the answer, +"The house is engaged," or, "We do not rent to colored people." + +At length Robert went alone, and, finding a desirable house, engaged it, +and moved into it. In a short time it was discovered that he was +colored, and, at the behest of the local sentiment of the place, the +landlord used his utmost endeavors to oust him, simply because he +belonged to an unfashionable and unpopular race. At last he came across +a landlord who was broad enough to rent him a good house, and he found a +quiet resting place among a set of well-to-do and well-disposed people. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + +FURTHER LIFTING OF THE VEIL. + +In one of those fearful conflicts by which the Mississippi was freed +from Rebel intrusion and opened to commerce Harry was severely wounded, +and forced to leave his place in the ranks for a bed in the hospital. + +One day, as he lay in his bed, thinking of his former home in +Mississippi and wondering if the chances of war would ever restore him +to his loved ones, he fell into a quiet slumber. When he awoke he found +a lady bending over him, holding in her hands some fruit and flowers. As +she tenderly bent over Harry's bed their eyes met, and with a thrill of +gladness they recognized each other. + +"Oh, my son, my son!" cried Marie, trying to repress her emotion, as she +took his wasted hand in hers, and kissed the pale cheeks that sickness +and suffering had blanched. Harry was very weak, but her presence was a +call to life. He returned the pressure of her hand, kissed it, and his +eyes grew full of sudden light, as he murmured faintly, but joyfully:-- + +"Mamma; oh, mamma! have I found you at last?" + +The effort was too much, and he immediately became unconscious. + +Anxious, yet hopeful, Marie sat by the bedside of her son till +consciousness was restored. Caressingly she bent over his couch, +murmuring in her happiness the tenderest, sweetest words of motherly +love. In Harry's veins flowed new life and vigor, calming the +restlessness of his nerves. + +As soon as possible Harry was carried to his mother's home; a home +brought into the light of freedom by the victories of General Grant. +Nursed by his mother's tender, loving care, he rapidly recovered, but, +being too disabled to re-enter the army, he was honorably discharged. + +Lorraine had taken Marie to Vicksburg, and there allowed her to engage +in confectionery and preserving for the wealthy ladies of the city. He +had at first attempted to refugee with her in Texas, but, being foiled +in the attempt, he was compelled to enlist in the Confederate Army, and +met his fate by being killed just before the surrender of Vicksburg. + +"My dear son," Marie would say, as she bent fondly over him, "I am +deeply sorry that you are wounded, but I am glad that the fortunes of +war have brought us together. Poor Iola! I _do_ wonder what has become +of her? Just as soon as this war is over I want you to search the +country all over. Poor child! How my heart has ached for her!" + +Time passed on. Harry and his mother searched and inquired for Iola, but +no tidings of her reached them. + +Having fully recovered his health, and seeing the great need of +education for the colored people, Harry turned his attention toward +them, and joined the new army of Northern teachers. + +He still continued his inquiries for his sister, not knowing whether or +not she had succumbed to the cruel change in her life. He thought she +might have passed into the white basis for the sake of bettering her +fortunes. Hope deferred, which had sickened his mother's heart, had +only roused him to renewed diligence. + +A school was offered him in Georgia, and thither he repaired, taking his +mother with him. They were soon established in the city of A----. In +hope of finding Iola he visited all the conferences of the Methodist +Church, but for a long time his search was in vain. + +"Mamma," said Harry, one day during his vacation, "there is to be a +Methodist Conference in this State in the city of S----, about one +hundred and fifty miles from here. I intend to go and renew my search +for Iola." + +"Poor child!" burst out Marie, as the tears gathered in her eyes, "I +wonder if she is living." + +"I think so," said Harry, kissing the pale cheek of his mother; "I don't +feel that Iola is dead. I believe we will find her before long." + +"It seems to me my heart would burst with joy to see my dear child just +once more. I am glad that you are going. When will you leave?" + +"To-morrow morning." + +"Well, my son, go, and my prayers will go with you," was Marie's tender +parting wish. + +Early next morning Harry started for the conference, and reached the +church before the morning session was over. Near him sat two ladies, one +fair, the other considerably darker. There was something in the fairer +one that reminded him forcibly of his sister, but she was much older and +graver than he imagined his sister to be. Instantly he dismissed the +thought that had forced itself into his mind, and began to listen +attentively to the proceedings of the conference. + +When the regular business of the morning session was over the bishop +arose and said:-- + +"I have an interesting duty to perform. I wish to introduce a young lady +to the conference, who was the daughter of a Mississippi planter. She is +now in search of her mother and brother, from whom she was sold a few +months before the war. Her father married her mother in Ohio, where he +had taken her to be educated. After his death they were robbed of their +inheritance and enslaved by a distant relative named Lorraine. Miss Iola +Leroy is the young lady's name. If any one can give the least +information respecting the objects of her search it will be thankfully +received." + +"I can," exclaimed a young man, rising in the midst of the audience, and +pressing eagerly, almost impetuously, forward. "I am her brother, and I +came here to look for her." + +Iola raised her eyes to his face, so flushed and bright with the glow of +recognition, rushed to him, threw her arms around his neck, kissed him +again and again, crying: "O, Harry!" Then she fainted from excitement. +The women gathered around her with expressions of tender sympathy, and +gave her all the care she needed. They called her the "dear child," for +without any effort on her part she had slidden into their hearts and +found a ready welcome in each sympathizing bosom. + +Harry at once telegraphed the glad tidings to his mother, who waited +their coming with joyful anticipation. Long before the cars reached the +city, Mrs. Leroy was at the depot, restlessly walking the platform or +eagerly peering into the darkness to catch the first glimpse of the +train which was bearing her treasures. + +At length the cars arrived, and, as Harry and Iola alighted, Marie +rushed forward, clasped Iola in her arms and sobbed out her joy in +broken words. + +Very happy was the little family that sat together around the +supper-table for the first time for years. They partook of that supper +with thankful hearts and with eyes overflowing with tears of joy. Very +touching were the prayers the mother uttered, when she knelt with her +children that night to return thanks for their happy reunion, and to +seek protection through the slumbers of the night. + +The next morning, as they sat at the breakfast-table, Marie said: + +"My dear child, you are so changed I do not think I would have known you +if I had met you in the street!" + +"And I," said Harry, "can hardly realize that you are our own Iola, whom +I recognized as sister a half dozen years ago." + +"Am I so changed?" asked Iola, as a faint sigh escaped her lips. + +"Why, Iola," said Harry, "you used to be the most harum-scarum girl I +ever knew, laughing, dancing, and singing from morning until night." + +"Yes, I remember," said Iola. "It all comes back to me like a dream. Oh, +mamma! I have passed through a fiery ordeal of suffering since then. But +it is useless," and as she continued her face assumed a brighter look, +"to brood over the past. Let us be happy in the present. Let me tell you +something which will please you. Do you remember telling me about your +mother and brother?" + +"Yes," said Marie, in a questioning tone." + +"Well," continued Iola, with eyes full of gladness, "I think I have +found them." + +"Can it be possible!" exclaimed Marie, in astonishment. "It is more than +thirty years since we parted. I fear you are mistaken." + +"No, mamma; I have drawn my conclusions from good circumstantial +evidence. After I was taken from you, I passed through a fearful siege +of suffering, which would only harrow up your soul to hear. I often +shudder at the remembrance. The last man in whose clutches I found +myself was mean, brutal, and cruel. I was in his power when the Union +army came into C----, where I was living. A number of colored men +stampeded to the Union ranks, with a gentleman as a leader, whom I think +is your brother. A friend of his reported my case to the commander of +the post, who instantly gave orders for my release. A place was given me +as nurse in the hospital. I attended that friend in his last illness. +Poor fellow! he was the best friend I had in all the time I have been +tossing about. The gentleman whom I think is your brother appeared to be +very anxious about his friend's recovery, and was deeply affected by his +death. In one of the last terrible battles of the war, that of Five +Forks, he was wounded and put into the hospital ward where I was an +attendant. For awhile he was delirious, and in his delirium he would +sometimes think that I was his mother and at other times his sister. I +humored his fancies, would often sing to him when he was restless, and +my voice almost invariably soothed him to sleep. One day I sang to him +that old hymn we used to sing on the plantation:-- + + "Drooping souls no longer grieve, + Heaven is propitious; + If on Christ you do believe, + You will find Him precious." + +"I remember," said Marie, with a sigh, as memories of the past swept +over her. + +"After I had finished the hymn," continued Iola, "he looked earnestly +and inquiringly into my face, and asked, 'Where did you learn that hymn? +I have heard my mother sing it when I was a boy, but I have never heard +it since.' I think, mamma, the words, 'I was lost but now I'm found; +glory! glory! glory!' had imprinted themselves on his memory, and that +his mind was assuming a higher state of intellectuality. He asked me to +sing it again, which I did, until he fell asleep. Then I noticed a +marked resemblance between him and Harry, and I thought, 'Suppose he +should prove to be your long-lost brother?' During his convalescence we +found that we had a common ground of sympathy. We were anxious to be +reunited to our severed relations. We had both been separated from our +mothers. He told me of his little sister, with whom he used to play. She +had a mole on her cheek which he called her beauty spot. He had the red +spot on his forehead which you told me of." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + + +DELIGHTFUL REUNIONS. + +Very bright and happy was the home where Marie and her children were +gathered under one roof. Mrs. Leroy's neighbors said she looked ten +years younger. Into that peaceful home came no fearful forebodings of +cruel separations. Harry and Iola were passionately devoted to their +mother, and did all they could to flood her life with sunshine. + +"Iola, dear," said Harry, one morning at the breakfast-table, "I have a +new pleasure in store for you." + +"What is it, brother mine?" asked Iola, assuming an air of interest. + +"There is a young lady living in this city to whom I wish to introduce +you. She is one of the most remarkable women I have ever met." + +"Do tell me all about her," said Iola. "Is she young and handsome, +brilliant and witty? + +"She," replied Harry, "is more than handsome, she is lovely; more than +witty, she is wise; more than brilliant, she is excellent." + +"Well, Harry," said Mrs. Leroy, smiling, "if you keep on that way I +shall begin to fear that I shall soon be supplanted by a new daughter." + +"Oh, no, mamma," replied Harry, looking slightly confused, "I did not +mean that." + +"Well, Harry," said Iola, amused, "go on with your description; I am +becoming interested. Tax your powers of description to give me her +likeness." + +"Well, in the first place," continued Harry, "I suppose she is about +twenty-five years old." + +"Oh, the idea," interrupted Iola, "of a gentleman talking of a lady's +age. That is a tabooed subject." + +"Why, Iola, that adds to the interest of my picture. It is her +combination of earnestness and youthfulness which enhances her in my +estimation." + +"Pardon the interruption," said Iola; "I am anxious to hear more about +her." + +"Well, she is of medium height, somewhat slender, and well formed, with +dark, expressive eyes, full of thought and feeling. Neither hair nor +complexion show the least hint of blood admixture." + +"I am glad of it," said Iola. "Every person of unmixed blood who +succeeds in any department of literature, art, or science is a living +argument for the capability which is in the race." + +"Yes," responded Harry, "for it is not the white blood which is on trial +before the world. Well, I will bring her around this evening." + +In the evening Harry brought Miss Delany to call on his sister and +mother. They were much pleased with their visitor. Her manner was a +combination of suavity and dignity. During the course of the evening +they learned that she was a graduate of the University of A----. One day +she saw in the newspapers that colored women were becoming unfit to be +servants for white people. She then thought that if they are not fit to +be servants for white people, they are unfit to be mothers to their own +children, and she conceived the idea of opening a school to train future +wives and mothers. She began on a small scale, in a humble building, +and her work was soon crowned with gratifying success. She had enlarged +her quarters, increased her teaching force, and had erected a large and +commodious school-house through her own exertions and the help of +others. + +Marie cordially invited her to call again, saying, as she rose to go: "I +am very glad to have met you. Young women like you always fill my heart +with hope for the future of our race. In you I see reflected some of the +blessed possibilities which lie within us." + +"Thank you," said Miss Delany, "I want to be classed among those of whom +it is said, 'She has done what she could.'" + +Very pleasant was the acquaintance which sprang up between Miss Delany +and Iola. Although she was older than Iola, their tastes were so +congenial, their views of life and duty in such unison, that their +acquaintance soon ripened into strong and lasting friendship. There were +no foolish rivalries and jealousies between them. Their lives were too +full of zeal and earnestness for them to waste in selfishness their +power to be moral and spiritual forces among a people who so much needed +their helping hands. Miss Delany gave Iola a situation in her school; +but before the term was quite over she was force to resign, her health +having been so undermined by the fearful strain through which she had +passed, that she was quite unequal to the task. She remained at home, +and did what her strength would allow in assisting her mother in the +work of canning and preserving fruits. + +In the meantime, Iola had been corresponding with Robert. She had told +him of her success in finding her mother and brother, and had received +an answer congratulating her on the glad fruition of her hopes. He also +said that his business was flourishing, that his mother was keeping +house for him, and, to use her own expression, was as happy as the days +are long. She was firmly persuaded that Marie was her daughter, and she +wanted to see her before she died. + +"There is one thing," continued the letter, "that your mother may +remember her by. It was a little handkerchief on which were a number of +cats' heads. She gave one to each of us." + +"I remember it well," said Marie, "she must, indeed, be my mother. Now, +all that is needed to complete my happiness is her presence, and my +brother's. And I intend, if I live long enough, to see them both." + +Iola wrote Robert that her mother remembered the incident of the +handkerchief, and was anxious to see them. + +In the early fall Robert started for the South in order to clear up all +doubts with respect to their relationship. He found Iola, Harry, and +their mother living cosily together. Harry was teaching and was a leader +among the rising young men of the State. His Northern education and +later experience had done much toward adapting him to the work of the +new era which had dawned upon the South. + +Marie was very glad to welcome Robert to her home, but it was almost +impossible to recognize her brother in that tall, handsome man, with +dark-brown eyes and wealth of chestnut-colored hair, which he readily +lifted to show the crimson spot which lay beneath it. + +But as they sat together, and recalled the long-forgotten scenes of +their childhood, they concluded that they were brother and sister. + +"Marie," said Robert, "how would you like to leave the South?" + +"I should like to go North, but I hate to leave Harry. He's a splendid +young fellow, although I say it myself. He is so fearless and outspoken +that I am constantly anxious about him, especially at election time." + +Harry then entered the room, and, being introduced to Robert, gave him a +cordial welcome. He had just returned from school. + +"We were talking of you, my son," said Marie. + +"What were you saying? Nothing of the absent but good?" asked Harry. + +"I was telling your uncle, who wants me to come North, that I would go, +but I am afraid that you will get into trouble and be murdered, as many +others have been." + +"Oh, well, mother, I shall not die till my time comes. And if I die +helping the poor and needy, I shall die at my post. Could a man choose a +better place to die?" + +"Were you aware of the virulence of caste prejudice and the disabilities +which surround the colored people when you cast your lot with them?" +asked Robert. + +"Not fully," replied Harry; "but after I found out that I was colored, I +consulted the principal of the school, where I was studying, in +reference to the future. He said that if I stayed in the North, he had +friends whom he believed would give me any situation I could fill, and I +could simply take my place in the rank of workers, the same as any other +man. Then he told me of the army, and I made up my mind to enter it, +actuated by a desire to find my mother and sister; and at any rate I +wanted to avenge their wrongs. I do not feel so now. Since I have seen +the fearful ravages of war, I have learned to pity and forgive. The +principal said he thought I would be more apt to find my family if I +joined a colored regiment in the West than if I joined one of the Maine +companies. I confess at first I felt a shrinking from taking the step, +but love for my mother overcame all repugnance on my part. Now that I +have linked my fortunes to the race I intend to do all I can for its +elevation." + +As he spoke Robert gazed admiringly on the young face, lit up by noble +purposes and lofty enthusiasm. + +"You are right, Harry. I think it would be treason, not only to the +race, but to humanity, to have you ignoring your kindred and +masquerading as a white man." + +"I think so, too," said Marie. + +"But, sister, I am anxious for you all to come North. If Harry feels +that the place of danger is the post of duty, let him stay, and he can +spend his vacations with us. I think both you and Iola need rest and +change. Mother longs to see you before she dies. She feels that we have +been the children of many prayers and tears, and I want to make her last +days as happy as possible. The South has not been a paradise to you all +the time, and I should think you would be willing to leave it." + +"Yes, that is so. Iola needs rest and change, and she would be such a +comfort to mother. I suppose, for her sake, I will consent to have her +go back with you, at least for awhile." + +In a few days, with many prayers and tears, Marie, half reluctantly, +permitted Iola to start for the North in company with Robert Johnson, +intending to follow as soon as she could settle her business and see +Harry in a good boarding place. + +Very joyful was the greeting of the dear grandmother. Iola soon nestled +in her heart and lent additional sunshine to her once checkered life, +and Robert, who had so long been robbed of kith and kin, was delighted +with the new accession to his home life. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + +NORTHERN EXPERIENCE. + +"Uncle Robert," said Iola, after she had been North several weeks, "I +have a theory that every woman ought to know how to earn her own living. +I believe that a great amount of sin and misery springs from the +weakness and inefficiency of women." + +"Perhaps that's so, but what are you going to do about it?" + +"I am going to join the great rank of bread-winners. Mr. Waterman has +advertised for a number of saleswomen, and I intend to make +application." + +"When he advertises for help he means white women," said Robert. + +"He said nothing about color," responded Iola. + +"I don't suppose he did. He doesn't expect any colored girl to apply." + +"Well, I think I could fill the place. At least I should like to try. +And I do not think when I apply that I am in duty bound to tell him my +great-grandmother was a negro." + +"Well, child, there is no necessity for you to go out to work. You are +perfectly welcome here, and I hope that you feel so." + +"Oh, I certainly do. But still I would rather earn my own living." + +That morning Iola applied for the situation, and, being prepossessing in +her appearance, she obtained it. + +For awhile everything went as pleasantly as a marriage bell. But one day +a young colored lady, well-dressed and well-bred in her manner, entered +the store. It was an acquaintance which Iola had formed in the colored +church which she attended. Iola gave her a few words of cordial +greeting, and spent a few moments chatting with her. The attention of +the girls who sold at the same counter was attracted, and their +suspicion awakened. Iola was a stranger in that city. Who was she, and +who were her people? At last it was decided that one of the girls should +act as a spy, and bring what information she could concerning Iola. + +The spy was successful. She found out that Iola was living in a good +neighborhood, but that none of the neighbors knew her. The man of the +house was very fair, but there was an old woman whom Iola called +"Grandma," and she was unmistakably colored. The story was sufficient. +If that were true, Iola must be colored, and she should be treated +accordingly. + +Without knowing the cause, Iola noticed a chill in the social atmosphere +of the store, which communicated itself to the cash-boys, and they +treated her so insolently that her situation became very uncomfortable. +She saw the proprietor, resigned her position, and asked for and +obtained a letter of recommendation to another merchant who had +advertised for a saleswoman. + +In applying for the place, she took the precaution to inform her +employer that she was colored. It made no difference to him; but he +said:-- + +"Don't say anything about it to the girls. They might not be willing to +work with you." + +Iola smiled, did not promise, and accepted the situation. She entered +upon her duties, and proved quite acceptable as a saleswoman. + +One day, during an interval in business, the girls began to talk of +their respective churches, and the question was put to Iola:-- + +"Where do you go to church?" + +"I go," she replied, "to Rev. River's church, corner of Eighth and L +Streets." + +"Oh, no; you must be mistaken. There is no church there except a colored +one." + +"That is where I go." + +"Why do you go there?" + +"Because I liked it when I came here, and joined it." + +"A member of a colored church? What under heaven possessed you to do +such a thing?" + +"Because I wished to be with my own people." + +Here the interrogator stopped, and looked surprised and pained, and +almost instinctively moved a little farther from her. After the store +was closed, the girls had an animated discussion, which resulted in the +information being sent to Mr. Cohen that Iola was a colored girl, and +that they protested against her being continued in his employ. Mr. Cohen +yielded to the pressure, and informed Iola that her services were no +longer needed. + +When Robert came home in the evening, he found that Iola had lost her +situation, and was looking somewhat discouraged. + +"Well, uncle," she said, "I feel out of heart. It seems as if the +prejudice pursues us through every avenue of life, and assigns us the +lowest places." + +"That is so," replied Robert, thoughtfully. + +"And yet I am determined," said Iola, "to win for myself a place in the +fields of labor. I have heard of a place in New England, and I mean to +try for it, even if I only stay a few months." + +"Well, if you _will_ go, say nothing about your color." + +"Uncle Robert, I see no necessity for proclaiming that fact on the +house-top. Yet I am resolved that nothing shall tempt me to deny it. The +best blood in my veins is African blood, and I am not ashamed of it." + +"Hurrah for you!" exclaimed Robert, laughing heartily. + +As Iola wished to try the world for herself, and so be prepared for any +emergency, her uncle and grandmother were content to have her go to New +England. The town to which she journeyed was only a few hours' ride from +the city of P----, and Robert, knowing that there is no teacher like +experience, was willing that Iola should have the benefit of her +teaching. + +Iola, on arriving in H----, sought the firm, and was informed that her +services were needed. She found it a pleasant and lucrative position. +There was only one drawback--her boarding place was too far from her +work. There was an institution conducted by professed Christian women, +which was for the special use of respectable young working girls. This +was in such a desirable location that she called at the house to engage +board. + +The matron conducted her over the house, and grew so friendly in the +interview that she put her arm around her, and seemed to look upon Iola +as a desirable accession to the home. But, just as Iola was leaving, she +said to the matron: "I must be honest with you; I am a colored woman." + +Swift as light a change passed over the face of the matron. She withdrew +her arm from Iola, and said: "I must see the board of managers about +it." + +When the board met, Iola's case was put before them, but they decided +not to receive her. And these women, professors of a religion which +taught, "If ye have respect to persons ye commit sin," virtually shut +the door in her face because of the outcast blood in her veins. + +Considerable feeling was aroused by the action of these women, who, to +say the least, had not put their religion in the most favorable light. + +Iola continued to work for the firm until she received letters from her +mother and uncle, which informed her that her mother, having arranged +her affairs in the South, was ready to come North. She then resolved to +return, to the city of P----, to be ready to welcome her mother on her +arrival. + +Iola arrived in time to see that everything was in order for her +mother's reception. Her room was furnished neatly, but with those +touches of beauty that womanly hands are such adepts in giving. A few +charming pictures adorned the walls, and an easy chair stood waiting to +receive the travel-worn mother. Robert and Iola met her at the depot; +and grandma was on her feet at the first sound of the bell, opened the +door, clasped Marie to her heart, and nearly fainted for joy. + +"Can it be possible dat dis is my little Marie?" she exclaimed. + +It did seem almost impossible to realize that this faded woman, with +pale cheeks and prematurely whitened hair, was the rosy-cheeked child +from whom she had been parted more than thirty years. + +"Well," said Robert, after the first joyous greeting was over, "love is +a very good thing, but Marie has had a long journey and needs something +that will stick by the ribs. How about dinner, mother?" + +"It's all ready," said Mrs. Johnson. + +After Marie had gone to her room and changed her dress, she came down +and partook of the delicious repast which her mother and Iola had +prepared for her. + +In a few days Marie was settled in the home, and was well pleased with +the change. The only drawback to her happiness was the absence of her +son, and she expected him to come North after the closing of his school. + +"Uncle Robert," said Iola, after her mother had been with them several +weeks, "I am tired of being idle." + +"What's the matter now?" asked Robert. "You are surely not going East +again, and leave your mother?" + +"Oh, I hope not," said Marie, anxiously. "I have been so long without +you." + +"No, mamma, I am not going East. I can get suitable employment here in +the city of P----." + +"But, Iola," said Robert, "you have tried, and been defeated. Why +subject yourself to the same experience again?" + +"Uncle Robert, I think that every woman should have some skill or art +which would insure her at least a comfortable support. I believe there +would be less unhappy marriages if labor were more honored among women." + +"Well, Iola," said her mother, "what is your skill?" + +"Nursing. I was very young when I went into the hospital, but I +succeeded so well that the doctor said I must have been a born nurse. +Now, I see by the papers, that a gentleman who has an invalid daughter +wants some one who can be a nurse and companion for her, and I mean to +apply for the situation. I do not think, if I do my part well in that +position, that the blood in my veins will be any bar to my success." + +A troubled look stole over Marie's face. She sighed faintly, but made no +remonstrance. And so it was decided that Iola should apply for the +situation. + +Iola made application, and was readily accepted. Her patient was a frail +girl of fifteen summers, who was ill with a low fever. Iola nursed her +carefully, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing her restored to +health. During her stay, Mr. Cloten, the father of the invalid, had +learned some of the particulars of Iola's Northern experience as a +bread-winner, and he resolved to give her employment in his store when +her services were no longer needed in the house. As soon as a vacancy +occurred he gave Iola a place in his store. + +The morning she entered on her work he called his employés together, and +told them that Miss Iola had colored blood in her veins, but that he was +going to employ her and give her a desk. If any one objected to working +with her, he or she could step to the cashier's desk and receive what +was due. Not a man remonstrated, not a woman demurred; and Iola at last +found a place in the great army of bread-winners, which the traditions +of her blood could not affect. + +"How did you succeed?" asked Mrs. Cloten of her husband, when he +returned to dinner. + +"Admirably! 'Everything is lovely and the goose hangs high.' I gave my +employés to understand that they could leave if they did not wish to +work with Miss Leroy. Not one of them left, or showed any disposition +to rebel." + +"I am very glad," said Mrs. Cloten. "I am ashamed of the way she has been +treated in our city, when seeking to do her share in the world's work. I +am glad that you were brave enough to face this cruel prejudice, and +give her a situation." + +"Well, my dear, do not make me a hero for a single act. I am grateful +for the care Miss Leroy gave our Daisy. Money can buy services, but it +cannot purchase tender, loving sympathy. I was also determined to let my +employés know that I, not they, commanded my business. So, do not crown +me a hero until I have won a niche in the temple of fame. In dealing +with Southern prejudice against the negro, we Northerners could do it +with better grace if we divested ourselves of our own. We irritate the +South by our criticisms, and, while I confess that there is much that is +reprehensible in their treatment of colored people, yet if our Northern +civilization is higher than theirs we should 'criticise by creation.' We +should stamp ourselves on the South, and not let the South stamp itself +on us. When we have learned to treat men according to the complexion of +their souls, and not the color of their skins, we will have given our +best contribution towards the solution of the negro problem." + +"I feel, my dear," said Mrs. Cloten, "that what you have done is a right +step in the right direction, and I hope that other merchants will do the +same. We have numbers of business men, rich enough to afford themselves +the luxury of a good conscience." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + + +AN OLD FRIEND. + +"Good-morning, Miss Leroy," said a cheery voice in tones of glad +surprise, and, intercepting her path, Dr. Gresham stood before Iola, +smiling, and reaching out his hand. + +"Why, Dr. Gresham, is this you?" said Iola, lifting her eyes to that +well-remembered face. "It has been several years since we met. How have +you been all this time, and where?" + +"I have been sick, and am just now recovering from malaria and nervous +prostration. I am attending a medical convention in this city, and hope +that I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again." + +Iola hesitated, and then replied: "I should be pleased to have you +call." + +"It would give me great pleasure. Where shall I call?" + +"My home is 1006 South Street, but I am only at home in the evenings." + +They walked together a short distance till they reached Mr. Cloten's +store; then, bidding the doctor good morning, Iola left him repeating to +himself the words of his favorite poet:-- + + "Thou art too lovely and precious a gem + To be bound to their burdens and sullied by them." + +No one noticed the deep flush on Iola's face as she entered the store, +nor the subdued, quiet manner with which she applied herself to her +tasks. She was living over again the past, with its tender, sad, and +thrilling reminiscences. + +In the evening Dr. Gresham called on Iola. She met him with a pleasant +welcome. Dr. Gresham gazed upon her with unfeigned admiration, and +thought that the years, instead of detracting from, had only +intensified, her loveliness. He had thought her very beautiful in the +hospital, in her gray dress and white collar, with her glorious wealth +of hair drawn over her ears. But now, when he saw her with that hair +artistically arranged, and her finely-proportioned form arrayed in a +dark crimson dress, relieved by a shimmer of lace and a bow of white +ribbon at her throat, he thought her superbly handsome. The lines which +care had written upon her young face had faded away. There was no +undertone of sorrow in her voice as she stood up before him in the calm +loveliness of her ripened womanhood, radiant in beauty and gifted in +intellect. Time and failing health had left their traces upon Dr. +Gresham. His step was less bounding, his cheek a trifle paler, his +manner somewhat graver than it was when he had parted from Iola in the +hospital, but his meeting with her had thrilled his heart with +unexpected pleasure. Hopes and sentiments which long had slept awoke at +the touch of her hand and the tones of her voice, and Dr. Gresham found +himself turning to the past, with its sad memories and disappointed +hopes. No other face had displaced her image in his mind; no other love +had woven itself around every tendril of his soul. His heart and hand +were just as free as they were the hour they had parted. + +"To see you again," said Dr. Gresham, "is a great and unexpected +pleasure." + +"You had not forgotten me, then?" said Iola, smiling. + +"Forget you! I would just as soon forget my own existence. I do not +think that time will ever efface the impressions of those days in which +we met so often. When last we met you were intending to search for your +mother. Have you been successful?" + +"More than successful," said Iola, with a joyous ring in her voice. "I +have found my mother, brother, grandmother, and uncle, and, except my +brother, we are all living together, and we are so happy. Excuse me a +few minutes," she said, and left the room. Iola soon returned, bringing +with her her mother and grandmother. + +"These," said Iola, introducing her mother and grandmother, "are the +once-severed branches of our family; and this gentleman you have seen +before," continued Iola, as Robert entered the room. + +Dr. Gresham looked scrutinizingly at him and said: "Your face looks +familiar, but I saw so many faces at the hospital that I cannot just now +recall your name." + +"Doctor," said Robert Johnson, "I was one of your last patients, and I +was with Tom Anderson when he died." + +"Oh, yes," replied Dr. Gresham; "it all comes back to me. You were +wounded at the battle of Five Forks, were you not?" + +"Yes," said Robert. + +"I saw you when you were recovering. You told me that you thought you +had a clue to your lost relatives, from whom you had been so long +separated. How have you succeeded?" + +"Admirably! I have been fortunate in finding my mother, my sister, and +her children." + +"Ah, indeed! I am delighted to hear it. Where are they?" + +"They are right here. This is my mother," said Robert, bending fondly +over her, as she returned his recognition with an expression of intense +satisfaction; "and this," he continued, "is my sister, and Miss Leroy is +my niece." + +"Is it possible? I am very glad to hear it. It has been said that every +cloud has its silver lining, and the silver lining of our war cloud is +the redemption of a race and the reunion of severed hearts. War is a +dreadful thing; but worse than the war was the slavery which preceded +it." + +"Slavery," said Iola, "was a fearful cancer eating into the nation's +heart, sapping its vitality, and undermining its life." + +"And war," said Dr. Gresham, "was the dreadful surgery by which the +disease was eradicated. The cancer has been removed, but for years to +come I fear that we will have to deal with the effects of the disease. +But I believe that we have vitality enough to outgrow those effects." + +"I think, Doctor," said Iola, "that there is but one remedy by which our +nation can recover from the evil entailed upon her by slavery." + +"What is that?" asked Robert. + +"A fuller comprehension of the claims of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and +their application to our national life." + +"Yes," said Robert; "while politicians are stumbling on the barren +mountains of fretful controversy and asking what shall we do with the +negro? I hold that Jesus answered that question nearly two thousand +years ago when he said, 'Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, +do ye even so to them.'" + +"Yes," said Dr. Gresham; "the application of that rule in dealing with +the negro would solve the whole problem." + +"Slavery," said Mrs. Leroy, "is dead, but the spirit which animated it +still lives; and I think that a reckless disregard for human life is +more the outgrowth of slavery than any actual hatred of the negro." + +"The problem of the nation," continued Dr. Gresham, "is not what men +will do with the negro, but what will they do with the reckless, lawless +white men who murder, lynch and burn their fellow-citizens. To me these +lynchings and burnings are perfectly alarming. Both races have reacted +on each other--men fettered the slave and cramped their own souls; +denied him knowledge, and darkened their spiritual insight; subdued him +to the pliancy of submission, and in their turn became the thralls of +public opinion. The negro came here from the heathenism of Africa; but +the young colonies could not take into their early civilization a stream +of barbaric blood without being affected by its influence and the negro, +poor and despised as he is, has laid his hands on our Southern +civilization and helped mould its character." + +"Yes," said Mrs. Leroy; "the colored nurse could not nestle her master's +child in her arms, hold up his baby footsteps on their floors, and walk +with him through the impressible and formative period of his young life +without leaving upon him the impress of her hand." + +"I am glad," said Robert, "for the whole nation's sake, that slavery +has been destroyed." + +"And our work," said Dr. Gresham, "is to build over the desolations of +the past a better and brighter future. The great distinction between +savagery and civilization is the creation and maintenance of law. +A people cannot habitually trample on law and justice without +retrograding toward barbarism. But I am hopeful that time will bring us +changes for the better; that, as we get farther away from the war, we +will outgrow the animosities and prejudices engendered by slavery. The +short-sightedness of our fathers linked the negro's destiny to ours. We +are feeling the friction of the ligatures which bind us together, but I +hope that the time will speedily come when the best members of both +races will unite for the maintenance of law and order and the progress +and prosperity of the country, and that the intelligence and virtue of +the South will be strong to grapple effectually with its ignorance and +vice." + +"I hope that time will speedily come," said Marie. "My son is in the +South, and I am always anxious for his safety. He is not only a teacher, +but a leading young man in the community where he lives." + +"Yes," said Robert, "and when I see the splendid work he is doing in the +South, I am glad that, instead of trying to pass for a white man, he has +cast his lot with us." + +"But," answered Dr. Gresham, "he would possess advantages as a white man +which he could not if he were known to be colored." + +"Doctor," said Iola, decidedly, "he has greater advantages as a colored +man." + +"I do not understand you," said Dr. Gresham, looking somewhat puzzled. + +"Doctor," continued Iola, "I do not think life's highest advantages are +those that we can see with our eyes or grasp with our hands. To whom +to-day is the world most indebted--to its millionaires or to its +martyrs?" + +"Taking it from the ideal standpoint," replied the doctor, "I should say +its martyrs." + +"To be," continued Iola, "the leader of a race to higher planes of +thought and action, to teach men clearer views of life and duty, and to +inspire their souls with loftier aims, is a far greater privilege than +it is to open the gates of material prosperity and fill every home with +sensuous enjoyment." + +"And I," said Mrs. Leroy, her face aglow with fervid feeling, "would +rather--ten thousand times rather--see Harry the friend and helper of +the poor and ignorant than the companion of men who, under the cover of +night, mask their faces and ride the country on lawless raids." + +"Dr. Gresham," said Robert, "we ought to be the leading nation of the +earth, whose influence and example should give light to the world." + +"Not simply," said Iola, "a nation building up a great material +prosperity, founding magnificent cities, grasping the commerce of the +world, or excelling in literature, art, and science, but a nation +wearing sobriety as a crown and righteousness as the girdle of her +loins." + +Dr. Gresham gazed admiringly upon Iola. A glow of enthusiasm overspread +her beautiful, expressive face. There was a rapt and far-off look in her +eye, as if she were looking beyond the present pain to a brighter +future for the race with which she was identified, and felt the +grandeur of a divine commission to labor for its uplifting. + +As Dr. Gresham was parting with Robert, he said: "This meeting has been +a very unexpected pleasure. I have spent a delightful evening. I only +regret that I had not others to share it with me. A doctor from the +South, a regular Bourbon, is stopping at the hotel. I wish he could have +been here to-night. Come down to the Concordia, Mr. Johnson, to-morrow +night. If you know any colored man who is a strong champion of equal +rights, bring him along. Good-night. I shall look for you," said the +doctor, as he left the door. + +When Robert returned to the parlor he said to Iola: "Dr. Gresham has +invited me to come to his hotel to-morrow night, and to bring some +wide-awake colored man with me. There is a Southerner whom he wishes me +to meet. I suppose he wants to discuss the negro problem, as they call +it. He wants some one who can do justice to the subject. I wonder whom I +can take with me?" + +"I will tell you who, I think, will be a capital one to take with you, +and I believe he would go," said Iola. + +"Who?" asked Robert. + +"Rev. Carmicle, your pastor." + +"He is just the one," said Robert, "courteous in his manner and very +scholarly in his attainments. He is a man whom if everybody hated him no +one could despise him." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + + +OPEN QUESTIONS. + +In the evening Robert and Rev. Carmicle called on Dr. Gresham, and found +Dr. Latrobe, the Southerner, and a young doctor by the name of Latimer, +already there. Dr. Gresham introduced Dr. Latrobe, but it was a new +experience to receive colored men socially. His wits, however, did not +forsake him, and he received the introduction and survived it. + +"Permit me, now," said Dr. Gresham, "to introduce you to my friend, Dr. +Latimer, who is attending our convention. He expects to go South and +labor among the colored people. Don't you think that there is a large +field of usefulness before him?" + +"Yes," replied Dr. Latrobe, "if he will let politics alone." + +"And why let politics alone?" asked Dr. Gresham. + +"Because," replied Dr. Latrobe, "we Southerners will never submit to +negro supremacy. We will never abandon our Caucasian civilization to an +inferior race." + +"Have you any reason," inquired Rev. Carmicle, "to dread that a race +which has behind it the heathenism of Africa and the slavery of America, +with its inheritance of ignorance and poverty, will be able, in less +than one generation, to domineer over a race which has behind it ages of +dominion, freedom, education, and Christianity?" + +A slight shade of vexation and astonishment passed over the face of Dr. +Latrobe. He hesitated a moment, then replied:-- + +"I am not afraid of the negro as he stands alone, but what I dread is +that in some closely-contested election ambitious men will use him to +hold the balance of power and make him an element of danger. He is +ignorant, poor, and clannish, and they may impact him as their policy +would direct." + +"Any more," asked Robert, "than the leaders of the Rebellion did the +ignorant, poor whites during our late conflict?" + +"Ignorance, poverty, and clannishness," said Dr. Gresham, "are more +social than racial conditions, which may be outgrown." + +"And I think," said Rev. Carmicle, "that we are outgrowing them as fast +as any other people would have done under the same conditions." + +"The negro," replied Dr. Latrobe, "always has been and always will be an +element of discord in our country." + +"What, then, is your remedy?" asked Dr. Gresham. + +"I would eliminate him from the politics of the country." + +"As disfranchisement is a punishment for crime, is it just to punish a +man before he transgresses the law?" asked Dr. Gresham. + +"If," said Dr. Latimer, "the negro is ignorant, poor, and clannish, let +us remember that in part of our land it was once a crime to teach him to +read. If he is poor, for ages he was forced to bend to unrequited toil. +If he is clannish, society has segregated him to himself." + +"And even," said Robert, "has given him a negro pew in your churches +and a negro seat at your communion table." + +"Wisely, or unwisely," said Dr. Gresham, "the Government has put the +ballot in his hands. It is better to teach him to use that ballot aright +than to intimidate him by violence or vitiate his vote by fraud." + +"To-day," said Dr. Latimer, "the negro is not plotting in beer-saloons +against the peace and order of society. His fingers are not dripping +with dynamite, neither is he spitting upon your flag, nor flaunting the +red banner of anarchy in your face." + +"Power," said Dr. Gresham, "naturally gravitates into the strongest +hands. The class who have the best brain and most wealth can strike with +the heaviest hand. I have too much faith in the inherent power of the +white race to dread the competition of any other people under heaven." + +"I think you Northerners fail to do us justice," said Dr. Latrobe. "The +men into whose hands you put the ballot were our slaves, and we would +rather die than submit to them. Look at the carpet-bag governments the +wicked policy of the Government inflicted upon us. It was only done to +humiliate us." + +"Oh, no!" said Dr. Gresham, flushing, and rising to his feet. "We had no +other alternative than putting the ballot in their hands." + +"I will not deny," said Rev. Carmicle, "that we have made woeful +mistakes, but with our antecedents it would have been miraculous if we +had never committed any mistakes or made any blunders." + +"They were allies in war," continued Dr. Gresham, "and I am sorry that +we have not done more to protect them in peace." + +"Protect them in peace!" said Robert, bitterly. "What protection does +the colored man receive from the hands of the Government? I know of no +civilized country outside of America where men are still burned for real +or supposed crimes." + +"Johnson," said Dr. Gresham, compassionately, "it is impossible to have +a policeman at the back of each colored man's chair, and a squad of +soldiers at each crossroad, to detect with certainty, and punish with +celerity, each invasion of his rights. We tried provisional governments +and found them a failure. It seemed like leaving our former allies to be +mocked with the name of freedom and tortured with the essence of +slavery. The ballot is our weapon of defense, and we gave it to them for +theirs." + +"And there," said Dr. Latrobe, emphatically, "is where you signally +failed. We are numerically stronger in Congress to-day than when we went +out. You made the law, but the administration of it is in our hands, and +we are a unit." + +"But, Doctor," said Rev. Carmicle, "you cannot willfully deprive the +negro of a single right as a citizen without sending demoralization +through your own ranks." + +"I think," said Dr. Latrobe, "that we are right in suppressing the +negro's vote. This is a white man's government, and a white man's +country. We own nineteen-twentieths of the land, and have about the same +ratio of intelligence. I am a white man, and, right or wrong, I go with +my race." + +"But, Doctor," said Rev. Carmicle, "there are rights more sacred than +the rights of property and superior intelligence." + +"What are they?" asked Dr. Latrobe. + +"The rights of life and liberty," replied Rev. Carmicle. + +"That is true," said Dr. Gresham; "and your Southern civilization will +be inferior until you shall have placed protection to those rights at +its base, not in theory but in fact." + +"But, Dr. Gresham, we have to live with these people, and the North is +constantly irritating us by its criticisms." + +"The world," said Dr. Gresham, "is fast becoming a vast whispering +gallery, and lips once sealed can now state their own grievances and +appeal to the conscience of the nation, and, as long as a sense of +justice and mercy retains a hold upon the heart of our nation, you +cannot practice violence and injustice without rousing a spirit of +remonstrance. And if it were not so I would be ashamed of my country and +of my race." + +"You speak," said Dr. Latrobe, "as if we had wronged the negro by +enslaving him and being unwilling to share citizenship with him. I think +that slavery has been of incalculable value to the negro. It has lifted +him out of barbarism and fetich worship, given him a language of +civilization, and introduced him to the world's best religion. Think +what he was in Africa and what he is in America!" + +"The negro," said Dr. Gresham, thoughtfully, "is not the only branch of +the human race which has been low down in the scale of civilization and +freedom, and which has outgrown the measure of his chains. Slavery, +polygamy, and human sacrifices have been practiced among Europeans in +by-gone days; and when Tyndall tells us that out of savages unable to +count to the number of their fingers and speaking only a language of +nouns and verbs, arise at length our Newtons and Shakspeares, I do not +see that the negro could not have learned our language and received our +religion without the intervention of ages of slavery." + +"If," said Rev. Carmicle, "Mohammedanism, with its imperfect creed, is +successful in gathering large numbers of negroes beneath the Crescent, +could not a legitimate commerce and the teachings of a pure Christianity +have done as much to plant the standard of the Cross over the ramparts +of sin and idolatry in Africa? Surely we cannot concede that the light +of the Crescent is greater than the glory of the Cross, that there is +less constraining power in the Christ of Calvary than in the Prophet of +Arabia? I do not think that I underrate the difficulties in your way +when I say that you young men are holding in your hands golden +opportunities which it would be madness and folly to throw away. It is +your grand opportunity to help build up a new South, not on the shifting +sands of policy and expediency, but on the broad basis of equal justice +and universal freedom. Do this and you will be blessed, and will make +your life a blessing." + +After Robert and Rev. Carmicle had left the hotel, Drs. Latimer, +Gresham, and Latrobe sat silent and thoughtful awhile, when Dr. Gresham +broke the silence by asking Dr. Latrobe how he had enjoyed the evening. + +"Very pleasantly," he replied. "I was quite interested in that parson. +Where was he educated?" + +"In Oxford, I believe. I was pleased to hear him say that he had no +white blood in his veins." + +"I should think not," replied Dr. Latrobe, "from his looks. But one +swallow does not make a summer. It is the exceptions which prove the +rule." + +"Don't you think," asked Dr. Gresham, "that we have been too hasty in +our judgment of the negro? He has come handicapped into life, and is now +on trial before the world. But it is not fair to subject him to the same +tests that you would a white man. I believe that there are possibilities +of growth in the race which we have never comprehended." + +"The negro," said Dr. Latrobe, "is perfectly comprehensible to me. The +only way to get along with him is to let him know his place, and make +him keep it." + +"I think," replied Dr. Gresham, "every man's place is the one he is best +fitted for." + +"Why," asked Dr. Latimer, "should any place be assigned to the negro +more than to the French, Irish, or German?" + +"Oh," replied Dr. Latrobe, "they are all Caucasians." + +"Well," said Dr. Gresham, "is all excellence summed up in that branch of +the human race?" + +"I think," said Dr. Latrobe, proudly, "that we belong to the highest +race on earth and the negro to the lowest." + +"And yet," said Dr. Latimer, "you have consorted with them till you have +bleached their faces to the whiteness of your own. Your children nestle +in their bosoms; they are around you as body servants, and yet if one of +them should attempt to associate with you your bitterest scorn and +indignation would be visited upon them." + +"I think," said Dr. Latrobe, "that feeling grows out of our Anglo-Saxon +regard for the marriage relation. These white negroes are of +illegitimate origin, and we would scorn to share our social life with +them. Their blood is tainted." + +"Who tainted it?" asked Dr. Latimer, bitterly. "You give absolution to +the fathers, and visit the misfortunes of the mothers upon the +children." + +"But, Doctor, what kind of society would we have if we put down the bars +and admitted everybody to social equality?" + +"This idea of social equality," said Dr. Latimer, "is only a bugbear +which frightens well-meaning people from dealing justly with the negro. +I know of no place on earth where there is perfect social equality, and +I doubt if there is such a thing in heaven. The sinner who repents on +his death-bed cannot be the equal of St. Paul or the Beloved Disciple." + +"Doctor," said Dr. Gresham, "I sometimes think that the final solution +of this question will be the absorption of the negro into our race." + +"Never! never!" exclaimed Dr. Latrobe, vehemently. "It would be a death +blow to American civilization." + +"Why, Doctor," said Dr. Latimer, "you Southerners began this absorption +before the war. I understand that in one decade the mixed bloods rose +from one-ninth to one-eighth of the population, and that as early as +1663 a law was passed in Maryland to prevent English women from +intermarrying with slaves; and, even now, your laws against +miscegenation presuppose that you apprehend danger from that source." + +"Doctor, it is no use talking," replied Dr. Latrobe, wearily. "There +are niggers who are as white as I am, but the taint of blood is there +and we always exclude it." + +"How do you know it is there?" asked Dr. Gresham. + +"Oh, there are tricks of blood which always betray them. My eyes are +more practiced than yours. I can always tell them. Now, that Johnson is +as white as any man; but I knew he was a nigger the moment I saw him. I +saw it in his eye." + +Dr. Latimer smiled at Dr. Latrobe's assertion, but did not attempt to +refute it; and bade him good-night. + +"I think," said Dr. Latrobe, "that our war was the great mistake of the +nineteenth century. It has left us very serious complications. We cannot +amalgamate with the negroes. We cannot expatriate them. Now, what are we +to do with them?" + +"Deal justly with them," said Dr. Gresham, "and let them alone. Try to +create a moral sentiment in the nation, which will consider a wrong done +to the weakest of them as a wrong done to the whole community. Whenever +you find ministers too righteous to be faithless, cowardly, and time +serving; women too Christly to be scornful; and public men too noble to +be tricky and too honest to pander to the prejudices of the people, +stand by them and give them your moral support." + +"Doctor," said Latrobe, "with your views you ought to be a preacher +striving to usher in the millennium." + +"It can't come too soon," replied Dr. Gresham. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + + +DIVERGING PATHS. + +On the eve of his departure from the city of P----, Dr. Gresham called +on Iola, and found her alone. They talked awhile of reminiscences of the +war and hospital life, when Dr. Gresham, approaching Iola, said:-- + +"Miss Leroy, I am glad the great object of your life is accomplished, +and that you have found all your relatives. Years have passed since we +parted, years in which I have vainly tried to get a trace of you and +have been baffled, but I have found you at last!" Clasping her hand in +his, he continued, "I would it were so that I should never lose you +again! Iola, will you not grant me the privilege of holding this hand as +mine all through the future of our lives? Your search for your mother is +ended. She is well cared for. Are you not free at last to share with me +my Northern home, free to be mine as nothing else on earth is mine." Dr. +Gresham looked eagerly on Iola's face, and tried to read its varying +expression. "Iola, I learned to love you in the hospital. I have tried +to forget you, but it has been all in vain. Your image is just as deeply +engraven on my heart as it was the day we parted." + +"Doctor," she replied, sadly, but firmly, as she withdrew her hand from +his, "I feel now as I felt then, that there is an insurmountable barrier +between us." + +"What is it, Iola?" asked Dr. Gresham, anxiously. + +"It is the public opinion which assigns me a place with the colored +people." + +"But what right has public opinion to interfere with our marriage +relations? Why should we yield to its behests?" + +"Because it is stronger than we are, and we cannot run counter to it +without suffering its penalties." + +"And what are they, Iola? Shadows that you merely dread?" + +"No! no! the penalties of social ostracism North and South, except here +and there some grand and noble exceptions. I do not think that you fully +realize how much prejudice against colored people permeates society, +lowers the tone of our religion, and reacts upon the life of the nation. +After freedom came, mamma was living in the city of A----, and wanted to +unite with a Christian church there. She made application for +membership. She passed her examination as a candidate, and was received +as a church member. When she was about to make her first communion, she +unintentionally took her seat at the head of the column. The elder who +was administering the communion gave her the bread in the order in which +she sat, but before he gave her the wine some one touched him on the +shoulder and whispered a word in his ear. He then passed mamma by, gave +the cup to others, and then returned to her. From that rite connected +with the holiest memories of earth, my poor mother returned humiliated +and depressed." + +"What a shame!" exclaimed Dr. Gresham, indignantly. + +"I have seen," continued Iola, "the same spirit manifested in the North. +Mamma once attempted to do missionary work in this city. One day she +found an outcast colored girl, whom she wished to rescue. She took her +to an asylum for fallen women and made an application for her, but was +refused. Colored girls were not received there. Soon after mamma found +among the colored people an outcast white girl. Mamma's sympathies, +unfettered by class distinction, were aroused in her behalf, and, in +company with two white ladies, she went with the girl to that same +refuge. For her the door was freely opened and admittance readily +granted. It was as if two women were sinking in the quicksands, and on +the solid land stood other women with life-lines in their hands, seeing +the deadly sands slowly creeping up around the hapless victims. To one +they readily threw the lines of deliverance, but for the other there was +not one strand of salvation. Sometime since, to the same asylum, came a +poor fallen girl who had escaped from the clutches of a wicked woman. +For her the door would have been opened, had not the vile woman from +whom she was escaping followed her to that place of refuge and revealed +the fact that she belonged to the colored race. That fact was enough to +close the door upon her, and to send her back to sin and to suffer, and +perhaps to die as a wretched outcast. And yet in this city where a +number of charities are advertised, I do not think there is one of them +which, in appealing to the public, talks more religion than the managers +of this asylum. This prejudice against the colored race environs our +lives and mocks our aspirations." + +"Iola, I see no use in your persisting that you are colored when your +eyes are as blue and complexion as white as mine." + +"Doctor, were I your wife, are there not people who would caress me as +a white woman who would shrink from me in scorn if they knew I had one +drop of negro blood in my veins? When mistaken for a white woman, I +should hear things alleged against the race at which my blood would +boil. No, Doctor, I am not willing to live under a shadow of concealment +which I thoroughly hate as if the blood in my veins were an undetected +crime of my soul." + +"Iola, dear, surely you paint the picture too darkly." + +"Doctor, I have painted it with my heart's blood. It is easier to +outgrow the dishonor of crime than the disabilities of color. You have +created in this country an aristocracy of color wide enough to include +the South with its treason and Utah with its abominations, but too +narrow to include the best and bravest colored man who bared his breast +to the bullets of the enemy during your fratricidal strife. Is not the +most arrant Rebel to-day more acceptable to you than the most faithful +colored man?" + +"No! no!" exclaimed Dr. Gresham, vehemently. "You are wrong. I belong to +the Grand Army of the Republic. We have no separate State Posts for the +colored people, and, were such a thing proposed, the majority of our +members, I believe, would be against it. In Congress colored men have +the same seats as white men, and the color line is slowly fading out in +our public institutions." + +"But how is it in the Church?" asked Iola. + +"The Church is naturally conservative. It preserves old truths, even if +it is somewhat slow in embracing new ideas. It has its social as well as +its spiritual side. Society is woman's realm. The majority of church +members are women, who are said to be the aristocratic element of our +country. I fear that one of the last strongholds of this racial +prejudice will be found beneath the shadow of some of our churches. I +think, on account of this social question, that large bodies of +Christian temperance women and other reformers, in trying to reach the +colored people even for their own good, will be quicker to form +separate associations than our National Grand Army, whose ranks are open +to black and white, liberals and conservatives, saints and agnostics. +But, Iola, we have drifted far away from the question. No one has a +right to interfere with our marriage if we do not infringe on the rights +of others." + +"Doctor," she replied, gently, "I feel that our paths must diverge. My +life-work is planned. I intend spending my future among the colored +people of the South." + +"My dear friend," he replied, anxiously, "I am afraid that you are +destined to sad disappointment. When the novelty wears off you will be +disillusioned, and, I fear, when the time comes that you can no longer +serve them they will forget your services and remember only your +failings." + +"But, Doctor, they need me; and I am sure when I taught among them they +were very grateful for my services." + +"I think," he replied, "these people are more thankful than grateful." + +"I do not think so; and if I did it would not hinder me from doing all +in my power to help them. I do not expect all the finest traits of +character to spring from the hot-beds of slavery and caste. What matters +it if they do forget the singer, so they don't forget the song? No, +Doctor, I don't think that I could best serve my race by forsaking them +and marrying you." + +"Iola," he exclaimed, passionately, "if you love your race, as you call +it, work for it, live for it, suffer for it, and, if need be, die for +it; but don't marry for it. Your education has unfitted you for social +life among them." + +"It was," replied Iola, "through their unrequited toil that I was +educated, while they were compelled to live in ignorance. I am indebted +to them for the power I have to serve them. I wish other Southern women +felt as I do. I think they could do so much to help the colored people +at their doors if they would look at their opportunities in the light of +the face of Jesus Christ. Nor am I wholly unselfish in allying myself +with the colored people. All the rest of my family have done so. My dear +grandmother is one of the excellent of the earth, and we all love her +too much to ignore our relationship with her. I did not choose my lot in +life, and the simplest thing I can do is to accept the situation and do +the best I can." + +"And is this your settled purpose?" he asked, sadly. + +"It is, Doctor," she replied, tenderly but firmly. "I see no other. I +must serve the race which needs me most." + +"Perhaps you are right," he replied; "but I cannot help feeling sad that +our paths, which met so pleasantly, should diverge so painfully. And +yet, not only the freedmen, but the whole country, need such helpful, +self-sacrificing teachers as you will prove; and if earnest prayers and +holy wishes can brighten your path, your lines will fall in the +pleasantest places." + +As he rose to go, sympathy, love, and admiration were blended in the +parting look he gave her; but he felt it was useless to attempt to +divert her from her purpose. He knew that for the true reconstruction of +the country something more was needed than bayonets and bullets, or the +schemes of selfish politicians or plotting demagogues. He knew that the +South needed the surrender of the best brain and heart of the country to +build, above the wastes of war, more stately temples of thought and +action. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + + +DR. LATROBE'S MISTAKE. + +On the morning previous to their departure for their respective homes, +Dr. Gresham met Dr. Latrobe in the parlor of the Concordia. + +"How," asked Dr. Gresham, "did you like Dr. Latimer's paper?" + +"Very much, indeed. It was excellent. He is a very talented young man. +He sits next to me at lunch and I have conversed with him several times. +He is very genial and attractive, only he seems to be rather cranky on +the negro question. I hope if he comes South that he will not make the +mistake of mixing up with the negroes. It would be throwing away his +influence and ruining his prospects. He seems to be well versed in +science and literature and would make a very delightful accession to our +social life." + +"I think," replied Dr. Gresham, "that he is an honor to our profession. +He is one of the finest specimens of our young manhood." + +Just then Dr. Latimer entered the room. Dr. Latrobe arose and, greeting +him cordially, said: "I was delighted with your paper; it was full of +thought and suggestion." + +"Thank you," answered Dr. Latimer, "it was my aim to make it so." + +"And you succeeded admirably," replied Dr. Latrobe. "I could not help +thinking how much we owe to heredity and environment." + +"Yes," said Dr. Gresham. "Continental Europe yearly sends to our shores +subjects to be developed into citizens. Emancipation has given us +millions of new citizens, and to them our influence and example should +be a blessing and not a curse." + +"Well," said Dr. Latimer, "I intend to go South, and help those who so +much need helpers from their own ranks." + +"I hope," answered Dr. Latrobe, "that if you go South you will only +sustain business relations with the negroes, and not commit the folly of +equalizing yourself with them." + +"Why not?" asked Dr. Latimer, steadily looking him in the eye. + +"Because in equalizing yourself with them you drag us down; and our +social customs must be kept intact." + +"You have been associating with me at the convention for several days; I +do not see that the contact has dragged you down, has it?" + +"You! What has that got to do with associating with niggers?" asked Dr. +Latrobe, curtly. + +"The blood of that race is coursing through my veins. I am one of them," +replied Dr. Latimer, proudly raising his head. + +"You!" exclaimed Dr. Latrobe, with an air of profound astonishment and +crimsoning face. + +"Yes;" interposed Dr. Gresham, laughing heartily at Dr. Latrobe's +discomfiture. "He belongs to that negro race both by blood and choice. +His father's mother made overtures to receive him as her grandson and +heir, but he has nobly refused to forsake his mother's people and has +cast his lot with them." + +"And I," said Dr. Latimer, "would have despised myself if I had done +otherwise." + +"Well, well," said Dr. Latrobe, rising, "I was never so deceived before. +Good morning!" + +Dr. Latrobe had thought he was clear-sighted enough to detect the +presence of negro blood when all physical traces had disappeared. But he +had associated with Dr. Latimer for several days, and admired his +talent, without suspecting for one moment his racial connection. He +could not help feeling a sense of vexation at the signal mistake he had +made. + +Dr. Frank Latimer was the natural grandson of a Southern lady, in whose +family his mother had been a slave. The blood of a proud aristocratic +ancestry was flowing through his veins, and generations of blood +admixture had effaced all trace of his negro lineage. His complexion was +blonde, his eye bright and piercing, his lips firm and well moulded; his +manner very affable; his intellect active and well stored with +information. He was a man capable of winning in life through his rich +gifts of inheritance and acquirements. When freedom came, his mother, +like Hagar of old, went out into the wide world to seek a living for +herself and child. Through years of poverty she labored to educate her +child, and saw the glad fruition of her hopes when her son graduated as +an M.D. from the University of P----. + +After his graduation he met his father's mother, who recognized him by +his resemblance to her dear, departed son. All the mother love in her +lonely heart awoke, and she was willing to overlook "the missing link of +matrimony," and adopt him as her heir, if he would ignore his identity +with the colored race. + +Before him loomed all the possibilities which only birth and blood can +give a white man in our Democratic country. But he was a man of too much +sterling worth of character to be willing to forsake his mother's race +for the richest advantages his grandmother could bestow. + +Dr. Gresham had met Dr. Latimer at the beginning of the convention, and +had been attracted to him by his frank and genial manner. One morning, +when conversing with him, Dr. Gresham had learned some of the salient +points of his history, which, instead of repelling him, had only +deepened his admiration for the young doctor. He was much amused when he +saw the pleasant acquaintanceship between him and Dr. Latrobe, but they +agreed to be silent about his racial connection until the time came when +they were ready to divulge it; and they were hugely delighted at his +signal blunder. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + + +VISITORS FROM THE SOUTH. + +"Mamma is not well," said Iola to Robert. "I spoke to her about sending +for a doctor, but she objected and I did not insist." + +"I will ask Dr. Latimer, whom I met at the Concordia, to step in. He is +a splendid young fellow. I wish we had thousands like him." + +In the evening the doctor called. Without appearing to make a +professional visit he engaged Marie in conversation, watched her +carefully, and came to the conclusion that her failing health proceeded +more from mental than physical causes. + +"I am so uneasy about Harry," said Mrs. Leroy. "He is so fearless and +outspoken. I do wish the attention of the whole nation could be turned +to the cruel barbarisms which are a national disgrace. I think the term +'bloody shirt' is one of the most heartless phrases ever invented to +divert attention from cruel wrongs and dreadful outrages." + +Just then Iola came in and was introduced by her uncle to Dr. Latimer, +to whom the introduction was a sudden and unexpected pleasure. + +After an interchange of courtesies, Marie resumed the conversation, +saying: "Harry wrote me only last week that a young friend of his had +lost his situation because he refused to have his pupils strew flowers +on the streets through which Jefferson Davis was to pass." + +"I think," said Dr. Latimer, indignantly, "that the Israelites had just +as much right to scatter flowers over the bodies of the Egyptians, when +the waves threw back their corpses on the shores of the Red Sea, as +these children had to strew the path of Jefferson Davis with flowers. We +want our boys to grow up manly citizens, and not cringing sycophants. +When do you expect your son, Mrs. Leroy?" + +"Some time next week," answered Marie. + +"And his presence will do you more good than all the medicine in my +chest." + +"I hope, Doctor," said Mrs. Leroy, "that we will not lose sight of you, +now that your professional visit is ended; for I believe your visit was +the result of a conspiracy between Iola and her uncle." + +Dr. Latimer laughed, as he answered, "Ah, Mrs. Leroy, I see you have +found us all out." + +"Oh, Doctor," exclaimed Iola, with pleasing excitement, "there is a +young lady coming here to visit me next week. Her name is Miss Lucille +Delany, and she is my ideal woman. She is grand, brave, intellectual, +and religious." + +"Is that so? She would make some man an excellent wife," replied Dr. +Latimer. + +"Now isn't that perfectly manlike," answered Iola, smiling. "Mamma, what +do you think of that? Did any of you gentlemen ever see a young woman of +much ability that you did not look upon as a flotsam all adrift until +some man had appropriated her?" + +"I think, Miss Leroy, that the world's work, if shared, is better done +than when it is performed alone. Don't you think your life-work will be +better done if some one shares it with you?" asked Dr. Latimer, slowly, +and with a smile in his eyes. + +"That would depend on the person who shared it," said Iola, faintly +blushing. + +"Here," said Robert, a few evenings after this conversation, as he +handed Iola a couple of letters, "is something which will please you." + +Iola took the letters, and, after reading one of them, said: "Miss +Delany and Harry will be here on Wednesday; and this one is an +invitation which also adds to my enjoyment." + +"What is it?" asked Marie; "an invitation to a hop or a german?" + +"No; but something which I value far more. We are all invited to Mr. +Stillman's to a _conversazione_." + +"What is the object?" + +"His object is to gather some of the thinkers and leaders of the race to +consult on subjects of vital interest to our welfare. He has invited Dr. +Latimer, Professor Gradnor, of North Carolina, Mr. Forest, of New York, +Hon. Dugdale, Revs. Carmicle, Cantnor, Tunster, Professor Langhorne, of +Georgia, and a few ladies, Mrs. Watson, Miss Brown, and others." + +"I am glad that it is neither a hop nor a german," said Iola, "but +something for which I have been longing." + +"Why, Iola," asked Robert, "don't you believe in young people having a +good time?" + +"Oh, yes," answered Iola, seriously, "I believe in young people having +amusements and recreations; but the times are too serious for us to +attempt to make our lives a long holiday." + +"Well, Iola," answered Robert, "this is the first holiday we have had +in two hundred and fifty years, and you shouldn't be too exacting." + +"Yes," replied Marie, "human beings naturally crave enjoyment, and if +not furnished with good amusements they are apt to gravitate to low +pleasures." + +"Some one," said Robert, "has said that the Indian belongs to an old +race and looks gloomily back to the past, and that the negro belongs to +a young race and looks hopefully towards the future." + +"If that be so," replied Marie, "our race-life corresponds more to the +follies of youth than the faults of maturer years." + +On Dr. Latimer's next visit he was much pleased to see a great change in +Marie's appearance. Her eye had grown brighter, her step more elastic, +and the anxiety had faded from her face. Harry had arrived, and with him +came Miss Delany. + +"Good evening, Dr. Latimer," said Iola, cheerily, as she entered the +room with Miss Lucille Delany. "This is my friend, Miss Delany, from +Georgia. Were she not present I would say she is one of the grandest +women in America." + +"I am very much pleased to meet you," said Dr. Latimer, cordially; "I +have heard Miss Leroy speak of you. We were expecting you," he added, +with a smile. + +Just then Harry entered the room, and Iola presented him to Dr. Latimer, +saying, "This is my brother, about whom mamma was so anxious." + +"Had you a pleasant journey?" asked Dr. Latimer, after the first +greetings were over. + +"Not especially," answered Miss Delany. "Southern roads are not always +very pleasant to travel. When Mr. Leroy entered the cars at A----, where +he was known, had he taken his seat among the white people he would have +been remanded to the colored." + +"But after awhile," said Harry, "as Miss Delany and myself were sitting +together, laughing and chatting, a colored man entered the car, and, +mistaking me for a white man, asked the conductor to have me removed, +and I had to insist that I was colored in order to be permitted to +remain. It would be ludicrous, if it were not vexatious, to be too white +to be black, and too black to be white." + +"Caste plays such fantastic tricks in this country," said Dr. Latimer. + +"I tell Mr. Leroy," said Miss Delany, "that when he returns he must put +a label on himself, saying, 'I am a colored man,' to prevent annoyance." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + + +FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. + +On the following Friday evening, Mr. Stillman's pleasant, spacious +parlors were filled to overflowing with a select company of earnest men +and women deeply interested in the welfare of the race. + +Bishop Tunster had prepared a paper on "Negro Emigration." Dr. Latimer +opened the discussion by speaking favorably of some of the salient +points, but said:-- + +"I do not believe self-exilement is the true remedy for the wrongs of +the negro. Where should he go if he left this country?" + +"Go to Africa," replied Bishop Tunster, in his bluff, hearty tones. "I +believe that Africa is to be redeemed to civilization, and that the +negro is to be gathered into the family of nations and recognized as a +man and a brother." + +"Go to Africa?" repeated Professor Langhorne, of Georgia. "Does the +United States own one foot of African soil? And have we not been +investing our blood in the country for ages?" + +"I am in favor of missionary efforts," said Professor Gradnor, of North +Carolina, "for the redemption of Africa, but I see no reason for +expatriating ourselves because some persons do not admire the color of +our skins." + +"I do not believe," said Mr. Stillman, "in emptying on the shores of +Africa a horde of ignorant, poverty-stricken people, as missionaries of +civilization or Christianity. And while I am in favor of missionary +efforts, there is need here for the best heart and brain to work in +unison for justice and righteousness." + +"America," said Miss Delany, "is the best field for human development. +God has not heaped up our mountains with such grandeur, flooded our +rivers with such majesty, crowned our valleys with such fertility, +enriched our mines with such wealth, that they should only minister to +grasping greed and sensuous enjoyment." + +"Climate, soil, and physical environments," said Professor Gradnor, +"have much to do with shaping national characteristics. If in Africa, +under a tropical sun, the negro has lagged behind other races in the +march of civilization, at least for once in his history he has, in this +country, the privilege of using climatic advantages and developing under +new conditions." + +"Yes," replied Dr. Latimer, "and I do not wish our people to become +restless and unsettled before they have tried one generation of +freedom." + +"I am always glad," said Mr. Forest, a tall, distinguished-looking +gentleman from New York, "when I hear of people who are ill treated in +one section of the country emigrating to another. Men who are deaf to +the claims of mercy, and oblivious to the demands of justice, can feel +when money is slipping from their pockets." + +"The negro," said Hon. Dugdale, "does not present to my mind the picture +of an effete and exhausted people, destined to die out before a stronger +race. Gilbert Haven once saw a statue which suggested this thought, 'I +am black, but comely; the sun has looked down upon me, but I will teach +you who despise me to feel that I am your superior.' The men who are +acquiring property and building up homes in the South show us what +energy and determination may do even in that part of the country. I +believe such men can do more to conquer prejudice than if they spent all +their lives in shouting for their rights and ignoring their duties. No! +as there are millions of us in this country, I think it best to settle +down and work out our own salvation here." + +"How many of us to-day," asked Professor Langhorne, "would be teaching +in the South, if every field of labor in the North was as accessible to +us as to the whites? It has been estimated that a million young white +men have left the South since the war, and, had our chances been equal +to theirs, would we have been any more willing to stay in the South with +those who need us than they? But this prejudice, by impacting us +together, gives us a common cause and brings our intellect in contact +with the less favored of our race." + +"I do not believe," said Miss Delany, "that the Southern white people +themselves desire any wholesale exodus of the colored from their labor +fields. It would be suicidal to attempt their expatriation." + +"History," said Professor Langhorne, "tells that Spain was once the +place where barbarian Europe came to light her lamp. Seven hundred years +before there was a public lamp in London you might have gone through the +streets of Cordova amid ten miles of lighted lamps, and stood there on +solidly paved land, when hundreds of years afterwards, in Paris, on a +rainy day you would have sunk to your ankles in the mud. But she who +bore the name of the 'Terror of Nations,' and the 'Queen of the Ocean,' +was not strong enough to dash herself against God's law of retribution +and escape unscathed. She inaugurated a crusade of horror against a +million of her best laborers and artisans. Vainly she expected the +blessing of God to crown her work of violence. Instead of seeing the +fruition of her hopes in the increased prosperity of her land, +depression and paralysis settled on her trade and business. A fearful +blow was struck at her agriculture; decay settled on her manufactories; +money became too scarce to pay the necessary expenses of the king's +exchequer; and that once mighty empire became a fallen kingdom, pierced +by her crimes and dragged down by her transgressions." + +"We did not," said Iola, "place the bounds of our habitation. And I +believe we are to be fixtures in this country. But beyond the shadows I +see the coruscation of a brighter day; and we can help usher it in, not +by answering hate with hate, or giving scorn for scorn, but by striving +to be more generous, noble, and just. It seems as if all creation +travels to respond to the song of the Herald angels, 'Peace on earth, +good-will toward men.'" + +The next paper was on "Patriotism," by Rev. Cantnor. It was a paper in +which the white man was extolled as the master race, and spoke as if it +were a privilege for the colored man to be linked to his destiny and to +live beneath the shadow of his power. He asserted that the white race of +this country is the broadest, most Christian, and humane of that branch +of the human family. + +Dr. Latimer took exception to his position. "Law," he said, "is the +pivot on which the whole universe turns; and obedience to law is the +gauge by which a nation's strength or weakness is tried. We have had two +evils by which our obedience to law has been tested--slavery and the +liquor traffic. How have we dealt with them both? We have been weighed +in the balance and found wanting. Millions of slaves and serfs have been +liberated during this century, but not even in semi-barbaric Russia, +heathen Japan, or Catholic Spain has slavery been abolished through such +a fearful conflict as it was in the United States. The liquor traffic +still sends its floods of ruin and shame to the habitations of men, and +no political party has been found with enough moral power and numerical +strength to stay the tide of death." + +"I think," said Professor Gradnor, "that what our country needs is truth +more than flattery. I do not think that our moral life keeps pace with +our mental development and material progress. I know of no civilized +country on the globe, Catholic, Protestant, or Mohammedan, where life is +less secure than it is in the South. Nearly eighteen hundred years ago +the life of a Roman citizen in Palestine was in danger from mob +violence. That pagan government threw around him a wall of living clay, +consisting of four hundred and seventy men, when more than forty Jews +had bound themselves with an oath that they would neither eat nor drink +until they had taken the life of the Apostle Paul. Does not true +patriotism demand that citizenship should be as much protected in +Christian America as it was in heathen Rome?" + +"I would have our people," said Miss Delany, "more interested in +politics. Instead of forgetting the past, I would have them hold in +everlasting remembrance our great deliverance. Hitherto we have never +had a country with tender, precious memories to fill our eyes with +tears, or glad reminiscences to thrill our hearts with pride and joy. We +have been aliens and outcasts in the land of our birth. But I want my +pupils to do all in their power to make this country worthy of their +deepest devotion and loftiest patriotism. I want them to feel that its +glory is their glory, its dishonor their shame." + +"Our esteemed friend, Mrs. Watson," said Iola, "sends regrets that she +cannot come, but has kindly favored us with a poem, called the "Rallying +Cry." In her letter she says that, although she is no longer young, she +feels that in the conflict for the right there's room for young as well +as old. She hopes that we will here unite the enthusiasm of youth with +the experience of age, and that we will have a pleasant and profitable +conference. Is it your pleasure that the poem be read at this stage of +our proceedings, or later on?" + +"Let us have it now," answered Harry, "and I move that Miss Delany be +chosen to lend to the poem the charm of her voice." + +"I second the motion," said Iola, smiling, and handing the poem to Miss +Delany. + +Miss Delany took the poem and read it with fine effect. The spirit of +the poem had entered her soul. + + A RALLYING CRY. + + Oh, children of the tropics, + Amid our pain and wrong + Have you no other mission + Than music, dance, and song? + + When through the weary ages + Our dripping tears still fall, + Is this a time to dally + With pleasure's silken thrall? + + Go, muffle all your viols; + As heroes learn to stand, + With faith in God's great justice + Nerve every heart and hand. + + Dream not of ease nor pleasure, + Nor honor, wealth, nor fame, + Till from the dust you've lifted + Our long-dishonored name; + + And crowned that name with glory + By deeds of holy worth, + To shine with light emblazoned, + The noblest name on earth. + + Count life a dismal failure, + Unblessing and unblest, + That seeks 'mid ease inglorious + For pleasure or for rest. + + With courage, strength, and valor + Your lives and actions brace; + Shrink not from toil or hardship, + And dangers bravely face. + + Engrave upon your banners, + In words of golden light, + That honor, truth, and justice + Are more than godless might. + + Above earth's pain and sorrow + Christ's dying face I see; + I hear the cry of anguish:-- + "Why hast thou forsaken me?" + + In the pallor of that anguish + I see the only light, + To flood with peace and gladness + Earth's sorrow, pain, and night. + + Arrayed in Christly armor + 'Gainst error, crime, and sin, + The victory can't be doubtful, + For God is sure to win. + +The next paper was by Miss Iola Leroy, on the "Education of Mothers." + +"I agree," said Rev. Eustace, of St. Mary's parish, "with the paper. The +great need of the race is enlightened mothers." + +"And enlightened fathers, too," added Miss Delany, quickly. "If there is +anything I chafe to see it is a strong, hearty man shirking his burdens, +putting them on the shoulders of his wife, and taking life easy for +himself." + +"I always pity such mothers," interposed Iola, tenderly. + +"I think," said Miss Delany, with a flash in her eye and a ring of +decision in her voice, "that such men ought to be drummed out of town!" +As she spoke, there was an expression which seemed to say, "And I would +like to help do it!" + +Harry smiled, and gave her a quick glance of admiration. + +"I do not think," said Mrs. Stillman, "that we can begin too early to +teach our boys to be manly and self-respecting, and our girls to be +useful and self-reliant." + +"You know," said Mrs. Leroy, "that after the war we were thrown upon the +nation a homeless race to be gathered into homes, and a legally +unmarried race to be taught the sacredness of the marriage relation. We +must instill into our young people that the true strength of a race +means purity in women and uprightness in men; who can say, with Sir +Galahad:-- + + 'My strength is the strength of ten, + Because my heart is pure.' + +And where this is wanting neither wealth nor culture can make up the +deficiency." + +"There is a field of Christian endeavor which lies between the +school-house and the pulpit, which needs the hand of a woman more in +private than in public," said Miss Delany. + +"Yes, I have often felt the need of such work in my own parish. We need +a union of women with the warmest hearts and clearest brains to help in +the moral education of the race," said Rev. Eustace. + +"Yes," said Iola, "if we would have the prisons empty we must make the +homes more attractive." + +"In civilized society," replied Dr. Latimer, "there must be restraint +either within or without. If parents fail to teach restraint within, +society has her check-reins without in the form of chain-gangs, prisons, +and the gallows." + +The closing paper was on the "Moral Progress of the Race," by Hon. +Dugdale. He said: "The moral progress of the race was not all he could +desire, yet he could not help feeling that, compared with other races, +the outlook was not hopeless. I am so sorry to see, however, that in +some States there is an undue proportion of colored people in prisons." + +"I think," answered Professor Langhorne, of Georgia, "that this is +owing to a partial administration of law in meting out punishment to +colored offenders. I know red-handed murderers who walk in this Republic +unwhipped of justice, and I have seen a colored woman sentenced to +prison for weeks for stealing twenty-five cents. I knew a colored girl +who was executed for murder when only a child in years. And it was +through the intervention of a friend of mine, one of the bravest young +men of the South, that a boy of fifteen was saved from the gallows." + +"When I look," said Mr. Forest, "at the slow growth of modern +civilization--the ages which have been consumed in reaching our present +altitude, and see how we have outgrown slavery, feudalism, and religious +persecutions, I cannot despair of the future of the race." + +"Just now," said Dr. Latimer, "we have the fearful grinding and friction +which comes in the course of an adjustment of the new machinery of +freedom in the old ruts of slavery. But I am optimistic enough to +believe that there will yet be a far higher and better Christian +civilization than our country has ever known." + +"And in that civilization I believe the negro is to be an important +factor," said Rev. Cantnor. + +"I believe it also," said Miss Delany, hopefully, "and this thought has +been a blessed inspiration to my life. When I come in contact with +Christless prejudices, I feel that my life is too much a part of the +Divine plan, and invested with too much intrinsic worth, for me to be +the least humiliated by indignities that beggarly souls can inflict. I +feel more pitiful than resentful to those who do not know how much they +miss by living mean, ignoble lives." + +"My heart," said Iola, "is full of hope for the future. Pain and +suffering are the crucibles out of which come gold more fine than the +pavements of heaven, and gems more precious than the foundations of the +Holy City." + +"If," said Mrs. Leroy, "pain and suffering are factors in human +development, surely we have not been counted too worthless to suffer." + +"And is there," continued Iola, "a path which we have trodden in this +country, unless it be the path of sin, into which Jesus Christ has not +put His feet and left it luminous with the light of His steps? Has the +negro been poor and homeless? The birds of the air had nests and the +foxes had holes, but the Son of man had not where to lay His head. Has +our name been a synonym for contempt? 'He shall be called a Nazarene.' +Have we been despised and trodden under foot? Christ was despised and +rejected of men. Have we been ignorant and unlearned? It was said of +Jesus Christ, 'How knoweth this man letters, never having learned?' Have +we been beaten and bruised in the prison-house of bondage? 'They took +Jesus and scourged Him.' Have we been slaughtered, our bones scattered +at the graves' mouth? He was spit upon by the mob, smitten and mocked by +the rabble, and died as died Rome's meanest criminal slave. To-day that +cross of shame is a throne of power. Those robes of scorn have changed +to habiliments of light, and that crown of mockery to a diadem of glory. +And never, while the agony of Gethsemane and the sufferings of Calvary +have their hold upon my heart, will I recognize any religion as His +which despises the least of His brethren." + +As Iola finished, there was a ring of triumph in her voice, as if she +were reviewing a path she had trodden with bleeding feet, and seen it +change to lines of living light. Her soul seemed to be flashing through +the rare loveliness of her face and etherealizing its beauty. + +Every one was spell-bound. Dr. Latimer was entranced, and, turning to +Hon. Dugdale, said, in a low voice and with deep-drawn breath, "She is +angelic!" + +Hon. Dugdale turned, gave a questioning look, then replied, "She is +strangely beautiful! Do you know her?" + +"Yes; I have met her several times. I accompanied her here to-night. The +tones of her voice are like benedictions of peace; her words a call to +higher service and nobler life." + +Just then Rev. Carmicle was announced. He had been on a Southern tour, +and had just returned. + +"Oh, Doctor," exclaimed Mrs. Stillman, "I am delighted to see you. We +were about to adjourn, but we will postpone action to hear from you." + +"Thank you," replied Rev. Carmicle. "I have not the cue to the meeting, +and will listen while I take breath." + +"Pardon me," answered Mrs. Stillman. "I should have been more thoughtful +than to press so welcome a guest into service before I had given him +time for rest and refreshment; but if the courtesy failed on my lips it +did not fail in my heart. I wanted our young folks to see one of our +thinkers who had won distinction before the war." + +"My dear friend," said Rev. Carmicle, smiling, "some of these young +folks will look on me as a back number. You know the cry has already +gone forth, 'Young men to the front.'" + +"But we need old men for counsel," interposed Mr. Forest, of New York. + +"Of course," said Rev. Carmicle, "we older men would rather retire +gracefully than be relegated or hustled to a back seat. But I am pleased +to see doors open to you which were closed to us, and opportunities +which were denied us embraced by you." + +"How," asked Hon. Dugdale, "do you feel in reference to our people's +condition in the South?" + +"Very hopeful, although at times I cannot help feeling anxious about +their future. I was delighted with my visits to various institutions of +learning, and surprised at the desire manifested among the young people +to obtain an education. Where toil-worn mothers bent beneath their heavy +burdens their more favored daughters are enjoying the privileges of +education. Young people are making recitations in Greek and Latin where +it was once a crime to teach their parents to read. I also became +acquainted with colored professors and presidents of colleges. Saw young +ladies who had graduated as doctors. Comfortable homes have succeeded +old cabins of slavery. Vast crops have been raised by free labor. I read +with interest and pleasure a number of papers edited by colored men. I +saw it estimated that two millions of our people had learned to read, +and I feel deeply grateful to the people who have supplied us with +teachers who have stood their ground so nobly among our people." + +"But," asked Mr. Forest, "you expressed fears about the future of our +race. From whence do your fears arise?" + +"From the unfortunate conditions which slavery has entailed upon that +section of our country. I dread the results of that racial feeling which +ever and anon breaks out into restlessness and crime. Also, I am +concerned about the lack of home training for those for whom the +discipline of the plantation has been exchanged for the penalties of +prisons and chain-gangs. I am sorry to see numbers of our young men +growing away from the influence of the church and drifting into prisons. +I also fear that in some sections, as colored men increase in wealth and +intelligence, there will be an increase of race rivalry and jealousy. It +is said that savages, by putting their ears to the ground, can hear a +far-off tread. So, to-day, I fear that there are savage elements in our +civilization which hear the advancing tread of the negro and would +retard his coming. It is the incarnation of these elements that I dread. +It is their elimination I do so earnestly desire. Whether it be outgrown +or not is our unsolved problem. Time alone will tell whether or not the +virus of slavery and injustice has too fully permeated our Southern +civilization for a complete recovery. Nations, honey-combed by vice, +have fallen beneath the weight of their iniquities. Justice is always +uncompromising in its claims and inexorable in its demands. The laws of +the universe are never repealed to accommodate our follies." + +"Surely," said Bishop Tunster, "the negro has a higher mission than that +of aimlessly drifting through life and patiently waiting for death." + +"We may not," answered Rev. Carmicle, "have the same dash, courage, and +aggressiveness of other races, accustomed to struggle, achievement, and +dominion, but surely the world needs something better than the results +of arrogance, aggressiveness, and indomitable power. For the evils of +society there are no solvents as potent as love and justice, and our +greatest need is not more wealth and learning, but a religion replete +with life and glowing with love. Let this be the impelling force in the +race and it cannot fail to rise in the scale of character and +condition." + +"And," said Dr. Latimer, "instead of narrowing our sympathies to mere +racial questions, let us broaden them to humanity's wider issues." + +"Let us," replied Rev. Carmicle, "pass it along the lines, that to be +willfully ignorant is to be shamefully criminal. Let us teach our people +not to love pleasure or to fear death, but to learn the true value of +life, and to do their part to eliminate the paganism of caste from our +holy religion and the lawlessness of savagery from our civilization." + + * * * * * + +"How did you enjoy the evening, Marie?" asked Robert, as they walked +homeward. + +"I was interested and deeply pleased," answered Marie. + +"I," said Robert, "was thinking of the wonderful changes that +have come to us since the war. When I sat in those well-lighted, +beautifully-furnished rooms, I was thinking of the meetings we used to +have in by-gone days. How we used to go by stealth into lonely woods and +gloomy swamps, to tell of our hopes and fears, sorrows and trials. I +hope that we will have many more of these gatherings. Let us have the +next one here." + +"I am sure," said Marie, "I would gladly welcome such a conference at +any time. I think such meetings would be so helpful to our young +people." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + + +DAWNING AFFECTIONS. + +"Doctor," said Iola, as they walked home from the _conversazione_, "I +wish I could do something more for our people than I am doing. I taught +in the South till failing health compelled me to change my employment. +But, now that I am well and strong, I would like to do something of +lasting service for the race." + +"Why not," asked Dr. Latimer, "write a good, strong book which would be +helpful to them? I think there is an amount of dormant talent among us, +and a large field from which to gather materials for such a book." + +"I would do it, willingly, if I could; but one needs both leisure and +money to make a successful book. There is material among us for the +broadest comedies and the deepest tragedies, but, besides money and +leisure, it needs patience, perseverance, courage, and the hand of an +artist to weave it into the literature of the country." + +"Miss Leroy, you have a large and rich experience; you possess a vivid +imagination and glowing fancy. Write, out of the fullness of your heart, +a book to inspire men and women with a deeper sense of justice and +humanity." + +"Doctor," replied Iola, "I would do it if I could, not for the money it +might bring, but for the good it might do. But who believes any good can +come out of the black Nazareth?" + +"Miss Leroy, out of the race must come its own thinkers and writers. +Authors belonging to the white race have written good racial books, for +which I am deeply grateful, but it seems to be almost impossible for a +white man to put himself completely in our place. No man can feel the +iron which enters another man's soul." + +"Well, Doctor, when I write a book I shall take you for the hero of my +story." + +"Why, what have I done," asked Dr. Latimer, in a surprised tone, "that +you should impale me on your pen?" + +"You have done nobly," answered Iola, "in refusing your grandmother's +offer." + +"I only did my duty," he modestly replied. + +"But," said Iola, "when others are trying to slip out from the race and +pass into the white basis, I cannot help admiring one who acts as if he +felt that the weaker the race is the closer he would cling to it." + +"My mother," replied Dr. Latimer, "faithful and true, belongs to that +race. Where else should I be? But I know a young lady who could have +cast her lot with the favored race, yet chose to take her place with the +freed people, as their teacher, friend, and adviser. This young lady was +alone in the world. She had been fearfully wronged, and to her stricken +heart came a brilliant offer of love, home, and social position. But she +bound her heart to the mast of duty, closed her ears to the syren song, +and could not be lured from her purpose." + +A startled look stole over Iola's face, and, lifting her eyes to his, +she faltered:-- + +"Do you know her?" + +"Yes, I know her and admire her; and she ought to be made the subject +of a soul-inspiring story. Do you know of whom I speak?" + +"How should I, Doctor? I am sure you have not made me your confidante," +she responded, demurely; then she quickly turned and tripped up the +steps of her home, which she had just reached. + +After this conversation Dr. Latimer became a frequent visitor at Iola's +home, and a firm friend of her brother. Harry was at that age when, for +the young and inexperienced, vice puts on her fairest guise and most +seductive smiles. Dr. Latimer's wider knowledge and larger experience +made his friendship for Harry very valuable, and the service he rendered +him made him a favorite and ever-welcome guest in the family. + +"Are you all alone," asked Robert, one night, as he entered the cosy +little parlor where Iola sat reading. "Where are the rest of the folks?" + +"Mamma and grandma have gone to bed," answered Iola. "Harry and Lucille +are at the concert. They are passionately fond of music, and find +facilities here that they do not have in the South. They wouldn't go to +hear a seraph where they must take a negro seat. I was too tired to go. +Besides, 'two's company and three's a crowd,'" she added, significantly. + +"I reckon you struck the nail on the head that time," said Robert, +laughing. "But you have not been alone all the time. Just as I reached +the corner I saw Dr. Latimer leaving the door. I see he still continues +his visits. Who is his patient now?" + +"Oh, Uncle Robert," said Iola, smiling and flushing, "he is out with +Harry and Lucille part of the time, and drops in now and then to see us +all." + +"Well," said Robert, "I suppose the case is now an affair of the heart. +But I cannot blame him for it," he added, looking fondly on the +beautiful face of his niece, which sorrow had touched only to chisel +into more loveliness. "How do you like him?" + +"I must have within me," answered Iola, with unaffected truthfulness, "a +large amount of hero worship. The characters of the Old Testament I most +admire are Moses and Nehemiah. They were willing to put aside their own +advantages for their race and country. Dr. Latimer comes up to my ideal +of a high, heroic manhood." + +"I think," answered Robert, smiling archly, "he would be delighted to +hear your opinion of him." + +"I tell him," continued Iola, "that he belongs to the days of chivalry. +But he smiles and says, 'he only belongs to the days of hard-pan +service.'" + +"Some one," said Robert, "was saying to-day that he stood in his own +light when he refused his grandmother's offer to receive him as her +son." + +"I think," said Iola, "it was the grandest hour of his life when he made +that decision. I have admired him ever since I heard his story." + +"But, Iola, think of the advantages he set aside. It was no sacrifice +for me to remain colored, with my lack of education and race sympathies, +but Dr. Latimer had doors open to him as a white man which are forever +closed to a colored man. To be born white in this country is to be born +to an inheritance of privileges, to hold in your hands the keys that +open before you the doors of every occupation, advantage, opportunity, +and achievement." + +"I know that, uncle," answered Iola; "but even these advantages are too +dearly bought if they mean loss of honor, true manliness, and self +respect. He could not have retained these had he ignored his mother and +lived under a veil of concealment, constantly haunted by a dread of +detection. The gain would not have been worth the cost. It were better +that he should walk the ruggedest paths of life a true man than tread +the softest carpets a moral cripple." + +"I am afraid," said Robert, laying his hand caressingly upon her head, +"that we are destined to lose the light of our home." + +"Oh, uncle, how you talk! I never dreamed of what you are thinking," +answered Iola, half reproachfully. + +"And how," asked Robert, "do you know what I am thinking about?" + +"My dear uncle, I'm not blind." + +"Neither am I," replied Robert, significantly, as he left the room. + +Iola's admiration for Dr. Latimer was not a one-sided affair. Day after +day she was filling a larger place in his heart. The touch of her hand +thrilled him with emotion. Her lightest words were an entrancing melody +to his ear. Her noblest sentiments found a response in his heart. In +their desire to help the race their hearts beat in loving unison. One +grand and noble purpose was giving tone and color to their lives and +strengthening the bonds of affection between them. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + + +WOOING AND WEDDING. + +Harry's vacation had been very pleasant. Miss Delany, with her fine +conversational powers and ready wit, had added much to his enjoyment. +Robert had given his mother the pleasantest room in the house, and in +the evening the family would gather around her, tell her the news of the +day, read to her from the Bible, join with her in thanksgiving for +mercies received and in prayer for protection through the night. Harry +was very grateful to Dr. Latimer for the kindly interest he had shown in +accompanying Miss Delany and himself to places of interest and +amusement. He was grateful, too, that in the city of P---- doors were +open to them which were barred against them in the South. + +The bright, beautiful days of summer were gliding into autumn, with its +glorious wealth of foliage, and the time was approaching for the +departure of Harry and Miss Delany to their respective schools, when Dr. +Latimer received several letters from North Carolina, urging him to come +South, as physicians were greatly needed there. Although his practice +was lucrative in the city of P----, he resolved he would go where his +services were most needed. + +A few evenings before he started he called at the house, and made an +engagement to drive Iola to the park. + +At the time appointed he drove up to the door in his fine equipage. +Iola stepped gracefully in and sat quietly by his side to enjoy the +loveliness of the scenery and the gorgeous grandeur of the setting sun. + +"I expect to go South," said Dr. Latimer, as he drove slowly along. + +"Ah, indeed," said Iola, assuming an air of interest, while a shadow +flitted over her face. "Where do you expect to pitch your tent?" + +"In the city of C----, North Carolina," he answered. + +"Oh, I wish," she exclaimed, "that you were going to Georgia, where you +could take care of that high-spirited brother of mine." + +"I suppose if he were to hear you he would laugh, and say that he could +take care of himself. But I know a better plan than that." + +"What is it?" asked Iola, innocently. + +"That you will commit yourself, instead of your brother, to my care." + +"Oh, dear," replied Iola, drawing a long breath. "What would mamma say?" + +"That she would willingly resign you, I hope." + +"And what would grandma and Uncle Robert say?" again asked Iola. + +"That they would cheerfully acquiesce. Now, what would I say if they all +consent?" + +"I don't know," modestly responded Iola. + +"Well," replied Dr. Latimer, "I would say:-- + + "Could deeds my love discover, + Could valor gain thy charms, + To prove myself thy lover + I'd face a world in arms." + +"And prove a good soldier," added Iola, smiling, "when there is no +battle to fight." + +"Iola, I am in earnest," said Dr. Latimer, passionately. "In the work to +which I am devoted every burden will be lighter, every path smoother, if +brightened and blessed with your companionship." + +A sober expression swept over Iola's face, and, dropping her eyes, she +said: "I must have time to think." + +Quietly they rode along the river bank until Dr. Latimer broke the +silence by saying:-- + +"Miss Iola, I think that you brood too much over the condition of our +people." + +"Perhaps I do," she replied, "but they never burn a man in the South +that they do not kindle a fire around my soul." + +"I am afraid," replied Dr. Latimer, "that you will grow morbid and +nervous. Most of our people take life easily--why shouldn't you?" + +"Because," she answered, "I can see breakers ahead which they do not." + +"Oh, give yourself no uneasiness. They will catch the fret and fever of +the nineteenth century soon enough. I have heard several of our +ministers say that it is chiefly men of disreputable characters who are +made the subjects of violence and lynch-law." + +"Suppose it is so," responded Iola, feelingly. "If these men believe in +eternal punishment they ought to feel a greater concern for the wretched +sinner who is hurried out of time with all his sins upon his head, than +for the godly man who passes through violence to endless rest." + +"That is true; and I am not counseling you to be selfish; but, Miss +Iola, had you not better look out for yourself?" + +"Thank you, Doctor, I am feeling quite well." + +"I know it, but your devotion to study and work is too intense," he +replied. + +"I am preparing to teach, and must spend my leisure time in study. Mr. +Cloten is an excellent employer, and treats his employés as if they had +hearts as well as hands. But to be an expert accountant is not the best +use to which I can put my life." + +"As a teacher you will need strong health and calm nerves. You had +better let me prescribe for you. You need," he added, with a merry +twinkle in his eyes, "change of air, change of scene, and change of +name." + +"Well, Doctor," said Iola, laughing, "that is the newest nostrum out. +Had you not better apply for a patent?" + +"Oh," replied Dr. Latimer, with affected gravity, "you know you must +have unlimited faith in your physician." + +"So you wish me to try the faith cure?" asked Iola, laughing. + +"Yes, faith in me," responded Dr. Latimer, seriously. + +"Oh, here we are at home!" exclaimed Iola. "This has been a glorious +evening, Doctor. I am indebted to you for a great pleasure. I am +extremely grateful." + +"You are perfectly welcome," replied Dr. Latimer. "The pleasure has been +mutual, I assure you." + +"Will you not come in?" asked Iola. + +Tying his horse, he accompanied Iola into the parlor. Seating himself +near her, he poured into her ears words eloquent with love and +tenderness. + +"Iola," he said, "I am not an adept in courtly phrases. I am a plain +man, who believes in love and truth. In asking you to share my lot, I am +not inviting you to a life of ease and luxury, for year after year I may +have to struggle to keep the wolf from the door, but your presence would +make my home one of the brightest spots on earth, and one of the fairest +types of heaven. Am I presumptuous in hoping that your love will become +the crowning joy of my life?" + +His words were more than a tender strain wooing her to love and +happiness, they were a clarion call to a life of high and holy worth, a +call which found a response in her heart. Her hand lay limp in his. She +did not withdraw it, but, raising her lustrous eyes to his, she softly +answered: "Frank, I love you." + +After he had gone, Iola sat by the window, gazing at the splendid stars, +her heart quietly throbbing with a delicious sense of joy and love. She +had admired Dr. Gresham and, had there been no barrier in her way, she +might have learned to love him; but Dr. Latimer had grown irresistibly +upon her heart. There were depths in her nature that Dr. Gresham had +never fathomed; aspirations in her soul with which he had never mingled. +But as the waves leap up to the strand, so her soul went out to Dr. +Latimer. Between their lives were no impeding barriers, no inclination +impelling one way and duty compelling another. Kindred hopes and tastes +had knit their hearts; grand and noble purposes were lighting up their +lives; and they esteemed it a blessed privilege to stand on the +threshold of a new era and labor for those who had passed from the old +oligarchy of slavery into the new commonwealth of freedom. + +On the next evening, Dr. Latimer rang the bell and was answered by +Harry, who ushered him into the parlor, and then came back to the +sitting-room, saying, "Iola, Dr. Latimer has called to see you." + +"Has he?" answered Iola, a glad light coming into her eyes. "Come, +Lucille, let us go into the parlor." + +"Oh, no," interposed Harry, shrugging his shoulders and catching +Lucille's hand. "He didn't ask for you. When we went to the concert we +were told three's a crowd. And I say one good turn deserves another." + +"Oh, Harry, you are so full of nonsense. Let Lucille go!" said Iola. + +"Indeed I will not. I want to have a good time as well as you," said +Harry. + +"Oh, you're the most nonsensical man I know," interposed Miss Delany. +Yet she stayed with Harry. + +"You're looking very bright and happy," said Dr. Latimer to Iola, as she +entered. + +"My ride in the park was so refreshing! I enjoyed it so much! The day +was so lovely, the air delicious, the birds sang so sweetly, and the +sunset was so magnificent." + +"I am glad of it. Why, Iola, your home is so happy your heart should be +as light as a school-girl's." + +"Doctor," she replied, "I must be prematurely old. I have scarcely known +what it is to be light-hearted since my father's death." + +"I know it, darling," he answered, seating himself beside her, and +drawing her to him. "You have been tried in the fire, but are you not +better for the crucial test?" + +"Doctor," she replied, "as we rode along yesterday, mingling with the +sunshine of the present came the shadows of the past. I was thinking of +the bright, joyous days of my girlhood, when I defended slavery, and of +how the cup that I would have pressed to the lips of others was forced +to my own. Yet, in looking over the mournful past, I would not change +the Iola of then for the Iola of now." + +"Yes," responded Dr. Latimer, musingly, + + "'Darkness shows us worlds of light + We never saw by day.'" + +"Oh, Doctor, you cannot conceive what it must have been to be hurled +from a home of love and light into the dark abyss of slavery; to be +compelled to take your place among a people you have learned to look +upon as inferiors and social outcasts; to be in the power of men whose +presence would fill you with horror and loathing, and to know that there +is no earthly power to protect you from the highest insults which brutal +cowardice could shower upon you. I am so glad that no other woman of my +race will suffer as I have done." + +The flush deepened on her face, a mournful splendor beamed from her +beautiful eyes, into which the tears had slowly gathered. + +"Darling," he said, his voice vibrating with mingled feelings of +tenderness and resentment, "you must forget the sad past. You are like a +tender lamb snatched from the jaws of a hungry wolf, but who still needs +protecting, loving care. But it must have been terrible," he added, in a +painful tone. + +"It was indeed! For awhile I was like one dazed. I tried to pray, but +the heavens seemed brass over my head. I was wild with agony, and had I +not been placed under conditions which roused all the resistance of my +soul, I would have lost my reason." + +"Was it not a mistake to have kept you ignorant of your colored blood?" + +"It was the great mistake of my father's life, but dear papa knew +something of the cruel, crushing power of caste; and he tried to shield +us from it." + +"Yes, yes," replied Dr. Latimer, thoughtfully, "in trying to shield you +from pain he plunged you into deeper suffering." + +"I never blame him, because I know he did it for the best. Had he lived +he would have taken us to France, where I should have had a life of +careless ease and pleasure. But now my life has a much grander +significance than it would have had under such conditions. Fearful as +the awakening was, it was better than to have slept through life." + +"Best for you and best for me," said Dr. Latimer. "There are souls that +never awaken; but if they miss the deepest pain they also lose the +highest joy." + +Dr. Latimer went South, after his engagement, and through his medical +skill and agreeable manners became very successful in his practice. In +the following summer, he built a cosy home for the reception of his +bride, and came North, where, with Harry and Miss Delany as attendants, +he was married to Iola, amid a pleasant gathering of friends, by Rev. +Carmicle. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + + +CONCLUSION. + +It was late in the summer when Dr. Latimer and his bride reached their +home in North Carolina. Over the cottage porch were morning-glories to +greet the first flushes of the rising day, and roses and jasmines to +distill their fragrance on the evening air. Aunt Linda, who had been +apprised of their coming, was patiently awaiting their arrival, and +Uncle Daniel was pleased to know that "dat sweet young lady who had sich +putty manners war comin' to lib wid dem." + +As soon as they arrived, Aunt Linda rushed up to Iola, folded her in her +arms, and joyfully exclaimed: "How'dy, honey! I'se so glad you's come. I +seed it in a vision dat somebody fair war comin' to help us. An' wen I +yered it war you, I larffed and jist rolled ober, and larffed and jist +gib up." + +"But, Aunt Linda, I am not very fair," replied Mrs. Latimer. + +"Well, chile, you's fair to me. How's all yore folks in de up kentry?" + +"All well. I expect them down soon to live here." + +"What, Har'yet, and Robby, an' yer ma? Oh, dat is too good. I allers +said Robby had san' in his craw, and war born for good luck. He war a +mighty nice boy. Har'yet's in clover now. Well, ebery dorg has its day, +and de cat has Sunday. I allers tole Har'yet ter keep a stiff upper lip; +dat it war a long road dat had no turn." + +Dr. Latimer was much gratified by the tender care Aunt Linda bestowed +on Iola. + +"I ain't goin' to let her do nuffin till she gits seasoned. She looks as +sweet as a peach. I allers wanted some nice lady to come down yere and +larn our gals some sense. I can't read myself, but I likes ter yere dem +dat can." + +"Well, Aunt Linda, I am going to teach in the Sunday-school, help in the +church, hold mothers' meetings to help these boys and girls to grow up +to be good men and women. Won't you get a pair of spectacles and learn +to read?" + +"Oh, yer can't git dat book froo my head, no way you fix it. I knows +nuff to git to hebben, and dat's all I wants to know." Aunt Linda was +kind and obliging, but there was one place where she drew the line, and +that was at learning to read. + +Harry and Miss Delany accompanied Iola as far as her new home, and +remained several days. The evening before their departure, Harry took +Miss Delany a drive of several miles through the pine barrens. + +"This thing is getting very monotonous," Harry broke out, when they had +gone some distance. + +"Oh, I enjoy it!" replied Miss Delany. "These stately pines look so +grand and solemn, they remind me of a procession of hooded monks." + +"What in the world are you talking about, Lucille?" asked Harry, looking +puzzled. + +"About those pine-trees," replied Miss Delany, in a tone of surprise. + +"Pshaw, I wasn't thinking about them. I'm thinking about Iola and +Frank." + +"What about them?" asked Lucille. + +"Why, when I was in P----, Dr. Latimer used to be first-rate company, +but now it is nothing but what Iola wants, and what Iola says, and what +Iola likes. I don't believe that there is a subject I could name to him, +from spinning a top to circumnavigating the globe, that he wouldn't +somehow contrive to bring Iola in. And I don't believe you could talk +ten minutes to Iola on any subject, from dressing a doll to the latest +discovery in science, that she wouldn't manage to lug in Frank." + +"Oh, you absurd creature!" responded Lucille, "this is their honeymoon, +and they are deeply in love with each other. Wait till you get in love +with some one." + +"I am in love now," replied Harry, with a serious air. + +"With whom?" asked Lucille, archly. + +"With you," answered Harry, trying to take her hand. + +"Oh, Harry!" she exclaimed, playfully resisting. "Don't be so +nonsensical! Don't you think the bride looked lovely, with that dress of +spotless white and with those orange blossoms in her hair?" + +"Yes, she did; that's a fact," responded Harry. "But, Lucille, I think +there is a great deal of misplaced sentiment at weddings," he added, +more seriously. + +"How so?" + +"Oh, here are a couple just married, and who are as happy as happy can +be; and people will crowd around them wishing much joy; but who thinks +of wishing joy to the forlorn old bachelors and restless old maids?" + +"Well, Harry, if you want people to wish you much happiness, why don't +you do as the doctor has done, get yourself a wife?" + +"I will," he replied, soberly, "when you say so." + +"Oh, Harry, don't be so absurd." + +"Indeed there isn't a bit of absurdity about what I say. I am in +earnest." There was something in the expression of Harry's face and the +tone of his voice which arrested the banter on Lucille's lips. + +"I think it was Charles Lamb," replied Lucille, "who once said that +school-teachers are uncomfortable people, and, Harry, I would not like +to make you uncomfortable by marrying you." + +"You will make me uncomfortable by not marrying me." + +"But," replied Lucille, "your mother may not prefer me for a daughter. +You know, Harry, complexional prejudices are not confined to white +people." + +"My mother," replied Harry, with an air of confidence, "is too noble to +indulge in such sentiments." + +"And Iola, would she be satisfied?" + +"Why, it would add to her satisfaction. She is not one who can't be +white and won't be black." + +"Well, then," replied Lucille, "I will take the question of your comfort +into consideration." + +The above promise was thoughtfully remembered by Lucille till a bridal +ring and happy marriage were the result. + +Soon after Iola had settled in C---- she quietly took her place in the +Sunday-school as a teacher, and in the church as a helper. She was +welcomed by the young pastor, who found in her a strong and faithful +ally. Together they planned meetings for the especial benefit of mothers +and children. When the dens of vice are spreading their snares for the +feet of the tempted and inexperienced her doors are freely opened for +the instruction of the children before their feet have wandered and gone +far astray. She has no carpets too fine for the tread of their little +feet. She thinks it is better to have stains on her carpet than stains +on their souls through any neglect of hers. In lowly homes and +windowless cabins her visits are always welcome. Little children love +her. Old age turns to her for comfort, young girls for guidance, and +mothers for counsel. Her life is full of blessedness. + +Doctor Latimer by his kindness and skill has won the name of the "Good +Doctor." But he is more than a successful doctor; he is a true patriot +and a good citizen. Honest, just, and discriminating, he endeavors by +precept and example to instill into the minds of others sentiments of +good citizenship. He is a leader in every reform movement for the +benefit of the community; but his patriotism is not confined to race +lines. "The world is his country, and mankind his countrymen." While he +abhors their deeds of violence, he pities the short-sighted and besotted +men who seem madly intent upon laying magazines of powder under the +cradles of unborn generations. He has great faith in the possibilities +of the negro, and believes that, enlightened and Christianized, he will +sink the old animosities of slavery into the new community of interests +arising from freedom; and that his influence upon the South will be as +the influence of the sun upon the earth. As when the sun passes from +Capricorn to Cancer, beauty, greenness, and harmony spring up in his +path, so he hopes that the future career of the negro will be a greater +influence for freedom and social advancement than it was in the days of +yore for slavery and its inferior civilization. + +Harry and Lucille are at the head of a large and flourishing school. +Lucille gives her ripening experience to her chosen work, to which she +was too devoted to resign. And through the school they are lifting up +the homes of the people. Some have pitied, others blamed, Harry for +casting his lot with the colored people, but he knows that life's +highest and best advantages do not depend on the color of the skin or +texture of the hair. He has his reward in the improved condition of his +pupils and the superb manhood and noble life which he has developed in +his much needed work. + +Uncle Daniel still lingers on the shores of time, a cheery, lovable old +man, loved and respected by all; a welcome guest in every home. Soon +after Iola's marriage, Robert sold out his business and moved with his +mother and sister to North Carolina. He bought a large plantation near +C----, which he divided into small homesteads, and sold to poor but +thrifty laborers, and his heart has been gladdened by their increased +prosperity and progress. He has seen the one-roomed cabins change to +comfortable cottages, in which cleanliness and order have supplanted the +prolific causes of disease and death. Kind and generous, he often +remembers Mrs. Johnson and sends her timely aid. + +Marie's pale, spiritual face still bears traces of the beauty which was +her youthful dower, but its bloom has been succeeded by an air of +sweetness and dignity. Though frail in health, she is always ready to +lend a helping hand wherever and whenever she can. + +Grandmother Johnson was glad to return South and spend the remnant of +her days with the remaining friends of her early life. Although feeble, +she is in full sympathy with her children for the uplifting of the race. +Marie and her mother are enjoying their aftermath of life, one by +rendering to others all the service in her power, while the other, with +her face turned toward the celestial city, is + + "Only waiting till the angels + Open wide the mystic gate." + +The shadows have been lifted from all their lives; and peace, like +bright dew, has descended upon their paths. Blessed themselves, their +lives are a blessing to others. + + + + +NOTE. + +From threads of fact and fiction I have woven a story whose mission will +not be in vain if it awaken in the hearts of our countrymen a stronger +sense of justice and a more Christlike humanity in behalf of those whom +the fortunes of war threw, homeless, ignorant and poor, upon the +threshold of a new era. Nor will it be in vain if it inspire the +children of those upon whose brows God has poured the chrism of that new +era to determine that they will embrace every opportunity, develop every +faculty, and use every power God has given them to rise in the scale of +character and condition, and to add their quota of good citizenship to +the best welfare of the nation. There are scattered among us materials +for mournful tragedies and mirth-provoking comedies, which some hand may +yet bring into the literature of the country, glowing with the fervor of +the tropics and enriched by the luxuriance of the Orient, and thus add +to the solution of our unsolved American problem. + +The race has not had very long to straighten its hands from the hoe, to +grasp the pen and wield it as a power for good, and to erect above the +ruined auction-block and slave-pen institutions of learning, but + + There is light beyond the darkness, + Joy beyond the present pain; + There is hope in God's great justice + And the negro's rising brain. + Though the morning seems to linger + O'er the hill-tops far away, + Yet the shadows bear the promise + Of a brighter coming day. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Iola Leroy, by Frances E.W. Harper + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12352 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5a6edf5 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #12352 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12352) diff --git a/old/12352-8.txt b/old/12352-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e1b5759 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12352-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8933 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Iola Leroy, by Frances E.W. Harper + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Iola Leroy + Shadows Uplifted + +Author: Frances E.W. Harper + +Release Date: May 14, 2004 [EBook #12352] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IOLA LEROY *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +IOLA LEROY, + +OR + +SHADOWS UPLIFTED. + +BY + +FRANCES E.W. HARPER. + + + + +1893, Philadelphia + +TO MY DAUGHTER + +MARY E. HARPER, + +THIS BOOK IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED. + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + +I confess when I first learned that Mrs. Harper was about to write "a +story" on some features of the Anglo-African race, growing out of what +was once popularly known as the "peculiar institution," I had my doubts +about the matter. Indeed it was far from being easy for me to think that +she was as fortunate as she might have been in selecting a subject which +would afford her the best opportunity for bringing out a work of merit +and lasting worth to the race--such a work as some of her personal +friends have long desired to see from her graphic pen. However, after +hearing a good portion of the manuscript read, and a general statement +with regard to the object in view, I admit frankly that my partial +indifference was soon swept away; at least I was willing to wait for +further developments. + +Being very desirous that one of the race, so long distinguished in the +cause of freedom for her intellectual worth as Mrs. Harper has had the +honor of being, should not at this late date in life make a blunder +which might detract from her own good name, I naturally proposed to +await developments before deciding too quickly in favor of giving +encouragement to her contemplated effort. + +However, I was perfectly aware of the fact that she had much material in +her possession for a most interesting book on the subject of the +condition of the colored people in the South. I know of no other woman, +white or colored, anywhere, who has come so intimately in contact with +the colored people in the South as Mrs. Harper. Since emancipation she +has labored in every Southern State in the Union, save two, Arkansas and +Texas; in the colleges, schools, churches, and the cabins not excepted, +she has found a vast field and open doors to teach and speak on the +themes of education, temperance, and good home building, industry, +morality, and the like, and never lacked for evidences of hearty +appreciation and gratitude. + +Everywhere help was needed, and her heart being deeply absorbed in the +cause she willingly allowed her sympathies to impel her to perform most +heroic services. + +With her it was no uncommon occurrence, in visiting cities or towns, to +speak at two, three, and four meetings a day; sometimes to promiscuous +audiences composed of everybody who would care to come. + +But the kind of meetings she took greatest interest in were meetings +called exclusively for women. In this attitude she could pour out her +sympathies to them as she could not do before a mixed audience; and +indeed she felt their needs were far more pressing than any other class. + +And now I am prepared to most fully indorse her story. I doubt whether +she could, if she had tried ever so much, have hit upon a subject so +well adapted to reach a large number of her friends and the public with +both entertaining and instructive matter as successfully as she has done +in this volume. + +The grand and ennobling sentiments which have characterized all her +utterances in laboring for the elevation of the oppressed will not be +found missing in this book. + +The previous books from her pen, which have been so very widely +circulated and admired, North and South--"Forest Leaves," "Miscellaneous +Poems," "Moses, a Story of the Nile," "Poems," and "Sketches of Southern +Life" (five in number)--these, I predict, will be by far eclipsed by +this last effort, which will, in all probability, be the crowning effort +of her long and valuable services in the cause of humanity. + +While, as indicated, Mrs. Harper has done a large amount of work in the +South, she has at the same time done much active service in the +temperance cause in the North, as thousands of this class can testify. + +Before the war she was engaged as a speaker by anti-slavery +associations; since then, by appointment of the Women's Christian +Temperance Union, she has held the office of "Superintendent of Colored +Work" for years. She has also held the office of one of the Directors of +the Women's Congress of the United States. + +Under the auspices of these influential, earnest, and intelligent +associations, she has been seen often on their platforms with the +leading lady orators of the nation. + +Hence, being widely known not only amongst her own race but likewise by +the reformers, laboring for the salvation of the intemperate and others +equally unfortunate, there is little room to doubt that the book will be +in great demand and will meet with warm congratulations from a goodly +number outside of the author's social connections. + +Doubtless the thousands of colored Sunday-schools in the South, in +casting about for an interesting, moral story-book, full of practical +lessons, will not be content to be without "IOLA LEROY, OR SHADOWS +UPLIFTED." + +WILLIAM STILL. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +Chapter + +I. The Mystery of Market Speech and Prayer Meetings + +II. Contraband of War + +III. Uncle Daniel's Story + +IV. Arrival of the Union Army + +V. Release of Iola Leroy + +VI. Robert Johnson's Promotion and Religion + +VII. Tom Anderson's Death + +VIII. The Mystified Doctor + +IX. Eugene Leroy and Alfred Lorraine + +X. Shadows in the Home + +XI. The Plague and the Law + +XII. School-girl Notions + +XIII. A Rejected Suitor + +XIV. Harry Leroy + +XV. Robert and his Company + +XVI. After the Battle + +XVII. Flames in the School-Room + +XVIII. Searching for Lost Ones + +XIX. Striking Contrasts + +XX. A Revelation + +XXI. A Home for Mother + +XXII. Further Lifting of the Veil + +XXIII. Delightful Reunions + +XXIV. Northern Experience + +XXV. An Old Friend + +XXVI. Open Questions + +XXVII. Diverging Paths + +XXVIII. Dr. Latrobe's Mistake + +XXIX. Visitors from the South + +XXX. Friends in Council + +XXXI. Dawning Affections + +XXXII. Wooing and Wedding + +XXXIII. Conclusion + +Note + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +MYSTERY OF MARKET SPEECH AND PRAYER-MEETING. + +"Good mornin', Bob; how's butter dis mornin'?" + +"Fresh; just as fresh, as fresh can be." + +"Oh, glory!" said the questioner, whom we shall call Thomas Anderson, +although he was known among his acquaintances as Marster Anderson's Tom. + +His informant regarding the condition of the market was Robert Johnson, +who had been separated from his mother in his childhood and reared by +his mistress as a favorite slave. She had fondled him as a pet animal, +and even taught him to read. Notwithstanding their relation as mistress +and slave, they had strong personal likings for each other. + +Tom Anderson was the servant of a wealthy planter, who lived in the city +of C----, North Carolina. This planter was quite advanced in life, but +in his earlier days he had spent much of his time in talking politics in +his State and National capitals in winter, and in visiting pleasure +resorts and watering places in summer. His plantations were left to the +care of overseers who, in their turn, employed negro drivers to aid them +in the work of cultivation and discipline. But as the infirmities of age +were pressing upon him he had withdrawn from active life, and given the +management of his affairs into the hands of his sons. As Robert Johnson +and Thomas Anderson passed homeward from the market, having bought +provisions for their respective homes, they seemed to be very +light-hearted and careless, chatting and joking with each other; but +every now and then, after looking furtively around, one would drop into +the ears of the other some news of the battle then raging between the +North and South which, like two great millstones, were grinding slavery +to powder. + +As they passed along, they were met by another servant, who said in +hurried tones, but with a glad accent in his voice:-- + +"Did you see de fish in de market dis mornin'? Oh, but dey war splendid, +jis' as fresh, as fresh kin be." + +"That's the ticket," said Robert, as a broad smile overspread his face. +"I'll see you later." + +"Good mornin', boys," said another servant on his way to market. "How's +eggs dis mornin'?" + +"Fust rate, fust rate," said Tom Anderson. "Bob's got it down fine." + +"I thought so; mighty long faces at de pos'-office dis mornin'; but I'd +better move 'long," and with a bright smile lighting up his face he +passed on with a quickened tread. + +There seemed to be an unusual interest manifested by these men in the +state of the produce market, and a unanimous report of its good +condition. Surely there was nothing in the primeness of the butter or +the freshness of the eggs to change careless looking faces into such +expressions of gratification, or to light dull eyes with such gladness. +What did it mean? + +During the dark days of the Rebellion, when the bondman was turning his +eyes to the American flag, and learning to hail it as an ensign of +deliverance, some of the shrewder slaves, coming in contact with their +masters and overhearing their conversations, invented a phraseology to +convey in the most unsuspected manner news to each other from the +battle-field. Fragile women and helpless children were left on the +plantations while their natural protectors were at the front, and yet +these bondmen refrained from violence. Freedom was coming in the wake of +the Union army, and while numbers deserted to join their forces, others +remained at home, slept in their cabins by night and attended to their +work by day; but under this apparently careless exterior there was an +undercurrent of thought which escaped the cognizance of their masters. +In conveying tidings of the war, if they wished to announce a victory of +the Union army, they said the butter was fresh, or that the fish and +eggs were in good condition. If defeat befell them, then the butter and +other produce were rancid or stale. + +Entering his home, Robert set his basket down. In one arm he held a +bundle of papers which he had obtained from the train to sell to the +boarders, who were all anxious to hear from the seat of battle. He +slipped one copy out and, looking cautiously around, said to Linda, the +cook, in a low voice:-- + +"Splendid news in the papers. Secesh routed. Yankees whipped 'em out of +their boots. Papers full of it. I tell you the eggs and the butter's +mighty fresh this morning." + +"Oh, sho, chile," said Linda, "I can't read de newspapers, but ole +Missus' face is newspaper nuff for me. I looks at her ebery mornin' wen +she comes inter dis kitchen. Ef her face is long an' she walks kine o' +droopy den I thinks things is gwine wrong for dem. But ef she comes out +yere looking mighty pleased, an' larffin all ober her face, an' steppin' +so frisky, den I knows de Secesh is gittin' de bes' ob de Yankees. +Robby, honey, does you really b'lieve for good and righty dat dem +Yankees is got horns?" + +"Of course not." + +"Well, I yered so." + +"Well, you heard a mighty big whopper." + +"Anyhow, Bobby, things goes mighty contrary in dis house. Ole Miss is in +de parlor prayin' for de Secesh to gain de day, and we's prayin' in de +cabins and kitchens for de Yankees to get de bes' ob it. But wasn't Miss +Nancy glad wen dem Yankees run'd away at Bull's Run. It was nuffin but +Bull's Run an' run away Yankees. How she did larff and skip 'bout de +house. An' den me thinks to myself you'd better not holler till you gits +out ob de woods. I specs 'fore dem Yankees gits froo you'll be larffin +tother side ob your mouf. While you was gone to market ole Miss com'd +out yere, her face looking as long as my arm, tellin' us all 'bout de +war and saying dem Yankees whipped our folks all to pieces. And she was +'fraid dey'd all be down yere soon. I thought they couldn't come too +soon for we. But I didn't tell her so." + +"No, I don't expect you did." + +"No, I didn't; ef you buys me for a fool you loses your money shore. She +said when dey com'd down yere she wanted all de men to hide, for dey'd +kill all de men, but dey wouldn't tech de women." + +"It's no such thing. She's put it all wrong. Why them Yankees are our +best friends." + +"Dat's jis' what I thinks. Ole Miss was jis' tryin to skeer a body. An' +when she war done she jis' set down and sniffled an' cried, an' I war so +glad I didn't know what to do. But I had to hole in. An' I made out I +war orful sorry. An' Jinny said, 'O Miss Nancy, I hope dey won't come +yere.' An' she said, 'I'se jis' 'fraid dey will come down yere and +gobble up eberything dey can lay dere hands on.' An' she jis' looked as +ef her heart war mos' broke, an' den she went inter de house. An' when +she war gone, we jis' broke loose. Jake turned somersets, and said he +warnt 'fraid ob dem Yankees; he know'd which side his brad was buttered +on. Dat Jake is a cuter. When he goes down ter git de letters he cuts up +all kines ob shines and capers. An' to look at him skylarking dere while +de folks is waitin' for dere letters, an' talkin' bout de war, yer +wouldn't think dat boy had a thimbleful of sense. But Jake's listenin' +all de time wid his eyes and his mouf wide open, an' ketchin' eberything +he kin, an' a heap ob news he gits dat way. As to Jinny, she jis' +capered and danced all ober de flore. An' I jis' had to put my han' ober +her mouf to keep ole Miss from yereing her. Oh, but we did hab a good +time. Boy, yer oughter been yere." + +"And, Aunt Linda, what did you do?" + +"Oh, honey, I war jis' ready to crack my sides larffin, jis' to see what +a long face Jinny puts on wen ole Miss is talkin', an' den to see dat +face wen missus' back is turned, why it's good as a circus. It's nuff to +make a horse larff." + +"Why, Aunt Linda, you never saw a circus?" + +"No, but I'se hearn tell ob dem, and I thinks dey mus' be mighty funny. +An' I know it's orful funny to see how straight Jinny's face looks wen +she's almos' ready to bust, while ole Miss is frettin' and fumin' 'bout +dem Yankees an' de war. But, somehow, Robby, I ralely b'lieves dat we +cullud folks is mixed up in dis fight. I seed it all in a vision. An' +soon as dey fired on dat fort, Uncle Dan'el says to me: 'Linda, we's +gwine to git our freedom.' An' I says: 'Wat makes you think so?" An' he +says: 'Dey've fired on Fort Sumter, an' de Norf is boun' to whip.'" + +"I hope so," said Robert. "I think that we have a heap of friends up +there." + +"Well, I'm jis' gwine to keep on prayin' an' b'lievin'." + +Just then the bell rang, and Robert, answering, found Mrs. Johnson +suffering from a severe headache, which he thought was occasioned by her +worrying over the late defeat of the Confederates. She sent him on an +errand, which he executed with his usual dispatch, and returned to some +work which he had to do in the kitchen. Robert was quite a favorite with +Aunt Linda, and they often had confidential chats together. + +"Bobby," she said, when he returned, "I thinks we ort ter hab a +prayer-meetin' putty soon." + +"I am in for that. Where will you have it?" + +"Lem me see. Las' Sunday we had it in Gibson's woods; Sunday 'fore las', +in de old cypress swamp; an' nex' Sunday we'el hab one in McCullough's +woods. Las' Sunday we had a good time. I war jis' chock full an' runnin' +ober. Aunt Milly's daughter's bin monin all summer, an' she's jis' come +throo. We had a powerful time. Eberythin' on dat groun' was jis' alive. +I tell yer, dere was a shout in de camp." + +"Well, you had better look out, and not shout too much, and pray and +sing too loud, because, 'fore you know, the patrollers will be on your +track and break up your meetin' in a mighty big hurry, before you can +say 'Jack Robinson.'" + +"Oh, we looks out for dat. We's got a nice big pot, dat got cracked las' +winter, but it will hole a lot o' water, an' we puts it whar we can tell +it eberything. We has our own good times. An' I want you to come Sunday +night an' tell all 'bout the good eggs, fish, and butter. Mark my words, +Bobby, we's all gwine to git free. I seed it all in a vision, as plain +as de nose on yer face." + +"Well, I hope your vision will come out all right, and that the eggs +will keep and the butter be fresh till we have our next meetin'." + +"Now, Bob, you sen' word to Uncle Dan'el, Tom Anderson, an' de rest ob +dem, to come to McCullough's woods nex' Sunday night. I want to hab a +sin-killin' an' debil-dribin' time. But, boy, you'd better git out er +yere. Ole Miss'll be down on yer like a scratch cat." + +Although the slaves were denied unrestricted travel, and the holding of +meetings without the surveillance of a white man, yet they contrived to +meet by stealth and hold gatherings where they could mingle their +prayers and tears, and lay plans for escaping to the Union army. +Outwitting the vigilance of the patrollers and home guards, they +established these meetings miles apart, extending into several States. + +Sometimes their hope of deliverance was cruelly blighted by hearing of +some adventurous soul who, having escaped to the Union army, had been +pursued and returned again to bondage. Yet hope survived all these +disasters which gathered around the fate of their unfortunate brethren, +who were remanded to slavery through the undiscerning folly of those who +were strengthening the hands which were dealing their deadliest blows at +the heart of the Nation. But slavery had cast such a glamour over the +Nation, and so warped the consciences of men, that they failed to read +aright the legible transcript of Divine retribution which was written +upon the shuddering earth, where the blood of God's poor children had +been as water freely spilled. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +CONTRABAND OF WAR. + +A few evenings after this conversation between Robert and Linda, a +prayer-meeting was held. Under the cover of night a few dusky figures +met by stealth in McCullough's woods. + +"Howdy," said Robert, approaching Uncle Daniel, the leader of the +prayer-meeting, who had preceded him but a few minutes. + +"Thanks and praise; I'se all right. How is you, chile?" + +"Oh, I'm all right," said Robert, smiling, and grasping Uncle Daniel's +hand. + +"What's de news?" exclaimed several, as they turned their faces eagerly +towards Robert. + +"I hear," said Robert, "that they are done sending the runaways back to +their masters." + +"Is dat so?" said a half dozen earnest voices. "How did you yere it?" + +"I read it in the papers. And Tom told me he heard them talking about it +last night, at his house. How did you hear it, Tom? Come, tell us all +about it." + +Tom Anderson hesitated a moment, and then said:-- + +"Now, boys, I'll tell you all 'bout it. But you's got to be mighty mum +'bout it. It won't do to let de cat outer de bag." + +"Dat's so! But tell us wat you yered. We ain't gwine to say nuffin to +nobody." + +"Well," said Tom, "las' night ole Marster had company. Two big +ginerals, and dey was hoppin' mad. One ob dem looked like a turkey +gobbler, his face war so red. An' he sed one ob dem Yankee ginerals, I +thinks dey called him Beas' Butler, sed dat de slaves dat runned away +war some big name--I don't know what he called it. But it meant dat all +ob we who com'd to de Yankees should be free." + +"Contraband of war," said Robert, who enjoyed the distinction of being a +good reader, and was pretty well posted about the war. Mrs. Johnson had +taught him to read on the same principle she would have taught a pet +animal amusing tricks. She had never imagined the time would come when +he would use the machinery she had put in his hands to help overthrow +the institution to which she was so ardently attached. + +"What does it mean? Is it somethin' good for us?" + +"I think," said Robert, a little vain of his superior knowledge, "it is +the best kind of good. It means if two armies are fighting and the +horses of one run away, the other has a right to take them. And it is +just the same if a slave runs away from the Secesh to the Union lines. +He is called a contraband, just the same as if he were an ox or a horse. +They wouldn't send the horses back, and they won't send us back." + +"Is dat so?" said Uncle Daniel, a dear old father, with a look of +saintly patience on his face. "Well, chillen, what do you mean to do?" + +"Go, jis' as soon as we kin git to de army," said Tom Anderson. + +"What else did the generals say? And how did you come to hear them, +Tom?" asked Robert Johnson. + +"Well, yer see, Marster's too ole and feeble to go to de war, but his +heart's in it. An' it makes him feel good all ober when dem big ginerals +comes an' tells him all 'bout it. Well, I war laying out on de porch +fas' asleep an' snorin' drefful hard. Oh, I war so soun' asleep dat wen +Marster wanted some ice-water he had to shake me drefful hard to wake me +up. An' all de time I war wide 'wake as he war." + +"What did they say?" asked Robert, who was always on the lookout for +news from the battle-field. + +"One ob dem said, dem Yankees war talkin' of puttin' guns in our han's +and settin' us all free. An' de oder said, 'Oh, sho! ef dey puts guns in +dere hands dey'll soon be in our'n; and ef dey sets em free dey wouldn't +know how to take keer ob demselves.'" + +"Only let 'em try it," chorused a half dozen voices, "an' dey'll soon +see who'll git de bes' ob de guns; an' as to taking keer ob ourselves, I +specs we kin take keer ob ourselves as well as take keer ob dem." + +"Yes," said Tom, "who plants de cotton and raises all de crops?" + + "'They eat the meat and give us the bones, + Eat the cherries and give us the stones,' + +"And I'm getting tired of the whole business," said Robert. + +"But, Bob," said Uncle Daniel, "you've got a good owner. You don't hab +to run away from bad times and wuss a comin'." + +"It isn't so good, but it might be better. I ain't got nothing 'gainst +my ole Miss, except she sold my mother from me. And a boy ain't nothin' +without his mother. I forgive her, but I never forget her, and never +expect to. But if she were the best woman on earth I would rather have +my freedom than belong to her. Well, boys, here's a chance for us just +as soon as the Union army gets in sight. What will you do?" + +"I'se a goin," said Tom Anderson, "jis' as soon as dem Linkum soldiers +gits in sight." + +"An' I'se a gwine wid you, Tom," said another. "I specs my ole +Marster'll feel right smart lonesome when I'se gone, but I don't keer +'bout stayin' for company's sake." + +"My ole Marster's room's a heap better'n his company," said Tom +Anderson, "an' I'se a goner too. Dis yer freedom's too good to be lef' +behind, wen you's got a chance to git it. I won't stop to bid ole Marse +good bye." + +"What do you think," said Robert, turning to Uncle Daniel; "won't you go +with us?" + +"No, chillen, I don't blame you for gwine; but I'se gwine to stay. +Slavery's done got all de marrow out ob dese poor ole bones. Ef freedom +comes it won't do me much good; we ole one's will die out, but it will +set you youngsters all up." + +"But, Uncle Daniel, you're not too old to want your freedom?" + +"I knows dat. I lubs de bery name of freedom. I'se been praying and +hoping for it dese many years. An' ef I warn't boun', I would go wid you +ter-morrer. I won't put a straw in your way. You boys go, and my prayers +will go wid you. I can't go, it's no use. I'se gwine to stay on de ole +place till Marse Robert comes back, or is brought back." + +"But, Uncle Daniel," said Robert, "what's the use of praying for a +thing if, when it comes, you won't take it? As much as you have been +praying and talking about freedom, I thought that when the chance came +you would have been one of the first to take it. Now, do tell us why you +won't go with us. Ain't you willing?" + +"Why, Robbie, my whole heart is wid you. But when Marse Robert went to +de war, he called me into his room and said to me, 'Uncle Dan'el, I'se +gwine to de war, an' I want you to look arter my wife an' chillen, an' +see dat eberything goes right on de place'. An' I promised him I'd do it, +an' I mus' be as good as my word. 'Cept de overseer, dere isn't a white +man on de plantation, an' I hear he has to report ter-morrer or be +treated as a deserter. An' der's nobody here to look arter Miss Mary an' +de chillen, but myself, an' to see dat eberything goes right. I promised +Marse Robert I would do it, an' I mus' be as good as my word." + +"Well, what should you keer?" said Tom Anderson. "Who looked arter you +when you war sole from your farder and mudder, an' neber seed dem any +more, and wouldn't know dem to-day ef you met dem in your dish?" + +"Well, dats neither yere nor dere. Marse Robert couldn't help what his +father did. He war an orful mean man. But he's dead now, and gone to see +'bout it. But his wife war the nicest, sweetest lady dat eber I did see. +She war no more like him dan chalk's like cheese. She used to visit de +cabins, an' listen to de pore women when de overseer used to cruelize +dem so bad, an' drive dem to work late and early. An' she used to sen' +dem nice things when they war sick, and hab der cabins whitewashed an' +lookin' like new pins, an' look arter dere chillen. Sometimes she'd try +to git ole Marse to take dere part when de oberseer got too mean. But +she might as well a sung hymns to a dead horse. All her putty talk war +like porin water on a goose's back. He'd jis' bluff her off, an' tell +her she didn't run dat plantation, and not for her to bring him any +nigger news. I never thought ole Marster war good to her. I often +ketched her crying, an' she'd say she had de headache, but I thought it +war de heartache. 'Fore ole Marster died, she got so thin an' peaked I +war 'fraid she war gwine to die; but she seed him out. He war killed by +a tree fallin' on him, an' ef eber de debil got his own he got him. I +seed him in a vision arter he war gone. He war hangin' up in a pit, +sayin' 'Oh! oh!' wid no close on. He war allers blusterin', cussin', and +swearin' at somebody. Marse Robert ain't a bit like him. He takes right +arter his mother. Bad as ole Marster war, I think she jis' lob'd de +groun' he walked on. Well, women's mighty curious kind of folks anyhow. +I sometimes thinks de wuss you treats dem de better dey likes you." + +"Well," said Tom, a little impatiently, "what's yer gwine to do? Is yer +gwine wid us, ef yer gits a chance?" + +"Now, jes' you hole on till I gits a chance to tell yer why I'se gwine +to stay." + +"Well, Uncle Daniel, let's hear it," said Robert. + +"I was jes' gwine to tell yer when Tom put me out. Ole Marster died when +Marse Robert war two years ole, and his pore mother when he war four. +When he died, Miss Anna used to keep me 'bout her jes' like I war her +shadder. I used to nuss Marse Robert jes' de same as ef I were his own +fadder. I used to fix his milk, rock him to sleep, ride him on my back, +an' nothin' pleased him better'n fer Uncle Dan'el to ride him +piggy-back." + +"Well, Uncle Daniel," said Robert, "what has that got to do with your +going with us and getting your freedom?" + +"Now, jes' wait a bit, and don't frustrate my mine. I seed day arter day +Miss Anna war gettin' weaker and thinner, an' she looked so sweet and +talked so putty, I thinks to myself, 'you ain't long for dis worl'.' And +she said to me one day, 'Uncle Dan'el, when I'se gone, I want you to be +good to your Marster Robert.' An' she looked so pale and weak I war +almost ready to cry. I couldn't help it. She hed allers bin mighty good +to me. An' I beliebs in praisin' de bridge dat carries me ober. She +said, 'Uncle Dan'el, I wish you war free. Ef I had my way you shouldn't +serve any one when I'm gone; but Mr. Thurston had eberything in his +power when he made his will. I war tied hand and foot, and I couldn't +help it.' In a little while she war gone--jis' faded away like a flower. +I belieb ef dere's a saint in glory, Miss Anna's dere." + +"Oh, I don't take much stock in white folks' religion," said Robert, +laughing carelessly. + +"The way," said Tom Anderson, "dat some of dese folks cut their cards +yere, I think dey'll be as sceece in hebben as hen's teeth. I think wen +some of dem preachers brings de Bible 'round an' tells us 'bout mindin +our marsters and not stealin' dere tings, dat dey preach to please de +white folks, an' dey frows coleness ober de meetin'." + +"An' I," said Aunt Linda, "neber did belieb in dem Bible preachers. I +yered one ob dem sayin' wen he war dyin', it war all dark wid him. An' +de way he treated his house-girl, pore thing, I don't wonder dat it war +dark wid him." + +"O, I guess," said Robert, "that the Bible is all right, but some of +these church folks don't get the right hang of it." + +"May be dat's so," said Aunt Linda. "But I allers wanted to learn how to +read. I once had a book, and tried to make out what war in it, but ebery +time my mistus caught me wid a book in my hand, she used to whip my +fingers. An' I couldn't see ef it war good for white folks, why it +warn't good for cullud folks." + +"Well," said Tom Anderson, "I belieb in de good ole-time religion. But +arter dese white folks is done fussin' and beatin' de cullud folks, I +don't want 'em to come talking religion to me. We used to hab on our +place a real Guinea man, an' once he made ole Marse mad, an' he had him +whipped. Old Marse war trying to break him in, but dat fellow war spunk +to de backbone, an' when he 'gin talkin' to him 'bout savin' his soul +an' gittin' to hebbin, he tole him ef he went to hebbin an' foun' he war +dare, he wouldn't go in. He wouldn't stay wid any such rascal as he +war." + +"What became of him?" asked Robert. + +"Oh, he died. But he had some quare notions 'bout religion. He thought +dat when he died he would go back to his ole country. He allers kep' his +ole Guinea name." + +"What was it?" + +"Potobombra. Do you know what he wanted Marster to do 'fore he died?" +continued Anderson. + +"No." + +"He wanted him to gib him his free papers." + +"Did he do it?" + +"Ob course he did. As de poor fellow war dying an' he couldn't sell him +in de oder world, he jis' wrote him de papers to yumor him. He didn't +want to go back to Africa a slave. He thought if he did, his people +would look down on him, an' he wanted to go back a free man. He war +orful weak when Marster brought him de free papers. He jis' ris up in de +bed, clutched dem in his han's, smiled, an' gasped out, 'I'se free at +las'; an' fell back on de pillar, an' he war gone. Oh, but he war +spunky. De oberseers, arter dey foun' out who he war, gin'rally gabe him +a wide birth. I specs his father war some ole Guinea king." + +"Well, chillen," said Uncle Daniel, "we's kept up dis meeting long +enough. We'd better go home, and not all go one way, cause de patrollers +might git us all inter trouble, an' we must try to slip home by hook or +crook." + +"An' when we meet again, Uncle Daniel can finish his story, an' be ready +to go with us," said Robert. + +"I wish," said Tom Anderson, "he would go wid us, de wuss kind." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +UNCLE DANIEL'S STORY. + +The Union had snapped asunder because it lacked the cohesion of justice, +and the Nation was destined to pass through the crucible of disaster and +defeat, till she was ready to clasp hands with the negro and march +abreast with him to freedom and victory. + +The Union army was encamping a few miles from C----, in North Carolina. +Robert, being well posted on the condition of affairs, had stealthily +contrived to call a meeting in Uncle Daniel's cabin. Uncle Daniel's wife +had gone to bed as a sick sister, and they held a prayer-meeting by her +bedside. It was a little risky, but as Mr. Thurston did not encourage +the visits of the patrollers, and heartily detested having them prying +into his cabins, there was not much danger of molestation. + +"Well, Uncle Daniel, we want to hear your story, and see if you have +made up your mind to go with us," said Robert, after he had been seated +a few minutes in Uncle Daniel's cabin. + +"No, chillen, I've no objection to finishin' my story, but I ain't made +up my mind to leave the place till Marse Robert gits back." + +"You were telling us about Marse Robert's mother. How did you get along +after she died?" + +"Arter she war gone, ole Marster's folks come to look arter things. But +eberything war lef' to Marse Robert, an' he wouldn't do widout me. Dat +chile war allers at my heels. I couldn't stir widout him, an' when he +missed me, he'd fret an' cry so I had ter stay wid him; an' wen he went +to school, I had ter carry him in de mornin' and bring him home in de +ebenin'. An' I learned him to hunt squirrels, an' rabbits, an' ketch +fish, an' set traps for birds. I beliebs he lob'd me better dan any ob +his kin'. An' he showed me how to read." + +"Well," said Tom, "ef he lob'd you so much, why didn't he set you free?" + +"Marse Robert tole me, ef he died fust he war gwine ter leave me +free--dat I should neber sarve any one else." + +"Oh, sho!" said Tom, "promises, like pie crusts, is made to be broken. I +don't trust none ob dem. I'se been yere dese fifteen years, an' I'se +neber foun' any troof in dem. An' I'se gwine wid dem North men soon's I +gits a chance. An' ef you knowed what's good fer you, you'd go, too." + +"No, Tom; I can't go. When Marster Robert went to de front, he called me +to him an' said: 'Uncle Daniel,' an' he was drefful pale when he said +it, 'I are gwine to de war, an' I want yer to take keer of my wife an' +chillen, jis' like yer used to take keer of me wen yer called me your +little boy.' Well, dat jis' got to me, an' I couldn't help cryin', to +save my life." + +"I specs," said Tom, "your tear bags must lie mighty close to your eyes. +I wouldn't cry ef dem Yankees would make ebery one ob dem go to de +front, an' stay dere foreber. Dey'd only be gittin' back what dey's been +a doin' to us." + +"Marster Robert war nebber bad to me. An' I beliebs in stannin' by dem +dat stans by you. Arter Miss Anna died, I had great 'sponsibilities on +my shoulders; but I war orful lonesome, an' thought I'd like to git a +wife. But dere warn't a gal on de plantation, an' nowhere's roun', dat +filled de bill. So I jis' waited, an' 'tended to Marse Robert till he +war ole 'nough to go to college. Wen he went, he allers 'membered me in +de letters he used to write his grandma. Wen he war gone, I war +lonesomer dan eber. But, one day, I jis' seed de gal dat took de rag off +de bush. Gundover had jis' brought her from de up-country. She war putty +as a picture!" he exclaimed, looking fondly at his wife, who still bore +traces of great beauty. "She had putty hair, putty eyes, putty mouth. +She war putty all over; an' she know'd how to put on style." + +"O, Daniel," said Aunt Katie, half chidingly, "how you do talk." + +"Why, it's true. I 'member when you war de puttiest gal in dese diggins; +when nobody could top your cotton." + +"I don't," said Aunt Katie. + +"Well, I do. Now, let me go on wid my story. De fust time I seed her, I +sez to myself, 'Dat's de gal for me, an' I means to hab her ef I kin git +her.' So I scraped 'quaintance wid her, and axed her ef she would hab me +ef our marsters would let us. I warn't 'fraid 'bout Marse Robert, but I +warn't quite shore 'bout Gundover. So when Marse Robert com'd home, I +axed him, an' he larf'd an' said, 'All right,' an' dat he would speak to +ole Gundover 'bout it. He didn't relish it bery much, but he didn't +like to 'fuse Marse Robert. He wouldn't sell her, for she tended his +dairy, an' war mighty handy 'bout de house. He said, I mought marry her +an' come to see her wheneber Marse Robert would gib me a pass. I wanted +him to sell her, but he wouldn't hear to it, so I had to put up wid what +I could git. Marse Robert war mighty good to me, but ole Gundover's wife +war de meanest woman dat I eber did see. She used to go out on de +plantation an' boss things like a man. Arter I war married, I had a +baby. It war de dearest, cutest little thing you eber did see; but, pore +thing, it got sick and died. It died 'bout three o'clock; and in de +mornin', Katie, habbin her cows to milk, lef her dead baby in de cabin. +When she com'd back from milkin' her thirty cows, an' went to look for +her pore little baby, some one had been to her cabin an' took'd de pore +chile away an' put it in de groun'. Pore Katie, she didn't eben hab a +chance to kiss her baby 'fore it war buried. Ole Gundover's wife has +been dead thirty years, an' she didn't die a day too soon. An' my little +baby has gone to glory, an' is wingin' wid the angels an' a lookin' out +for us. One ob de las' things ole Gundover's wife did 'fore she died war +to order a woman whipped 'cause she com'd to de field a little late when +her husband war sick, an' she had stopped to tend him. Dat mornin' she +war taken sick wid de fever, an' in a few days she war gone out like de +snuff ob a candle. She lef' several sons, an' I specs she would almos' +turn ober in her grave ef she know'd she had ten culled granchillen +somewhar down in de lower kentry." + +"Isn't it funny," said Robert, "how these white folks look down on +colored people, an' then mix up with them?" + +"Marster war away when Miss 'Liza treated my Katie so mean, an' when I +tole him 'bout it, he war tearin' mad, an' went ober an' saw ole +Gundover, an' foun' out he war hard up for money, an' he bought Katie +and brought her home to lib wid me, and we's been a libin in clover eber +sence. Marster Robert has been mighty good to me. He stood by me in my +troubles, an' now his trouble's come, I'm a gwine to stan' by him. I +used to think Gundover's wife war jealous ob my Katie. She war so much +puttier. Gundover's wife couldn't tech my Katie wid a ten foot pole." + +"But, Aunt Katie, you have had your trials," said Robert, now that +Daniel had finished his story; "don't you feel bitter towards these +people who are fighting to keep you in slavery?" + +Aunt Katie turned her face towards the speaker. It was a thoughtful, +intelligent face, saintly and calm. A face which expressed the idea of a +soul which had been fearfully tempest tossed, but had passed through +suffering into peace. Very touching was the look of resignation and hope +which overspread her features as she replied, with the simple child-like +faith which she had learned in the darkest hour, "The Lord says, we must +forgive." And with her that thought, as coming from the lips of Divine +Love, was enough to settle the whole question of forgiveness of injuries +and love to enemies. + +"Well," said Thomas Anderson, turning to Uncle Daniel, "we can't count +on yer to go wid us?" + +"Boys," said Uncle Daniel, and there was grief in his voice, "I'se +mighty glad you hab a chance for your freedom; but, ez I tole yer, I +promised Marse Robert I would stay, an' I mus' be as good as my word. +Don't you youngsters stay for an ole stager like me. I'm ole an' mos' +worn out. Freedom wouldn't do much for me, but I want you all to be as +free as the birds; so, you chillen, take your freedom when you kin get +it." + +"But, Uncle Dan'el, you won't say nothin' 'bout our going, will you?" +said the youngest of the company. + +Uncle Daniel slowly arose. There was a mournful flash in his eye, a +tremor of emotion in his voice, as he said, "Look yere, boys, de boy dat +axed dat question war a new comer on dis plantation, but some ob you's +bin here all ob your lives; did you eber know ob Uncle Dan'el gittin' +any ob you inter trouble?" + +"No, no," exclaimed a chorus of voices, "but many's de time you've held +off de blows wen de oberseer got too mean, an' cruelized us too much, +wen Marse Robert war away. An' wen he got back, you made him settle de +oberseer's hash." + +"Well, boys," said Uncle Daniel, with an air of mournful dignity, "I'se +de same Uncle Dan'el I eber war. Ef any ob you wants to go, I habben't a +word to say agin it. I specs dem Yankees be all right, but I knows Marse +Robert, an' I don't know dem, an' I ain't a gwine ter throw away dirty +water 'til I gits clean." + +"Well, Uncle Ben," said Robert, addressing a stalwart man whose towering +form and darkly flashing eye told that slavery had failed to put the +crouch in his shoulders or general abjectness into his demeanor, "you +will go with us, for sure, won't you?" + +"Yes," spoke up Tom Anderson, "'cause de trader's done took your wife, +an' got her for his'n now." + +As Ben Tunnel looked at the speaker, a spasm of agony and anger darkened +his face and distorted his features, as if the blood of some strong +race were stirring with sudden vigor through his veins. He clutched his +hands together, as if he were struggling with an invisible foe, and for +a moment he remained silent. Then suddenly raising his head, he +exclaimed, "Boys, there's not one of you loves freedom more than I do, +but--" + +"But what?" said Tom. "Do you think white folks is your bes' friends?" + +"I'll think so when I lose my senses." + +"Well, now, I don't belieb you're 'fraid, not de way I yeard you talkin' +to de oberseer wen he war threatnin' to hit your mudder. He saw you +meant business, an' he let her alone. But, what's to hinder you from +gwine wid us?" + +"My mother," he replied, in a low, firm voice. "That is the only thing +that keeps me from going. If it had not been for her, I would have gone +long ago. She's all I've got, an' I'm all she's got." + +It was touching to see the sorrow on the strong face, to detect the +pathos and indignation in his voice, as he said, "I used to love Mirandy +as I love my life. I thought the sun rose and set in her. I never saw a +handsomer woman than she was. But she fooled me all over the face and +eyes, and took up with that hell-hound of a trader, Lukens; an' he gave +her a chance to live easy, to wear fine clothes, an' be waited on like a +lady. I thought at first I would go crazy, but my poor mammy did all she +could to comfort me. She would tell me there were as good fish in the +sea as were ever caught out of it. Many a time I've laid my poor head on +her lap, when it seemed as if my brain was on fire and my heart was +almost ready to burst. But in course of time I got over the worst of +it; an' Mirandy is the first an' last woman that ever fooled me. But +that dear old mammy of mine, I mean to stick by her as long as there is +a piece of her. I can't go over to the army an' leave her behind, for if +I did, an' anything should happen, I would never forgive myself." + +"But couldn't you take her with you," said Robert, "the soldiers said we +could bring our women." + +"It isn't that. The Union army is several miles from here, an' my poor +mammy is so skeery that, if I were trying to get her away and any of +them Secesh would overtake us, an' begin to question us, she would get +skeered almost to death, an' break down an' begin to cry, an' then the +fat would be in the fire. So, while I love freedom more than a child +loves its mother's milk, I've made up my mind to stay on the plantation. +I wish, from the bottom of my heart, I could go. But I can't take her +along with me, an' I don't want to be free and leave her behind in +slavery. I was only five years old when my master and, as I believe, +father, sold us both here to this lower country, an' we've been here +ever since. It's no use talking, I won't leave her to be run over by +everybody." + +A few evenings after this interview, the Union soldiers entered the town +of C----, and established their headquarters near the home of Thomas +Anderson. + +Out of the little company, almost every one deserted to the Union army, +leaving Uncle Daniel faithful to his trust, and Ben Tunnel hushing his +heart's deep aspirations for freedom in a passionate devotion to his +timid and affectionate mother. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +ARRIVAL OF THE UNION ARMY. + +A few evenings before the stampede of Robert and his friends to the +army, and as he sat alone in his room reading the latest news from the +paper he had secreted, he heard a cautious tread and a low tap at his +window. He opened the door quietly and whispered:-- + +"Anything new, Tom?" + +"Yes." + +"What is it? Come in." + +"Well, I'se done bin seen dem Yankees, an' dere ain't a bit of troof in +dem stories I'se bin yerin 'bout 'em." + +"Where did you see 'em?" + +"Down in de woods whar Marster tole us to hide. Yesterday ole Marse sent +for me to come in de settin'-room. An' what do you think? Instead ob +makin' me stan' wid my hat in my han' while he went froo a whole +rigamarole, he axed me to sit down, an' he tole me he 'spected de +Yankees would want us to go inter de army, an' dey would put us in front +whar we'd all git killed; an' I tole him I didn't want to go, I didn't +want to git all momached up. An' den he said we'd better go down in de +woods an' hide. Massa Tom and Frank said we'd better go as quick as eber +we could. Dey said dem Yankees would put us in dere wagons and make us +haul like we war mules. Marse Tom ain't libin' at de great house jis' +now. He's keepin' bachellar's hall." + +"Didn't he go to the battle?" + +"No; he foun' a pore white man who war hard up for money, an' he got him +to go." + +"But, Tom, you didn't believe these stories about the Yankees. Tom and +Frank can lie as fast as horses can trot. They wanted to scare you, and +keep you from going to the Union army." + +"I knows dat now, but I didn't 'spect so den." + +"Well, when did you see the soldiers? Where are they? And what did they +say to you?" + +"Dey's right down in Gundover's woods. An' de Gineral's got his +headquarters almos' next door to our house." + +"That near? Oh, you don't say so!" + +"Yes, I do. An', oh, golly, ain't I so glad! I jis' stole yere to told +you all 'bout it. Yesterday mornin' I war splittin' some wood to git my +breakfas', an' I met one ob dem Yankee sogers. Well, I war so skeered, +my heart flew right up in my mouf, but I made my manners to him and +said, 'Good mornin', Massa.' He said, 'Good mornin'; but don't call me +"massa."' Dat war de fust white man I eber seed dat didn't want ter be +called 'massa,' eben ef he war as pore as Job's turkey. Den I begin to +feel right sheepish, an' he axed me ef my marster war at home, an' ef he +war a Reb. I tole him he hadn't gone to de war, but he war Secesh all +froo, inside and outside. He war too ole to go to de war, but dat he war +all de time gruntin' an' groanin', an' I 'spected he'd grunt hisself to +death." + +"What did he say?" + +"He said he specs he'll grunt worser dan dat fore dey get froo wid him. +Den he axed me ef I would hab some breakfas,' an' I said, 'No, t'ank +you, sir.' 'An' I war jis' as hungry as a dorg, but I war 'feared to +eat. I war 'feared he war gwine to pizen me." + +"Poison you! don't you know the Yankees are our best friends?" + +"Well, ef dat's so, I'se mighty glad, cause de woods is full ob dem." + +"Now, Tom, I thought you had cut your eye-teeth long enough not to let +them Anderson boys fool you. Tom, you must not think because a white man +says a thing, it must be so, and that a colored man's word is no account +'longside of his. Tom, if ever we get our freedom, we've got to learn to +trust each other and stick together if we would be a people. Somebody +else can read the papers as well as Marse Tom and Frank. My ole Miss +knows I can read the papers, an' she never tries to scare me with big +whoppers 'bout the Yankees. She knows she can't catch ole birds with +chaff, so she is just as sweet as a peach to her Bobby. But as soon as I +get a chance I will play her a trick the devil never did." + +"What's that?" + +"I'll leave her. I ain't forgot how she sold my mother from me. Many a +night I have cried myself to sleep, thinking about her, and when I get +free I mean to hunt her up." + +"Well, I ain't tole you all. De gemman said he war 'cruiting for de +army; dat Massa Linkum hab set us all free, an' dat he wanted some more +sogers to put down dem Secesh; dat we should all hab our freedom, our +wages, an' some kind ob money. I couldn't call it like he did." + +"Bounty money," said Robert. + +"Yes, dat's jis' what he called it, bounty money. An' I said dat I war +in for dat, teeth and toe-nails." + +Robert Johnson's heart gave a great bound. Was that so? Had that army, +with freedom emblazoned on its banners, come at last to offer them +deliverance if they would accept it? Was it a bright, beautiful dream, +or a blessed reality soon to be grasped by his willing hands? His heart +grew buoyant with hope; the lightness of his heart gave elasticity to +his step and sent the blood rejoicingly through his veins. Freedom was +almost in his grasp, and the future was growing rose-tinted and +rainbow-hued. All the ties which bound him to his home were as ropes of +sand, now that freedom had come so near. + +When the army was afar off, he had appeared to be light-hearted and +content with his lot. If asked if he desired his freedom, he would have +answered, very naively, that he was eating his white bread and believed +in letting well enough alone; he had no intention of jumping from the +frying-pan into the fire. But in the depths of his soul the love of +freedom was an all-absorbing passion; only danger had taught him +caution. He had heard of terrible vengeance being heaped upon the heads +of some who had sought their freedom and failed in the attempt. Robert +knew that he might abandon hope if he incurred the wrath of men whose +overthrow was only a question of time. It would have been madness and +folly for him to have attempted an insurrection against slavery, with +the words of McClellan ringing in his ears: "If you rise I shall put you +down with an iron hand," and with the home guards ready to quench his +aspirations for freedom with bayonets and blood. What could a set of +unarmed and undisciplined men do against the fearful odds which beset +their path? + +Robert waited eagerly and hopefully his chance to join the Union army; +and was ready and willing to do anything required of him by which he +could earn his freedom and prove his manhood. He conducted his plans +with the greatest secrecy. A few faithful and trusted friends stood +ready to desert with him when the Union army came within hailing +distance. When it came, there was a stampede to its ranks of men ready +to serve in any capacity, to labor in the tents, fight on the fields, or +act as scouts. It was a strange sight to see these black men rallying +around the Stars and Stripes, when white men were trampling them under +foot and riddling them with bullets. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +THE RELEASE OF IOLA LEROY. + +"Well, boys," said Robert to his trusted friends, as they gathered +together at a meeting in Gundover's woods, almost under the shadow of +the Union army, "how many of you are ready to join the army and fight +for your freedom." + +"All ob us." + +"The soldiers," continued Robert, "are camped right at the edge of the +town. The General has his headquarters in the heart of the town, and one +of the officers told me yesterday that the President had set us all +free, and that as many as wanted to join the army could come along to +the camp. So I thought, boys, that I would come and tell you. Now, you +can take your bag and baggage, and get out of here as soon as you +choose." + +"We'll be ready by daylight," said Tom. "It won't take me long to pack +up," looking down at his seedy clothes, with a laugh. "I specs ole +Marse'll be real lonesome when I'm gone. An' won't he be hoppin' mad +when he finds I'm a goner? I specs he'll hate it like pizen." + +"O, well," said Robert, "the best of friends must part. Don't let it +grieve you." + +"I'se gwine to take my wife an' chillen," said one of the company. + +"I'se got nobody but myself," said Tom; "but dere's a mighty putty +young gal dere at Marse Tom's. I wish I could git her away. Dey tells me +dey's been sellin' her all ober de kentry; but dat she's a reg'lar +spitfire; dey can't lead nor dribe her." + +"Do you think she would go with us?" said Robert. + +"I think she's jis' dying to go. Dey say dey can't do nuffin wid her. +Marse Tom's got his match dis time, and I'se glad ob it. I jis' glories +in her spunk." + +"How did she come there?" + +"Oh, Marse bought her ob de trader to keep house for him. But ef you +seed dem putty white han's ob hern you'd never tink she kept her own +house, let 'lone anybody else's." + +"Do you think you can get her away?" + +"I don't know; 'cause Marse Tom keeps her mighty close. My! but she's +putty. Beautiful long hair comes way down her back; putty blue eyes, an' +jis' ez white ez anybody's in dis place. I'd jis' wish you could see her +yoresef. I heerd Marse Tom talkin' 'bout her las' night to his brudder; +tellin' him she war mighty airish, but he meant to break her in." + +An angry curse rose to the lips of Robert, but he repressed it and +muttered to himself, "Graceless scamp, he ought to have his neck +stretched." Then turning to Tom, said:-- + +"Get her, if you possibly can, but you must be mighty mum about it." + +"Trus' me for dat," said Tom. + +Tom was very anxious to get word to the beautiful but intractable girl +who was held in durance vile by her reckless and selfish master, who had +tried in vain to drag her down to his own low level of sin and shame. +But all Tom's efforts were in vain. Finally he applied to the Commander +of the post, who immediately gave orders for her release. The next day +Tom had the satisfaction of knowing that Iola Leroy had been taken as a +trembling dove from the gory vulture's nest and given a place of +security. She was taken immediately to the General's headquarters. The +General was much impressed by her modest demeanor, and surprised to see +the refinement and beauty she possessed. Could it be possible that this +young and beautiful girl had been a chattel, with no power to protect +herself from the highest insults that lawless brutality could inflict +upon innocent and defenseless womanhood? Could he ever again glory in +his American citizenship, when any white man, no matter how coarse, +cruel, or brutal, could buy or sell her for the basest purposes? Was it +not true that the cause of a hapless people had become entangled with +the lightnings of heaven, and dragged down retribution upon the land? + +The field hospital was needing gentle, womanly ministrations, and Iola +Leroy, released from the hands of her tormentors, was given a place as +nurse; a position to which she adapted herself with a deep sense of +relief. Tom was doubly gratified at the success of his endeavors, which +had resulted in the rescue of the beautiful young girl and the +discomfiture of his young master who, in the words of Tom, "was mad +enough to bite his head off" (a rather difficult physical feat). + +Iola, freed from her master's clutches, applied herself readily to her +appointed tasks. The beautiful, girlish face was full of tender +earnestness. The fresh, young voice was strangely sympathetic, as if +some great sorrow had bound her heart in loving compassion to every +sufferer who needed her gentle ministrations. + +Tom Anderson was a man of herculean strength and remarkable courage. +But, on account of physical defects, instead of enlisting as a soldier, +he was forced to remain a servant, although he felt as if every nerve in +his right arm was tingling to strike a blow for freedom. He was well +versed in the lay of the country, having often driven his master's +cotton to market when he was a field hand. After he became a coachman, +he had become acquainted with the different roads and localities of the +country. Besides, he had often accompanied his young masters on their +hunting and fishing expeditions. Although he could not fight in the +army, he proved an invaluable helper. When tents were to be pitched, +none were more ready to help than he. When burdens were to be borne, +none were more willing to bend beneath them than Thomas Anderson. When +the battle-field was to be searched for the wounded and dying, no hand +was more tender in its ministrations of kindness than his. As a general +factotum in the army, he was ever ready and willing to serve anywhere +and at any time, and to gather information from every possible source +which could be of any service to the Union army. As a Pagan might +worship a distant star and wish to call it his own, so he loved Iola. +And he never thought he could do too much for the soldiers who had +rescued her and were bringing deliverance to his race. + +"What do you think of Miss Iola?" Robert asked him one day, as they were +talking together. + +"I jis' think dat she's splendid. Las' week I had to take some of our +pore boys to de hospital, an' she war dere, lookin' sweet an' putty ez +an angel, a nussin' dem pore boys, an' ez good to one ez de oder. It +looks to me ez ef dey ralely lob'd her shadder. She sits by 'em so +patient, an' writes 'em sech nice letters to der frens, an' yit she +looks so heart-broke an' pitiful, it jis' gits to me, an' makes me mos' +ready to cry. I'm so glad dat Marse Tom had to gib her up. He war too +mean to eat good victuals." + +"He ought," said Robert, "to be made to live on herrings' heads and cold +potatoes. It makes my blood boil just to think that he was going to have +that lovely looking young girl whipped for his devilment. He ought to be +ashamed to hold up his head among respectable people." + +"I tell you, Bob, de debil will neber git his own till he gits him. When +I seed how he war treating her I neber rested till I got her away. He +buyed her, he said, for his housekeeper; as many gals as dere war on de +plantation, why didn't he git one ob dem to keep house, an' not dat nice +lookin' young lady? Her han's look ez ef she neber did a day's work in +her life. One day when he com'd down to breakfas,' he chucked her under +de chin, an' tried to put his arm roun' her waist. But she jis' frew it +off like a chunk ob fire. She looked like a snake had bit her. Her eyes +fairly spit fire. Her face got red ez blood, an' den she turned so pale +I thought she war gwine to faint, but she didn't, an' I yered her say, +'I'll die fust.' I war mad 'nough to stan' on my head. I could hab +tore'd him all to pieces wen he said he'd hab her whipped." + +"Did he do it?" + +"I don't know. But he's mean 'nough to do enythin'. Why, dey say she +war sole seben times in six weeks, 'cause she's so putty, but dat she +war game to de las'." + +"Well, Tom," said Robert, "getting that girl away was one of the best +things you ever did in your life." + +"I think so, too. Not dat I specs enytin' ob it. I don't spose she would +think ob an ugly chap like me; but it does me good to know dat Marse Tom +ain't got her." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +ROBERT JOHNSON'S PROMOTION AND RELIGION. + +Robert Johnson, being able to meet the army requirements, was enlisted +as a substitute to help fill out the quota of a Northern regiment. With +his intelligence, courage, and prompt obedience, he rose from the ranks +and became lieutenant of a colored company. He was daring, without being +rash; prompt, but not thoughtless; firm, without being harsh. Kind and +devoted to the company he drilled, he soon won the respect of his +superior officers and the love of his comrades. + +"Johnson," said a young officer, Captain Sybil, of Maine, who had become +attached to Robert, "what is the use of your saying you're a colored +man, when you are as white as I am, and as brave a man as there is among +us. Why not quit this company, and take your place in the army just the +same as a white man? I know your chances for promotion would be better." + +"Captain, you may doubt my word, but to-day I would rather be a +lieutenant in my company than a captain in yours." + +"I don't understand you." + +"Well, Captain, when a man's been colored all his life it comes a little +hard for him to get white all at once. Were I to try it, I would feel +like a cat in a strange garret. Captain, I think my place is where I am +most needed. You do not need me in your ranks, and my company does. +They are excellent fighters, but they need a leader. To silence a +battery, to capture a flag, to take a fortification, they will rush into +the jaws of death." + +"Yes, I have often wondered at their bravery." + +"Captain, these battles put them on their mettle. They have been so long +taught that they are nothing and nobody, that they seem glad to prove +they are something and somebody." + +"But, Johnson, you do not look like them, you do not talk like them. It +is a burning shame to have held such a man as you in slavery." + +"I don't think it was any worse to have held me in slavery than the +blackest man in the South." + +"You are right, Johnson. The color of a man's skin has nothing to do +with the possession of his rights." + +"Now, there is Tom Anderson," said Robert, "he is just as black as black +can be. He has been bought and sold like a beast, and yet there is not a +braver man in all the company. I know him well. He is a noble-hearted +fellow. True as steel. I love him like a brother. And I believe Tom +would risk his life for me any day. He don't know anything about his +father or mother. He was sold from them before he could remember. He can +read a little. He used to take lessons from a white gardener in +Virginia. He would go between the hours of 9 P.M. and 4 A.M. He got a +book of his own, tore it up, greased the pages, and hid them in his hat. +Then if his master had ever knocked his hat off he would have thought +them greasy papers, and not that Tom was carrying his library on his +head. I had another friend who lived near us. When he was nineteen +years old he did not know how many letters there were in the ABC's. One +night, when his work was done, his boss came into his cabin and saw him +with a book in his hand. He threatened to give him five hundred lashes +if he caught him again with a book, and said he hadn't work enough to +do. He was getting out logs, and his task was ten logs a day. His +employer threatened to increase it to twelve. He said it just harassed +him; it set him on fire. He thought there must be something good in that +book if the white man didn't want him to learn. One day he had an errand +in the kitchen, and he heard one of the colored girls going over the +ABC's. Here was the key to the forbidden knowledge. She had heard the +white children saying them, and picked them up by heart, but did not +know them by sight. He was not content with that, but sold his cap for a +book and wore a cloth on his head instead. He got the sounds of the +letters by heart, then cut off the bark of a tree, carved the letters on +the smooth inside, and learned them. He wanted to learn how to write. He +had charge of a warehouse where he had a chance to see the size and form +of letters. He made the beach of the river his copybook, and thus he +learned to write. Tom never got very far with his learning, but I used +to get the papers and tell him all I knew about the war." + +"How did you get the papers?" + +"I used to have very good privileges for a slave. All of our owners were +not alike. Some of them were quite clever, and others were worse than +git out. I used to get the morning papers to sell to the boarders and +others, and when I got them I would contrive to hide a paper, and let +some of the fellow-servants know how things were going on. And our +owners thought we cared nothing about what was going on." + +"How was that? I thought you were not allowed to hold meetings unless a +white man were present." + +"That was so. But we contrived to hold secret meetings in spite of their +caution. We knew whom we could trust. My ole Miss wasn't mean like some +of them. She never wanted the patrollers around prowling in our cabins, +and poking their noses into our business. Her husband was an awful +drunkard. He ran through every cent he could lay his hands on, and she +was forced to do something to keep the wolf from the door, so she set up +a boarding-house. But she didn't take in Tom, Dick, and Harry. Nobody +but the big bugs stopped with her. She taught me to read and write, and +to cast up accounts. It was so handy for her to have some one who could +figure up her accounts, and read or write a note, if she were from home +and wanted the like done. She once told her cousin how I could write and +figure up. And what do you think her cousin said?" + +"'Pleased,' I suppose, 'to hear it.'" + +"Not a bit of it. She said, if I belonged to her, she would cut off my +thumbs; her husband said, 'Oh, then he couldn't pick cotton.' As to my +poor thumbs, it did not seem to be taken into account what it would cost +me to lose them. My ole Miss used to have a lot of books. She would let +me read any one of them except a novel. She wanted to take care of my +soul, but she wasn't taking care of her own." + +"Wasn't she religious?" + +"She went for it. I suppose she was as good as most of them. She said +her prayers and went to church, but I don't know that that made her any +better. I never did take much stock in white folks' religion." + +"Why, Robert, I'm afraid you are something of an infidel." + +"No, Captain, I believe in the real, genuine religion. I ain't got much +myself, but I respect them that have. We had on our place a dear, old +saint, named Aunt Kizzy. She was a happy soul. She had seen hard times, +but was what I call a living epistle. I've heard her tell how her only +child had been sold from her, when the man who bought herself did not +want to buy her child. Poor little fellow! he was only two years old. I +asked her one day how she felt when her child was taken away. 'I felt,' +she said, 'as if I was going to my grave. But I knew if I couldn't get +justice here, I could get it in another world.'" + +"That was faith," said Captain Sybil, as if speaking to himself, "a +patient waiting for death to redress the wrongs of life." + +"Many a time," continued Robert, "have I heard her humming to herself in +the kitchen and saying, 'I has my trials, ups and downs, but it won't +allers be so. I specs one day to wing and wing wid de angels, +Hallelujah! Den I specs to hear a voice sayin', "Poor ole Kizzy, she's +done de bes' she kin. Go down, Gabriel, an' tote her in." Den I specs to +put on my golden slippers, my long white robe, an' my starry crown, an' +walk dem golden streets, Hallelujah!' I've known that dear, old soul to +travel going on two miles, after her work was done, to have some one +read to her. Her favorite chapter began with, 'Let not your heart be +troubled, ye believe in God, believe also in Me.'" + +"I have been deeply impressed," said Captain Sybil, "with the child-like +faith of some of these people. I do not mean to say that they are +consistent Christians, but I do think that this faith has in a measure +underlain the life of the race. It has been a golden thread woven amid +the sombre tissues of their lives. A ray of light shimmering amid the +gloom of their condition. And what would they have been without it?" + +"I don't know. But I know what she was with it. And I believe if there +are any saints in glory, Aunt Kizzy is one of them." + +"She is dead, then?" + +"Yes, went all right, singing and rejoicing until the last, +'Troubles over, troubles over, and den my troubles will be over. We'll +walk de golden streets all 'roun' in de New Jerusalem.' Now, Captain, +that's the kind of religion that I want. Not that kind which could ride +to church on Sundays, and talk so solemn with the minister about heaven +and good things, then come home and light down on the servants like a +thousand of bricks. I have no use for it. I don't believe in it. I never +did and I never will. If any man wants to save my soul he ain't got to +beat my body. That ain't the kind of religion I'm looking for. I ain't +got a bit of use for it. Now, Captain, ain't I right?" + +"Well, yes, Robert, I think you are more than half right. You ought to +know my dear, old mother who lives in Maine. We have had colored company +at our house, and I never saw her show the least difference between her +colored and white guests. She is a Quaker preacher, and don't believe +in war, but when the rest of the young men went to the front, I wanted +to go also. So I thought it all over, and there seemed to be no way out +of slavery except through the war. I had been taught to hate war and +detest slavery. Now the time had come when I could not help the war, but +I could strike a blow for freedom. So I told my mother I was going to +the front, that I expected to be killed, but I went to free the slave. +It went hard with her. But I thought that I ought to come, and I believe +my mother's prayers are following me." + +"Captain," said Robert, rising, "I am glad that I have heard your story. +I think that some of these Northern soldiers do two things--hate slavery +and hate niggers." + +"I am afraid that is so with some of them. They would rather be whipped +by Rebels than conquer with negroes. Oh, I heard a soldier," said +Captain Sybil, "say, when the colored men were being enlisted, that he +would break his sword and resign. But he didn't do either. After Colonel +Shaw led his charge at Fort Wagner, and died in the conflict, he got +bravely over his prejudices. The conduct of the colored troops there and +elsewhere has done much to turn public opinion in their favor. I suppose +any white soldier would rather have his black substitute receive the +bullets than himself." + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +TOM ANDERSON'S DEATH. + +"Where is Tom?" asked Captain Sybil; "I have not seen him for several +hours." + +"He's gone down the sound with some of the soldiers," replied Robert. +"They wanted Tom to row them." + +"I am afraid those boys will get into trouble, and the Rebs will pick +them off," responded Sybil. + +"O, I hope not," answered Robert. + +"I hope not, too; but those boys are too venturesome." + +"Tom knows the lay of the land better than any of us," said Robert. "He +is the most wide-awake and gamiest man I know. I reckon when the war is +over Tom will be a preacher. Did you ever hear him pray?" + +"No; is he good at that?" + +"First-rate," continued Robert. "It would do you good to hear him. He +don't allow any cursing and swearing when he's around. And what he says +is law and gospel with the boys. But he's so good-natured; and they +can't get mad at him." + +"Yes, Robert, there is not a man in our regiment I would sooner trust +than Tom. Last night, when he brought in that wounded scout, he couldn't +have been more tender if he had been a woman. How gratefully the poor +fellow looked in Tom's face as he laid him down so carefully and +staunched the blood which had been spurting out of him. Tom seemed to +know it was an artery which had been cut, and he did just the right +thing to stop the bleeding. He knew there wasn't a moment to be lost. He +wasn't going to wait for the doctor. I have often heard that colored +people are ungrateful, but I don't think Tom's worst enemy would say +that about him." + +"Captain," said Robert, with a tone of bitterness in his voice, "what +had we to be grateful for? For ages of poverty, ignorance, and slavery? +I think if anybody should be grateful, it is the people who have +enslaved us and lived off our labor for generations. Captain, I used to +know a poor old woman who couldn't bear to hear any one play on the +piano." + +"Is that so? Why, I always heard that colored people were a musical +race." + +"So we are; but that poor woman's daughter was sold, and her mistress +took the money to buy a piano. Her mother could never bear to hear a +sound from it." + +"Poor woman!" exclaimed Captain Sybil, sympathetically; "I suppose it +seemed as if the wail of her daughter was blending with the tones of the +instrument. I think, Robert, there is a great deal more in the colored +people than we give them credit for. Did you know Captain Sellers?" + +"The officer who escaped from prison and got back to our lines?" asked +Robert. + +"Yes. Well, he had quite an experience in trying to escape. He came to +an aged couple, who hid him in their cabin and shared their humble food +with him. They gave him some corn-bread, bacon, and coffee which he +thought was made of scorched bran. But he said that he never ate a meal +that he relished more than the one he took with them. Just before he +went they knelt down and prayed with him. It seemed as if his very hair +stood on his head, their prayer was so solemn. As he was going away the +man took some shingles and nailed them on his shoes to throw the +bloodhounds off his track. I don't think he will ever cease to feel +kindly towards colored people. I do wonder what has become of the boys? +What can keep them so long?" + +Just as Captain Sybil and Robert were wondering at the delay of Tom and +the soldiers they heard the measured tread of men who were slowly +bearing a burden. They were carrying Tom Anderson to the hospital, +fearfully wounded, and nigh to death. His face was distorted, and the +blood was streaming from his wounds. His respiration was faint, his +pulse hurried, as if life were trembling on its frailest cords. + +Robert and Captain Sybil hastened at once towards the wounded man. On +Robert's face was a look of intense anguish, as he bent pityingly over +his friend. + +"O, this is dreadful! How did it happen?" cried Robert. + +Captain Sybil, pressing anxiously forward, repeated Robert's question. + +"Captain," said one of the young soldiers, advancing and saluting his +superior officer, "we were all in the boat when it struck against a mud +bank, and there was not strength enough among us to shove her back into +the water. Just then the Rebels opened fire upon us. For awhile we lay +down in the boat, but still they kept firing. Tom took in the whole +situation, and said: 'Someone must die to get us out of this. I +mought's well be him as any. You are soldiers and can fight. If they +kill me, it is nuthin'.' So Tom leaped out to shove the boat into the +water. Just then the Rebel bullets began to rain around him. He received +seven or eight of them, and I'm afraid there is no hope for him." + +"O, Tom, I wish you hadn't gone. O, Tom! Tom!" cried Robert, in tones of +agony. + +A gleam of grateful recognition passed over the drawn features of Tom, +as the wail of his friend fell on his ear. He attempted to speak, but +the words died upon his lips, and he became unconscious. + +"Well," said Captain Sybil, "put him in one of the best wards. Give him +into Miss Leroy's care. If good nursing can win him back to life, he +shall not want for any care or pains that she can bestow. Send +immediately for Dr. Gresham." + +Robert followed his friend into the hospital, tenderly and carefully +helped to lay him down, and remained awhile, gazing in silent grief upon +the sufferer. Then he turned to go, leaving him in the hands of Iola, +but hoping against hope that his wounds would not be fatal. + +With tender devotion Iola watched her faithful friend. He recognized her +when restored to consciousness, and her presence was as balm to his +wounds. He smiled faintly, took her hand in his, stroked it tenderly, +looked wistfully into her face, and said, "Miss Iola, I ain't long fer +dis! I'se 'most home!" + +"Oh, no," said Iola, "I hope that you will soon get over this trouble, +and live many long and happy days." + +"No, Miss Iola, it's all ober wid me. I'se gwine to glory; gwine to +glory; gwine to ring dem charmin' bells. Tell all de boys to meet me in +heben; dat dey mus' 'list in de hebenly war." + +"O, Mr. Tom," said Iola, tenderly, "do not talk of leaving me. You are +the best friend I have had since I was torn from my mother. I should be +so lonely without you." + +"Dere's a frien' dat sticks closer dan a brudder. He will be wid yer in +de sixt' trial, an' in de sebbent' he'll not fo'sake yer." + +"Yes," answered Iola, "I know that. He is all our dependence. But I +can't help grieving when I see you suffering so. But, dear friend, be +quiet, and try to go to sleep." + +"I'll do enythin' fer yer, Miss Iola." + +Tom closed his eyes and lay quiet. Tenderly and anxiously Iola watched +over him as the hours waned away. The doctor came, shook his head +gravely, and, turning to Iola, said, "There is no hope, but do what you +can to alleviate his sufferings." + +As Iola gazed upon the kind but homely features of Tom, she saw his eyes +open and an unexpressed desire upon his face. + +Tenderly and sadly bending over him, with tears in her dark, luminous +eyes, she said, "Is there anything I can do for you?" + +"Yes," said Tom, with laboring breath; "let me hole yore han', an' sing +'Ober Jordan inter glory' an' 'We'll anchor bye and bye.'" + +Iola laid her hand gently in the rough palm of the dying man, and, with +a tremulous voice, sang the parting hymns. + +Tenderly she wiped the death damps from his dusky brow, and imprinted +upon it a farewell kiss. Gratitude and affection lit up the dying eye, +which seemed to be gazing into the eternities. Just then Robert entered +the room, and, seating himself quietly by Tom's bedside, read the death +signs in his face. + +"Good-bye, Robert," said Tom, "meet me in de kingdom." Suddenly a look +of recognition and rapture lit up his face, and he murmured, "Angels, +bright angels, all's well, all's well!" + +Slowly his hand released its pressure, a peaceful calm overspread his +countenance, and without a sigh or murmur Thomas Anderson, Iola's +faithful and devoted friend, passed away, leaving the world so much +poorer for her than it was before. Just then Dr. Gresham, the hospital +physician, came to the bedside, felt for the pulse which would never +throb again, and sat down in silence by the cot. + +"What do you think, Doctor," said Iola, "has he fainted?" + +"No," said the doctor, "poor fellow! he is dead." + +Iola bowed her head in silent sorrow, and then relieved the anguish of +her heart by a flood of tears. Robert rose, and sorrowfully left the +room. + +Iola, with tearful eyes and aching heart, clasped the cold hands over +the still breast, closed the waxen lid over the eye which had once +beamed with kindness or flashed with courage, and then went back, after +the burial, to her daily round of duties, feeling the sad missing of +something from her life. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +THE MYSTIFIED DOCTOR. + +"Colonel," said Dr. Gresham to Col. Robinson, the commander of the post, +"I am perfectly mystified by Miss Leroy." + +"What is the matter with her?" asked Col. Robinson. "Is she not faithful +to her duties and obedient to your directions?" + +"Faithful is not the word to express her tireless energy and devotion to +her work," responded Dr. Gresham. "She must have been a born nurse to +put such enthusiasm into her work." + +"Why, Doctor, what is the matter with you? You talk like a lover." + +A faint flush rose to the cheek of Dr. Gresham as he smiled, and said, +"Oh! come now, Colonel, can't a man praise a woman without being in love +with her?" + +"Of course he can," said Col. Robinson; "but I know where such +admiration is apt to lead. I've been there myself. But, Doctor, had you +not better defer your love-making till you're out of the woods?" + +"I assure you, Colonel, I am not thinking of love or courtship. That is +the business of the drawing-room, and not of the camp. But she did +mystify me last night." + +"How so?" asked Col. Robinson. + +"When Tom was dying," responded the doctor, "I saw that beautiful and +refined young lady bend over and kiss him. When she found that he was +dead, she just cried as if her heart was breaking. Well, that was a new +thing to me. I can eat with colored people, walk, talk, and fight with +them, but kissing them is something I don't hanker after." + +"And yet you saw Miss Leroy do it?" + +"Yes; and that puzzles me. She is one of the most refined and lady-like +women I ever saw. I hear she is a refugee, but she does not look like +the other refugees who have come to our camp. Her accent is slightly +Southern, but her manner is Northern. She is self-respecting without +being supercilious; quiet, without being dull. Her voice is low and +sweet, yet at times there are tones of such passionate tenderness in it +that you would think some great sorrow has darkened and overshadowed her +life. Without being the least gloomy, her face at times is pervaded by +an air of inexpressible sadness. I sometimes watch her when she is not +aware that I am looking at her, and it seems as if a whole volume was +depicted on her countenance. When she smiles, there is a longing in her +eyes which is never satisfied. I cannot understand how a Southern lady, +whose education and manners stamp her as a woman of fine culture and +good breeding, could consent to occupy the position she so faithfully +holds. It is a mystery I cannot solve. Can you?" + +"I think I can," answered Col. Robinson. + +"Will you tell me?" queried the doctor. + +"Yes, on one condition." + +"What is it?" + +"Everlasting silence." + +"I promise," said the doctor. "The secret between us shall be as deep as +the sea." + +"She has not requested secrecy, but at present, for her sake, I do not +wish the secret revealed. Miss Leroy was a slave." + +"Oh, no," said Dr. Gresham, starting to his feet, "it can't be so! A +woman as white as she a slave?" + +"Yes, it is so," continued the Colonel. "In these States the child +follows the condition of its mother. This beautiful and accomplished +girl was held by one of the worst Rebels in town. Tom told me of it and +I issued orders for her release." + +"Well, well! Is that so?" said Dr. Gresham, thoughtfully stroking his +beard. "Wonders will never cease. Why, I was just beginning to think +seriously of her." + +"What's to hinder your continuing to think?" asked Col. Robinson. + +"What you tell me changes the whole complexion of affairs," replied the +doctor. + +"If that be so I am glad I told you before you got head over heels in +love." + +"Yes," said Dr. Gresham, absently. + +Dr. Gresham was a member of a wealthy and aristocratic family, proud of +its lineage, which it could trace through generations of good blood to +its ancestral isle. He had become deeply interested in Iola before he +had heard her story, but after it had been revealed to him he tried to +banish her from his mind; but his constant observation of her only +increased his interest and admiration. The deep pathos of her story, the +tenderness of her ministrations, bestowed alike on black and white, and +the sad loneliness of her condition, awakened within him a desire to +defend and protect her all through her future life. The fierce clashing +of war had not taken all the romance out of his nature. In Iola he saw +realized his ideal of the woman whom he was willing to marry. A woman, +tender, strong, and courageous, and rescued only by the strong arm of +his Government from a fate worse than death. She was young in years, but +old in sorrow; one whom a sad destiny had changed from a light-hearted +girl to a heroic woman. As he observed her, he detected an undertone of +sorrow in her most cheerful words, and observed a quick flushing and +sudden paling of her cheek, as if she were living over scenes that were +thrilling her soul with indignation or chilling her heart with horror. +As nurse and physician, Iola and Dr. Gresham were constantly thrown +together. His friends sent him magazines and books, which he gladly +shared with her. The hospital was a sad place. Mangled forms, stricken +down in the flush of their prime and energy; pale young corpses, +sacrificed on the altar of slavery, constantly drained on her +sympathies. Dr. Gresham was glad to have some reading matter which might +divert her mind from the memories of her mournful past, and also furnish +them both with interesting themes of conversation in their moments of +relaxation from the harrowing scenes through which they were constantly +passing. Without any effort or consciousness on her part, his friendship +ripened into love. To him her presence was a pleasure, her absence a +privation; and her loneliness drew deeply upon his sympathy. He would +have merited his own self-contempt if, by word or deed, he had done +anything to take advantage of her situation. All the manhood and +chivalry of his nature rose in her behalf, and, after carefully +revolving the matter, he resolved to win her for his bride, bury her +secret in his Northern home, and hide from his aristocratic relations +all knowledge of her mournful past. One day he said to Iola:-- + +"This hospital life is telling on you. Your strength is failing, and +although you possess a wonderful amount of physical endurance, you must +not forget that saints have bodies and dwell in tabernacles of clay, +just the same as we common mortals." + +"Compliments aside," she said, smiling; "what are you driving at, +Doctor?" + +"I mean," he replied, "that you are running down, and if you do not quit +and take some rest you will be our patient instead of our nurse. You'd +better take a furlough, go North, and return after the first frost." + +"Doctor, if that is your only remedy," replied Iola, "I am afraid that I +am destined to die at my post. I have no special friends in the North, +and no home but this in the South. I am homeless and alone." + +There was something so sad, almost despairing in her tones, in the +drooping of her head, and the quivering of her lip, that they stirred +Dr. Gresham's heart with sudden pity, and, drawing nearer to her, he +said, "Miss Leroy, you need not be all alone. Let me claim the privilege +of making your life bright and happy. Iola, I have loved you ever since +I have seen your devotion to our poor, sick boys. How faithfully you, a +young and gracious girl, have stood at your post and performed your +duties. And now I ask, will you not permit me to clasp hands with you +for life? I do not ask for a hasty reply. Give yourself time to think +over what I have proposed." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +EUGENE LEROY AND ALFRED LORRAINE. + +Nearly twenty years before the war, two young men, of French and Spanish +descent, sat conversing on a large verandah which surrounded an ancient +home on the Mississippi River. It was French in its style of +architecture, large and rambling, with no hint of modern improvements. + +The owner of the house was the only heir of a Creole planter. He had +come into possession of an inheritance consisting of vast baronial +estates, bank stock, and a large number of slaves. Eugene Leroy, being +deprived of his parents, was left, at an early age, to the care of a +distant relative, who had sent him to school and college, and who +occasionally invited him to spend his vacations at his home. But Eugene +generally declined his invitations, as he preferred spending his +vacations at the watering places in the North, with their fashionable +and not always innocent gayeties. Young, vivacious, impulsive, and +undisciplined, without the restraining influence of a mother's love or +the guidance of a father's hand, Leroy found himself, when his college +days were over, in the dangerous position of a young man with vast +possessions, abundant leisure, unsettled principles, and uncontrolled +desires. He had no other object than to extract from life its most +seductive draughts of ease and pleasure. His companion, who sat opposite +him on the verandah, quietly smoking a cigar, was a remote cousin, a +few years older than himself, the warmth of whose Southern temperament +had been modified by an infusion of Northern blood. + +Eugene was careless, liberal, and impatient of details, while his +companion and cousin, Alfred Lorraine, was selfish, eager, keen, and +alert; also hard, cold, methodical, and ever ready to grasp the main +chance. Yet, notwithstanding the difference between them, they had +formed a warm friendship for each other. + +"Alfred," said Eugene, "I am going to be married." + +Lorraine opened his eyes with sudden wonder, and exclaimed: "Well, +that's the latest thing out! Who is the fortunate lady who has bound you +with her silken fetters? Is it one of those beautiful Creole girls who +were visiting Augustine's plantation last winter? I watched you during +our visit there and thought that you could not be proof against their +attractions. Which is your choice? It would puzzle me to judge between +the two. They had splendid eyes, dark, luminous, and languishing; lovely +complexions and magnificent hair. Both were delightful in their manners, +refined and cultured, with an air of vivacity mingled with their repose +of manner which was perfectly charming. As the law only allows us one, +which is your choice? Miss Annette has more force than her sister, and +if I could afford the luxury of a wife she would be my choice." + +"Ah, Alf," said Eugene, "I see that you are a practical business man. In +marrying you want a wife to assist you as an efficient plantation +mistress. One who would tolerate no waste in the kitchen and no disorder +in the parlor." + +"Exactly so," responded Lorraine; "I am too poor to marry a mere parlor +ornament. You can afford to do it; I cannot." + +"Nonsense, if I were as poor as a church mouse I would marry the woman I +love." + +"Very fine sentiments," said Lorraine, "and were I as rich as you I +would indulge in them also. You know, when my father died I had great +expectations. We had always lived in good style, and I never thought for +a moment he was not a rich man, but when his estate was settled I found +it was greatly involved, and I was forced to face an uncertain future, +with scarcely a dollar to call my own. Land, negroes, cattle, and horses +all went under the hammer. The only thing I retained was the education I +received at the North; that was my father's best investment, and all my +stock in trade. With that only as an outfit, it would be madness for me +to think of marrying one of those lovely girls. They remind me of +beautiful canary birds, charming and pretty, but not fitted for the wear +and tear of plantation life. Well, which is your choice?" + +"Neither," replied Eugene. + +"Then, is it that magnificent looking widow from New Orleans, whom we +met before you had that terrible spell of sickness and to whom you +appeared so devoted?" + +"Not at all. I have not heard from her since that summer. She was +fascinating and handsome, but fearfully high strung." + +"Were you afraid of her?" + +"No; but I valued my happiness too much to trust it in her hands." + +"Sour grapes!" said Lorraine. + +"No! but I think that slavery and the lack of outside interests are +beginning to tell on the lives of our women. They lean too much on their +slaves, have too much irresponsible power in their hands, are narrowed +and compressed by the routine of plantation life and the lack of +intellectual stimulus." + +"Yes, Eugene, when I see what other women are doing in the fields of +literature and art, I cannot help thinking an amount of brain power has +been held in check among us. Yet I cannot abide those Northern women, +with their suffrage views and abolition cant. They just shock me." + +"But your mother was a Northern woman," said Eugene. + +"Yes; but she got bravely over her Northern ideas. As I remember her, +she was just as much a Southerner as if she had been to the manor born. +She came here as a school-teacher, but soon after she came she married +my father. He was easy and indulgent with his servants, and held them +with a very loose rein. But my mother was firm and energetic. She made +the niggers move around. No shirking nor dawdling with her. When my +father died, she took matters in hand, but she only outlived him a few +months. If she had lived I believe that she would have retrieved our +fortune. I know that she had more executive ability than my father. He +was very squeamish about selling his servants, but she would have put +every one of them in her pocket before permitting them to eat her out of +house and home. But whom _are_ you going to marry?" + +"A young lady who graduates from a Northern seminary next week," +responded Eugene. + +"I think you are very selfish," said Lorraine. "You might have invited +a fellow to go with you to be your best man." + +"The wedding is to be strictly private. The lady whom I am to marry has +negro blood in her veins." + +"The devil she has!" exclaimed Lorraine, starting to his feet, and +looking incredulously on the face of Leroy. "Are you in earnest? Surely +you must be jesting." + +"I am certainly in earnest," answered Eugene Leroy. "I mean every word I +say." + +"Oh, it can't be possible! Are you mad?" exclaimed Lorraine. + +"Never was saner in my life." + +"What under heaven could have possessed you to do such a foolish thing? +Where did she come from." + +"Right here, on this plantation. But I have educated and manumitted her, +and I intend marrying her." + +"Why, Eugene, it is impossible that you can have an idea of marrying one +of your slaves. Why, man, she is your property, to have and to hold to +all intents and purposes. Are you not satisfied with the power and +possession the law gives you?" + +"No. Although the law makes her helpless in my hands, to me her +defenselessness is her best defense." + +"Eugene, we have known each other all of our lives, and, although I have +always regarded you as eccentric, I never saw you so completely off your +balance before. The idea of you, with your proud family name, your vast +wealth in land and negroes, intending to marry one of them, is a mystery +I cannot solve. Do explain to me why you are going to take this +extremely strange and foolish step." + +"You never saw Marie?" + +"No; and I don't want to." + +"She is very beautiful. In the North no one would suspect that she has +one drop of negro blood in her veins, but here, where I am known, to +marry her is to lose caste. I could live with her, and not incur much if +any social opprobrium. Society would wink at the transgression, even if +after she had become the mother of my children I should cast her off and +send her and them to the auction block." + +"Men," replied Lorraine, "would merely shrug their shoulders; women +would say you had been sowing your wild oats. Your money, like charity, +would cover a multitude of faults." + +"But if I make her my lawful wife and recognize her children as my +legitimate heirs, I subject myself to social ostracism and a senseless +persecution. We Americans boast of freedom, and yet here is a woman whom +I love as I never loved any other human being, but both law and public +opinion debar me from following the inclination of my heart. She is +beautiful, faithful, and pure, and yet all that society will tolerate is +what I would scorn to do." + +"But has not society the right to guard the purity of its blood by the +rigid exclusion of an alien race?" + +"Excluding it! How?" asked Eugene. + +"By debarring it from social intercourse." + +"Perhaps it has," continued Eugene, "but should not society have a +greater ban for those who, by consorting with an alien race, rob their +offspring of a right to their names and to an inheritance in their +property, and who fix their social status among an enslaved and outcast +race? Don't eye me so curiously; I am not losing my senses." + +"I think you have done that already," said Lorraine. "Don't you know +that if she is as fair as a lily, beautiful as a houri, and chaste as +ice, that still she is a negro?" + +"Oh, come now; she isn't much of a negro." + +"It doesn't matter, however. One drop of negro blood in her veins curses +all the rest." + +"I know it," said Eugene, sadly, "but I have weighed the consequences, +and am prepared to take them." + +"Well, Eugene, your course is _so_ singular! I do wish that you would +tell me why you take this unprecedented step?" + +Eugene laid aside his cigar, looked thoughtfully at Lorraine, and said, +"Well, Alfred, as we are kinsmen and life-long friends, I will not +resent your asking my reason for doing that which seems to you the +climax of absurdity, and if you will have the patience to listen I will +tell you." + +"Proceed, I am all attention." + +"My father died," said Eugene, "as you know, when I was too young to +know his loss or feel his care and, being an only child, I was petted +and spoiled. I grew up to be wayward, self-indulgent, proud, and +imperious. I went from home and made many friends both at college and in +foreign lands. I was well supplied with money and, never having been +forced to earn it, was ignorant of its value and careless of its use. My +lavish expenditures and liberal benefactions attracted to me a number +of parasites, and men older than myself led me into the paths of vice, +and taught me how to gather the flowers of sin which blossom around the +borders of hell. In a word, I left my home unwarned and unarmed against +the seductions of vice. I returned an initiated devotee to debasing +pleasures. Years of my life were passed in foreign lands; years in which +my soul slumbered and seemed pervaded with a moral paralysis; years, the +memory of which fills my soul with sorrow and shame. I went to the +capitals of the old world to see life, but in seeing life I became +acquainted with death, the death of true manliness and self-respect. You +look astonished; but I tell you, Alf, there is many a poor clod-hopper, +on whom are the dust and grime of unremitting toil, who feels more +self-respect and true manliness than many of us with our family +prestige, social position, and proud ancestral halls. After I had lived +abroad for years, I returned a broken-down young man, prematurely old, +my constitution a perfect wreck. A life of folly and dissipation was +telling fearfully upon me. My friends shrank from me in dismay. I was +sick nigh unto death, and had it not been for Marie's care I am certain +that I should have died. She followed me down to the borders of the +grave, and won me back to life and health. I was slow in recovering and, +during the time, I had ample space for reflection, and the past unrolled +itself before me. I resolved, over the wreck and ruin of my past life, +to build a better and brighter future. Marie had a voice of remarkable +sweetness, although it lacked culture. Often when I was nervous and +restless I would have her sing some of those weird and plaintive +melodies which she had learned from the plantation negroes. Sometimes I +encouraged her to talk, and I was surprised at the native vigor of her +intellect. By degrees I became acquainted with her history. She was all +alone in the world. She had no recollection of her father, but +remembered being torn from her mother while clinging to her dress. The +trader who bought her mother did not wish to buy her. She remembered +having a brother, with whom she used to play, but she had been separated +from him also, and since then had lost all trace of them. After she was +sold from her mother she became the property of an excellent old lady, +who seems to have been very careful to imbue her mind with good +principles; a woman who loved purity, not only for her own daughters, +but also for the defenseless girls in her home. I believe it was the +lady's intention to have freed Marie at her death, but she died +suddenly, and, the estate being involved, she was sold with it and fell +into the hands of my agent. I became deeply interested in her when I +heard her story, and began to pity her." + +"And I suppose love sprang from pity." + +"I not only pitied her, but I learned to respect her. I had met with +beautiful women in the halls of wealth and fashion, both at home and +abroad, but there was something in her different from all my experience +of womanhood." + +"I should think so," said Lorraine, with a sneer; "but I should like to +know what it was." + +"It was something such as I have seen in old cathedrals, lighting up the +beauty of a saintly face. A light which the poet tells was never seen on +land or sea. I thought of this beautiful and defenseless girl adrift in +the power of a reckless man, who, with all the advantages of wealth and +education, had trailed his manhood in the dust, and she, with simple, +childlike faith in the Unseen, seemed to be so good and pure that she +commanded my respect and won my heart. In her presence every base and +unholy passion died, subdued by the supremacy of her virtue." + +"Why, Eugene, what has come over you? Talking of the virtue of these +quadroon girls! You have lived so long in the North and abroad, that you +seem to have lost the cue of our Southern life. Don't you know that +these beautiful girls have been the curse of our homes? You have no idea +of the hearts which are wrung by their presence." + +"But, Alfred, suppose it is so. Are they to blame for it? What can any +woman do when she is placed in the hands of an irresponsible master; +when she knows that resistance is vain? Yes, Alfred, I agree with you, +these women are the bane of our Southern civilization; but they are the +victims and we are the criminals." + +"I think from the airs that some of them put on when they get a chance, +that they are very willing victims." + +"So much the worse for our institution. If it is cruel to debase a +hapless victim, it is an increase of cruelty to make her contented with +her degradation. Let me tell you, Alf, you cannot wrong or degrade a +woman without wronging or degrading yourself." + +"What is the matter with you, Eugene? Are you thinking of taking +priest's orders?" + +"No, Alf," said Eugene, rising and rapidly pacing the floor, "you may +defend the system as much as you please, but you cannot deny that the +circumstances it creates, and the temptations it affords, are sapping +our strength and undermining our character." + +"That may be true," said Lorraine, somewhat irritably, "but you had +better be careful how you air your Northern notions in public." + +"Why so?" + +"Because public opinion is too sensitive to tolerate any such +discussions." + +"And is not that a proof that we are at fault with respect to our +institutions?" + +"I don't know. I only know we are living in the midst of a magazine of +powder, and it is not safe to enter it with a lighted candle." + +"Let me proceed with my story," continued Eugene. "During the long +months in which I was convalescing, I was left almost entirely to the +companionship of Marie. In my library I found a Bible, which I began to +read from curiosity, but my curiosity deepened into interest when I saw +the rapt expression on Marie's face. I saw in it a loving response to +sentiments to which I was a stranger. In the meantime my conscience was +awakened, and I scorned to take advantage of her defenselessness. I felt +that I owed my life to her faithful care, and I resolved to take her +North, manumit, educate, and marry her. I sent her to a Northern +academy, but as soon as some of the pupils found that she was colored, +objections were raised, and the principal was compelled to dismiss her. +During my search for a school I heard of one where three girls of mixed +blood were pursuing their studies, every one of whom would have been +ignominiously dismissed had their connection with the negro race been +known. But I determined to run no risks. I found a school where her +connection with the negro race would be no bar to her advancement. She +graduates next week, and I intend to marry her before I return home. She +was faithful when others were faithless, stood by me when others +deserted me to die in loneliness and neglect, and now I am about to +reward her care with all the love and devotion it is in my power to +bestow. That is why I am about to marry my faithful and devoted nurse, +who snatched me from the jaws of death. Now that I have told you my +story, what say you?" + +"Madness and folly inconceivable!" exclaimed Lorraine. + +"What to you is madness and folly is perfect sanity with me. After all, +Alf, is there not an amount of unreason in our prejudices?" + +"That may be true; but I wasn't reasoned into it, and I do not expect to +be reasoned out of it." + +"Will you accompany me North?" + +"No; except to put you in an insane asylum. You are the greatest crank +out," said Lorraine, thoroughly disgusted. + +"No, thank you; I'm all right. I expect to start North to-morrow. You +had better come and go." + +"I would rather follow you to your grave," replied Lorraine, hotly, +while an expression of ineffable scorn passed over his cold, proud face. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +SHADOWS IN THE HOME. + +On the next morning after this conversation Leroy left for the North, to +attend the commencement and witness the graduation of his ward. Arriving +in Ohio, he immediately repaired to the academy and inquired for the +principal. He was shown into the reception-room, and in a few moments +the principal entered. + +"Good morning," said Leroy, rising and advancing towards him; "how is my +ward this morning?" + +"She is well, and has been expecting you. I am glad you came in time for +the commencement. She stands among the foremost in her class." + +"I am glad to hear it. Will you send her this?" said Leroy, handing the +principal a card. The principal took the card and immediately left the +room. + +Very soon Leroy heard a light step, and looking up he saw a radiantly +beautiful woman approaching him. + +"Good morning, Marie," he said, greeting her cordially, and gazing upon +her with unfeigned admiration. "You are looking very handsome this +morning." + +"Do you think so?" she asked, smiling and blushing. "I am glad you are +not disappointed; that you do not feel your money has been spent in +vain." + +"Oh, no, what I have spent on your education has been the best +investment I ever made." + +"I hope," said Marie, "you may always find it so. But Mas----" + +"Hush!" said Leroy, laying his hand playfully on her lips; "you are +free. I don't want the dialect of slavery to linger on your lips. You +must not call me that name again." + +"Why not?" + +"Because I have a nearer and dearer one by which I wish to be called." + +Leroy drew her nearer, and whispered in her ear a single word. She +started, trembled with emotion, grew pale, and blushed painfully. An +awkward silence ensued, when Leroy, pressing her hand, exclaimed: "This +is the hand that plucked me from the grave, and I am going to retain it +as mine; mine to guard with my care until death us do part." + +Leroy looked earnestly into her eyes, which fell beneath his ardent +gaze. With admirable self-control, while a great joy was thrilling her +heart, she bowed her beautiful head and softly repeated, "Until death us +do part." + +Leroy knew Southern society too well to expect it to condone his offense +against its social customs, or give the least recognition to his wife, +however cultured, refined, and charming she might be, if it were known +that she had the least infusion of negro blood in her veins. But he was +brave enough to face the consequences of his alliance, and marry the +woman who was the choice of his heart, and on whom his affections were +centred. + +After Leroy had left the room, Marie sat awhile thinking of the +wonderful change that had come over her. Instead of being a lonely slave +girl, with the fatal dower of beauty, liable to be bought and sold, +exchanged, and bartered, she was to be the wife of a wealthy planter; a +man in whose honor she could confide, and on whose love she could lean. + +Very interesting and pleasant were the commencement exercises in which +Marie bore an important part. To enlist sympathy for her enslaved race, +and appear to advantage before Leroy, had aroused all of her energies. +The stimulus of hope, the manly love which was environing her life, +brightened her eye and lit up the wonderful beauty of her countenance. +During her stay in the North she had constantly been brought in contact +with anti-slavery people. She was not aware that there was so much +kindness among the white people of the country until she had tested it +in the North. From the anti-slavery people in private life she had +learned some of the noblest lessons of freedom and justice, and had +become imbued with their sentiments. Her theme was "American +Civilization, its Lights and Shadows." + +Graphically she portrayed the lights, faithfully she showed the shadows +of our American civilization. Earnestly and feelingly she spoke of the +blind Sampson in our land, who might yet shake the pillars of our great +Commonwealth. Leroy listened attentively. At times a shadow of annoyance +would overspread his face, but it was soon lost in the admiration her +earnestness and zeal inspired. Like Esther pleading for the lives of her +people in the Oriental courts of a despotic king, she stood before the +audience, pleading for those whose lips were sealed, but whose condition +appealed to the mercy and justice of the Nation. Strong men wiped the +moisture from their eyes, and women's hearts throbbed in unison with the +strong, brave words that were uttered in behalf of freedom for all and +chains for none. Generous applause was freely bestowed, and beautiful +bouquets were showered upon her. When it was known that she was to be +the wife of her guardian, warm congratulations were given, and earnest +hopes expressed for the welfare of the lonely girl, who, nearly all her +life, had been deprived of a parent's love and care. On the eve of +starting South Leroy procured a license, and united his destiny with the +young lady whose devotion in the darkest hour had won his love and +gratitude. + +In a few days Marie returned as mistress to the plantation from which +she had gone as a slave. But as unholy alliances were common in those +days between masters and slaves, no one took especial notice that Marie +shared Leroy's life as mistress of his home, and that the family silver +and jewelry were in her possession. But Leroy, happy in his choice, +attended to the interests of his plantation, and found companionship in +his books and in the society of his wife. A few male companions visited +him occasionally, admired the magnificent beauty of his wife, shook +their heads, and spoke of him as being very eccentric, but thought his +marriage the great mistake of his life. But none of his female friends +ever entered his doors, when it became known that Marie held the +position of mistress of his mansion, and presided at his table. But she, +sheltered in the warm clasp of loving arms, found her life like a joyous +dream. + +Into that quiet and beautiful home three children were born, unconscious +of the doom suspended over their heads. + +"Oh, how glad I am," Marie would often say, "that these children are +free. I could never understand how a cultured white man could have his +own children enslaved. I can understand how savages, fighting with each +other, could doom their vanquished foes to slavery, but it has always +been a puzzle to me how a civilized man could drag his own children, +bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh, down to the position of social +outcasts, abject slaves, and political pariahs." + +"But, Marie," said Eugene, "all men do not treat their illegitimate +children in the manner you describe. The last time I was in New Orleans +I met Henri Augustine at the depot, with two beautiful young girls. At +first I thought that they were his own children, they resembled him so +closely. But afterwards I noticed that they addressed him as 'Mister.' +Before we parted he told me that his wife had taken such a dislike to +their mother that she could not bear to see them on the place. At last, +weary of her dissatisfaction, he had promised to bring them to New +Orleans and sell them. Instead, he was going to Ohio to give them their +freedom, and make provision for their future." + +"What a wrong!" said Marie. + +"Who was wronged?" said Leroy, in astonishment. + +"Every one in the whole transaction," answered Marie. "Your friend +wronged himself by sinning against his own soul. He wronged his wife by +arousing her hatred and jealousy through his unfaithfulness. He wronged +those children by giving them the _status_ of slaves and outcasts. He +wronged their mother by imposing upon her the burdens and cares of +maternity without the rights and privileges of a wife. He made her crown +of motherhood a circlet of shame. Under other circumstances she might +have been an honored wife and happy mother. And I do think such men +wrong their own legitimate children by transmitting to them a weakened +moral fibre." + +"Oh, Marie, you have such an uncomfortable way of putting things. You +make me feel that we have done those things which we ought not to have +done, and have left undone those things which we ought to have done." + +"If it annoys you," said Marie, "I will stop talking." + +"Oh, no, go on," said Leroy, carelessly; and then he continued more +thoughtfully, "I know a number of men who have sent such children North, +and manumitted, educated, and left them valuable legacies. We are all +liable to err, and, having done wrong, all we can do is to make +reparation." + +"My dear husband, this is a wrong where reparation is impossible. +Neither wealth nor education can repair the wrong of a dishonored birth. +There are a number of slaves in this section who are servants to their +own brothers and sisters; whose fathers have robbed them not simply of +liberty but of the right of being well born. Do you think these things +will last forever?" + +"I suppose not. There are some prophets of evil who tell us that the +Union is going to dissolve. But I know it would puzzle their brains to +tell where the crack will begin. I reckon we'll continue to jog along as +usual. 'Cotton fights, and cotton conquers for American slavery.'" + +Even while Leroy dreamed of safety the earthquake was cradling its fire; +the ground was growing hollow beneath his tread; but his ear was too +dull to catch the sound; his vision too blurred to read the signs of the +times. + +"Marie," said Leroy, taking up the thread of the discourse, "slavery is +a sword that cuts both ways. If it wrongs the negro, it also curses the +white man. But we are in it, and what can we do?" + +"Get out of it as quickly as possible." + +"That is easier said than done. I would willingly free every slave on my +plantation if I could do so without expatriating them. Some of them have +wives and children on other plantations, and to free them is to separate +them from their kith and kin. To let them remain here as a free people +is out of the question. My hands are tied by law and custom." + +"Who tied them?" asked Marie. + +"A public opinion, whose meshes I cannot break. If the negro is the +thrall of his master, we are just as much the thralls of public +opinion." + +"Why do you not battle against public opinion, if you think it is +wrong?" + +"Because I have neither the courage of a martyr, nor the faith of a +saint; and so I drift along, trying to make the condition of our slaves +as comfortable as I possibly can. I believe there are slaves on this +plantation whom the most flattering offers of freedom would not entice +away." + +"I do not think," said Marie, "that some of you planters understand your +own slaves. Lying is said to be the vice of slaves. The more intelligent +of them have so learned to veil their feelings that you do not see the +undercurrent of discontent beneath their apparent good humor and +jollity. The more discontented they are, the more I respect them. To me +a contented slave is an abject creature. I hope that I shall see the +day when there will not be a slave in the land. I hate the whole thing +from the bottom of my heart." + +"Marie, your Northern education has unfitted you for Southern life. You +are free, yourself, and so are our children. Why not let well enough +alone?" + +"Because I love liberty, not only for myself but for every human being. +Think how dear these children are to me; and then for the thought to be +forever haunting me, that if you were dead they could be turned out of +doors and divided among your relatives. I sometimes lie awake at night +thinking of how there might be a screw loose somewhere, and, after all, +the children and I might be reduced to slavery." + +"Marie, what in the world is the matter with you? Have you had a +presentiment of my death, or, as Uncle Jack says, 'hab you seed it in a +vision?'" + +"No, but I have had such sad forebodings that they almost set me wild. +One night I dreamt that you were dead; that the lawyers entered the +house, seized our property, and remanded us to slavery. I never can be +satisfied in the South with such a possibility hanging over my head." + +"Marie, dear, you are growing nervous. Your imagination is too active. +You are left too much alone on this plantation. I hope that for your own +and the children's sake I will be enabled to arrange our affairs so as +to find a home for you where you will not be doomed to the social +isolation and ostracism that surround you here." + +"I don't mind the isolation for myself, but the children. You have +enjoined silence on me with respect to their connection with the negro +race, but I do not think we can conceal it from them very long. It will +not be long before Iola will notice the offishness of girls of her own +age, and the scornful glances which, even now, I think, are leveled at +her. Yesterday Harry came crying to me, and told me that one of the +neighbor's boys had called him 'nigger.'" + +A shadow flitted over Leroy's face, as he answered, somewhat soberly, +"Oh, Marie, do not meet trouble half way. I have manumitted you, and the +children will follow your condition. I have made you all legatees of my +will. Except my cousin, Alfred Lorraine, I have only distant relatives, +whom I scarcely know and who hardly know me." + +"Your cousin Lorraine? Are you sure our interests would be safe in his +hands?" + +"I think so; I don't think Alfred would do anything dishonorable." + +"He might not with his equals. But how many men would be bound by a +sense of honor where the rights of a colored woman are in question? Your +cousin was bitterly opposed to our marriage, and I would not trust any +important interests in his hands. I do hope that in providing for our +future you will make assurance doubly sure." + +"I certainly will, and all that human foresight can do shall be done for +you and our children." + +"Oh," said Marie, pressing to her heart a beautiful child of six +summers, "I think it would almost make me turn over in my grave to know +that every grace and charm which this child possesses would only be so +much added to her value as an article of merchandise." + +As Marie released the child from her arms she looked wonderingly into +her mother's face and clung closely to her, as if to find refuge from +some unseen evil. Leroy noticed this, and sighed unconsciously, as an +expression of pain flitted over his face. + +"Now, Marie," he continued, "stop tormenting yourself with useless +fears. Although, with all her faults, I still love the South, I will +make arrangements either to live North or go to France. There life will +be brighter for us all. Now, Marie, seat yourself at the piano and +sing:-- + + 'Sing me the songs that to me were so dear, + Long, long ago. + Sing me the songs I delighted to hear, + Long, long ago." + +As Marie sang the anxiety faded from her face, a sense of security stole +over her, and she sat among her loved ones a happy wife and mother. What +if no one recognized her on that lonely plantation! Her world was, +nevertheless, there. The love and devotion of her husband brightened +every avenue of her life, while her children filled her home with music, +mirth, and sunshine. + +Marie had undertaken their education, but she could not give them the +culture which comes from the attrition of thought, and from contact with +the ideas of others. Since her school-days she had read extensively and +thought much, and in solitude her thoughts had ripened. But for her +children there were no companions except the young slaves of the +plantation, and she dreaded the effect of such intercourse upon their +lives and characters. + +Leroy had always been especially careful to conceal from his children +the knowledge of their connection with the negro race. To Marie this +silence was oppressive. + +One day she said to him, "I see no other way of finishing the education +of these children than by sending them to some Northern school." + +"I have come," said Leroy, "to the same conclusion. We had better take +Iola and Harry North and make arrangements for them to spend several +years in being educated. Riches take wings to themselves and fly away, +but a good education is an investment on which the law can place no +attachment. As there is a possibility of their origin being discovered, +I will find a teacher to whom I can confide our story, and upon whom I +can enjoin secrecy. I want them well fitted for any emergency in life. +When I discover for what they have the most aptitude I will give them +especial training in that direction." + +A troubled look passed over the face of Marie, as she hesitatingly said: +"I am so afraid that you will regret our marriage when you fully realize +the complications it brings." + +"No, no," said Leroy, tenderly, "it is not that I regret our marriage, +or feel the least disdain for our children on account of the blood in +their veins; but I do not wish them to grow up under the contracting +influence of this race prejudice. I do not wish them to feel that they +have been born under a proscription from which no valor can redeem them, +nor that any social advancement or individual development can wipe off +the ban which clings to them. No, Marie, let them go North, learn all +they can, aspire all they may. The painful knowledge will come all too +soon. Do not forestall it. I want them simply to grow up as other +children; not being patronized by friends nor disdained by foes." + +"My dear husband, you may be perfectly right, but are you not preparing +our children for a fearful awakening? Are you not acting on the plan, +'After me the deluge?'" + +"Not at all, Marie. I want our children to grow up without having their +self-respect crushed in the bud. You know that the North is not free +from racial prejudice." + +"I know it," said Marie, sadly, "and I think one of the great mistakes +of our civilization is that which makes color, and not character, a +social test." + +"I think so, too," said Leroy. "The strongest men and women of a +down-trodden race may bare their bosoms to an adverse fate and develop +courage in the midst of opposition, but we have no right to subject our +children to such crucial tests before their characters are formed. For +years, when I lived abroad, I had an opportunity to see and hear of men +of African descent who had distinguished themselves and obtained a +recognition in European circles, which they never could have gained in +this country. I now recall the name of Ira Aldridge, a colored man from +New York City, who was covered with princely honors as a successful +tragedian. Alexander Dumas was not forced to conceal his origin to +succeed as a novelist. When I was in St. Petersburg I was shown the +works of Alexander Sergevitch, a Russian poet, who was spoken of as the +Byron of Russian literature, and reckoned one of the finest poets that +Russia has produced in this century. He was also a prominent figure in +fashionable society, and yet he was of African lineage. One of his +paternal ancestors was a negro who had been ennobled by Peter the +Great. I can't help contrasting the recognition which these men had +received with the treatment which has been given to Frederick Douglass +and other intelligent colored men in this country. With me the wonder is +not that they have achieved so little, but that they have accomplished +so much. No, Marie, we will have our children educated without being +subjected to the depressing influences of caste feeling. Perhaps by the +time their education is finished I will be ready to wind up my affairs +and take them abroad, where merit and ability will give them entrance +into the best circles of art, literature, and science." + +After this conversation Leroy and his wife went North, and succeeded in +finding a good school for their children. In a private interview he +confided to the principal the story of the cross in their blood, and, +finding him apparently free from racial prejudice, he gladly left the +children in his care. Gracie, the youngest child, remained at home, and +her mother spared no pains to fit her for the seminary against the time +her sister should have finished her education. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +THE PLAGUE AND THE LAW. + +Years passed, bringing no special change to the life of Leroy and his +wife. Shut out from the busy world, its social cares and anxieties, +Marie's life flowed peacefully on. Although removed by the protecting +care of Leroy from the condition of servitude, she still retained a deep +sympathy for the enslaved, and was ever ready to devise plans to +ameliorate their condition. + +Leroy, although in the midst of slavery, did not believe in the +rightfulness of the institution. He was in favor of gradual +emancipation, which would prepare both master and slave for a moral +adaptation to the new conditions of freedom. While he was willing to +have the old rivets taken out of slavery, politicians and planters were +devising plans to put in new screws. He was desirous of having it ended +in the States; they were clamorous to have it established in the +Territories. + +But so strong was the force of habit, combined with the feebleness of +his moral resistance and the nature of his environment, that instead of +being an athlete, armed for a glorious strife, he had learned to drift +where he should have steered, to float with the current instead of nobly +breasting the tide. He conducted his plantation with as much lenity as +it was possible to infuse into a system darkened with the shadow of a +million crimes. + +Leroy had always been especially careful not to allow his children to +spend their vacations at home. He and Marie generally spent that time +with them at some summer resort. + +"I would like," said Marie, one day, "to have our children spend their +vacations at home. Those summer resorts are pleasant, yet, after all, +there is no place like home. But," and her voice became tremulous, "our +children would now notice their social isolation and inquire the cause." +A faint sigh arose to the lips of Leroy, as she added: "Man is a social +being; I've known it to my sorrow." + +There was a tone of sadness in Leroy's voice, as he replied: "Yes, +Marie, let them stay North. We seem to be entering on a period fraught +with great danger. I cannot help thinking and fearing that we are on the +eve of a civil war." + +"A civil war!" exclaimed Marie, with an air of astonishment. "A civil +war about what?" + +"Why, Marie, the thing looks to me so wild and foolish I hardly know how +to explain. But some of our leading men have come to the conclusion that +North and South had better separate, and instead of having one to have +two independent governments. The spirit of secession is rampant in the +land. I do not know what the result will be, and I fear it will bode no +good to the country. Between the fire-eating Southerners and the +meddling Abolitionists we are about to be plunged into a great deal of +trouble. I fear there are breakers ahead. The South is dissatisfied with +the state of public opinion in the North. We are realizing that we are +two peoples in the midst of one nation. William H. Seward has +proclaimed that the conflict between freedom and slavery is +irrepressible, and that the country cannot remain half free and half +slave." + +"How will _you_ go?" asked Marie. + +"My heart is with the Union. I don't believe in secession. There has +been no cause sufficient to justify a rupture. The North has met us time +and again in the spirit of concession and compromise. When we wanted the +continuance of the African slave trade the North conceded that we should +have twenty years of slave-trading for the benefit of our plantations. +When we wanted more territory she conceded to our desires and gave us +land enough to carve out four States, and there yet remains enough for +four more. When we wanted power to recapture our slaves when they fled +North for refuge, Daniel Webster told Northerners to conquer their +prejudices, and they gave us the whole Northern States as a hunting +ground for our slaves. The Presidential chair has been filled the +greater number of years by Southerners, and the majority of offices has +been shared by our men. We wanted representation in Congress on a basis +which would include our slaves, and the North, whose suffrage represents +only men, gave us a three-fifths representation for our slaves, whom we +count as property. I think the step will be suicidal. There are +extremists in both sections, but I hope, between them both, wise +counsels and measures will prevail." + +Just then Alfred Lorraine was ushered into the room. Occasionally he +visited Leroy, but he always came alone. His wife was the only daughter +of an enterprising slave-trader, who had left her a large amount of +property. + +Her social training was deficient, her education limited, but she was +too proud of being a pure white woman to enter the home of Leroy, with +Marie as its presiding genius. Lorraine tolerated Marie's presence as a +necessary evil, while to her he always seemed like a presentiment of +trouble. With his coming a shadow fell upon her home, hushing its music +and darkening its sunshine. A sense of dread oppressed her. There came +into her soul an intuitive feeling that somehow his coming was fraught +with danger. When not peering around she would often catch his eyes bent +on her with a baleful expression. + +Leroy and his cousin immediately fell into a discussion on the condition +of the country. Lorraine was a rank Secessionist, ready to adopt the +most extreme measures of the leaders of the movement, even to the +reopening of the slave trade. Leroy thought a dissolution of the Union +would involve a fearful expenditure of blood and treasure for which, +before the eyes of the world, there could be no justification. The +debate lasted late into the night, leaving both Lorraine and Leroy just +as set in their opinions as they were before they began. Marie listened +attentively awhile, then excused herself and withdrew. + +After Lorraine had gone Marie said: "There is something about your +cousin that fills me with nameless dread. I always feel when he enters +the room as if some one were walking over my grave. I do wish he would +stay at home." + +"I wish so, too, since he disturbs you. But, Marie, you are growing +nervous. How cold your hands are. Don't you feel well?" + +"Oh, yes; I am only a little faint. I wish he would never come. But, as +he does, I must make the best of it." + +"Yes, Marie, treat him well for my sake. He is the only relative I have +who ever darkens our doors." + +"I have no faith in his friendship for either myself or my children. I +feel that while he makes himself agreeable to you he hates me from the +bottom of his heart, and would do anything to get me out of the way. Oh, +I am _so_ glad I am your lawful wife, and that you married me before you +brought me back to this State! I believe that if you were gone he +wouldn't have the least scruple against trying to prove our marriage +invalid and remanding us to slavery." + +Leroy looked anxiously and soberly at his wife, and said: "Marie, I do +not think so. Your life is too lonely here. Write your orders to New +Orleans, get what you need for the journey, and let us spend the summer +somewhere in the North." + +Just then Marie's attention was drawn to some household matters, and it +was a short time before she returned. + +"Tom," continued Leroy, "has just brought the mail, and here is a letter +from Iola." + +Marie noticed that he looked quite sober as he read, and that an +expression of vexation was lingering on his lips. + +"What is the matter?" asked Marie. + +"Nothing much; only a tempest in a teapot. The presence of a colored +girl in Mr. Galen's school has caused a breeze of excitement. You know +Mr. Galen is quite an Abolitionist, and, being true to his principles, +he could not consistently refuse when a colored woman applied for her +daughter's admission. Of course, when he took her he was compelled to +treat her as any other pupil. In so doing he has given mortal offense to +the mother of two Southern boys. She has threatened to take them away if +the colored girl remains." + +"What will he do about it?" asked Marie, thoughtfully. + +"Oh, it is a bitter pill, but I think he will have to swallow it. He is +between two fires. He cannot dismiss her from the school and be true to +his Abolition principles; yet if he retains her he will lose his +Southern customers, and I know he cannot afford to do that." + +"What does Iola say?" + +"He has found another boarding place for her, but she is to remain in +the school. He had to throw that sop to the whale." + +"Does she take sides against the girl?" + +"No, I don't think she does. She says she feels sorry for her, and that +she would hate to be colored. 'It is so hard to be looked down on for +what one can't help.'" + +"Poor child! I wish we could leave the country. I never would consent to +her marrying any one without first revealing to him her connection with +the negro race. This is a subject on which I am not willing to run any +risks." + +"My dear Marie, when you shall have read Iola's letter you will see it +is more than a figment of my imagination that has made me so loth to +have our children know the paralyzing power of caste." + +Leroy, always liberal with his wife and children, spared neither pains +nor expense to have them prepared for their summer outing. Iola was to +graduate in a few days. Harry was attending a school in the State of +Maine, and his father had written to him, apprising him of his intention +to come North that season. In a few days Leroy and his wife started +North, but before they reached Vicksburg they were met by the +intelligence that the yellow fever was spreading in the Delta, and that +pestilence was breathing its bane upon the morning air and distilling +its poison upon the midnight dews. + +"Let us return home," said Marie. + +"It is useless," answered Leroy. "It is nearly two days since we left +home. The fever is spreading south of us with fearful rapidity. To +return home is to walk into the jaws of death. It was my intention to +have stopped at Vicksburg, but now I will go on as soon as I can make +the connections." + +Early next morning Leroy and his wife started again on their journey. +The cars were filled with terror-stricken people who were fleeing from +death, when death was everywhere. They fled from the city only to meet +the dreaded apparition in the country. As they journeyed on Leroy grew +restless and feverish. He tried to brace himself against the infection +which was creeping slowly but insidiously into his life, dulling his +brain, fevering his blood, and prostrating his strength. But vain were +all his efforts. He had no armor strong enough to repel the invasion of +death. They stopped at a small town on the way and obtained the best +medical skill and most careful nursing, but neither skill nor art +availed. On the third day death claimed Leroy as a victim, and Marie +wept in hopeless agony over the grave of her devoted husband, whose sad +lot it was to die from home and be buried among strangers. + +But before he died he placed his will in Marie's hands, saying: "I have +left you well provided for. Kiss the children for me and bid them +good-bye." + +He tried to say a parting word to Gracie, but his voice failed, and he +fainted into the stillness of death. A mortal paleness overspread his +countenance, on which had already gathered the shadows that never +deceive. In speechless agony Marie held his hand until it released its +pressure in death, and then she stood alone beside her dead, with all +the bright sunshine of her life fading into the shadows of the grave. +Heart-broken and full of fearful forebodings, Marie left her cherished +dead in the quiet village of H---- and returned to her death-darkened +home. + +It was a lovely day in June, birds were singing their sweetest songs, +flowers were breathing their fragrance on the air, when Mam Liza, +sitting at her cabin-door, talking with some of the house servants, saw +a carriage approaching, and wondered who was coming. + +"I wonder," she said, excitedly, "whose comin' to de house when de folks +is done gone." + +But her surprise was soon changed to painful amazement, when she saw +Marie, robed in black, alighting from the carriage, and holding Gracie +by the hand. She caught sight of the drooping head and grief-stricken +face, and rushed to her, exclaiming:-- + +"Whar's Marse Eugene?" + +"Dead," said Marie, falling into Mammy Liza's arms, sobbing out, "dead! +_ died_ of yellow fever." + +A wild burst of sorrow came from the lips of the servants, who had +drawn near. + +"Where is he?" said Mam Liza, speaking like one suddenly bewildered. + +"He is buried in H----. I could not bring him home," said Marie. + +"My pore baby," said Mam Liza, with broken sobs. "I'se drefful sorry. My +heart's most broke into two." Then, controlling herself, she dismissed +the servants who stood around, weeping, and led Marie to her room. + +"Come, honey, lie down an' lem'me git yer a cup ob tea." + +"Oh, no; I don't want anything," said Marie, wringing her hands in +bitter agony. + +"Oh, honey," said Mam Liza, "yer musn't gib up. Yer knows whar to put +yer trus'. Yer can't lean on de arm of flesh in dis tryin' time." +Kneeling by the side of her mistress she breathed out a prayer full of +tenderness, hope, and trust. + +Marie grew calmer. It seemed as if that earnest, trustful prayer had +breathed into her soul a feeling of resignation. + +Gracie stood wonderingly by, vainly trying to comprehend the great +sorrow which was overwhelming the life of her mother. + +After the first great burst of sorrow was over, Marie sat down to her +desk and wrote a letter to Iola, informing her of her father's death. By +the time she had finished it she grew dizzy and faint, and fell into a +swoon. Mammy Liza tenderly laid her on the bed, and helped restore her +to consciousness. + +Lorraine, having heard of his cousin's death, came immediately to see +Marie. She was too ill to have an interview with him, but he picked up +the letter she had written and obtained Iola's address. + +Lorraine made a careful investigation of the case, to ascertain whether +Marie's marriage was valid. To his delight he found there was a flaw in +the marriage and an informality in the manumission. He then determined +to invalidate Marie's claim, and divide the inheritance among Leroy's +white relations. In a short time strangers, distant relatives of her +husband, became frequent visitors at the plantation, and made themselves +offensively familiar. At length the dreadful storm burst. + +Alfred Lorraine entered suit for his cousin's estate, and for the +remanding of his wife and children to slavery. In a short time he came +armed with legal authority, and said to Marie:-- + +"I have come to take possession of these premises." + +"By what authority?" she gasped, turning deathly pale. He hesitated a +moment, as if his words were arrested by a sense of shame. + +"By what authority?" she again demanded. + +"By the authority of the law," answered Lorraine, "which has decided +that Leroy's legal heirs are his white blood relations, and that your +marriage is null and void." + +"But," exclaimed Marie, "I have our marriage certificate. I was Leroy's +lawful wife." + +"Your marriage certificate is not worth the paper it is written on." + +"Oh, you must be jesting, cruelly jesting. It can't be so." + +"Yes; it is so. Judge Starkins has decided that your manumission is +unlawful; your marriage a bad precedent, and inimical to the welfare of +society; and that you and your children are remanded to slavery." + +Marie stood as one petrified. She seemed a statue of fear and despair. +She tried to speak, reached out her hand as if she were groping in the +dark, turned pale as death as if all the blood in her veins had receded +to her heart, and, with one heart-rending cry of bitter agony, she fell +senseless to the floor. Her servants, to whom she had been so kind in +her days of prosperity, bent pityingly over her, chafed her cold hands, +and did what they could to restore her to consciousness. For awhile she +was stricken with brain fever, and her life seemed trembling on its +frailest cord. + +Gracie was like one perfectly dazed. When not watching by her mother's +bedside she wandered aimlessly about the house, growing thinner day by +day. A slow fever was consuming her life. Faithfully and carefully Mammy +Liza watched over her, and did all she could to bring smiles to her lips +and light to her fading eyes, but all in vain. Her only interest in life +was to sit where she could watch her mother as she tossed to and fro in +delirium, and to wonder what had brought the change in her once happy +home. Finally she, too, was stricken with brain fever, which intervened +as a mercy between her and the great sorrow that was overshadowing her +young life. Tears would fill the servants' eyes as they saw the dear +child drifting from them like a lovely vision, too bright for earth's +dull cares and weary, wasting pain. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + +SCHOOL-GIRL NOTIONS. + +During Iola's stay in the North she found a strong tide of opposition +against slavery. Arguments against the institution had entered the +Church and made legislative halls the arenas of fierce debate. The +subject had become part of the social converse of the fireside, and had +enlisted the best brain and heart of the country. Anti-slavery +discussions were pervading the strongest literature and claiming, a +place on the most popular platforms. + +Iola, being a Southern girl and a slave-holder's daughter, always +defended slavery when it was under discussion. + +"Slavery can't be wrong," she would say, "for my father is a +slave-holder, and my mother is as good to our servants as she can be. My +father often tells her that she spoils them, and lets them run over her. +I never saw my father strike one of them. I love my mammy as much as I +do my own mother, and I believe she loves us just as if we were her own +children. When we are sick I am sure that she could not do anything more +for us than she does." + +"But, Iola," responded one of her school friends, "after all, they are +not free. Would you be satisfied to have the most beautiful home, the +costliest jewels, or the most elegant wardrobe if you were a slave?" + +"Oh, the cases are not parallel. Our slaves do not want their freedom. +They would not take it if we gave it to them." + +"That is not the case with them all. My father has seen men who have +encountered almost incredible hardships to get their freedom. Iola, did +you ever attend an anti-slavery meeting?" + +"No; I don't think these Abolitionists have any right to meddle in our +affairs. I believe they are prejudiced against us, and want to get our +property. I read about them in the papers when I was at home. I don't +want to hear my part of the country run down. My father says the slaves +would be very well contented if no one put wrong notions in their +heads." + +"I don't know," was the response of her friend, "but I do not think that +that slave mother who took her four children, crossed the Ohio River on +the ice, killed one of the children and attempted the lives of the other +two, was a contented slave. And that other one, who, running away and +finding herself pursued, threw herself over the Long Bridge into the +Potomac, was evidently not satisfied. I do not think the numbers who are +coming North on the Underground Railroad can be very contented. It is +not natural for people to run away from happiness, and if they are so +happy and contented, why did Congress pass the Fugitive Slave Bill?" + +"Well, I don't think," answered Iola, "any of our slaves would run away. +I know mamma don't like slavery very much. I have often heard her say +that she hoped the time would come when there would not be a slave in +the land. My father does not think as she does. He thinks slavery is not +wrong if you treat them well and don't sell them from their families. I +intend, after I have graduated, to persuade pa to buy a house in New +Orleans, and spend the winter there. You know this will be my first +season out, and I hope that you will come and spend the winter with me. +We will have such gay times, and you will so fall in love with our sunny +South that you will never want to come back to shiver amid the snows and +cold of the North. I think one winter in the South would cure you of +your Abolitionism." + +"Have you seen her yet?" + +This question was asked by Louis Bastine, an attorney who had come North +in the interests of Lorraine. The scene was the New England village +where Mr. Galen's academy was located, and which Iola was attending. +This question was addressed to Camille Lecroix, Bastine's intimate +friend, who had lately come North. He was the son of a planter who lived +near Leroy's plantation, and was familiar with Iola's family history. +Since his arrival North, Bastine had met him and communicated to him his +intentions. + +"Yes; just caught a glimpse of her this morning as she was going down +the street," was Camille's reply. + +"She is a most beautiful creature," said Louis Bastine. "She has the +proud poise of Leroy, the most splendid eyes I ever saw in a woman's +head, lovely complexion, and a glorious wealth of hair. She would bring +$2000 any day in a New Orleans market." + +"I always feel sorry," said Camille, "when I see one of those Creole +girls brought to the auction block. I have known fathers who were deeply +devoted to their daughters, but who through some reverse of fortune were +forced to part with them, and I always think the blow has been equally +terrible on both sides. I had a friend who had two beautiful daughters +whom he had educated in the North. They were cultured, and really belles +in society. They were entirely ignorant of their lineage, but when their +father died it was discovered that their mother had been a slave. It was +a fearful blow. They would have faced poverty, but the knowledge of +their tainted blood was more than they could bear." + +"What became of them?" + +"They both died, poor girls. I believe they were as much killed by the +blow as if they had been shot. To tell you the truth, Bastine, I feel +sorry for this girl. I don't believe she has the least idea of her negro +blood." + +"No, Leroy has been careful to conceal it from her," replied Bastine. + +"Is that so?" queried Camille. "Then he has made a great mistake." + +"I can't help that," said Bastine; "business is business." + +"How can you get her away?" asked Camille. "You will have to be very +cautious, because if these pesky Abolitionists get an inkling of what +you're doing they will balk your game double quick. And when you come to +look at it, isn't it a shame to attempt to reduce that girl to slavery? +She is just as white as we are, as good as any girl in the land, and +better educated than thousands of white girls. A girl with her apparent +refinement and magnificent beauty, were it not for the cross in her +blood, I would be proud to introduce to our set. She would be the +sensation of the season. I believe to-day it would be easier for me to +go to the slums and take a young girl from there, and have her +introduced as my wife, than to have society condone the offense if I +married that lovely girl. There is not a social circle in the South that +would not take it as a gross insult to have her introduced into it." + +"Well," said Bastine, "my plan is settled. Leroy has never allowed her +to spend her vacations at home. I understand she is now very anxious to +get home, and, as Lorraine's attorney, I have come on his account to +take her home." + +"How will you do it?" + +"I shall tell her her father is dangerously ill, and desires her to come +as quickly as possible." + +"And what then?" + +"Have her inventoried with the rest of the property." + +"Don't she know that her father is dead?" + +"I think not," said Bastine. "She is not in mourning, but appeared very +light-hearted this morning, laughing and talking with two other girls. I +was struck with her great beauty, and asked a gentleman who she was. He +said, 'Miss Leroy, of Mississippi.' I think Lorraine has managed the +affair so as to keep her in perfect ignorance of her father's death. I +don't like the job, but I never let sentiment interfere with my work." + +Poor Iola! When she said slavery was not a bad thing, little did she +think that she was destined to drink to its bitter dregs the cup she was +so ready to press to the lips of others. + +"How do you think she will take to her situation?" asked Camille. + +"O, I guess," said Bastine, "she will sulk and take it pretty hard at +first; but if she is managed right she will soon get over it. Give her +plenty of jewelry, fine clothes, and an easy time." + +"All this business must be conducted with the utmost secrecy and speed. +Her mother could not have written to her, for she has been suffering +with brain fever and nervous prostration since Leroy's death. Lorraine +knows her market value too well, and is too shrewd to let so much +property pass out of his hands without making an effort to retain it." + +"Has she any brothers or sisters?" + +"Yes, a brother," replied Bastine; "but he is at another school, and I +have no orders from Lorraine in reference to him. If I can get the girl +I am willing to let well enough alone. I dread the interview with the +principal more than anything else. I am afraid he will hem and haw, and +have his doubts. Perhaps, when he sees my letters and hears my story, I +can pull the wool over his eyes." + +"But, Louis, this is a pitiful piece of business. I should hate to be +engaged in it." + +A deep flush of shame overspread for a moment the face of Lorraine's +attorney, as he replied: "I don't like the job, but I have undertaken +it, and must go through with it." + +"I see no '_must_' about it. Were I in your place I would wash my hands +of the whole business." + +"I can't afford it," was Bastine's hard, business-like reply. On the +next morning after this conversation between these two young men, Louis +Bastine presented himself to the principal of the academy, with the +request that Iola be permitted to leave immediately to attend the +sick-bed of her father, who was dangerously ill. The principal +hesitated, but while he was deliberating, a telegram, purporting to come +from Iola's mother, summoned Iola to her father's bedside without delay. +The principal, set at rest in regard to the truthfulness of the +dispatch, not only permitted but expedited her departure. + +Iola and Bastine took the earliest train, and traveled without pausing +until they reached a large hotel in a Southern city. There they were +obliged to wait a few hours until they could resume their journey, the +train having failed to make connection. Iola sat in a large, lonely +parlor, waiting for the servant to show her to a private room. She had +never known a great sorrow. Never before had the shadows of death +mingled with the sunshine of her life. + +Anxious, travel-worn, and heavy-hearted, she sat in an easy chair, with +nothing to divert her from the grief and anxiety which rendered every +delay a source of painful anxiety. + +"Oh, I hope that he will be alive and growing better!" was the thought +which kept constantly revolving in her mind, until she fell asleep. In +her dreams she was at home, encircled in the warm clasp of her father's +arms, feeling her mother's kisses lingering on her lips, and hearing the +joyous greetings of the servants and Mammy Liza's glad welcome as she +folded her to her heart. From this dream of bliss she was awakened by a +burning kiss pressed on her lips, and a strong arm encircling her. +Gazing around and taking in the whole situation, she sprang from her +seat, her eyes flashing with rage and scorn, her face flushed to the +roots of her hair, her voice shaken with excitement, and every nerve +trembling with angry emotion. + +"How dare you do such a thing! Don't you know if my father were here he +would crush you to the earth?" + +"Not so fast, my lovely tigress," said Bastine, "your father knew what +he was doing when he placed you in my charge." + +"My father made a great mistake, if he thought he had put me in charge +of a gentleman." + +"I am your guardian for the present," replied Bastine. "I am to see you +safe home, and then my commission ends." + +"I wish it were ended now," she exclaimed, trembling with anger and +mortification. Her voice was choked by emotion, and broken by smothered +sobs. Louis Bastine thought to himself, "she is a real spitfire, but +beautiful even in her wrath." + +During the rest of her journey Iola preserved a most freezing reserve +towards Bastine. At length the journey was ended. Pale and anxious she +rode up the avenue which led to her home. + +A strange silence pervaded the place. The servants moved sadly from +place to place, and spoke in subdued tones. The windows were heavily +draped with crape, and a funeral air pervaded the house. + +Mammy Liza met her at the door, and, with streaming eyes and convulsive +sobs, folded her to her heart, as Iola exclaimed, in tones of hopeless +anguish:-- + +"Oh, papa's dead!" + +"Oh, my pore baby!" said mammy, "ain't you hearn tell 'bout it? Yore +par's dead, an' your mar's bin drefful sick. She's better now." + +Mam Liza stepped lightly into Mrs. Leroy's room, and gently apprised her +of Iola's arrival. In a darkened room lay the stricken mother, almost +distracted by her late bereavement. + +"Oh, Iola," she exclaimed, as her daughter entered, "is this you? I am +so sorry you came." + +Then, burying her head in Iola's bosom, she wept convulsively. "Much as +I love you," she continued, between her sobs, "and much as I longed to +see you, I am sorry you came." + +"Why, mother," replied Iola, astonished, "I received your telegram last +Wednesday, and I took the earliest train I could get." + +"My dear child, I never sent you a telegram. It was a trick to bring you +down South and reduce you to slavery." + +Iola eyed her mother curiously. What did she mean? Had grief dethroned +her reason? Yet her eye was clear, her manner perfectly rational. + +Marie saw the astounded look on Iola's face, and nerving herself to the +task, said: "Iola, I must tell you what your father always enjoined me +to be silent about. I did not think it was the wisest thing, but I +yielded to his desires. I have negro blood in my veins. I was your +father's slave before I married him. His relatives have set aside his +will. The courts have declared our marriage null and void and my +manumission illegal, and we are all to be remanded to slavery." + +An expression of horror and anguish swept over Iola's face, and, turning +deathly pale, she exclaimed, "Oh, mother, it can't be so! you must be +dreaming!" + +"No, my child; it is a terrible reality." + +Almost wild with agony, Iola paced the floor, as the fearful truth broke +in crushing anguish upon her mind. Then bursting into a paroxysm of +tears succeeded by peals of hysterical laughter, said:-- + +"I used to say that slavery is right. I didn't know what I was talking +about." Then growing calmer, she said, "Mother, who is at the bottom of +this downright robbery?" + +"Alfred Lorraine; I have always dreaded that man, and what I feared has +come to pass. Your father had faith in him; I never had." + +"But, mother, could we not contest his claim. You have your marriage +certificate and papa's will." + +"Yes, my dear child, but Judge Starkins has decided that we have no +standing in the court, and no testimony according to law." + +"Oh, mother, what can I do?" + +"Nothing, my child, unless you can escape to the North." + +"And leave you?" + +"Yes." + +"Mother, I will never desert you in your hour of trial. But can nothing +be done? Had father no friends who would assist us?" + +"None that I know of. I do not think he had an acquaintance who approved +of our marriage. The neighboring planters have stood so aloof from me +that I do not know where to turn for either help or sympathy. I believe +it was Lorraine who sent the telegram. I wrote to you as soon as I could +after your father's death, but fainted just as I finished directing the +letter. I do not think he knows where your brother is, and, if possible, +he must not know. If you can by any means, _do_ send a letter to Harry +and warn him not to attempt to come home. I don't know how you will +succeed, for Lorraine has us all under surveillance. But it is according +to law." + +"What law, mother?" + +"The law of the strong against the weak." + +"Oh, mother, it seems like a dreadful dream, a fearful nightmare! But I +cannot shake it off. Where is Gracie?" + +"The dear child has been running down ever since her papa's death. She +clung to me night and day while I had the brain fever, and could not be +persuaded to leave me. She hardly ate anything for more than a week. She +has been dangerously ill for several days, and the doctor says she +cannot live. The fever has exhausted all her rallying power, and yet, +dear as she is to me, I would rather consign her to the deepest grave +than see her forced to be a slave." + +"So would I. I wish I could die myself." + +"Oh, Iola, do not talk so. Strive to be a Christian, to have faith in +the darkest hour. Were it not for my hope of heaven I couldn't stand all +this trouble." + +"Mother, are these people Christians who made these laws which are +robbing us of our inheritance and reducing us to slavery? If this is +Christianity I hate and despise it. Would the most cruel heathen do +worse?" + +"My dear child, I have not learned my Christianity from them. I have +learned it at the foot of the cross, and from this book," she said, +placing a New Testament in Iola's hands. "Some of the most beautiful +lessons of faith and trust I have ever learned were from among our lowly +people in their humble cabins." + +"Mamma!" called a faint voice from the adjoining room. Marie +immediately arose and went to the bedside of her sick child, where Mammy +Liza was holding her faithful vigils. The child had just awakened from a +fitful sleep. + +"I thought," she said, "that I heard Iola's voice. Has she come?" + +"Yes, darling; do you want to see her?" + +"Oh, yes," she said, as a bright smile broke over her dying features. + +Iola passed quickly into the room. Gracie reached out her thin, +bloodless hand, clasped Iola's palm in hers, and said: "I am so glad you +have come. Dear Iola, stand by mother. You and Harry are all she has. It +is not hard to die. You and mother and Harry must meet me in heaven." + +Swiftly the tidings went through the house that Gracie was dying. The +servants gathered around her with tearful eyes, as she bade them all +good-bye. When she had finished, and Mammy had lowered the pillow, an +unwonted radiance lit up her eye, and an expression of ineffable +gladness overspread her face, as she murmured: "It is beautiful, so +beautiful!" Fainter and fainter grew her voice, until, without a +struggle or sigh, she passed away beyond the power of oppression and +prejudice. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +A REJECTED SUITOR. + +Very unexpected was Dr. Gresham's proposal to Iola. She had heartily +enjoyed his society and highly valued his friendship, but he had never +been associated in her mind with either love or marriage. As he held her +hand in his a tell-tale flush rose to her cheek, a look of grateful +surprise beamed from her eye, but it was almost immediately succeeded by +an air of inexpressible sadness, a drooping of her eyelids, and an +increasing pallor of her cheek. She withdrew her hand from his, shook +her head sadly, and said:-- + +"No, Doctor; that can never be. I am very grateful to you for your +kindness. I value your friendship, but neither gratitude nor friendship +is love, and I have nothing more than those to give." + +"Not at present," said Dr. Gresham; "but may I not hope your friendship +will ripen into love?" + +"Doctor, I could not promise. I do not think that I should. There are +barriers between us that I cannot pass. Were you to know them I think +you would say the same." + +Just then the ambulance brought in a wounded scout, and Iola found +relief from the wounds of her own heart in attending to his. + +Dr. Gresham knew the barrier that lay between them. It was one which his +love had surmounted. But he was too noble and generous to take advantage +of her loneliness to press his suit. He had lived in a part of the +country where he had scarcely ever seen a colored person, and around the +race their misfortunes had thrown a halo of romance. To him the negro +was a picturesque being, over whose woes he had wept when a child, and +whose wrongs he was ready to redress when a man. But when he saw the +lovely girl who had been rescued by the commander of the post from the +clutches of slavery, all the manhood and chivalry in his nature arose in +her behalf, and he was ready to lay on the altar of her heart his first +grand and overmastering love. Not discouraged by her refusal, but +determined to overcome her objections, Dr. Gresham resolved that he +would abide his time. + +Iola was not indifferent to Dr. Gresham. She admired his manliness and +respected his character. He was tall and handsome, a fine specimen of +the best brain and heart of New England. He had been nurtured under +grand and ennobling influences. His father was a devoted Abolitionist. +His mother was kind-hearted, but somewhat exclusive and aristocratic. +She would have looked upon his marriage with Iola as a mistake and +feared that such an alliance would hurt the prospects of her daughters. + +During Iola's stay in the North, she had learned enough of the racial +feeling to influence her decision in reference to Dr. Gresham's offer. +Iola, like other girls, had had her beautiful day-dreams before she was +rudely awakened by the fate which had dragged her into the depths of +slavery. In the chambers of her imagery were pictures of noble deeds; of +high, heroic men, knightly, tender, true, and brave. In Dr. Gresham she +saw the ideal of her soul exemplified. But in her lonely condition, +with all its background of terrible sorrow and deep abasement, she had +never for a moment thought of giving or receiving love from one of that +race who had been so lately associated in her mind with horror, +aversion, and disgust. His kindness to her had been a new experience. +His companionship was an unexpected pleasure. She had learned to enjoy +his presence and to miss him when absent, and when she began to question +her heart she found that unconsciously it was entwining around him. + +"Yes," she said to herself, "I do like him; but I can never marry him. +To the man I marry my heart must be as open as the flowers to the sun. I +could not accept his hand and hide from him the secret of my birth; and +I could not consent to choose the happiest lot on earth without first +finding my poor heart-stricken and desolate mother. Perhaps some day I +may have the courage to tell him my sad story, and then make my heart +the sepulchre in which to bury all the love which might have gladdened +and brightened my whole life." + +During the sad and weary months which ensued while the war dragged its +slow length along, Dr. Gresham and Iola often met by the bedsides of the +wounded and dying, and sometimes he would drop a few words at which her +heart would beat quicker and her cheek flush more vividly. But he was so +kind, tender, and respectful, that Iola had no idea he knew her race +affiliations. She knew from unmistakable signs that Dr. Gresham had +learned to love her, and that he had power to call forth the warmest +affection of her soul; but she fought with her own heart and repressed +its rising love. She felt that it was best for his sake that they should +not marry. When she saw the evidences of his increasing love she +regretted that she had not informed him at the first of the barrier that +lay between them; it might have saved him unnecessary suffering. +Thinking thus, Iola resolved, at whatever cost of pain it might be to +herself, to explain to Dr. Gresham what she meant by the insurmountable +barrier. Iola, after a continuous strain upon her nervous system for +months, began to suffer from general debility and nervous depression. +Dr. Gresham saw the increasing pallor on Iola's cheek and the loss of +buoyancy in her step. One morning, as she turned from the bed of a young +soldier for whom she had just written a letter to his mother, there was +such a look of pity and sorrow on her face that Dr. Gresham's whole +heart went out in sympathy for her, and he resolved to break the silence +he had imposed upon himself. + +"Iola," he said, and there was a depth of passionate tenderness in his +voice, a volume of unexpressed affection in his face, "you are wronging +yourself. You are sinking beneath burdens too heavy for you to bear. It +seems to me that besides the constant drain upon your sympathies there +is some great sorrow preying upon your life; some burden that ought to +be shared." He gazed upon her so ardently that each cord of her heart +seemed to vibrate, and unbidden tears sprang to her lustrous eyes, as +she said, sadly:-- + +"Doctor, you are right." + +"Iola, my heart is longing to lift those burdens from your life. Love, +like faith, laughs at impossibilities. I can conceive of no barrier too +high for my love to surmount. Consent to be mine, as nothing else on +earth is mine." + +"Doctor, you know not what you ask," replied Iola. "Instead of coming +into this hospital a self-sacrificing woman, laying her every gift and +advantage upon the altar of her country, I came as a rescued slave, glad +to find a refuge from a fate more cruel than death; a fate from which I +was rescued by the intervention of my dear dead friend, Thomas Anderson. +I was born on a lonely plantation on the Mississippi River, where the +white population was very sparse. We had no neighbors who ever visited +us; no young white girls with whom I ever played in my childhood; but, +never having enjoyed such companionship, I was unconscious of any sense +of privation. Our parents spared no pains to make the lives of their +children (we were three) as bright and pleasant as they could. Our home +was so happy. We had a large number of servants, who were devoted to us. +I never had the faintest suspicion that there was any wrongfulness in +slavery, and I never dreamed of the dreadful fate which broke in a storm +of fearful anguish over our devoted heads. Papa used to take us to New +Orleans to see the Mardi Gras, and while there we visited the theatres +and other places of amusement and interest. At home we had books, +papers, and magazines to beguile our time. Perfectly ignorant of my +racial connection, I was sent to a Northern academy, and soon made many +friends among my fellow-students. Companionship with girls of my own age +was a new experience, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I spent several years +in New England, and was busily preparing for my commencement exercises +when my father was snatched away--died of yellow fever on his way North +to witness my graduation. Through a stratagem, I was brought hurriedly +from the North, and found that my father was dead; that his nearest +kinsman had taken possession of our property; that my mother's marriage +had been declared illegal, because of an imperceptible infusion of negro +blood in her veins; and that she and her children had been remanded to +slavery. I was torn from my mother, sold as a slave, and subjected to +cruel indignities, from which I was rescued and a place given to me in +this hospital. Doctor, I did not choose my lot in life, but I have no +other alternative than to accept it. The intense horror and agony I felt +when I was first told the story are over. Thoughts and purposes have +come to me in the shadow I should never have learned in the sunshine. I +am constantly rousing myself up to suffer and be strong. I intend, when +this conflict is over, to cast my lot with the freed people as a helper, +teacher, and friend. I have passed through a fiery ordeal, but this +ministry of suffering will not be in vain. I feel that my mind has +matured beyond my years. I am a wonder to myself. It seems as if years +had been compressed into a few short months. In telling you this, do you +not, can you not, see that there is an insurmountable barrier between +us?" + +"No, I do not," replied Dr. Gresham. "I love you for your own sake. And +with this the disadvantages of birth have nothing to do." + +"You say so now, and I believe that you are perfectly sincere. Today +your friendship springs from compassion, but, when that subsides, might +you not look on me as an inferior?" + +"Iola, you do not understand me. You think too meanly of me. You must +not judge me by the worst of my race. Surely our country has produced a +higher type of manhood than the men by whom you were tried and tempted." + +"Tried, but not tempted," said Iola, as a deep flush overspread her +face; "I was never tempted. I was sold from State to State as an article +of merchandise. I had outrages heaped on me which might well crimson the +cheek of honest womanhood with shame, but I never fell into the clutches +of an owner for whom I did not feel the utmost loathing and intensest +horror. I have heard men talk glibly of the degradation of the negro, +but there is a vast difference between abasement of condition and +degradation of character. I was abased, but the men who trampled on me +were the degraded ones." + +"But, Iola, you must not blame all for what a few have done." + +"A few have done? Did not the whole nation consent to our abasement?" +asked Iola, bitterly. + +"No, Miss Iola, we did not all consent to it. Slavery drew a line of +cleavage in this country. Although we were under one government we were +farther apart in our sentiments than if we had been divided by lofty +mountains and separated by wide seas. And had not Northern sentiment +been brought to bear against the institution, slavery would have been +intact until to-day." + +"But, Doctor, the negro is under a social ban both North and South. Our +enemies have the ear of the world, and they can depict us just as they +please." + +"That is true; but the negro has no other alternative than to make +friends of his calamities. Other men have plead his cause, but out of +the race must come its own defenders. With them the pen must be +mightier than the sword. It is the weapon of civilization, and they must +use it in their own defense. We cannot tell what is in them until they +express themselves." + +"Yes, and I think there is a large amount of latent and undeveloped +ability in the race, which they will learn to use for their own benefit. +This my hospital experience has taught me." + +"But," said Dr. Gresham, "they must learn to struggle, labor, and +achieve. By facts, not theories, they will be judged in the future. The +Anglo-Saxon race is proud, domineering, aggressive, and impatient of a +rival, and, as I think, has more capacity for dragging down a weaker +race than uplifting it. They have been a conquering and achieving +people, marvelous in their triumphs of mind over matter. They have +manifested the traits of character which are developed by success and +victory." + +"And yet," said Iola, earnestly, "I believe the time will come when the +civilization of the negro will assume a better phase than you +Anglo-Saxons possess. You will prove unworthy of your high vantage +ground if you only use your superior ability to victimize feebler races +and minister to a selfish greed of gold and a love of domination." + +"But, Iola," said Dr. Gresham, a little impatiently, "what has all this +to do with our marriage? Your complexion is as fair as mine. What is to +hinder you from sharing my Northern home, from having my mother to be +your mother?" The tones of his voice grew tender, as he raised his eyes +to Iola's face and anxiously awaited her reply. + +"Dr. Gresham," said Iola, sadly, "should the story of my life be +revealed to your family, would they be willing to ignore all the +traditions of my blood, forget all the terrible humiliations through +which I have passed? I have too much self-respect to enter your home +under a veil of concealment. I have lived in New England. I love the +sunshine of her homes and the freedom of her institutions. But New +England is not free from racial prejudice, and I would never enter a +family where I would be an unwelcome member." + +"Iola, dear, you have nothing to fear in that direction." + +"Doctor," she said, and a faint flush rose to her cheek, "suppose we +should marry, and little children in after years should nestle in our +arms, and one of them show unmistakable signs of color, would you be +satisfied?" + +She looked steadfastly into his eyes, which fell beneath her +truth-seeking gaze. His face flushed as if the question had suddenly +perplexed him. Iola saw the irresolution on his face, and framed her +answer accordingly. + +"Ah, I see," she said, "that you are puzzled. You had not taken into +account what might result from such a marriage. I will relieve you from +all embarrassment by simply saying I cannot be your wife. When the war +is over I intend to search the country for my mother. Doctor, were you +to give me a palace-like home, with velvet carpets to hush my tread, and +magnificence to surround my way, I should miss her voice amid all other +tones, her presence amid every scene. Oh, you do not know how hungry my +heart is for my mother! Were I to marry you I would carry an aching +heart into your home and dim its brightness. I have resolved never to +marry until I have found my mother. The hope of finding her has colored +all my life since I regained my freedom. It has helped sustain me in the +hour of fearful trial. When I see her I want to have the proud +consciousness that I bring her back a heart just as loving, faithful, +and devoted as the last hour we parted." + +"And is this your final answer?" + +"It is. I have pledged my life to that resolve, and I believe time and +patience will reward me." + +There was a deep shadow of sorrow and disappointment on the face of Dr. +Gresham as he rose to leave. For a moment he held her hand as it lay +limp in his own. If she wavered in her determination it was only for a +moment. No quivering of her lip or paling of her cheek betrayed any +struggle of her heart. Her resolve was made, and his words were +powerless to swerve her from the purpose of her soul. + +After Dr. Gresham had gone Iola went to her room and sat buried in +thought. It seemed as if the fate of Tantalus was hers, without his +crimes. Here she was lonely and heart-stricken, and unto her was +presented the offer of love, home, happiness, and social position; the +heart and hand of a man too noble and generous to refuse her +companionship for life on account of the blood in her veins. Why should +she refuse these desirable boons? But, mingling with these beautiful +visions of manly love and protecting care she saw the anguish of her +heart-stricken mother and the pale, sweet face of her dying sister, as +with her latest breath she had said, "Iola, stand by mamma!" + +"No, no," she said to herself; "I was right to refuse Dr. Gresham. How +dare I dream of happiness when my poor mamma's heart may be slowly +breaking? I should be ashamed to live and ashamed to die were I to +choose a happy lot for myself and leave poor mamma to struggle alone. I +will never be satisfied till I get tidings of her. And when I have found +her I will do all I can to cheer and brighten the remnant of her life." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + +HARRY LEROY. + +It was several weeks after Iola had written to her brother that her +letter reached him. The trusty servant to whom she delivered it watched +his opportunity to mail it. At last he succeeded in slipping it into +Lorraine's mail and dropping them all into the post office together. +Harry was studying at a boys' academy in Maine. His father had given +that State the preference because, while on a visit there, he had been +favorably impressed with the kindness and hospitality of the people. He +had sent his son a large sum of money, and given him permission to spend +awhile with some school-chums till he was ready to bring the family +North, where they could all spend the summer together. Harry had +returned from his visit, and was looking for letters and remittances +from home, when a letter, all crumpled, was handed him by the principal +of the academy. He recognized his sister's handwriting and eagerly +opened the letter. As he read, he turned very pale; then a deep flush +overspread his face and an angry light flashed from his eyes. As he read +on, his face became still paler; he gasped for breath and fell into a +swoon. Appalled at the sudden change which had swept over him like a +deadly sirocco, the principal rushed to the fallen boy, picked up the +missive that lay beside him, and immediately rang for help and +dispatched for the doctor. The doctor came at once and was greatly +puzzled. Less than an hour before, he had seen him with a crowd of +merry, laughter-loving boys, apparently as light-hearted and joyous as +any of them; now he lay with features drawn and pinched, his face deadly +pale, as if some terrible suffering had sent all the blood in his veins +to stagnate around his heart. Harry opened his eyes, shuddered, and +relapsed into silence. The doctor, all at sea in regard to the cause of +the sudden attack, did all that he could to restore him to consciousness +and quiet the perturbation of his spirit. He succeeded, but found he was +strangely silent. A terrible shock had sent a tremor through every +nerve, and the doctor watched with painful apprehension its effect upon +his reason. Giving him an opiate and enjoining that he should be kept +perfectly quiet, the doctor left the room, sought the principal, and +said:-- + +"Mr. Bascom, here is a case that baffles my skill. I saw that boy pass +by my window not more than half an hour ago, full of animation, and now +he lies hovering between life and death. I have great apprehension for +his reason. Can you throw any light on the subject?" + +Mr. Bascom hesitated. + +"I am not asking you as a matter of idle curiosity, but as a physician. +I must have all the light I can get in making my diagnosis of the case." + +The principal arose, went to his desk, took out the letter which he had +picked up from the floor, and laid it in the physician's hand. As the +doctor read, a look of indignant horror swept over his face. Then he +said: "Can it be possible! I never suspected such a thing. It must be a +cruel, senseless hoax." + +"Doctor," said Mr. Bascom, "I have been a life-long Abolitionist and +have often read of the cruelties and crimes of American slavery, but +never before did I realize the low moral tone of the social life under +which such shameless cruelties could be practiced on a defenseless widow +and her orphaned children. Let me read the letter again. Just look at +it, all tear-blotted and written with a trembling hand:-- + + + 'DEAR BROTHER:--I have dreadful news for you and I hardly know how + to tell it. Papa and Gracie are both dead. He died of yellow fever. + Mamma is almost distracted. Papa's cousin has taken possession of + our property, and instead of heirs we are chattels. Mamma has + explained the whole situation to me. She was papa's slave before she + married. He loved her, manumitted, educated, and married her. When + he died Mr. Lorraine entered suit for his property and Judge + Starkins has decided in his favor. The decree of the court has made + their marriage invalid, robbed us of our inheritance, and remanded + us all to slavery. Mamma is too wretched to attempt to write + herself, but told me to entreat you not to attempt to come home. You + can do us no good, and that mean, cruel Lorraine may do you much + harm. Don't attempt, I beseech you, to come home. Show this letter + to Mr. Bascom and let him advise you what to do. But don't, for our + sake, attempt to come home. + + 'Your heart-broken sister, + + 'IOLA LEROY.'" + + +"This," said the doctor, "is a very awkward affair. The boy is too ill +to be removed. It is doubtful if the nerves which have trembled with +such fearful excitement will ever recover their normal condition. It is +simply a work of mercy to watch over him with the tenderest care." + +Fortunately for Harry he had fallen into good hands, and the most tender +care and nursing were bestowed upon him. For awhile Harry was strangely +silent, never referring to the terrible misfortune which had so suddenly +overshadowed his life. It seemed as if the past were suddenly blotted +out of his memory. But he was young and of an excellent constitution, +and in a few months he was slowly recovering. + +"Doctor," said he one day, as the physician sat at his bedside, "I seem +to have had a dreadful dream, and to have dreamt that my father was +dead, and my mother and sister were in terrible trouble, but I could not +help them. Doctor, was it a dream, or was it a reality? It could not +have been a dream, for when I fell asleep the grass was green and the +birds were singing, but now the winds are howling and the frost is on +the ground. Doctor, tell me how it is? How long have I been here?" + +Sitting by his bedside, and taking his emaciated hand in his, the doctor +said, in a kind, fatherly tone: "My dear boy, you have been very ill, +and everything depends on your keeping quiet, very quiet." + +As soon as he was strong enough the principal gave him his letter to +read. + +"But, Mr. Bascom," Harry said, "I do not understand this. It says my +mother and father were legally married. How could her marriage be set +aside and her children robbed of their inheritance? This is not a +heathen country. I hardly think barbarians would have done any worse; +yet this is called a Christian country." + +"Christian in name," answered the principal. "When your father left you +in my care, knowing that I was an Abolitionist, he confided his secret +to me. He said that life was full of vicissitudes, and he wished you to +have a good education. He wanted you and your sister to be prepared for +any emergency. He did not wish you to know that you had negro blood in +your veins. He knew that the spirit of caste pervaded the nation, North +and South, and he was very anxious to have his children freed from its +depressing influences. He did not intend to stay South after you had +finished your education." + +"But," said Harry, "I cannot understand. If my mother was lawfully +married, how could they deprive her of her marital rights?" + +"When Lorraine," continued Mr. Bascom, "knew your father was dead, all +he had to do was to find a flaw in her manumission, and, of course, the +marriage became illegal. She could not then inherit property nor +maintain her freedom; and her children followed her condition." + +Harry listened attentively. Things which had puzzled him once now became +perfectly clear. He sighed heavily, and, turning to the principal, said: +"I see things in a new light. Now I remember that none of the planters' +wives ever visited my mother; and we never went to church except when my +father took us to the Cathedral in New Orleans. My father was a +Catholic, but I don't think mamma is." + +"Now, Harry," said the principal, "life is before you. If you wish to +stay North, I will interest friends in your behalf, and try to get you a +situation. Going South is out of the question. It is probable that by +this time your mother and sister are removed from their home. You are +powerless to fight against the law that enslaved them. Should you fall +into the clutches of Lorraine, he might give you a great deal of +trouble. You would be pressed into the Confederate service to help them +throw up barricades, dig trenches, and add to the strength of those who +enslaved your mother and sister." + +"Never! never!" cried Harry. "I would rather die than do it! I should +despise myself forever if I did." + +"Numbers of our young men," said Mr. Bascom, "have gone to the war which +is now raging between North and South. You have been sick for several +months, and much has taken place of which you are unaware. Would you +like to enlist?" + +"I certainly would; not so much for the sake of fighting for the +Government, as with the hope of finding my mother and sister, and +avenging their wrongs. I should like to meet Lorraine on the +battle-field." + +"What kind of a regiment would you prefer, white or colored?" + +Harry winced when the question was asked. He felt the reality of his +situation as he had not done before. It was as if two paths had suddenly +opened before him, and he was forced to choose between them. On one side +were strength, courage, enterprise, power of achievement, and memories +of a wonderful past. On the other side were weakness, ignorance, +poverty, and the proud world's social scorn. He knew nothing of colored +people except as slaves, and his whole soul shrank from equalizing +himself with them. He was fair enough to pass unchallenged among the +fairest in the land, and yet a Christless prejudice had decreed that he +should be a social pariah. He sat, thoughtful and undecided, as if a +great struggle were going on in his mind. Finally the principal said, "I +do not think that you should be assigned to a colored regiment because +of the blood in your veins, but you will have, in such a regiment, +better facilities for finding your mother and sister." + +"You are right, Mr. Bascom. To find my mother and sister I call no task +too heavy, no sacrifice too great." + +Since Harry had come North he had learned to feel profound pity for the +slave. But there is a difference between looking on a man as an object +of pity and protecting him as such, and being identified with him and +forced to share his lot. To take his place with them on the arena of +life was the test of his life, but love was stronger than pride. + +His father was dead. His mother and sister were enslaved by a mockery of +justice. It was more than a matter of choice where he should stand on +the racial question. He felt that he must stand where he could strike +the most effective blow for their freedom. With that thought strong in +his mind, and as soon as he recovered, he went westward to find a +colored regiment. He told the recruiting officer that he wished to be +assigned to a colored regiment. + +"Why do you wish that," said the officer, looking at Harry with an air +of astonishment. + +"Because I am a colored man." + +The officer look puzzled. It was a new experience. He had seen colored +men with fair complexions anxious to lose their identity with the +colored race and pose as white men, but here was a man in the flush of +his early manhood, to whom could come dreams of promotion from a simple +private to a successful general, deliberately turning his back upon +every gilded hope and dazzling opportunity, to cast his lot with the +despised and hated negro. + +"I do not understand you," said the officer. "Surely you are a white +man, and, as such, I will enlist you in a white regiment." + +"No," said Harry, firmly, "I am a colored man, and unless I can be +assigned to a colored regiment I am not willing to enter the army." + +"Well," said the officer, "you are the d----d'st fool I ever saw--a man +as white as you are turning his back upon his chances of promotion! But +you can take your choice." + +So Harry was permitted to enter the army. By his promptness and valor he +soon won the hearts of his superior officers, and was made drill +sergeant. Having nearly all of his life been used to colored people, and +being taught by his mother to be kind and respectful to them, he was +soon able to gain their esteem. He continued in the regiment until Grant +began the task of opening the Mississippi. After weeks of fruitless +effort, Grant marched his army down the west side of the river, while +the gunboats undertook the perilous task of running the batteries. Men +were found for the hour. The volunteers offered themselves in such +numbers that lots were cast to determine who should have the opportunity +to enlist in an enterprise so fraught with danger. Harry was one on whom +the lot fell. + +Grant crossed the river below, coiled his forces around Vicksburg like +a boa-constrictor, and held it in his grasp. After forty-seven days of +endurance the city surrendered to him. Port Hudson, after the surrender +of Vicksburg, gave up the unequal contest, and the Mississippi was open +to the Gulf. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + +ROBERT AND HIS COMPANY. + +"Good morning, gentlemen," said Robert Johnson, as he approached Colonel +Robinson, the commander of the post, who was standing at the door of his +tent, talking with Captain Sybil. + +"Good morning," responded Colonel Robinson, "I am glad you have come. I +was just about to send for you. How is your company getting on?" + +"First rate, sir," replied Robert. + +"In good health?" + +"Excellent. They are all in good health and spirits. Our boys are used +to hardship and exposure, and the hope of getting their freedom puts new +snap into them." + +"I am glad of it," said Colonel Robinson. "They make good fighters and +very useful allies. Last night we received very valuable intelligence +from some fugitives who had escaped through the Rebel lines. I do not +think many of the Northern people realize the service they have been to +us in bringing information and helping our boys when escaping from Rebel +prisons. I never knew a full-blooded negro to betray us. A month ago, +when we were encamped near the Rebel lines, a colored woman managed +admirably to keep us posted as to the intended movements of the enemy. +She was engaged in laundry work, and by means of hanging her sheets in +different ways gave us the right signals." + +"I hope," said Captain Sybil, "that the time will come when some +faithful historian will chronicle all the deeds of daring and-service +these people have performed during this struggle, and give them due +credit therefor." + +"Our great mistake," said Colonel Robinson, "was our long delay in +granting them their freedom, and even what we have done is only partial. +The border States still retain their slaves. We ought to have made a +clean sweep of the whole affair. Slavery is a serpent which we nourished +in its weakness, and now it is stinging us in its strength." + +"I think so, too," said Captain Sybil. "But in making his proclamation +of freedom, perhaps Mr. Lincoln went as far as he thought public opinion +would let him." + +"It is remarkable," said Colonel Robinson, "how these Secesh hold out. +It surprises me to see how poor white men, who, like the negroes, are +victims of slavery, rally around the Stripes and Bars. These men, I +believe, have been looked down on by the aristocratic slaveholders, and +despised by the well-fed and comfortable slaves, yet they follow their +leaders into the very jaws of death; face hunger, cold, disease, and +danger; and all for what? What, under heaven, are they fighting for? +Now, the negro, ignorant as he is, has learned to regard our flag as a +banner of freedom, and to look forward to his deliverance as a +consequence of the overthrow of the Rebellion." + +"I think," said Captain Sybil "that these ignorant white men have been +awfully deceived. They have had presented to their imaginations utterly +false ideas of the results of Secession, and have been taught that its +success would bring them advantages which they had never enjoyed in the +Union." + +"And I think," said Colonel Robinson, "that the women and ministers have +largely fed and fanned the fires of this Rebellion, and have helped to +create a public opinion which has swept numbers of benighted men into +the conflict. Well might one of their own men say, 'This is a rich man's +war and a poor man's fight.' They were led into it through their +ignorance, and held in it by their fears." + +"I think," said Captain Sybil, "that if the public school had been +common through the South this war would never have occurred. Now things +have reached such a pass that able-bodied men must report at +headquarters, or be treated as deserters. Their leaders are desperate +men, of whom it has been said: 'They have robbed the cradle and the +grave.'" + +"They are fighting against fearful odds," said Colonel Robinson, "and +their defeat is only a question of time." + +"As soon," said Robert, "as they fired on Fort Sumter, Uncle Daniel, a +dear old father who had been praying and hoping for freedom, said to me: +'Dey's fired on Fort Sumter, an' mark my words, Bob, de Norf's boun' +ter whip.'" + +"Had we freed the slaves at the outset," said Captain Sybil, "we +wouldn't have given the Rebels so much opportunity to strengthen +themselves by means of slave labor in raising their crops, throwing up +their entrenchments, and building their fortifications. Slavery was a +deadly cancer eating into the life of the nation; but, somehow, it had +cast such a glamour over us that we have acted somewhat as if our +national safety were better preserved by sparing the cancer than by +cutting it out." + +"Political and racial questions have sadly complicated this matter," +said Colonel Robinson. "The North is not wholly made up of anti-slavery +people. At the beginning of this war we were not permeated with justice, +and so were not ripe for victory. The battle of Bull Run inaugurated the +war by a failure. Instead of glory we gathered shame, and defeat in +place of victory." + +"We have been slow," said Captain Sybil, "to see our danger and to do +our duty. Our delay has cost us thousands of lives and millions of +dollars. Yet it may be it is all for the best. Our national wound was +too deep to be lightly healed. When the President issued his +Emancipation Proclamation my heart overflowed with joy, and I said: +'This is the first bright rift in the war cloud.'" + +"And did you really think that they would accept the terms of freedom +and lay down their arms?" asked Robert. + +"I hardly thought they would," continued Captain Sybil. "I did not think +that their leaders would permit it. I believe the rank and file of their +army are largely composed of a mass of ignorance, led, manipulated, and +moulded by educated and ambitious wickedness. In attempting to overthrow +the Union, a despotism and reign of terror were created which +encompassed them as fetters of iron, and they will not accept the +conditions until they have reached the last extremity. I hardly think +they are yet willing to confess that such extremity has been reached." + +"Captain," said Robert, as they left Colonel Robinson's tent, "I have +lived all my life where I have had a chance to hear the 'Secesh' talk, +and when they left their papers around I used to read everything I could +lay my hands on. It seemed to me that the big white men not only ruled +over the poor whites and made laws for them, but over the whole nation." + +"That was so," replied Captain Sybil. "The North was strong but +forbearing. It was busy in trade and commerce, and permitted them to +make the Northern States hunting-grounds for their slaves. When we sent +back Simms and Burns from beneath the shadow of Bunker Hill Monument and +Faneuil Hall, they mistook us; looked upon us as a lot of +money-grabbers, who would be willing to purchase peace at any price. I +do not believe when they fired on the 'Star of the West' that they had +the least apprehension of the fearful results which were to follow their +madness and folly." + +"Well, Captain," asked Robert, "if the free North would submit to be +called on to help them catch their slaves, what could be expected of us, +who all our lives had known no other condition than that of slavery? How +much braver would you have been, if your first recollections had been +those of seeing your mother maltreated, your father cruelly beaten, or +your fellow-servants brutally murdered? I wonder why they never enslaved +the Indians!" + +"You are mistaken, Robert, if you think the Indians were never enslaved. +I have read that the Spaniards who visited the coasts of America +kidnapped thousands of Indians, whom they sent to Europe and the West +Indies as slaves. Columbus himself, we are informed, captured five +hundred natives, and sent them to Spain. The Indian had the lesser power +of endurance, and Las Cassas suggested the enslavement of the negro, +because he seemed to possess greater breadth of physical organization +and stronger power of endurance. Slavery was an old world's crime which, +I have heard, the Indians never practiced among themselves. Perhaps it +would have been harder to reduce them to slavery and hold them in +bondage when they had a vast continent before them, where they could +hide in the vastnesses of its mountains or the seclusion of its forests, +than it was for white men to visit the coasts of Africa and, with their +superior knowledge, obtain cargoes of slaves, bring them across the +ocean, hem them in on the plantations, and surround them with a pall of +dense ignorance." + +"I remember," said Robert, "in reading a history I once came across at +our house, that when the Africans first came to this country they did +not all speak one language. Some had only met as mutual enemies. They +were not all one color, their complexions ranging from tawny yellow to +deep black." + +"Yes," said Captain Sybil, "and in dealing with the negro we wanted his +labor; in dealing with the Indian we wanted his lands. For one we had +weapons of war; for the other we had real and invisible chains, the +coercion of force, and the terror of the unseen world." + +"That's exactly so, Captain! When I was a boy I used to hear the old +folks tell what would happen to bad people in another world; about the +devil pouring hot lead down people's throats and stirring them up with a +pitch-fork; and I used to get so scared that I would be afraid to go to +bed at night. I don't suppose the Indians ever heard of such things, +or, if they had, I never heard of them being willing to give away all +their lands on earth, and quietly wait for a home in heaven." + +"But, surely, Robert, you do not think religion has degraded the negro?" + +"Oh, I wouldn't say that. But a man is in a tight fix when he takes his +part, like Nat Turner or Denmark Veasy, and is made to fear that he will +be hanged in this world and be burned in the next. And, since I come to +think of it, we colored folks used to get mightily mixed up about our +religion. Mr. Gundover had on his plantation a real smart man. He was +religious, but he would steal." + +"Oh, Robert," queried Sybil, "how could he be religious and steal?" + +"He didn't think," retorted Robert, "it was any harm to steal from his +master. I guess he thought it was right to get from his master all he +could. He would have thought it wrong to steal from his fellow-servants. +He thought that downright mean, but I wouldn't have insured the lives of +Gundover's pigs and chickens, if Uncle Jack got them in a tight place. +One day there was a minister stopping with Mr. Gundover. As a matter of +course, in speaking of his servants, he gave Jack's sins an airing. He +would much rather confess Jack's sins than his own. Now Gundover wanted +to do two things, save his pigs and poultry, and save Jack's soul. He +told the minister that Jack was a liar and a thief, and gave the +minister a chance to talk with Uncle Jack about the state of his soul. +Uncle Jack listened very quietly, and when taxed with stealing his +master's wheat he was ready with an answer. 'Now Massa Parker,' said +Jack, 'lem'me tell yer jis' how it war 'bout dat wheat. Wen ole Jack +com'd down yere, dis place war all growed up in woods. He go ter work, +clared up de groun' an' plowed, an' planted, an' riz a crap, an' den wen +it war all done, he hadn't a dollar to buy his ole woman a gown; an' he +jis' took a bag ob wheat.'" + +"What did Mr. Parker say?" asked Sybil. + +"I don't know, though I reckon he didn't think it was a bad steal after +all, but I don't suppose he told Jack so. When he came to the next +point, about Jack's lying, I suppose he thought he had a clear case; but +Jack was equal to the occasion." + +"How did he clear up that charge?" interrogated Captain Sybil. + +"Finely. I think if he had been educated he would have made a first-rate +lawyer. He said, 'Marse Parker, dere's old Joe. His wife don't lib on +dis plantation. Old Joe go ober ter see her, but he stayed too long, an' +didn't git back in time fer his work. Massa's oberseer kotched him an' +cut him all up. When de oberseer went inter de house, pore old Joe war +all tired an' beat up, an' so he lay down by de fence corner and go ter +sleep. Bimeby Massa oberseer com'd an' axed, "all bin a workin' libely?" +I say "Yes, Massa."' Then said Mr. Parker, 'You were lying, Joe had been +sleeping, not working.' 'I know's dat, but ef I tole on Joe, Massa +oberseer cut him all up again, and Massa Jesus says, "Blessed am de +Peacemaker."' I heard, continued Robert, that Mr. Parker said to +Gundover, 'You seem to me like a man standing in a stream where the +blood of Jesus can reach you, but you are standing between it and your +slaves. How will you answer that in the Day of Judgment?'" + +"What did Gundover say?" asked Captain Sybil. + +"He turned pale, and said, 'For God's sake don't speak of the Day of +Judgment in connection with slavery.'" + +Just then a messenger brought a communication to Captain Sybil. He read +it attentively, and, turning to Robert, said, "Here are orders for an +engagement at Five Forks to-morrow. Oh, this wasting of life and +scattering of treasure might have been saved had we only been wiser. But +the time is passing. Look after your company, and see that everything is +in readiness as soon as possible." + +Carefully Robert superintended the arrangements for the coming battle of +a strife which for years had thrown its crimson shadows over the land. +The Rebels fought with a valor worthy of a better cause. The disaster of +Bull Run had been retrieved. Sherman had made his famous march to the +sea. Fighting Joe Hooker had scaled the stronghold of the storm king and +won a victory in the palace chamber of the clouds; the Union soldiers +had captured Columbia, replanted the Stars and Stripes in Charleston, +and changed that old sepulchre of slavery into the cradle of a new-born +freedom. Farragut had been as triumphant on water as the other generals +had been victorious on land, and New Orleans had been wrenched from the +hands of the Confederacy. The Rebel leaders were obstinate. Misguided +hordes had followed them to defeat and death. Grant was firm and +determined to fight it out if it took all summer. The closing battles +were fought with desperate courage and firm resistance, but at last the +South was forced to succumb. On the ninth day of April, 1865, General +Lee surrendered to General Grant. The lost cause went down in blood and +tears, and on the brows of a ransomed people God poured the chrism of a +new era, and they stood a race newly anointed with freedom. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + +AFTER THE BATTLE. + +Very sad and heart-rending were the scenes with which Iola came in +constant contact. Well may Christian men and women labor and pray for +the time when nations shall learn war no more; when, instead of bloody +conflicts, there shall be peaceful arbitration. The battle in which +Robert fought, after his last conversation with Captain Sybil, was one +of the decisive struggles of the closing conflict. The mills of doom and +fate had ground out a fearful grist of agony and death, + + "And lives of men and souls of States + Were thrown like chaff beyond the gates." + +Numbers were taken prisoners. Pale, young corpses strewed the earth; +manhood was stricken down in the flush of its energy and prime. The +ambulances brought in the wounded and dying. Captain Sybil laid down his +life on the altar of freedom. His prediction was fulfilled. Robert was +brought into the hospital, wounded, but not dangerously. Iola remembered +him as being the friend of Tom Anderson, and her heart was drawn +instinctively towards him. For awhile he was delirious, but her presence +had a soothing effect upon him. He sometimes imagined that she was his +mother, and he would tell her how he had missed her; and then at times +he would call her sister. Iola, tender and compassionate, humored his +fancies, and would sing to him in low, sweet tones some of the hymns +she had learned in her old home in Mississippi. One day she sang a few +verses of the hymn beginning with the words-- + + "Drooping souls no longer grieve, + Heaven is propitious; + If on Christ you do believe, + You will find Him precious." + +"That," said he, looking earnestly into Iola's face, "was my mother's +hymn. I have not heard it for years. Where did you learn it?" + +Iola gazed inquiringly upon the face of her patient, and saw, by his +clear gaze and the expression of his face, that his reason had returned. + +"In my home, in Mississippi, from my own dear mother," was Iola's reply. + +"Do you know where she learned it?" asked Robert. + +"When she was a little girl she heard her mother sing it. Years after, a +Methodist preacher came to our house, sang this hymn, and left the book +behind him. My father was a Catholic, but my mother never went to any +church. I did not understand it then, but I do now. We used to sing +together, and read the Bible when we were alone." + +"Do you remember where she came from, and who was her mother?" asked +Robert, anxiously. + +"My dear friend, you must be quiet. The fever has left you, but I will +not answer for the consequences if you get excited." + +Robert lay quiet and thoughtful for awhile and, seeing he was wakeful, +Iola said, "Have you any friends to whom you would like to send a +letter?" + +A pathetic expression flitted over his face, as he sadly replied, "I +haven't, to my knowledge, a single relation in the world. When I was +about ten years old my mother and sister were sold from me. It is more +than twenty years since I have heard from them. But that hymn which you +were singing reminded me so much of my mother! She used to sing it when +I was a child. Please sing it again." + +Iola's voice rose soft and clear by his bedside, till he fell into a +quiet slumber. She remembered that her mother had spoken of her brother +before they had parted, and her interest and curiosity were awakened by +Robert's story. While he slept, she closely scrutinized Robert's +features, and detected a striking resemblance between him and her +mother. + +"Oh, I _do_ wonder if he can be my mother's brother, from whom she has +been separated so many years!" + +Anxious as she was to ascertain if there was any relationship between +Robert and her mother, she forebore to question him on the subject which +lay so near her heart. But one day, when he was so far recovered as to +be able to walk around, he met Iola on the hospital grounds, and said to +her:-- + +"Miss Iola, you remind me so much of my mother and sister that I cannot +help wondering if you are the daughter of my long-lost sister." + +"Do you think," asked Iola, "if you saw the likeness of your sister you +would recognize her?" + +"I am afraid not. But there is one thing I can remember about her: she +used to have a mole on her cheek, which mother used to tell her was her +beauty spot." + +"Look at this," said Iola, handing him a locket which contained her +mother's picture. + +Robert grasped the locket eagerly, scanned the features attentively, +then, handing it back, said: "I have only a faint remembrance of my +sister's features; but I never could recognize in that beautiful woman +the dear little sister with whom I used to play. Oh, the cruelty of +slavery! How it wrenched and tore us apart! Where is _your_ mother now?" + +"Oh, I cannot tell," answered Iola. "I left her in Mississippi. My +father was a wealthy Creole planter, who fell in love with my mother. +She was his slave, but he educated her in the North, freed, and married +her. My father was very careful to have the fact of our negro blood +concealed from us. I had not the slightest suspicion of it. When he was +dead the secret was revealed. His white relations set aside my father's +will, had his marriage declared invalid, and my mother and her children +were remanded to slavery." Iola shuddered as she pronounced the horrid +word, and grew deadly pale; but, regaining her self-possession, +continued: "Now, that freedom has come, I intend to search for my mother +until I find her." + +"I do not wonder," said Robert, "that we had this war. The nation had +sinned enough to suffer." + +"Yes," said Iola, "if national sins bring down national judgments, then +the nation is only reaping what it sowed." + +"What are your plans for the future, or have you any?" asked Robert. + +"I intend offering myself as a teacher in one of the schools which are +being opened in different parts of the country," replied Iola. "As soon +as I am able I will begin my search for my dear mother. I will advertise +for her in the papers, hunt for her in the churches, and use all the +means in my power to get some tidings of her and my brother Harry. What +a cruel thing it was to separate us!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + +FLAMES IN THE SCHOOL-ROOM. + +"Good morning," said Dr. Gresham, approaching Robert and Iola. "How are +you both? You have mended rapidly," turning to Robert, "but then it was +only a flesh wound. Your general health being good, and your blood in +excellent condition, it was not hard for you to rally." + +"Where have you been, Doctor? I have a faint recollection of having seen +you on the morning I was brought in from the field, but not since." + +"I have been on a furlough. I was running down through exhaustion and +overwork, and I was compelled to go home for a few weeks' rest. But now, +as they are about to close the hospital, I shall be permanently +relieved. I am glad that this cruel strife is over. It seemed as if I +had lived through ages during these last few years. In the early part of +the war I lost my arm by a stray shot, and my armless sleeve is one of +the mementos of battle I shall carry with me through life. Miss Leroy," +he continued, turning respectfully to Iola, "would you permit me to ask +you, as I would have someone ask my sister under the same circumstances, +if you have matured any plans for the future, or if I can be of the +least service to you? If so, I would be pleased to render you any +service in my power." + +"My purpose," replied Iola, "is to hunt for my mother, and to find her +if she is alive. I am willing to go anywhere and do anything to find +her. But I will need a standpoint from whence I can send out lines of +inquiry. It must take time, in the disordered state of affairs, even to +get a clue by which I may discover her whereabouts." + +"How would you like to teach?" asked the Doctor. "Schools are being +opened all around us. Numbers of excellent and superior women are coming +from the North to engage as teachers of the freed people. Would you be +willing to take a school among these people? I think it will be uphill +work. I believe it will take generations to get over the duncery of +slavery. Some of these poor fellows who came into our camp did not know +their right hands from their left, nor their ages, nor even the days of +the month. It took me some time, in a number of cases, to understand +their language. It saddened my heart to see such ignorance. One day I +asked one a question, and he answered, "I no shum'." + +"What did he mean?" asked Iola. + +"That he did not see it," replied the doctor. "Of course, this does not +apply to all of them. Some of them are wide-awake and sharp as steel +traps. I think some of that class may be used in helping others." + +"I should be very glad to have an opportunity to teach," said Iola. "I +used to be a great favorite among the colored children on my father's +plantation." + +In a few days after this conversation the hospital was closed. The sick +and convalescent were removed, and Iola obtained a position as a +teacher. Very soon Iola realized that while she was heartily appreciated +by the freedmen, she was an object of suspicion and dislike to their +former owners. The North had conquered by the supremacy of the sword, +and the South had bowed to the inevitable. But here was a new army that +had come with an invasion of ideas, that had come to supplant ignorance +with knowledge, and it was natural that its members should be unwelcome +to those who had made it a crime to teach their slaves to read the name +of the ever blessed Christ. But Iola had found her work, and the freed +men their friend. + +When Iola opened her school she took pains to get acquainted with the +parents of the children, and she gained their confidence and +co-operation. Her face was a passport to their hearts. Ignorant of +books, human faces were the scrolls from which they had been reading for +ages. They had been the sunshine and shadow of their lives. + +Iola had found a school-room in the basement of a colored church, where +the doors were willingly opened to her. Her pupils came from miles +around, ready and anxious to get some "book larnin'." Some of the old +folks were eager to learn, and it was touching to see the eyes which had +grown dim under the shadows of slavery, donning spectacles and trying to +make out the words. As Iola had nearly all of her life been accustomed +to colored children she had no physical repulsions to overcome, no +prejudices to conquer in dealing with parents and children. In their +simple childish fashion they would bring her fruits and flowers, and +gladden her lonely heart with little tokens of affection. + +One day a gentleman came to the school and wished to address the +children. Iola suspended the regular order of the school, and the +gentleman essayed to talk to them on the achievements of the white race, +such as building steamboats and carrying on business. Finally, he asked +how they did it? + +"They've got money," chorused the children. + +"But how did they get it?" + +"They took it from us," chimed the youngsters. Iola smiled, and the +gentleman was nonplussed; but he could not deny that one of the powers +of knowledge is the power of the strong to oppress the weak. + +The school was soon overcrowded with applicants, and Iola was forced to +refuse numbers, because their quarters were too cramped. The school was +beginning to lift up the home, for Iola was not satisfied to teach her +children only the rudiments of knowledge. She had tried to lay the +foundation of good character. But the elements of evil burst upon her +loved and cherished work. One night the heavens were lighted with lurid +flames, and Iola beheld the school, the pride and joy of her pupils and +their parents, a smouldering ruin. Iola gazed with sorrowful dismay on +what seemed the cruel work of an incendiary's torch. While she sat, +mournfully contemplating the work of destruction, her children formed a +procession, and, passing by the wreck of their school, sang:-- + + "Oh, do not be discouraged, + For Jesus is your friend." + +As they sang, the tears sprang to Iola's eyes, and she said to herself, +"I am not despondent of the future of my people; there is too much +elasticity in their spirits, too much hope in their hearts, to be +crushed out by unreasoning malice." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + +SEARCHING FOR LOST ONES. + +To bind anew the ties which slavery had broken and gather together the +remnants of his scattered family became the earnest purpose of Robert's +life. Iola, hopeful that in Robert she had found her mother's brother, +was glad to know she was not alone in _her_ search. Having sent out +lines of inquiry in different directions, she was led to hope, from some +of the replies she had received, that her mother was living somewhere in +Georgia. + +Hearing that a Methodist conference was to convene in that State, and +being acquainted with the bishop of that district, she made arrangements +to accompany him thither. She hoped to gather some tidings of her mother +through the ministers gathered from different parts of that State. + +From her brother she had heard nothing since her father's death. On his +way to the conference, the bishop had an engagement to dedicate a +church, near the city of C----, in North Carolina. Iola was quite +willing to stop there a few days, hoping to hear something of Robert +Johnson's mother. Soon after she had seated herself in the cars she was +approached by a gentleman, who reached out his hand to her, and greeted +her with great cordiality. Iola looked up, and recognized him +immediately as one of her last patients at the hospital. It was none +other than Robert Johnson. + +"I am so glad to meet you," he said. "I am on my way to C---- in search +of my mother. I want to see the person who sold her last, and, if +possible, get some clew to the direction in which she went." + +"And I," said Iola, "am in search of _my_ mother. I am convinced that +when we find those for whom we are searching they will prove to be very +nearly related. Mamma said, before we were parted, that her brother had +a red spot on his temple. If I could see that spot I should rest assured +that my mother is your sister." + +"Then," said Robert, "I can give you that assurance," and smilingly he +lifted his hair from his temple, on which was a large, red spot. + +"I am satisfied," exclaimed Iola, fixing her eyes, beaming with hope and +confidence, on Robert. "Oh, I am so glad that I can, without the least +hesitation, accept your services to join with me in the further search. +What are your plans?" + +"To stop for awhile in C----," said Robert, "and gather all the +information possible from those who sold and bought my mother. I intend +to leave no stone un-turned in searching for her." + +"Oh, I _do_ hope that you will succeed. I expect to stop over there a +few days, and I shall be so glad if, before I leave, I hear your search +has been crowned with success, or, a least, that you have been put on +the right track. Although I was born and raised in the midst of +slavery, I had not the least idea of its barbarous selfishness till I +was forced to pass through it. But we lived so much alone I had no +opportunity to study it, except on our own plantation. My father and +mother were very kind to their slaves. But it was slavery, all the same, +and I hate it, root and branch." + +Just then the conductor called out the station. + +"We stop here," said Robert. "I am going to see Mrs. Johnson, and hunt +up some of my old acquaintances. Where do you stop?" + +"I don't know," replied Iola. "I expect that friends will be here to +meet us. Bishop B----, permit me to introduce you to Mr. Robert Johnson, +whom I have every reason to believe is my mother's brother. Like myself, +he is engaged in hunting up his lost relatives." + +"And I," said Robert, "am very much pleased to know that we are not +without favorable clues." + +"Bishop," said Iola, "Mr. Johnson wishes to know where I am to stop. He +is going on an exploring expedition, and wishes to let me know the +result." + +"We stop at Mrs. Allston's, 313 New Street," said the bishop. "If I can +be of any use to you, I am at your service." + +"Thank you," said Robert, lifting his hat, as he left them to pursue his +inquiries about his long-lost mother. + +Quickly he trod the old familiar streets which led to his former home. +He found Mrs. Johnson, but she had aged very fast since the war. She was +no longer the lithe, active woman, with her proud manner and resolute +bearing. Her eye had lost its brightness, her step its elasticity, and +her whole appearance indicated that she was slowly sinking beneath a +weight of sorrow which was heavier far than her weight of years. When +she heard that Robert had called to see her she was going to receive him +in the hall, as she would have done any of her former slaves, but her +mind immediately changed when she saw him. He was not the light-hearted, +careless, mischief-loving Robby of former days, but a handsome man, +with heavy moustache, dark, earnest eyes, and proud military bearing. He +smiled, and reached out his hand to her. She hardly knew how to address +him. To her colored people were either boys and girls, or "aunties and +uncles." She had never in her life addressed a colored person as "Mr. or +Mrs." To do so now was to violate the social customs of the place. It +would be like learning a new language in her old age. Robert immediately +set her at ease by addressing her under the old familiar name of "Miss +Nancy." This immediately relieved her of all embarrassment. She invited +him into the sitting-room, and gave him a warm welcome. + +"Well, Robby," she said, "I once thought that you would have been the +last one to leave me. You know I never ill-treated you, and I gave you +everything you needed. People said that I was spoiling you. I thought +you were as happy as the days were long. When I heard of other people's +servants leaving them I used to say to myself, 'I can trust my Bobby; he +will stick to me to the last.' But I fooled myself that time. Soon as +the Yankee soldiers got in sight you left me without saying a word. That +morning I came down into the kitchen and asked Linda, 'Where's Robert? +Why hasn't he set the table?' She said 'she hadn't seen you since the +night before.' I thought maybe you were sick, and I went to see, but you +were not in your room. I couldn't believe at first that you were gone. +Wasn't I always good to you?" + +"Oh, Miss Nancy," replied Robert; "you were good, but freedom was +better." + +"Yes," she said, musingly, "I suppose I would have done the same. But, +Robby, it did go hard with me at first. However, I soon found out that +my neighbors had been going through the same thing. But its all over +now. Let by-gones be by-gones. What are you doing now, and where are +you living?" + +"I am living in the city of P----. I have opened a hardware store there. +But just now I am in search of my mother and sister." + +"I hope that you may find them." + +"How long," asked Robert, "do you think it has been since they left +here?" + +"Let me see; it must have been nearly thirty years. You got my letter?" + +"Yes, ma'am; thank you." + +"There have been great changes since you left here," Mrs. Johnson said. +"Gundover died, and a number of colored men have banded together, bought +his plantation, and divided it among themselves. And I hear they have a +very nice settlement out there. I hope, since the Government has set +them free, that they will succeed." + +After Robert's interview with Mrs. Johnson he thought he would visit the +settlement and hunt up his old friends. He easily found the place. It +was on a clearing in Gundover's woods, where Robert and Uncle Daniel had +held their last prayer-meeting. Now the gloomy silence of those woods +was broken by the hum of industry, the murmur of cheerful voices, and +the merry laughter of happy children. Where they had trodden with fear +and misgiving, freedmen walked with light and bounding hearts. The +school-house had taken the place of the slave-pen and auction-block. +"How is yer, ole boy?" asked one laborer of another. + +"Everything is lobly," replied the other. The blue sky arching overhead +and the beauty of the scenery justified the expression. + +Gundover had died soon after the surrender. Frank Anderson had grown +reckless and drank himself to death. His brother Tom had been killed in +battle. Their mother, who was Gundover's daughter, had died insane. +Their father had also passed away. The defeat of the Confederates, the +loss of his sons, and the emancipation of his slaves, were blows from +which he never recovered. As Robert passed leisurely along, delighted +with the evidences of thrift and industry which constantly met his eye, +he stopped to admire a garden filled with beautiful flowers, clambering +vines, and rustic adornments. + +On the porch sat an elderly woman, darning stockings, the very +embodiment of content and good humor. Robert looked inquiringly at her. +On seeing him, she almost immediately exclaimed, "Shore as I'se born, +dat's Robert! Look yere, honey, whar did yer come from? I'll gib my head +fer a choppin' block ef dat ain't Miss Nancy's Bob. Ain't yer our Bobby? +Shore yer is." + +"Of course I am," responded Robert. "It isn't anybody else. How did you +know me?" + +"How did I know yer? By dem mischeebous eyes, ob course. I'd a knowed +yer if I had seed yer in Europe." + +"In Europe, Aunt Linda? Where's that?" + +"I don't know. I specs its some big city, somewhar. But yer looks jis' +splendid. Yer looks good 'nuff ter kiss." + +"Oh, Aunt Linda, don't say that. You make me blush." + +"Oh you go 'long wid yer. I specs yer's got a nice little wife up dar +whar yer comes from, dat kisses yer ebery day, an' Sunday, too." + +"Is that the way your old man does you?" + +"Oh, no, not a bit. He isn't one ob de kissin' kine. But sit down," she +said, handing Robert a chair. "Won't yer hab a glass ob milk? Boy, I'se +a libin' in clover. Neber 'spected ter see sich good times in all my +born days." + +"Well, Aunt Linda," said Robert, seating himself near her, and drinking +the glass of milk which she had handed him, "how goes the battle? How +have you been getting on since freedom?" + +"Oh, fust rate, fust rate! Wen freedom com'd I jist lit out ob Miss +Johnson's kitchen soon as I could. I wanted ter re'lize I war free, an' +I couldn't, tell I got out er de sight and soun' ob ole Miss. When de +war war ober an' de sogers war still stopping' yere, I made pies an' +cakes, sole em to de sogers, an' jist made money han' ober fist. An' I +kep' on a workin' an' a savin' till my ole man got back from de war wid +his wages and his bounty money. I felt right set up an' mighty big wen +we counted all dat money. We had neber seen so much money in our lives +befo', let alone hab it fer ourselbs. An' I sez, 'John, you take dis +money an' git a nice place wid it.' An' he sez, 'Dere's no use tryin', +kase dey don't want ter sell us any lan'.' Ole Gundover said, 'fore he +died, dat he would let de lan' grow up in trees 'fore he'd sell it to +us. An' dere war Mr. Brayton; he buyed some lan' and sole it to some +cullud folks, an' his ole frien's got so mad wid him dat dey wouldn't +speak ter him, an' he war borned down yere. I tole ole Miss Anderson's +daughter dat we wanted ter git some homes ob our ownselbs. She sez, 'Den +you won't want ter work for us?' Jis' de same as ef we could eat an' +drink our houses. I tell yer, Robby, dese white folks don't know +eberything." + +"That's a fact, Aunt Linda." + +"Den I sez ter John, 'wen one door shuts anoder opens.' An' shore +'nough, ole Gundover died, an' his place war all in debt, an' had to be +sole. Some Jews bought it, but dey didn't want to farm it, so dey gib us +a chance to buy it. Dem Jews hez been right helpful to cullud people wen +dey hab lan' to sell. I reckon dey don't keer who buys it so long as dey +gits de money. Well, John didn't gib in at fust; didn't want to let on +his wife knowed more dan he did, an' dat he war ruled ober by a woman. +Yer know he is an' ole Firginian, an' some ob dem ole Firginians do so +lub to rule a woman. But I kep' naggin at him, till I specs he got tired +of my tongue, an' he went and buyed dis piece ob lan'. Dis house war on +it, an' war all gwine to wrack. It used to belong to John's ole marster. +His wife died right in dis house, an' arter dat her husband went right +to de dorgs; an' now he's in de pore-house. My! but ain't dem tables +turned. When we knowed it war our own, warn't my ole man proud! I seed +it in him, but he wouldn't let on. Ain't you men powerful 'ceitful?" + +"Oh, Aunt Linda, don't put me in with the rest!" + +"I don't know 'bout dat. Put you all in de bag for 'ceitfulness, an' I +don't know which would git out fust." + +"Well, Aunt Linda, I suppose by this time you know how to read and +write?" + +"No, chile, sence freedom's com'd I'se bin scratchin' too hard to get a +libin' to put my head down to de book." + +"But, Aunt Linda, it would be such company when your husband is away, to +take a book. Do you never get lonesome?" + +"Chile, I ain't got no time ter get lonesome. Ef you had eber so many +chickens to feed, an' pigs squealin' fer somethin' ter eat, an' yore +ducks an' geese squakin' 'roun' yer, yer wouldn't hab time ter git +lonesome." + +"But, Aunt Linda, you might be sick for months, and think what a comfort +it would be if you could read your Bible." + +"Oh, I could hab prayin' and singin'. Dese people is mighty good 'bout +prayin' by de sick. Why, Robby, I think it would gib me de hysterics ef +I war to try to git book larnin' froo my pore ole head. How long is yer +gwine to stay? An' whar is yer stoppin?" + +"I got here to-day," said Robert, "but I expect to stay several days." + +"Well, I wants yer to meet my ole man, an' talk 'bout ole times. +Couldn't yer come an' stop wid me, or isn't my house sniptious 'nuff?" + +"Yes, thank you; but there is a young lady in town whom I think is my +niece, my sister's daughter, and I want to be with her all I can." + +"Your niece! Whar did you git any niece from?" + +"Don't you remember," asked Robert, "that my mother had a little +daughter, when Mrs. Johnson sold her? Well, I believe this young lady is +that daughter's child." + +"Laws a marcy!" exclaimed Aunt Linda, "yer don't tell me so! Whar did +yer ketch up wid her?" + +"I met her first," said Robert, "at the hospital here, when our poor Tom +was dying; and when I was wounded at Five Forks she attended me in the +field hospital there. She was just as good as gold." + +"Well, did I eber! You jis' fotch dat chile to see me, ef she ain't too +fine. I'se pore, but I'se clean, an' I ain't forgot how ter git up good +dinners. Now, I wants ter hab a good talk 'bout our feller-sarvants." + +"Yes, and I," said Robert, "want to hear all about Uncle Daniel, and +Jennie, and Uncle Ben Tunnel." + +"Well, I'se got lots an' gobs ter tell yer. I'se kep' track ob dem all. +Aunt Katie died an' went ter hebben in a blaze ob glory. Uncle Dan'el +stayed on de place till Marse Robert com'd back. When de war war ober he +war smashed all ter pieces. I did pity him from de bottom ob my heart. +When he went ter de war he looked so brave an' han'some; an' wen he +com'd back he looked orful. 'Fore he went he gib Uncle Dan'el a bag full +ob money ter take kere ob. 'An wen he com'd back Uncle Dan'el gibed him +ebery cent ob it. It warn't ebery white pusson he could hab trusted wid +it. 'Cause yer know, Bobby, money's a mighty temptin' thing. Dey tells +me dat Marster Robert los' a heap ob property by de war; but Marse +Robert war always mighty good ter Uncle Dan'el and Aunt Katie. He war +wid her wen she war dyin' an' she got holt his han' an' made him promise +dat he would meet her in glory. I neber seed anybody so happy in my +life. She singed an' prayed ter de last. I tell you dis ole time +religion is good 'nuff fer me. Mr. Robert didn't stay yere long arter +her, but I beliebs he went all right. But 'fore he went he looked out +fer Uncle Dan'el. Did you see dat nice little cabin down dere wid de +green shutters an' nice little garden in front? Well, 'fore Marse Robert +died he gib Uncle Dan'el dat place, an' Miss Mary and de chillen looks +arter him yet; an' he libs jis' as snug as a bug in a rug. I'se gwine +ter axe him ter take supper wid you. He'll be powerful glad ter see +you." + +"Do you ever go to see old Miss?" asked Robert. + +"Oh, yes; I goes ebery now and den. But she's jis' fell froo. Ole +Johnson jis' drunk hisself to death. He war de biggest guzzler I eber +seed in my life. Why, dat man he drunk up ebery thing he could lay his +han's on. Sometimes he would go 'roun' tryin' to borrer money from pore +cullud folks. 'Twas rale drefful de way dat pore feller did frow hisself +away. But drink did it all. I tell you, Bobby, dat drink's a drefful +thing wen it gits de upper han' ob you. You'd better steer clar ob it." + +"That's so," assented Robert. + +"I know'd Miss Nancy's fadder and mudder. Dey war mighty rich. Some ob +de real big bugs. Marse Jim used to know dem, an' come ober ter de +plantation, an' eat an' drink wen he got ready, an' stay as long as he +choose. Ole Cousins used to have wine at dere table ebery day, an' Marse +Jim war mighty fon' ob dat wine, an' sometimes he would drink till he +got quite boozy. Ole Cousins liked him bery well, till he foun' out he +wanted his darter, an' den he didn't want him fer rags nor patches. But +Miss Nancy war mighty headstrong, an' allers liked to hab her own way; +an' dis time she got it. But didn't she step her foot inter it? Ole +Johnson war mighty han'some, but when dat war said all war said. She +run'd off an' got married, but wen she got down she war too spunkey to +axe her pa for anything. Wen you war wid her, yer know she only took big +bugs. But wen de war com'd 'roun' it tore her all ter pieces, an' now +she's as pore as Job's turkey. I feel's right sorry fer her. Well, +Robby, things is turned 'roun' mighty quare. Ole Mistus war up den, an' +I war down; now, she's down, an' I'se up. But I pities her, 'cause she +warn't so bad arter all. De wuss thing she eber did war ta sell your +mudder, an' she wouldn't hab done dat but she snatched de whip out ob +her han' an gib her a lickin'. Now I belieb in my heart she war 'fraid +ob your mudder arter dat. But we women had ter keep 'em from whippin' +us, er dey'd all de time been libin' on our bones. She had no man ter +whip us 'cept dat ole drunken husband ob hern, an' he war allers too +drunk ter whip hisself. He jis' wandered off, an' I reckon he died in +somebody's pore-house. He warn't no 'count nohow you fix it. Weneber I +goes to town I carries her some garden sass, er a little milk an' +butter. An' she's mighty glad ter git it. I ain't got nothin' agin her. +She neber struck me a lick in her life, an' I belieb in praising de +bridge dat carries me ober. Dem Yankees set me free, an' I thinks a +powerful heap ob dem. But it does rile me ter see dese mean white men +comin' down yere an' settin' up dere grog-shops, tryin' to fedder dere +nests sellin' licker to pore culled people. Deys de bery kine ob men dat +used ter keep dorgs to ketch de runaways. I'd be chokin' fer a drink +'fore I'd eber spen' a cent wid dem, a spreadin' dere traps to git de +black folks' money. You jis' go down town 'fore sun up to-morrer +mornin' an' you see ef dey don't hab dem bars open to sell dere drams to +dem hard workin' culled people 'fore dey goes ter work. I thinks some +niggers is mighty big fools." + +"Oh, Aunt Linda, don't run down your race. Leave that for the white +people." + +"I ain't runnin' down my people. But a fool's a fool, wether he's white +or black. An' I think de nigger who will spen' his hard-earned money in +dese yere new grog-shops is de biggest kine ob a fool, an' I sticks ter +dat. You know we didn't hab all dese low places in slave times. An' what +is dey fer, but to get the people's money. An' its a shame how dey do +sling de licker 'bout 'lection times." + +"But don't the temperance people want the colored people to vote the +temperance ticket?" + +"Yes, but some ob de culled people gits mighty skittish ef dey tries to +git em to vote dare ticket 'lection time, an' keeps dem at a proper +distance wen de 'lection's ober. Some ob dem say dere's a trick behine +it, an' don't want to tech it. Dese white folks could do a heap wid de +culled folks ef dey'd only treat em right." + +"When our people say there is a trick behind it," said Robert, "I only +wish they could see the trick before it--the trick of worse than wasting +their money, and of keeping themselves and families poorer and more +ignorant than there is any need for them to be." + +"Well, Bobby, I beliebs we might be a people ef it warn't for dat +mizzable drink. An' Robby, I jis' tells yer what I wants; I wants some +libe man to come down yere an' splain things ter dese people. I don't +mean a politic man, but a man who'll larn dese people how to bring up +dere chillen, to keep our gals straight, an' our boys from runnin' in de +saloons an' gamblin' dens." + +"Don't your preachers do that?" asked Robert. + +"Well, some ob dem does, an' some ob dem doesn't. An' wen dey preaches, +I want dem to practice wat dey preach. Some ob dem says dey's called, +but I jis' thinks laziness called some ob dem. An' I thinks since +freedom come deres some mighty pore sticks set up for preachers. Now +dere's John Anderson, Tom's brudder; you 'member Tom." + +"Yes; as brave a fellow and as honest as ever stepped in shoe leather." + +"Well, his brudder war mighty diffrent. He war down in de lower kentry +wen de war war ober. He war mighty smart, an' had a good head-piece, an' +a orful glib tongue. He set up store an' sole whisky, an' made a lot ob +money. Den he wanted ter go to de legislatur. Now what should he do but +make out he'd got 'ligion, an' war called to preach. He had no more +'ligion dan my ole dorg. But he had money an' built a meetin' house, +whar he could hole meeting, an' hab funerals; an' you know cullud folks +is mighty great on funerals. Well dat jis' tuck wid de people, an' he +got 'lected to de legislatur. Den he got a fine house, an' his ole wife +warn't good 'nuff for him. Den dere war a young school-teacher, an' he +begun cuttin' his eyes at her. But she war as deep in de mud as he war +in de mire, an' he jis' gib up his ole wife and married her, a fusty +thing. He war a mean ole hypocrit, an' I wouldn't sen' fer him to bury +my cat. Robby, I'se down on dese kine ob preachers like a thousand +bricks." + +"Well, Aunt Linda, all the preachers are not like him." + +"No; I knows dat; not by a jug full. We's got some mighty good men down +yere, an' we's glad when dey comes, an' orful sorry when dey goes 'way. +De las preacher we had war a mighty good man. He didn't like too much +hollerin'." + +"Perhaps," said Robert, "he thought it were best for only one to speak +at a time." + +"I specs so. His wife war de nicest and sweetest lady dat eber I did +see. None ob yer airish, stuck up folks, like a tarrapin carryin' +eberything on its back. She used ter hab meetins fer de mudders, an' +larn us how to raise our chillen, an' talk so putty to de chillen. I +sartinly did lub dat woman." + +"Where is she now?" asked Robert. + +"De Conference moved dem 'bout thirty miles from yere. Deys gwine to hab +a big meetin' ober dere next Sunday. Don't you 'member dem meetins we +used to hab in de woods? We don't hab to hide like we did den. But it +don't seem as ef de people had de same good 'ligion we had den. 'Pears +like folks is took up wid makin' money an' politics." + +"Well, Aunt Linda, don't you wish those good old days would come back?" + +"No, chile; neber! neber! Wat fer you take me? I'd ruther lib in a +corn-crib. Freedom needn't keep me outer heben; an' ef I'se sich a fool +as ter lose my 'ligion cause I'se free, I oughtn' ter git dere." + +"But, Aunt Linda, if old Miss were able to take care of you, wouldn't +you just as leave be back again?" + +There was a faint quiver of indignation in Aunt Linda's voice, as she +replied:-- + +"Don't yer want yer freedom? Well I wants ter pat my free foot. +Halleluyah! But, Robby, I wants yer ter go ter dat big meetin' de wuss +kine." + +"How will I get there?" asked Robert. + +"Oh, dat's all right. My ole man's got two ob de nicest mules you eber +set yer eyes on. It'll jis' do yer good ter look at dem. I 'spect you'll +see some ob yer ole frens dere. Dere's a nice settlemen' of cullud folks +ober dere, an' I wants yer to come an' bring dat young lady. I wants dem +folks to see wat nice folks I kin bring to de meetin'. I hope's yer +didn't lose all your 'ligion in de army." + +"Oh, I hope not," replied Robert. + +"Oh, chile, yer mus' be shore 'bout dat. I don't want yer to ride hope's +hoss down to torment. Now be shore an' come to-morrer an' bring dat +young lady, an' take supper wid me. I'se all on nettles to see dat +chile." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + +STRIKING CONTRASTS. + +The next day, Robert, accompanied by Iola, went to the settlement to +take supper with Aunt Linda, and a very luscious affair it was. Her +fingers had not lost their skill since she had tasted the sweets of +freedom. Her biscuits were just as light and flaky as ever. Her jelly +was as bright as amber, and her preserves were perfectly delicious. +After she had set the table she stood looking in silent admiration, +chuckling to herself: "Ole Mistus can't set sich a table as dat. She +ought'er be yere to see it. Specs 'twould make her mouf water. Well, I +mus' let by-gones be by-gones. But dis yere freedom's mighty good." + +Aunt Linda had invited Uncle Daniel, and, wishing to give him a pleasant +surprise, she had refrained from telling him that Robert Johnson was the +one she wished him to meet. + +"Do you know dis gemmen?" said Aunt Linda to Uncle Daniel, when the +latter arrived. + +"Well, I can't say's I do. My eyes is gittin dim, an I disremembers +him." + +"Now jis' you look right good at him. Don't yer 'member him?" + +Uncle Daniel looked puzzled and, slowly scanning Robert's features, +said: "He do look like somebody I used ter know, but I can't make him +out ter save my life. I don't know whar to place him. Who is de gemmen, +ennyhow?" + +"Why, Uncle Dan'el," replied Aunt Linda, "dis is Robby; Miss Nancy's +bad, mischeebous Robby, dat war allers playin' tricks on me." + +"Well, shore's I'se born, ef dis ain't our ole Bobby!" exclaimed Uncle +Daniel, delightedly. "Why, chile, whar did yer come from? Thought you +war dead an' buried long 'go." + +"Why, Uncle Daniel, did you send anybody to kill me?" asked Robert, +laughingly. + +"Oh, no'n 'deed, chile! but I yeard dat you war killed in de battle, an' +I never 'spected ter see you agin." + +"Well, here I am," replied Robert, "large as life, and just as natural. +And this young lady, Uncle Daniel, I believe is my niece." As he spoke +he turned to Iola. "Do you remember my mother?" + +"Oh, yes," said Uncle Daniel, looking intently at Iola as she stepped +forward and cordially gave him her hand. + +"Well, I firmly believe," continued Robert, "that this is the daughter +of the little girl whom Miss Nancy sold away with my mother." + +"Well, I'se rale glad ter see her. She puts me mighty much in mine ob +dem days wen we war all young togedder; wen Miss Nancy sed, 'Harriet war +too high fer her.' It jis' seems like yisterday wen I yeard Miss Nancy +say, 'No house could flourish whar dere war two mistresses.' Well, Mr. +Robert--" + +"Oh, no, no, Uncle Daniel," interrupted Robert, "don't say that! Call me +Robby or Bob, just as you used to." + +"Well, Bobby, I'se glad klar from de bottom of my heart ter see yer." + +"Even if you wouldn't go with us when we left?" + +"Oh, Bobby, dem war mighty tryin' times. You boys didn't know it, but +Marster Robert hab giben me a bag ob money ter take keer ob, an' I +promised him I'd do it an' I had ter be ez good ez my word." + +"Oh, Uncle Daniel, why didn't you tell us boys all about it? We could +have helped you take care of it." + +"Now, wouldn't dat hab bin smart ter let on ter you chaps, an' hab you +huntin' fer it from Dan ter Barsheba? I specs some ob you would bin a +rootin' fer it yit!" + +"Well, Uncle Daniel, we were young then; I can't tell what we would have +done if we had found it. But we are older now." + +"Yes, yer older, but I wouldn't put it pas' yer eben now, ef yer foun' +out whar it war." + +"Yes," said Iola, laughing, "they say 'caution is the parent of +safety.'" + +"Money's a mighty tempting thing," said Robert, smiling. + +"But, Robby, dere's nothin' like a klar conscience; a klar conscience, +Robby!" + +Just then Aunt Linda, who had been completing the preparations for her +supper, entered the room with her husband, and said, "Salters, let me +interdoos you ter my fren', Mr. Robert Johnson, an' his niece, Miss +Leroy." + +"Why, is it possible," exclaimed Robert, rising, and shaking hands, +"that you are Aunt Linda's husband?" + +"Dat's what de parson sed," replied Salters. + +"I thought," pursued Robert, "that your name was John Andrews. It was +such when you were in my company." + +"All de use I'se got fer dat name is ter git my money wid it; an' wen +dat's done, all's done. Got 'nuff ob my ole Marster in slave times, +widout wearin' his name in freedom. Wen I got done wid him, I got done +wid his name. Wen I 'listed, I war John Andrews; and wen I gits my +pension, I'se John Andrews; but now Salters is my name, an' I likes it +better." + +"But how came you to be Aunt Linda's husband? Did you get married since +the war?" + +"Lindy an' me war married long 'fore de war. But my ole Marster sole me +away from her an' our little gal, an' den sole her chile ter somebody +else. Arter freedom, I hunted up our little gal, an' foun' her. She war +a big woman den. Den I com'd right back ter dis place an' foun' Lindy. +She hedn't married agin, nuther hed I; so we jis' let de parson marry us +out er de book; an' we war mighty glad ter git togedder agin, an' feel +hitched togedder fer life." + +"Well, Uncle Daniel," said Robert, turning the conversation toward him, +"you and Uncle Ben wouldn't go with us, but you came out all right at +last." + +"Yes, indeed," said Aunt Linda, "Ben got inter a stream of luck. Arter +freedom com'd, de people had a heap of fath in Ben; an' wen dey wanted +some one to go ter Congress dey jist voted for Ben ter go. An' he went, +too. An' wen Salters went to Washin'ton to git his pension, who should +he see dere wid dem big men but our Ben, lookin' jist as big as any ob +dem." + +"An' it did my ole eyes good jist ter see it," broke in Salters; "if I +couldn't go dere myself, I war mighty glad to see some one ob my people +dat could. I felt like de boy who, wen somebody said he war gwine to +slap off his face, said, 'Yer kin slap off my face, but I'se got a big +brudder, an' you can't slap off his face.' I went to see him 'fore I lef, +and he war jist de same as he war wen we war boys togedder. He hadn't +got de big head a bit." + +"I reckon Mirandy war mighty sorry she didn't stay wid him. I know I +should be," said Aunt Linda. + +"Uncle Daniel," asked Robert, "are you still preaching?" + +"Yes, chile, I'se still firing off de Gospel gun." + +"I hear some of the Northern folks are down here teaching theology, that +is, teaching young men how to preach. Why don't you study theology?" + +"Look a yere, boy, I'se been a preachin' dese thirty years, an' you come +yere a tellin' me 'bout studying yore ologies. I larn'd my 'ology at de +foot ob de cross. You bin dar?" + +"Dear Uncle Daniel," said Iola, "the moral aspect of the nation would be +changed if it would learn at the same cross to subordinate the spirit of +caste to the spirit of Christ." + +"Does yer 'member Miss Nancy's Harriet," asked Aunt Linda, "dat she sole +away kase she wouldn't let her whip her? Well, we think dis is Harriet's +gran'chile. She war sole away from her mar, an' now she's a lookin' fer +her." + +"Well, I hopes she may fine her," replied Salters. "I war sole 'way from +my mammy wen I war eighteen mont's ole, an' I wouldn't know her now from +a bunch ob turnips." + +"I," said Iola, "am on my way South seeking for my mother, and I shall +not give up until I find her." + +"Come," said Aunt Linda, "we mustn't stan' yer talkin', or de grub'll +git cole. Come, frens, sit down, an' eat some ob my pore supper." + +Aunt Linda sat at the table in such a flutter of excitement that she +could hardly eat, but she gazed with intense satisfaction on her guests. +Robert sat on her right hand, contrasting Aunt Linda's pleasant +situation with the old days in Mrs. Johnson's kitchen, where he had +played his pranks upon her, and told her the news of the war. + +Over Iola there stole a spirit of restfulness. There was something so +motherly in Aunt Linda's manner that it seemed to recall the bright, +sunshiny days when she used to nestle in Mam Liza's arms, in her own +happy home. The conversation was full of army reminiscences and +recollections of the days of slavery. Uncle Daniel was much interested, +and, as they rose from the table, exclaimed:-- + +"Robby, seein' yer an' hearin' yer talk, almos' puts new springs inter +me. I feel 'mos' like I war gittin' younger." + +After the supper, Salters and his guests returned to the front room, +which Aunt Linda regarded with so much pride, and on which she bestowed +so much care. + +"Well, Captin," said Salters, "I neber 'spected ter see you agin. Do you +know de las' time I seed yer? Well, you war on a stretcher, an' four ob +us war carryin' you ter de hospital. War you much hurt? + +"No," replied Robert, "it was only a flesh wound; and this young lady +nursed me so carefully that I soon got over it." + +"Is dat de way you foun' her?" + +"Yes, Andrews,"-- + +"Salters, ef you please," interrupted Salters. I'se only Andrews wen I +gits my money." + +"Well, Salters," continued Robert, "our freedom was a costly thing. Did +you know that Captain Sybil was killed in one of the last battles of the +war? These young chaps, who are taking it so easy, don't know the +hardships through which we older ones passed. But all the battles are +not fought, nor all the victories won. The colored man has escaped from +one slavery, and I don't want him to fall into another. I want the young +folks to keep their brains clear, and their right arms strong, to fight +the battles of life manfully, and take their places alongside of every +other people in this country. And I cannot see what is to hinder them if +they get a chance." + +"I don't nuther," said Salters. "I don't see dat dey drinks any more dan +anybody else, nor dat dere is any meanness or debilment dat a black man +kin do dat a white man can't keep step wid him." + +"Yes," assented Robert, "but while a white man is stealing a thousand +dollars, a black man is getting into trouble taking a few chickens." + +"All that may be true," said Iola, "but there are some things a white +man can do that we cannot afford to do." + +"I beliebs eberybody, Norf and Souf, is lookin' at us; an' some ob dem +ain't got no good blood fer us, nohow you fix it," said Salters. + +"I specs cullud folks mus' hab done somethin'," interposed Aunt Linda. + +"O, nonsense," said Robert. "I don't think they are any worse than the +white people. I don't believe, if we had the power, we would do any +more lynching, burning, and murdering than they do." + +"Dat's so," said Aunt Linda, "it's ralely orful how our folks hab been +murdered sence de war. But I don't think dese young folks is goin' ter +take things as we's allers done." + +"We war cowed down from the beginnin'," said Uncle Daniel, "but dese +young folks ain't comin' up dat way." + +"No," said Salters, "fer one night arter some ob our pore people had +been killed, an' some ob our women had run'd away 'bout seventeen miles, +my gran'son, looking me squar in de face, said: 'Ain't you got five +fingers? Can't you pull a trigger as well as a white man?' I tell yer, +Cap, dat jis' got to me, an' I made up my mine dat my boy should neber +call me a coward." + +"It is not to be expected," said Robert, "that these young people are +going to put up with things as we did, when we weren't permitted to hold +a meeting by ourselves, or to own a club or learn to read." + +"I tried," said Salters, "to git a little out'er de book wen I war in de +army. On Sundays I sometimes takes a book an' tries to make out de +words, but my eyes is gittin' dim an' de letters all run togedder, an' I +gits sleepy, an' ef yer wants to put me to sleep jis' put a book in my +han'. But wen it comes to gittin' out a stan' ob cotton, an' plantin' +corn, I'se dere all de time. But dat gran'son ob mine is smart as a +steel trap. I specs he'll be a preacher." + +Salters looked admiringly at his grandson, who sat grinning in the +corner, munching a pear he had brought from the table. + +"Yes," said Aunt Linda, "his fadder war killed by the Secesh, one night, +comin' home from a politic meetin', an' his pore mudder died a few +weeks arter, an' we mean to make a man ob him." + +"He's got to larn to work fust," said Salters, "an' den ef he's right +smart I'se gwine ter sen' him ter college. An' ef he can't get a libin' +one way, he kin de oder." + +"Yes," said Iola, "I hope he will turn out an excellent young man, for +the greatest need of the race is noble, earnest men, and true women." + +"Job," said Salters, turning to his grandson, "tell Jake ter hitch up de +mules, an' you stay dere an' help him. We's all gwine ter de big +meetin'. Yore grandma hab set her heart on goin', an' it'll be de same +as a spell ob sickness ef she don't hab a chance to show her bes' bib +an' tucker. That ole gal's as proud as a peacock." + +"Now, John Salters," exclaimed Aunt Linda, "ain't you 'shamed ob +yourself? Allers tryin' to poke fun at yer pore wife. Never mine; wait +till I'se gone, an' you'll miss me." + +"Ef I war single," said Salters, "I could git a putty young gal, but it +wouldn't be so easy wid you." + +"Why not?" said Iola, smiling. + +"'Cause young men don't want ole hens, an' ole men want young pullets," +was Salter's reply. + +"Robby, honey," said Aunt Linda, "when you gits a wife, don't treat her +like dat man treats me." + +"Oh, his head's level," answered Robert; "at least it was in the army." + +"Dat's jis' de way; you see dat, Miss Iola? One man takin' up for de +oder. But I'll be eben wid you bof. I must go now an' git ready." + +Iola laughed. The homely enjoyment of that evening was very welcome to +her after the trying scenes through which she had passed. Further +conversation was interrupted by the appearance of the wagon, drawn by +two fine mules. John Salters stopped joking his wife to admire his +mules. + +"Jis' look at dem," he said. "Ain't dey beauties? I bought 'em out ob my +bounty-money. Arter de war war ober I had a little money, an' I war +gwine ter rent a plantation on sheers an' git out a good stan' ob +cotton. Cotton war bringin' orful high prices den, but Lindy said to me, +'Now, John, you'se got a lot ob money, an' you'd better salt it down. +I'd ruther lib on a little piece ob lan' ob my own dan a big piece ob +somebody else's. Well, I says to Lindy, I dun know nuthin' 'bout buyin' +lan', an' I'se 'fraid arter I'se done buyed it an' put all de marrer ob +dese bones in it, dat somebody's far-off cousin will come an' say de +title ain't good, an' I'll lose it all." + +"You're right thar, John," said Uncle Daniel. "White man's so unsartain, +black man's nebber safe." + +"But somehow," continued Salters, "Lindy warn't satisfied wid rentin', +so I buyed a piece ob lan', an' I'se glad now I'se got it. Lindy's got a +lot ob gumption; knows most as much as a man. She ain't got dat long +head fer nuffin. She's got lots ob sense, but I don't like to tell her +so." + +"Why not?" asked Iola. "Do you think it would make her feel too happy?" + +"Well, it don't do ter tell you women how much we thinks ob you. It sets +you up too much. Ole Gundover's overseer war my marster, an' he used ter +lib in dis bery house. I'se fixed it up sence I'se got it. Now I'se +better off dan he is, 'cause he tuck to drink, an' all his frens is +gone, an' he's in de pore-house." + +Just then Linda came to the door with her baskets. + +"Now, Lindy, ain't you ready yet? Do hurry up." + +"Yes, I'se ready, but things wouldn't go right ef you didn't hurry me." + +"Well, put your chicken fixins an' cake right in yere. Captin, you'll +ride wid me, an' de young lady an' my ole woman'll take de back seat. +Uncle Dan'el, dere's room for you ef you'll go." + +"No, I thank you. It's time fer ole folks to go to bed. Good night! An', +Bobby, I hopes to see you agin'." + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + +A REVELATION. + +It was a lovely evening for the journey. The air was soft and balmy. The +fields and hedges were redolent with flowers. Not a single cloud +obscured the brightness of the moon or the splendor of the stars. The +ancient trees were festooned with moss, which hung like graceful +draperies. Ever and anon a startled hare glided over the path, and +whip-poor-wills and crickets broke the restful silence of the night. +Robert rode quietly along, quaffing the beauty of the scene and thinking +of his boyish days, when he gathered nuts and wild plums in those woods; +he also indulged pleasant reminiscences of later years, when, with Uncle +Daniel and Tom Anderson, he attended the secret prayer-meetings. Iola +rode along, conversing with Aunt Linda, amused and interested at the +quaintness of her speech and the shrewdness of her intellect. To her the +ride was delightful. + +"Does yer know dis place, Robby," asked Aunt Linda, as they passed an +old resort. + +"I should think I did," replied Robert. "It is the place where we held +our last prayer-meeting." + +"An' dere's dat ole broken pot we used, ter tell 'bout de war. But +warn't ole Miss hoppin' wen she foun' out you war goin' to de war! I +thought she'd go almos' wile. Now, own up, Robby, didn't you feel kine +ob mean to go off widout eben biddin' her good bye? An' I ralely think +ole Miss war fon' ob yer. Now, own up, honey, didn't yer feel a little +down in de mouf wen yer lef' her." + +"Not much," responded Robert. "I only thought she was getting paid back +for selling my mother." + +"Dat's so, Robby! yore mudder war a likely gal, wid long black hair, an' +kine ob ginger-bread color. An' you neber hearn tell ob her sence dey +sole her to Georgia?" + +"Never," replied Robert, "but I would give everything I have on earth to +see her once more. I _do_ hope, if she is living, that I may meet her +before I die." + +"You's right, boy, cause she lub'd you as she lub'd her own life. Many a +time hes she set in my ole cabin an' cried 'bout yer wen you war fas' +asleep. It's all ober now, but I'se gwine to hole up fer dem Yankees dat +gib me my freedom, an' sent dem nice ladies from de Norf to gib us some +sense. Some ob dese folks calls em nigger teachers, an' won't hab nuffin +to do wid 'em, but I jis' thinks dey's splendid. But dere's some +triflin' niggers down yere who'll sell der votes for almost nuffin. Does +you 'member Jake Williams an' Gundover's Tom? Well dem two niggers is de +las' ob pea-time. Dey's mighty small pertaters an' few in a hill." + +"Oh, Aunt Linda," said Robert, "don't call them niggers. They are our +own people." + +"Dey ain't my kine ob people. I jis' calls em niggers, an' niggers I +means; an' de bigges' kine ob niggers. An' if my John war sich a nigger +I'd whip him an' leave him." + +"An' what would I be a doin'," queried John, suddenly rousing up at the +mention of his name. + +"Standing still and taking it, I suppose," said Iola, who had been +quietly listening to and enjoying the conversation. + +"Yes, an' I'd ketch myself stan'in' still an' takin' it," was John's +plucky response. + +"Well, you oughter, ef you's mean enough to wote dat ticket ter put me +back inter slavery," was Aunt Linda's parting shot. "Robby," she +continued, "you 'member Miss Nancy's Jinnie?" + +"Of course I do," said Robert. + +"She married Mr. Gundover's Dick. Well, dere warn't much git up an' go +'bout him. So, wen 'lection time com'd, de man he war workin' fer tole +him ef he woted de radical ticket he'd turn him off. Well, Jinnie war so +'fraid he'd do it, dat she jis' follered him fer days." + +"Poor fellow!" exclaimed Robert. "How did he come out?" + +"He certainly was between two fires," interposed Iola. + +"Oh, Jinnie gained de day. She jis' got her back up, and said, 'Now ef +yer wote dat ticket ter put me back inter slavery, you take yore rags +an' go.' An' Dick jis' woted de radical ticket. Jake Williams went on de +Secesh side, woted whar he thought he'd git his taters, but he got +fooled es slick es greese." + +"How was that?" asked Robert. + +"Some ob dem folks, dat I 'spects buyed his wote, sent him some flour +an' sugar. So one night his wife hab company ter tea. Dey made a big +spread, an' put a lot ob sugar on de table fer supper, an' Tom jis' went +fer dat sugar. He put a lot in his tea. But somehow it didn't tase +right, an' wen dey come ter fine out what war de matter, dey hab sent +him a barrel ob san' wid some sugar on top, an' wen de sugar war all +gone de san' war dare. Wen I yeard it, I jis' split my sides a larfin. +It war too good to keep; an' wen it got roun', Jake war as mad as a +March hare. But it sarved him right." + +"Well, Aunt Linda, you musn't be too hard on Uncle Jake; you know he's +getting old." + +"Well he ain't too ole ter do right. He ain't no older dan Uncle Dan'el. +An' I yered dey offered him $500 ef he'd go on dere side. An' Uncle +Dan'el wouldn't tech it. An' dere's Uncle Job's wife; why didn't she go +dat way? She war down on Job's meanness." + +"What did she do?" + +"Wen 'lection time 'rived, he com'd home bringing some flour an' meat; +an' he says ter Aunt Polly, 'Ole woman, I got dis fer de wote.' She jis' +picked up dat meat an' flour an' sent it sailin' outer doors, an' den +com'd back an' gib him a good tongue-lashin'. 'Oder people,' she said, +'a wotin' ter lib good, an' you a sellin' yore wote! Ain't you got 'nuff +ob ole Marster, an' ole Marster bin cuttin' you up? It shan't stay +yere.' An' so she wouldn't let de things stay in de house." + +"What did Uncle Job do?" + +"He jis' stood dere an' cried." + +"And didn't you feel sorry for him?" asked Iola. + +"Not a bit! he hedn't no business ter be so shabby." + +"But, Aunt Linda," pursued Iola, "if it were shabby for an ignorant +colored man to sell his vote, wasn't it shabbier for an intelligent +white man to buy it?" + +"You see," added Robert, "all the shabbiness is not on our side." + +"I knows dat," said Aunt Linda, "but I can't help it. I wants my people +to wote right, an' to think somethin' ob demselves." + +"Well, Aunt Linda, they say in every flock of sheep there will be one +that's scabby," observed Iola. + +"Dat's so! But I ain't got no use fer scabby sheep." + +"Lindy," cried John, "we's most dar! Don't you yere dat singin'? Dey's +begun a'ready." + +"Neber mine," said Aunt Linda, "sometimes de las' ob de wine is de +bes'." + +Thus discoursing they had beguiled the long hours of the night and made +their long journey appear short. + +Very soon they reached the church, a neat, commodious, frame building, +with a blue ceiling, white walls within and without, and large windows +with mahogany-colored facings. It was a sight full of pathetic interest +to see that group which gathered from miles around. They had come to +break bread with each other, relate their experiences, and tell of their +hopes of heaven. In that meeting were remnants of broken +families--mothers who had been separated from their children before the +war, husbands who had not met their wives for years. After the bread had +been distributed and the handshaking was nearly over, Robert raised the +hymn which Iola had sung for him when he was recovering from his wounds, +and Iola, with her clear, sweet tones, caught up the words and joined +him in the strain. When the hymn was finished a dear old mother rose +from her seat. Her voice was quite strong. With still a lingering light +and fire in her eye, she said:-- + +"I rise, bredren an' sisters, to say I'm on my solemn march to glory." + +"Amen!" "Glory!" came from a number of voices. + +"I'se had my trials an' temptations, my ups an' downs; but I feels I'll +soon be in one ob de many mansions. If it hadn't been for dat hope I +'spects I would have broken down long ago. I'se bin through de deep +waters, but dey didn't overflow me; I'se bin in de fire, but de smell ob +it isn't on my garments. Bredren an' sisters, it war a drefful time when +I war tored away from my pore little chillen." + +"Dat's so!" exclaimed a chorus of voices. Some of her hearers moaned, +others rocked to and fro, as thoughts of similar scenes in their own +lives arose before them. + +"When my little girl," continued the speaker, "took hole ob my dress an' +begged me ter let her go wid me, an' I couldn't do it, it mos' broke my +heart. I had a little boy, an' wen my mistus sole me she kep' him. She +carried on a boardin' house. Many's the time I hab stole out at night +an' seen dat chile an' sleep'd wid him in my arms tell mos' day. Bimeby +de people I libed wid got hard up fer money, an' dey sole me one way an' +my pore little gal de oder; an' I neber laid my eyes on my pore chillen +sence den. But, honeys, let de wind blow high or low, I 'spects to +outwedder de storm an' anchor by'm bye in bright glory. But I'se bin a +prayin' fer one thing, an' I beliebs I'll git it; an' dat is dat I may +see my chillen 'fore I die. Pray fer me dat I may hole out an' hole on, +an' neber make a shipwrack ob faith, an' at las' fine my way from earth +to glory." + +Having finished her speech, she sat down and wiped away the tears that +flowed all the more copiously as she remembered her lost children. When +she rose to speak her voice and manner instantly arrested Robert's +attention. He found his mind reverting to the scenes of his childhood. +As she proceeded his attention became riveted on her. Unbidden tears +filled his eyes and great sobs shook his frame. He trembled in every +limb. Could it be possible that after years of patient search through +churches, papers, and inquiring friends, he had accidentally stumbled on +his mother--the mother who, long years ago, had pillowed his head upon +her bosom and left her parting kiss upon his lips? How should he reveal +himself to her? Might not sudden joy do what years of sorrow had failed +to accomplish? Controlling his feelings as best he could, he rose to +tell his experience. He referred to the days when they used to hold +their meetings in the lonely woods and gloomy swamps. How they had +prayed for freedom and plotted to desert to the Union army; and +continuing, he said: "Since then, brethren and sisters, I have had my +crosses and trials, but I try to look at the mercies. Just think what it +was then and what it is now! How many of us, since freedom has come, +have been looking up our scattered relatives. I have just been over to +visit my old mistress, Nancy Johnson, and to see if I could get some +clue to my long-lost mother, who was sold from me nearly thirty years +ago." + +Again there was a chorus of moans. + +On resuming, Robert's voice was still fuller of pathos. + +"When," he said, "I heard that dear old mother tell her experience it +seemed as if some one had risen from the dead. She made me think of my +own dear mother, who used to steal out at night to see me, fold me in +her arms, and then steal back again to her work. After she was sold +away I never saw her face again by daylight. I have been looking for her +ever since the war, and I think at last I have got on the right track. +If Mrs. Johnson, who kept the boarding-house in C----, is the one who +sold that dear old mother from her son, then she is the one I am looking +for, and I am the son she has been praying for." + +The dear old mother raised her eyes. They were clear and tearless. An +expression of wonder, hope, and love flitted over her face. It seemed as +if her youth were suddenly renewed and, bounding from her seat, she +rushed to the speaker in a paroxysm of joy. "Oh, Robby! Robby! is dis +you? Is dat my pore, dear boy I'se been prayin' 'bout all dese years? +Oh, glory! glory!" And overflowing with joyous excitement she threw her +arms around him, looking the very impersonation of rapturous content. It +was a happy time. Mothers whose children had been torn from them in the +days of slavery knew how to rejoice in her joy. The young people caught +the infection of the general happiness and rejoiced with them that +rejoiced. There were songs of rejoicing and shouts of praise. The +undertone of sadness which had so often mingled with their songs gave +place to strains of exultation; and tears of tender sympathy flowed from +eyes which had often been blurred by anguish. The child of many prayers +and tears was restored to his mother. + +Iola stood by the mother's side, smiling, and weeping tears of joy. When +Robert's mother observed Iola, she said to Robert, "Is dis yore wife?" + +"Oh, no," replied Robert, "but I believe she is your grandchild, the +daughter of the little girl who was sold away from you so long ago. She +is on her way to the farther South in search of her mother." + +"Is she? Dear chile! I hope she'll fine her! She puts me in mine ob my +pore little Marie. Well, I'se got one chile, an' I means to keep on +prayin' tell I fine my daughter. I'm _so_ happy! I feel's like a new +woman!" + +"My dear mother," said Robert, "now that I have found you, I mean to +hold you fast just as long as you live. Ever since the war I have been +trying to find out if you were living, but all efforts failed. At last, +I thought I would come and hunt you myself and, now that I have found +you, I am going to take you home to live with me, and to be as happy as +the days are long. I am living in the North, and doing a good business +there. I want you to see joy according to all the days wherein you have +seen sorrow. I do hope this young lady will find _her_ ma and that, when +found, she will prove to be your daughter!" + +"Yes, pore, dear chile! I specs her mudder's heart's mighty hungry fer +her. I does hope she's my gran'chile." + +Tenderly and caressingly Iola bent over the happy mother, with her heart +filled with mournful memories of her own mother. + +Aunt Linda was induced to stay until the next morning, and then gladly +assisted Robert's mother in arranging for her journey northward. The +friends who had given her a shelter in their hospitable home, learned to +value her so much that it was with great reluctance they resigned her to +the care of her son. Aunt Linda was full of bustling activity, and her +spirits overflowed with good humor. + +"Now, Harriet," she said, as they rode along on their return journey, +"you mus' jis' thank me fer finin' yore chile, 'cause I got him to come +to dat big meetin' wid me." + +"Oh, Lindy," she cried, "I'se glad from de bottom ob my heart ter see +you's all. I com'd out dere ter git a blessin', an' I'se got a double +po'tion. De frens I war libin' wid war mighty good ter me. Dey lib'd wid +me in de lower kentry, an' arter de war war ober I stopped wid 'em and +helped take keer ob de chillen; an' when dey com'd up yere dey brought +me wid 'em. I'se com'd a way I didn't know, but I'se mighty glad I'se +com'd." + +"Does you know dis place?" asked Aunt Linda, as they approached the +settlement. + +"No'n 'deed I don't. It's all new ter me." + +"Well, dis is whar I libs. Ain't you mighty tired? I feels a little +stiffish. Dese bones is gittin' ole." + +"Dat's so! But I'se mighty glad I'se lib'd to see my boy 'fore I crossed +ober de riber. An' now I feel like ole Simeon." + +"But, mother," said Robert, "if you are ready to go, I am not willing to +let you. I want you to stay ever so long where I can see you." + +A bright smile overspread her face. Robert's words reassured and +gladdened her heart. She was well satisfied to have a pleasant aftermath +from life on this side of the river. + +After arriving home Linda's first thought was to prepare dinner for her +guests. But, before she began her work of preparation, she went to the +cupboard to get a cup of home-made wine. + +"Here," she said, filling three glasses, "is some wine I made myself +from dat grape-vine out dere. Don't it look nice and clar? Jist taste +it. It's fus'rate." + +"No, thank you," said Robert. "I'm a temperance man, and never take +anything which has alcohol in it." + +"Oh, dis ain't got a bit ob alcohol in it. I made it myself." + +"But, Aunt Linda, you didn't make the law which ferments grape-juice and +makes it alcohol." + +"But, Robby, ef alcohol's so bad, w'at made de Lord put it here?" + +"Aunt Lindy," said Iola, "I heard a lady say that there were two things +the Lord didn't make. One is sin, and the other alcohol." + +"Why, Aunt Linda," said Robert, "there are numbers of things the Lord +has made that I wouldn't touch with a pair of tongs." + +"What are they?" + +"Rattlesnakes, scorpions, and moccasins." + +"Oh, sho!" + +"Aunt Linda," said Iola, "the Bible says that the wine at last will bite +like a serpent and sting like an adder." + +"And, Aunt Linda," added Robert, "as I wouldn't wind a serpent around my +throat, I don't want to put something inside of it which will bite like +a serpent and sting as an adder." + +"I reckon Robby's right," said his mother, setting down her glass and +leaving the wine unfinished. "You young folks knows a heap more dan we +ole folks." "Well," declared Aunt Linda, "you all is temp'rence to de +backbone. But what could I do wid my wine ef we didn't drink it?" + +"Let it turn to vinegar, and sign the temperance pledge," replied +Robert. + +"I don't keer 'bout it myself, but I don't 'spect John would be willin' +ter let it go, 'cause he likes it a heap." + +"Then you must give it up for his sake and Job's," said Robert. "They +may learn to like it too well." + +"You know, Aunt Linda," said Iola, "people don't get to be drunkards all +at once. And you wouldn't like to feel, if Job should learn to drink, +that you helped form his appetite." + +"Dat' so! I beliebs I'll let dis turn to winegar, an' not make any +more." + +"That's right, Aunt Linda. I hope you'll hold to it," said Robert, +encouragingly. + +Very soon Aunt Linda had an excellent dinner prepared. After it was over +Robert went with Iola to C----, where her friend, the bishop, was +awaiting her return. She told him the wonderful story of Robert's +finding his mother, and of her sweet, childlike faith. + +The bishop, a kind, fatherly man, said, "Miss Iola, I hope that such +happiness is in store for you. My dear child, still continue to pray and +trust. I am old-fashioned enough to believe in prayer. I knew an old +lady living in Illinois, who was a slave. Her son got a chance to come +North and beg money to buy his mother. The mother was badly treated, and +made up her mind to run away. But before she started she thought she +would kneel down to pray. And something, she said, reasoned within her, +and whispered, 'Stand still and see what I am going to do for you.' So +real was it to her that she unpacked her bundle and desisted from her +flight. Strange as it may appear to you, her son returned, bringing +with him money enough to purchase her freedom, and she was redeemed from +bondage. Had she persisted in running away she might have been lost in +the woods and have died, exhausted by starvation. But she believed, she +trusted, and was delivered. Her son took her North, where she could find +a resting place for the soles of her feet." + +That night Iola and the bishop left for the South. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + +A HOME FOR MOTHER. + +After Iola had left the settlement, accompanied by Robert as far as the +town, it was a pleasant satisfaction for the two old friends to settle +themselves down, and talk of times past, departed friends, and +long-forgotten scenes. + +"What," said Mrs. Johnson, as we shall call Robert's mother, "hab become +ob Miss Nancy's husband? Is he still a libin'?" + +"Oh, he drunk hisself to death," responded Aunt Linda. + +"He used ter be mighty handsome." + +"Yes, but drink war his ruination." + +"An' how's Miss Nancy?" + +"Oh, she's com'd down migh'ly. She's pore as a church mouse. I thought +'twould com'd home ter her wen she sole yer 'way from yore chillen. +Dere's nuffin goes ober de debil's back dat don't come under his belly. +Do yo 'member Miss Nancy's fardder?" + +"Ob course I does!" + +"Well," said Aunt Linda, "he war a nice ole gemmen. Wen he died, I said +de las' gemmen's dead, an' dere's noboddy ter step in his shoes." + +"Pore Miss Nancy!" exclaimed Robert's mother. "I ain't nothin' agin her. +But I wouldn't swap places wid her, 'cause I'se got my son; an' I +beliebs he'll do a good part by me." + +"Mother," said Robert, as he entered the room, "I've brought an old +friend to see you. Do you remember Uncle Daniel?" + +Uncle Daniel threw back his head, reached out his hand, and manifested +his joy with "Well, Har'yet! is dis you? I neber 'spected to see you in +dese lower grouns! How does yer do? an' whar hab you bin all dis time?" + +"O, I'se been tossin' roun' 'bout; but it's all com'd right at las'. +I'se lib'd to see my boy 'fore I died." + +"My wife an' boys is in glory," said Uncle Daniel. "But I 'spects to see +'em 'fore long. 'Cause I'se tryin' to dig deep, build sure, an' make my +way from earth ter glory." + +"Dat's de right kine ob talk, Dan'el. We ole folks ain't got long ter +stay yere." + +They chatted together until Job and Salters came home for supper. After +they had eaten, Uncle Daniel said:-- + +"We'll hab a word ob prayer." + +There, in that peaceful habitation, they knelt down, and mingled their +prayers together, as they had done in by-gone days, when they had met by +stealth in lonely swamps or silent forests. + +The next morning Robert and his mother started northward. They were well +supplied with a bountiful luncheon by Aunt Linda, who had so thoroughly +enjoyed their sojourn with her. On the next day he arrived in the city +of P----, and took his mother to his boarding-house, until he could find +a suitable home into which to install her. He soon came across one which +just suited his taste, but when the agent discovered that Robert's +mother was colored, he told him that the house had been previously +engaged. In company with his mother he looked at several other houses in +desirable neighborhoods, but they were constantly met with the answer, +"The house is engaged," or, "We do not rent to colored people." + +At length Robert went alone, and, finding a desirable house, engaged it, +and moved into it. In a short time it was discovered that he was +colored, and, at the behest of the local sentiment of the place, the +landlord used his utmost endeavors to oust him, simply because he +belonged to an unfashionable and unpopular race. At last he came across +a landlord who was broad enough to rent him a good house, and he found a +quiet resting place among a set of well-to-do and well-disposed people. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + +FURTHER LIFTING OF THE VEIL. + +In one of those fearful conflicts by which the Mississippi was freed +from Rebel intrusion and opened to commerce Harry was severely wounded, +and forced to leave his place in the ranks for a bed in the hospital. + +One day, as he lay in his bed, thinking of his former home in +Mississippi and wondering if the chances of war would ever restore him +to his loved ones, he fell into a quiet slumber. When he awoke he found +a lady bending over him, holding in her hands some fruit and flowers. As +she tenderly bent over Harry's bed their eyes met, and with a thrill of +gladness they recognized each other. + +"Oh, my son, my son!" cried Marie, trying to repress her emotion, as she +took his wasted hand in hers, and kissed the pale cheeks that sickness +and suffering had blanched. Harry was very weak, but her presence was a +call to life. He returned the pressure of her hand, kissed it, and his +eyes grew full of sudden light, as he murmured faintly, but joyfully:-- + +"Mamma; oh, mamma! have I found you at last?" + +The effort was too much, and he immediately became unconscious. + +Anxious, yet hopeful, Marie sat by the bedside of her son till +consciousness was restored. Caressingly she bent over his couch, +murmuring in her happiness the tenderest, sweetest words of motherly +love. In Harry's veins flowed new life and vigor, calming the +restlessness of his nerves. + +As soon as possible Harry was carried to his mother's home; a home +brought into the light of freedom by the victories of General Grant. +Nursed by his mother's tender, loving care, he rapidly recovered, but, +being too disabled to re-enter the army, he was honorably discharged. + +Lorraine had taken Marie to Vicksburg, and there allowed her to engage +in confectionery and preserving for the wealthy ladies of the city. He +had at first attempted to refugee with her in Texas, but, being foiled +in the attempt, he was compelled to enlist in the Confederate Army, and +met his fate by being killed just before the surrender of Vicksburg. + +"My dear son," Marie would say, as she bent fondly over him, "I am +deeply sorry that you are wounded, but I am glad that the fortunes of +war have brought us together. Poor Iola! I _do_ wonder what has become +of her? Just as soon as this war is over I want you to search the +country all over. Poor child! How my heart has ached for her!" + +Time passed on. Harry and his mother searched and inquired for Iola, but +no tidings of her reached them. + +Having fully recovered his health, and seeing the great need of +education for the colored people, Harry turned his attention toward +them, and joined the new army of Northern teachers. + +He still continued his inquiries for his sister, not knowing whether or +not she had succumbed to the cruel change in her life. He thought she +might have passed into the white basis for the sake of bettering her +fortunes. Hope deferred, which had sickened his mother's heart, had +only roused him to renewed diligence. + +A school was offered him in Georgia, and thither he repaired, taking his +mother with him. They were soon established in the city of A----. In +hope of finding Iola he visited all the conferences of the Methodist +Church, but for a long time his search was in vain. + +"Mamma," said Harry, one day during his vacation, "there is to be a +Methodist Conference in this State in the city of S----, about one +hundred and fifty miles from here. I intend to go and renew my search +for Iola." + +"Poor child!" burst out Marie, as the tears gathered in her eyes, "I +wonder if she is living." + +"I think so," said Harry, kissing the pale cheek of his mother; "I don't +feel that Iola is dead. I believe we will find her before long." + +"It seems to me my heart would burst with joy to see my dear child just +once more. I am glad that you are going. When will you leave?" + +"To-morrow morning." + +"Well, my son, go, and my prayers will go with you," was Marie's tender +parting wish. + +Early next morning Harry started for the conference, and reached the +church before the morning session was over. Near him sat two ladies, one +fair, the other considerably darker. There was something in the fairer +one that reminded him forcibly of his sister, but she was much older and +graver than he imagined his sister to be. Instantly he dismissed the +thought that had forced itself into his mind, and began to listen +attentively to the proceedings of the conference. + +When the regular business of the morning session was over the bishop +arose and said:-- + +"I have an interesting duty to perform. I wish to introduce a young lady +to the conference, who was the daughter of a Mississippi planter. She is +now in search of her mother and brother, from whom she was sold a few +months before the war. Her father married her mother in Ohio, where he +had taken her to be educated. After his death they were robbed of their +inheritance and enslaved by a distant relative named Lorraine. Miss Iola +Leroy is the young lady's name. If any one can give the least +information respecting the objects of her search it will be thankfully +received." + +"I can," exclaimed a young man, rising in the midst of the audience, and +pressing eagerly, almost impetuously, forward. "I am her brother, and I +came here to look for her." + +Iola raised her eyes to his face, so flushed and bright with the glow of +recognition, rushed to him, threw her arms around his neck, kissed him +again and again, crying: "O, Harry!" Then she fainted from excitement. +The women gathered around her with expressions of tender sympathy, and +gave her all the care she needed. They called her the "dear child," for +without any effort on her part she had slidden into their hearts and +found a ready welcome in each sympathizing bosom. + +Harry at once telegraphed the glad tidings to his mother, who waited +their coming with joyful anticipation. Long before the cars reached the +city, Mrs. Leroy was at the depot, restlessly walking the platform or +eagerly peering into the darkness to catch the first glimpse of the +train which was bearing her treasures. + +At length the cars arrived, and, as Harry and Iola alighted, Marie +rushed forward, clasped Iola in her arms and sobbed out her joy in +broken words. + +Very happy was the little family that sat together around the +supper-table for the first time for years. They partook of that supper +with thankful hearts and with eyes overflowing with tears of joy. Very +touching were the prayers the mother uttered, when she knelt with her +children that night to return thanks for their happy reunion, and to +seek protection through the slumbers of the night. + +The next morning, as they sat at the breakfast-table, Marie said: + +"My dear child, you are so changed I do not think I would have known you +if I had met you in the street!" + +"And I," said Harry, "can hardly realize that you are our own Iola, whom +I recognized as sister a half dozen years ago." + +"Am I so changed?" asked Iola, as a faint sigh escaped her lips. + +"Why, Iola," said Harry, "you used to be the most harum-scarum girl I +ever knew, laughing, dancing, and singing from morning until night." + +"Yes, I remember," said Iola. "It all comes back to me like a dream. Oh, +mamma! I have passed through a fiery ordeal of suffering since then. But +it is useless," and as she continued her face assumed a brighter look, +"to brood over the past. Let us be happy in the present. Let me tell you +something which will please you. Do you remember telling me about your +mother and brother?" + +"Yes," said Marie, in a questioning tone." + +"Well," continued Iola, with eyes full of gladness, "I think I have +found them." + +"Can it be possible!" exclaimed Marie, in astonishment. "It is more than +thirty years since we parted. I fear you are mistaken." + +"No, mamma; I have drawn my conclusions from good circumstantial +evidence. After I was taken from you, I passed through a fearful siege +of suffering, which would only harrow up your soul to hear. I often +shudder at the remembrance. The last man in whose clutches I found +myself was mean, brutal, and cruel. I was in his power when the Union +army came into C----, where I was living. A number of colored men +stampeded to the Union ranks, with a gentleman as a leader, whom I think +is your brother. A friend of his reported my case to the commander of +the post, who instantly gave orders for my release. A place was given me +as nurse in the hospital. I attended that friend in his last illness. +Poor fellow! he was the best friend I had in all the time I have been +tossing about. The gentleman whom I think is your brother appeared to be +very anxious about his friend's recovery, and was deeply affected by his +death. In one of the last terrible battles of the war, that of Five +Forks, he was wounded and put into the hospital ward where I was an +attendant. For awhile he was delirious, and in his delirium he would +sometimes think that I was his mother and at other times his sister. I +humored his fancies, would often sing to him when he was restless, and +my voice almost invariably soothed him to sleep. One day I sang to him +that old hymn we used to sing on the plantation:-- + + "Drooping souls no longer grieve, + Heaven is propitious; + If on Christ you do believe, + You will find Him precious." + +"I remember," said Marie, with a sigh, as memories of the past swept +over her. + +"After I had finished the hymn," continued Iola, "he looked earnestly +and inquiringly into my face, and asked, 'Where did you learn that hymn? +I have heard my mother sing it when I was a boy, but I have never heard +it since.' I think, mamma, the words, 'I was lost but now I'm found; +glory! glory! glory!' had imprinted themselves on his memory, and that +his mind was assuming a higher state of intellectuality. He asked me to +sing it again, which I did, until he fell asleep. Then I noticed a +marked resemblance between him and Harry, and I thought, 'Suppose he +should prove to be your long-lost brother?' During his convalescence we +found that we had a common ground of sympathy. We were anxious to be +reunited to our severed relations. We had both been separated from our +mothers. He told me of his little sister, with whom he used to play. She +had a mole on her cheek which he called her beauty spot. He had the red +spot on his forehead which you told me of." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + + +DELIGHTFUL REUNIONS. + +Very bright and happy was the home where Marie and her children were +gathered under one roof. Mrs. Leroy's neighbors said she looked ten +years younger. Into that peaceful home came no fearful forebodings of +cruel separations. Harry and Iola were passionately devoted to their +mother, and did all they could to flood her life with sunshine. + +"Iola, dear," said Harry, one morning at the breakfast-table, "I have a +new pleasure in store for you." + +"What is it, brother mine?" asked Iola, assuming an air of interest. + +"There is a young lady living in this city to whom I wish to introduce +you. She is one of the most remarkable women I have ever met." + +"Do tell me all about her," said Iola. "Is she young and handsome, +brilliant and witty? + +"She," replied Harry, "is more than handsome, she is lovely; more than +witty, she is wise; more than brilliant, she is excellent." + +"Well, Harry," said Mrs. Leroy, smiling, "if you keep on that way I +shall begin to fear that I shall soon be supplanted by a new daughter." + +"Oh, no, mamma," replied Harry, looking slightly confused, "I did not +mean that." + +"Well, Harry," said Iola, amused, "go on with your description; I am +becoming interested. Tax your powers of description to give me her +likeness." + +"Well, in the first place," continued Harry, "I suppose she is about +twenty-five years old." + +"Oh, the idea," interrupted Iola, "of a gentleman talking of a lady's +age. That is a tabooed subject." + +"Why, Iola, that adds to the interest of my picture. It is her +combination of earnestness and youthfulness which enhances her in my +estimation." + +"Pardon the interruption," said Iola; "I am anxious to hear more about +her." + +"Well, she is of medium height, somewhat slender, and well formed, with +dark, expressive eyes, full of thought and feeling. Neither hair nor +complexion show the least hint of blood admixture." + +"I am glad of it," said Iola. "Every person of unmixed blood who +succeeds in any department of literature, art, or science is a living +argument for the capability which is in the race." + +"Yes," responded Harry, "for it is not the white blood which is on trial +before the world. Well, I will bring her around this evening." + +In the evening Harry brought Miss Delany to call on his sister and +mother. They were much pleased with their visitor. Her manner was a +combination of suavity and dignity. During the course of the evening +they learned that she was a graduate of the University of A----. One day +she saw in the newspapers that colored women were becoming unfit to be +servants for white people. She then thought that if they are not fit to +be servants for white people, they are unfit to be mothers to their own +children, and she conceived the idea of opening a school to train future +wives and mothers. She began on a small scale, in a humble building, +and her work was soon crowned with gratifying success. She had enlarged +her quarters, increased her teaching force, and had erected a large and +commodious school-house through her own exertions and the help of +others. + +Marie cordially invited her to call again, saying, as she rose to go: "I +am very glad to have met you. Young women like you always fill my heart +with hope for the future of our race. In you I see reflected some of the +blessed possibilities which lie within us." + +"Thank you," said Miss Delany, "I want to be classed among those of whom +it is said, 'She has done what she could.'" + +Very pleasant was the acquaintance which sprang up between Miss Delany +and Iola. Although she was older than Iola, their tastes were so +congenial, their views of life and duty in such unison, that their +acquaintance soon ripened into strong and lasting friendship. There were +no foolish rivalries and jealousies between them. Their lives were too +full of zeal and earnestness for them to waste in selfishness their +power to be moral and spiritual forces among a people who so much needed +their helping hands. Miss Delany gave Iola a situation in her school; +but before the term was quite over she was force to resign, her health +having been so undermined by the fearful strain through which she had +passed, that she was quite unequal to the task. She remained at home, +and did what her strength would allow in assisting her mother in the +work of canning and preserving fruits. + +In the meantime, Iola had been corresponding with Robert. She had told +him of her success in finding her mother and brother, and had received +an answer congratulating her on the glad fruition of her hopes. He also +said that his business was flourishing, that his mother was keeping +house for him, and, to use her own expression, was as happy as the days +are long. She was firmly persuaded that Marie was her daughter, and she +wanted to see her before she died. + +"There is one thing," continued the letter, "that your mother may +remember her by. It was a little handkerchief on which were a number of +cats' heads. She gave one to each of us." + +"I remember it well," said Marie, "she must, indeed, be my mother. Now, +all that is needed to complete my happiness is her presence, and my +brother's. And I intend, if I live long enough, to see them both." + +Iola wrote Robert that her mother remembered the incident of the +handkerchief, and was anxious to see them. + +In the early fall Robert started for the South in order to clear up all +doubts with respect to their relationship. He found Iola, Harry, and +their mother living cosily together. Harry was teaching and was a leader +among the rising young men of the State. His Northern education and +later experience had done much toward adapting him to the work of the +new era which had dawned upon the South. + +Marie was very glad to welcome Robert to her home, but it was almost +impossible to recognize her brother in that tall, handsome man, with +dark-brown eyes and wealth of chestnut-colored hair, which he readily +lifted to show the crimson spot which lay beneath it. + +But as they sat together, and recalled the long-forgotten scenes of +their childhood, they concluded that they were brother and sister. + +"Marie," said Robert, "how would you like to leave the South?" + +"I should like to go North, but I hate to leave Harry. He's a splendid +young fellow, although I say it myself. He is so fearless and outspoken +that I am constantly anxious about him, especially at election time." + +Harry then entered the room, and, being introduced to Robert, gave him a +cordial welcome. He had just returned from school. + +"We were talking of you, my son," said Marie. + +"What were you saying? Nothing of the absent but good?" asked Harry. + +"I was telling your uncle, who wants me to come North, that I would go, +but I am afraid that you will get into trouble and be murdered, as many +others have been." + +"Oh, well, mother, I shall not die till my time comes. And if I die +helping the poor and needy, I shall die at my post. Could a man choose a +better place to die?" + +"Were you aware of the virulence of caste prejudice and the disabilities +which surround the colored people when you cast your lot with them?" +asked Robert. + +"Not fully," replied Harry; "but after I found out that I was colored, I +consulted the principal of the school, where I was studying, in +reference to the future. He said that if I stayed in the North, he had +friends whom he believed would give me any situation I could fill, and I +could simply take my place in the rank of workers, the same as any other +man. Then he told me of the army, and I made up my mind to enter it, +actuated by a desire to find my mother and sister; and at any rate I +wanted to avenge their wrongs. I do not feel so now. Since I have seen +the fearful ravages of war, I have learned to pity and forgive. The +principal said he thought I would be more apt to find my family if I +joined a colored regiment in the West than if I joined one of the Maine +companies. I confess at first I felt a shrinking from taking the step, +but love for my mother overcame all repugnance on my part. Now that I +have linked my fortunes to the race I intend to do all I can for its +elevation." + +As he spoke Robert gazed admiringly on the young face, lit up by noble +purposes and lofty enthusiasm. + +"You are right, Harry. I think it would be treason, not only to the +race, but to humanity, to have you ignoring your kindred and +masquerading as a white man." + +"I think so, too," said Marie. + +"But, sister, I am anxious for you all to come North. If Harry feels +that the place of danger is the post of duty, let him stay, and he can +spend his vacations with us. I think both you and Iola need rest and +change. Mother longs to see you before she dies. She feels that we have +been the children of many prayers and tears, and I want to make her last +days as happy as possible. The South has not been a paradise to you all +the time, and I should think you would be willing to leave it." + +"Yes, that is so. Iola needs rest and change, and she would be such a +comfort to mother. I suppose, for her sake, I will consent to have her +go back with you, at least for awhile." + +In a few days, with many prayers and tears, Marie, half reluctantly, +permitted Iola to start for the North in company with Robert Johnson, +intending to follow as soon as she could settle her business and see +Harry in a good boarding place. + +Very joyful was the greeting of the dear grandmother. Iola soon nestled +in her heart and lent additional sunshine to her once checkered life, +and Robert, who had so long been robbed of kith and kin, was delighted +with the new accession to his home life. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + +NORTHERN EXPERIENCE. + +"Uncle Robert," said Iola, after she had been North several weeks, "I +have a theory that every woman ought to know how to earn her own living. +I believe that a great amount of sin and misery springs from the +weakness and inefficiency of women." + +"Perhaps that's so, but what are you going to do about it?" + +"I am going to join the great rank of bread-winners. Mr. Waterman has +advertised for a number of saleswomen, and I intend to make +application." + +"When he advertises for help he means white women," said Robert. + +"He said nothing about color," responded Iola. + +"I don't suppose he did. He doesn't expect any colored girl to apply." + +"Well, I think I could fill the place. At least I should like to try. +And I do not think when I apply that I am in duty bound to tell him my +great-grandmother was a negro." + +"Well, child, there is no necessity for you to go out to work. You are +perfectly welcome here, and I hope that you feel so." + +"Oh, I certainly do. But still I would rather earn my own living." + +That morning Iola applied for the situation, and, being prepossessing in +her appearance, she obtained it. + +For awhile everything went as pleasantly as a marriage bell. But one day +a young colored lady, well-dressed and well-bred in her manner, entered +the store. It was an acquaintance which Iola had formed in the colored +church which she attended. Iola gave her a few words of cordial +greeting, and spent a few moments chatting with her. The attention of +the girls who sold at the same counter was attracted, and their +suspicion awakened. Iola was a stranger in that city. Who was she, and +who were her people? At last it was decided that one of the girls should +act as a spy, and bring what information she could concerning Iola. + +The spy was successful. She found out that Iola was living in a good +neighborhood, but that none of the neighbors knew her. The man of the +house was very fair, but there was an old woman whom Iola called +"Grandma," and she was unmistakably colored. The story was sufficient. +If that were true, Iola must be colored, and she should be treated +accordingly. + +Without knowing the cause, Iola noticed a chill in the social atmosphere +of the store, which communicated itself to the cash-boys, and they +treated her so insolently that her situation became very uncomfortable. +She saw the proprietor, resigned her position, and asked for and +obtained a letter of recommendation to another merchant who had +advertised for a saleswoman. + +In applying for the place, she took the precaution to inform her +employer that she was colored. It made no difference to him; but he +said:-- + +"Don't say anything about it to the girls. They might not be willing to +work with you." + +Iola smiled, did not promise, and accepted the situation. She entered +upon her duties, and proved quite acceptable as a saleswoman. + +One day, during an interval in business, the girls began to talk of +their respective churches, and the question was put to Iola:-- + +"Where do you go to church?" + +"I go," she replied, "to Rev. River's church, corner of Eighth and L +Streets." + +"Oh, no; you must be mistaken. There is no church there except a colored +one." + +"That is where I go." + +"Why do you go there?" + +"Because I liked it when I came here, and joined it." + +"A member of a colored church? What under heaven possessed you to do +such a thing?" + +"Because I wished to be with my own people." + +Here the interrogator stopped, and looked surprised and pained, and +almost instinctively moved a little farther from her. After the store +was closed, the girls had an animated discussion, which resulted in the +information being sent to Mr. Cohen that Iola was a colored girl, and +that they protested against her being continued in his employ. Mr. Cohen +yielded to the pressure, and informed Iola that her services were no +longer needed. + +When Robert came home in the evening, he found that Iola had lost her +situation, and was looking somewhat discouraged. + +"Well, uncle," she said, "I feel out of heart. It seems as if the +prejudice pursues us through every avenue of life, and assigns us the +lowest places." + +"That is so," replied Robert, thoughtfully. + +"And yet I am determined," said Iola, "to win for myself a place in the +fields of labor. I have heard of a place in New England, and I mean to +try for it, even if I only stay a few months." + +"Well, if you _will_ go, say nothing about your color." + +"Uncle Robert, I see no necessity for proclaiming that fact on the +house-top. Yet I am resolved that nothing shall tempt me to deny it. The +best blood in my veins is African blood, and I am not ashamed of it." + +"Hurrah for you!" exclaimed Robert, laughing heartily. + +As Iola wished to try the world for herself, and so be prepared for any +emergency, her uncle and grandmother were content to have her go to New +England. The town to which she journeyed was only a few hours' ride from +the city of P----, and Robert, knowing that there is no teacher like +experience, was willing that Iola should have the benefit of her +teaching. + +Iola, on arriving in H----, sought the firm, and was informed that her +services were needed. She found it a pleasant and lucrative position. +There was only one drawback--her boarding place was too far from her +work. There was an institution conducted by professed Christian women, +which was for the special use of respectable young working girls. This +was in such a desirable location that she called at the house to engage +board. + +The matron conducted her over the house, and grew so friendly in the +interview that she put her arm around her, and seemed to look upon Iola +as a desirable accession to the home. But, just as Iola was leaving, she +said to the matron: "I must be honest with you; I am a colored woman." + +Swift as light a change passed over the face of the matron. She withdrew +her arm from Iola, and said: "I must see the board of managers about +it." + +When the board met, Iola's case was put before them, but they decided +not to receive her. And these women, professors of a religion which +taught, "If ye have respect to persons ye commit sin," virtually shut +the door in her face because of the outcast blood in her veins. + +Considerable feeling was aroused by the action of these women, who, to +say the least, had not put their religion in the most favorable light. + +Iola continued to work for the firm until she received letters from her +mother and uncle, which informed her that her mother, having arranged +her affairs in the South, was ready to come North. She then resolved to +return, to the city of P----, to be ready to welcome her mother on her +arrival. + +Iola arrived in time to see that everything was in order for her +mother's reception. Her room was furnished neatly, but with those +touches of beauty that womanly hands are such adepts in giving. A few +charming pictures adorned the walls, and an easy chair stood waiting to +receive the travel-worn mother. Robert and Iola met her at the depot; +and grandma was on her feet at the first sound of the bell, opened the +door, clasped Marie to her heart, and nearly fainted for joy. + +"Can it be possible dat dis is my little Marie?" she exclaimed. + +It did seem almost impossible to realize that this faded woman, with +pale cheeks and prematurely whitened hair, was the rosy-cheeked child +from whom she had been parted more than thirty years. + +"Well," said Robert, after the first joyous greeting was over, "love is +a very good thing, but Marie has had a long journey and needs something +that will stick by the ribs. How about dinner, mother?" + +"It's all ready," said Mrs. Johnson. + +After Marie had gone to her room and changed her dress, she came down +and partook of the delicious repast which her mother and Iola had +prepared for her. + +In a few days Marie was settled in the home, and was well pleased with +the change. The only drawback to her happiness was the absence of her +son, and she expected him to come North after the closing of his school. + +"Uncle Robert," said Iola, after her mother had been with them several +weeks, "I am tired of being idle." + +"What's the matter now?" asked Robert. "You are surely not going East +again, and leave your mother?" + +"Oh, I hope not," said Marie, anxiously. "I have been so long without +you." + +"No, mamma, I am not going East. I can get suitable employment here in +the city of P----." + +"But, Iola," said Robert, "you have tried, and been defeated. Why +subject yourself to the same experience again?" + +"Uncle Robert, I think that every woman should have some skill or art +which would insure her at least a comfortable support. I believe there +would be less unhappy marriages if labor were more honored among women." + +"Well, Iola," said her mother, "what is your skill?" + +"Nursing. I was very young when I went into the hospital, but I +succeeded so well that the doctor said I must have been a born nurse. +Now, I see by the papers, that a gentleman who has an invalid daughter +wants some one who can be a nurse and companion for her, and I mean to +apply for the situation. I do not think, if I do my part well in that +position, that the blood in my veins will be any bar to my success." + +A troubled look stole over Marie's face. She sighed faintly, but made no +remonstrance. And so it was decided that Iola should apply for the +situation. + +Iola made application, and was readily accepted. Her patient was a frail +girl of fifteen summers, who was ill with a low fever. Iola nursed her +carefully, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing her restored to +health. During her stay, Mr. Cloten, the father of the invalid, had +learned some of the particulars of Iola's Northern experience as a +bread-winner, and he resolved to give her employment in his store when +her services were no longer needed in the house. As soon as a vacancy +occurred he gave Iola a place in his store. + +The morning she entered on her work he called his employés together, and +told them that Miss Iola had colored blood in her veins, but that he was +going to employ her and give her a desk. If any one objected to working +with her, he or she could step to the cashier's desk and receive what +was due. Not a man remonstrated, not a woman demurred; and Iola at last +found a place in the great army of bread-winners, which the traditions +of her blood could not affect. + +"How did you succeed?" asked Mrs. Cloten of her husband, when he +returned to dinner. + +"Admirably! 'Everything is lovely and the goose hangs high.' I gave my +employés to understand that they could leave if they did not wish to +work with Miss Leroy. Not one of them left, or showed any disposition +to rebel." + +"I am very glad," said Mrs. Cloten. "I am ashamed of the way she has been +treated in our city, when seeking to do her share in the world's work. I +am glad that you were brave enough to face this cruel prejudice, and +give her a situation." + +"Well, my dear, do not make me a hero for a single act. I am grateful +for the care Miss Leroy gave our Daisy. Money can buy services, but it +cannot purchase tender, loving sympathy. I was also determined to let my +employés know that I, not they, commanded my business. So, do not crown +me a hero until I have won a niche in the temple of fame. In dealing +with Southern prejudice against the negro, we Northerners could do it +with better grace if we divested ourselves of our own. We irritate the +South by our criticisms, and, while I confess that there is much that is +reprehensible in their treatment of colored people, yet if our Northern +civilization is higher than theirs we should 'criticise by creation.' We +should stamp ourselves on the South, and not let the South stamp itself +on us. When we have learned to treat men according to the complexion of +their souls, and not the color of their skins, we will have given our +best contribution towards the solution of the negro problem." + +"I feel, my dear," said Mrs. Cloten, "that what you have done is a right +step in the right direction, and I hope that other merchants will do the +same. We have numbers of business men, rich enough to afford themselves +the luxury of a good conscience." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + + +AN OLD FRIEND. + +"Good-morning, Miss Leroy," said a cheery voice in tones of glad +surprise, and, intercepting her path, Dr. Gresham stood before Iola, +smiling, and reaching out his hand. + +"Why, Dr. Gresham, is this you?" said Iola, lifting her eyes to that +well-remembered face. "It has been several years since we met. How have +you been all this time, and where?" + +"I have been sick, and am just now recovering from malaria and nervous +prostration. I am attending a medical convention in this city, and hope +that I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again." + +Iola hesitated, and then replied: "I should be pleased to have you +call." + +"It would give me great pleasure. Where shall I call?" + +"My home is 1006 South Street, but I am only at home in the evenings." + +They walked together a short distance till they reached Mr. Cloten's +store; then, bidding the doctor good morning, Iola left him repeating to +himself the words of his favorite poet:-- + + "Thou art too lovely and precious a gem + To be bound to their burdens and sullied by them." + +No one noticed the deep flush on Iola's face as she entered the store, +nor the subdued, quiet manner with which she applied herself to her +tasks. She was living over again the past, with its tender, sad, and +thrilling reminiscences. + +In the evening Dr. Gresham called on Iola. She met him with a pleasant +welcome. Dr. Gresham gazed upon her with unfeigned admiration, and +thought that the years, instead of detracting from, had only +intensified, her loveliness. He had thought her very beautiful in the +hospital, in her gray dress and white collar, with her glorious wealth +of hair drawn over her ears. But now, when he saw her with that hair +artistically arranged, and her finely-proportioned form arrayed in a +dark crimson dress, relieved by a shimmer of lace and a bow of white +ribbon at her throat, he thought her superbly handsome. The lines which +care had written upon her young face had faded away. There was no +undertone of sorrow in her voice as she stood up before him in the calm +loveliness of her ripened womanhood, radiant in beauty and gifted in +intellect. Time and failing health had left their traces upon Dr. +Gresham. His step was less bounding, his cheek a trifle paler, his +manner somewhat graver than it was when he had parted from Iola in the +hospital, but his meeting with her had thrilled his heart with +unexpected pleasure. Hopes and sentiments which long had slept awoke at +the touch of her hand and the tones of her voice, and Dr. Gresham found +himself turning to the past, with its sad memories and disappointed +hopes. No other face had displaced her image in his mind; no other love +had woven itself around every tendril of his soul. His heart and hand +were just as free as they were the hour they had parted. + +"To see you again," said Dr. Gresham, "is a great and unexpected +pleasure." + +"You had not forgotten me, then?" said Iola, smiling. + +"Forget you! I would just as soon forget my own existence. I do not +think that time will ever efface the impressions of those days in which +we met so often. When last we met you were intending to search for your +mother. Have you been successful?" + +"More than successful," said Iola, with a joyous ring in her voice. "I +have found my mother, brother, grandmother, and uncle, and, except my +brother, we are all living together, and we are so happy. Excuse me a +few minutes," she said, and left the room. Iola soon returned, bringing +with her her mother and grandmother. + +"These," said Iola, introducing her mother and grandmother, "are the +once-severed branches of our family; and this gentleman you have seen +before," continued Iola, as Robert entered the room. + +Dr. Gresham looked scrutinizingly at him and said: "Your face looks +familiar, but I saw so many faces at the hospital that I cannot just now +recall your name." + +"Doctor," said Robert Johnson, "I was one of your last patients, and I +was with Tom Anderson when he died." + +"Oh, yes," replied Dr. Gresham; "it all comes back to me. You were +wounded at the battle of Five Forks, were you not?" + +"Yes," said Robert. + +"I saw you when you were recovering. You told me that you thought you +had a clue to your lost relatives, from whom you had been so long +separated. How have you succeeded?" + +"Admirably! I have been fortunate in finding my mother, my sister, and +her children." + +"Ah, indeed! I am delighted to hear it. Where are they?" + +"They are right here. This is my mother," said Robert, bending fondly +over her, as she returned his recognition with an expression of intense +satisfaction; "and this," he continued, "is my sister, and Miss Leroy is +my niece." + +"Is it possible? I am very glad to hear it. It has been said that every +cloud has its silver lining, and the silver lining of our war cloud is +the redemption of a race and the reunion of severed hearts. War is a +dreadful thing; but worse than the war was the slavery which preceded +it." + +"Slavery," said Iola, "was a fearful cancer eating into the nation's +heart, sapping its vitality, and undermining its life." + +"And war," said Dr. Gresham, "was the dreadful surgery by which the +disease was eradicated. The cancer has been removed, but for years to +come I fear that we will have to deal with the effects of the disease. +But I believe that we have vitality enough to outgrow those effects." + +"I think, Doctor," said Iola, "that there is but one remedy by which our +nation can recover from the evil entailed upon her by slavery." + +"What is that?" asked Robert. + +"A fuller comprehension of the claims of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and +their application to our national life." + +"Yes," said Robert; "while politicians are stumbling on the barren +mountains of fretful controversy and asking what shall we do with the +negro? I hold that Jesus answered that question nearly two thousand +years ago when he said, 'Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, +do ye even so to them.'" + +"Yes," said Dr. Gresham; "the application of that rule in dealing with +the negro would solve the whole problem." + +"Slavery," said Mrs. Leroy, "is dead, but the spirit which animated it +still lives; and I think that a reckless disregard for human life is +more the outgrowth of slavery than any actual hatred of the negro." + +"The problem of the nation," continued Dr. Gresham, "is not what men +will do with the negro, but what will they do with the reckless, lawless +white men who murder, lynch and burn their fellow-citizens. To me these +lynchings and burnings are perfectly alarming. Both races have reacted +on each other--men fettered the slave and cramped their own souls; +denied him knowledge, and darkened their spiritual insight; subdued him +to the pliancy of submission, and in their turn became the thralls of +public opinion. The negro came here from the heathenism of Africa; but +the young colonies could not take into their early civilization a stream +of barbaric blood without being affected by its influence and the negro, +poor and despised as he is, has laid his hands on our Southern +civilization and helped mould its character." + +"Yes," said Mrs. Leroy; "the colored nurse could not nestle her master's +child in her arms, hold up his baby footsteps on their floors, and walk +with him through the impressible and formative period of his young life +without leaving upon him the impress of her hand." + +"I am glad," said Robert, "for the whole nation's sake, that slavery +has been destroyed." + +"And our work," said Dr. Gresham, "is to build over the desolations of +the past a better and brighter future. The great distinction between +savagery and civilization is the creation and maintenance of law. +A people cannot habitually trample on law and justice without +retrograding toward barbarism. But I am hopeful that time will bring us +changes for the better; that, as we get farther away from the war, we +will outgrow the animosities and prejudices engendered by slavery. The +short-sightedness of our fathers linked the negro's destiny to ours. We +are feeling the friction of the ligatures which bind us together, but I +hope that the time will speedily come when the best members of both +races will unite for the maintenance of law and order and the progress +and prosperity of the country, and that the intelligence and virtue of +the South will be strong to grapple effectually with its ignorance and +vice." + +"I hope that time will speedily come," said Marie. "My son is in the +South, and I am always anxious for his safety. He is not only a teacher, +but a leading young man in the community where he lives." + +"Yes," said Robert, "and when I see the splendid work he is doing in the +South, I am glad that, instead of trying to pass for a white man, he has +cast his lot with us." + +"But," answered Dr. Gresham, "he would possess advantages as a white man +which he could not if he were known to be colored." + +"Doctor," said Iola, decidedly, "he has greater advantages as a colored +man." + +"I do not understand you," said Dr. Gresham, looking somewhat puzzled. + +"Doctor," continued Iola, "I do not think life's highest advantages are +those that we can see with our eyes or grasp with our hands. To whom +to-day is the world most indebted--to its millionaires or to its +martyrs?" + +"Taking it from the ideal standpoint," replied the doctor, "I should say +its martyrs." + +"To be," continued Iola, "the leader of a race to higher planes of +thought and action, to teach men clearer views of life and duty, and to +inspire their souls with loftier aims, is a far greater privilege than +it is to open the gates of material prosperity and fill every home with +sensuous enjoyment." + +"And I," said Mrs. Leroy, her face aglow with fervid feeling, "would +rather--ten thousand times rather--see Harry the friend and helper of +the poor and ignorant than the companion of men who, under the cover of +night, mask their faces and ride the country on lawless raids." + +"Dr. Gresham," said Robert, "we ought to be the leading nation of the +earth, whose influence and example should give light to the world." + +"Not simply," said Iola, "a nation building up a great material +prosperity, founding magnificent cities, grasping the commerce of the +world, or excelling in literature, art, and science, but a nation +wearing sobriety as a crown and righteousness as the girdle of her +loins." + +Dr. Gresham gazed admiringly upon Iola. A glow of enthusiasm overspread +her beautiful, expressive face. There was a rapt and far-off look in her +eye, as if she were looking beyond the present pain to a brighter +future for the race with which she was identified, and felt the +grandeur of a divine commission to labor for its uplifting. + +As Dr. Gresham was parting with Robert, he said: "This meeting has been +a very unexpected pleasure. I have spent a delightful evening. I only +regret that I had not others to share it with me. A doctor from the +South, a regular Bourbon, is stopping at the hotel. I wish he could have +been here to-night. Come down to the Concordia, Mr. Johnson, to-morrow +night. If you know any colored man who is a strong champion of equal +rights, bring him along. Good-night. I shall look for you," said the +doctor, as he left the door. + +When Robert returned to the parlor he said to Iola: "Dr. Gresham has +invited me to come to his hotel to-morrow night, and to bring some +wide-awake colored man with me. There is a Southerner whom he wishes me +to meet. I suppose he wants to discuss the negro problem, as they call +it. He wants some one who can do justice to the subject. I wonder whom I +can take with me?" + +"I will tell you who, I think, will be a capital one to take with you, +and I believe he would go," said Iola. + +"Who?" asked Robert. + +"Rev. Carmicle, your pastor." + +"He is just the one," said Robert, "courteous in his manner and very +scholarly in his attainments. He is a man whom if everybody hated him no +one could despise him." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + + +OPEN QUESTIONS. + +In the evening Robert and Rev. Carmicle called on Dr. Gresham, and found +Dr. Latrobe, the Southerner, and a young doctor by the name of Latimer, +already there. Dr. Gresham introduced Dr. Latrobe, but it was a new +experience to receive colored men socially. His wits, however, did not +forsake him, and he received the introduction and survived it. + +"Permit me, now," said Dr. Gresham, "to introduce you to my friend, Dr. +Latimer, who is attending our convention. He expects to go South and +labor among the colored people. Don't you think that there is a large +field of usefulness before him?" + +"Yes," replied Dr. Latrobe, "if he will let politics alone." + +"And why let politics alone?" asked Dr. Gresham. + +"Because," replied Dr. Latrobe, "we Southerners will never submit to +negro supremacy. We will never abandon our Caucasian civilization to an +inferior race." + +"Have you any reason," inquired Rev. Carmicle, "to dread that a race +which has behind it the heathenism of Africa and the slavery of America, +with its inheritance of ignorance and poverty, will be able, in less +than one generation, to domineer over a race which has behind it ages of +dominion, freedom, education, and Christianity?" + +A slight shade of vexation and astonishment passed over the face of Dr. +Latrobe. He hesitated a moment, then replied:-- + +"I am not afraid of the negro as he stands alone, but what I dread is +that in some closely-contested election ambitious men will use him to +hold the balance of power and make him an element of danger. He is +ignorant, poor, and clannish, and they may impact him as their policy +would direct." + +"Any more," asked Robert, "than the leaders of the Rebellion did the +ignorant, poor whites during our late conflict?" + +"Ignorance, poverty, and clannishness," said Dr. Gresham, "are more +social than racial conditions, which may be outgrown." + +"And I think," said Rev. Carmicle, "that we are outgrowing them as fast +as any other people would have done under the same conditions." + +"The negro," replied Dr. Latrobe, "always has been and always will be an +element of discord in our country." + +"What, then, is your remedy?" asked Dr. Gresham. + +"I would eliminate him from the politics of the country." + +"As disfranchisement is a punishment for crime, is it just to punish a +man before he transgresses the law?" asked Dr. Gresham. + +"If," said Dr. Latimer, "the negro is ignorant, poor, and clannish, let +us remember that in part of our land it was once a crime to teach him to +read. If he is poor, for ages he was forced to bend to unrequited toil. +If he is clannish, society has segregated him to himself." + +"And even," said Robert, "has given him a negro pew in your churches +and a negro seat at your communion table." + +"Wisely, or unwisely," said Dr. Gresham, "the Government has put the +ballot in his hands. It is better to teach him to use that ballot aright +than to intimidate him by violence or vitiate his vote by fraud." + +"To-day," said Dr. Latimer, "the negro is not plotting in beer-saloons +against the peace and order of society. His fingers are not dripping +with dynamite, neither is he spitting upon your flag, nor flaunting the +red banner of anarchy in your face." + +"Power," said Dr. Gresham, "naturally gravitates into the strongest +hands. The class who have the best brain and most wealth can strike with +the heaviest hand. I have too much faith in the inherent power of the +white race to dread the competition of any other people under heaven." + +"I think you Northerners fail to do us justice," said Dr. Latrobe. "The +men into whose hands you put the ballot were our slaves, and we would +rather die than submit to them. Look at the carpet-bag governments the +wicked policy of the Government inflicted upon us. It was only done to +humiliate us." + +"Oh, no!" said Dr. Gresham, flushing, and rising to his feet. "We had no +other alternative than putting the ballot in their hands." + +"I will not deny," said Rev. Carmicle, "that we have made woeful +mistakes, but with our antecedents it would have been miraculous if we +had never committed any mistakes or made any blunders." + +"They were allies in war," continued Dr. Gresham, "and I am sorry that +we have not done more to protect them in peace." + +"Protect them in peace!" said Robert, bitterly. "What protection does +the colored man receive from the hands of the Government? I know of no +civilized country outside of America where men are still burned for real +or supposed crimes." + +"Johnson," said Dr. Gresham, compassionately, "it is impossible to have +a policeman at the back of each colored man's chair, and a squad of +soldiers at each crossroad, to detect with certainty, and punish with +celerity, each invasion of his rights. We tried provisional governments +and found them a failure. It seemed like leaving our former allies to be +mocked with the name of freedom and tortured with the essence of +slavery. The ballot is our weapon of defense, and we gave it to them for +theirs." + +"And there," said Dr. Latrobe, emphatically, "is where you signally +failed. We are numerically stronger in Congress to-day than when we went +out. You made the law, but the administration of it is in our hands, and +we are a unit." + +"But, Doctor," said Rev. Carmicle, "you cannot willfully deprive the +negro of a single right as a citizen without sending demoralization +through your own ranks." + +"I think," said Dr. Latrobe, "that we are right in suppressing the +negro's vote. This is a white man's government, and a white man's +country. We own nineteen-twentieths of the land, and have about the same +ratio of intelligence. I am a white man, and, right or wrong, I go with +my race." + +"But, Doctor," said Rev. Carmicle, "there are rights more sacred than +the rights of property and superior intelligence." + +"What are they?" asked Dr. Latrobe. + +"The rights of life and liberty," replied Rev. Carmicle. + +"That is true," said Dr. Gresham; "and your Southern civilization will +be inferior until you shall have placed protection to those rights at +its base, not in theory but in fact." + +"But, Dr. Gresham, we have to live with these people, and the North is +constantly irritating us by its criticisms." + +"The world," said Dr. Gresham, "is fast becoming a vast whispering +gallery, and lips once sealed can now state their own grievances and +appeal to the conscience of the nation, and, as long as a sense of +justice and mercy retains a hold upon the heart of our nation, you +cannot practice violence and injustice without rousing a spirit of +remonstrance. And if it were not so I would be ashamed of my country and +of my race." + +"You speak," said Dr. Latrobe, "as if we had wronged the negro by +enslaving him and being unwilling to share citizenship with him. I think +that slavery has been of incalculable value to the negro. It has lifted +him out of barbarism and fetich worship, given him a language of +civilization, and introduced him to the world's best religion. Think +what he was in Africa and what he is in America!" + +"The negro," said Dr. Gresham, thoughtfully, "is not the only branch of +the human race which has been low down in the scale of civilization and +freedom, and which has outgrown the measure of his chains. Slavery, +polygamy, and human sacrifices have been practiced among Europeans in +by-gone days; and when Tyndall tells us that out of savages unable to +count to the number of their fingers and speaking only a language of +nouns and verbs, arise at length our Newtons and Shakspeares, I do not +see that the negro could not have learned our language and received our +religion without the intervention of ages of slavery." + +"If," said Rev. Carmicle, "Mohammedanism, with its imperfect creed, is +successful in gathering large numbers of negroes beneath the Crescent, +could not a legitimate commerce and the teachings of a pure Christianity +have done as much to plant the standard of the Cross over the ramparts +of sin and idolatry in Africa? Surely we cannot concede that the light +of the Crescent is greater than the glory of the Cross, that there is +less constraining power in the Christ of Calvary than in the Prophet of +Arabia? I do not think that I underrate the difficulties in your way +when I say that you young men are holding in your hands golden +opportunities which it would be madness and folly to throw away. It is +your grand opportunity to help build up a new South, not on the shifting +sands of policy and expediency, but on the broad basis of equal justice +and universal freedom. Do this and you will be blessed, and will make +your life a blessing." + +After Robert and Rev. Carmicle had left the hotel, Drs. Latimer, +Gresham, and Latrobe sat silent and thoughtful awhile, when Dr. Gresham +broke the silence by asking Dr. Latrobe how he had enjoyed the evening. + +"Very pleasantly," he replied. "I was quite interested in that parson. +Where was he educated?" + +"In Oxford, I believe. I was pleased to hear him say that he had no +white blood in his veins." + +"I should think not," replied Dr. Latrobe, "from his looks. But one +swallow does not make a summer. It is the exceptions which prove the +rule." + +"Don't you think," asked Dr. Gresham, "that we have been too hasty in +our judgment of the negro? He has come handicapped into life, and is now +on trial before the world. But it is not fair to subject him to the same +tests that you would a white man. I believe that there are possibilities +of growth in the race which we have never comprehended." + +"The negro," said Dr. Latrobe, "is perfectly comprehensible to me. The +only way to get along with him is to let him know his place, and make +him keep it." + +"I think," replied Dr. Gresham, "every man's place is the one he is best +fitted for." + +"Why," asked Dr. Latimer, "should any place be assigned to the negro +more than to the French, Irish, or German?" + +"Oh," replied Dr. Latrobe, "they are all Caucasians." + +"Well," said Dr. Gresham, "is all excellence summed up in that branch of +the human race?" + +"I think," said Dr. Latrobe, proudly, "that we belong to the highest +race on earth and the negro to the lowest." + +"And yet," said Dr. Latimer, "you have consorted with them till you have +bleached their faces to the whiteness of your own. Your children nestle +in their bosoms; they are around you as body servants, and yet if one of +them should attempt to associate with you your bitterest scorn and +indignation would be visited upon them." + +"I think," said Dr. Latrobe, "that feeling grows out of our Anglo-Saxon +regard for the marriage relation. These white negroes are of +illegitimate origin, and we would scorn to share our social life with +them. Their blood is tainted." + +"Who tainted it?" asked Dr. Latimer, bitterly. "You give absolution to +the fathers, and visit the misfortunes of the mothers upon the +children." + +"But, Doctor, what kind of society would we have if we put down the bars +and admitted everybody to social equality?" + +"This idea of social equality," said Dr. Latimer, "is only a bugbear +which frightens well-meaning people from dealing justly with the negro. +I know of no place on earth where there is perfect social equality, and +I doubt if there is such a thing in heaven. The sinner who repents on +his death-bed cannot be the equal of St. Paul or the Beloved Disciple." + +"Doctor," said Dr. Gresham, "I sometimes think that the final solution +of this question will be the absorption of the negro into our race." + +"Never! never!" exclaimed Dr. Latrobe, vehemently. "It would be a death +blow to American civilization." + +"Why, Doctor," said Dr. Latimer, "you Southerners began this absorption +before the war. I understand that in one decade the mixed bloods rose +from one-ninth to one-eighth of the population, and that as early as +1663 a law was passed in Maryland to prevent English women from +intermarrying with slaves; and, even now, your laws against +miscegenation presuppose that you apprehend danger from that source." + +"Doctor, it is no use talking," replied Dr. Latrobe, wearily. "There +are niggers who are as white as I am, but the taint of blood is there +and we always exclude it." + +"How do you know it is there?" asked Dr. Gresham. + +"Oh, there are tricks of blood which always betray them. My eyes are +more practiced than yours. I can always tell them. Now, that Johnson is +as white as any man; but I knew he was a nigger the moment I saw him. I +saw it in his eye." + +Dr. Latimer smiled at Dr. Latrobe's assertion, but did not attempt to +refute it; and bade him good-night. + +"I think," said Dr. Latrobe, "that our war was the great mistake of the +nineteenth century. It has left us very serious complications. We cannot +amalgamate with the negroes. We cannot expatriate them. Now, what are we +to do with them?" + +"Deal justly with them," said Dr. Gresham, "and let them alone. Try to +create a moral sentiment in the nation, which will consider a wrong done +to the weakest of them as a wrong done to the whole community. Whenever +you find ministers too righteous to be faithless, cowardly, and time +serving; women too Christly to be scornful; and public men too noble to +be tricky and too honest to pander to the prejudices of the people, +stand by them and give them your moral support." + +"Doctor," said Latrobe, "with your views you ought to be a preacher +striving to usher in the millennium." + +"It can't come too soon," replied Dr. Gresham. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + + +DIVERGING PATHS. + +On the eve of his departure from the city of P----, Dr. Gresham called +on Iola, and found her alone. They talked awhile of reminiscences of the +war and hospital life, when Dr. Gresham, approaching Iola, said:-- + +"Miss Leroy, I am glad the great object of your life is accomplished, +and that you have found all your relatives. Years have passed since we +parted, years in which I have vainly tried to get a trace of you and +have been baffled, but I have found you at last!" Clasping her hand in +his, he continued, "I would it were so that I should never lose you +again! Iola, will you not grant me the privilege of holding this hand as +mine all through the future of our lives? Your search for your mother is +ended. She is well cared for. Are you not free at last to share with me +my Northern home, free to be mine as nothing else on earth is mine." Dr. +Gresham looked eagerly on Iola's face, and tried to read its varying +expression. "Iola, I learned to love you in the hospital. I have tried +to forget you, but it has been all in vain. Your image is just as deeply +engraven on my heart as it was the day we parted." + +"Doctor," she replied, sadly, but firmly, as she withdrew her hand from +his, "I feel now as I felt then, that there is an insurmountable barrier +between us." + +"What is it, Iola?" asked Dr. Gresham, anxiously. + +"It is the public opinion which assigns me a place with the colored +people." + +"But what right has public opinion to interfere with our marriage +relations? Why should we yield to its behests?" + +"Because it is stronger than we are, and we cannot run counter to it +without suffering its penalties." + +"And what are they, Iola? Shadows that you merely dread?" + +"No! no! the penalties of social ostracism North and South, except here +and there some grand and noble exceptions. I do not think that you fully +realize how much prejudice against colored people permeates society, +lowers the tone of our religion, and reacts upon the life of the nation. +After freedom came, mamma was living in the city of A----, and wanted to +unite with a Christian church there. She made application for +membership. She passed her examination as a candidate, and was received +as a church member. When she was about to make her first communion, she +unintentionally took her seat at the head of the column. The elder who +was administering the communion gave her the bread in the order in which +she sat, but before he gave her the wine some one touched him on the +shoulder and whispered a word in his ear. He then passed mamma by, gave +the cup to others, and then returned to her. From that rite connected +with the holiest memories of earth, my poor mother returned humiliated +and depressed." + +"What a shame!" exclaimed Dr. Gresham, indignantly. + +"I have seen," continued Iola, "the same spirit manifested in the North. +Mamma once attempted to do missionary work in this city. One day she +found an outcast colored girl, whom she wished to rescue. She took her +to an asylum for fallen women and made an application for her, but was +refused. Colored girls were not received there. Soon after mamma found +among the colored people an outcast white girl. Mamma's sympathies, +unfettered by class distinction, were aroused in her behalf, and, in +company with two white ladies, she went with the girl to that same +refuge. For her the door was freely opened and admittance readily +granted. It was as if two women were sinking in the quicksands, and on +the solid land stood other women with life-lines in their hands, seeing +the deadly sands slowly creeping up around the hapless victims. To one +they readily threw the lines of deliverance, but for the other there was +not one strand of salvation. Sometime since, to the same asylum, came a +poor fallen girl who had escaped from the clutches of a wicked woman. +For her the door would have been opened, had not the vile woman from +whom she was escaping followed her to that place of refuge and revealed +the fact that she belonged to the colored race. That fact was enough to +close the door upon her, and to send her back to sin and to suffer, and +perhaps to die as a wretched outcast. And yet in this city where a +number of charities are advertised, I do not think there is one of them +which, in appealing to the public, talks more religion than the managers +of this asylum. This prejudice against the colored race environs our +lives and mocks our aspirations." + +"Iola, I see no use in your persisting that you are colored when your +eyes are as blue and complexion as white as mine." + +"Doctor, were I your wife, are there not people who would caress me as +a white woman who would shrink from me in scorn if they knew I had one +drop of negro blood in my veins? When mistaken for a white woman, I +should hear things alleged against the race at which my blood would +boil. No, Doctor, I am not willing to live under a shadow of concealment +which I thoroughly hate as if the blood in my veins were an undetected +crime of my soul." + +"Iola, dear, surely you paint the picture too darkly." + +"Doctor, I have painted it with my heart's blood. It is easier to +outgrow the dishonor of crime than the disabilities of color. You have +created in this country an aristocracy of color wide enough to include +the South with its treason and Utah with its abominations, but too +narrow to include the best and bravest colored man who bared his breast +to the bullets of the enemy during your fratricidal strife. Is not the +most arrant Rebel to-day more acceptable to you than the most faithful +colored man?" + +"No! no!" exclaimed Dr. Gresham, vehemently. "You are wrong. I belong to +the Grand Army of the Republic. We have no separate State Posts for the +colored people, and, were such a thing proposed, the majority of our +members, I believe, would be against it. In Congress colored men have +the same seats as white men, and the color line is slowly fading out in +our public institutions." + +"But how is it in the Church?" asked Iola. + +"The Church is naturally conservative. It preserves old truths, even if +it is somewhat slow in embracing new ideas. It has its social as well as +its spiritual side. Society is woman's realm. The majority of church +members are women, who are said to be the aristocratic element of our +country. I fear that one of the last strongholds of this racial +prejudice will be found beneath the shadow of some of our churches. I +think, on account of this social question, that large bodies of +Christian temperance women and other reformers, in trying to reach the +colored people even for their own good, will be quicker to form +separate associations than our National Grand Army, whose ranks are open +to black and white, liberals and conservatives, saints and agnostics. +But, Iola, we have drifted far away from the question. No one has a +right to interfere with our marriage if we do not infringe on the rights +of others." + +"Doctor," she replied, gently, "I feel that our paths must diverge. My +life-work is planned. I intend spending my future among the colored +people of the South." + +"My dear friend," he replied, anxiously, "I am afraid that you are +destined to sad disappointment. When the novelty wears off you will be +disillusioned, and, I fear, when the time comes that you can no longer +serve them they will forget your services and remember only your +failings." + +"But, Doctor, they need me; and I am sure when I taught among them they +were very grateful for my services." + +"I think," he replied, "these people are more thankful than grateful." + +"I do not think so; and if I did it would not hinder me from doing all +in my power to help them. I do not expect all the finest traits of +character to spring from the hot-beds of slavery and caste. What matters +it if they do forget the singer, so they don't forget the song? No, +Doctor, I don't think that I could best serve my race by forsaking them +and marrying you." + +"Iola," he exclaimed, passionately, "if you love your race, as you call +it, work for it, live for it, suffer for it, and, if need be, die for +it; but don't marry for it. Your education has unfitted you for social +life among them." + +"It was," replied Iola, "through their unrequited toil that I was +educated, while they were compelled to live in ignorance. I am indebted +to them for the power I have to serve them. I wish other Southern women +felt as I do. I think they could do so much to help the colored people +at their doors if they would look at their opportunities in the light of +the face of Jesus Christ. Nor am I wholly unselfish in allying myself +with the colored people. All the rest of my family have done so. My dear +grandmother is one of the excellent of the earth, and we all love her +too much to ignore our relationship with her. I did not choose my lot in +life, and the simplest thing I can do is to accept the situation and do +the best I can." + +"And is this your settled purpose?" he asked, sadly. + +"It is, Doctor," she replied, tenderly but firmly. "I see no other. I +must serve the race which needs me most." + +"Perhaps you are right," he replied; "but I cannot help feeling sad that +our paths, which met so pleasantly, should diverge so painfully. And +yet, not only the freedmen, but the whole country, need such helpful, +self-sacrificing teachers as you will prove; and if earnest prayers and +holy wishes can brighten your path, your lines will fall in the +pleasantest places." + +As he rose to go, sympathy, love, and admiration were blended in the +parting look he gave her; but he felt it was useless to attempt to +divert her from her purpose. He knew that for the true reconstruction of +the country something more was needed than bayonets and bullets, or the +schemes of selfish politicians or plotting demagogues. He knew that the +South needed the surrender of the best brain and heart of the country to +build, above the wastes of war, more stately temples of thought and +action. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + + +DR. LATROBE'S MISTAKE. + +On the morning previous to their departure for their respective homes, +Dr. Gresham met Dr. Latrobe in the parlor of the Concordia. + +"How," asked Dr. Gresham, "did you like Dr. Latimer's paper?" + +"Very much, indeed. It was excellent. He is a very talented young man. +He sits next to me at lunch and I have conversed with him several times. +He is very genial and attractive, only he seems to be rather cranky on +the negro question. I hope if he comes South that he will not make the +mistake of mixing up with the negroes. It would be throwing away his +influence and ruining his prospects. He seems to be well versed in +science and literature and would make a very delightful accession to our +social life." + +"I think," replied Dr. Gresham, "that he is an honor to our profession. +He is one of the finest specimens of our young manhood." + +Just then Dr. Latimer entered the room. Dr. Latrobe arose and, greeting +him cordially, said: "I was delighted with your paper; it was full of +thought and suggestion." + +"Thank you," answered Dr. Latimer, "it was my aim to make it so." + +"And you succeeded admirably," replied Dr. Latrobe. "I could not help +thinking how much we owe to heredity and environment." + +"Yes," said Dr. Gresham. "Continental Europe yearly sends to our shores +subjects to be developed into citizens. Emancipation has given us +millions of new citizens, and to them our influence and example should +be a blessing and not a curse." + +"Well," said Dr. Latimer, "I intend to go South, and help those who so +much need helpers from their own ranks." + +"I hope," answered Dr. Latrobe, "that if you go South you will only +sustain business relations with the negroes, and not commit the folly of +equalizing yourself with them." + +"Why not?" asked Dr. Latimer, steadily looking him in the eye. + +"Because in equalizing yourself with them you drag us down; and our +social customs must be kept intact." + +"You have been associating with me at the convention for several days; I +do not see that the contact has dragged you down, has it?" + +"You! What has that got to do with associating with niggers?" asked Dr. +Latrobe, curtly. + +"The blood of that race is coursing through my veins. I am one of them," +replied Dr. Latimer, proudly raising his head. + +"You!" exclaimed Dr. Latrobe, with an air of profound astonishment and +crimsoning face. + +"Yes;" interposed Dr. Gresham, laughing heartily at Dr. Latrobe's +discomfiture. "He belongs to that negro race both by blood and choice. +His father's mother made overtures to receive him as her grandson and +heir, but he has nobly refused to forsake his mother's people and has +cast his lot with them." + +"And I," said Dr. Latimer, "would have despised myself if I had done +otherwise." + +"Well, well," said Dr. Latrobe, rising, "I was never so deceived before. +Good morning!" + +Dr. Latrobe had thought he was clear-sighted enough to detect the +presence of negro blood when all physical traces had disappeared. But he +had associated with Dr. Latimer for several days, and admired his +talent, without suspecting for one moment his racial connection. He +could not help feeling a sense of vexation at the signal mistake he had +made. + +Dr. Frank Latimer was the natural grandson of a Southern lady, in whose +family his mother had been a slave. The blood of a proud aristocratic +ancestry was flowing through his veins, and generations of blood +admixture had effaced all trace of his negro lineage. His complexion was +blonde, his eye bright and piercing, his lips firm and well moulded; his +manner very affable; his intellect active and well stored with +information. He was a man capable of winning in life through his rich +gifts of inheritance and acquirements. When freedom came, his mother, +like Hagar of old, went out into the wide world to seek a living for +herself and child. Through years of poverty she labored to educate her +child, and saw the glad fruition of her hopes when her son graduated as +an M.D. from the University of P----. + +After his graduation he met his father's mother, who recognized him by +his resemblance to her dear, departed son. All the mother love in her +lonely heart awoke, and she was willing to overlook "the missing link of +matrimony," and adopt him as her heir, if he would ignore his identity +with the colored race. + +Before him loomed all the possibilities which only birth and blood can +give a white man in our Democratic country. But he was a man of too much +sterling worth of character to be willing to forsake his mother's race +for the richest advantages his grandmother could bestow. + +Dr. Gresham had met Dr. Latimer at the beginning of the convention, and +had been attracted to him by his frank and genial manner. One morning, +when conversing with him, Dr. Gresham had learned some of the salient +points of his history, which, instead of repelling him, had only +deepened his admiration for the young doctor. He was much amused when he +saw the pleasant acquaintanceship between him and Dr. Latrobe, but they +agreed to be silent about his racial connection until the time came when +they were ready to divulge it; and they were hugely delighted at his +signal blunder. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + + +VISITORS FROM THE SOUTH. + +"Mamma is not well," said Iola to Robert. "I spoke to her about sending +for a doctor, but she objected and I did not insist." + +"I will ask Dr. Latimer, whom I met at the Concordia, to step in. He is +a splendid young fellow. I wish we had thousands like him." + +In the evening the doctor called. Without appearing to make a +professional visit he engaged Marie in conversation, watched her +carefully, and came to the conclusion that her failing health proceeded +more from mental than physical causes. + +"I am so uneasy about Harry," said Mrs. Leroy. "He is so fearless and +outspoken. I do wish the attention of the whole nation could be turned +to the cruel barbarisms which are a national disgrace. I think the term +'bloody shirt' is one of the most heartless phrases ever invented to +divert attention from cruel wrongs and dreadful outrages." + +Just then Iola came in and was introduced by her uncle to Dr. Latimer, +to whom the introduction was a sudden and unexpected pleasure. + +After an interchange of courtesies, Marie resumed the conversation, +saying: "Harry wrote me only last week that a young friend of his had +lost his situation because he refused to have his pupils strew flowers +on the streets through which Jefferson Davis was to pass." + +"I think," said Dr. Latimer, indignantly, "that the Israelites had just +as much right to scatter flowers over the bodies of the Egyptians, when +the waves threw back their corpses on the shores of the Red Sea, as +these children had to strew the path of Jefferson Davis with flowers. We +want our boys to grow up manly citizens, and not cringing sycophants. +When do you expect your son, Mrs. Leroy?" + +"Some time next week," answered Marie. + +"And his presence will do you more good than all the medicine in my +chest." + +"I hope, Doctor," said Mrs. Leroy, "that we will not lose sight of you, +now that your professional visit is ended; for I believe your visit was +the result of a conspiracy between Iola and her uncle." + +Dr. Latimer laughed, as he answered, "Ah, Mrs. Leroy, I see you have +found us all out." + +"Oh, Doctor," exclaimed Iola, with pleasing excitement, "there is a +young lady coming here to visit me next week. Her name is Miss Lucille +Delany, and she is my ideal woman. She is grand, brave, intellectual, +and religious." + +"Is that so? She would make some man an excellent wife," replied Dr. +Latimer. + +"Now isn't that perfectly manlike," answered Iola, smiling. "Mamma, what +do you think of that? Did any of you gentlemen ever see a young woman of +much ability that you did not look upon as a flotsam all adrift until +some man had appropriated her?" + +"I think, Miss Leroy, that the world's work, if shared, is better done +than when it is performed alone. Don't you think your life-work will be +better done if some one shares it with you?" asked Dr. Latimer, slowly, +and with a smile in his eyes. + +"That would depend on the person who shared it," said Iola, faintly +blushing. + +"Here," said Robert, a few evenings after this conversation, as he +handed Iola a couple of letters, "is something which will please you." + +Iola took the letters, and, after reading one of them, said: "Miss +Delany and Harry will be here on Wednesday; and this one is an +invitation which also adds to my enjoyment." + +"What is it?" asked Marie; "an invitation to a hop or a german?" + +"No; but something which I value far more. We are all invited to Mr. +Stillman's to a _conversazione_." + +"What is the object?" + +"His object is to gather some of the thinkers and leaders of the race to +consult on subjects of vital interest to our welfare. He has invited Dr. +Latimer, Professor Gradnor, of North Carolina, Mr. Forest, of New York, +Hon. Dugdale, Revs. Carmicle, Cantnor, Tunster, Professor Langhorne, of +Georgia, and a few ladies, Mrs. Watson, Miss Brown, and others." + +"I am glad that it is neither a hop nor a german," said Iola, "but +something for which I have been longing." + +"Why, Iola," asked Robert, "don't you believe in young people having a +good time?" + +"Oh, yes," answered Iola, seriously, "I believe in young people having +amusements and recreations; but the times are too serious for us to +attempt to make our lives a long holiday." + +"Well, Iola," answered Robert, "this is the first holiday we have had +in two hundred and fifty years, and you shouldn't be too exacting." + +"Yes," replied Marie, "human beings naturally crave enjoyment, and if +not furnished with good amusements they are apt to gravitate to low +pleasures." + +"Some one," said Robert, "has said that the Indian belongs to an old +race and looks gloomily back to the past, and that the negro belongs to +a young race and looks hopefully towards the future." + +"If that be so," replied Marie, "our race-life corresponds more to the +follies of youth than the faults of maturer years." + +On Dr. Latimer's next visit he was much pleased to see a great change in +Marie's appearance. Her eye had grown brighter, her step more elastic, +and the anxiety had faded from her face. Harry had arrived, and with him +came Miss Delany. + +"Good evening, Dr. Latimer," said Iola, cheerily, as she entered the +room with Miss Lucille Delany. "This is my friend, Miss Delany, from +Georgia. Were she not present I would say she is one of the grandest +women in America." + +"I am very much pleased to meet you," said Dr. Latimer, cordially; "I +have heard Miss Leroy speak of you. We were expecting you," he added, +with a smile. + +Just then Harry entered the room, and Iola presented him to Dr. Latimer, +saying, "This is my brother, about whom mamma was so anxious." + +"Had you a pleasant journey?" asked Dr. Latimer, after the first +greetings were over. + +"Not especially," answered Miss Delany. "Southern roads are not always +very pleasant to travel. When Mr. Leroy entered the cars at A----, where +he was known, had he taken his seat among the white people he would have +been remanded to the colored." + +"But after awhile," said Harry, "as Miss Delany and myself were sitting +together, laughing and chatting, a colored man entered the car, and, +mistaking me for a white man, asked the conductor to have me removed, +and I had to insist that I was colored in order to be permitted to +remain. It would be ludicrous, if it were not vexatious, to be too white +to be black, and too black to be white." + +"Caste plays such fantastic tricks in this country," said Dr. Latimer. + +"I tell Mr. Leroy," said Miss Delany, "that when he returns he must put +a label on himself, saying, 'I am a colored man,' to prevent annoyance." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + + +FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. + +On the following Friday evening, Mr. Stillman's pleasant, spacious +parlors were filled to overflowing with a select company of earnest men +and women deeply interested in the welfare of the race. + +Bishop Tunster had prepared a paper on "Negro Emigration." Dr. Latimer +opened the discussion by speaking favorably of some of the salient +points, but said:-- + +"I do not believe self-exilement is the true remedy for the wrongs of +the negro. Where should he go if he left this country?" + +"Go to Africa," replied Bishop Tunster, in his bluff, hearty tones. "I +believe that Africa is to be redeemed to civilization, and that the +negro is to be gathered into the family of nations and recognized as a +man and a brother." + +"Go to Africa?" repeated Professor Langhorne, of Georgia. "Does the +United States own one foot of African soil? And have we not been +investing our blood in the country for ages?" + +"I am in favor of missionary efforts," said Professor Gradnor, of North +Carolina, "for the redemption of Africa, but I see no reason for +expatriating ourselves because some persons do not admire the color of +our skins." + +"I do not believe," said Mr. Stillman, "in emptying on the shores of +Africa a horde of ignorant, poverty-stricken people, as missionaries of +civilization or Christianity. And while I am in favor of missionary +efforts, there is need here for the best heart and brain to work in +unison for justice and righteousness." + +"America," said Miss Delany, "is the best field for human development. +God has not heaped up our mountains with such grandeur, flooded our +rivers with such majesty, crowned our valleys with such fertility, +enriched our mines with such wealth, that they should only minister to +grasping greed and sensuous enjoyment." + +"Climate, soil, and physical environments," said Professor Gradnor, +"have much to do with shaping national characteristics. If in Africa, +under a tropical sun, the negro has lagged behind other races in the +march of civilization, at least for once in his history he has, in this +country, the privilege of using climatic advantages and developing under +new conditions." + +"Yes," replied Dr. Latimer, "and I do not wish our people to become +restless and unsettled before they have tried one generation of +freedom." + +"I am always glad," said Mr. Forest, a tall, distinguished-looking +gentleman from New York, "when I hear of people who are ill treated in +one section of the country emigrating to another. Men who are deaf to +the claims of mercy, and oblivious to the demands of justice, can feel +when money is slipping from their pockets." + +"The negro," said Hon. Dugdale, "does not present to my mind the picture +of an effete and exhausted people, destined to die out before a stronger +race. Gilbert Haven once saw a statue which suggested this thought, 'I +am black, but comely; the sun has looked down upon me, but I will teach +you who despise me to feel that I am your superior.' The men who are +acquiring property and building up homes in the South show us what +energy and determination may do even in that part of the country. I +believe such men can do more to conquer prejudice than if they spent all +their lives in shouting for their rights and ignoring their duties. No! +as there are millions of us in this country, I think it best to settle +down and work out our own salvation here." + +"How many of us to-day," asked Professor Langhorne, "would be teaching +in the South, if every field of labor in the North was as accessible to +us as to the whites? It has been estimated that a million young white +men have left the South since the war, and, had our chances been equal +to theirs, would we have been any more willing to stay in the South with +those who need us than they? But this prejudice, by impacting us +together, gives us a common cause and brings our intellect in contact +with the less favored of our race." + +"I do not believe," said Miss Delany, "that the Southern white people +themselves desire any wholesale exodus of the colored from their labor +fields. It would be suicidal to attempt their expatriation." + +"History," said Professor Langhorne, "tells that Spain was once the +place where barbarian Europe came to light her lamp. Seven hundred years +before there was a public lamp in London you might have gone through the +streets of Cordova amid ten miles of lighted lamps, and stood there on +solidly paved land, when hundreds of years afterwards, in Paris, on a +rainy day you would have sunk to your ankles in the mud. But she who +bore the name of the 'Terror of Nations,' and the 'Queen of the Ocean,' +was not strong enough to dash herself against God's law of retribution +and escape unscathed. She inaugurated a crusade of horror against a +million of her best laborers and artisans. Vainly she expected the +blessing of God to crown her work of violence. Instead of seeing the +fruition of her hopes in the increased prosperity of her land, +depression and paralysis settled on her trade and business. A fearful +blow was struck at her agriculture; decay settled on her manufactories; +money became too scarce to pay the necessary expenses of the king's +exchequer; and that once mighty empire became a fallen kingdom, pierced +by her crimes and dragged down by her transgressions." + +"We did not," said Iola, "place the bounds of our habitation. And I +believe we are to be fixtures in this country. But beyond the shadows I +see the coruscation of a brighter day; and we can help usher it in, not +by answering hate with hate, or giving scorn for scorn, but by striving +to be more generous, noble, and just. It seems as if all creation +travels to respond to the song of the Herald angels, 'Peace on earth, +good-will toward men.'" + +The next paper was on "Patriotism," by Rev. Cantnor. It was a paper in +which the white man was extolled as the master race, and spoke as if it +were a privilege for the colored man to be linked to his destiny and to +live beneath the shadow of his power. He asserted that the white race of +this country is the broadest, most Christian, and humane of that branch +of the human family. + +Dr. Latimer took exception to his position. "Law," he said, "is the +pivot on which the whole universe turns; and obedience to law is the +gauge by which a nation's strength or weakness is tried. We have had two +evils by which our obedience to law has been tested--slavery and the +liquor traffic. How have we dealt with them both? We have been weighed +in the balance and found wanting. Millions of slaves and serfs have been +liberated during this century, but not even in semi-barbaric Russia, +heathen Japan, or Catholic Spain has slavery been abolished through such +a fearful conflict as it was in the United States. The liquor traffic +still sends its floods of ruin and shame to the habitations of men, and +no political party has been found with enough moral power and numerical +strength to stay the tide of death." + +"I think," said Professor Gradnor, "that what our country needs is truth +more than flattery. I do not think that our moral life keeps pace with +our mental development and material progress. I know of no civilized +country on the globe, Catholic, Protestant, or Mohammedan, where life is +less secure than it is in the South. Nearly eighteen hundred years ago +the life of a Roman citizen in Palestine was in danger from mob +violence. That pagan government threw around him a wall of living clay, +consisting of four hundred and seventy men, when more than forty Jews +had bound themselves with an oath that they would neither eat nor drink +until they had taken the life of the Apostle Paul. Does not true +patriotism demand that citizenship should be as much protected in +Christian America as it was in heathen Rome?" + +"I would have our people," said Miss Delany, "more interested in +politics. Instead of forgetting the past, I would have them hold in +everlasting remembrance our great deliverance. Hitherto we have never +had a country with tender, precious memories to fill our eyes with +tears, or glad reminiscences to thrill our hearts with pride and joy. We +have been aliens and outcasts in the land of our birth. But I want my +pupils to do all in their power to make this country worthy of their +deepest devotion and loftiest patriotism. I want them to feel that its +glory is their glory, its dishonor their shame." + +"Our esteemed friend, Mrs. Watson," said Iola, "sends regrets that she +cannot come, but has kindly favored us with a poem, called the "Rallying +Cry." In her letter she says that, although she is no longer young, she +feels that in the conflict for the right there's room for young as well +as old. She hopes that we will here unite the enthusiasm of youth with +the experience of age, and that we will have a pleasant and profitable +conference. Is it your pleasure that the poem be read at this stage of +our proceedings, or later on?" + +"Let us have it now," answered Harry, "and I move that Miss Delany be +chosen to lend to the poem the charm of her voice." + +"I second the motion," said Iola, smiling, and handing the poem to Miss +Delany. + +Miss Delany took the poem and read it with fine effect. The spirit of +the poem had entered her soul. + + A RALLYING CRY. + + Oh, children of the tropics, + Amid our pain and wrong + Have you no other mission + Than music, dance, and song? + + When through the weary ages + Our dripping tears still fall, + Is this a time to dally + With pleasure's silken thrall? + + Go, muffle all your viols; + As heroes learn to stand, + With faith in God's great justice + Nerve every heart and hand. + + Dream not of ease nor pleasure, + Nor honor, wealth, nor fame, + Till from the dust you've lifted + Our long-dishonored name; + + And crowned that name with glory + By deeds of holy worth, + To shine with light emblazoned, + The noblest name on earth. + + Count life a dismal failure, + Unblessing and unblest, + That seeks 'mid ease inglorious + For pleasure or for rest. + + With courage, strength, and valor + Your lives and actions brace; + Shrink not from toil or hardship, + And dangers bravely face. + + Engrave upon your banners, + In words of golden light, + That honor, truth, and justice + Are more than godless might. + + Above earth's pain and sorrow + Christ's dying face I see; + I hear the cry of anguish:-- + "Why hast thou forsaken me?" + + In the pallor of that anguish + I see the only light, + To flood with peace and gladness + Earth's sorrow, pain, and night. + + Arrayed in Christly armor + 'Gainst error, crime, and sin, + The victory can't be doubtful, + For God is sure to win. + +The next paper was by Miss Iola Leroy, on the "Education of Mothers." + +"I agree," said Rev. Eustace, of St. Mary's parish, "with the paper. The +great need of the race is enlightened mothers." + +"And enlightened fathers, too," added Miss Delany, quickly. "If there is +anything I chafe to see it is a strong, hearty man shirking his burdens, +putting them on the shoulders of his wife, and taking life easy for +himself." + +"I always pity such mothers," interposed Iola, tenderly. + +"I think," said Miss Delany, with a flash in her eye and a ring of +decision in her voice, "that such men ought to be drummed out of town!" +As she spoke, there was an expression which seemed to say, "And I would +like to help do it!" + +Harry smiled, and gave her a quick glance of admiration. + +"I do not think," said Mrs. Stillman, "that we can begin too early to +teach our boys to be manly and self-respecting, and our girls to be +useful and self-reliant." + +"You know," said Mrs. Leroy, "that after the war we were thrown upon the +nation a homeless race to be gathered into homes, and a legally +unmarried race to be taught the sacredness of the marriage relation. We +must instill into our young people that the true strength of a race +means purity in women and uprightness in men; who can say, with Sir +Galahad:-- + + 'My strength is the strength of ten, + Because my heart is pure.' + +And where this is wanting neither wealth nor culture can make up the +deficiency." + +"There is a field of Christian endeavor which lies between the +school-house and the pulpit, which needs the hand of a woman more in +private than in public," said Miss Delany. + +"Yes, I have often felt the need of such work in my own parish. We need +a union of women with the warmest hearts and clearest brains to help in +the moral education of the race," said Rev. Eustace. + +"Yes," said Iola, "if we would have the prisons empty we must make the +homes more attractive." + +"In civilized society," replied Dr. Latimer, "there must be restraint +either within or without. If parents fail to teach restraint within, +society has her check-reins without in the form of chain-gangs, prisons, +and the gallows." + +The closing paper was on the "Moral Progress of the Race," by Hon. +Dugdale. He said: "The moral progress of the race was not all he could +desire, yet he could not help feeling that, compared with other races, +the outlook was not hopeless. I am so sorry to see, however, that in +some States there is an undue proportion of colored people in prisons." + +"I think," answered Professor Langhorne, of Georgia, "that this is +owing to a partial administration of law in meting out punishment to +colored offenders. I know red-handed murderers who walk in this Republic +unwhipped of justice, and I have seen a colored woman sentenced to +prison for weeks for stealing twenty-five cents. I knew a colored girl +who was executed for murder when only a child in years. And it was +through the intervention of a friend of mine, one of the bravest young +men of the South, that a boy of fifteen was saved from the gallows." + +"When I look," said Mr. Forest, "at the slow growth of modern +civilization--the ages which have been consumed in reaching our present +altitude, and see how we have outgrown slavery, feudalism, and religious +persecutions, I cannot despair of the future of the race." + +"Just now," said Dr. Latimer, "we have the fearful grinding and friction +which comes in the course of an adjustment of the new machinery of +freedom in the old ruts of slavery. But I am optimistic enough to +believe that there will yet be a far higher and better Christian +civilization than our country has ever known." + +"And in that civilization I believe the negro is to be an important +factor," said Rev. Cantnor. + +"I believe it also," said Miss Delany, hopefully, "and this thought has +been a blessed inspiration to my life. When I come in contact with +Christless prejudices, I feel that my life is too much a part of the +Divine plan, and invested with too much intrinsic worth, for me to be +the least humiliated by indignities that beggarly souls can inflict. I +feel more pitiful than resentful to those who do not know how much they +miss by living mean, ignoble lives." + +"My heart," said Iola, "is full of hope for the future. Pain and +suffering are the crucibles out of which come gold more fine than the +pavements of heaven, and gems more precious than the foundations of the +Holy City." + +"If," said Mrs. Leroy, "pain and suffering are factors in human +development, surely we have not been counted too worthless to suffer." + +"And is there," continued Iola, "a path which we have trodden in this +country, unless it be the path of sin, into which Jesus Christ has not +put His feet and left it luminous with the light of His steps? Has the +negro been poor and homeless? The birds of the air had nests and the +foxes had holes, but the Son of man had not where to lay His head. Has +our name been a synonym for contempt? 'He shall be called a Nazarene.' +Have we been despised and trodden under foot? Christ was despised and +rejected of men. Have we been ignorant and unlearned? It was said of +Jesus Christ, 'How knoweth this man letters, never having learned?' Have +we been beaten and bruised in the prison-house of bondage? 'They took +Jesus and scourged Him.' Have we been slaughtered, our bones scattered +at the graves' mouth? He was spit upon by the mob, smitten and mocked by +the rabble, and died as died Rome's meanest criminal slave. To-day that +cross of shame is a throne of power. Those robes of scorn have changed +to habiliments of light, and that crown of mockery to a diadem of glory. +And never, while the agony of Gethsemane and the sufferings of Calvary +have their hold upon my heart, will I recognize any religion as His +which despises the least of His brethren." + +As Iola finished, there was a ring of triumph in her voice, as if she +were reviewing a path she had trodden with bleeding feet, and seen it +change to lines of living light. Her soul seemed to be flashing through +the rare loveliness of her face and etherealizing its beauty. + +Every one was spell-bound. Dr. Latimer was entranced, and, turning to +Hon. Dugdale, said, in a low voice and with deep-drawn breath, "She is +angelic!" + +Hon. Dugdale turned, gave a questioning look, then replied, "She is +strangely beautiful! Do you know her?" + +"Yes; I have met her several times. I accompanied her here to-night. The +tones of her voice are like benedictions of peace; her words a call to +higher service and nobler life." + +Just then Rev. Carmicle was announced. He had been on a Southern tour, +and had just returned. + +"Oh, Doctor," exclaimed Mrs. Stillman, "I am delighted to see you. We +were about to adjourn, but we will postpone action to hear from you." + +"Thank you," replied Rev. Carmicle. "I have not the cue to the meeting, +and will listen while I take breath." + +"Pardon me," answered Mrs. Stillman. "I should have been more thoughtful +than to press so welcome a guest into service before I had given him +time for rest and refreshment; but if the courtesy failed on my lips it +did not fail in my heart. I wanted our young folks to see one of our +thinkers who had won distinction before the war." + +"My dear friend," said Rev. Carmicle, smiling, "some of these young +folks will look on me as a back number. You know the cry has already +gone forth, 'Young men to the front.'" + +"But we need old men for counsel," interposed Mr. Forest, of New York. + +"Of course," said Rev. Carmicle, "we older men would rather retire +gracefully than be relegated or hustled to a back seat. But I am pleased +to see doors open to you which were closed to us, and opportunities +which were denied us embraced by you." + +"How," asked Hon. Dugdale, "do you feel in reference to our people's +condition in the South?" + +"Very hopeful, although at times I cannot help feeling anxious about +their future. I was delighted with my visits to various institutions of +learning, and surprised at the desire manifested among the young people +to obtain an education. Where toil-worn mothers bent beneath their heavy +burdens their more favored daughters are enjoying the privileges of +education. Young people are making recitations in Greek and Latin where +it was once a crime to teach their parents to read. I also became +acquainted with colored professors and presidents of colleges. Saw young +ladies who had graduated as doctors. Comfortable homes have succeeded +old cabins of slavery. Vast crops have been raised by free labor. I read +with interest and pleasure a number of papers edited by colored men. I +saw it estimated that two millions of our people had learned to read, +and I feel deeply grateful to the people who have supplied us with +teachers who have stood their ground so nobly among our people." + +"But," asked Mr. Forest, "you expressed fears about the future of our +race. From whence do your fears arise?" + +"From the unfortunate conditions which slavery has entailed upon that +section of our country. I dread the results of that racial feeling which +ever and anon breaks out into restlessness and crime. Also, I am +concerned about the lack of home training for those for whom the +discipline of the plantation has been exchanged for the penalties of +prisons and chain-gangs. I am sorry to see numbers of our young men +growing away from the influence of the church and drifting into prisons. +I also fear that in some sections, as colored men increase in wealth and +intelligence, there will be an increase of race rivalry and jealousy. It +is said that savages, by putting their ears to the ground, can hear a +far-off tread. So, to-day, I fear that there are savage elements in our +civilization which hear the advancing tread of the negro and would +retard his coming. It is the incarnation of these elements that I dread. +It is their elimination I do so earnestly desire. Whether it be outgrown +or not is our unsolved problem. Time alone will tell whether or not the +virus of slavery and injustice has too fully permeated our Southern +civilization for a complete recovery. Nations, honey-combed by vice, +have fallen beneath the weight of their iniquities. Justice is always +uncompromising in its claims and inexorable in its demands. The laws of +the universe are never repealed to accommodate our follies." + +"Surely," said Bishop Tunster, "the negro has a higher mission than that +of aimlessly drifting through life and patiently waiting for death." + +"We may not," answered Rev. Carmicle, "have the same dash, courage, and +aggressiveness of other races, accustomed to struggle, achievement, and +dominion, but surely the world needs something better than the results +of arrogance, aggressiveness, and indomitable power. For the evils of +society there are no solvents as potent as love and justice, and our +greatest need is not more wealth and learning, but a religion replete +with life and glowing with love. Let this be the impelling force in the +race and it cannot fail to rise in the scale of character and +condition." + +"And," said Dr. Latimer, "instead of narrowing our sympathies to mere +racial questions, let us broaden them to humanity's wider issues." + +"Let us," replied Rev. Carmicle, "pass it along the lines, that to be +willfully ignorant is to be shamefully criminal. Let us teach our people +not to love pleasure or to fear death, but to learn the true value of +life, and to do their part to eliminate the paganism of caste from our +holy religion and the lawlessness of savagery from our civilization." + + * * * * * + +"How did you enjoy the evening, Marie?" asked Robert, as they walked +homeward. + +"I was interested and deeply pleased," answered Marie. + +"I," said Robert, "was thinking of the wonderful changes that +have come to us since the war. When I sat in those well-lighted, +beautifully-furnished rooms, I was thinking of the meetings we used to +have in by-gone days. How we used to go by stealth into lonely woods and +gloomy swamps, to tell of our hopes and fears, sorrows and trials. I +hope that we will have many more of these gatherings. Let us have the +next one here." + +"I am sure," said Marie, "I would gladly welcome such a conference at +any time. I think such meetings would be so helpful to our young +people." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + + +DAWNING AFFECTIONS. + +"Doctor," said Iola, as they walked home from the _conversazione_, "I +wish I could do something more for our people than I am doing. I taught +in the South till failing health compelled me to change my employment. +But, now that I am well and strong, I would like to do something of +lasting service for the race." + +"Why not," asked Dr. Latimer, "write a good, strong book which would be +helpful to them? I think there is an amount of dormant talent among us, +and a large field from which to gather materials for such a book." + +"I would do it, willingly, if I could; but one needs both leisure and +money to make a successful book. There is material among us for the +broadest comedies and the deepest tragedies, but, besides money and +leisure, it needs patience, perseverance, courage, and the hand of an +artist to weave it into the literature of the country." + +"Miss Leroy, you have a large and rich experience; you possess a vivid +imagination and glowing fancy. Write, out of the fullness of your heart, +a book to inspire men and women with a deeper sense of justice and +humanity." + +"Doctor," replied Iola, "I would do it if I could, not for the money it +might bring, but for the good it might do. But who believes any good can +come out of the black Nazareth?" + +"Miss Leroy, out of the race must come its own thinkers and writers. +Authors belonging to the white race have written good racial books, for +which I am deeply grateful, but it seems to be almost impossible for a +white man to put himself completely in our place. No man can feel the +iron which enters another man's soul." + +"Well, Doctor, when I write a book I shall take you for the hero of my +story." + +"Why, what have I done," asked Dr. Latimer, in a surprised tone, "that +you should impale me on your pen?" + +"You have done nobly," answered Iola, "in refusing your grandmother's +offer." + +"I only did my duty," he modestly replied. + +"But," said Iola, "when others are trying to slip out from the race and +pass into the white basis, I cannot help admiring one who acts as if he +felt that the weaker the race is the closer he would cling to it." + +"My mother," replied Dr. Latimer, "faithful and true, belongs to that +race. Where else should I be? But I know a young lady who could have +cast her lot with the favored race, yet chose to take her place with the +freed people, as their teacher, friend, and adviser. This young lady was +alone in the world. She had been fearfully wronged, and to her stricken +heart came a brilliant offer of love, home, and social position. But she +bound her heart to the mast of duty, closed her ears to the syren song, +and could not be lured from her purpose." + +A startled look stole over Iola's face, and, lifting her eyes to his, +she faltered:-- + +"Do you know her?" + +"Yes, I know her and admire her; and she ought to be made the subject +of a soul-inspiring story. Do you know of whom I speak?" + +"How should I, Doctor? I am sure you have not made me your confidante," +she responded, demurely; then she quickly turned and tripped up the +steps of her home, which she had just reached. + +After this conversation Dr. Latimer became a frequent visitor at Iola's +home, and a firm friend of her brother. Harry was at that age when, for +the young and inexperienced, vice puts on her fairest guise and most +seductive smiles. Dr. Latimer's wider knowledge and larger experience +made his friendship for Harry very valuable, and the service he rendered +him made him a favorite and ever-welcome guest in the family. + +"Are you all alone," asked Robert, one night, as he entered the cosy +little parlor where Iola sat reading. "Where are the rest of the folks?" + +"Mamma and grandma have gone to bed," answered Iola. "Harry and Lucille +are at the concert. They are passionately fond of music, and find +facilities here that they do not have in the South. They wouldn't go to +hear a seraph where they must take a negro seat. I was too tired to go. +Besides, 'two's company and three's a crowd,'" she added, significantly. + +"I reckon you struck the nail on the head that time," said Robert, +laughing. "But you have not been alone all the time. Just as I reached +the corner I saw Dr. Latimer leaving the door. I see he still continues +his visits. Who is his patient now?" + +"Oh, Uncle Robert," said Iola, smiling and flushing, "he is out with +Harry and Lucille part of the time, and drops in now and then to see us +all." + +"Well," said Robert, "I suppose the case is now an affair of the heart. +But I cannot blame him for it," he added, looking fondly on the +beautiful face of his niece, which sorrow had touched only to chisel +into more loveliness. "How do you like him?" + +"I must have within me," answered Iola, with unaffected truthfulness, "a +large amount of hero worship. The characters of the Old Testament I most +admire are Moses and Nehemiah. They were willing to put aside their own +advantages for their race and country. Dr. Latimer comes up to my ideal +of a high, heroic manhood." + +"I think," answered Robert, smiling archly, "he would be delighted to +hear your opinion of him." + +"I tell him," continued Iola, "that he belongs to the days of chivalry. +But he smiles and says, 'he only belongs to the days of hard-pan +service.'" + +"Some one," said Robert, "was saying to-day that he stood in his own +light when he refused his grandmother's offer to receive him as her +son." + +"I think," said Iola, "it was the grandest hour of his life when he made +that decision. I have admired him ever since I heard his story." + +"But, Iola, think of the advantages he set aside. It was no sacrifice +for me to remain colored, with my lack of education and race sympathies, +but Dr. Latimer had doors open to him as a white man which are forever +closed to a colored man. To be born white in this country is to be born +to an inheritance of privileges, to hold in your hands the keys that +open before you the doors of every occupation, advantage, opportunity, +and achievement." + +"I know that, uncle," answered Iola; "but even these advantages are too +dearly bought if they mean loss of honor, true manliness, and self +respect. He could not have retained these had he ignored his mother and +lived under a veil of concealment, constantly haunted by a dread of +detection. The gain would not have been worth the cost. It were better +that he should walk the ruggedest paths of life a true man than tread +the softest carpets a moral cripple." + +"I am afraid," said Robert, laying his hand caressingly upon her head, +"that we are destined to lose the light of our home." + +"Oh, uncle, how you talk! I never dreamed of what you are thinking," +answered Iola, half reproachfully. + +"And how," asked Robert, "do you know what I am thinking about?" + +"My dear uncle, I'm not blind." + +"Neither am I," replied Robert, significantly, as he left the room. + +Iola's admiration for Dr. Latimer was not a one-sided affair. Day after +day she was filling a larger place in his heart. The touch of her hand +thrilled him with emotion. Her lightest words were an entrancing melody +to his ear. Her noblest sentiments found a response in his heart. In +their desire to help the race their hearts beat in loving unison. One +grand and noble purpose was giving tone and color to their lives and +strengthening the bonds of affection between them. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + + +WOOING AND WEDDING. + +Harry's vacation had been very pleasant. Miss Delany, with her fine +conversational powers and ready wit, had added much to his enjoyment. +Robert had given his mother the pleasantest room in the house, and in +the evening the family would gather around her, tell her the news of the +day, read to her from the Bible, join with her in thanksgiving for +mercies received and in prayer for protection through the night. Harry +was very grateful to Dr. Latimer for the kindly interest he had shown in +accompanying Miss Delany and himself to places of interest and +amusement. He was grateful, too, that in the city of P---- doors were +open to them which were barred against them in the South. + +The bright, beautiful days of summer were gliding into autumn, with its +glorious wealth of foliage, and the time was approaching for the +departure of Harry and Miss Delany to their respective schools, when Dr. +Latimer received several letters from North Carolina, urging him to come +South, as physicians were greatly needed there. Although his practice +was lucrative in the city of P----, he resolved he would go where his +services were most needed. + +A few evenings before he started he called at the house, and made an +engagement to drive Iola to the park. + +At the time appointed he drove up to the door in his fine equipage. +Iola stepped gracefully in and sat quietly by his side to enjoy the +loveliness of the scenery and the gorgeous grandeur of the setting sun. + +"I expect to go South," said Dr. Latimer, as he drove slowly along. + +"Ah, indeed," said Iola, assuming an air of interest, while a shadow +flitted over her face. "Where do you expect to pitch your tent?" + +"In the city of C----, North Carolina," he answered. + +"Oh, I wish," she exclaimed, "that you were going to Georgia, where you +could take care of that high-spirited brother of mine." + +"I suppose if he were to hear you he would laugh, and say that he could +take care of himself. But I know a better plan than that." + +"What is it?" asked Iola, innocently. + +"That you will commit yourself, instead of your brother, to my care." + +"Oh, dear," replied Iola, drawing a long breath. "What would mamma say?" + +"That she would willingly resign you, I hope." + +"And what would grandma and Uncle Robert say?" again asked Iola. + +"That they would cheerfully acquiesce. Now, what would I say if they all +consent?" + +"I don't know," modestly responded Iola. + +"Well," replied Dr. Latimer, "I would say:-- + + "Could deeds my love discover, + Could valor gain thy charms, + To prove myself thy lover + I'd face a world in arms." + +"And prove a good soldier," added Iola, smiling, "when there is no +battle to fight." + +"Iola, I am in earnest," said Dr. Latimer, passionately. "In the work to +which I am devoted every burden will be lighter, every path smoother, if +brightened and blessed with your companionship." + +A sober expression swept over Iola's face, and, dropping her eyes, she +said: "I must have time to think." + +Quietly they rode along the river bank until Dr. Latimer broke the +silence by saying:-- + +"Miss Iola, I think that you brood too much over the condition of our +people." + +"Perhaps I do," she replied, "but they never burn a man in the South +that they do not kindle a fire around my soul." + +"I am afraid," replied Dr. Latimer, "that you will grow morbid and +nervous. Most of our people take life easily--why shouldn't you?" + +"Because," she answered, "I can see breakers ahead which they do not." + +"Oh, give yourself no uneasiness. They will catch the fret and fever of +the nineteenth century soon enough. I have heard several of our +ministers say that it is chiefly men of disreputable characters who are +made the subjects of violence and lynch-law." + +"Suppose it is so," responded Iola, feelingly. "If these men believe in +eternal punishment they ought to feel a greater concern for the wretched +sinner who is hurried out of time with all his sins upon his head, than +for the godly man who passes through violence to endless rest." + +"That is true; and I am not counseling you to be selfish; but, Miss +Iola, had you not better look out for yourself?" + +"Thank you, Doctor, I am feeling quite well." + +"I know it, but your devotion to study and work is too intense," he +replied. + +"I am preparing to teach, and must spend my leisure time in study. Mr. +Cloten is an excellent employer, and treats his employés as if they had +hearts as well as hands. But to be an expert accountant is not the best +use to which I can put my life." + +"As a teacher you will need strong health and calm nerves. You had +better let me prescribe for you. You need," he added, with a merry +twinkle in his eyes, "change of air, change of scene, and change of +name." + +"Well, Doctor," said Iola, laughing, "that is the newest nostrum out. +Had you not better apply for a patent?" + +"Oh," replied Dr. Latimer, with affected gravity, "you know you must +have unlimited faith in your physician." + +"So you wish me to try the faith cure?" asked Iola, laughing. + +"Yes, faith in me," responded Dr. Latimer, seriously. + +"Oh, here we are at home!" exclaimed Iola. "This has been a glorious +evening, Doctor. I am indebted to you for a great pleasure. I am +extremely grateful." + +"You are perfectly welcome," replied Dr. Latimer. "The pleasure has been +mutual, I assure you." + +"Will you not come in?" asked Iola. + +Tying his horse, he accompanied Iola into the parlor. Seating himself +near her, he poured into her ears words eloquent with love and +tenderness. + +"Iola," he said, "I am not an adept in courtly phrases. I am a plain +man, who believes in love and truth. In asking you to share my lot, I am +not inviting you to a life of ease and luxury, for year after year I may +have to struggle to keep the wolf from the door, but your presence would +make my home one of the brightest spots on earth, and one of the fairest +types of heaven. Am I presumptuous in hoping that your love will become +the crowning joy of my life?" + +His words were more than a tender strain wooing her to love and +happiness, they were a clarion call to a life of high and holy worth, a +call which found a response in her heart. Her hand lay limp in his. She +did not withdraw it, but, raising her lustrous eyes to his, she softly +answered: "Frank, I love you." + +After he had gone, Iola sat by the window, gazing at the splendid stars, +her heart quietly throbbing with a delicious sense of joy and love. She +had admired Dr. Gresham and, had there been no barrier in her way, she +might have learned to love him; but Dr. Latimer had grown irresistibly +upon her heart. There were depths in her nature that Dr. Gresham had +never fathomed; aspirations in her soul with which he had never mingled. +But as the waves leap up to the strand, so her soul went out to Dr. +Latimer. Between their lives were no impeding barriers, no inclination +impelling one way and duty compelling another. Kindred hopes and tastes +had knit their hearts; grand and noble purposes were lighting up their +lives; and they esteemed it a blessed privilege to stand on the +threshold of a new era and labor for those who had passed from the old +oligarchy of slavery into the new commonwealth of freedom. + +On the next evening, Dr. Latimer rang the bell and was answered by +Harry, who ushered him into the parlor, and then came back to the +sitting-room, saying, "Iola, Dr. Latimer has called to see you." + +"Has he?" answered Iola, a glad light coming into her eyes. "Come, +Lucille, let us go into the parlor." + +"Oh, no," interposed Harry, shrugging his shoulders and catching +Lucille's hand. "He didn't ask for you. When we went to the concert we +were told three's a crowd. And I say one good turn deserves another." + +"Oh, Harry, you are so full of nonsense. Let Lucille go!" said Iola. + +"Indeed I will not. I want to have a good time as well as you," said +Harry. + +"Oh, you're the most nonsensical man I know," interposed Miss Delany. +Yet she stayed with Harry. + +"You're looking very bright and happy," said Dr. Latimer to Iola, as she +entered. + +"My ride in the park was so refreshing! I enjoyed it so much! The day +was so lovely, the air delicious, the birds sang so sweetly, and the +sunset was so magnificent." + +"I am glad of it. Why, Iola, your home is so happy your heart should be +as light as a school-girl's." + +"Doctor," she replied, "I must be prematurely old. I have scarcely known +what it is to be light-hearted since my father's death." + +"I know it, darling," he answered, seating himself beside her, and +drawing her to him. "You have been tried in the fire, but are you not +better for the crucial test?" + +"Doctor," she replied, "as we rode along yesterday, mingling with the +sunshine of the present came the shadows of the past. I was thinking of +the bright, joyous days of my girlhood, when I defended slavery, and of +how the cup that I would have pressed to the lips of others was forced +to my own. Yet, in looking over the mournful past, I would not change +the Iola of then for the Iola of now." + +"Yes," responded Dr. Latimer, musingly, + + "'Darkness shows us worlds of light + We never saw by day.'" + +"Oh, Doctor, you cannot conceive what it must have been to be hurled +from a home of love and light into the dark abyss of slavery; to be +compelled to take your place among a people you have learned to look +upon as inferiors and social outcasts; to be in the power of men whose +presence would fill you with horror and loathing, and to know that there +is no earthly power to protect you from the highest insults which brutal +cowardice could shower upon you. I am so glad that no other woman of my +race will suffer as I have done." + +The flush deepened on her face, a mournful splendor beamed from her +beautiful eyes, into which the tears had slowly gathered. + +"Darling," he said, his voice vibrating with mingled feelings of +tenderness and resentment, "you must forget the sad past. You are like a +tender lamb snatched from the jaws of a hungry wolf, but who still needs +protecting, loving care. But it must have been terrible," he added, in a +painful tone. + +"It was indeed! For awhile I was like one dazed. I tried to pray, but +the heavens seemed brass over my head. I was wild with agony, and had I +not been placed under conditions which roused all the resistance of my +soul, I would have lost my reason." + +"Was it not a mistake to have kept you ignorant of your colored blood?" + +"It was the great mistake of my father's life, but dear papa knew +something of the cruel, crushing power of caste; and he tried to shield +us from it." + +"Yes, yes," replied Dr. Latimer, thoughtfully, "in trying to shield you +from pain he plunged you into deeper suffering." + +"I never blame him, because I know he did it for the best. Had he lived +he would have taken us to France, where I should have had a life of +careless ease and pleasure. But now my life has a much grander +significance than it would have had under such conditions. Fearful as +the awakening was, it was better than to have slept through life." + +"Best for you and best for me," said Dr. Latimer. "There are souls that +never awaken; but if they miss the deepest pain they also lose the +highest joy." + +Dr. Latimer went South, after his engagement, and through his medical +skill and agreeable manners became very successful in his practice. In +the following summer, he built a cosy home for the reception of his +bride, and came North, where, with Harry and Miss Delany as attendants, +he was married to Iola, amid a pleasant gathering of friends, by Rev. +Carmicle. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + + +CONCLUSION. + +It was late in the summer when Dr. Latimer and his bride reached their +home in North Carolina. Over the cottage porch were morning-glories to +greet the first flushes of the rising day, and roses and jasmines to +distill their fragrance on the evening air. Aunt Linda, who had been +apprised of their coming, was patiently awaiting their arrival, and +Uncle Daniel was pleased to know that "dat sweet young lady who had sich +putty manners war comin' to lib wid dem." + +As soon as they arrived, Aunt Linda rushed up to Iola, folded her in her +arms, and joyfully exclaimed: "How'dy, honey! I'se so glad you's come. I +seed it in a vision dat somebody fair war comin' to help us. An' wen I +yered it war you, I larffed and jist rolled ober, and larffed and jist +gib up." + +"But, Aunt Linda, I am not very fair," replied Mrs. Latimer. + +"Well, chile, you's fair to me. How's all yore folks in de up kentry?" + +"All well. I expect them down soon to live here." + +"What, Har'yet, and Robby, an' yer ma? Oh, dat is too good. I allers +said Robby had san' in his craw, and war born for good luck. He war a +mighty nice boy. Har'yet's in clover now. Well, ebery dorg has its day, +and de cat has Sunday. I allers tole Har'yet ter keep a stiff upper lip; +dat it war a long road dat had no turn." + +Dr. Latimer was much gratified by the tender care Aunt Linda bestowed +on Iola. + +"I ain't goin' to let her do nuffin till she gits seasoned. She looks as +sweet as a peach. I allers wanted some nice lady to come down yere and +larn our gals some sense. I can't read myself, but I likes ter yere dem +dat can." + +"Well, Aunt Linda, I am going to teach in the Sunday-school, help in the +church, hold mothers' meetings to help these boys and girls to grow up +to be good men and women. Won't you get a pair of spectacles and learn +to read?" + +"Oh, yer can't git dat book froo my head, no way you fix it. I knows +nuff to git to hebben, and dat's all I wants to know." Aunt Linda was +kind and obliging, but there was one place where she drew the line, and +that was at learning to read. + +Harry and Miss Delany accompanied Iola as far as her new home, and +remained several days. The evening before their departure, Harry took +Miss Delany a drive of several miles through the pine barrens. + +"This thing is getting very monotonous," Harry broke out, when they had +gone some distance. + +"Oh, I enjoy it!" replied Miss Delany. "These stately pines look so +grand and solemn, they remind me of a procession of hooded monks." + +"What in the world are you talking about, Lucille?" asked Harry, looking +puzzled. + +"About those pine-trees," replied Miss Delany, in a tone of surprise. + +"Pshaw, I wasn't thinking about them. I'm thinking about Iola and +Frank." + +"What about them?" asked Lucille. + +"Why, when I was in P----, Dr. Latimer used to be first-rate company, +but now it is nothing but what Iola wants, and what Iola says, and what +Iola likes. I don't believe that there is a subject I could name to him, +from spinning a top to circumnavigating the globe, that he wouldn't +somehow contrive to bring Iola in. And I don't believe you could talk +ten minutes to Iola on any subject, from dressing a doll to the latest +discovery in science, that she wouldn't manage to lug in Frank." + +"Oh, you absurd creature!" responded Lucille, "this is their honeymoon, +and they are deeply in love with each other. Wait till you get in love +with some one." + +"I am in love now," replied Harry, with a serious air. + +"With whom?" asked Lucille, archly. + +"With you," answered Harry, trying to take her hand. + +"Oh, Harry!" she exclaimed, playfully resisting. "Don't be so +nonsensical! Don't you think the bride looked lovely, with that dress of +spotless white and with those orange blossoms in her hair?" + +"Yes, she did; that's a fact," responded Harry. "But, Lucille, I think +there is a great deal of misplaced sentiment at weddings," he added, +more seriously. + +"How so?" + +"Oh, here are a couple just married, and who are as happy as happy can +be; and people will crowd around them wishing much joy; but who thinks +of wishing joy to the forlorn old bachelors and restless old maids?" + +"Well, Harry, if you want people to wish you much happiness, why don't +you do as the doctor has done, get yourself a wife?" + +"I will," he replied, soberly, "when you say so." + +"Oh, Harry, don't be so absurd." + +"Indeed there isn't a bit of absurdity about what I say. I am in +earnest." There was something in the expression of Harry's face and the +tone of his voice which arrested the banter on Lucille's lips. + +"I think it was Charles Lamb," replied Lucille, "who once said that +school-teachers are uncomfortable people, and, Harry, I would not like +to make you uncomfortable by marrying you." + +"You will make me uncomfortable by not marrying me." + +"But," replied Lucille, "your mother may not prefer me for a daughter. +You know, Harry, complexional prejudices are not confined to white +people." + +"My mother," replied Harry, with an air of confidence, "is too noble to +indulge in such sentiments." + +"And Iola, would she be satisfied?" + +"Why, it would add to her satisfaction. She is not one who can't be +white and won't be black." + +"Well, then," replied Lucille, "I will take the question of your comfort +into consideration." + +The above promise was thoughtfully remembered by Lucille till a bridal +ring and happy marriage were the result. + +Soon after Iola had settled in C---- she quietly took her place in the +Sunday-school as a teacher, and in the church as a helper. She was +welcomed by the young pastor, who found in her a strong and faithful +ally. Together they planned meetings for the especial benefit of mothers +and children. When the dens of vice are spreading their snares for the +feet of the tempted and inexperienced her doors are freely opened for +the instruction of the children before their feet have wandered and gone +far astray. She has no carpets too fine for the tread of their little +feet. She thinks it is better to have stains on her carpet than stains +on their souls through any neglect of hers. In lowly homes and +windowless cabins her visits are always welcome. Little children love +her. Old age turns to her for comfort, young girls for guidance, and +mothers for counsel. Her life is full of blessedness. + +Doctor Latimer by his kindness and skill has won the name of the "Good +Doctor." But he is more than a successful doctor; he is a true patriot +and a good citizen. Honest, just, and discriminating, he endeavors by +precept and example to instill into the minds of others sentiments of +good citizenship. He is a leader in every reform movement for the +benefit of the community; but his patriotism is not confined to race +lines. "The world is his country, and mankind his countrymen." While he +abhors their deeds of violence, he pities the short-sighted and besotted +men who seem madly intent upon laying magazines of powder under the +cradles of unborn generations. He has great faith in the possibilities +of the negro, and believes that, enlightened and Christianized, he will +sink the old animosities of slavery into the new community of interests +arising from freedom; and that his influence upon the South will be as +the influence of the sun upon the earth. As when the sun passes from +Capricorn to Cancer, beauty, greenness, and harmony spring up in his +path, so he hopes that the future career of the negro will be a greater +influence for freedom and social advancement than it was in the days of +yore for slavery and its inferior civilization. + +Harry and Lucille are at the head of a large and flourishing school. +Lucille gives her ripening experience to her chosen work, to which she +was too devoted to resign. And through the school they are lifting up +the homes of the people. Some have pitied, others blamed, Harry for +casting his lot with the colored people, but he knows that life's +highest and best advantages do not depend on the color of the skin or +texture of the hair. He has his reward in the improved condition of his +pupils and the superb manhood and noble life which he has developed in +his much needed work. + +Uncle Daniel still lingers on the shores of time, a cheery, lovable old +man, loved and respected by all; a welcome guest in every home. Soon +after Iola's marriage, Robert sold out his business and moved with his +mother and sister to North Carolina. He bought a large plantation near +C----, which he divided into small homesteads, and sold to poor but +thrifty laborers, and his heart has been gladdened by their increased +prosperity and progress. He has seen the one-roomed cabins change to +comfortable cottages, in which cleanliness and order have supplanted the +prolific causes of disease and death. Kind and generous, he often +remembers Mrs. Johnson and sends her timely aid. + +Marie's pale, spiritual face still bears traces of the beauty which was +her youthful dower, but its bloom has been succeeded by an air of +sweetness and dignity. Though frail in health, she is always ready to +lend a helping hand wherever and whenever she can. + +Grandmother Johnson was glad to return South and spend the remnant of +her days with the remaining friends of her early life. Although feeble, +she is in full sympathy with her children for the uplifting of the race. +Marie and her mother are enjoying their aftermath of life, one by +rendering to others all the service in her power, while the other, with +her face turned toward the celestial city, is + + "Only waiting till the angels + Open wide the mystic gate." + +The shadows have been lifted from all their lives; and peace, like +bright dew, has descended upon their paths. Blessed themselves, their +lives are a blessing to others. + + + + +NOTE. + +From threads of fact and fiction I have woven a story whose mission will +not be in vain if it awaken in the hearts of our countrymen a stronger +sense of justice and a more Christlike humanity in behalf of those whom +the fortunes of war threw, homeless, ignorant and poor, upon the +threshold of a new era. Nor will it be in vain if it inspire the +children of those upon whose brows God has poured the chrism of that new +era to determine that they will embrace every opportunity, develop every +faculty, and use every power God has given them to rise in the scale of +character and condition, and to add their quota of good citizenship to +the best welfare of the nation. There are scattered among us materials +for mournful tragedies and mirth-provoking comedies, which some hand may +yet bring into the literature of the country, glowing with the fervor of +the tropics and enriched by the luxuriance of the Orient, and thus add +to the solution of our unsolved American problem. + +The race has not had very long to straighten its hands from the hoe, to +grasp the pen and wield it as a power for good, and to erect above the +ruined auction-block and slave-pen institutions of learning, but + + There is light beyond the darkness, + Joy beyond the present pain; + There is hope in God's great justice + And the negro's rising brain. + Though the morning seems to linger + O'er the hill-tops far away, + Yet the shadows bear the promise + Of a brighter coming day. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Iola Leroy, by Frances E.W. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + diff --git a/old/12352-8.zip b/old/12352-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8775b13 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12352-8.zip diff --git a/old/12352.txt b/old/12352.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..941ccc3 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12352.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8933 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Iola Leroy, by Frances E.W. Harper + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Iola Leroy + Shadows Uplifted + +Author: Frances E.W. Harper + +Release Date: May 14, 2004 [EBook #12352] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IOLA LEROY *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +IOLA LEROY, + +OR + +SHADOWS UPLIFTED. + +BY + +FRANCES E.W. HARPER. + + + + +1893, Philadelphia + +TO MY DAUGHTER + +MARY E. HARPER, + +THIS BOOK IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED. + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + +I confess when I first learned that Mrs. Harper was about to write "a +story" on some features of the Anglo-African race, growing out of what +was once popularly known as the "peculiar institution," I had my doubts +about the matter. Indeed it was far from being easy for me to think that +she was as fortunate as she might have been in selecting a subject which +would afford her the best opportunity for bringing out a work of merit +and lasting worth to the race--such a work as some of her personal +friends have long desired to see from her graphic pen. However, after +hearing a good portion of the manuscript read, and a general statement +with regard to the object in view, I admit frankly that my partial +indifference was soon swept away; at least I was willing to wait for +further developments. + +Being very desirous that one of the race, so long distinguished in the +cause of freedom for her intellectual worth as Mrs. Harper has had the +honor of being, should not at this late date in life make a blunder +which might detract from her own good name, I naturally proposed to +await developments before deciding too quickly in favor of giving +encouragement to her contemplated effort. + +However, I was perfectly aware of the fact that she had much material in +her possession for a most interesting book on the subject of the +condition of the colored people in the South. I know of no other woman, +white or colored, anywhere, who has come so intimately in contact with +the colored people in the South as Mrs. Harper. Since emancipation she +has labored in every Southern State in the Union, save two, Arkansas and +Texas; in the colleges, schools, churches, and the cabins not excepted, +she has found a vast field and open doors to teach and speak on the +themes of education, temperance, and good home building, industry, +morality, and the like, and never lacked for evidences of hearty +appreciation and gratitude. + +Everywhere help was needed, and her heart being deeply absorbed in the +cause she willingly allowed her sympathies to impel her to perform most +heroic services. + +With her it was no uncommon occurrence, in visiting cities or towns, to +speak at two, three, and four meetings a day; sometimes to promiscuous +audiences composed of everybody who would care to come. + +But the kind of meetings she took greatest interest in were meetings +called exclusively for women. In this attitude she could pour out her +sympathies to them as she could not do before a mixed audience; and +indeed she felt their needs were far more pressing than any other class. + +And now I am prepared to most fully indorse her story. I doubt whether +she could, if she had tried ever so much, have hit upon a subject so +well adapted to reach a large number of her friends and the public with +both entertaining and instructive matter as successfully as she has done +in this volume. + +The grand and ennobling sentiments which have characterized all her +utterances in laboring for the elevation of the oppressed will not be +found missing in this book. + +The previous books from her pen, which have been so very widely +circulated and admired, North and South--"Forest Leaves," "Miscellaneous +Poems," "Moses, a Story of the Nile," "Poems," and "Sketches of Southern +Life" (five in number)--these, I predict, will be by far eclipsed by +this last effort, which will, in all probability, be the crowning effort +of her long and valuable services in the cause of humanity. + +While, as indicated, Mrs. Harper has done a large amount of work in the +South, she has at the same time done much active service in the +temperance cause in the North, as thousands of this class can testify. + +Before the war she was engaged as a speaker by anti-slavery +associations; since then, by appointment of the Women's Christian +Temperance Union, she has held the office of "Superintendent of Colored +Work" for years. She has also held the office of one of the Directors of +the Women's Congress of the United States. + +Under the auspices of these influential, earnest, and intelligent +associations, she has been seen often on their platforms with the +leading lady orators of the nation. + +Hence, being widely known not only amongst her own race but likewise by +the reformers, laboring for the salvation of the intemperate and others +equally unfortunate, there is little room to doubt that the book will be +in great demand and will meet with warm congratulations from a goodly +number outside of the author's social connections. + +Doubtless the thousands of colored Sunday-schools in the South, in +casting about for an interesting, moral story-book, full of practical +lessons, will not be content to be without "IOLA LEROY, OR SHADOWS +UPLIFTED." + +WILLIAM STILL. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +Chapter + +I. The Mystery of Market Speech and Prayer Meetings + +II. Contraband of War + +III. Uncle Daniel's Story + +IV. Arrival of the Union Army + +V. Release of Iola Leroy + +VI. Robert Johnson's Promotion and Religion + +VII. Tom Anderson's Death + +VIII. The Mystified Doctor + +IX. Eugene Leroy and Alfred Lorraine + +X. Shadows in the Home + +XI. The Plague and the Law + +XII. School-girl Notions + +XIII. A Rejected Suitor + +XIV. Harry Leroy + +XV. Robert and his Company + +XVI. After the Battle + +XVII. Flames in the School-Room + +XVIII. Searching for Lost Ones + +XIX. Striking Contrasts + +XX. A Revelation + +XXI. A Home for Mother + +XXII. Further Lifting of the Veil + +XXIII. Delightful Reunions + +XXIV. Northern Experience + +XXV. An Old Friend + +XXVI. Open Questions + +XXVII. Diverging Paths + +XXVIII. Dr. Latrobe's Mistake + +XXIX. Visitors from the South + +XXX. Friends in Council + +XXXI. Dawning Affections + +XXXII. Wooing and Wedding + +XXXIII. Conclusion + +Note + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +MYSTERY OF MARKET SPEECH AND PRAYER-MEETING. + +"Good mornin', Bob; how's butter dis mornin'?" + +"Fresh; just as fresh, as fresh can be." + +"Oh, glory!" said the questioner, whom we shall call Thomas Anderson, +although he was known among his acquaintances as Marster Anderson's Tom. + +His informant regarding the condition of the market was Robert Johnson, +who had been separated from his mother in his childhood and reared by +his mistress as a favorite slave. She had fondled him as a pet animal, +and even taught him to read. Notwithstanding their relation as mistress +and slave, they had strong personal likings for each other. + +Tom Anderson was the servant of a wealthy planter, who lived in the city +of C----, North Carolina. This planter was quite advanced in life, but +in his earlier days he had spent much of his time in talking politics in +his State and National capitals in winter, and in visiting pleasure +resorts and watering places in summer. His plantations were left to the +care of overseers who, in their turn, employed negro drivers to aid them +in the work of cultivation and discipline. But as the infirmities of age +were pressing upon him he had withdrawn from active life, and given the +management of his affairs into the hands of his sons. As Robert Johnson +and Thomas Anderson passed homeward from the market, having bought +provisions for their respective homes, they seemed to be very +light-hearted and careless, chatting and joking with each other; but +every now and then, after looking furtively around, one would drop into +the ears of the other some news of the battle then raging between the +North and South which, like two great millstones, were grinding slavery +to powder. + +As they passed along, they were met by another servant, who said in +hurried tones, but with a glad accent in his voice:-- + +"Did you see de fish in de market dis mornin'? Oh, but dey war splendid, +jis' as fresh, as fresh kin be." + +"That's the ticket," said Robert, as a broad smile overspread his face. +"I'll see you later." + +"Good mornin', boys," said another servant on his way to market. "How's +eggs dis mornin'?" + +"Fust rate, fust rate," said Tom Anderson. "Bob's got it down fine." + +"I thought so; mighty long faces at de pos'-office dis mornin'; but I'd +better move 'long," and with a bright smile lighting up his face he +passed on with a quickened tread. + +There seemed to be an unusual interest manifested by these men in the +state of the produce market, and a unanimous report of its good +condition. Surely there was nothing in the primeness of the butter or +the freshness of the eggs to change careless looking faces into such +expressions of gratification, or to light dull eyes with such gladness. +What did it mean? + +During the dark days of the Rebellion, when the bondman was turning his +eyes to the American flag, and learning to hail it as an ensign of +deliverance, some of the shrewder slaves, coming in contact with their +masters and overhearing their conversations, invented a phraseology to +convey in the most unsuspected manner news to each other from the +battle-field. Fragile women and helpless children were left on the +plantations while their natural protectors were at the front, and yet +these bondmen refrained from violence. Freedom was coming in the wake of +the Union army, and while numbers deserted to join their forces, others +remained at home, slept in their cabins by night and attended to their +work by day; but under this apparently careless exterior there was an +undercurrent of thought which escaped the cognizance of their masters. +In conveying tidings of the war, if they wished to announce a victory of +the Union army, they said the butter was fresh, or that the fish and +eggs were in good condition. If defeat befell them, then the butter and +other produce were rancid or stale. + +Entering his home, Robert set his basket down. In one arm he held a +bundle of papers which he had obtained from the train to sell to the +boarders, who were all anxious to hear from the seat of battle. He +slipped one copy out and, looking cautiously around, said to Linda, the +cook, in a low voice:-- + +"Splendid news in the papers. Secesh routed. Yankees whipped 'em out of +their boots. Papers full of it. I tell you the eggs and the butter's +mighty fresh this morning." + +"Oh, sho, chile," said Linda, "I can't read de newspapers, but ole +Missus' face is newspaper nuff for me. I looks at her ebery mornin' wen +she comes inter dis kitchen. Ef her face is long an' she walks kine o' +droopy den I thinks things is gwine wrong for dem. But ef she comes out +yere looking mighty pleased, an' larffin all ober her face, an' steppin' +so frisky, den I knows de Secesh is gittin' de bes' ob de Yankees. +Robby, honey, does you really b'lieve for good and righty dat dem +Yankees is got horns?" + +"Of course not." + +"Well, I yered so." + +"Well, you heard a mighty big whopper." + +"Anyhow, Bobby, things goes mighty contrary in dis house. Ole Miss is in +de parlor prayin' for de Secesh to gain de day, and we's prayin' in de +cabins and kitchens for de Yankees to get de bes' ob it. But wasn't Miss +Nancy glad wen dem Yankees run'd away at Bull's Run. It was nuffin but +Bull's Run an' run away Yankees. How she did larff and skip 'bout de +house. An' den me thinks to myself you'd better not holler till you gits +out ob de woods. I specs 'fore dem Yankees gits froo you'll be larffin +tother side ob your mouf. While you was gone to market ole Miss com'd +out yere, her face looking as long as my arm, tellin' us all 'bout de +war and saying dem Yankees whipped our folks all to pieces. And she was +'fraid dey'd all be down yere soon. I thought they couldn't come too +soon for we. But I didn't tell her so." + +"No, I don't expect you did." + +"No, I didn't; ef you buys me for a fool you loses your money shore. She +said when dey com'd down yere she wanted all de men to hide, for dey'd +kill all de men, but dey wouldn't tech de women." + +"It's no such thing. She's put it all wrong. Why them Yankees are our +best friends." + +"Dat's jis' what I thinks. Ole Miss was jis' tryin to skeer a body. An' +when she war done she jis' set down and sniffled an' cried, an' I war so +glad I didn't know what to do. But I had to hole in. An' I made out I +war orful sorry. An' Jinny said, 'O Miss Nancy, I hope dey won't come +yere.' An' she said, 'I'se jis' 'fraid dey will come down yere and +gobble up eberything dey can lay dere hands on.' An' she jis' looked as +ef her heart war mos' broke, an' den she went inter de house. An' when +she war gone, we jis' broke loose. Jake turned somersets, and said he +warnt 'fraid ob dem Yankees; he know'd which side his brad was buttered +on. Dat Jake is a cuter. When he goes down ter git de letters he cuts up +all kines ob shines and capers. An' to look at him skylarking dere while +de folks is waitin' for dere letters, an' talkin' bout de war, yer +wouldn't think dat boy had a thimbleful of sense. But Jake's listenin' +all de time wid his eyes and his mouf wide open, an' ketchin' eberything +he kin, an' a heap ob news he gits dat way. As to Jinny, she jis' +capered and danced all ober de flore. An' I jis' had to put my han' ober +her mouf to keep ole Miss from yereing her. Oh, but we did hab a good +time. Boy, yer oughter been yere." + +"And, Aunt Linda, what did you do?" + +"Oh, honey, I war jis' ready to crack my sides larffin, jis' to see what +a long face Jinny puts on wen ole Miss is talkin', an' den to see dat +face wen missus' back is turned, why it's good as a circus. It's nuff to +make a horse larff." + +"Why, Aunt Linda, you never saw a circus?" + +"No, but I'se hearn tell ob dem, and I thinks dey mus' be mighty funny. +An' I know it's orful funny to see how straight Jinny's face looks wen +she's almos' ready to bust, while ole Miss is frettin' and fumin' 'bout +dem Yankees an' de war. But, somehow, Robby, I ralely b'lieves dat we +cullud folks is mixed up in dis fight. I seed it all in a vision. An' +soon as dey fired on dat fort, Uncle Dan'el says to me: 'Linda, we's +gwine to git our freedom.' An' I says: 'Wat makes you think so?" An' he +says: 'Dey've fired on Fort Sumter, an' de Norf is boun' to whip.'" + +"I hope so," said Robert. "I think that we have a heap of friends up +there." + +"Well, I'm jis' gwine to keep on prayin' an' b'lievin'." + +Just then the bell rang, and Robert, answering, found Mrs. Johnson +suffering from a severe headache, which he thought was occasioned by her +worrying over the late defeat of the Confederates. She sent him on an +errand, which he executed with his usual dispatch, and returned to some +work which he had to do in the kitchen. Robert was quite a favorite with +Aunt Linda, and they often had confidential chats together. + +"Bobby," she said, when he returned, "I thinks we ort ter hab a +prayer-meetin' putty soon." + +"I am in for that. Where will you have it?" + +"Lem me see. Las' Sunday we had it in Gibson's woods; Sunday 'fore las', +in de old cypress swamp; an' nex' Sunday we'el hab one in McCullough's +woods. Las' Sunday we had a good time. I war jis' chock full an' runnin' +ober. Aunt Milly's daughter's bin monin all summer, an' she's jis' come +throo. We had a powerful time. Eberythin' on dat groun' was jis' alive. +I tell yer, dere was a shout in de camp." + +"Well, you had better look out, and not shout too much, and pray and +sing too loud, because, 'fore you know, the patrollers will be on your +track and break up your meetin' in a mighty big hurry, before you can +say 'Jack Robinson.'" + +"Oh, we looks out for dat. We's got a nice big pot, dat got cracked las' +winter, but it will hole a lot o' water, an' we puts it whar we can tell +it eberything. We has our own good times. An' I want you to come Sunday +night an' tell all 'bout the good eggs, fish, and butter. Mark my words, +Bobby, we's all gwine to git free. I seed it all in a vision, as plain +as de nose on yer face." + +"Well, I hope your vision will come out all right, and that the eggs +will keep and the butter be fresh till we have our next meetin'." + +"Now, Bob, you sen' word to Uncle Dan'el, Tom Anderson, an' de rest ob +dem, to come to McCullough's woods nex' Sunday night. I want to hab a +sin-killin' an' debil-dribin' time. But, boy, you'd better git out er +yere. Ole Miss'll be down on yer like a scratch cat." + +Although the slaves were denied unrestricted travel, and the holding of +meetings without the surveillance of a white man, yet they contrived to +meet by stealth and hold gatherings where they could mingle their +prayers and tears, and lay plans for escaping to the Union army. +Outwitting the vigilance of the patrollers and home guards, they +established these meetings miles apart, extending into several States. + +Sometimes their hope of deliverance was cruelly blighted by hearing of +some adventurous soul who, having escaped to the Union army, had been +pursued and returned again to bondage. Yet hope survived all these +disasters which gathered around the fate of their unfortunate brethren, +who were remanded to slavery through the undiscerning folly of those who +were strengthening the hands which were dealing their deadliest blows at +the heart of the Nation. But slavery had cast such a glamour over the +Nation, and so warped the consciences of men, that they failed to read +aright the legible transcript of Divine retribution which was written +upon the shuddering earth, where the blood of God's poor children had +been as water freely spilled. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +CONTRABAND OF WAR. + +A few evenings after this conversation between Robert and Linda, a +prayer-meeting was held. Under the cover of night a few dusky figures +met by stealth in McCullough's woods. + +"Howdy," said Robert, approaching Uncle Daniel, the leader of the +prayer-meeting, who had preceded him but a few minutes. + +"Thanks and praise; I'se all right. How is you, chile?" + +"Oh, I'm all right," said Robert, smiling, and grasping Uncle Daniel's +hand. + +"What's de news?" exclaimed several, as they turned their faces eagerly +towards Robert. + +"I hear," said Robert, "that they are done sending the runaways back to +their masters." + +"Is dat so?" said a half dozen earnest voices. "How did you yere it?" + +"I read it in the papers. And Tom told me he heard them talking about it +last night, at his house. How did you hear it, Tom? Come, tell us all +about it." + +Tom Anderson hesitated a moment, and then said:-- + +"Now, boys, I'll tell you all 'bout it. But you's got to be mighty mum +'bout it. It won't do to let de cat outer de bag." + +"Dat's so! But tell us wat you yered. We ain't gwine to say nuffin to +nobody." + +"Well," said Tom, "las' night ole Marster had company. Two big +ginerals, and dey was hoppin' mad. One ob dem looked like a turkey +gobbler, his face war so red. An' he sed one ob dem Yankee ginerals, I +thinks dey called him Beas' Butler, sed dat de slaves dat runned away +war some big name--I don't know what he called it. But it meant dat all +ob we who com'd to de Yankees should be free." + +"Contraband of war," said Robert, who enjoyed the distinction of being a +good reader, and was pretty well posted about the war. Mrs. Johnson had +taught him to read on the same principle she would have taught a pet +animal amusing tricks. She had never imagined the time would come when +he would use the machinery she had put in his hands to help overthrow +the institution to which she was so ardently attached. + +"What does it mean? Is it somethin' good for us?" + +"I think," said Robert, a little vain of his superior knowledge, "it is +the best kind of good. It means if two armies are fighting and the +horses of one run away, the other has a right to take them. And it is +just the same if a slave runs away from the Secesh to the Union lines. +He is called a contraband, just the same as if he were an ox or a horse. +They wouldn't send the horses back, and they won't send us back." + +"Is dat so?" said Uncle Daniel, a dear old father, with a look of +saintly patience on his face. "Well, chillen, what do you mean to do?" + +"Go, jis' as soon as we kin git to de army," said Tom Anderson. + +"What else did the generals say? And how did you come to hear them, +Tom?" asked Robert Johnson. + +"Well, yer see, Marster's too ole and feeble to go to de war, but his +heart's in it. An' it makes him feel good all ober when dem big ginerals +comes an' tells him all 'bout it. Well, I war laying out on de porch +fas' asleep an' snorin' drefful hard. Oh, I war so soun' asleep dat wen +Marster wanted some ice-water he had to shake me drefful hard to wake me +up. An' all de time I war wide 'wake as he war." + +"What did they say?" asked Robert, who was always on the lookout for +news from the battle-field. + +"One ob dem said, dem Yankees war talkin' of puttin' guns in our han's +and settin' us all free. An' de oder said, 'Oh, sho! ef dey puts guns in +dere hands dey'll soon be in our'n; and ef dey sets em free dey wouldn't +know how to take keer ob demselves.'" + +"Only let 'em try it," chorused a half dozen voices, "an' dey'll soon +see who'll git de bes' ob de guns; an' as to taking keer ob ourselves, I +specs we kin take keer ob ourselves as well as take keer ob dem." + +"Yes," said Tom, "who plants de cotton and raises all de crops?" + + "'They eat the meat and give us the bones, + Eat the cherries and give us the stones,' + +"And I'm getting tired of the whole business," said Robert. + +"But, Bob," said Uncle Daniel, "you've got a good owner. You don't hab +to run away from bad times and wuss a comin'." + +"It isn't so good, but it might be better. I ain't got nothing 'gainst +my ole Miss, except she sold my mother from me. And a boy ain't nothin' +without his mother. I forgive her, but I never forget her, and never +expect to. But if she were the best woman on earth I would rather have +my freedom than belong to her. Well, boys, here's a chance for us just +as soon as the Union army gets in sight. What will you do?" + +"I'se a goin," said Tom Anderson, "jis' as soon as dem Linkum soldiers +gits in sight." + +"An' I'se a gwine wid you, Tom," said another. "I specs my ole +Marster'll feel right smart lonesome when I'se gone, but I don't keer +'bout stayin' for company's sake." + +"My ole Marster's room's a heap better'n his company," said Tom +Anderson, "an' I'se a goner too. Dis yer freedom's too good to be lef' +behind, wen you's got a chance to git it. I won't stop to bid ole Marse +good bye." + +"What do you think," said Robert, turning to Uncle Daniel; "won't you go +with us?" + +"No, chillen, I don't blame you for gwine; but I'se gwine to stay. +Slavery's done got all de marrow out ob dese poor ole bones. Ef freedom +comes it won't do me much good; we ole one's will die out, but it will +set you youngsters all up." + +"But, Uncle Daniel, you're not too old to want your freedom?" + +"I knows dat. I lubs de bery name of freedom. I'se been praying and +hoping for it dese many years. An' ef I warn't boun', I would go wid you +ter-morrer. I won't put a straw in your way. You boys go, and my prayers +will go wid you. I can't go, it's no use. I'se gwine to stay on de ole +place till Marse Robert comes back, or is brought back." + +"But, Uncle Daniel," said Robert, "what's the use of praying for a +thing if, when it comes, you won't take it? As much as you have been +praying and talking about freedom, I thought that when the chance came +you would have been one of the first to take it. Now, do tell us why you +won't go with us. Ain't you willing?" + +"Why, Robbie, my whole heart is wid you. But when Marse Robert went to +de war, he called me into his room and said to me, 'Uncle Dan'el, I'se +gwine to de war, an' I want you to look arter my wife an' chillen, an' +see dat eberything goes right on de place'. An' I promised him I'd do it, +an' I mus' be as good as my word. 'Cept de overseer, dere isn't a white +man on de plantation, an' I hear he has to report ter-morrer or be +treated as a deserter. An' der's nobody here to look arter Miss Mary an' +de chillen, but myself, an' to see dat eberything goes right. I promised +Marse Robert I would do it, an' I mus' be as good as my word." + +"Well, what should you keer?" said Tom Anderson. "Who looked arter you +when you war sole from your farder and mudder, an' neber seed dem any +more, and wouldn't know dem to-day ef you met dem in your dish?" + +"Well, dats neither yere nor dere. Marse Robert couldn't help what his +father did. He war an orful mean man. But he's dead now, and gone to see +'bout it. But his wife war the nicest, sweetest lady dat eber I did see. +She war no more like him dan chalk's like cheese. She used to visit de +cabins, an' listen to de pore women when de overseer used to cruelize +dem so bad, an' drive dem to work late and early. An' she used to sen' +dem nice things when they war sick, and hab der cabins whitewashed an' +lookin' like new pins, an' look arter dere chillen. Sometimes she'd try +to git ole Marse to take dere part when de oberseer got too mean. But +she might as well a sung hymns to a dead horse. All her putty talk war +like porin water on a goose's back. He'd jis' bluff her off, an' tell +her she didn't run dat plantation, and not for her to bring him any +nigger news. I never thought ole Marster war good to her. I often +ketched her crying, an' she'd say she had de headache, but I thought it +war de heartache. 'Fore ole Marster died, she got so thin an' peaked I +war 'fraid she war gwine to die; but she seed him out. He war killed by +a tree fallin' on him, an' ef eber de debil got his own he got him. I +seed him in a vision arter he war gone. He war hangin' up in a pit, +sayin' 'Oh! oh!' wid no close on. He war allers blusterin', cussin', and +swearin' at somebody. Marse Robert ain't a bit like him. He takes right +arter his mother. Bad as ole Marster war, I think she jis' lob'd de +groun' he walked on. Well, women's mighty curious kind of folks anyhow. +I sometimes thinks de wuss you treats dem de better dey likes you." + +"Well," said Tom, a little impatiently, "what's yer gwine to do? Is yer +gwine wid us, ef yer gits a chance?" + +"Now, jes' you hole on till I gits a chance to tell yer why I'se gwine +to stay." + +"Well, Uncle Daniel, let's hear it," said Robert. + +"I was jes' gwine to tell yer when Tom put me out. Ole Marster died when +Marse Robert war two years ole, and his pore mother when he war four. +When he died, Miss Anna used to keep me 'bout her jes' like I war her +shadder. I used to nuss Marse Robert jes' de same as ef I were his own +fadder. I used to fix his milk, rock him to sleep, ride him on my back, +an' nothin' pleased him better'n fer Uncle Dan'el to ride him +piggy-back." + +"Well, Uncle Daniel," said Robert, "what has that got to do with your +going with us and getting your freedom?" + +"Now, jes' wait a bit, and don't frustrate my mine. I seed day arter day +Miss Anna war gettin' weaker and thinner, an' she looked so sweet and +talked so putty, I thinks to myself, 'you ain't long for dis worl'.' And +she said to me one day, 'Uncle Dan'el, when I'se gone, I want you to be +good to your Marster Robert.' An' she looked so pale and weak I war +almost ready to cry. I couldn't help it. She hed allers bin mighty good +to me. An' I beliebs in praisin' de bridge dat carries me ober. She +said, 'Uncle Dan'el, I wish you war free. Ef I had my way you shouldn't +serve any one when I'm gone; but Mr. Thurston had eberything in his +power when he made his will. I war tied hand and foot, and I couldn't +help it.' In a little while she war gone--jis' faded away like a flower. +I belieb ef dere's a saint in glory, Miss Anna's dere." + +"Oh, I don't take much stock in white folks' religion," said Robert, +laughing carelessly. + +"The way," said Tom Anderson, "dat some of dese folks cut their cards +yere, I think dey'll be as sceece in hebben as hen's teeth. I think wen +some of dem preachers brings de Bible 'round an' tells us 'bout mindin +our marsters and not stealin' dere tings, dat dey preach to please de +white folks, an' dey frows coleness ober de meetin'." + +"An' I," said Aunt Linda, "neber did belieb in dem Bible preachers. I +yered one ob dem sayin' wen he war dyin', it war all dark wid him. An' +de way he treated his house-girl, pore thing, I don't wonder dat it war +dark wid him." + +"O, I guess," said Robert, "that the Bible is all right, but some of +these church folks don't get the right hang of it." + +"May be dat's so," said Aunt Linda. "But I allers wanted to learn how to +read. I once had a book, and tried to make out what war in it, but ebery +time my mistus caught me wid a book in my hand, she used to whip my +fingers. An' I couldn't see ef it war good for white folks, why it +warn't good for cullud folks." + +"Well," said Tom Anderson, "I belieb in de good ole-time religion. But +arter dese white folks is done fussin' and beatin' de cullud folks, I +don't want 'em to come talking religion to me. We used to hab on our +place a real Guinea man, an' once he made ole Marse mad, an' he had him +whipped. Old Marse war trying to break him in, but dat fellow war spunk +to de backbone, an' when he 'gin talkin' to him 'bout savin' his soul +an' gittin' to hebbin, he tole him ef he went to hebbin an' foun' he war +dare, he wouldn't go in. He wouldn't stay wid any such rascal as he +war." + +"What became of him?" asked Robert. + +"Oh, he died. But he had some quare notions 'bout religion. He thought +dat when he died he would go back to his ole country. He allers kep' his +ole Guinea name." + +"What was it?" + +"Potobombra. Do you know what he wanted Marster to do 'fore he died?" +continued Anderson. + +"No." + +"He wanted him to gib him his free papers." + +"Did he do it?" + +"Ob course he did. As de poor fellow war dying an' he couldn't sell him +in de oder world, he jis' wrote him de papers to yumor him. He didn't +want to go back to Africa a slave. He thought if he did, his people +would look down on him, an' he wanted to go back a free man. He war +orful weak when Marster brought him de free papers. He jis' ris up in de +bed, clutched dem in his han's, smiled, an' gasped out, 'I'se free at +las'; an' fell back on de pillar, an' he war gone. Oh, but he war +spunky. De oberseers, arter dey foun' out who he war, gin'rally gabe him +a wide birth. I specs his father war some ole Guinea king." + +"Well, chillen," said Uncle Daniel, "we's kept up dis meeting long +enough. We'd better go home, and not all go one way, cause de patrollers +might git us all inter trouble, an' we must try to slip home by hook or +crook." + +"An' when we meet again, Uncle Daniel can finish his story, an' be ready +to go with us," said Robert. + +"I wish," said Tom Anderson, "he would go wid us, de wuss kind." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +UNCLE DANIEL'S STORY. + +The Union had snapped asunder because it lacked the cohesion of justice, +and the Nation was destined to pass through the crucible of disaster and +defeat, till she was ready to clasp hands with the negro and march +abreast with him to freedom and victory. + +The Union army was encamping a few miles from C----, in North Carolina. +Robert, being well posted on the condition of affairs, had stealthily +contrived to call a meeting in Uncle Daniel's cabin. Uncle Daniel's wife +had gone to bed as a sick sister, and they held a prayer-meeting by her +bedside. It was a little risky, but as Mr. Thurston did not encourage +the visits of the patrollers, and heartily detested having them prying +into his cabins, there was not much danger of molestation. + +"Well, Uncle Daniel, we want to hear your story, and see if you have +made up your mind to go with us," said Robert, after he had been seated +a few minutes in Uncle Daniel's cabin. + +"No, chillen, I've no objection to finishin' my story, but I ain't made +up my mind to leave the place till Marse Robert gits back." + +"You were telling us about Marse Robert's mother. How did you get along +after she died?" + +"Arter she war gone, ole Marster's folks come to look arter things. But +eberything war lef' to Marse Robert, an' he wouldn't do widout me. Dat +chile war allers at my heels. I couldn't stir widout him, an' when he +missed me, he'd fret an' cry so I had ter stay wid him; an' wen he went +to school, I had ter carry him in de mornin' and bring him home in de +ebenin'. An' I learned him to hunt squirrels, an' rabbits, an' ketch +fish, an' set traps for birds. I beliebs he lob'd me better dan any ob +his kin'. An' he showed me how to read." + +"Well," said Tom, "ef he lob'd you so much, why didn't he set you free?" + +"Marse Robert tole me, ef he died fust he war gwine ter leave me +free--dat I should neber sarve any one else." + +"Oh, sho!" said Tom, "promises, like pie crusts, is made to be broken. I +don't trust none ob dem. I'se been yere dese fifteen years, an' I'se +neber foun' any troof in dem. An' I'se gwine wid dem North men soon's I +gits a chance. An' ef you knowed what's good fer you, you'd go, too." + +"No, Tom; I can't go. When Marster Robert went to de front, he called me +to him an' said: 'Uncle Daniel,' an' he was drefful pale when he said +it, 'I are gwine to de war, an' I want yer to take keer of my wife an' +chillen, jis' like yer used to take keer of me wen yer called me your +little boy.' Well, dat jis' got to me, an' I couldn't help cryin', to +save my life." + +"I specs," said Tom, "your tear bags must lie mighty close to your eyes. +I wouldn't cry ef dem Yankees would make ebery one ob dem go to de +front, an' stay dere foreber. Dey'd only be gittin' back what dey's been +a doin' to us." + +"Marster Robert war nebber bad to me. An' I beliebs in stannin' by dem +dat stans by you. Arter Miss Anna died, I had great 'sponsibilities on +my shoulders; but I war orful lonesome, an' thought I'd like to git a +wife. But dere warn't a gal on de plantation, an' nowhere's roun', dat +filled de bill. So I jis' waited, an' 'tended to Marse Robert till he +war ole 'nough to go to college. Wen he went, he allers 'membered me in +de letters he used to write his grandma. Wen he war gone, I war +lonesomer dan eber. But, one day, I jis' seed de gal dat took de rag off +de bush. Gundover had jis' brought her from de up-country. She war putty +as a picture!" he exclaimed, looking fondly at his wife, who still bore +traces of great beauty. "She had putty hair, putty eyes, putty mouth. +She war putty all over; an' she know'd how to put on style." + +"O, Daniel," said Aunt Katie, half chidingly, "how you do talk." + +"Why, it's true. I 'member when you war de puttiest gal in dese diggins; +when nobody could top your cotton." + +"I don't," said Aunt Katie. + +"Well, I do. Now, let me go on wid my story. De fust time I seed her, I +sez to myself, 'Dat's de gal for me, an' I means to hab her ef I kin git +her.' So I scraped 'quaintance wid her, and axed her ef she would hab me +ef our marsters would let us. I warn't 'fraid 'bout Marse Robert, but I +warn't quite shore 'bout Gundover. So when Marse Robert com'd home, I +axed him, an' he larf'd an' said, 'All right,' an' dat he would speak to +ole Gundover 'bout it. He didn't relish it bery much, but he didn't +like to 'fuse Marse Robert. He wouldn't sell her, for she tended his +dairy, an' war mighty handy 'bout de house. He said, I mought marry her +an' come to see her wheneber Marse Robert would gib me a pass. I wanted +him to sell her, but he wouldn't hear to it, so I had to put up wid what +I could git. Marse Robert war mighty good to me, but ole Gundover's wife +war de meanest woman dat I eber did see. She used to go out on de +plantation an' boss things like a man. Arter I war married, I had a +baby. It war de dearest, cutest little thing you eber did see; but, pore +thing, it got sick and died. It died 'bout three o'clock; and in de +mornin', Katie, habbin her cows to milk, lef her dead baby in de cabin. +When she com'd back from milkin' her thirty cows, an' went to look for +her pore little baby, some one had been to her cabin an' took'd de pore +chile away an' put it in de groun'. Pore Katie, she didn't eben hab a +chance to kiss her baby 'fore it war buried. Ole Gundover's wife has +been dead thirty years, an' she didn't die a day too soon. An' my little +baby has gone to glory, an' is wingin' wid the angels an' a lookin' out +for us. One ob de las' things ole Gundover's wife did 'fore she died war +to order a woman whipped 'cause she com'd to de field a little late when +her husband war sick, an' she had stopped to tend him. Dat mornin' she +war taken sick wid de fever, an' in a few days she war gone out like de +snuff ob a candle. She lef' several sons, an' I specs she would almos' +turn ober in her grave ef she know'd she had ten culled granchillen +somewhar down in de lower kentry." + +"Isn't it funny," said Robert, "how these white folks look down on +colored people, an' then mix up with them?" + +"Marster war away when Miss 'Liza treated my Katie so mean, an' when I +tole him 'bout it, he war tearin' mad, an' went ober an' saw ole +Gundover, an' foun' out he war hard up for money, an' he bought Katie +and brought her home to lib wid me, and we's been a libin in clover eber +sence. Marster Robert has been mighty good to me. He stood by me in my +troubles, an' now his trouble's come, I'm a gwine to stan' by him. I +used to think Gundover's wife war jealous ob my Katie. She war so much +puttier. Gundover's wife couldn't tech my Katie wid a ten foot pole." + +"But, Aunt Katie, you have had your trials," said Robert, now that +Daniel had finished his story; "don't you feel bitter towards these +people who are fighting to keep you in slavery?" + +Aunt Katie turned her face towards the speaker. It was a thoughtful, +intelligent face, saintly and calm. A face which expressed the idea of a +soul which had been fearfully tempest tossed, but had passed through +suffering into peace. Very touching was the look of resignation and hope +which overspread her features as she replied, with the simple child-like +faith which she had learned in the darkest hour, "The Lord says, we must +forgive." And with her that thought, as coming from the lips of Divine +Love, was enough to settle the whole question of forgiveness of injuries +and love to enemies. + +"Well," said Thomas Anderson, turning to Uncle Daniel, "we can't count +on yer to go wid us?" + +"Boys," said Uncle Daniel, and there was grief in his voice, "I'se +mighty glad you hab a chance for your freedom; but, ez I tole yer, I +promised Marse Robert I would stay, an' I mus' be as good as my word. +Don't you youngsters stay for an ole stager like me. I'm ole an' mos' +worn out. Freedom wouldn't do much for me, but I want you all to be as +free as the birds; so, you chillen, take your freedom when you kin get +it." + +"But, Uncle Dan'el, you won't say nothin' 'bout our going, will you?" +said the youngest of the company. + +Uncle Daniel slowly arose. There was a mournful flash in his eye, a +tremor of emotion in his voice, as he said, "Look yere, boys, de boy dat +axed dat question war a new comer on dis plantation, but some ob you's +bin here all ob your lives; did you eber know ob Uncle Dan'el gittin' +any ob you inter trouble?" + +"No, no," exclaimed a chorus of voices, "but many's de time you've held +off de blows wen de oberseer got too mean, an' cruelized us too much, +wen Marse Robert war away. An' wen he got back, you made him settle de +oberseer's hash." + +"Well, boys," said Uncle Daniel, with an air of mournful dignity, "I'se +de same Uncle Dan'el I eber war. Ef any ob you wants to go, I habben't a +word to say agin it. I specs dem Yankees be all right, but I knows Marse +Robert, an' I don't know dem, an' I ain't a gwine ter throw away dirty +water 'til I gits clean." + +"Well, Uncle Ben," said Robert, addressing a stalwart man whose towering +form and darkly flashing eye told that slavery had failed to put the +crouch in his shoulders or general abjectness into his demeanor, "you +will go with us, for sure, won't you?" + +"Yes," spoke up Tom Anderson, "'cause de trader's done took your wife, +an' got her for his'n now." + +As Ben Tunnel looked at the speaker, a spasm of agony and anger darkened +his face and distorted his features, as if the blood of some strong +race were stirring with sudden vigor through his veins. He clutched his +hands together, as if he were struggling with an invisible foe, and for +a moment he remained silent. Then suddenly raising his head, he +exclaimed, "Boys, there's not one of you loves freedom more than I do, +but--" + +"But what?" said Tom. "Do you think white folks is your bes' friends?" + +"I'll think so when I lose my senses." + +"Well, now, I don't belieb you're 'fraid, not de way I yeard you talkin' +to de oberseer wen he war threatnin' to hit your mudder. He saw you +meant business, an' he let her alone. But, what's to hinder you from +gwine wid us?" + +"My mother," he replied, in a low, firm voice. "That is the only thing +that keeps me from going. If it had not been for her, I would have gone +long ago. She's all I've got, an' I'm all she's got." + +It was touching to see the sorrow on the strong face, to detect the +pathos and indignation in his voice, as he said, "I used to love Mirandy +as I love my life. I thought the sun rose and set in her. I never saw a +handsomer woman than she was. But she fooled me all over the face and +eyes, and took up with that hell-hound of a trader, Lukens; an' he gave +her a chance to live easy, to wear fine clothes, an' be waited on like a +lady. I thought at first I would go crazy, but my poor mammy did all she +could to comfort me. She would tell me there were as good fish in the +sea as were ever caught out of it. Many a time I've laid my poor head on +her lap, when it seemed as if my brain was on fire and my heart was +almost ready to burst. But in course of time I got over the worst of +it; an' Mirandy is the first an' last woman that ever fooled me. But +that dear old mammy of mine, I mean to stick by her as long as there is +a piece of her. I can't go over to the army an' leave her behind, for if +I did, an' anything should happen, I would never forgive myself." + +"But couldn't you take her with you," said Robert, "the soldiers said we +could bring our women." + +"It isn't that. The Union army is several miles from here, an' my poor +mammy is so skeery that, if I were trying to get her away and any of +them Secesh would overtake us, an' begin to question us, she would get +skeered almost to death, an' break down an' begin to cry, an' then the +fat would be in the fire. So, while I love freedom more than a child +loves its mother's milk, I've made up my mind to stay on the plantation. +I wish, from the bottom of my heart, I could go. But I can't take her +along with me, an' I don't want to be free and leave her behind in +slavery. I was only five years old when my master and, as I believe, +father, sold us both here to this lower country, an' we've been here +ever since. It's no use talking, I won't leave her to be run over by +everybody." + +A few evenings after this interview, the Union soldiers entered the town +of C----, and established their headquarters near the home of Thomas +Anderson. + +Out of the little company, almost every one deserted to the Union army, +leaving Uncle Daniel faithful to his trust, and Ben Tunnel hushing his +heart's deep aspirations for freedom in a passionate devotion to his +timid and affectionate mother. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +ARRIVAL OF THE UNION ARMY. + +A few evenings before the stampede of Robert and his friends to the +army, and as he sat alone in his room reading the latest news from the +paper he had secreted, he heard a cautious tread and a low tap at his +window. He opened the door quietly and whispered:-- + +"Anything new, Tom?" + +"Yes." + +"What is it? Come in." + +"Well, I'se done bin seen dem Yankees, an' dere ain't a bit of troof in +dem stories I'se bin yerin 'bout 'em." + +"Where did you see 'em?" + +"Down in de woods whar Marster tole us to hide. Yesterday ole Marse sent +for me to come in de settin'-room. An' what do you think? Instead ob +makin' me stan' wid my hat in my han' while he went froo a whole +rigamarole, he axed me to sit down, an' he tole me he 'spected de +Yankees would want us to go inter de army, an' dey would put us in front +whar we'd all git killed; an' I tole him I didn't want to go, I didn't +want to git all momached up. An' den he said we'd better go down in de +woods an' hide. Massa Tom and Frank said we'd better go as quick as eber +we could. Dey said dem Yankees would put us in dere wagons and make us +haul like we war mules. Marse Tom ain't libin' at de great house jis' +now. He's keepin' bachellar's hall." + +"Didn't he go to the battle?" + +"No; he foun' a pore white man who war hard up for money, an' he got him +to go." + +"But, Tom, you didn't believe these stories about the Yankees. Tom and +Frank can lie as fast as horses can trot. They wanted to scare you, and +keep you from going to the Union army." + +"I knows dat now, but I didn't 'spect so den." + +"Well, when did you see the soldiers? Where are they? And what did they +say to you?" + +"Dey's right down in Gundover's woods. An' de Gineral's got his +headquarters almos' next door to our house." + +"That near? Oh, you don't say so!" + +"Yes, I do. An', oh, golly, ain't I so glad! I jis' stole yere to told +you all 'bout it. Yesterday mornin' I war splittin' some wood to git my +breakfas', an' I met one ob dem Yankee sogers. Well, I war so skeered, +my heart flew right up in my mouf, but I made my manners to him and +said, 'Good mornin', Massa.' He said, 'Good mornin'; but don't call me +"massa."' Dat war de fust white man I eber seed dat didn't want ter be +called 'massa,' eben ef he war as pore as Job's turkey. Den I begin to +feel right sheepish, an' he axed me ef my marster war at home, an' ef he +war a Reb. I tole him he hadn't gone to de war, but he war Secesh all +froo, inside and outside. He war too ole to go to de war, but dat he war +all de time gruntin' an' groanin', an' I 'spected he'd grunt hisself to +death." + +"What did he say?" + +"He said he specs he'll grunt worser dan dat fore dey get froo wid him. +Den he axed me ef I would hab some breakfas,' an' I said, 'No, t'ank +you, sir.' 'An' I war jis' as hungry as a dorg, but I war 'feared to +eat. I war 'feared he war gwine to pizen me." + +"Poison you! don't you know the Yankees are our best friends?" + +"Well, ef dat's so, I'se mighty glad, cause de woods is full ob dem." + +"Now, Tom, I thought you had cut your eye-teeth long enough not to let +them Anderson boys fool you. Tom, you must not think because a white man +says a thing, it must be so, and that a colored man's word is no account +'longside of his. Tom, if ever we get our freedom, we've got to learn to +trust each other and stick together if we would be a people. Somebody +else can read the papers as well as Marse Tom and Frank. My ole Miss +knows I can read the papers, an' she never tries to scare me with big +whoppers 'bout the Yankees. She knows she can't catch ole birds with +chaff, so she is just as sweet as a peach to her Bobby. But as soon as I +get a chance I will play her a trick the devil never did." + +"What's that?" + +"I'll leave her. I ain't forgot how she sold my mother from me. Many a +night I have cried myself to sleep, thinking about her, and when I get +free I mean to hunt her up." + +"Well, I ain't tole you all. De gemman said he war 'cruiting for de +army; dat Massa Linkum hab set us all free, an' dat he wanted some more +sogers to put down dem Secesh; dat we should all hab our freedom, our +wages, an' some kind ob money. I couldn't call it like he did." + +"Bounty money," said Robert. + +"Yes, dat's jis' what he called it, bounty money. An' I said dat I war +in for dat, teeth and toe-nails." + +Robert Johnson's heart gave a great bound. Was that so? Had that army, +with freedom emblazoned on its banners, come at last to offer them +deliverance if they would accept it? Was it a bright, beautiful dream, +or a blessed reality soon to be grasped by his willing hands? His heart +grew buoyant with hope; the lightness of his heart gave elasticity to +his step and sent the blood rejoicingly through his veins. Freedom was +almost in his grasp, and the future was growing rose-tinted and +rainbow-hued. All the ties which bound him to his home were as ropes of +sand, now that freedom had come so near. + +When the army was afar off, he had appeared to be light-hearted and +content with his lot. If asked if he desired his freedom, he would have +answered, very naively, that he was eating his white bread and believed +in letting well enough alone; he had no intention of jumping from the +frying-pan into the fire. But in the depths of his soul the love of +freedom was an all-absorbing passion; only danger had taught him +caution. He had heard of terrible vengeance being heaped upon the heads +of some who had sought their freedom and failed in the attempt. Robert +knew that he might abandon hope if he incurred the wrath of men whose +overthrow was only a question of time. It would have been madness and +folly for him to have attempted an insurrection against slavery, with +the words of McClellan ringing in his ears: "If you rise I shall put you +down with an iron hand," and with the home guards ready to quench his +aspirations for freedom with bayonets and blood. What could a set of +unarmed and undisciplined men do against the fearful odds which beset +their path? + +Robert waited eagerly and hopefully his chance to join the Union army; +and was ready and willing to do anything required of him by which he +could earn his freedom and prove his manhood. He conducted his plans +with the greatest secrecy. A few faithful and trusted friends stood +ready to desert with him when the Union army came within hailing +distance. When it came, there was a stampede to its ranks of men ready +to serve in any capacity, to labor in the tents, fight on the fields, or +act as scouts. It was a strange sight to see these black men rallying +around the Stars and Stripes, when white men were trampling them under +foot and riddling them with bullets. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +THE RELEASE OF IOLA LEROY. + +"Well, boys," said Robert to his trusted friends, as they gathered +together at a meeting in Gundover's woods, almost under the shadow of +the Union army, "how many of you are ready to join the army and fight +for your freedom." + +"All ob us." + +"The soldiers," continued Robert, "are camped right at the edge of the +town. The General has his headquarters in the heart of the town, and one +of the officers told me yesterday that the President had set us all +free, and that as many as wanted to join the army could come along to +the camp. So I thought, boys, that I would come and tell you. Now, you +can take your bag and baggage, and get out of here as soon as you +choose." + +"We'll be ready by daylight," said Tom. "It won't take me long to pack +up," looking down at his seedy clothes, with a laugh. "I specs ole +Marse'll be real lonesome when I'm gone. An' won't he be hoppin' mad +when he finds I'm a goner? I specs he'll hate it like pizen." + +"O, well," said Robert, "the best of friends must part. Don't let it +grieve you." + +"I'se gwine to take my wife an' chillen," said one of the company. + +"I'se got nobody but myself," said Tom; "but dere's a mighty putty +young gal dere at Marse Tom's. I wish I could git her away. Dey tells me +dey's been sellin' her all ober de kentry; but dat she's a reg'lar +spitfire; dey can't lead nor dribe her." + +"Do you think she would go with us?" said Robert. + +"I think she's jis' dying to go. Dey say dey can't do nuffin wid her. +Marse Tom's got his match dis time, and I'se glad ob it. I jis' glories +in her spunk." + +"How did she come there?" + +"Oh, Marse bought her ob de trader to keep house for him. But ef you +seed dem putty white han's ob hern you'd never tink she kept her own +house, let 'lone anybody else's." + +"Do you think you can get her away?" + +"I don't know; 'cause Marse Tom keeps her mighty close. My! but she's +putty. Beautiful long hair comes way down her back; putty blue eyes, an' +jis' ez white ez anybody's in dis place. I'd jis' wish you could see her +yoresef. I heerd Marse Tom talkin' 'bout her las' night to his brudder; +tellin' him she war mighty airish, but he meant to break her in." + +An angry curse rose to the lips of Robert, but he repressed it and +muttered to himself, "Graceless scamp, he ought to have his neck +stretched." Then turning to Tom, said:-- + +"Get her, if you possibly can, but you must be mighty mum about it." + +"Trus' me for dat," said Tom. + +Tom was very anxious to get word to the beautiful but intractable girl +who was held in durance vile by her reckless and selfish master, who had +tried in vain to drag her down to his own low level of sin and shame. +But all Tom's efforts were in vain. Finally he applied to the Commander +of the post, who immediately gave orders for her release. The next day +Tom had the satisfaction of knowing that Iola Leroy had been taken as a +trembling dove from the gory vulture's nest and given a place of +security. She was taken immediately to the General's headquarters. The +General was much impressed by her modest demeanor, and surprised to see +the refinement and beauty she possessed. Could it be possible that this +young and beautiful girl had been a chattel, with no power to protect +herself from the highest insults that lawless brutality could inflict +upon innocent and defenseless womanhood? Could he ever again glory in +his American citizenship, when any white man, no matter how coarse, +cruel, or brutal, could buy or sell her for the basest purposes? Was it +not true that the cause of a hapless people had become entangled with +the lightnings of heaven, and dragged down retribution upon the land? + +The field hospital was needing gentle, womanly ministrations, and Iola +Leroy, released from the hands of her tormentors, was given a place as +nurse; a position to which she adapted herself with a deep sense of +relief. Tom was doubly gratified at the success of his endeavors, which +had resulted in the rescue of the beautiful young girl and the +discomfiture of his young master who, in the words of Tom, "was mad +enough to bite his head off" (a rather difficult physical feat). + +Iola, freed from her master's clutches, applied herself readily to her +appointed tasks. The beautiful, girlish face was full of tender +earnestness. The fresh, young voice was strangely sympathetic, as if +some great sorrow had bound her heart in loving compassion to every +sufferer who needed her gentle ministrations. + +Tom Anderson was a man of herculean strength and remarkable courage. +But, on account of physical defects, instead of enlisting as a soldier, +he was forced to remain a servant, although he felt as if every nerve in +his right arm was tingling to strike a blow for freedom. He was well +versed in the lay of the country, having often driven his master's +cotton to market when he was a field hand. After he became a coachman, +he had become acquainted with the different roads and localities of the +country. Besides, he had often accompanied his young masters on their +hunting and fishing expeditions. Although he could not fight in the +army, he proved an invaluable helper. When tents were to be pitched, +none were more ready to help than he. When burdens were to be borne, +none were more willing to bend beneath them than Thomas Anderson. When +the battle-field was to be searched for the wounded and dying, no hand +was more tender in its ministrations of kindness than his. As a general +factotum in the army, he was ever ready and willing to serve anywhere +and at any time, and to gather information from every possible source +which could be of any service to the Union army. As a Pagan might +worship a distant star and wish to call it his own, so he loved Iola. +And he never thought he could do too much for the soldiers who had +rescued her and were bringing deliverance to his race. + +"What do you think of Miss Iola?" Robert asked him one day, as they were +talking together. + +"I jis' think dat she's splendid. Las' week I had to take some of our +pore boys to de hospital, an' she war dere, lookin' sweet an' putty ez +an angel, a nussin' dem pore boys, an' ez good to one ez de oder. It +looks to me ez ef dey ralely lob'd her shadder. She sits by 'em so +patient, an' writes 'em sech nice letters to der frens, an' yit she +looks so heart-broke an' pitiful, it jis' gits to me, an' makes me mos' +ready to cry. I'm so glad dat Marse Tom had to gib her up. He war too +mean to eat good victuals." + +"He ought," said Robert, "to be made to live on herrings' heads and cold +potatoes. It makes my blood boil just to think that he was going to have +that lovely looking young girl whipped for his devilment. He ought to be +ashamed to hold up his head among respectable people." + +"I tell you, Bob, de debil will neber git his own till he gits him. When +I seed how he war treating her I neber rested till I got her away. He +buyed her, he said, for his housekeeper; as many gals as dere war on de +plantation, why didn't he git one ob dem to keep house, an' not dat nice +lookin' young lady? Her han's look ez ef she neber did a day's work in +her life. One day when he com'd down to breakfas,' he chucked her under +de chin, an' tried to put his arm roun' her waist. But she jis' frew it +off like a chunk ob fire. She looked like a snake had bit her. Her eyes +fairly spit fire. Her face got red ez blood, an' den she turned so pale +I thought she war gwine to faint, but she didn't, an' I yered her say, +'I'll die fust.' I war mad 'nough to stan' on my head. I could hab +tore'd him all to pieces wen he said he'd hab her whipped." + +"Did he do it?" + +"I don't know. But he's mean 'nough to do enythin'. Why, dey say she +war sole seben times in six weeks, 'cause she's so putty, but dat she +war game to de las'." + +"Well, Tom," said Robert, "getting that girl away was one of the best +things you ever did in your life." + +"I think so, too. Not dat I specs enytin' ob it. I don't spose she would +think ob an ugly chap like me; but it does me good to know dat Marse Tom +ain't got her." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +ROBERT JOHNSON'S PROMOTION AND RELIGION. + +Robert Johnson, being able to meet the army requirements, was enlisted +as a substitute to help fill out the quota of a Northern regiment. With +his intelligence, courage, and prompt obedience, he rose from the ranks +and became lieutenant of a colored company. He was daring, without being +rash; prompt, but not thoughtless; firm, without being harsh. Kind and +devoted to the company he drilled, he soon won the respect of his +superior officers and the love of his comrades. + +"Johnson," said a young officer, Captain Sybil, of Maine, who had become +attached to Robert, "what is the use of your saying you're a colored +man, when you are as white as I am, and as brave a man as there is among +us. Why not quit this company, and take your place in the army just the +same as a white man? I know your chances for promotion would be better." + +"Captain, you may doubt my word, but to-day I would rather be a +lieutenant in my company than a captain in yours." + +"I don't understand you." + +"Well, Captain, when a man's been colored all his life it comes a little +hard for him to get white all at once. Were I to try it, I would feel +like a cat in a strange garret. Captain, I think my place is where I am +most needed. You do not need me in your ranks, and my company does. +They are excellent fighters, but they need a leader. To silence a +battery, to capture a flag, to take a fortification, they will rush into +the jaws of death." + +"Yes, I have often wondered at their bravery." + +"Captain, these battles put them on their mettle. They have been so long +taught that they are nothing and nobody, that they seem glad to prove +they are something and somebody." + +"But, Johnson, you do not look like them, you do not talk like them. It +is a burning shame to have held such a man as you in slavery." + +"I don't think it was any worse to have held me in slavery than the +blackest man in the South." + +"You are right, Johnson. The color of a man's skin has nothing to do +with the possession of his rights." + +"Now, there is Tom Anderson," said Robert, "he is just as black as black +can be. He has been bought and sold like a beast, and yet there is not a +braver man in all the company. I know him well. He is a noble-hearted +fellow. True as steel. I love him like a brother. And I believe Tom +would risk his life for me any day. He don't know anything about his +father or mother. He was sold from them before he could remember. He can +read a little. He used to take lessons from a white gardener in +Virginia. He would go between the hours of 9 P.M. and 4 A.M. He got a +book of his own, tore it up, greased the pages, and hid them in his hat. +Then if his master had ever knocked his hat off he would have thought +them greasy papers, and not that Tom was carrying his library on his +head. I had another friend who lived near us. When he was nineteen +years old he did not know how many letters there were in the ABC's. One +night, when his work was done, his boss came into his cabin and saw him +with a book in his hand. He threatened to give him five hundred lashes +if he caught him again with a book, and said he hadn't work enough to +do. He was getting out logs, and his task was ten logs a day. His +employer threatened to increase it to twelve. He said it just harassed +him; it set him on fire. He thought there must be something good in that +book if the white man didn't want him to learn. One day he had an errand +in the kitchen, and he heard one of the colored girls going over the +ABC's. Here was the key to the forbidden knowledge. She had heard the +white children saying them, and picked them up by heart, but did not +know them by sight. He was not content with that, but sold his cap for a +book and wore a cloth on his head instead. He got the sounds of the +letters by heart, then cut off the bark of a tree, carved the letters on +the smooth inside, and learned them. He wanted to learn how to write. He +had charge of a warehouse where he had a chance to see the size and form +of letters. He made the beach of the river his copybook, and thus he +learned to write. Tom never got very far with his learning, but I used +to get the papers and tell him all I knew about the war." + +"How did you get the papers?" + +"I used to have very good privileges for a slave. All of our owners were +not alike. Some of them were quite clever, and others were worse than +git out. I used to get the morning papers to sell to the boarders and +others, and when I got them I would contrive to hide a paper, and let +some of the fellow-servants know how things were going on. And our +owners thought we cared nothing about what was going on." + +"How was that? I thought you were not allowed to hold meetings unless a +white man were present." + +"That was so. But we contrived to hold secret meetings in spite of their +caution. We knew whom we could trust. My ole Miss wasn't mean like some +of them. She never wanted the patrollers around prowling in our cabins, +and poking their noses into our business. Her husband was an awful +drunkard. He ran through every cent he could lay his hands on, and she +was forced to do something to keep the wolf from the door, so she set up +a boarding-house. But she didn't take in Tom, Dick, and Harry. Nobody +but the big bugs stopped with her. She taught me to read and write, and +to cast up accounts. It was so handy for her to have some one who could +figure up her accounts, and read or write a note, if she were from home +and wanted the like done. She once told her cousin how I could write and +figure up. And what do you think her cousin said?" + +"'Pleased,' I suppose, 'to hear it.'" + +"Not a bit of it. She said, if I belonged to her, she would cut off my +thumbs; her husband said, 'Oh, then he couldn't pick cotton.' As to my +poor thumbs, it did not seem to be taken into account what it would cost +me to lose them. My ole Miss used to have a lot of books. She would let +me read any one of them except a novel. She wanted to take care of my +soul, but she wasn't taking care of her own." + +"Wasn't she religious?" + +"She went for it. I suppose she was as good as most of them. She said +her prayers and went to church, but I don't know that that made her any +better. I never did take much stock in white folks' religion." + +"Why, Robert, I'm afraid you are something of an infidel." + +"No, Captain, I believe in the real, genuine religion. I ain't got much +myself, but I respect them that have. We had on our place a dear, old +saint, named Aunt Kizzy. She was a happy soul. She had seen hard times, +but was what I call a living epistle. I've heard her tell how her only +child had been sold from her, when the man who bought herself did not +want to buy her child. Poor little fellow! he was only two years old. I +asked her one day how she felt when her child was taken away. 'I felt,' +she said, 'as if I was going to my grave. But I knew if I couldn't get +justice here, I could get it in another world.'" + +"That was faith," said Captain Sybil, as if speaking to himself, "a +patient waiting for death to redress the wrongs of life." + +"Many a time," continued Robert, "have I heard her humming to herself in +the kitchen and saying, 'I has my trials, ups and downs, but it won't +allers be so. I specs one day to wing and wing wid de angels, +Hallelujah! Den I specs to hear a voice sayin', "Poor ole Kizzy, she's +done de bes' she kin. Go down, Gabriel, an' tote her in." Den I specs to +put on my golden slippers, my long white robe, an' my starry crown, an' +walk dem golden streets, Hallelujah!' I've known that dear, old soul to +travel going on two miles, after her work was done, to have some one +read to her. Her favorite chapter began with, 'Let not your heart be +troubled, ye believe in God, believe also in Me.'" + +"I have been deeply impressed," said Captain Sybil, "with the child-like +faith of some of these people. I do not mean to say that they are +consistent Christians, but I do think that this faith has in a measure +underlain the life of the race. It has been a golden thread woven amid +the sombre tissues of their lives. A ray of light shimmering amid the +gloom of their condition. And what would they have been without it?" + +"I don't know. But I know what she was with it. And I believe if there +are any saints in glory, Aunt Kizzy is one of them." + +"She is dead, then?" + +"Yes, went all right, singing and rejoicing until the last, +'Troubles over, troubles over, and den my troubles will be over. We'll +walk de golden streets all 'roun' in de New Jerusalem.' Now, Captain, +that's the kind of religion that I want. Not that kind which could ride +to church on Sundays, and talk so solemn with the minister about heaven +and good things, then come home and light down on the servants like a +thousand of bricks. I have no use for it. I don't believe in it. I never +did and I never will. If any man wants to save my soul he ain't got to +beat my body. That ain't the kind of religion I'm looking for. I ain't +got a bit of use for it. Now, Captain, ain't I right?" + +"Well, yes, Robert, I think you are more than half right. You ought to +know my dear, old mother who lives in Maine. We have had colored company +at our house, and I never saw her show the least difference between her +colored and white guests. She is a Quaker preacher, and don't believe +in war, but when the rest of the young men went to the front, I wanted +to go also. So I thought it all over, and there seemed to be no way out +of slavery except through the war. I had been taught to hate war and +detest slavery. Now the time had come when I could not help the war, but +I could strike a blow for freedom. So I told my mother I was going to +the front, that I expected to be killed, but I went to free the slave. +It went hard with her. But I thought that I ought to come, and I believe +my mother's prayers are following me." + +"Captain," said Robert, rising, "I am glad that I have heard your story. +I think that some of these Northern soldiers do two things--hate slavery +and hate niggers." + +"I am afraid that is so with some of them. They would rather be whipped +by Rebels than conquer with negroes. Oh, I heard a soldier," said +Captain Sybil, "say, when the colored men were being enlisted, that he +would break his sword and resign. But he didn't do either. After Colonel +Shaw led his charge at Fort Wagner, and died in the conflict, he got +bravely over his prejudices. The conduct of the colored troops there and +elsewhere has done much to turn public opinion in their favor. I suppose +any white soldier would rather have his black substitute receive the +bullets than himself." + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +TOM ANDERSON'S DEATH. + +"Where is Tom?" asked Captain Sybil; "I have not seen him for several +hours." + +"He's gone down the sound with some of the soldiers," replied Robert. +"They wanted Tom to row them." + +"I am afraid those boys will get into trouble, and the Rebs will pick +them off," responded Sybil. + +"O, I hope not," answered Robert. + +"I hope not, too; but those boys are too venturesome." + +"Tom knows the lay of the land better than any of us," said Robert. "He +is the most wide-awake and gamiest man I know. I reckon when the war is +over Tom will be a preacher. Did you ever hear him pray?" + +"No; is he good at that?" + +"First-rate," continued Robert. "It would do you good to hear him. He +don't allow any cursing and swearing when he's around. And what he says +is law and gospel with the boys. But he's so good-natured; and they +can't get mad at him." + +"Yes, Robert, there is not a man in our regiment I would sooner trust +than Tom. Last night, when he brought in that wounded scout, he couldn't +have been more tender if he had been a woman. How gratefully the poor +fellow looked in Tom's face as he laid him down so carefully and +staunched the blood which had been spurting out of him. Tom seemed to +know it was an artery which had been cut, and he did just the right +thing to stop the bleeding. He knew there wasn't a moment to be lost. He +wasn't going to wait for the doctor. I have often heard that colored +people are ungrateful, but I don't think Tom's worst enemy would say +that about him." + +"Captain," said Robert, with a tone of bitterness in his voice, "what +had we to be grateful for? For ages of poverty, ignorance, and slavery? +I think if anybody should be grateful, it is the people who have +enslaved us and lived off our labor for generations. Captain, I used to +know a poor old woman who couldn't bear to hear any one play on the +piano." + +"Is that so? Why, I always heard that colored people were a musical +race." + +"So we are; but that poor woman's daughter was sold, and her mistress +took the money to buy a piano. Her mother could never bear to hear a +sound from it." + +"Poor woman!" exclaimed Captain Sybil, sympathetically; "I suppose it +seemed as if the wail of her daughter was blending with the tones of the +instrument. I think, Robert, there is a great deal more in the colored +people than we give them credit for. Did you know Captain Sellers?" + +"The officer who escaped from prison and got back to our lines?" asked +Robert. + +"Yes. Well, he had quite an experience in trying to escape. He came to +an aged couple, who hid him in their cabin and shared their humble food +with him. They gave him some corn-bread, bacon, and coffee which he +thought was made of scorched bran. But he said that he never ate a meal +that he relished more than the one he took with them. Just before he +went they knelt down and prayed with him. It seemed as if his very hair +stood on his head, their prayer was so solemn. As he was going away the +man took some shingles and nailed them on his shoes to throw the +bloodhounds off his track. I don't think he will ever cease to feel +kindly towards colored people. I do wonder what has become of the boys? +What can keep them so long?" + +Just as Captain Sybil and Robert were wondering at the delay of Tom and +the soldiers they heard the measured tread of men who were slowly +bearing a burden. They were carrying Tom Anderson to the hospital, +fearfully wounded, and nigh to death. His face was distorted, and the +blood was streaming from his wounds. His respiration was faint, his +pulse hurried, as if life were trembling on its frailest cords. + +Robert and Captain Sybil hastened at once towards the wounded man. On +Robert's face was a look of intense anguish, as he bent pityingly over +his friend. + +"O, this is dreadful! How did it happen?" cried Robert. + +Captain Sybil, pressing anxiously forward, repeated Robert's question. + +"Captain," said one of the young soldiers, advancing and saluting his +superior officer, "we were all in the boat when it struck against a mud +bank, and there was not strength enough among us to shove her back into +the water. Just then the Rebels opened fire upon us. For awhile we lay +down in the boat, but still they kept firing. Tom took in the whole +situation, and said: 'Someone must die to get us out of this. I +mought's well be him as any. You are soldiers and can fight. If they +kill me, it is nuthin'.' So Tom leaped out to shove the boat into the +water. Just then the Rebel bullets began to rain around him. He received +seven or eight of them, and I'm afraid there is no hope for him." + +"O, Tom, I wish you hadn't gone. O, Tom! Tom!" cried Robert, in tones of +agony. + +A gleam of grateful recognition passed over the drawn features of Tom, +as the wail of his friend fell on his ear. He attempted to speak, but +the words died upon his lips, and he became unconscious. + +"Well," said Captain Sybil, "put him in one of the best wards. Give him +into Miss Leroy's care. If good nursing can win him back to life, he +shall not want for any care or pains that she can bestow. Send +immediately for Dr. Gresham." + +Robert followed his friend into the hospital, tenderly and carefully +helped to lay him down, and remained awhile, gazing in silent grief upon +the sufferer. Then he turned to go, leaving him in the hands of Iola, +but hoping against hope that his wounds would not be fatal. + +With tender devotion Iola watched her faithful friend. He recognized her +when restored to consciousness, and her presence was as balm to his +wounds. He smiled faintly, took her hand in his, stroked it tenderly, +looked wistfully into her face, and said, "Miss Iola, I ain't long fer +dis! I'se 'most home!" + +"Oh, no," said Iola, "I hope that you will soon get over this trouble, +and live many long and happy days." + +"No, Miss Iola, it's all ober wid me. I'se gwine to glory; gwine to +glory; gwine to ring dem charmin' bells. Tell all de boys to meet me in +heben; dat dey mus' 'list in de hebenly war." + +"O, Mr. Tom," said Iola, tenderly, "do not talk of leaving me. You are +the best friend I have had since I was torn from my mother. I should be +so lonely without you." + +"Dere's a frien' dat sticks closer dan a brudder. He will be wid yer in +de sixt' trial, an' in de sebbent' he'll not fo'sake yer." + +"Yes," answered Iola, "I know that. He is all our dependence. But I +can't help grieving when I see you suffering so. But, dear friend, be +quiet, and try to go to sleep." + +"I'll do enythin' fer yer, Miss Iola." + +Tom closed his eyes and lay quiet. Tenderly and anxiously Iola watched +over him as the hours waned away. The doctor came, shook his head +gravely, and, turning to Iola, said, "There is no hope, but do what you +can to alleviate his sufferings." + +As Iola gazed upon the kind but homely features of Tom, she saw his eyes +open and an unexpressed desire upon his face. + +Tenderly and sadly bending over him, with tears in her dark, luminous +eyes, she said, "Is there anything I can do for you?" + +"Yes," said Tom, with laboring breath; "let me hole yore han', an' sing +'Ober Jordan inter glory' an' 'We'll anchor bye and bye.'" + +Iola laid her hand gently in the rough palm of the dying man, and, with +a tremulous voice, sang the parting hymns. + +Tenderly she wiped the death damps from his dusky brow, and imprinted +upon it a farewell kiss. Gratitude and affection lit up the dying eye, +which seemed to be gazing into the eternities. Just then Robert entered +the room, and, seating himself quietly by Tom's bedside, read the death +signs in his face. + +"Good-bye, Robert," said Tom, "meet me in de kingdom." Suddenly a look +of recognition and rapture lit up his face, and he murmured, "Angels, +bright angels, all's well, all's well!" + +Slowly his hand released its pressure, a peaceful calm overspread his +countenance, and without a sigh or murmur Thomas Anderson, Iola's +faithful and devoted friend, passed away, leaving the world so much +poorer for her than it was before. Just then Dr. Gresham, the hospital +physician, came to the bedside, felt for the pulse which would never +throb again, and sat down in silence by the cot. + +"What do you think, Doctor," said Iola, "has he fainted?" + +"No," said the doctor, "poor fellow! he is dead." + +Iola bowed her head in silent sorrow, and then relieved the anguish of +her heart by a flood of tears. Robert rose, and sorrowfully left the +room. + +Iola, with tearful eyes and aching heart, clasped the cold hands over +the still breast, closed the waxen lid over the eye which had once +beamed with kindness or flashed with courage, and then went back, after +the burial, to her daily round of duties, feeling the sad missing of +something from her life. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +THE MYSTIFIED DOCTOR. + +"Colonel," said Dr. Gresham to Col. Robinson, the commander of the post, +"I am perfectly mystified by Miss Leroy." + +"What is the matter with her?" asked Col. Robinson. "Is she not faithful +to her duties and obedient to your directions?" + +"Faithful is not the word to express her tireless energy and devotion to +her work," responded Dr. Gresham. "She must have been a born nurse to +put such enthusiasm into her work." + +"Why, Doctor, what is the matter with you? You talk like a lover." + +A faint flush rose to the cheek of Dr. Gresham as he smiled, and said, +"Oh! come now, Colonel, can't a man praise a woman without being in love +with her?" + +"Of course he can," said Col. Robinson; "but I know where such +admiration is apt to lead. I've been there myself. But, Doctor, had you +not better defer your love-making till you're out of the woods?" + +"I assure you, Colonel, I am not thinking of love or courtship. That is +the business of the drawing-room, and not of the camp. But she did +mystify me last night." + +"How so?" asked Col. Robinson. + +"When Tom was dying," responded the doctor, "I saw that beautiful and +refined young lady bend over and kiss him. When she found that he was +dead, she just cried as if her heart was breaking. Well, that was a new +thing to me. I can eat with colored people, walk, talk, and fight with +them, but kissing them is something I don't hanker after." + +"And yet you saw Miss Leroy do it?" + +"Yes; and that puzzles me. She is one of the most refined and lady-like +women I ever saw. I hear she is a refugee, but she does not look like +the other refugees who have come to our camp. Her accent is slightly +Southern, but her manner is Northern. She is self-respecting without +being supercilious; quiet, without being dull. Her voice is low and +sweet, yet at times there are tones of such passionate tenderness in it +that you would think some great sorrow has darkened and overshadowed her +life. Without being the least gloomy, her face at times is pervaded by +an air of inexpressible sadness. I sometimes watch her when she is not +aware that I am looking at her, and it seems as if a whole volume was +depicted on her countenance. When she smiles, there is a longing in her +eyes which is never satisfied. I cannot understand how a Southern lady, +whose education and manners stamp her as a woman of fine culture and +good breeding, could consent to occupy the position she so faithfully +holds. It is a mystery I cannot solve. Can you?" + +"I think I can," answered Col. Robinson. + +"Will you tell me?" queried the doctor. + +"Yes, on one condition." + +"What is it?" + +"Everlasting silence." + +"I promise," said the doctor. "The secret between us shall be as deep as +the sea." + +"She has not requested secrecy, but at present, for her sake, I do not +wish the secret revealed. Miss Leroy was a slave." + +"Oh, no," said Dr. Gresham, starting to his feet, "it can't be so! A +woman as white as she a slave?" + +"Yes, it is so," continued the Colonel. "In these States the child +follows the condition of its mother. This beautiful and accomplished +girl was held by one of the worst Rebels in town. Tom told me of it and +I issued orders for her release." + +"Well, well! Is that so?" said Dr. Gresham, thoughtfully stroking his +beard. "Wonders will never cease. Why, I was just beginning to think +seriously of her." + +"What's to hinder your continuing to think?" asked Col. Robinson. + +"What you tell me changes the whole complexion of affairs," replied the +doctor. + +"If that be so I am glad I told you before you got head over heels in +love." + +"Yes," said Dr. Gresham, absently. + +Dr. Gresham was a member of a wealthy and aristocratic family, proud of +its lineage, which it could trace through generations of good blood to +its ancestral isle. He had become deeply interested in Iola before he +had heard her story, but after it had been revealed to him he tried to +banish her from his mind; but his constant observation of her only +increased his interest and admiration. The deep pathos of her story, the +tenderness of her ministrations, bestowed alike on black and white, and +the sad loneliness of her condition, awakened within him a desire to +defend and protect her all through her future life. The fierce clashing +of war had not taken all the romance out of his nature. In Iola he saw +realized his ideal of the woman whom he was willing to marry. A woman, +tender, strong, and courageous, and rescued only by the strong arm of +his Government from a fate worse than death. She was young in years, but +old in sorrow; one whom a sad destiny had changed from a light-hearted +girl to a heroic woman. As he observed her, he detected an undertone of +sorrow in her most cheerful words, and observed a quick flushing and +sudden paling of her cheek, as if she were living over scenes that were +thrilling her soul with indignation or chilling her heart with horror. +As nurse and physician, Iola and Dr. Gresham were constantly thrown +together. His friends sent him magazines and books, which he gladly +shared with her. The hospital was a sad place. Mangled forms, stricken +down in the flush of their prime and energy; pale young corpses, +sacrificed on the altar of slavery, constantly drained on her +sympathies. Dr. Gresham was glad to have some reading matter which might +divert her mind from the memories of her mournful past, and also furnish +them both with interesting themes of conversation in their moments of +relaxation from the harrowing scenes through which they were constantly +passing. Without any effort or consciousness on her part, his friendship +ripened into love. To him her presence was a pleasure, her absence a +privation; and her loneliness drew deeply upon his sympathy. He would +have merited his own self-contempt if, by word or deed, he had done +anything to take advantage of her situation. All the manhood and +chivalry of his nature rose in her behalf, and, after carefully +revolving the matter, he resolved to win her for his bride, bury her +secret in his Northern home, and hide from his aristocratic relations +all knowledge of her mournful past. One day he said to Iola:-- + +"This hospital life is telling on you. Your strength is failing, and +although you possess a wonderful amount of physical endurance, you must +not forget that saints have bodies and dwell in tabernacles of clay, +just the same as we common mortals." + +"Compliments aside," she said, smiling; "what are you driving at, +Doctor?" + +"I mean," he replied, "that you are running down, and if you do not quit +and take some rest you will be our patient instead of our nurse. You'd +better take a furlough, go North, and return after the first frost." + +"Doctor, if that is your only remedy," replied Iola, "I am afraid that I +am destined to die at my post. I have no special friends in the North, +and no home but this in the South. I am homeless and alone." + +There was something so sad, almost despairing in her tones, in the +drooping of her head, and the quivering of her lip, that they stirred +Dr. Gresham's heart with sudden pity, and, drawing nearer to her, he +said, "Miss Leroy, you need not be all alone. Let me claim the privilege +of making your life bright and happy. Iola, I have loved you ever since +I have seen your devotion to our poor, sick boys. How faithfully you, a +young and gracious girl, have stood at your post and performed your +duties. And now I ask, will you not permit me to clasp hands with you +for life? I do not ask for a hasty reply. Give yourself time to think +over what I have proposed." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +EUGENE LEROY AND ALFRED LORRAINE. + +Nearly twenty years before the war, two young men, of French and Spanish +descent, sat conversing on a large verandah which surrounded an ancient +home on the Mississippi River. It was French in its style of +architecture, large and rambling, with no hint of modern improvements. + +The owner of the house was the only heir of a Creole planter. He had +come into possession of an inheritance consisting of vast baronial +estates, bank stock, and a large number of slaves. Eugene Leroy, being +deprived of his parents, was left, at an early age, to the care of a +distant relative, who had sent him to school and college, and who +occasionally invited him to spend his vacations at his home. But Eugene +generally declined his invitations, as he preferred spending his +vacations at the watering places in the North, with their fashionable +and not always innocent gayeties. Young, vivacious, impulsive, and +undisciplined, without the restraining influence of a mother's love or +the guidance of a father's hand, Leroy found himself, when his college +days were over, in the dangerous position of a young man with vast +possessions, abundant leisure, unsettled principles, and uncontrolled +desires. He had no other object than to extract from life its most +seductive draughts of ease and pleasure. His companion, who sat opposite +him on the verandah, quietly smoking a cigar, was a remote cousin, a +few years older than himself, the warmth of whose Southern temperament +had been modified by an infusion of Northern blood. + +Eugene was careless, liberal, and impatient of details, while his +companion and cousin, Alfred Lorraine, was selfish, eager, keen, and +alert; also hard, cold, methodical, and ever ready to grasp the main +chance. Yet, notwithstanding the difference between them, they had +formed a warm friendship for each other. + +"Alfred," said Eugene, "I am going to be married." + +Lorraine opened his eyes with sudden wonder, and exclaimed: "Well, +that's the latest thing out! Who is the fortunate lady who has bound you +with her silken fetters? Is it one of those beautiful Creole girls who +were visiting Augustine's plantation last winter? I watched you during +our visit there and thought that you could not be proof against their +attractions. Which is your choice? It would puzzle me to judge between +the two. They had splendid eyes, dark, luminous, and languishing; lovely +complexions and magnificent hair. Both were delightful in their manners, +refined and cultured, with an air of vivacity mingled with their repose +of manner which was perfectly charming. As the law only allows us one, +which is your choice? Miss Annette has more force than her sister, and +if I could afford the luxury of a wife she would be my choice." + +"Ah, Alf," said Eugene, "I see that you are a practical business man. In +marrying you want a wife to assist you as an efficient plantation +mistress. One who would tolerate no waste in the kitchen and no disorder +in the parlor." + +"Exactly so," responded Lorraine; "I am too poor to marry a mere parlor +ornament. You can afford to do it; I cannot." + +"Nonsense, if I were as poor as a church mouse I would marry the woman I +love." + +"Very fine sentiments," said Lorraine, "and were I as rich as you I +would indulge in them also. You know, when my father died I had great +expectations. We had always lived in good style, and I never thought for +a moment he was not a rich man, but when his estate was settled I found +it was greatly involved, and I was forced to face an uncertain future, +with scarcely a dollar to call my own. Land, negroes, cattle, and horses +all went under the hammer. The only thing I retained was the education I +received at the North; that was my father's best investment, and all my +stock in trade. With that only as an outfit, it would be madness for me +to think of marrying one of those lovely girls. They remind me of +beautiful canary birds, charming and pretty, but not fitted for the wear +and tear of plantation life. Well, which is your choice?" + +"Neither," replied Eugene. + +"Then, is it that magnificent looking widow from New Orleans, whom we +met before you had that terrible spell of sickness and to whom you +appeared so devoted?" + +"Not at all. I have not heard from her since that summer. She was +fascinating and handsome, but fearfully high strung." + +"Were you afraid of her?" + +"No; but I valued my happiness too much to trust it in her hands." + +"Sour grapes!" said Lorraine. + +"No! but I think that slavery and the lack of outside interests are +beginning to tell on the lives of our women. They lean too much on their +slaves, have too much irresponsible power in their hands, are narrowed +and compressed by the routine of plantation life and the lack of +intellectual stimulus." + +"Yes, Eugene, when I see what other women are doing in the fields of +literature and art, I cannot help thinking an amount of brain power has +been held in check among us. Yet I cannot abide those Northern women, +with their suffrage views and abolition cant. They just shock me." + +"But your mother was a Northern woman," said Eugene. + +"Yes; but she got bravely over her Northern ideas. As I remember her, +she was just as much a Southerner as if she had been to the manor born. +She came here as a school-teacher, but soon after she came she married +my father. He was easy and indulgent with his servants, and held them +with a very loose rein. But my mother was firm and energetic. She made +the niggers move around. No shirking nor dawdling with her. When my +father died, she took matters in hand, but she only outlived him a few +months. If she had lived I believe that she would have retrieved our +fortune. I know that she had more executive ability than my father. He +was very squeamish about selling his servants, but she would have put +every one of them in her pocket before permitting them to eat her out of +house and home. But whom _are_ you going to marry?" + +"A young lady who graduates from a Northern seminary next week," +responded Eugene. + +"I think you are very selfish," said Lorraine. "You might have invited +a fellow to go with you to be your best man." + +"The wedding is to be strictly private. The lady whom I am to marry has +negro blood in her veins." + +"The devil she has!" exclaimed Lorraine, starting to his feet, and +looking incredulously on the face of Leroy. "Are you in earnest? Surely +you must be jesting." + +"I am certainly in earnest," answered Eugene Leroy. "I mean every word I +say." + +"Oh, it can't be possible! Are you mad?" exclaimed Lorraine. + +"Never was saner in my life." + +"What under heaven could have possessed you to do such a foolish thing? +Where did she come from." + +"Right here, on this plantation. But I have educated and manumitted her, +and I intend marrying her." + +"Why, Eugene, it is impossible that you can have an idea of marrying one +of your slaves. Why, man, she is your property, to have and to hold to +all intents and purposes. Are you not satisfied with the power and +possession the law gives you?" + +"No. Although the law makes her helpless in my hands, to me her +defenselessness is her best defense." + +"Eugene, we have known each other all of our lives, and, although I have +always regarded you as eccentric, I never saw you so completely off your +balance before. The idea of you, with your proud family name, your vast +wealth in land and negroes, intending to marry one of them, is a mystery +I cannot solve. Do explain to me why you are going to take this +extremely strange and foolish step." + +"You never saw Marie?" + +"No; and I don't want to." + +"She is very beautiful. In the North no one would suspect that she has +one drop of negro blood in her veins, but here, where I am known, to +marry her is to lose caste. I could live with her, and not incur much if +any social opprobrium. Society would wink at the transgression, even if +after she had become the mother of my children I should cast her off and +send her and them to the auction block." + +"Men," replied Lorraine, "would merely shrug their shoulders; women +would say you had been sowing your wild oats. Your money, like charity, +would cover a multitude of faults." + +"But if I make her my lawful wife and recognize her children as my +legitimate heirs, I subject myself to social ostracism and a senseless +persecution. We Americans boast of freedom, and yet here is a woman whom +I love as I never loved any other human being, but both law and public +opinion debar me from following the inclination of my heart. She is +beautiful, faithful, and pure, and yet all that society will tolerate is +what I would scorn to do." + +"But has not society the right to guard the purity of its blood by the +rigid exclusion of an alien race?" + +"Excluding it! How?" asked Eugene. + +"By debarring it from social intercourse." + +"Perhaps it has," continued Eugene, "but should not society have a +greater ban for those who, by consorting with an alien race, rob their +offspring of a right to their names and to an inheritance in their +property, and who fix their social status among an enslaved and outcast +race? Don't eye me so curiously; I am not losing my senses." + +"I think you have done that already," said Lorraine. "Don't you know +that if she is as fair as a lily, beautiful as a houri, and chaste as +ice, that still she is a negro?" + +"Oh, come now; she isn't much of a negro." + +"It doesn't matter, however. One drop of negro blood in her veins curses +all the rest." + +"I know it," said Eugene, sadly, "but I have weighed the consequences, +and am prepared to take them." + +"Well, Eugene, your course is _so_ singular! I do wish that you would +tell me why you take this unprecedented step?" + +Eugene laid aside his cigar, looked thoughtfully at Lorraine, and said, +"Well, Alfred, as we are kinsmen and life-long friends, I will not +resent your asking my reason for doing that which seems to you the +climax of absurdity, and if you will have the patience to listen I will +tell you." + +"Proceed, I am all attention." + +"My father died," said Eugene, "as you know, when I was too young to +know his loss or feel his care and, being an only child, I was petted +and spoiled. I grew up to be wayward, self-indulgent, proud, and +imperious. I went from home and made many friends both at college and in +foreign lands. I was well supplied with money and, never having been +forced to earn it, was ignorant of its value and careless of its use. My +lavish expenditures and liberal benefactions attracted to me a number +of parasites, and men older than myself led me into the paths of vice, +and taught me how to gather the flowers of sin which blossom around the +borders of hell. In a word, I left my home unwarned and unarmed against +the seductions of vice. I returned an initiated devotee to debasing +pleasures. Years of my life were passed in foreign lands; years in which +my soul slumbered and seemed pervaded with a moral paralysis; years, the +memory of which fills my soul with sorrow and shame. I went to the +capitals of the old world to see life, but in seeing life I became +acquainted with death, the death of true manliness and self-respect. You +look astonished; but I tell you, Alf, there is many a poor clod-hopper, +on whom are the dust and grime of unremitting toil, who feels more +self-respect and true manliness than many of us with our family +prestige, social position, and proud ancestral halls. After I had lived +abroad for years, I returned a broken-down young man, prematurely old, +my constitution a perfect wreck. A life of folly and dissipation was +telling fearfully upon me. My friends shrank from me in dismay. I was +sick nigh unto death, and had it not been for Marie's care I am certain +that I should have died. She followed me down to the borders of the +grave, and won me back to life and health. I was slow in recovering and, +during the time, I had ample space for reflection, and the past unrolled +itself before me. I resolved, over the wreck and ruin of my past life, +to build a better and brighter future. Marie had a voice of remarkable +sweetness, although it lacked culture. Often when I was nervous and +restless I would have her sing some of those weird and plaintive +melodies which she had learned from the plantation negroes. Sometimes I +encouraged her to talk, and I was surprised at the native vigor of her +intellect. By degrees I became acquainted with her history. She was all +alone in the world. She had no recollection of her father, but +remembered being torn from her mother while clinging to her dress. The +trader who bought her mother did not wish to buy her. She remembered +having a brother, with whom she used to play, but she had been separated +from him also, and since then had lost all trace of them. After she was +sold from her mother she became the property of an excellent old lady, +who seems to have been very careful to imbue her mind with good +principles; a woman who loved purity, not only for her own daughters, +but also for the defenseless girls in her home. I believe it was the +lady's intention to have freed Marie at her death, but she died +suddenly, and, the estate being involved, she was sold with it and fell +into the hands of my agent. I became deeply interested in her when I +heard her story, and began to pity her." + +"And I suppose love sprang from pity." + +"I not only pitied her, but I learned to respect her. I had met with +beautiful women in the halls of wealth and fashion, both at home and +abroad, but there was something in her different from all my experience +of womanhood." + +"I should think so," said Lorraine, with a sneer; "but I should like to +know what it was." + +"It was something such as I have seen in old cathedrals, lighting up the +beauty of a saintly face. A light which the poet tells was never seen on +land or sea. I thought of this beautiful and defenseless girl adrift in +the power of a reckless man, who, with all the advantages of wealth and +education, had trailed his manhood in the dust, and she, with simple, +childlike faith in the Unseen, seemed to be so good and pure that she +commanded my respect and won my heart. In her presence every base and +unholy passion died, subdued by the supremacy of her virtue." + +"Why, Eugene, what has come over you? Talking of the virtue of these +quadroon girls! You have lived so long in the North and abroad, that you +seem to have lost the cue of our Southern life. Don't you know that +these beautiful girls have been the curse of our homes? You have no idea +of the hearts which are wrung by their presence." + +"But, Alfred, suppose it is so. Are they to blame for it? What can any +woman do when she is placed in the hands of an irresponsible master; +when she knows that resistance is vain? Yes, Alfred, I agree with you, +these women are the bane of our Southern civilization; but they are the +victims and we are the criminals." + +"I think from the airs that some of them put on when they get a chance, +that they are very willing victims." + +"So much the worse for our institution. If it is cruel to debase a +hapless victim, it is an increase of cruelty to make her contented with +her degradation. Let me tell you, Alf, you cannot wrong or degrade a +woman without wronging or degrading yourself." + +"What is the matter with you, Eugene? Are you thinking of taking +priest's orders?" + +"No, Alf," said Eugene, rising and rapidly pacing the floor, "you may +defend the system as much as you please, but you cannot deny that the +circumstances it creates, and the temptations it affords, are sapping +our strength and undermining our character." + +"That may be true," said Lorraine, somewhat irritably, "but you had +better be careful how you air your Northern notions in public." + +"Why so?" + +"Because public opinion is too sensitive to tolerate any such +discussions." + +"And is not that a proof that we are at fault with respect to our +institutions?" + +"I don't know. I only know we are living in the midst of a magazine of +powder, and it is not safe to enter it with a lighted candle." + +"Let me proceed with my story," continued Eugene. "During the long +months in which I was convalescing, I was left almost entirely to the +companionship of Marie. In my library I found a Bible, which I began to +read from curiosity, but my curiosity deepened into interest when I saw +the rapt expression on Marie's face. I saw in it a loving response to +sentiments to which I was a stranger. In the meantime my conscience was +awakened, and I scorned to take advantage of her defenselessness. I felt +that I owed my life to her faithful care, and I resolved to take her +North, manumit, educate, and marry her. I sent her to a Northern +academy, but as soon as some of the pupils found that she was colored, +objections were raised, and the principal was compelled to dismiss her. +During my search for a school I heard of one where three girls of mixed +blood were pursuing their studies, every one of whom would have been +ignominiously dismissed had their connection with the negro race been +known. But I determined to run no risks. I found a school where her +connection with the negro race would be no bar to her advancement. She +graduates next week, and I intend to marry her before I return home. She +was faithful when others were faithless, stood by me when others +deserted me to die in loneliness and neglect, and now I am about to +reward her care with all the love and devotion it is in my power to +bestow. That is why I am about to marry my faithful and devoted nurse, +who snatched me from the jaws of death. Now that I have told you my +story, what say you?" + +"Madness and folly inconceivable!" exclaimed Lorraine. + +"What to you is madness and folly is perfect sanity with me. After all, +Alf, is there not an amount of unreason in our prejudices?" + +"That may be true; but I wasn't reasoned into it, and I do not expect to +be reasoned out of it." + +"Will you accompany me North?" + +"No; except to put you in an insane asylum. You are the greatest crank +out," said Lorraine, thoroughly disgusted. + +"No, thank you; I'm all right. I expect to start North to-morrow. You +had better come and go." + +"I would rather follow you to your grave," replied Lorraine, hotly, +while an expression of ineffable scorn passed over his cold, proud face. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +SHADOWS IN THE HOME. + +On the next morning after this conversation Leroy left for the North, to +attend the commencement and witness the graduation of his ward. Arriving +in Ohio, he immediately repaired to the academy and inquired for the +principal. He was shown into the reception-room, and in a few moments +the principal entered. + +"Good morning," said Leroy, rising and advancing towards him; "how is my +ward this morning?" + +"She is well, and has been expecting you. I am glad you came in time for +the commencement. She stands among the foremost in her class." + +"I am glad to hear it. Will you send her this?" said Leroy, handing the +principal a card. The principal took the card and immediately left the +room. + +Very soon Leroy heard a light step, and looking up he saw a radiantly +beautiful woman approaching him. + +"Good morning, Marie," he said, greeting her cordially, and gazing upon +her with unfeigned admiration. "You are looking very handsome this +morning." + +"Do you think so?" she asked, smiling and blushing. "I am glad you are +not disappointed; that you do not feel your money has been spent in +vain." + +"Oh, no, what I have spent on your education has been the best +investment I ever made." + +"I hope," said Marie, "you may always find it so. But Mas----" + +"Hush!" said Leroy, laying his hand playfully on her lips; "you are +free. I don't want the dialect of slavery to linger on your lips. You +must not call me that name again." + +"Why not?" + +"Because I have a nearer and dearer one by which I wish to be called." + +Leroy drew her nearer, and whispered in her ear a single word. She +started, trembled with emotion, grew pale, and blushed painfully. An +awkward silence ensued, when Leroy, pressing her hand, exclaimed: "This +is the hand that plucked me from the grave, and I am going to retain it +as mine; mine to guard with my care until death us do part." + +Leroy looked earnestly into her eyes, which fell beneath his ardent +gaze. With admirable self-control, while a great joy was thrilling her +heart, she bowed her beautiful head and softly repeated, "Until death us +do part." + +Leroy knew Southern society too well to expect it to condone his offense +against its social customs, or give the least recognition to his wife, +however cultured, refined, and charming she might be, if it were known +that she had the least infusion of negro blood in her veins. But he was +brave enough to face the consequences of his alliance, and marry the +woman who was the choice of his heart, and on whom his affections were +centred. + +After Leroy had left the room, Marie sat awhile thinking of the +wonderful change that had come over her. Instead of being a lonely slave +girl, with the fatal dower of beauty, liable to be bought and sold, +exchanged, and bartered, she was to be the wife of a wealthy planter; a +man in whose honor she could confide, and on whose love she could lean. + +Very interesting and pleasant were the commencement exercises in which +Marie bore an important part. To enlist sympathy for her enslaved race, +and appear to advantage before Leroy, had aroused all of her energies. +The stimulus of hope, the manly love which was environing her life, +brightened her eye and lit up the wonderful beauty of her countenance. +During her stay in the North she had constantly been brought in contact +with anti-slavery people. She was not aware that there was so much +kindness among the white people of the country until she had tested it +in the North. From the anti-slavery people in private life she had +learned some of the noblest lessons of freedom and justice, and had +become imbued with their sentiments. Her theme was "American +Civilization, its Lights and Shadows." + +Graphically she portrayed the lights, faithfully she showed the shadows +of our American civilization. Earnestly and feelingly she spoke of the +blind Sampson in our land, who might yet shake the pillars of our great +Commonwealth. Leroy listened attentively. At times a shadow of annoyance +would overspread his face, but it was soon lost in the admiration her +earnestness and zeal inspired. Like Esther pleading for the lives of her +people in the Oriental courts of a despotic king, she stood before the +audience, pleading for those whose lips were sealed, but whose condition +appealed to the mercy and justice of the Nation. Strong men wiped the +moisture from their eyes, and women's hearts throbbed in unison with the +strong, brave words that were uttered in behalf of freedom for all and +chains for none. Generous applause was freely bestowed, and beautiful +bouquets were showered upon her. When it was known that she was to be +the wife of her guardian, warm congratulations were given, and earnest +hopes expressed for the welfare of the lonely girl, who, nearly all her +life, had been deprived of a parent's love and care. On the eve of +starting South Leroy procured a license, and united his destiny with the +young lady whose devotion in the darkest hour had won his love and +gratitude. + +In a few days Marie returned as mistress to the plantation from which +she had gone as a slave. But as unholy alliances were common in those +days between masters and slaves, no one took especial notice that Marie +shared Leroy's life as mistress of his home, and that the family silver +and jewelry were in her possession. But Leroy, happy in his choice, +attended to the interests of his plantation, and found companionship in +his books and in the society of his wife. A few male companions visited +him occasionally, admired the magnificent beauty of his wife, shook +their heads, and spoke of him as being very eccentric, but thought his +marriage the great mistake of his life. But none of his female friends +ever entered his doors, when it became known that Marie held the +position of mistress of his mansion, and presided at his table. But she, +sheltered in the warm clasp of loving arms, found her life like a joyous +dream. + +Into that quiet and beautiful home three children were born, unconscious +of the doom suspended over their heads. + +"Oh, how glad I am," Marie would often say, "that these children are +free. I could never understand how a cultured white man could have his +own children enslaved. I can understand how savages, fighting with each +other, could doom their vanquished foes to slavery, but it has always +been a puzzle to me how a civilized man could drag his own children, +bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh, down to the position of social +outcasts, abject slaves, and political pariahs." + +"But, Marie," said Eugene, "all men do not treat their illegitimate +children in the manner you describe. The last time I was in New Orleans +I met Henri Augustine at the depot, with two beautiful young girls. At +first I thought that they were his own children, they resembled him so +closely. But afterwards I noticed that they addressed him as 'Mister.' +Before we parted he told me that his wife had taken such a dislike to +their mother that she could not bear to see them on the place. At last, +weary of her dissatisfaction, he had promised to bring them to New +Orleans and sell them. Instead, he was going to Ohio to give them their +freedom, and make provision for their future." + +"What a wrong!" said Marie. + +"Who was wronged?" said Leroy, in astonishment. + +"Every one in the whole transaction," answered Marie. "Your friend +wronged himself by sinning against his own soul. He wronged his wife by +arousing her hatred and jealousy through his unfaithfulness. He wronged +those children by giving them the _status_ of slaves and outcasts. He +wronged their mother by imposing upon her the burdens and cares of +maternity without the rights and privileges of a wife. He made her crown +of motherhood a circlet of shame. Under other circumstances she might +have been an honored wife and happy mother. And I do think such men +wrong their own legitimate children by transmitting to them a weakened +moral fibre." + +"Oh, Marie, you have such an uncomfortable way of putting things. You +make me feel that we have done those things which we ought not to have +done, and have left undone those things which we ought to have done." + +"If it annoys you," said Marie, "I will stop talking." + +"Oh, no, go on," said Leroy, carelessly; and then he continued more +thoughtfully, "I know a number of men who have sent such children North, +and manumitted, educated, and left them valuable legacies. We are all +liable to err, and, having done wrong, all we can do is to make +reparation." + +"My dear husband, this is a wrong where reparation is impossible. +Neither wealth nor education can repair the wrong of a dishonored birth. +There are a number of slaves in this section who are servants to their +own brothers and sisters; whose fathers have robbed them not simply of +liberty but of the right of being well born. Do you think these things +will last forever?" + +"I suppose not. There are some prophets of evil who tell us that the +Union is going to dissolve. But I know it would puzzle their brains to +tell where the crack will begin. I reckon we'll continue to jog along as +usual. 'Cotton fights, and cotton conquers for American slavery.'" + +Even while Leroy dreamed of safety the earthquake was cradling its fire; +the ground was growing hollow beneath his tread; but his ear was too +dull to catch the sound; his vision too blurred to read the signs of the +times. + +"Marie," said Leroy, taking up the thread of the discourse, "slavery is +a sword that cuts both ways. If it wrongs the negro, it also curses the +white man. But we are in it, and what can we do?" + +"Get out of it as quickly as possible." + +"That is easier said than done. I would willingly free every slave on my +plantation if I could do so without expatriating them. Some of them have +wives and children on other plantations, and to free them is to separate +them from their kith and kin. To let them remain here as a free people +is out of the question. My hands are tied by law and custom." + +"Who tied them?" asked Marie. + +"A public opinion, whose meshes I cannot break. If the negro is the +thrall of his master, we are just as much the thralls of public +opinion." + +"Why do you not battle against public opinion, if you think it is +wrong?" + +"Because I have neither the courage of a martyr, nor the faith of a +saint; and so I drift along, trying to make the condition of our slaves +as comfortable as I possibly can. I believe there are slaves on this +plantation whom the most flattering offers of freedom would not entice +away." + +"I do not think," said Marie, "that some of you planters understand your +own slaves. Lying is said to be the vice of slaves. The more intelligent +of them have so learned to veil their feelings that you do not see the +undercurrent of discontent beneath their apparent good humor and +jollity. The more discontented they are, the more I respect them. To me +a contented slave is an abject creature. I hope that I shall see the +day when there will not be a slave in the land. I hate the whole thing +from the bottom of my heart." + +"Marie, your Northern education has unfitted you for Southern life. You +are free, yourself, and so are our children. Why not let well enough +alone?" + +"Because I love liberty, not only for myself but for every human being. +Think how dear these children are to me; and then for the thought to be +forever haunting me, that if you were dead they could be turned out of +doors and divided among your relatives. I sometimes lie awake at night +thinking of how there might be a screw loose somewhere, and, after all, +the children and I might be reduced to slavery." + +"Marie, what in the world is the matter with you? Have you had a +presentiment of my death, or, as Uncle Jack says, 'hab you seed it in a +vision?'" + +"No, but I have had such sad forebodings that they almost set me wild. +One night I dreamt that you were dead; that the lawyers entered the +house, seized our property, and remanded us to slavery. I never can be +satisfied in the South with such a possibility hanging over my head." + +"Marie, dear, you are growing nervous. Your imagination is too active. +You are left too much alone on this plantation. I hope that for your own +and the children's sake I will be enabled to arrange our affairs so as +to find a home for you where you will not be doomed to the social +isolation and ostracism that surround you here." + +"I don't mind the isolation for myself, but the children. You have +enjoined silence on me with respect to their connection with the negro +race, but I do not think we can conceal it from them very long. It will +not be long before Iola will notice the offishness of girls of her own +age, and the scornful glances which, even now, I think, are leveled at +her. Yesterday Harry came crying to me, and told me that one of the +neighbor's boys had called him 'nigger.'" + +A shadow flitted over Leroy's face, as he answered, somewhat soberly, +"Oh, Marie, do not meet trouble half way. I have manumitted you, and the +children will follow your condition. I have made you all legatees of my +will. Except my cousin, Alfred Lorraine, I have only distant relatives, +whom I scarcely know and who hardly know me." + +"Your cousin Lorraine? Are you sure our interests would be safe in his +hands?" + +"I think so; I don't think Alfred would do anything dishonorable." + +"He might not with his equals. But how many men would be bound by a +sense of honor where the rights of a colored woman are in question? Your +cousin was bitterly opposed to our marriage, and I would not trust any +important interests in his hands. I do hope that in providing for our +future you will make assurance doubly sure." + +"I certainly will, and all that human foresight can do shall be done for +you and our children." + +"Oh," said Marie, pressing to her heart a beautiful child of six +summers, "I think it would almost make me turn over in my grave to know +that every grace and charm which this child possesses would only be so +much added to her value as an article of merchandise." + +As Marie released the child from her arms she looked wonderingly into +her mother's face and clung closely to her, as if to find refuge from +some unseen evil. Leroy noticed this, and sighed unconsciously, as an +expression of pain flitted over his face. + +"Now, Marie," he continued, "stop tormenting yourself with useless +fears. Although, with all her faults, I still love the South, I will +make arrangements either to live North or go to France. There life will +be brighter for us all. Now, Marie, seat yourself at the piano and +sing:-- + + 'Sing me the songs that to me were so dear, + Long, long ago. + Sing me the songs I delighted to hear, + Long, long ago." + +As Marie sang the anxiety faded from her face, a sense of security stole +over her, and she sat among her loved ones a happy wife and mother. What +if no one recognized her on that lonely plantation! Her world was, +nevertheless, there. The love and devotion of her husband brightened +every avenue of her life, while her children filled her home with music, +mirth, and sunshine. + +Marie had undertaken their education, but she could not give them the +culture which comes from the attrition of thought, and from contact with +the ideas of others. Since her school-days she had read extensively and +thought much, and in solitude her thoughts had ripened. But for her +children there were no companions except the young slaves of the +plantation, and she dreaded the effect of such intercourse upon their +lives and characters. + +Leroy had always been especially careful to conceal from his children +the knowledge of their connection with the negro race. To Marie this +silence was oppressive. + +One day she said to him, "I see no other way of finishing the education +of these children than by sending them to some Northern school." + +"I have come," said Leroy, "to the same conclusion. We had better take +Iola and Harry North and make arrangements for them to spend several +years in being educated. Riches take wings to themselves and fly away, +but a good education is an investment on which the law can place no +attachment. As there is a possibility of their origin being discovered, +I will find a teacher to whom I can confide our story, and upon whom I +can enjoin secrecy. I want them well fitted for any emergency in life. +When I discover for what they have the most aptitude I will give them +especial training in that direction." + +A troubled look passed over the face of Marie, as she hesitatingly said: +"I am so afraid that you will regret our marriage when you fully realize +the complications it brings." + +"No, no," said Leroy, tenderly, "it is not that I regret our marriage, +or feel the least disdain for our children on account of the blood in +their veins; but I do not wish them to grow up under the contracting +influence of this race prejudice. I do not wish them to feel that they +have been born under a proscription from which no valor can redeem them, +nor that any social advancement or individual development can wipe off +the ban which clings to them. No, Marie, let them go North, learn all +they can, aspire all they may. The painful knowledge will come all too +soon. Do not forestall it. I want them simply to grow up as other +children; not being patronized by friends nor disdained by foes." + +"My dear husband, you may be perfectly right, but are you not preparing +our children for a fearful awakening? Are you not acting on the plan, +'After me the deluge?'" + +"Not at all, Marie. I want our children to grow up without having their +self-respect crushed in the bud. You know that the North is not free +from racial prejudice." + +"I know it," said Marie, sadly, "and I think one of the great mistakes +of our civilization is that which makes color, and not character, a +social test." + +"I think so, too," said Leroy. "The strongest men and women of a +down-trodden race may bare their bosoms to an adverse fate and develop +courage in the midst of opposition, but we have no right to subject our +children to such crucial tests before their characters are formed. For +years, when I lived abroad, I had an opportunity to see and hear of men +of African descent who had distinguished themselves and obtained a +recognition in European circles, which they never could have gained in +this country. I now recall the name of Ira Aldridge, a colored man from +New York City, who was covered with princely honors as a successful +tragedian. Alexander Dumas was not forced to conceal his origin to +succeed as a novelist. When I was in St. Petersburg I was shown the +works of Alexander Sergevitch, a Russian poet, who was spoken of as the +Byron of Russian literature, and reckoned one of the finest poets that +Russia has produced in this century. He was also a prominent figure in +fashionable society, and yet he was of African lineage. One of his +paternal ancestors was a negro who had been ennobled by Peter the +Great. I can't help contrasting the recognition which these men had +received with the treatment which has been given to Frederick Douglass +and other intelligent colored men in this country. With me the wonder is +not that they have achieved so little, but that they have accomplished +so much. No, Marie, we will have our children educated without being +subjected to the depressing influences of caste feeling. Perhaps by the +time their education is finished I will be ready to wind up my affairs +and take them abroad, where merit and ability will give them entrance +into the best circles of art, literature, and science." + +After this conversation Leroy and his wife went North, and succeeded in +finding a good school for their children. In a private interview he +confided to the principal the story of the cross in their blood, and, +finding him apparently free from racial prejudice, he gladly left the +children in his care. Gracie, the youngest child, remained at home, and +her mother spared no pains to fit her for the seminary against the time +her sister should have finished her education. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +THE PLAGUE AND THE LAW. + +Years passed, bringing no special change to the life of Leroy and his +wife. Shut out from the busy world, its social cares and anxieties, +Marie's life flowed peacefully on. Although removed by the protecting +care of Leroy from the condition of servitude, she still retained a deep +sympathy for the enslaved, and was ever ready to devise plans to +ameliorate their condition. + +Leroy, although in the midst of slavery, did not believe in the +rightfulness of the institution. He was in favor of gradual +emancipation, which would prepare both master and slave for a moral +adaptation to the new conditions of freedom. While he was willing to +have the old rivets taken out of slavery, politicians and planters were +devising plans to put in new screws. He was desirous of having it ended +in the States; they were clamorous to have it established in the +Territories. + +But so strong was the force of habit, combined with the feebleness of +his moral resistance and the nature of his environment, that instead of +being an athlete, armed for a glorious strife, he had learned to drift +where he should have steered, to float with the current instead of nobly +breasting the tide. He conducted his plantation with as much lenity as +it was possible to infuse into a system darkened with the shadow of a +million crimes. + +Leroy had always been especially careful not to allow his children to +spend their vacations at home. He and Marie generally spent that time +with them at some summer resort. + +"I would like," said Marie, one day, "to have our children spend their +vacations at home. Those summer resorts are pleasant, yet, after all, +there is no place like home. But," and her voice became tremulous, "our +children would now notice their social isolation and inquire the cause." +A faint sigh arose to the lips of Leroy, as she added: "Man is a social +being; I've known it to my sorrow." + +There was a tone of sadness in Leroy's voice, as he replied: "Yes, +Marie, let them stay North. We seem to be entering on a period fraught +with great danger. I cannot help thinking and fearing that we are on the +eve of a civil war." + +"A civil war!" exclaimed Marie, with an air of astonishment. "A civil +war about what?" + +"Why, Marie, the thing looks to me so wild and foolish I hardly know how +to explain. But some of our leading men have come to the conclusion that +North and South had better separate, and instead of having one to have +two independent governments. The spirit of secession is rampant in the +land. I do not know what the result will be, and I fear it will bode no +good to the country. Between the fire-eating Southerners and the +meddling Abolitionists we are about to be plunged into a great deal of +trouble. I fear there are breakers ahead. The South is dissatisfied with +the state of public opinion in the North. We are realizing that we are +two peoples in the midst of one nation. William H. Seward has +proclaimed that the conflict between freedom and slavery is +irrepressible, and that the country cannot remain half free and half +slave." + +"How will _you_ go?" asked Marie. + +"My heart is with the Union. I don't believe in secession. There has +been no cause sufficient to justify a rupture. The North has met us time +and again in the spirit of concession and compromise. When we wanted the +continuance of the African slave trade the North conceded that we should +have twenty years of slave-trading for the benefit of our plantations. +When we wanted more territory she conceded to our desires and gave us +land enough to carve out four States, and there yet remains enough for +four more. When we wanted power to recapture our slaves when they fled +North for refuge, Daniel Webster told Northerners to conquer their +prejudices, and they gave us the whole Northern States as a hunting +ground for our slaves. The Presidential chair has been filled the +greater number of years by Southerners, and the majority of offices has +been shared by our men. We wanted representation in Congress on a basis +which would include our slaves, and the North, whose suffrage represents +only men, gave us a three-fifths representation for our slaves, whom we +count as property. I think the step will be suicidal. There are +extremists in both sections, but I hope, between them both, wise +counsels and measures will prevail." + +Just then Alfred Lorraine was ushered into the room. Occasionally he +visited Leroy, but he always came alone. His wife was the only daughter +of an enterprising slave-trader, who had left her a large amount of +property. + +Her social training was deficient, her education limited, but she was +too proud of being a pure white woman to enter the home of Leroy, with +Marie as its presiding genius. Lorraine tolerated Marie's presence as a +necessary evil, while to her he always seemed like a presentiment of +trouble. With his coming a shadow fell upon her home, hushing its music +and darkening its sunshine. A sense of dread oppressed her. There came +into her soul an intuitive feeling that somehow his coming was fraught +with danger. When not peering around she would often catch his eyes bent +on her with a baleful expression. + +Leroy and his cousin immediately fell into a discussion on the condition +of the country. Lorraine was a rank Secessionist, ready to adopt the +most extreme measures of the leaders of the movement, even to the +reopening of the slave trade. Leroy thought a dissolution of the Union +would involve a fearful expenditure of blood and treasure for which, +before the eyes of the world, there could be no justification. The +debate lasted late into the night, leaving both Lorraine and Leroy just +as set in their opinions as they were before they began. Marie listened +attentively awhile, then excused herself and withdrew. + +After Lorraine had gone Marie said: "There is something about your +cousin that fills me with nameless dread. I always feel when he enters +the room as if some one were walking over my grave. I do wish he would +stay at home." + +"I wish so, too, since he disturbs you. But, Marie, you are growing +nervous. How cold your hands are. Don't you feel well?" + +"Oh, yes; I am only a little faint. I wish he would never come. But, as +he does, I must make the best of it." + +"Yes, Marie, treat him well for my sake. He is the only relative I have +who ever darkens our doors." + +"I have no faith in his friendship for either myself or my children. I +feel that while he makes himself agreeable to you he hates me from the +bottom of his heart, and would do anything to get me out of the way. Oh, +I am _so_ glad I am your lawful wife, and that you married me before you +brought me back to this State! I believe that if you were gone he +wouldn't have the least scruple against trying to prove our marriage +invalid and remanding us to slavery." + +Leroy looked anxiously and soberly at his wife, and said: "Marie, I do +not think so. Your life is too lonely here. Write your orders to New +Orleans, get what you need for the journey, and let us spend the summer +somewhere in the North." + +Just then Marie's attention was drawn to some household matters, and it +was a short time before she returned. + +"Tom," continued Leroy, "has just brought the mail, and here is a letter +from Iola." + +Marie noticed that he looked quite sober as he read, and that an +expression of vexation was lingering on his lips. + +"What is the matter?" asked Marie. + +"Nothing much; only a tempest in a teapot. The presence of a colored +girl in Mr. Galen's school has caused a breeze of excitement. You know +Mr. Galen is quite an Abolitionist, and, being true to his principles, +he could not consistently refuse when a colored woman applied for her +daughter's admission. Of course, when he took her he was compelled to +treat her as any other pupil. In so doing he has given mortal offense to +the mother of two Southern boys. She has threatened to take them away if +the colored girl remains." + +"What will he do about it?" asked Marie, thoughtfully. + +"Oh, it is a bitter pill, but I think he will have to swallow it. He is +between two fires. He cannot dismiss her from the school and be true to +his Abolition principles; yet if he retains her he will lose his +Southern customers, and I know he cannot afford to do that." + +"What does Iola say?" + +"He has found another boarding place for her, but she is to remain in +the school. He had to throw that sop to the whale." + +"Does she take sides against the girl?" + +"No, I don't think she does. She says she feels sorry for her, and that +she would hate to be colored. 'It is so hard to be looked down on for +what one can't help.'" + +"Poor child! I wish we could leave the country. I never would consent to +her marrying any one without first revealing to him her connection with +the negro race. This is a subject on which I am not willing to run any +risks." + +"My dear Marie, when you shall have read Iola's letter you will see it +is more than a figment of my imagination that has made me so loth to +have our children know the paralyzing power of caste." + +Leroy, always liberal with his wife and children, spared neither pains +nor expense to have them prepared for their summer outing. Iola was to +graduate in a few days. Harry was attending a school in the State of +Maine, and his father had written to him, apprising him of his intention +to come North that season. In a few days Leroy and his wife started +North, but before they reached Vicksburg they were met by the +intelligence that the yellow fever was spreading in the Delta, and that +pestilence was breathing its bane upon the morning air and distilling +its poison upon the midnight dews. + +"Let us return home," said Marie. + +"It is useless," answered Leroy. "It is nearly two days since we left +home. The fever is spreading south of us with fearful rapidity. To +return home is to walk into the jaws of death. It was my intention to +have stopped at Vicksburg, but now I will go on as soon as I can make +the connections." + +Early next morning Leroy and his wife started again on their journey. +The cars were filled with terror-stricken people who were fleeing from +death, when death was everywhere. They fled from the city only to meet +the dreaded apparition in the country. As they journeyed on Leroy grew +restless and feverish. He tried to brace himself against the infection +which was creeping slowly but insidiously into his life, dulling his +brain, fevering his blood, and prostrating his strength. But vain were +all his efforts. He had no armor strong enough to repel the invasion of +death. They stopped at a small town on the way and obtained the best +medical skill and most careful nursing, but neither skill nor art +availed. On the third day death claimed Leroy as a victim, and Marie +wept in hopeless agony over the grave of her devoted husband, whose sad +lot it was to die from home and be buried among strangers. + +But before he died he placed his will in Marie's hands, saying: "I have +left you well provided for. Kiss the children for me and bid them +good-bye." + +He tried to say a parting word to Gracie, but his voice failed, and he +fainted into the stillness of death. A mortal paleness overspread his +countenance, on which had already gathered the shadows that never +deceive. In speechless agony Marie held his hand until it released its +pressure in death, and then she stood alone beside her dead, with all +the bright sunshine of her life fading into the shadows of the grave. +Heart-broken and full of fearful forebodings, Marie left her cherished +dead in the quiet village of H---- and returned to her death-darkened +home. + +It was a lovely day in June, birds were singing their sweetest songs, +flowers were breathing their fragrance on the air, when Mam Liza, +sitting at her cabin-door, talking with some of the house servants, saw +a carriage approaching, and wondered who was coming. + +"I wonder," she said, excitedly, "whose comin' to de house when de folks +is done gone." + +But her surprise was soon changed to painful amazement, when she saw +Marie, robed in black, alighting from the carriage, and holding Gracie +by the hand. She caught sight of the drooping head and grief-stricken +face, and rushed to her, exclaiming:-- + +"Whar's Marse Eugene?" + +"Dead," said Marie, falling into Mammy Liza's arms, sobbing out, "dead! +_ died_ of yellow fever." + +A wild burst of sorrow came from the lips of the servants, who had +drawn near. + +"Where is he?" said Mam Liza, speaking like one suddenly bewildered. + +"He is buried in H----. I could not bring him home," said Marie. + +"My pore baby," said Mam Liza, with broken sobs. "I'se drefful sorry. My +heart's most broke into two." Then, controlling herself, she dismissed +the servants who stood around, weeping, and led Marie to her room. + +"Come, honey, lie down an' lem'me git yer a cup ob tea." + +"Oh, no; I don't want anything," said Marie, wringing her hands in +bitter agony. + +"Oh, honey," said Mam Liza, "yer musn't gib up. Yer knows whar to put +yer trus'. Yer can't lean on de arm of flesh in dis tryin' time." +Kneeling by the side of her mistress she breathed out a prayer full of +tenderness, hope, and trust. + +Marie grew calmer. It seemed as if that earnest, trustful prayer had +breathed into her soul a feeling of resignation. + +Gracie stood wonderingly by, vainly trying to comprehend the great +sorrow which was overwhelming the life of her mother. + +After the first great burst of sorrow was over, Marie sat down to her +desk and wrote a letter to Iola, informing her of her father's death. By +the time she had finished it she grew dizzy and faint, and fell into a +swoon. Mammy Liza tenderly laid her on the bed, and helped restore her +to consciousness. + +Lorraine, having heard of his cousin's death, came immediately to see +Marie. She was too ill to have an interview with him, but he picked up +the letter she had written and obtained Iola's address. + +Lorraine made a careful investigation of the case, to ascertain whether +Marie's marriage was valid. To his delight he found there was a flaw in +the marriage and an informality in the manumission. He then determined +to invalidate Marie's claim, and divide the inheritance among Leroy's +white relations. In a short time strangers, distant relatives of her +husband, became frequent visitors at the plantation, and made themselves +offensively familiar. At length the dreadful storm burst. + +Alfred Lorraine entered suit for his cousin's estate, and for the +remanding of his wife and children to slavery. In a short time he came +armed with legal authority, and said to Marie:-- + +"I have come to take possession of these premises." + +"By what authority?" she gasped, turning deathly pale. He hesitated a +moment, as if his words were arrested by a sense of shame. + +"By what authority?" she again demanded. + +"By the authority of the law," answered Lorraine, "which has decided +that Leroy's legal heirs are his white blood relations, and that your +marriage is null and void." + +"But," exclaimed Marie, "I have our marriage certificate. I was Leroy's +lawful wife." + +"Your marriage certificate is not worth the paper it is written on." + +"Oh, you must be jesting, cruelly jesting. It can't be so." + +"Yes; it is so. Judge Starkins has decided that your manumission is +unlawful; your marriage a bad precedent, and inimical to the welfare of +society; and that you and your children are remanded to slavery." + +Marie stood as one petrified. She seemed a statue of fear and despair. +She tried to speak, reached out her hand as if she were groping in the +dark, turned pale as death as if all the blood in her veins had receded +to her heart, and, with one heart-rending cry of bitter agony, she fell +senseless to the floor. Her servants, to whom she had been so kind in +her days of prosperity, bent pityingly over her, chafed her cold hands, +and did what they could to restore her to consciousness. For awhile she +was stricken with brain fever, and her life seemed trembling on its +frailest cord. + +Gracie was like one perfectly dazed. When not watching by her mother's +bedside she wandered aimlessly about the house, growing thinner day by +day. A slow fever was consuming her life. Faithfully and carefully Mammy +Liza watched over her, and did all she could to bring smiles to her lips +and light to her fading eyes, but all in vain. Her only interest in life +was to sit where she could watch her mother as she tossed to and fro in +delirium, and to wonder what had brought the change in her once happy +home. Finally she, too, was stricken with brain fever, which intervened +as a mercy between her and the great sorrow that was overshadowing her +young life. Tears would fill the servants' eyes as they saw the dear +child drifting from them like a lovely vision, too bright for earth's +dull cares and weary, wasting pain. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + +SCHOOL-GIRL NOTIONS. + +During Iola's stay in the North she found a strong tide of opposition +against slavery. Arguments against the institution had entered the +Church and made legislative halls the arenas of fierce debate. The +subject had become part of the social converse of the fireside, and had +enlisted the best brain and heart of the country. Anti-slavery +discussions were pervading the strongest literature and claiming, a +place on the most popular platforms. + +Iola, being a Southern girl and a slave-holder's daughter, always +defended slavery when it was under discussion. + +"Slavery can't be wrong," she would say, "for my father is a +slave-holder, and my mother is as good to our servants as she can be. My +father often tells her that she spoils them, and lets them run over her. +I never saw my father strike one of them. I love my mammy as much as I +do my own mother, and I believe she loves us just as if we were her own +children. When we are sick I am sure that she could not do anything more +for us than she does." + +"But, Iola," responded one of her school friends, "after all, they are +not free. Would you be satisfied to have the most beautiful home, the +costliest jewels, or the most elegant wardrobe if you were a slave?" + +"Oh, the cases are not parallel. Our slaves do not want their freedom. +They would not take it if we gave it to them." + +"That is not the case with them all. My father has seen men who have +encountered almost incredible hardships to get their freedom. Iola, did +you ever attend an anti-slavery meeting?" + +"No; I don't think these Abolitionists have any right to meddle in our +affairs. I believe they are prejudiced against us, and want to get our +property. I read about them in the papers when I was at home. I don't +want to hear my part of the country run down. My father says the slaves +would be very well contented if no one put wrong notions in their +heads." + +"I don't know," was the response of her friend, "but I do not think that +that slave mother who took her four children, crossed the Ohio River on +the ice, killed one of the children and attempted the lives of the other +two, was a contented slave. And that other one, who, running away and +finding herself pursued, threw herself over the Long Bridge into the +Potomac, was evidently not satisfied. I do not think the numbers who are +coming North on the Underground Railroad can be very contented. It is +not natural for people to run away from happiness, and if they are so +happy and contented, why did Congress pass the Fugitive Slave Bill?" + +"Well, I don't think," answered Iola, "any of our slaves would run away. +I know mamma don't like slavery very much. I have often heard her say +that she hoped the time would come when there would not be a slave in +the land. My father does not think as she does. He thinks slavery is not +wrong if you treat them well and don't sell them from their families. I +intend, after I have graduated, to persuade pa to buy a house in New +Orleans, and spend the winter there. You know this will be my first +season out, and I hope that you will come and spend the winter with me. +We will have such gay times, and you will so fall in love with our sunny +South that you will never want to come back to shiver amid the snows and +cold of the North. I think one winter in the South would cure you of +your Abolitionism." + +"Have you seen her yet?" + +This question was asked by Louis Bastine, an attorney who had come North +in the interests of Lorraine. The scene was the New England village +where Mr. Galen's academy was located, and which Iola was attending. +This question was addressed to Camille Lecroix, Bastine's intimate +friend, who had lately come North. He was the son of a planter who lived +near Leroy's plantation, and was familiar with Iola's family history. +Since his arrival North, Bastine had met him and communicated to him his +intentions. + +"Yes; just caught a glimpse of her this morning as she was going down +the street," was Camille's reply. + +"She is a most beautiful creature," said Louis Bastine. "She has the +proud poise of Leroy, the most splendid eyes I ever saw in a woman's +head, lovely complexion, and a glorious wealth of hair. She would bring +$2000 any day in a New Orleans market." + +"I always feel sorry," said Camille, "when I see one of those Creole +girls brought to the auction block. I have known fathers who were deeply +devoted to their daughters, but who through some reverse of fortune were +forced to part with them, and I always think the blow has been equally +terrible on both sides. I had a friend who had two beautiful daughters +whom he had educated in the North. They were cultured, and really belles +in society. They were entirely ignorant of their lineage, but when their +father died it was discovered that their mother had been a slave. It was +a fearful blow. They would have faced poverty, but the knowledge of +their tainted blood was more than they could bear." + +"What became of them?" + +"They both died, poor girls. I believe they were as much killed by the +blow as if they had been shot. To tell you the truth, Bastine, I feel +sorry for this girl. I don't believe she has the least idea of her negro +blood." + +"No, Leroy has been careful to conceal it from her," replied Bastine. + +"Is that so?" queried Camille. "Then he has made a great mistake." + +"I can't help that," said Bastine; "business is business." + +"How can you get her away?" asked Camille. "You will have to be very +cautious, because if these pesky Abolitionists get an inkling of what +you're doing they will balk your game double quick. And when you come to +look at it, isn't it a shame to attempt to reduce that girl to slavery? +She is just as white as we are, as good as any girl in the land, and +better educated than thousands of white girls. A girl with her apparent +refinement and magnificent beauty, were it not for the cross in her +blood, I would be proud to introduce to our set. She would be the +sensation of the season. I believe to-day it would be easier for me to +go to the slums and take a young girl from there, and have her +introduced as my wife, than to have society condone the offense if I +married that lovely girl. There is not a social circle in the South that +would not take it as a gross insult to have her introduced into it." + +"Well," said Bastine, "my plan is settled. Leroy has never allowed her +to spend her vacations at home. I understand she is now very anxious to +get home, and, as Lorraine's attorney, I have come on his account to +take her home." + +"How will you do it?" + +"I shall tell her her father is dangerously ill, and desires her to come +as quickly as possible." + +"And what then?" + +"Have her inventoried with the rest of the property." + +"Don't she know that her father is dead?" + +"I think not," said Bastine. "She is not in mourning, but appeared very +light-hearted this morning, laughing and talking with two other girls. I +was struck with her great beauty, and asked a gentleman who she was. He +said, 'Miss Leroy, of Mississippi.' I think Lorraine has managed the +affair so as to keep her in perfect ignorance of her father's death. I +don't like the job, but I never let sentiment interfere with my work." + +Poor Iola! When she said slavery was not a bad thing, little did she +think that she was destined to drink to its bitter dregs the cup she was +so ready to press to the lips of others. + +"How do you think she will take to her situation?" asked Camille. + +"O, I guess," said Bastine, "she will sulk and take it pretty hard at +first; but if she is managed right she will soon get over it. Give her +plenty of jewelry, fine clothes, and an easy time." + +"All this business must be conducted with the utmost secrecy and speed. +Her mother could not have written to her, for she has been suffering +with brain fever and nervous prostration since Leroy's death. Lorraine +knows her market value too well, and is too shrewd to let so much +property pass out of his hands without making an effort to retain it." + +"Has she any brothers or sisters?" + +"Yes, a brother," replied Bastine; "but he is at another school, and I +have no orders from Lorraine in reference to him. If I can get the girl +I am willing to let well enough alone. I dread the interview with the +principal more than anything else. I am afraid he will hem and haw, and +have his doubts. Perhaps, when he sees my letters and hears my story, I +can pull the wool over his eyes." + +"But, Louis, this is a pitiful piece of business. I should hate to be +engaged in it." + +A deep flush of shame overspread for a moment the face of Lorraine's +attorney, as he replied: "I don't like the job, but I have undertaken +it, and must go through with it." + +"I see no '_must_' about it. Were I in your place I would wash my hands +of the whole business." + +"I can't afford it," was Bastine's hard, business-like reply. On the +next morning after this conversation between these two young men, Louis +Bastine presented himself to the principal of the academy, with the +request that Iola be permitted to leave immediately to attend the +sick-bed of her father, who was dangerously ill. The principal +hesitated, but while he was deliberating, a telegram, purporting to come +from Iola's mother, summoned Iola to her father's bedside without delay. +The principal, set at rest in regard to the truthfulness of the +dispatch, not only permitted but expedited her departure. + +Iola and Bastine took the earliest train, and traveled without pausing +until they reached a large hotel in a Southern city. There they were +obliged to wait a few hours until they could resume their journey, the +train having failed to make connection. Iola sat in a large, lonely +parlor, waiting for the servant to show her to a private room. She had +never known a great sorrow. Never before had the shadows of death +mingled with the sunshine of her life. + +Anxious, travel-worn, and heavy-hearted, she sat in an easy chair, with +nothing to divert her from the grief and anxiety which rendered every +delay a source of painful anxiety. + +"Oh, I hope that he will be alive and growing better!" was the thought +which kept constantly revolving in her mind, until she fell asleep. In +her dreams she was at home, encircled in the warm clasp of her father's +arms, feeling her mother's kisses lingering on her lips, and hearing the +joyous greetings of the servants and Mammy Liza's glad welcome as she +folded her to her heart. From this dream of bliss she was awakened by a +burning kiss pressed on her lips, and a strong arm encircling her. +Gazing around and taking in the whole situation, she sprang from her +seat, her eyes flashing with rage and scorn, her face flushed to the +roots of her hair, her voice shaken with excitement, and every nerve +trembling with angry emotion. + +"How dare you do such a thing! Don't you know if my father were here he +would crush you to the earth?" + +"Not so fast, my lovely tigress," said Bastine, "your father knew what +he was doing when he placed you in my charge." + +"My father made a great mistake, if he thought he had put me in charge +of a gentleman." + +"I am your guardian for the present," replied Bastine. "I am to see you +safe home, and then my commission ends." + +"I wish it were ended now," she exclaimed, trembling with anger and +mortification. Her voice was choked by emotion, and broken by smothered +sobs. Louis Bastine thought to himself, "she is a real spitfire, but +beautiful even in her wrath." + +During the rest of her journey Iola preserved a most freezing reserve +towards Bastine. At length the journey was ended. Pale and anxious she +rode up the avenue which led to her home. + +A strange silence pervaded the place. The servants moved sadly from +place to place, and spoke in subdued tones. The windows were heavily +draped with crape, and a funeral air pervaded the house. + +Mammy Liza met her at the door, and, with streaming eyes and convulsive +sobs, folded her to her heart, as Iola exclaimed, in tones of hopeless +anguish:-- + +"Oh, papa's dead!" + +"Oh, my pore baby!" said mammy, "ain't you hearn tell 'bout it? Yore +par's dead, an' your mar's bin drefful sick. She's better now." + +Mam Liza stepped lightly into Mrs. Leroy's room, and gently apprised her +of Iola's arrival. In a darkened room lay the stricken mother, almost +distracted by her late bereavement. + +"Oh, Iola," she exclaimed, as her daughter entered, "is this you? I am +so sorry you came." + +Then, burying her head in Iola's bosom, she wept convulsively. "Much as +I love you," she continued, between her sobs, "and much as I longed to +see you, I am sorry you came." + +"Why, mother," replied Iola, astonished, "I received your telegram last +Wednesday, and I took the earliest train I could get." + +"My dear child, I never sent you a telegram. It was a trick to bring you +down South and reduce you to slavery." + +Iola eyed her mother curiously. What did she mean? Had grief dethroned +her reason? Yet her eye was clear, her manner perfectly rational. + +Marie saw the astounded look on Iola's face, and nerving herself to the +task, said: "Iola, I must tell you what your father always enjoined me +to be silent about. I did not think it was the wisest thing, but I +yielded to his desires. I have negro blood in my veins. I was your +father's slave before I married him. His relatives have set aside his +will. The courts have declared our marriage null and void and my +manumission illegal, and we are all to be remanded to slavery." + +An expression of horror and anguish swept over Iola's face, and, turning +deathly pale, she exclaimed, "Oh, mother, it can't be so! you must be +dreaming!" + +"No, my child; it is a terrible reality." + +Almost wild with agony, Iola paced the floor, as the fearful truth broke +in crushing anguish upon her mind. Then bursting into a paroxysm of +tears succeeded by peals of hysterical laughter, said:-- + +"I used to say that slavery is right. I didn't know what I was talking +about." Then growing calmer, she said, "Mother, who is at the bottom of +this downright robbery?" + +"Alfred Lorraine; I have always dreaded that man, and what I feared has +come to pass. Your father had faith in him; I never had." + +"But, mother, could we not contest his claim. You have your marriage +certificate and papa's will." + +"Yes, my dear child, but Judge Starkins has decided that we have no +standing in the court, and no testimony according to law." + +"Oh, mother, what can I do?" + +"Nothing, my child, unless you can escape to the North." + +"And leave you?" + +"Yes." + +"Mother, I will never desert you in your hour of trial. But can nothing +be done? Had father no friends who would assist us?" + +"None that I know of. I do not think he had an acquaintance who approved +of our marriage. The neighboring planters have stood so aloof from me +that I do not know where to turn for either help or sympathy. I believe +it was Lorraine who sent the telegram. I wrote to you as soon as I could +after your father's death, but fainted just as I finished directing the +letter. I do not think he knows where your brother is, and, if possible, +he must not know. If you can by any means, _do_ send a letter to Harry +and warn him not to attempt to come home. I don't know how you will +succeed, for Lorraine has us all under surveillance. But it is according +to law." + +"What law, mother?" + +"The law of the strong against the weak." + +"Oh, mother, it seems like a dreadful dream, a fearful nightmare! But I +cannot shake it off. Where is Gracie?" + +"The dear child has been running down ever since her papa's death. She +clung to me night and day while I had the brain fever, and could not be +persuaded to leave me. She hardly ate anything for more than a week. She +has been dangerously ill for several days, and the doctor says she +cannot live. The fever has exhausted all her rallying power, and yet, +dear as she is to me, I would rather consign her to the deepest grave +than see her forced to be a slave." + +"So would I. I wish I could die myself." + +"Oh, Iola, do not talk so. Strive to be a Christian, to have faith in +the darkest hour. Were it not for my hope of heaven I couldn't stand all +this trouble." + +"Mother, are these people Christians who made these laws which are +robbing us of our inheritance and reducing us to slavery? If this is +Christianity I hate and despise it. Would the most cruel heathen do +worse?" + +"My dear child, I have not learned my Christianity from them. I have +learned it at the foot of the cross, and from this book," she said, +placing a New Testament in Iola's hands. "Some of the most beautiful +lessons of faith and trust I have ever learned were from among our lowly +people in their humble cabins." + +"Mamma!" called a faint voice from the adjoining room. Marie +immediately arose and went to the bedside of her sick child, where Mammy +Liza was holding her faithful vigils. The child had just awakened from a +fitful sleep. + +"I thought," she said, "that I heard Iola's voice. Has she come?" + +"Yes, darling; do you want to see her?" + +"Oh, yes," she said, as a bright smile broke over her dying features. + +Iola passed quickly into the room. Gracie reached out her thin, +bloodless hand, clasped Iola's palm in hers, and said: "I am so glad you +have come. Dear Iola, stand by mother. You and Harry are all she has. It +is not hard to die. You and mother and Harry must meet me in heaven." + +Swiftly the tidings went through the house that Gracie was dying. The +servants gathered around her with tearful eyes, as she bade them all +good-bye. When she had finished, and Mammy had lowered the pillow, an +unwonted radiance lit up her eye, and an expression of ineffable +gladness overspread her face, as she murmured: "It is beautiful, so +beautiful!" Fainter and fainter grew her voice, until, without a +struggle or sigh, she passed away beyond the power of oppression and +prejudice. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +A REJECTED SUITOR. + +Very unexpected was Dr. Gresham's proposal to Iola. She had heartily +enjoyed his society and highly valued his friendship, but he had never +been associated in her mind with either love or marriage. As he held her +hand in his a tell-tale flush rose to her cheek, a look of grateful +surprise beamed from her eye, but it was almost immediately succeeded by +an air of inexpressible sadness, a drooping of her eyelids, and an +increasing pallor of her cheek. She withdrew her hand from his, shook +her head sadly, and said:-- + +"No, Doctor; that can never be. I am very grateful to you for your +kindness. I value your friendship, but neither gratitude nor friendship +is love, and I have nothing more than those to give." + +"Not at present," said Dr. Gresham; "but may I not hope your friendship +will ripen into love?" + +"Doctor, I could not promise. I do not think that I should. There are +barriers between us that I cannot pass. Were you to know them I think +you would say the same." + +Just then the ambulance brought in a wounded scout, and Iola found +relief from the wounds of her own heart in attending to his. + +Dr. Gresham knew the barrier that lay between them. It was one which his +love had surmounted. But he was too noble and generous to take advantage +of her loneliness to press his suit. He had lived in a part of the +country where he had scarcely ever seen a colored person, and around the +race their misfortunes had thrown a halo of romance. To him the negro +was a picturesque being, over whose woes he had wept when a child, and +whose wrongs he was ready to redress when a man. But when he saw the +lovely girl who had been rescued by the commander of the post from the +clutches of slavery, all the manhood and chivalry in his nature arose in +her behalf, and he was ready to lay on the altar of her heart his first +grand and overmastering love. Not discouraged by her refusal, but +determined to overcome her objections, Dr. Gresham resolved that he +would abide his time. + +Iola was not indifferent to Dr. Gresham. She admired his manliness and +respected his character. He was tall and handsome, a fine specimen of +the best brain and heart of New England. He had been nurtured under +grand and ennobling influences. His father was a devoted Abolitionist. +His mother was kind-hearted, but somewhat exclusive and aristocratic. +She would have looked upon his marriage with Iola as a mistake and +feared that such an alliance would hurt the prospects of her daughters. + +During Iola's stay in the North, she had learned enough of the racial +feeling to influence her decision in reference to Dr. Gresham's offer. +Iola, like other girls, had had her beautiful day-dreams before she was +rudely awakened by the fate which had dragged her into the depths of +slavery. In the chambers of her imagery were pictures of noble deeds; of +high, heroic men, knightly, tender, true, and brave. In Dr. Gresham she +saw the ideal of her soul exemplified. But in her lonely condition, +with all its background of terrible sorrow and deep abasement, she had +never for a moment thought of giving or receiving love from one of that +race who had been so lately associated in her mind with horror, +aversion, and disgust. His kindness to her had been a new experience. +His companionship was an unexpected pleasure. She had learned to enjoy +his presence and to miss him when absent, and when she began to question +her heart she found that unconsciously it was entwining around him. + +"Yes," she said to herself, "I do like him; but I can never marry him. +To the man I marry my heart must be as open as the flowers to the sun. I +could not accept his hand and hide from him the secret of my birth; and +I could not consent to choose the happiest lot on earth without first +finding my poor heart-stricken and desolate mother. Perhaps some day I +may have the courage to tell him my sad story, and then make my heart +the sepulchre in which to bury all the love which might have gladdened +and brightened my whole life." + +During the sad and weary months which ensued while the war dragged its +slow length along, Dr. Gresham and Iola often met by the bedsides of the +wounded and dying, and sometimes he would drop a few words at which her +heart would beat quicker and her cheek flush more vividly. But he was so +kind, tender, and respectful, that Iola had no idea he knew her race +affiliations. She knew from unmistakable signs that Dr. Gresham had +learned to love her, and that he had power to call forth the warmest +affection of her soul; but she fought with her own heart and repressed +its rising love. She felt that it was best for his sake that they should +not marry. When she saw the evidences of his increasing love she +regretted that she had not informed him at the first of the barrier that +lay between them; it might have saved him unnecessary suffering. +Thinking thus, Iola resolved, at whatever cost of pain it might be to +herself, to explain to Dr. Gresham what she meant by the insurmountable +barrier. Iola, after a continuous strain upon her nervous system for +months, began to suffer from general debility and nervous depression. +Dr. Gresham saw the increasing pallor on Iola's cheek and the loss of +buoyancy in her step. One morning, as she turned from the bed of a young +soldier for whom she had just written a letter to his mother, there was +such a look of pity and sorrow on her face that Dr. Gresham's whole +heart went out in sympathy for her, and he resolved to break the silence +he had imposed upon himself. + +"Iola," he said, and there was a depth of passionate tenderness in his +voice, a volume of unexpressed affection in his face, "you are wronging +yourself. You are sinking beneath burdens too heavy for you to bear. It +seems to me that besides the constant drain upon your sympathies there +is some great sorrow preying upon your life; some burden that ought to +be shared." He gazed upon her so ardently that each cord of her heart +seemed to vibrate, and unbidden tears sprang to her lustrous eyes, as +she said, sadly:-- + +"Doctor, you are right." + +"Iola, my heart is longing to lift those burdens from your life. Love, +like faith, laughs at impossibilities. I can conceive of no barrier too +high for my love to surmount. Consent to be mine, as nothing else on +earth is mine." + +"Doctor, you know not what you ask," replied Iola. "Instead of coming +into this hospital a self-sacrificing woman, laying her every gift and +advantage upon the altar of her country, I came as a rescued slave, glad +to find a refuge from a fate more cruel than death; a fate from which I +was rescued by the intervention of my dear dead friend, Thomas Anderson. +I was born on a lonely plantation on the Mississippi River, where the +white population was very sparse. We had no neighbors who ever visited +us; no young white girls with whom I ever played in my childhood; but, +never having enjoyed such companionship, I was unconscious of any sense +of privation. Our parents spared no pains to make the lives of their +children (we were three) as bright and pleasant as they could. Our home +was so happy. We had a large number of servants, who were devoted to us. +I never had the faintest suspicion that there was any wrongfulness in +slavery, and I never dreamed of the dreadful fate which broke in a storm +of fearful anguish over our devoted heads. Papa used to take us to New +Orleans to see the Mardi Gras, and while there we visited the theatres +and other places of amusement and interest. At home we had books, +papers, and magazines to beguile our time. Perfectly ignorant of my +racial connection, I was sent to a Northern academy, and soon made many +friends among my fellow-students. Companionship with girls of my own age +was a new experience, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I spent several years +in New England, and was busily preparing for my commencement exercises +when my father was snatched away--died of yellow fever on his way North +to witness my graduation. Through a stratagem, I was brought hurriedly +from the North, and found that my father was dead; that his nearest +kinsman had taken possession of our property; that my mother's marriage +had been declared illegal, because of an imperceptible infusion of negro +blood in her veins; and that she and her children had been remanded to +slavery. I was torn from my mother, sold as a slave, and subjected to +cruel indignities, from which I was rescued and a place given to me in +this hospital. Doctor, I did not choose my lot in life, but I have no +other alternative than to accept it. The intense horror and agony I felt +when I was first told the story are over. Thoughts and purposes have +come to me in the shadow I should never have learned in the sunshine. I +am constantly rousing myself up to suffer and be strong. I intend, when +this conflict is over, to cast my lot with the freed people as a helper, +teacher, and friend. I have passed through a fiery ordeal, but this +ministry of suffering will not be in vain. I feel that my mind has +matured beyond my years. I am a wonder to myself. It seems as if years +had been compressed into a few short months. In telling you this, do you +not, can you not, see that there is an insurmountable barrier between +us?" + +"No, I do not," replied Dr. Gresham. "I love you for your own sake. And +with this the disadvantages of birth have nothing to do." + +"You say so now, and I believe that you are perfectly sincere. Today +your friendship springs from compassion, but, when that subsides, might +you not look on me as an inferior?" + +"Iola, you do not understand me. You think too meanly of me. You must +not judge me by the worst of my race. Surely our country has produced a +higher type of manhood than the men by whom you were tried and tempted." + +"Tried, but not tempted," said Iola, as a deep flush overspread her +face; "I was never tempted. I was sold from State to State as an article +of merchandise. I had outrages heaped on me which might well crimson the +cheek of honest womanhood with shame, but I never fell into the clutches +of an owner for whom I did not feel the utmost loathing and intensest +horror. I have heard men talk glibly of the degradation of the negro, +but there is a vast difference between abasement of condition and +degradation of character. I was abased, but the men who trampled on me +were the degraded ones." + +"But, Iola, you must not blame all for what a few have done." + +"A few have done? Did not the whole nation consent to our abasement?" +asked Iola, bitterly. + +"No, Miss Iola, we did not all consent to it. Slavery drew a line of +cleavage in this country. Although we were under one government we were +farther apart in our sentiments than if we had been divided by lofty +mountains and separated by wide seas. And had not Northern sentiment +been brought to bear against the institution, slavery would have been +intact until to-day." + +"But, Doctor, the negro is under a social ban both North and South. Our +enemies have the ear of the world, and they can depict us just as they +please." + +"That is true; but the negro has no other alternative than to make +friends of his calamities. Other men have plead his cause, but out of +the race must come its own defenders. With them the pen must be +mightier than the sword. It is the weapon of civilization, and they must +use it in their own defense. We cannot tell what is in them until they +express themselves." + +"Yes, and I think there is a large amount of latent and undeveloped +ability in the race, which they will learn to use for their own benefit. +This my hospital experience has taught me." + +"But," said Dr. Gresham, "they must learn to struggle, labor, and +achieve. By facts, not theories, they will be judged in the future. The +Anglo-Saxon race is proud, domineering, aggressive, and impatient of a +rival, and, as I think, has more capacity for dragging down a weaker +race than uplifting it. They have been a conquering and achieving +people, marvelous in their triumphs of mind over matter. They have +manifested the traits of character which are developed by success and +victory." + +"And yet," said Iola, earnestly, "I believe the time will come when the +civilization of the negro will assume a better phase than you +Anglo-Saxons possess. You will prove unworthy of your high vantage +ground if you only use your superior ability to victimize feebler races +and minister to a selfish greed of gold and a love of domination." + +"But, Iola," said Dr. Gresham, a little impatiently, "what has all this +to do with our marriage? Your complexion is as fair as mine. What is to +hinder you from sharing my Northern home, from having my mother to be +your mother?" The tones of his voice grew tender, as he raised his eyes +to Iola's face and anxiously awaited her reply. + +"Dr. Gresham," said Iola, sadly, "should the story of my life be +revealed to your family, would they be willing to ignore all the +traditions of my blood, forget all the terrible humiliations through +which I have passed? I have too much self-respect to enter your home +under a veil of concealment. I have lived in New England. I love the +sunshine of her homes and the freedom of her institutions. But New +England is not free from racial prejudice, and I would never enter a +family where I would be an unwelcome member." + +"Iola, dear, you have nothing to fear in that direction." + +"Doctor," she said, and a faint flush rose to her cheek, "suppose we +should marry, and little children in after years should nestle in our +arms, and one of them show unmistakable signs of color, would you be +satisfied?" + +She looked steadfastly into his eyes, which fell beneath her +truth-seeking gaze. His face flushed as if the question had suddenly +perplexed him. Iola saw the irresolution on his face, and framed her +answer accordingly. + +"Ah, I see," she said, "that you are puzzled. You had not taken into +account what might result from such a marriage. I will relieve you from +all embarrassment by simply saying I cannot be your wife. When the war +is over I intend to search the country for my mother. Doctor, were you +to give me a palace-like home, with velvet carpets to hush my tread, and +magnificence to surround my way, I should miss her voice amid all other +tones, her presence amid every scene. Oh, you do not know how hungry my +heart is for my mother! Were I to marry you I would carry an aching +heart into your home and dim its brightness. I have resolved never to +marry until I have found my mother. The hope of finding her has colored +all my life since I regained my freedom. It has helped sustain me in the +hour of fearful trial. When I see her I want to have the proud +consciousness that I bring her back a heart just as loving, faithful, +and devoted as the last hour we parted." + +"And is this your final answer?" + +"It is. I have pledged my life to that resolve, and I believe time and +patience will reward me." + +There was a deep shadow of sorrow and disappointment on the face of Dr. +Gresham as he rose to leave. For a moment he held her hand as it lay +limp in his own. If she wavered in her determination it was only for a +moment. No quivering of her lip or paling of her cheek betrayed any +struggle of her heart. Her resolve was made, and his words were +powerless to swerve her from the purpose of her soul. + +After Dr. Gresham had gone Iola went to her room and sat buried in +thought. It seemed as if the fate of Tantalus was hers, without his +crimes. Here she was lonely and heart-stricken, and unto her was +presented the offer of love, home, happiness, and social position; the +heart and hand of a man too noble and generous to refuse her +companionship for life on account of the blood in her veins. Why should +she refuse these desirable boons? But, mingling with these beautiful +visions of manly love and protecting care she saw the anguish of her +heart-stricken mother and the pale, sweet face of her dying sister, as +with her latest breath she had said, "Iola, stand by mamma!" + +"No, no," she said to herself; "I was right to refuse Dr. Gresham. How +dare I dream of happiness when my poor mamma's heart may be slowly +breaking? I should be ashamed to live and ashamed to die were I to +choose a happy lot for myself and leave poor mamma to struggle alone. I +will never be satisfied till I get tidings of her. And when I have found +her I will do all I can to cheer and brighten the remnant of her life." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + +HARRY LEROY. + +It was several weeks after Iola had written to her brother that her +letter reached him. The trusty servant to whom she delivered it watched +his opportunity to mail it. At last he succeeded in slipping it into +Lorraine's mail and dropping them all into the post office together. +Harry was studying at a boys' academy in Maine. His father had given +that State the preference because, while on a visit there, he had been +favorably impressed with the kindness and hospitality of the people. He +had sent his son a large sum of money, and given him permission to spend +awhile with some school-chums till he was ready to bring the family +North, where they could all spend the summer together. Harry had +returned from his visit, and was looking for letters and remittances +from home, when a letter, all crumpled, was handed him by the principal +of the academy. He recognized his sister's handwriting and eagerly +opened the letter. As he read, he turned very pale; then a deep flush +overspread his face and an angry light flashed from his eyes. As he read +on, his face became still paler; he gasped for breath and fell into a +swoon. Appalled at the sudden change which had swept over him like a +deadly sirocco, the principal rushed to the fallen boy, picked up the +missive that lay beside him, and immediately rang for help and +dispatched for the doctor. The doctor came at once and was greatly +puzzled. Less than an hour before, he had seen him with a crowd of +merry, laughter-loving boys, apparently as light-hearted and joyous as +any of them; now he lay with features drawn and pinched, his face deadly +pale, as if some terrible suffering had sent all the blood in his veins +to stagnate around his heart. Harry opened his eyes, shuddered, and +relapsed into silence. The doctor, all at sea in regard to the cause of +the sudden attack, did all that he could to restore him to consciousness +and quiet the perturbation of his spirit. He succeeded, but found he was +strangely silent. A terrible shock had sent a tremor through every +nerve, and the doctor watched with painful apprehension its effect upon +his reason. Giving him an opiate and enjoining that he should be kept +perfectly quiet, the doctor left the room, sought the principal, and +said:-- + +"Mr. Bascom, here is a case that baffles my skill. I saw that boy pass +by my window not more than half an hour ago, full of animation, and now +he lies hovering between life and death. I have great apprehension for +his reason. Can you throw any light on the subject?" + +Mr. Bascom hesitated. + +"I am not asking you as a matter of idle curiosity, but as a physician. +I must have all the light I can get in making my diagnosis of the case." + +The principal arose, went to his desk, took out the letter which he had +picked up from the floor, and laid it in the physician's hand. As the +doctor read, a look of indignant horror swept over his face. Then he +said: "Can it be possible! I never suspected such a thing. It must be a +cruel, senseless hoax." + +"Doctor," said Mr. Bascom, "I have been a life-long Abolitionist and +have often read of the cruelties and crimes of American slavery, but +never before did I realize the low moral tone of the social life under +which such shameless cruelties could be practiced on a defenseless widow +and her orphaned children. Let me read the letter again. Just look at +it, all tear-blotted and written with a trembling hand:-- + + + 'DEAR BROTHER:--I have dreadful news for you and I hardly know how + to tell it. Papa and Gracie are both dead. He died of yellow fever. + Mamma is almost distracted. Papa's cousin has taken possession of + our property, and instead of heirs we are chattels. Mamma has + explained the whole situation to me. She was papa's slave before she + married. He loved her, manumitted, educated, and married her. When + he died Mr. Lorraine entered suit for his property and Judge + Starkins has decided in his favor. The decree of the court has made + their marriage invalid, robbed us of our inheritance, and remanded + us all to slavery. Mamma is too wretched to attempt to write + herself, but told me to entreat you not to attempt to come home. You + can do us no good, and that mean, cruel Lorraine may do you much + harm. Don't attempt, I beseech you, to come home. Show this letter + to Mr. Bascom and let him advise you what to do. But don't, for our + sake, attempt to come home. + + 'Your heart-broken sister, + + 'IOLA LEROY.'" + + +"This," said the doctor, "is a very awkward affair. The boy is too ill +to be removed. It is doubtful if the nerves which have trembled with +such fearful excitement will ever recover their normal condition. It is +simply a work of mercy to watch over him with the tenderest care." + +Fortunately for Harry he had fallen into good hands, and the most tender +care and nursing were bestowed upon him. For awhile Harry was strangely +silent, never referring to the terrible misfortune which had so suddenly +overshadowed his life. It seemed as if the past were suddenly blotted +out of his memory. But he was young and of an excellent constitution, +and in a few months he was slowly recovering. + +"Doctor," said he one day, as the physician sat at his bedside, "I seem +to have had a dreadful dream, and to have dreamt that my father was +dead, and my mother and sister were in terrible trouble, but I could not +help them. Doctor, was it a dream, or was it a reality? It could not +have been a dream, for when I fell asleep the grass was green and the +birds were singing, but now the winds are howling and the frost is on +the ground. Doctor, tell me how it is? How long have I been here?" + +Sitting by his bedside, and taking his emaciated hand in his, the doctor +said, in a kind, fatherly tone: "My dear boy, you have been very ill, +and everything depends on your keeping quiet, very quiet." + +As soon as he was strong enough the principal gave him his letter to +read. + +"But, Mr. Bascom," Harry said, "I do not understand this. It says my +mother and father were legally married. How could her marriage be set +aside and her children robbed of their inheritance? This is not a +heathen country. I hardly think barbarians would have done any worse; +yet this is called a Christian country." + +"Christian in name," answered the principal. "When your father left you +in my care, knowing that I was an Abolitionist, he confided his secret +to me. He said that life was full of vicissitudes, and he wished you to +have a good education. He wanted you and your sister to be prepared for +any emergency. He did not wish you to know that you had negro blood in +your veins. He knew that the spirit of caste pervaded the nation, North +and South, and he was very anxious to have his children freed from its +depressing influences. He did not intend to stay South after you had +finished your education." + +"But," said Harry, "I cannot understand. If my mother was lawfully +married, how could they deprive her of her marital rights?" + +"When Lorraine," continued Mr. Bascom, "knew your father was dead, all +he had to do was to find a flaw in her manumission, and, of course, the +marriage became illegal. She could not then inherit property nor +maintain her freedom; and her children followed her condition." + +Harry listened attentively. Things which had puzzled him once now became +perfectly clear. He sighed heavily, and, turning to the principal, said: +"I see things in a new light. Now I remember that none of the planters' +wives ever visited my mother; and we never went to church except when my +father took us to the Cathedral in New Orleans. My father was a +Catholic, but I don't think mamma is." + +"Now, Harry," said the principal, "life is before you. If you wish to +stay North, I will interest friends in your behalf, and try to get you a +situation. Going South is out of the question. It is probable that by +this time your mother and sister are removed from their home. You are +powerless to fight against the law that enslaved them. Should you fall +into the clutches of Lorraine, he might give you a great deal of +trouble. You would be pressed into the Confederate service to help them +throw up barricades, dig trenches, and add to the strength of those who +enslaved your mother and sister." + +"Never! never!" cried Harry. "I would rather die than do it! I should +despise myself forever if I did." + +"Numbers of our young men," said Mr. Bascom, "have gone to the war which +is now raging between North and South. You have been sick for several +months, and much has taken place of which you are unaware. Would you +like to enlist?" + +"I certainly would; not so much for the sake of fighting for the +Government, as with the hope of finding my mother and sister, and +avenging their wrongs. I should like to meet Lorraine on the +battle-field." + +"What kind of a regiment would you prefer, white or colored?" + +Harry winced when the question was asked. He felt the reality of his +situation as he had not done before. It was as if two paths had suddenly +opened before him, and he was forced to choose between them. On one side +were strength, courage, enterprise, power of achievement, and memories +of a wonderful past. On the other side were weakness, ignorance, +poverty, and the proud world's social scorn. He knew nothing of colored +people except as slaves, and his whole soul shrank from equalizing +himself with them. He was fair enough to pass unchallenged among the +fairest in the land, and yet a Christless prejudice had decreed that he +should be a social pariah. He sat, thoughtful and undecided, as if a +great struggle were going on in his mind. Finally the principal said, "I +do not think that you should be assigned to a colored regiment because +of the blood in your veins, but you will have, in such a regiment, +better facilities for finding your mother and sister." + +"You are right, Mr. Bascom. To find my mother and sister I call no task +too heavy, no sacrifice too great." + +Since Harry had come North he had learned to feel profound pity for the +slave. But there is a difference between looking on a man as an object +of pity and protecting him as such, and being identified with him and +forced to share his lot. To take his place with them on the arena of +life was the test of his life, but love was stronger than pride. + +His father was dead. His mother and sister were enslaved by a mockery of +justice. It was more than a matter of choice where he should stand on +the racial question. He felt that he must stand where he could strike +the most effective blow for their freedom. With that thought strong in +his mind, and as soon as he recovered, he went westward to find a +colored regiment. He told the recruiting officer that he wished to be +assigned to a colored regiment. + +"Why do you wish that," said the officer, looking at Harry with an air +of astonishment. + +"Because I am a colored man." + +The officer look puzzled. It was a new experience. He had seen colored +men with fair complexions anxious to lose their identity with the +colored race and pose as white men, but here was a man in the flush of +his early manhood, to whom could come dreams of promotion from a simple +private to a successful general, deliberately turning his back upon +every gilded hope and dazzling opportunity, to cast his lot with the +despised and hated negro. + +"I do not understand you," said the officer. "Surely you are a white +man, and, as such, I will enlist you in a white regiment." + +"No," said Harry, firmly, "I am a colored man, and unless I can be +assigned to a colored regiment I am not willing to enter the army." + +"Well," said the officer, "you are the d----d'st fool I ever saw--a man +as white as you are turning his back upon his chances of promotion! But +you can take your choice." + +So Harry was permitted to enter the army. By his promptness and valor he +soon won the hearts of his superior officers, and was made drill +sergeant. Having nearly all of his life been used to colored people, and +being taught by his mother to be kind and respectful to them, he was +soon able to gain their esteem. He continued in the regiment until Grant +began the task of opening the Mississippi. After weeks of fruitless +effort, Grant marched his army down the west side of the river, while +the gunboats undertook the perilous task of running the batteries. Men +were found for the hour. The volunteers offered themselves in such +numbers that lots were cast to determine who should have the opportunity +to enlist in an enterprise so fraught with danger. Harry was one on whom +the lot fell. + +Grant crossed the river below, coiled his forces around Vicksburg like +a boa-constrictor, and held it in his grasp. After forty-seven days of +endurance the city surrendered to him. Port Hudson, after the surrender +of Vicksburg, gave up the unequal contest, and the Mississippi was open +to the Gulf. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + +ROBERT AND HIS COMPANY. + +"Good morning, gentlemen," said Robert Johnson, as he approached Colonel +Robinson, the commander of the post, who was standing at the door of his +tent, talking with Captain Sybil. + +"Good morning," responded Colonel Robinson, "I am glad you have come. I +was just about to send for you. How is your company getting on?" + +"First rate, sir," replied Robert. + +"In good health?" + +"Excellent. They are all in good health and spirits. Our boys are used +to hardship and exposure, and the hope of getting their freedom puts new +snap into them." + +"I am glad of it," said Colonel Robinson. "They make good fighters and +very useful allies. Last night we received very valuable intelligence +from some fugitives who had escaped through the Rebel lines. I do not +think many of the Northern people realize the service they have been to +us in bringing information and helping our boys when escaping from Rebel +prisons. I never knew a full-blooded negro to betray us. A month ago, +when we were encamped near the Rebel lines, a colored woman managed +admirably to keep us posted as to the intended movements of the enemy. +She was engaged in laundry work, and by means of hanging her sheets in +different ways gave us the right signals." + +"I hope," said Captain Sybil, "that the time will come when some +faithful historian will chronicle all the deeds of daring and-service +these people have performed during this struggle, and give them due +credit therefor." + +"Our great mistake," said Colonel Robinson, "was our long delay in +granting them their freedom, and even what we have done is only partial. +The border States still retain their slaves. We ought to have made a +clean sweep of the whole affair. Slavery is a serpent which we nourished +in its weakness, and now it is stinging us in its strength." + +"I think so, too," said Captain Sybil. "But in making his proclamation +of freedom, perhaps Mr. Lincoln went as far as he thought public opinion +would let him." + +"It is remarkable," said Colonel Robinson, "how these Secesh hold out. +It surprises me to see how poor white men, who, like the negroes, are +victims of slavery, rally around the Stripes and Bars. These men, I +believe, have been looked down on by the aristocratic slaveholders, and +despised by the well-fed and comfortable slaves, yet they follow their +leaders into the very jaws of death; face hunger, cold, disease, and +danger; and all for what? What, under heaven, are they fighting for? +Now, the negro, ignorant as he is, has learned to regard our flag as a +banner of freedom, and to look forward to his deliverance as a +consequence of the overthrow of the Rebellion." + +"I think," said Captain Sybil "that these ignorant white men have been +awfully deceived. They have had presented to their imaginations utterly +false ideas of the results of Secession, and have been taught that its +success would bring them advantages which they had never enjoyed in the +Union." + +"And I think," said Colonel Robinson, "that the women and ministers have +largely fed and fanned the fires of this Rebellion, and have helped to +create a public opinion which has swept numbers of benighted men into +the conflict. Well might one of their own men say, 'This is a rich man's +war and a poor man's fight.' They were led into it through their +ignorance, and held in it by their fears." + +"I think," said Captain Sybil, "that if the public school had been +common through the South this war would never have occurred. Now things +have reached such a pass that able-bodied men must report at +headquarters, or be treated as deserters. Their leaders are desperate +men, of whom it has been said: 'They have robbed the cradle and the +grave.'" + +"They are fighting against fearful odds," said Colonel Robinson, "and +their defeat is only a question of time." + +"As soon," said Robert, "as they fired on Fort Sumter, Uncle Daniel, a +dear old father who had been praying and hoping for freedom, said to me: +'Dey's fired on Fort Sumter, an' mark my words, Bob, de Norf's boun' +ter whip.'" + +"Had we freed the slaves at the outset," said Captain Sybil, "we +wouldn't have given the Rebels so much opportunity to strengthen +themselves by means of slave labor in raising their crops, throwing up +their entrenchments, and building their fortifications. Slavery was a +deadly cancer eating into the life of the nation; but, somehow, it had +cast such a glamour over us that we have acted somewhat as if our +national safety were better preserved by sparing the cancer than by +cutting it out." + +"Political and racial questions have sadly complicated this matter," +said Colonel Robinson. "The North is not wholly made up of anti-slavery +people. At the beginning of this war we were not permeated with justice, +and so were not ripe for victory. The battle of Bull Run inaugurated the +war by a failure. Instead of glory we gathered shame, and defeat in +place of victory." + +"We have been slow," said Captain Sybil, "to see our danger and to do +our duty. Our delay has cost us thousands of lives and millions of +dollars. Yet it may be it is all for the best. Our national wound was +too deep to be lightly healed. When the President issued his +Emancipation Proclamation my heart overflowed with joy, and I said: +'This is the first bright rift in the war cloud.'" + +"And did you really think that they would accept the terms of freedom +and lay down their arms?" asked Robert. + +"I hardly thought they would," continued Captain Sybil. "I did not think +that their leaders would permit it. I believe the rank and file of their +army are largely composed of a mass of ignorance, led, manipulated, and +moulded by educated and ambitious wickedness. In attempting to overthrow +the Union, a despotism and reign of terror were created which +encompassed them as fetters of iron, and they will not accept the +conditions until they have reached the last extremity. I hardly think +they are yet willing to confess that such extremity has been reached." + +"Captain," said Robert, as they left Colonel Robinson's tent, "I have +lived all my life where I have had a chance to hear the 'Secesh' talk, +and when they left their papers around I used to read everything I could +lay my hands on. It seemed to me that the big white men not only ruled +over the poor whites and made laws for them, but over the whole nation." + +"That was so," replied Captain Sybil. "The North was strong but +forbearing. It was busy in trade and commerce, and permitted them to +make the Northern States hunting-grounds for their slaves. When we sent +back Simms and Burns from beneath the shadow of Bunker Hill Monument and +Faneuil Hall, they mistook us; looked upon us as a lot of +money-grabbers, who would be willing to purchase peace at any price. I +do not believe when they fired on the 'Star of the West' that they had +the least apprehension of the fearful results which were to follow their +madness and folly." + +"Well, Captain," asked Robert, "if the free North would submit to be +called on to help them catch their slaves, what could be expected of us, +who all our lives had known no other condition than that of slavery? How +much braver would you have been, if your first recollections had been +those of seeing your mother maltreated, your father cruelly beaten, or +your fellow-servants brutally murdered? I wonder why they never enslaved +the Indians!" + +"You are mistaken, Robert, if you think the Indians were never enslaved. +I have read that the Spaniards who visited the coasts of America +kidnapped thousands of Indians, whom they sent to Europe and the West +Indies as slaves. Columbus himself, we are informed, captured five +hundred natives, and sent them to Spain. The Indian had the lesser power +of endurance, and Las Cassas suggested the enslavement of the negro, +because he seemed to possess greater breadth of physical organization +and stronger power of endurance. Slavery was an old world's crime which, +I have heard, the Indians never practiced among themselves. Perhaps it +would have been harder to reduce them to slavery and hold them in +bondage when they had a vast continent before them, where they could +hide in the vastnesses of its mountains or the seclusion of its forests, +than it was for white men to visit the coasts of Africa and, with their +superior knowledge, obtain cargoes of slaves, bring them across the +ocean, hem them in on the plantations, and surround them with a pall of +dense ignorance." + +"I remember," said Robert, "in reading a history I once came across at +our house, that when the Africans first came to this country they did +not all speak one language. Some had only met as mutual enemies. They +were not all one color, their complexions ranging from tawny yellow to +deep black." + +"Yes," said Captain Sybil, "and in dealing with the negro we wanted his +labor; in dealing with the Indian we wanted his lands. For one we had +weapons of war; for the other we had real and invisible chains, the +coercion of force, and the terror of the unseen world." + +"That's exactly so, Captain! When I was a boy I used to hear the old +folks tell what would happen to bad people in another world; about the +devil pouring hot lead down people's throats and stirring them up with a +pitch-fork; and I used to get so scared that I would be afraid to go to +bed at night. I don't suppose the Indians ever heard of such things, +or, if they had, I never heard of them being willing to give away all +their lands on earth, and quietly wait for a home in heaven." + +"But, surely, Robert, you do not think religion has degraded the negro?" + +"Oh, I wouldn't say that. But a man is in a tight fix when he takes his +part, like Nat Turner or Denmark Veasy, and is made to fear that he will +be hanged in this world and be burned in the next. And, since I come to +think of it, we colored folks used to get mightily mixed up about our +religion. Mr. Gundover had on his plantation a real smart man. He was +religious, but he would steal." + +"Oh, Robert," queried Sybil, "how could he be religious and steal?" + +"He didn't think," retorted Robert, "it was any harm to steal from his +master. I guess he thought it was right to get from his master all he +could. He would have thought it wrong to steal from his fellow-servants. +He thought that downright mean, but I wouldn't have insured the lives of +Gundover's pigs and chickens, if Uncle Jack got them in a tight place. +One day there was a minister stopping with Mr. Gundover. As a matter of +course, in speaking of his servants, he gave Jack's sins an airing. He +would much rather confess Jack's sins than his own. Now Gundover wanted +to do two things, save his pigs and poultry, and save Jack's soul. He +told the minister that Jack was a liar and a thief, and gave the +minister a chance to talk with Uncle Jack about the state of his soul. +Uncle Jack listened very quietly, and when taxed with stealing his +master's wheat he was ready with an answer. 'Now Massa Parker,' said +Jack, 'lem'me tell yer jis' how it war 'bout dat wheat. Wen ole Jack +com'd down yere, dis place war all growed up in woods. He go ter work, +clared up de groun' an' plowed, an' planted, an' riz a crap, an' den wen +it war all done, he hadn't a dollar to buy his ole woman a gown; an' he +jis' took a bag ob wheat.'" + +"What did Mr. Parker say?" asked Sybil. + +"I don't know, though I reckon he didn't think it was a bad steal after +all, but I don't suppose he told Jack so. When he came to the next +point, about Jack's lying, I suppose he thought he had a clear case; but +Jack was equal to the occasion." + +"How did he clear up that charge?" interrogated Captain Sybil. + +"Finely. I think if he had been educated he would have made a first-rate +lawyer. He said, 'Marse Parker, dere's old Joe. His wife don't lib on +dis plantation. Old Joe go ober ter see her, but he stayed too long, an' +didn't git back in time fer his work. Massa's oberseer kotched him an' +cut him all up. When de oberseer went inter de house, pore old Joe war +all tired an' beat up, an' so he lay down by de fence corner and go ter +sleep. Bimeby Massa oberseer com'd an' axed, "all bin a workin' libely?" +I say "Yes, Massa."' Then said Mr. Parker, 'You were lying, Joe had been +sleeping, not working.' 'I know's dat, but ef I tole on Joe, Massa +oberseer cut him all up again, and Massa Jesus says, "Blessed am de +Peacemaker."' I heard, continued Robert, that Mr. Parker said to +Gundover, 'You seem to me like a man standing in a stream where the +blood of Jesus can reach you, but you are standing between it and your +slaves. How will you answer that in the Day of Judgment?'" + +"What did Gundover say?" asked Captain Sybil. + +"He turned pale, and said, 'For God's sake don't speak of the Day of +Judgment in connection with slavery.'" + +Just then a messenger brought a communication to Captain Sybil. He read +it attentively, and, turning to Robert, said, "Here are orders for an +engagement at Five Forks to-morrow. Oh, this wasting of life and +scattering of treasure might have been saved had we only been wiser. But +the time is passing. Look after your company, and see that everything is +in readiness as soon as possible." + +Carefully Robert superintended the arrangements for the coming battle of +a strife which for years had thrown its crimson shadows over the land. +The Rebels fought with a valor worthy of a better cause. The disaster of +Bull Run had been retrieved. Sherman had made his famous march to the +sea. Fighting Joe Hooker had scaled the stronghold of the storm king and +won a victory in the palace chamber of the clouds; the Union soldiers +had captured Columbia, replanted the Stars and Stripes in Charleston, +and changed that old sepulchre of slavery into the cradle of a new-born +freedom. Farragut had been as triumphant on water as the other generals +had been victorious on land, and New Orleans had been wrenched from the +hands of the Confederacy. The Rebel leaders were obstinate. Misguided +hordes had followed them to defeat and death. Grant was firm and +determined to fight it out if it took all summer. The closing battles +were fought with desperate courage and firm resistance, but at last the +South was forced to succumb. On the ninth day of April, 1865, General +Lee surrendered to General Grant. The lost cause went down in blood and +tears, and on the brows of a ransomed people God poured the chrism of a +new era, and they stood a race newly anointed with freedom. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + +AFTER THE BATTLE. + +Very sad and heart-rending were the scenes with which Iola came in +constant contact. Well may Christian men and women labor and pray for +the time when nations shall learn war no more; when, instead of bloody +conflicts, there shall be peaceful arbitration. The battle in which +Robert fought, after his last conversation with Captain Sybil, was one +of the decisive struggles of the closing conflict. The mills of doom and +fate had ground out a fearful grist of agony and death, + + "And lives of men and souls of States + Were thrown like chaff beyond the gates." + +Numbers were taken prisoners. Pale, young corpses strewed the earth; +manhood was stricken down in the flush of its energy and prime. The +ambulances brought in the wounded and dying. Captain Sybil laid down his +life on the altar of freedom. His prediction was fulfilled. Robert was +brought into the hospital, wounded, but not dangerously. Iola remembered +him as being the friend of Tom Anderson, and her heart was drawn +instinctively towards him. For awhile he was delirious, but her presence +had a soothing effect upon him. He sometimes imagined that she was his +mother, and he would tell her how he had missed her; and then at times +he would call her sister. Iola, tender and compassionate, humored his +fancies, and would sing to him in low, sweet tones some of the hymns +she had learned in her old home in Mississippi. One day she sang a few +verses of the hymn beginning with the words-- + + "Drooping souls no longer grieve, + Heaven is propitious; + If on Christ you do believe, + You will find Him precious." + +"That," said he, looking earnestly into Iola's face, "was my mother's +hymn. I have not heard it for years. Where did you learn it?" + +Iola gazed inquiringly upon the face of her patient, and saw, by his +clear gaze and the expression of his face, that his reason had returned. + +"In my home, in Mississippi, from my own dear mother," was Iola's reply. + +"Do you know where she learned it?" asked Robert. + +"When she was a little girl she heard her mother sing it. Years after, a +Methodist preacher came to our house, sang this hymn, and left the book +behind him. My father was a Catholic, but my mother never went to any +church. I did not understand it then, but I do now. We used to sing +together, and read the Bible when we were alone." + +"Do you remember where she came from, and who was her mother?" asked +Robert, anxiously. + +"My dear friend, you must be quiet. The fever has left you, but I will +not answer for the consequences if you get excited." + +Robert lay quiet and thoughtful for awhile and, seeing he was wakeful, +Iola said, "Have you any friends to whom you would like to send a +letter?" + +A pathetic expression flitted over his face, as he sadly replied, "I +haven't, to my knowledge, a single relation in the world. When I was +about ten years old my mother and sister were sold from me. It is more +than twenty years since I have heard from them. But that hymn which you +were singing reminded me so much of my mother! She used to sing it when +I was a child. Please sing it again." + +Iola's voice rose soft and clear by his bedside, till he fell into a +quiet slumber. She remembered that her mother had spoken of her brother +before they had parted, and her interest and curiosity were awakened by +Robert's story. While he slept, she closely scrutinized Robert's +features, and detected a striking resemblance between him and her +mother. + +"Oh, I _do_ wonder if he can be my mother's brother, from whom she has +been separated so many years!" + +Anxious as she was to ascertain if there was any relationship between +Robert and her mother, she forebore to question him on the subject which +lay so near her heart. But one day, when he was so far recovered as to +be able to walk around, he met Iola on the hospital grounds, and said to +her:-- + +"Miss Iola, you remind me so much of my mother and sister that I cannot +help wondering if you are the daughter of my long-lost sister." + +"Do you think," asked Iola, "if you saw the likeness of your sister you +would recognize her?" + +"I am afraid not. But there is one thing I can remember about her: she +used to have a mole on her cheek, which mother used to tell her was her +beauty spot." + +"Look at this," said Iola, handing him a locket which contained her +mother's picture. + +Robert grasped the locket eagerly, scanned the features attentively, +then, handing it back, said: "I have only a faint remembrance of my +sister's features; but I never could recognize in that beautiful woman +the dear little sister with whom I used to play. Oh, the cruelty of +slavery! How it wrenched and tore us apart! Where is _your_ mother now?" + +"Oh, I cannot tell," answered Iola. "I left her in Mississippi. My +father was a wealthy Creole planter, who fell in love with my mother. +She was his slave, but he educated her in the North, freed, and married +her. My father was very careful to have the fact of our negro blood +concealed from us. I had not the slightest suspicion of it. When he was +dead the secret was revealed. His white relations set aside my father's +will, had his marriage declared invalid, and my mother and her children +were remanded to slavery." Iola shuddered as she pronounced the horrid +word, and grew deadly pale; but, regaining her self-possession, +continued: "Now, that freedom has come, I intend to search for my mother +until I find her." + +"I do not wonder," said Robert, "that we had this war. The nation had +sinned enough to suffer." + +"Yes," said Iola, "if national sins bring down national judgments, then +the nation is only reaping what it sowed." + +"What are your plans for the future, or have you any?" asked Robert. + +"I intend offering myself as a teacher in one of the schools which are +being opened in different parts of the country," replied Iola. "As soon +as I am able I will begin my search for my dear mother. I will advertise +for her in the papers, hunt for her in the churches, and use all the +means in my power to get some tidings of her and my brother Harry. What +a cruel thing it was to separate us!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + +FLAMES IN THE SCHOOL-ROOM. + +"Good morning," said Dr. Gresham, approaching Robert and Iola. "How are +you both? You have mended rapidly," turning to Robert, "but then it was +only a flesh wound. Your general health being good, and your blood in +excellent condition, it was not hard for you to rally." + +"Where have you been, Doctor? I have a faint recollection of having seen +you on the morning I was brought in from the field, but not since." + +"I have been on a furlough. I was running down through exhaustion and +overwork, and I was compelled to go home for a few weeks' rest. But now, +as they are about to close the hospital, I shall be permanently +relieved. I am glad that this cruel strife is over. It seemed as if I +had lived through ages during these last few years. In the early part of +the war I lost my arm by a stray shot, and my armless sleeve is one of +the mementos of battle I shall carry with me through life. Miss Leroy," +he continued, turning respectfully to Iola, "would you permit me to ask +you, as I would have someone ask my sister under the same circumstances, +if you have matured any plans for the future, or if I can be of the +least service to you? If so, I would be pleased to render you any +service in my power." + +"My purpose," replied Iola, "is to hunt for my mother, and to find her +if she is alive. I am willing to go anywhere and do anything to find +her. But I will need a standpoint from whence I can send out lines of +inquiry. It must take time, in the disordered state of affairs, even to +get a clue by which I may discover her whereabouts." + +"How would you like to teach?" asked the Doctor. "Schools are being +opened all around us. Numbers of excellent and superior women are coming +from the North to engage as teachers of the freed people. Would you be +willing to take a school among these people? I think it will be uphill +work. I believe it will take generations to get over the duncery of +slavery. Some of these poor fellows who came into our camp did not know +their right hands from their left, nor their ages, nor even the days of +the month. It took me some time, in a number of cases, to understand +their language. It saddened my heart to see such ignorance. One day I +asked one a question, and he answered, "I no shum'." + +"What did he mean?" asked Iola. + +"That he did not see it," replied the doctor. "Of course, this does not +apply to all of them. Some of them are wide-awake and sharp as steel +traps. I think some of that class may be used in helping others." + +"I should be very glad to have an opportunity to teach," said Iola. "I +used to be a great favorite among the colored children on my father's +plantation." + +In a few days after this conversation the hospital was closed. The sick +and convalescent were removed, and Iola obtained a position as a +teacher. Very soon Iola realized that while she was heartily appreciated +by the freedmen, she was an object of suspicion and dislike to their +former owners. The North had conquered by the supremacy of the sword, +and the South had bowed to the inevitable. But here was a new army that +had come with an invasion of ideas, that had come to supplant ignorance +with knowledge, and it was natural that its members should be unwelcome +to those who had made it a crime to teach their slaves to read the name +of the ever blessed Christ. But Iola had found her work, and the freed +men their friend. + +When Iola opened her school she took pains to get acquainted with the +parents of the children, and she gained their confidence and +co-operation. Her face was a passport to their hearts. Ignorant of +books, human faces were the scrolls from which they had been reading for +ages. They had been the sunshine and shadow of their lives. + +Iola had found a school-room in the basement of a colored church, where +the doors were willingly opened to her. Her pupils came from miles +around, ready and anxious to get some "book larnin'." Some of the old +folks were eager to learn, and it was touching to see the eyes which had +grown dim under the shadows of slavery, donning spectacles and trying to +make out the words. As Iola had nearly all of her life been accustomed +to colored children she had no physical repulsions to overcome, no +prejudices to conquer in dealing with parents and children. In their +simple childish fashion they would bring her fruits and flowers, and +gladden her lonely heart with little tokens of affection. + +One day a gentleman came to the school and wished to address the +children. Iola suspended the regular order of the school, and the +gentleman essayed to talk to them on the achievements of the white race, +such as building steamboats and carrying on business. Finally, he asked +how they did it? + +"They've got money," chorused the children. + +"But how did they get it?" + +"They took it from us," chimed the youngsters. Iola smiled, and the +gentleman was nonplussed; but he could not deny that one of the powers +of knowledge is the power of the strong to oppress the weak. + +The school was soon overcrowded with applicants, and Iola was forced to +refuse numbers, because their quarters were too cramped. The school was +beginning to lift up the home, for Iola was not satisfied to teach her +children only the rudiments of knowledge. She had tried to lay the +foundation of good character. But the elements of evil burst upon her +loved and cherished work. One night the heavens were lighted with lurid +flames, and Iola beheld the school, the pride and joy of her pupils and +their parents, a smouldering ruin. Iola gazed with sorrowful dismay on +what seemed the cruel work of an incendiary's torch. While she sat, +mournfully contemplating the work of destruction, her children formed a +procession, and, passing by the wreck of their school, sang:-- + + "Oh, do not be discouraged, + For Jesus is your friend." + +As they sang, the tears sprang to Iola's eyes, and she said to herself, +"I am not despondent of the future of my people; there is too much +elasticity in their spirits, too much hope in their hearts, to be +crushed out by unreasoning malice." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + +SEARCHING FOR LOST ONES. + +To bind anew the ties which slavery had broken and gather together the +remnants of his scattered family became the earnest purpose of Robert's +life. Iola, hopeful that in Robert she had found her mother's brother, +was glad to know she was not alone in _her_ search. Having sent out +lines of inquiry in different directions, she was led to hope, from some +of the replies she had received, that her mother was living somewhere in +Georgia. + +Hearing that a Methodist conference was to convene in that State, and +being acquainted with the bishop of that district, she made arrangements +to accompany him thither. She hoped to gather some tidings of her mother +through the ministers gathered from different parts of that State. + +From her brother she had heard nothing since her father's death. On his +way to the conference, the bishop had an engagement to dedicate a +church, near the city of C----, in North Carolina. Iola was quite +willing to stop there a few days, hoping to hear something of Robert +Johnson's mother. Soon after she had seated herself in the cars she was +approached by a gentleman, who reached out his hand to her, and greeted +her with great cordiality. Iola looked up, and recognized him +immediately as one of her last patients at the hospital. It was none +other than Robert Johnson. + +"I am so glad to meet you," he said. "I am on my way to C---- in search +of my mother. I want to see the person who sold her last, and, if +possible, get some clew to the direction in which she went." + +"And I," said Iola, "am in search of _my_ mother. I am convinced that +when we find those for whom we are searching they will prove to be very +nearly related. Mamma said, before we were parted, that her brother had +a red spot on his temple. If I could see that spot I should rest assured +that my mother is your sister." + +"Then," said Robert, "I can give you that assurance," and smilingly he +lifted his hair from his temple, on which was a large, red spot. + +"I am satisfied," exclaimed Iola, fixing her eyes, beaming with hope and +confidence, on Robert. "Oh, I am so glad that I can, without the least +hesitation, accept your services to join with me in the further search. +What are your plans?" + +"To stop for awhile in C----," said Robert, "and gather all the +information possible from those who sold and bought my mother. I intend +to leave no stone un-turned in searching for her." + +"Oh, I _do_ hope that you will succeed. I expect to stop over there a +few days, and I shall be so glad if, before I leave, I hear your search +has been crowned with success, or, a least, that you have been put on +the right track. Although I was born and raised in the midst of +slavery, I had not the least idea of its barbarous selfishness till I +was forced to pass through it. But we lived so much alone I had no +opportunity to study it, except on our own plantation. My father and +mother were very kind to their slaves. But it was slavery, all the same, +and I hate it, root and branch." + +Just then the conductor called out the station. + +"We stop here," said Robert. "I am going to see Mrs. Johnson, and hunt +up some of my old acquaintances. Where do you stop?" + +"I don't know," replied Iola. "I expect that friends will be here to +meet us. Bishop B----, permit me to introduce you to Mr. Robert Johnson, +whom I have every reason to believe is my mother's brother. Like myself, +he is engaged in hunting up his lost relatives." + +"And I," said Robert, "am very much pleased to know that we are not +without favorable clues." + +"Bishop," said Iola, "Mr. Johnson wishes to know where I am to stop. He +is going on an exploring expedition, and wishes to let me know the +result." + +"We stop at Mrs. Allston's, 313 New Street," said the bishop. "If I can +be of any use to you, I am at your service." + +"Thank you," said Robert, lifting his hat, as he left them to pursue his +inquiries about his long-lost mother. + +Quickly he trod the old familiar streets which led to his former home. +He found Mrs. Johnson, but she had aged very fast since the war. She was +no longer the lithe, active woman, with her proud manner and resolute +bearing. Her eye had lost its brightness, her step its elasticity, and +her whole appearance indicated that she was slowly sinking beneath a +weight of sorrow which was heavier far than her weight of years. When +she heard that Robert had called to see her she was going to receive him +in the hall, as she would have done any of her former slaves, but her +mind immediately changed when she saw him. He was not the light-hearted, +careless, mischief-loving Robby of former days, but a handsome man, +with heavy moustache, dark, earnest eyes, and proud military bearing. He +smiled, and reached out his hand to her. She hardly knew how to address +him. To her colored people were either boys and girls, or "aunties and +uncles." She had never in her life addressed a colored person as "Mr. or +Mrs." To do so now was to violate the social customs of the place. It +would be like learning a new language in her old age. Robert immediately +set her at ease by addressing her under the old familiar name of "Miss +Nancy." This immediately relieved her of all embarrassment. She invited +him into the sitting-room, and gave him a warm welcome. + +"Well, Robby," she said, "I once thought that you would have been the +last one to leave me. You know I never ill-treated you, and I gave you +everything you needed. People said that I was spoiling you. I thought +you were as happy as the days were long. When I heard of other people's +servants leaving them I used to say to myself, 'I can trust my Bobby; he +will stick to me to the last.' But I fooled myself that time. Soon as +the Yankee soldiers got in sight you left me without saying a word. That +morning I came down into the kitchen and asked Linda, 'Where's Robert? +Why hasn't he set the table?' She said 'she hadn't seen you since the +night before.' I thought maybe you were sick, and I went to see, but you +were not in your room. I couldn't believe at first that you were gone. +Wasn't I always good to you?" + +"Oh, Miss Nancy," replied Robert; "you were good, but freedom was +better." + +"Yes," she said, musingly, "I suppose I would have done the same. But, +Robby, it did go hard with me at first. However, I soon found out that +my neighbors had been going through the same thing. But its all over +now. Let by-gones be by-gones. What are you doing now, and where are +you living?" + +"I am living in the city of P----. I have opened a hardware store there. +But just now I am in search of my mother and sister." + +"I hope that you may find them." + +"How long," asked Robert, "do you think it has been since they left +here?" + +"Let me see; it must have been nearly thirty years. You got my letter?" + +"Yes, ma'am; thank you." + +"There have been great changes since you left here," Mrs. Johnson said. +"Gundover died, and a number of colored men have banded together, bought +his plantation, and divided it among themselves. And I hear they have a +very nice settlement out there. I hope, since the Government has set +them free, that they will succeed." + +After Robert's interview with Mrs. Johnson he thought he would visit the +settlement and hunt up his old friends. He easily found the place. It +was on a clearing in Gundover's woods, where Robert and Uncle Daniel had +held their last prayer-meeting. Now the gloomy silence of those woods +was broken by the hum of industry, the murmur of cheerful voices, and +the merry laughter of happy children. Where they had trodden with fear +and misgiving, freedmen walked with light and bounding hearts. The +school-house had taken the place of the slave-pen and auction-block. +"How is yer, ole boy?" asked one laborer of another. + +"Everything is lobly," replied the other. The blue sky arching overhead +and the beauty of the scenery justified the expression. + +Gundover had died soon after the surrender. Frank Anderson had grown +reckless and drank himself to death. His brother Tom had been killed in +battle. Their mother, who was Gundover's daughter, had died insane. +Their father had also passed away. The defeat of the Confederates, the +loss of his sons, and the emancipation of his slaves, were blows from +which he never recovered. As Robert passed leisurely along, delighted +with the evidences of thrift and industry which constantly met his eye, +he stopped to admire a garden filled with beautiful flowers, clambering +vines, and rustic adornments. + +On the porch sat an elderly woman, darning stockings, the very +embodiment of content and good humor. Robert looked inquiringly at her. +On seeing him, she almost immediately exclaimed, "Shore as I'se born, +dat's Robert! Look yere, honey, whar did yer come from? I'll gib my head +fer a choppin' block ef dat ain't Miss Nancy's Bob. Ain't yer our Bobby? +Shore yer is." + +"Of course I am," responded Robert. "It isn't anybody else. How did you +know me?" + +"How did I know yer? By dem mischeebous eyes, ob course. I'd a knowed +yer if I had seed yer in Europe." + +"In Europe, Aunt Linda? Where's that?" + +"I don't know. I specs its some big city, somewhar. But yer looks jis' +splendid. Yer looks good 'nuff ter kiss." + +"Oh, Aunt Linda, don't say that. You make me blush." + +"Oh you go 'long wid yer. I specs yer's got a nice little wife up dar +whar yer comes from, dat kisses yer ebery day, an' Sunday, too." + +"Is that the way your old man does you?" + +"Oh, no, not a bit. He isn't one ob de kissin' kine. But sit down," she +said, handing Robert a chair. "Won't yer hab a glass ob milk? Boy, I'se +a libin' in clover. Neber 'spected ter see sich good times in all my +born days." + +"Well, Aunt Linda," said Robert, seating himself near her, and drinking +the glass of milk which she had handed him, "how goes the battle? How +have you been getting on since freedom?" + +"Oh, fust rate, fust rate! Wen freedom com'd I jist lit out ob Miss +Johnson's kitchen soon as I could. I wanted ter re'lize I war free, an' +I couldn't, tell I got out er de sight and soun' ob ole Miss. When de +war war ober an' de sogers war still stopping' yere, I made pies an' +cakes, sole em to de sogers, an' jist made money han' ober fist. An' I +kep' on a workin' an' a savin' till my ole man got back from de war wid +his wages and his bounty money. I felt right set up an' mighty big wen +we counted all dat money. We had neber seen so much money in our lives +befo', let alone hab it fer ourselbs. An' I sez, 'John, you take dis +money an' git a nice place wid it.' An' he sez, 'Dere's no use tryin', +kase dey don't want ter sell us any lan'.' Ole Gundover said, 'fore he +died, dat he would let de lan' grow up in trees 'fore he'd sell it to +us. An' dere war Mr. Brayton; he buyed some lan' and sole it to some +cullud folks, an' his ole frien's got so mad wid him dat dey wouldn't +speak ter him, an' he war borned down yere. I tole ole Miss Anderson's +daughter dat we wanted ter git some homes ob our ownselbs. She sez, 'Den +you won't want ter work for us?' Jis' de same as ef we could eat an' +drink our houses. I tell yer, Robby, dese white folks don't know +eberything." + +"That's a fact, Aunt Linda." + +"Den I sez ter John, 'wen one door shuts anoder opens.' An' shore +'nough, ole Gundover died, an' his place war all in debt, an' had to be +sole. Some Jews bought it, but dey didn't want to farm it, so dey gib us +a chance to buy it. Dem Jews hez been right helpful to cullud people wen +dey hab lan' to sell. I reckon dey don't keer who buys it so long as dey +gits de money. Well, John didn't gib in at fust; didn't want to let on +his wife knowed more dan he did, an' dat he war ruled ober by a woman. +Yer know he is an' ole Firginian, an' some ob dem ole Firginians do so +lub to rule a woman. But I kep' naggin at him, till I specs he got tired +of my tongue, an' he went and buyed dis piece ob lan'. Dis house war on +it, an' war all gwine to wrack. It used to belong to John's ole marster. +His wife died right in dis house, an' arter dat her husband went right +to de dorgs; an' now he's in de pore-house. My! but ain't dem tables +turned. When we knowed it war our own, warn't my ole man proud! I seed +it in him, but he wouldn't let on. Ain't you men powerful 'ceitful?" + +"Oh, Aunt Linda, don't put me in with the rest!" + +"I don't know 'bout dat. Put you all in de bag for 'ceitfulness, an' I +don't know which would git out fust." + +"Well, Aunt Linda, I suppose by this time you know how to read and +write?" + +"No, chile, sence freedom's com'd I'se bin scratchin' too hard to get a +libin' to put my head down to de book." + +"But, Aunt Linda, it would be such company when your husband is away, to +take a book. Do you never get lonesome?" + +"Chile, I ain't got no time ter get lonesome. Ef you had eber so many +chickens to feed, an' pigs squealin' fer somethin' ter eat, an' yore +ducks an' geese squakin' 'roun' yer, yer wouldn't hab time ter git +lonesome." + +"But, Aunt Linda, you might be sick for months, and think what a comfort +it would be if you could read your Bible." + +"Oh, I could hab prayin' and singin'. Dese people is mighty good 'bout +prayin' by de sick. Why, Robby, I think it would gib me de hysterics ef +I war to try to git book larnin' froo my pore ole head. How long is yer +gwine to stay? An' whar is yer stoppin?" + +"I got here to-day," said Robert, "but I expect to stay several days." + +"Well, I wants yer to meet my ole man, an' talk 'bout ole times. +Couldn't yer come an' stop wid me, or isn't my house sniptious 'nuff?" + +"Yes, thank you; but there is a young lady in town whom I think is my +niece, my sister's daughter, and I want to be with her all I can." + +"Your niece! Whar did you git any niece from?" + +"Don't you remember," asked Robert, "that my mother had a little +daughter, when Mrs. Johnson sold her? Well, I believe this young lady is +that daughter's child." + +"Laws a marcy!" exclaimed Aunt Linda, "yer don't tell me so! Whar did +yer ketch up wid her?" + +"I met her first," said Robert, "at the hospital here, when our poor Tom +was dying; and when I was wounded at Five Forks she attended me in the +field hospital there. She was just as good as gold." + +"Well, did I eber! You jis' fotch dat chile to see me, ef she ain't too +fine. I'se pore, but I'se clean, an' I ain't forgot how ter git up good +dinners. Now, I wants ter hab a good talk 'bout our feller-sarvants." + +"Yes, and I," said Robert, "want to hear all about Uncle Daniel, and +Jennie, and Uncle Ben Tunnel." + +"Well, I'se got lots an' gobs ter tell yer. I'se kep' track ob dem all. +Aunt Katie died an' went ter hebben in a blaze ob glory. Uncle Dan'el +stayed on de place till Marse Robert com'd back. When de war war ober he +war smashed all ter pieces. I did pity him from de bottom ob my heart. +When he went ter de war he looked so brave an' han'some; an' wen he +com'd back he looked orful. 'Fore he went he gib Uncle Dan'el a bag full +ob money ter take kere ob. 'An wen he com'd back Uncle Dan'el gibed him +ebery cent ob it. It warn't ebery white pusson he could hab trusted wid +it. 'Cause yer know, Bobby, money's a mighty temptin' thing. Dey tells +me dat Marster Robert los' a heap ob property by de war; but Marse +Robert war always mighty good ter Uncle Dan'el and Aunt Katie. He war +wid her wen she war dyin' an' she got holt his han' an' made him promise +dat he would meet her in glory. I neber seed anybody so happy in my +life. She singed an' prayed ter de last. I tell you dis ole time +religion is good 'nuff fer me. Mr. Robert didn't stay yere long arter +her, but I beliebs he went all right. But 'fore he went he looked out +fer Uncle Dan'el. Did you see dat nice little cabin down dere wid de +green shutters an' nice little garden in front? Well, 'fore Marse Robert +died he gib Uncle Dan'el dat place, an' Miss Mary and de chillen looks +arter him yet; an' he libs jis' as snug as a bug in a rug. I'se gwine +ter axe him ter take supper wid you. He'll be powerful glad ter see +you." + +"Do you ever go to see old Miss?" asked Robert. + +"Oh, yes; I goes ebery now and den. But she's jis' fell froo. Ole +Johnson jis' drunk hisself to death. He war de biggest guzzler I eber +seed in my life. Why, dat man he drunk up ebery thing he could lay his +han's on. Sometimes he would go 'roun' tryin' to borrer money from pore +cullud folks. 'Twas rale drefful de way dat pore feller did frow hisself +away. But drink did it all. I tell you, Bobby, dat drink's a drefful +thing wen it gits de upper han' ob you. You'd better steer clar ob it." + +"That's so," assented Robert. + +"I know'd Miss Nancy's fadder and mudder. Dey war mighty rich. Some ob +de real big bugs. Marse Jim used to know dem, an' come ober ter de +plantation, an' eat an' drink wen he got ready, an' stay as long as he +choose. Ole Cousins used to have wine at dere table ebery day, an' Marse +Jim war mighty fon' ob dat wine, an' sometimes he would drink till he +got quite boozy. Ole Cousins liked him bery well, till he foun' out he +wanted his darter, an' den he didn't want him fer rags nor patches. But +Miss Nancy war mighty headstrong, an' allers liked to hab her own way; +an' dis time she got it. But didn't she step her foot inter it? Ole +Johnson war mighty han'some, but when dat war said all war said. She +run'd off an' got married, but wen she got down she war too spunkey to +axe her pa for anything. Wen you war wid her, yer know she only took big +bugs. But wen de war com'd 'roun' it tore her all ter pieces, an' now +she's as pore as Job's turkey. I feel's right sorry fer her. Well, +Robby, things is turned 'roun' mighty quare. Ole Mistus war up den, an' +I war down; now, she's down, an' I'se up. But I pities her, 'cause she +warn't so bad arter all. De wuss thing she eber did war ta sell your +mudder, an' she wouldn't hab done dat but she snatched de whip out ob +her han' an gib her a lickin'. Now I belieb in my heart she war 'fraid +ob your mudder arter dat. But we women had ter keep 'em from whippin' +us, er dey'd all de time been libin' on our bones. She had no man ter +whip us 'cept dat ole drunken husband ob hern, an' he war allers too +drunk ter whip hisself. He jis' wandered off, an' I reckon he died in +somebody's pore-house. He warn't no 'count nohow you fix it. Weneber I +goes to town I carries her some garden sass, er a little milk an' +butter. An' she's mighty glad ter git it. I ain't got nothin' agin her. +She neber struck me a lick in her life, an' I belieb in praising de +bridge dat carries me ober. Dem Yankees set me free, an' I thinks a +powerful heap ob dem. But it does rile me ter see dese mean white men +comin' down yere an' settin' up dere grog-shops, tryin' to fedder dere +nests sellin' licker to pore culled people. Deys de bery kine ob men dat +used ter keep dorgs to ketch de runaways. I'd be chokin' fer a drink +'fore I'd eber spen' a cent wid dem, a spreadin' dere traps to git de +black folks' money. You jis' go down town 'fore sun up to-morrer +mornin' an' you see ef dey don't hab dem bars open to sell dere drams to +dem hard workin' culled people 'fore dey goes ter work. I thinks some +niggers is mighty big fools." + +"Oh, Aunt Linda, don't run down your race. Leave that for the white +people." + +"I ain't runnin' down my people. But a fool's a fool, wether he's white +or black. An' I think de nigger who will spen' his hard-earned money in +dese yere new grog-shops is de biggest kine ob a fool, an' I sticks ter +dat. You know we didn't hab all dese low places in slave times. An' what +is dey fer, but to get the people's money. An' its a shame how dey do +sling de licker 'bout 'lection times." + +"But don't the temperance people want the colored people to vote the +temperance ticket?" + +"Yes, but some ob de culled people gits mighty skittish ef dey tries to +git em to vote dare ticket 'lection time, an' keeps dem at a proper +distance wen de 'lection's ober. Some ob dem say dere's a trick behine +it, an' don't want to tech it. Dese white folks could do a heap wid de +culled folks ef dey'd only treat em right." + +"When our people say there is a trick behind it," said Robert, "I only +wish they could see the trick before it--the trick of worse than wasting +their money, and of keeping themselves and families poorer and more +ignorant than there is any need for them to be." + +"Well, Bobby, I beliebs we might be a people ef it warn't for dat +mizzable drink. An' Robby, I jis' tells yer what I wants; I wants some +libe man to come down yere an' splain things ter dese people. I don't +mean a politic man, but a man who'll larn dese people how to bring up +dere chillen, to keep our gals straight, an' our boys from runnin' in de +saloons an' gamblin' dens." + +"Don't your preachers do that?" asked Robert. + +"Well, some ob dem does, an' some ob dem doesn't. An' wen dey preaches, +I want dem to practice wat dey preach. Some ob dem says dey's called, +but I jis' thinks laziness called some ob dem. An' I thinks since +freedom come deres some mighty pore sticks set up for preachers. Now +dere's John Anderson, Tom's brudder; you 'member Tom." + +"Yes; as brave a fellow and as honest as ever stepped in shoe leather." + +"Well, his brudder war mighty diffrent. He war down in de lower kentry +wen de war war ober. He war mighty smart, an' had a good head-piece, an' +a orful glib tongue. He set up store an' sole whisky, an' made a lot ob +money. Den he wanted ter go to de legislatur. Now what should he do but +make out he'd got 'ligion, an' war called to preach. He had no more +'ligion dan my ole dorg. But he had money an' built a meetin' house, +whar he could hole meeting, an' hab funerals; an' you know cullud folks +is mighty great on funerals. Well dat jis' tuck wid de people, an' he +got 'lected to de legislatur. Den he got a fine house, an' his ole wife +warn't good 'nuff for him. Den dere war a young school-teacher, an' he +begun cuttin' his eyes at her. But she war as deep in de mud as he war +in de mire, an' he jis' gib up his ole wife and married her, a fusty +thing. He war a mean ole hypocrit, an' I wouldn't sen' fer him to bury +my cat. Robby, I'se down on dese kine ob preachers like a thousand +bricks." + +"Well, Aunt Linda, all the preachers are not like him." + +"No; I knows dat; not by a jug full. We's got some mighty good men down +yere, an' we's glad when dey comes, an' orful sorry when dey goes 'way. +De las preacher we had war a mighty good man. He didn't like too much +hollerin'." + +"Perhaps," said Robert, "he thought it were best for only one to speak +at a time." + +"I specs so. His wife war de nicest and sweetest lady dat eber I did +see. None ob yer airish, stuck up folks, like a tarrapin carryin' +eberything on its back. She used ter hab meetins fer de mudders, an' +larn us how to raise our chillen, an' talk so putty to de chillen. I +sartinly did lub dat woman." + +"Where is she now?" asked Robert. + +"De Conference moved dem 'bout thirty miles from yere. Deys gwine to hab +a big meetin' ober dere next Sunday. Don't you 'member dem meetins we +used to hab in de woods? We don't hab to hide like we did den. But it +don't seem as ef de people had de same good 'ligion we had den. 'Pears +like folks is took up wid makin' money an' politics." + +"Well, Aunt Linda, don't you wish those good old days would come back?" + +"No, chile; neber! neber! Wat fer you take me? I'd ruther lib in a +corn-crib. Freedom needn't keep me outer heben; an' ef I'se sich a fool +as ter lose my 'ligion cause I'se free, I oughtn' ter git dere." + +"But, Aunt Linda, if old Miss were able to take care of you, wouldn't +you just as leave be back again?" + +There was a faint quiver of indignation in Aunt Linda's voice, as she +replied:-- + +"Don't yer want yer freedom? Well I wants ter pat my free foot. +Halleluyah! But, Robby, I wants yer ter go ter dat big meetin' de wuss +kine." + +"How will I get there?" asked Robert. + +"Oh, dat's all right. My ole man's got two ob de nicest mules you eber +set yer eyes on. It'll jis' do yer good ter look at dem. I 'spect you'll +see some ob yer ole frens dere. Dere's a nice settlemen' of cullud folks +ober dere, an' I wants yer to come an' bring dat young lady. I wants dem +folks to see wat nice folks I kin bring to de meetin'. I hope's yer +didn't lose all your 'ligion in de army." + +"Oh, I hope not," replied Robert. + +"Oh, chile, yer mus' be shore 'bout dat. I don't want yer to ride hope's +hoss down to torment. Now be shore an' come to-morrer an' bring dat +young lady, an' take supper wid me. I'se all on nettles to see dat +chile." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + +STRIKING CONTRASTS. + +The next day, Robert, accompanied by Iola, went to the settlement to +take supper with Aunt Linda, and a very luscious affair it was. Her +fingers had not lost their skill since she had tasted the sweets of +freedom. Her biscuits were just as light and flaky as ever. Her jelly +was as bright as amber, and her preserves were perfectly delicious. +After she had set the table she stood looking in silent admiration, +chuckling to herself: "Ole Mistus can't set sich a table as dat. She +ought'er be yere to see it. Specs 'twould make her mouf water. Well, I +mus' let by-gones be by-gones. But dis yere freedom's mighty good." + +Aunt Linda had invited Uncle Daniel, and, wishing to give him a pleasant +surprise, she had refrained from telling him that Robert Johnson was the +one she wished him to meet. + +"Do you know dis gemmen?" said Aunt Linda to Uncle Daniel, when the +latter arrived. + +"Well, I can't say's I do. My eyes is gittin dim, an I disremembers +him." + +"Now jis' you look right good at him. Don't yer 'member him?" + +Uncle Daniel looked puzzled and, slowly scanning Robert's features, +said: "He do look like somebody I used ter know, but I can't make him +out ter save my life. I don't know whar to place him. Who is de gemmen, +ennyhow?" + +"Why, Uncle Dan'el," replied Aunt Linda, "dis is Robby; Miss Nancy's +bad, mischeebous Robby, dat war allers playin' tricks on me." + +"Well, shore's I'se born, ef dis ain't our ole Bobby!" exclaimed Uncle +Daniel, delightedly. "Why, chile, whar did yer come from? Thought you +war dead an' buried long 'go." + +"Why, Uncle Daniel, did you send anybody to kill me?" asked Robert, +laughingly. + +"Oh, no'n 'deed, chile! but I yeard dat you war killed in de battle, an' +I never 'spected ter see you agin." + +"Well, here I am," replied Robert, "large as life, and just as natural. +And this young lady, Uncle Daniel, I believe is my niece." As he spoke +he turned to Iola. "Do you remember my mother?" + +"Oh, yes," said Uncle Daniel, looking intently at Iola as she stepped +forward and cordially gave him her hand. + +"Well, I firmly believe," continued Robert, "that this is the daughter +of the little girl whom Miss Nancy sold away with my mother." + +"Well, I'se rale glad ter see her. She puts me mighty much in mine ob +dem days wen we war all young togedder; wen Miss Nancy sed, 'Harriet war +too high fer her.' It jis' seems like yisterday wen I yeard Miss Nancy +say, 'No house could flourish whar dere war two mistresses.' Well, Mr. +Robert--" + +"Oh, no, no, Uncle Daniel," interrupted Robert, "don't say that! Call me +Robby or Bob, just as you used to." + +"Well, Bobby, I'se glad klar from de bottom of my heart ter see yer." + +"Even if you wouldn't go with us when we left?" + +"Oh, Bobby, dem war mighty tryin' times. You boys didn't know it, but +Marster Robert hab giben me a bag ob money ter take keer ob, an' I +promised him I'd do it an' I had ter be ez good ez my word." + +"Oh, Uncle Daniel, why didn't you tell us boys all about it? We could +have helped you take care of it." + +"Now, wouldn't dat hab bin smart ter let on ter you chaps, an' hab you +huntin' fer it from Dan ter Barsheba? I specs some ob you would bin a +rootin' fer it yit!" + +"Well, Uncle Daniel, we were young then; I can't tell what we would have +done if we had found it. But we are older now." + +"Yes, yer older, but I wouldn't put it pas' yer eben now, ef yer foun' +out whar it war." + +"Yes," said Iola, laughing, "they say 'caution is the parent of +safety.'" + +"Money's a mighty tempting thing," said Robert, smiling. + +"But, Robby, dere's nothin' like a klar conscience; a klar conscience, +Robby!" + +Just then Aunt Linda, who had been completing the preparations for her +supper, entered the room with her husband, and said, "Salters, let me +interdoos you ter my fren', Mr. Robert Johnson, an' his niece, Miss +Leroy." + +"Why, is it possible," exclaimed Robert, rising, and shaking hands, +"that you are Aunt Linda's husband?" + +"Dat's what de parson sed," replied Salters. + +"I thought," pursued Robert, "that your name was John Andrews. It was +such when you were in my company." + +"All de use I'se got fer dat name is ter git my money wid it; an' wen +dat's done, all's done. Got 'nuff ob my ole Marster in slave times, +widout wearin' his name in freedom. Wen I got done wid him, I got done +wid his name. Wen I 'listed, I war John Andrews; and wen I gits my +pension, I'se John Andrews; but now Salters is my name, an' I likes it +better." + +"But how came you to be Aunt Linda's husband? Did you get married since +the war?" + +"Lindy an' me war married long 'fore de war. But my ole Marster sole me +away from her an' our little gal, an' den sole her chile ter somebody +else. Arter freedom, I hunted up our little gal, an' foun' her. She war +a big woman den. Den I com'd right back ter dis place an' foun' Lindy. +She hedn't married agin, nuther hed I; so we jis' let de parson marry us +out er de book; an' we war mighty glad ter git togedder agin, an' feel +hitched togedder fer life." + +"Well, Uncle Daniel," said Robert, turning the conversation toward him, +"you and Uncle Ben wouldn't go with us, but you came out all right at +last." + +"Yes, indeed," said Aunt Linda, "Ben got inter a stream of luck. Arter +freedom com'd, de people had a heap of fath in Ben; an' wen dey wanted +some one to go ter Congress dey jist voted for Ben ter go. An' he went, +too. An' wen Salters went to Washin'ton to git his pension, who should +he see dere wid dem big men but our Ben, lookin' jist as big as any ob +dem." + +"An' it did my ole eyes good jist ter see it," broke in Salters; "if I +couldn't go dere myself, I war mighty glad to see some one ob my people +dat could. I felt like de boy who, wen somebody said he war gwine to +slap off his face, said, 'Yer kin slap off my face, but I'se got a big +brudder, an' you can't slap off his face.' I went to see him 'fore I lef, +and he war jist de same as he war wen we war boys togedder. He hadn't +got de big head a bit." + +"I reckon Mirandy war mighty sorry she didn't stay wid him. I know I +should be," said Aunt Linda. + +"Uncle Daniel," asked Robert, "are you still preaching?" + +"Yes, chile, I'se still firing off de Gospel gun." + +"I hear some of the Northern folks are down here teaching theology, that +is, teaching young men how to preach. Why don't you study theology?" + +"Look a yere, boy, I'se been a preachin' dese thirty years, an' you come +yere a tellin' me 'bout studying yore ologies. I larn'd my 'ology at de +foot ob de cross. You bin dar?" + +"Dear Uncle Daniel," said Iola, "the moral aspect of the nation would be +changed if it would learn at the same cross to subordinate the spirit of +caste to the spirit of Christ." + +"Does yer 'member Miss Nancy's Harriet," asked Aunt Linda, "dat she sole +away kase she wouldn't let her whip her? Well, we think dis is Harriet's +gran'chile. She war sole away from her mar, an' now she's a lookin' fer +her." + +"Well, I hopes she may fine her," replied Salters. "I war sole 'way from +my mammy wen I war eighteen mont's ole, an' I wouldn't know her now from +a bunch ob turnips." + +"I," said Iola, "am on my way South seeking for my mother, and I shall +not give up until I find her." + +"Come," said Aunt Linda, "we mustn't stan' yer talkin', or de grub'll +git cole. Come, frens, sit down, an' eat some ob my pore supper." + +Aunt Linda sat at the table in such a flutter of excitement that she +could hardly eat, but she gazed with intense satisfaction on her guests. +Robert sat on her right hand, contrasting Aunt Linda's pleasant +situation with the old days in Mrs. Johnson's kitchen, where he had +played his pranks upon her, and told her the news of the war. + +Over Iola there stole a spirit of restfulness. There was something so +motherly in Aunt Linda's manner that it seemed to recall the bright, +sunshiny days when she used to nestle in Mam Liza's arms, in her own +happy home. The conversation was full of army reminiscences and +recollections of the days of slavery. Uncle Daniel was much interested, +and, as they rose from the table, exclaimed:-- + +"Robby, seein' yer an' hearin' yer talk, almos' puts new springs inter +me. I feel 'mos' like I war gittin' younger." + +After the supper, Salters and his guests returned to the front room, +which Aunt Linda regarded with so much pride, and on which she bestowed +so much care. + +"Well, Captin," said Salters, "I neber 'spected ter see you agin. Do you +know de las' time I seed yer? Well, you war on a stretcher, an' four ob +us war carryin' you ter de hospital. War you much hurt? + +"No," replied Robert, "it was only a flesh wound; and this young lady +nursed me so carefully that I soon got over it." + +"Is dat de way you foun' her?" + +"Yes, Andrews,"-- + +"Salters, ef you please," interrupted Salters. I'se only Andrews wen I +gits my money." + +"Well, Salters," continued Robert, "our freedom was a costly thing. Did +you know that Captain Sybil was killed in one of the last battles of the +war? These young chaps, who are taking it so easy, don't know the +hardships through which we older ones passed. But all the battles are +not fought, nor all the victories won. The colored man has escaped from +one slavery, and I don't want him to fall into another. I want the young +folks to keep their brains clear, and their right arms strong, to fight +the battles of life manfully, and take their places alongside of every +other people in this country. And I cannot see what is to hinder them if +they get a chance." + +"I don't nuther," said Salters. "I don't see dat dey drinks any more dan +anybody else, nor dat dere is any meanness or debilment dat a black man +kin do dat a white man can't keep step wid him." + +"Yes," assented Robert, "but while a white man is stealing a thousand +dollars, a black man is getting into trouble taking a few chickens." + +"All that may be true," said Iola, "but there are some things a white +man can do that we cannot afford to do." + +"I beliebs eberybody, Norf and Souf, is lookin' at us; an' some ob dem +ain't got no good blood fer us, nohow you fix it," said Salters. + +"I specs cullud folks mus' hab done somethin'," interposed Aunt Linda. + +"O, nonsense," said Robert. "I don't think they are any worse than the +white people. I don't believe, if we had the power, we would do any +more lynching, burning, and murdering than they do." + +"Dat's so," said Aunt Linda, "it's ralely orful how our folks hab been +murdered sence de war. But I don't think dese young folks is goin' ter +take things as we's allers done." + +"We war cowed down from the beginnin'," said Uncle Daniel, "but dese +young folks ain't comin' up dat way." + +"No," said Salters, "fer one night arter some ob our pore people had +been killed, an' some ob our women had run'd away 'bout seventeen miles, +my gran'son, looking me squar in de face, said: 'Ain't you got five +fingers? Can't you pull a trigger as well as a white man?' I tell yer, +Cap, dat jis' got to me, an' I made up my mine dat my boy should neber +call me a coward." + +"It is not to be expected," said Robert, "that these young people are +going to put up with things as we did, when we weren't permitted to hold +a meeting by ourselves, or to own a club or learn to read." + +"I tried," said Salters, "to git a little out'er de book wen I war in de +army. On Sundays I sometimes takes a book an' tries to make out de +words, but my eyes is gittin' dim an' de letters all run togedder, an' I +gits sleepy, an' ef yer wants to put me to sleep jis' put a book in my +han'. But wen it comes to gittin' out a stan' ob cotton, an' plantin' +corn, I'se dere all de time. But dat gran'son ob mine is smart as a +steel trap. I specs he'll be a preacher." + +Salters looked admiringly at his grandson, who sat grinning in the +corner, munching a pear he had brought from the table. + +"Yes," said Aunt Linda, "his fadder war killed by the Secesh, one night, +comin' home from a politic meetin', an' his pore mudder died a few +weeks arter, an' we mean to make a man ob him." + +"He's got to larn to work fust," said Salters, "an' den ef he's right +smart I'se gwine ter sen' him ter college. An' ef he can't get a libin' +one way, he kin de oder." + +"Yes," said Iola, "I hope he will turn out an excellent young man, for +the greatest need of the race is noble, earnest men, and true women." + +"Job," said Salters, turning to his grandson, "tell Jake ter hitch up de +mules, an' you stay dere an' help him. We's all gwine ter de big +meetin'. Yore grandma hab set her heart on goin', an' it'll be de same +as a spell ob sickness ef she don't hab a chance to show her bes' bib +an' tucker. That ole gal's as proud as a peacock." + +"Now, John Salters," exclaimed Aunt Linda, "ain't you 'shamed ob +yourself? Allers tryin' to poke fun at yer pore wife. Never mine; wait +till I'se gone, an' you'll miss me." + +"Ef I war single," said Salters, "I could git a putty young gal, but it +wouldn't be so easy wid you." + +"Why not?" said Iola, smiling. + +"'Cause young men don't want ole hens, an' ole men want young pullets," +was Salter's reply. + +"Robby, honey," said Aunt Linda, "when you gits a wife, don't treat her +like dat man treats me." + +"Oh, his head's level," answered Robert; "at least it was in the army." + +"Dat's jis' de way; you see dat, Miss Iola? One man takin' up for de +oder. But I'll be eben wid you bof. I must go now an' git ready." + +Iola laughed. The homely enjoyment of that evening was very welcome to +her after the trying scenes through which she had passed. Further +conversation was interrupted by the appearance of the wagon, drawn by +two fine mules. John Salters stopped joking his wife to admire his +mules. + +"Jis' look at dem," he said. "Ain't dey beauties? I bought 'em out ob my +bounty-money. Arter de war war ober I had a little money, an' I war +gwine ter rent a plantation on sheers an' git out a good stan' ob +cotton. Cotton war bringin' orful high prices den, but Lindy said to me, +'Now, John, you'se got a lot ob money, an' you'd better salt it down. +I'd ruther lib on a little piece ob lan' ob my own dan a big piece ob +somebody else's. Well, I says to Lindy, I dun know nuthin' 'bout buyin' +lan', an' I'se 'fraid arter I'se done buyed it an' put all de marrer ob +dese bones in it, dat somebody's far-off cousin will come an' say de +title ain't good, an' I'll lose it all." + +"You're right thar, John," said Uncle Daniel. "White man's so unsartain, +black man's nebber safe." + +"But somehow," continued Salters, "Lindy warn't satisfied wid rentin', +so I buyed a piece ob lan', an' I'se glad now I'se got it. Lindy's got a +lot ob gumption; knows most as much as a man. She ain't got dat long +head fer nuffin. She's got lots ob sense, but I don't like to tell her +so." + +"Why not?" asked Iola. "Do you think it would make her feel too happy?" + +"Well, it don't do ter tell you women how much we thinks ob you. It sets +you up too much. Ole Gundover's overseer war my marster, an' he used ter +lib in dis bery house. I'se fixed it up sence I'se got it. Now I'se +better off dan he is, 'cause he tuck to drink, an' all his frens is +gone, an' he's in de pore-house." + +Just then Linda came to the door with her baskets. + +"Now, Lindy, ain't you ready yet? Do hurry up." + +"Yes, I'se ready, but things wouldn't go right ef you didn't hurry me." + +"Well, put your chicken fixins an' cake right in yere. Captin, you'll +ride wid me, an' de young lady an' my ole woman'll take de back seat. +Uncle Dan'el, dere's room for you ef you'll go." + +"No, I thank you. It's time fer ole folks to go to bed. Good night! An', +Bobby, I hopes to see you agin'." + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + +A REVELATION. + +It was a lovely evening for the journey. The air was soft and balmy. The +fields and hedges were redolent with flowers. Not a single cloud +obscured the brightness of the moon or the splendor of the stars. The +ancient trees were festooned with moss, which hung like graceful +draperies. Ever and anon a startled hare glided over the path, and +whip-poor-wills and crickets broke the restful silence of the night. +Robert rode quietly along, quaffing the beauty of the scene and thinking +of his boyish days, when he gathered nuts and wild plums in those woods; +he also indulged pleasant reminiscences of later years, when, with Uncle +Daniel and Tom Anderson, he attended the secret prayer-meetings. Iola +rode along, conversing with Aunt Linda, amused and interested at the +quaintness of her speech and the shrewdness of her intellect. To her the +ride was delightful. + +"Does yer know dis place, Robby," asked Aunt Linda, as they passed an +old resort. + +"I should think I did," replied Robert. "It is the place where we held +our last prayer-meeting." + +"An' dere's dat ole broken pot we used, ter tell 'bout de war. But +warn't ole Miss hoppin' wen she foun' out you war goin' to de war! I +thought she'd go almos' wile. Now, own up, Robby, didn't you feel kine +ob mean to go off widout eben biddin' her good bye? An' I ralely think +ole Miss war fon' ob yer. Now, own up, honey, didn't yer feel a little +down in de mouf wen yer lef' her." + +"Not much," responded Robert. "I only thought she was getting paid back +for selling my mother." + +"Dat's so, Robby! yore mudder war a likely gal, wid long black hair, an' +kine ob ginger-bread color. An' you neber hearn tell ob her sence dey +sole her to Georgia?" + +"Never," replied Robert, "but I would give everything I have on earth to +see her once more. I _do_ hope, if she is living, that I may meet her +before I die." + +"You's right, boy, cause she lub'd you as she lub'd her own life. Many a +time hes she set in my ole cabin an' cried 'bout yer wen you war fas' +asleep. It's all ober now, but I'se gwine to hole up fer dem Yankees dat +gib me my freedom, an' sent dem nice ladies from de Norf to gib us some +sense. Some ob dese folks calls em nigger teachers, an' won't hab nuffin +to do wid 'em, but I jis' thinks dey's splendid. But dere's some +triflin' niggers down yere who'll sell der votes for almost nuffin. Does +you 'member Jake Williams an' Gundover's Tom? Well dem two niggers is de +las' ob pea-time. Dey's mighty small pertaters an' few in a hill." + +"Oh, Aunt Linda," said Robert, "don't call them niggers. They are our +own people." + +"Dey ain't my kine ob people. I jis' calls em niggers, an' niggers I +means; an' de bigges' kine ob niggers. An' if my John war sich a nigger +I'd whip him an' leave him." + +"An' what would I be a doin'," queried John, suddenly rousing up at the +mention of his name. + +"Standing still and taking it, I suppose," said Iola, who had been +quietly listening to and enjoying the conversation. + +"Yes, an' I'd ketch myself stan'in' still an' takin' it," was John's +plucky response. + +"Well, you oughter, ef you's mean enough to wote dat ticket ter put me +back inter slavery," was Aunt Linda's parting shot. "Robby," she +continued, "you 'member Miss Nancy's Jinnie?" + +"Of course I do," said Robert. + +"She married Mr. Gundover's Dick. Well, dere warn't much git up an' go +'bout him. So, wen 'lection time com'd, de man he war workin' fer tole +him ef he woted de radical ticket he'd turn him off. Well, Jinnie war so +'fraid he'd do it, dat she jis' follered him fer days." + +"Poor fellow!" exclaimed Robert. "How did he come out?" + +"He certainly was between two fires," interposed Iola. + +"Oh, Jinnie gained de day. She jis' got her back up, and said, 'Now ef +yer wote dat ticket ter put me back inter slavery, you take yore rags +an' go.' An' Dick jis' woted de radical ticket. Jake Williams went on de +Secesh side, woted whar he thought he'd git his taters, but he got +fooled es slick es greese." + +"How was that?" asked Robert. + +"Some ob dem folks, dat I 'spects buyed his wote, sent him some flour +an' sugar. So one night his wife hab company ter tea. Dey made a big +spread, an' put a lot ob sugar on de table fer supper, an' Tom jis' went +fer dat sugar. He put a lot in his tea. But somehow it didn't tase +right, an' wen dey come ter fine out what war de matter, dey hab sent +him a barrel ob san' wid some sugar on top, an' wen de sugar war all +gone de san' war dare. Wen I yeard it, I jis' split my sides a larfin. +It war too good to keep; an' wen it got roun', Jake war as mad as a +March hare. But it sarved him right." + +"Well, Aunt Linda, you musn't be too hard on Uncle Jake; you know he's +getting old." + +"Well he ain't too ole ter do right. He ain't no older dan Uncle Dan'el. +An' I yered dey offered him $500 ef he'd go on dere side. An' Uncle +Dan'el wouldn't tech it. An' dere's Uncle Job's wife; why didn't she go +dat way? She war down on Job's meanness." + +"What did she do?" + +"Wen 'lection time 'rived, he com'd home bringing some flour an' meat; +an' he says ter Aunt Polly, 'Ole woman, I got dis fer de wote.' She jis' +picked up dat meat an' flour an' sent it sailin' outer doors, an' den +com'd back an' gib him a good tongue-lashin'. 'Oder people,' she said, +'a wotin' ter lib good, an' you a sellin' yore wote! Ain't you got 'nuff +ob ole Marster, an' ole Marster bin cuttin' you up? It shan't stay +yere.' An' so she wouldn't let de things stay in de house." + +"What did Uncle Job do?" + +"He jis' stood dere an' cried." + +"And didn't you feel sorry for him?" asked Iola. + +"Not a bit! he hedn't no business ter be so shabby." + +"But, Aunt Linda," pursued Iola, "if it were shabby for an ignorant +colored man to sell his vote, wasn't it shabbier for an intelligent +white man to buy it?" + +"You see," added Robert, "all the shabbiness is not on our side." + +"I knows dat," said Aunt Linda, "but I can't help it. I wants my people +to wote right, an' to think somethin' ob demselves." + +"Well, Aunt Linda, they say in every flock of sheep there will be one +that's scabby," observed Iola. + +"Dat's so! But I ain't got no use fer scabby sheep." + +"Lindy," cried John, "we's most dar! Don't you yere dat singin'? Dey's +begun a'ready." + +"Neber mine," said Aunt Linda, "sometimes de las' ob de wine is de +bes'." + +Thus discoursing they had beguiled the long hours of the night and made +their long journey appear short. + +Very soon they reached the church, a neat, commodious, frame building, +with a blue ceiling, white walls within and without, and large windows +with mahogany-colored facings. It was a sight full of pathetic interest +to see that group which gathered from miles around. They had come to +break bread with each other, relate their experiences, and tell of their +hopes of heaven. In that meeting were remnants of broken +families--mothers who had been separated from their children before the +war, husbands who had not met their wives for years. After the bread had +been distributed and the handshaking was nearly over, Robert raised the +hymn which Iola had sung for him when he was recovering from his wounds, +and Iola, with her clear, sweet tones, caught up the words and joined +him in the strain. When the hymn was finished a dear old mother rose +from her seat. Her voice was quite strong. With still a lingering light +and fire in her eye, she said:-- + +"I rise, bredren an' sisters, to say I'm on my solemn march to glory." + +"Amen!" "Glory!" came from a number of voices. + +"I'se had my trials an' temptations, my ups an' downs; but I feels I'll +soon be in one ob de many mansions. If it hadn't been for dat hope I +'spects I would have broken down long ago. I'se bin through de deep +waters, but dey didn't overflow me; I'se bin in de fire, but de smell ob +it isn't on my garments. Bredren an' sisters, it war a drefful time when +I war tored away from my pore little chillen." + +"Dat's so!" exclaimed a chorus of voices. Some of her hearers moaned, +others rocked to and fro, as thoughts of similar scenes in their own +lives arose before them. + +"When my little girl," continued the speaker, "took hole ob my dress an' +begged me ter let her go wid me, an' I couldn't do it, it mos' broke my +heart. I had a little boy, an' wen my mistus sole me she kep' him. She +carried on a boardin' house. Many's the time I hab stole out at night +an' seen dat chile an' sleep'd wid him in my arms tell mos' day. Bimeby +de people I libed wid got hard up fer money, an' dey sole me one way an' +my pore little gal de oder; an' I neber laid my eyes on my pore chillen +sence den. But, honeys, let de wind blow high or low, I 'spects to +outwedder de storm an' anchor by'm bye in bright glory. But I'se bin a +prayin' fer one thing, an' I beliebs I'll git it; an' dat is dat I may +see my chillen 'fore I die. Pray fer me dat I may hole out an' hole on, +an' neber make a shipwrack ob faith, an' at las' fine my way from earth +to glory." + +Having finished her speech, she sat down and wiped away the tears that +flowed all the more copiously as she remembered her lost children. When +she rose to speak her voice and manner instantly arrested Robert's +attention. He found his mind reverting to the scenes of his childhood. +As she proceeded his attention became riveted on her. Unbidden tears +filled his eyes and great sobs shook his frame. He trembled in every +limb. Could it be possible that after years of patient search through +churches, papers, and inquiring friends, he had accidentally stumbled on +his mother--the mother who, long years ago, had pillowed his head upon +her bosom and left her parting kiss upon his lips? How should he reveal +himself to her? Might not sudden joy do what years of sorrow had failed +to accomplish? Controlling his feelings as best he could, he rose to +tell his experience. He referred to the days when they used to hold +their meetings in the lonely woods and gloomy swamps. How they had +prayed for freedom and plotted to desert to the Union army; and +continuing, he said: "Since then, brethren and sisters, I have had my +crosses and trials, but I try to look at the mercies. Just think what it +was then and what it is now! How many of us, since freedom has come, +have been looking up our scattered relatives. I have just been over to +visit my old mistress, Nancy Johnson, and to see if I could get some +clue to my long-lost mother, who was sold from me nearly thirty years +ago." + +Again there was a chorus of moans. + +On resuming, Robert's voice was still fuller of pathos. + +"When," he said, "I heard that dear old mother tell her experience it +seemed as if some one had risen from the dead. She made me think of my +own dear mother, who used to steal out at night to see me, fold me in +her arms, and then steal back again to her work. After she was sold +away I never saw her face again by daylight. I have been looking for her +ever since the war, and I think at last I have got on the right track. +If Mrs. Johnson, who kept the boarding-house in C----, is the one who +sold that dear old mother from her son, then she is the one I am looking +for, and I am the son she has been praying for." + +The dear old mother raised her eyes. They were clear and tearless. An +expression of wonder, hope, and love flitted over her face. It seemed as +if her youth were suddenly renewed and, bounding from her seat, she +rushed to the speaker in a paroxysm of joy. "Oh, Robby! Robby! is dis +you? Is dat my pore, dear boy I'se been prayin' 'bout all dese years? +Oh, glory! glory!" And overflowing with joyous excitement she threw her +arms around him, looking the very impersonation of rapturous content. It +was a happy time. Mothers whose children had been torn from them in the +days of slavery knew how to rejoice in her joy. The young people caught +the infection of the general happiness and rejoiced with them that +rejoiced. There were songs of rejoicing and shouts of praise. The +undertone of sadness which had so often mingled with their songs gave +place to strains of exultation; and tears of tender sympathy flowed from +eyes which had often been blurred by anguish. The child of many prayers +and tears was restored to his mother. + +Iola stood by the mother's side, smiling, and weeping tears of joy. When +Robert's mother observed Iola, she said to Robert, "Is dis yore wife?" + +"Oh, no," replied Robert, "but I believe she is your grandchild, the +daughter of the little girl who was sold away from you so long ago. She +is on her way to the farther South in search of her mother." + +"Is she? Dear chile! I hope she'll fine her! She puts me in mine ob my +pore little Marie. Well, I'se got one chile, an' I means to keep on +prayin' tell I fine my daughter. I'm _so_ happy! I feel's like a new +woman!" + +"My dear mother," said Robert, "now that I have found you, I mean to +hold you fast just as long as you live. Ever since the war I have been +trying to find out if you were living, but all efforts failed. At last, +I thought I would come and hunt you myself and, now that I have found +you, I am going to take you home to live with me, and to be as happy as +the days are long. I am living in the North, and doing a good business +there. I want you to see joy according to all the days wherein you have +seen sorrow. I do hope this young lady will find _her_ ma and that, when +found, she will prove to be your daughter!" + +"Yes, pore, dear chile! I specs her mudder's heart's mighty hungry fer +her. I does hope she's my gran'chile." + +Tenderly and caressingly Iola bent over the happy mother, with her heart +filled with mournful memories of her own mother. + +Aunt Linda was induced to stay until the next morning, and then gladly +assisted Robert's mother in arranging for her journey northward. The +friends who had given her a shelter in their hospitable home, learned to +value her so much that it was with great reluctance they resigned her to +the care of her son. Aunt Linda was full of bustling activity, and her +spirits overflowed with good humor. + +"Now, Harriet," she said, as they rode along on their return journey, +"you mus' jis' thank me fer finin' yore chile, 'cause I got him to come +to dat big meetin' wid me." + +"Oh, Lindy," she cried, "I'se glad from de bottom ob my heart ter see +you's all. I com'd out dere ter git a blessin', an' I'se got a double +po'tion. De frens I war libin' wid war mighty good ter me. Dey lib'd wid +me in de lower kentry, an' arter de war war ober I stopped wid 'em and +helped take keer ob de chillen; an' when dey com'd up yere dey brought +me wid 'em. I'se com'd a way I didn't know, but I'se mighty glad I'se +com'd." + +"Does you know dis place?" asked Aunt Linda, as they approached the +settlement. + +"No'n 'deed I don't. It's all new ter me." + +"Well, dis is whar I libs. Ain't you mighty tired? I feels a little +stiffish. Dese bones is gittin' ole." + +"Dat's so! But I'se mighty glad I'se lib'd to see my boy 'fore I crossed +ober de riber. An' now I feel like ole Simeon." + +"But, mother," said Robert, "if you are ready to go, I am not willing to +let you. I want you to stay ever so long where I can see you." + +A bright smile overspread her face. Robert's words reassured and +gladdened her heart. She was well satisfied to have a pleasant aftermath +from life on this side of the river. + +After arriving home Linda's first thought was to prepare dinner for her +guests. But, before she began her work of preparation, she went to the +cupboard to get a cup of home-made wine. + +"Here," she said, filling three glasses, "is some wine I made myself +from dat grape-vine out dere. Don't it look nice and clar? Jist taste +it. It's fus'rate." + +"No, thank you," said Robert. "I'm a temperance man, and never take +anything which has alcohol in it." + +"Oh, dis ain't got a bit ob alcohol in it. I made it myself." + +"But, Aunt Linda, you didn't make the law which ferments grape-juice and +makes it alcohol." + +"But, Robby, ef alcohol's so bad, w'at made de Lord put it here?" + +"Aunt Lindy," said Iola, "I heard a lady say that there were two things +the Lord didn't make. One is sin, and the other alcohol." + +"Why, Aunt Linda," said Robert, "there are numbers of things the Lord +has made that I wouldn't touch with a pair of tongs." + +"What are they?" + +"Rattlesnakes, scorpions, and moccasins." + +"Oh, sho!" + +"Aunt Linda," said Iola, "the Bible says that the wine at last will bite +like a serpent and sting like an adder." + +"And, Aunt Linda," added Robert, "as I wouldn't wind a serpent around my +throat, I don't want to put something inside of it which will bite like +a serpent and sting as an adder." + +"I reckon Robby's right," said his mother, setting down her glass and +leaving the wine unfinished. "You young folks knows a heap more dan we +ole folks." "Well," declared Aunt Linda, "you all is temp'rence to de +backbone. But what could I do wid my wine ef we didn't drink it?" + +"Let it turn to vinegar, and sign the temperance pledge," replied +Robert. + +"I don't keer 'bout it myself, but I don't 'spect John would be willin' +ter let it go, 'cause he likes it a heap." + +"Then you must give it up for his sake and Job's," said Robert. "They +may learn to like it too well." + +"You know, Aunt Linda," said Iola, "people don't get to be drunkards all +at once. And you wouldn't like to feel, if Job should learn to drink, +that you helped form his appetite." + +"Dat' so! I beliebs I'll let dis turn to winegar, an' not make any +more." + +"That's right, Aunt Linda. I hope you'll hold to it," said Robert, +encouragingly. + +Very soon Aunt Linda had an excellent dinner prepared. After it was over +Robert went with Iola to C----, where her friend, the bishop, was +awaiting her return. She told him the wonderful story of Robert's +finding his mother, and of her sweet, childlike faith. + +The bishop, a kind, fatherly man, said, "Miss Iola, I hope that such +happiness is in store for you. My dear child, still continue to pray and +trust. I am old-fashioned enough to believe in prayer. I knew an old +lady living in Illinois, who was a slave. Her son got a chance to come +North and beg money to buy his mother. The mother was badly treated, and +made up her mind to run away. But before she started she thought she +would kneel down to pray. And something, she said, reasoned within her, +and whispered, 'Stand still and see what I am going to do for you.' So +real was it to her that she unpacked her bundle and desisted from her +flight. Strange as it may appear to you, her son returned, bringing +with him money enough to purchase her freedom, and she was redeemed from +bondage. Had she persisted in running away she might have been lost in +the woods and have died, exhausted by starvation. But she believed, she +trusted, and was delivered. Her son took her North, where she could find +a resting place for the soles of her feet." + +That night Iola and the bishop left for the South. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + +A HOME FOR MOTHER. + +After Iola had left the settlement, accompanied by Robert as far as the +town, it was a pleasant satisfaction for the two old friends to settle +themselves down, and talk of times past, departed friends, and +long-forgotten scenes. + +"What," said Mrs. Johnson, as we shall call Robert's mother, "hab become +ob Miss Nancy's husband? Is he still a libin'?" + +"Oh, he drunk hisself to death," responded Aunt Linda. + +"He used ter be mighty handsome." + +"Yes, but drink war his ruination." + +"An' how's Miss Nancy?" + +"Oh, she's com'd down migh'ly. She's pore as a church mouse. I thought +'twould com'd home ter her wen she sole yer 'way from yore chillen. +Dere's nuffin goes ober de debil's back dat don't come under his belly. +Do yo 'member Miss Nancy's fardder?" + +"Ob course I does!" + +"Well," said Aunt Linda, "he war a nice ole gemmen. Wen he died, I said +de las' gemmen's dead, an' dere's noboddy ter step in his shoes." + +"Pore Miss Nancy!" exclaimed Robert's mother. "I ain't nothin' agin her. +But I wouldn't swap places wid her, 'cause I'se got my son; an' I +beliebs he'll do a good part by me." + +"Mother," said Robert, as he entered the room, "I've brought an old +friend to see you. Do you remember Uncle Daniel?" + +Uncle Daniel threw back his head, reached out his hand, and manifested +his joy with "Well, Har'yet! is dis you? I neber 'spected to see you in +dese lower grouns! How does yer do? an' whar hab you bin all dis time?" + +"O, I'se been tossin' roun' 'bout; but it's all com'd right at las'. +I'se lib'd to see my boy 'fore I died." + +"My wife an' boys is in glory," said Uncle Daniel. "But I 'spects to see +'em 'fore long. 'Cause I'se tryin' to dig deep, build sure, an' make my +way from earth ter glory." + +"Dat's de right kine ob talk, Dan'el. We ole folks ain't got long ter +stay yere." + +They chatted together until Job and Salters came home for supper. After +they had eaten, Uncle Daniel said:-- + +"We'll hab a word ob prayer." + +There, in that peaceful habitation, they knelt down, and mingled their +prayers together, as they had done in by-gone days, when they had met by +stealth in lonely swamps or silent forests. + +The next morning Robert and his mother started northward. They were well +supplied with a bountiful luncheon by Aunt Linda, who had so thoroughly +enjoyed their sojourn with her. On the next day he arrived in the city +of P----, and took his mother to his boarding-house, until he could find +a suitable home into which to install her. He soon came across one which +just suited his taste, but when the agent discovered that Robert's +mother was colored, he told him that the house had been previously +engaged. In company with his mother he looked at several other houses in +desirable neighborhoods, but they were constantly met with the answer, +"The house is engaged," or, "We do not rent to colored people." + +At length Robert went alone, and, finding a desirable house, engaged it, +and moved into it. In a short time it was discovered that he was +colored, and, at the behest of the local sentiment of the place, the +landlord used his utmost endeavors to oust him, simply because he +belonged to an unfashionable and unpopular race. At last he came across +a landlord who was broad enough to rent him a good house, and he found a +quiet resting place among a set of well-to-do and well-disposed people. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + +FURTHER LIFTING OF THE VEIL. + +In one of those fearful conflicts by which the Mississippi was freed +from Rebel intrusion and opened to commerce Harry was severely wounded, +and forced to leave his place in the ranks for a bed in the hospital. + +One day, as he lay in his bed, thinking of his former home in +Mississippi and wondering if the chances of war would ever restore him +to his loved ones, he fell into a quiet slumber. When he awoke he found +a lady bending over him, holding in her hands some fruit and flowers. As +she tenderly bent over Harry's bed their eyes met, and with a thrill of +gladness they recognized each other. + +"Oh, my son, my son!" cried Marie, trying to repress her emotion, as she +took his wasted hand in hers, and kissed the pale cheeks that sickness +and suffering had blanched. Harry was very weak, but her presence was a +call to life. He returned the pressure of her hand, kissed it, and his +eyes grew full of sudden light, as he murmured faintly, but joyfully:-- + +"Mamma; oh, mamma! have I found you at last?" + +The effort was too much, and he immediately became unconscious. + +Anxious, yet hopeful, Marie sat by the bedside of her son till +consciousness was restored. Caressingly she bent over his couch, +murmuring in her happiness the tenderest, sweetest words of motherly +love. In Harry's veins flowed new life and vigor, calming the +restlessness of his nerves. + +As soon as possible Harry was carried to his mother's home; a home +brought into the light of freedom by the victories of General Grant. +Nursed by his mother's tender, loving care, he rapidly recovered, but, +being too disabled to re-enter the army, he was honorably discharged. + +Lorraine had taken Marie to Vicksburg, and there allowed her to engage +in confectionery and preserving for the wealthy ladies of the city. He +had at first attempted to refugee with her in Texas, but, being foiled +in the attempt, he was compelled to enlist in the Confederate Army, and +met his fate by being killed just before the surrender of Vicksburg. + +"My dear son," Marie would say, as she bent fondly over him, "I am +deeply sorry that you are wounded, but I am glad that the fortunes of +war have brought us together. Poor Iola! I _do_ wonder what has become +of her? Just as soon as this war is over I want you to search the +country all over. Poor child! How my heart has ached for her!" + +Time passed on. Harry and his mother searched and inquired for Iola, but +no tidings of her reached them. + +Having fully recovered his health, and seeing the great need of +education for the colored people, Harry turned his attention toward +them, and joined the new army of Northern teachers. + +He still continued his inquiries for his sister, not knowing whether or +not she had succumbed to the cruel change in her life. He thought she +might have passed into the white basis for the sake of bettering her +fortunes. Hope deferred, which had sickened his mother's heart, had +only roused him to renewed diligence. + +A school was offered him in Georgia, and thither he repaired, taking his +mother with him. They were soon established in the city of A----. In +hope of finding Iola he visited all the conferences of the Methodist +Church, but for a long time his search was in vain. + +"Mamma," said Harry, one day during his vacation, "there is to be a +Methodist Conference in this State in the city of S----, about one +hundred and fifty miles from here. I intend to go and renew my search +for Iola." + +"Poor child!" burst out Marie, as the tears gathered in her eyes, "I +wonder if she is living." + +"I think so," said Harry, kissing the pale cheek of his mother; "I don't +feel that Iola is dead. I believe we will find her before long." + +"It seems to me my heart would burst with joy to see my dear child just +once more. I am glad that you are going. When will you leave?" + +"To-morrow morning." + +"Well, my son, go, and my prayers will go with you," was Marie's tender +parting wish. + +Early next morning Harry started for the conference, and reached the +church before the morning session was over. Near him sat two ladies, one +fair, the other considerably darker. There was something in the fairer +one that reminded him forcibly of his sister, but she was much older and +graver than he imagined his sister to be. Instantly he dismissed the +thought that had forced itself into his mind, and began to listen +attentively to the proceedings of the conference. + +When the regular business of the morning session was over the bishop +arose and said:-- + +"I have an interesting duty to perform. I wish to introduce a young lady +to the conference, who was the daughter of a Mississippi planter. She is +now in search of her mother and brother, from whom she was sold a few +months before the war. Her father married her mother in Ohio, where he +had taken her to be educated. After his death they were robbed of their +inheritance and enslaved by a distant relative named Lorraine. Miss Iola +Leroy is the young lady's name. If any one can give the least +information respecting the objects of her search it will be thankfully +received." + +"I can," exclaimed a young man, rising in the midst of the audience, and +pressing eagerly, almost impetuously, forward. "I am her brother, and I +came here to look for her." + +Iola raised her eyes to his face, so flushed and bright with the glow of +recognition, rushed to him, threw her arms around his neck, kissed him +again and again, crying: "O, Harry!" Then she fainted from excitement. +The women gathered around her with expressions of tender sympathy, and +gave her all the care she needed. They called her the "dear child," for +without any effort on her part she had slidden into their hearts and +found a ready welcome in each sympathizing bosom. + +Harry at once telegraphed the glad tidings to his mother, who waited +their coming with joyful anticipation. Long before the cars reached the +city, Mrs. Leroy was at the depot, restlessly walking the platform or +eagerly peering into the darkness to catch the first glimpse of the +train which was bearing her treasures. + +At length the cars arrived, and, as Harry and Iola alighted, Marie +rushed forward, clasped Iola in her arms and sobbed out her joy in +broken words. + +Very happy was the little family that sat together around the +supper-table for the first time for years. They partook of that supper +with thankful hearts and with eyes overflowing with tears of joy. Very +touching were the prayers the mother uttered, when she knelt with her +children that night to return thanks for their happy reunion, and to +seek protection through the slumbers of the night. + +The next morning, as they sat at the breakfast-table, Marie said: + +"My dear child, you are so changed I do not think I would have known you +if I had met you in the street!" + +"And I," said Harry, "can hardly realize that you are our own Iola, whom +I recognized as sister a half dozen years ago." + +"Am I so changed?" asked Iola, as a faint sigh escaped her lips. + +"Why, Iola," said Harry, "you used to be the most harum-scarum girl I +ever knew, laughing, dancing, and singing from morning until night." + +"Yes, I remember," said Iola. "It all comes back to me like a dream. Oh, +mamma! I have passed through a fiery ordeal of suffering since then. But +it is useless," and as she continued her face assumed a brighter look, +"to brood over the past. Let us be happy in the present. Let me tell you +something which will please you. Do you remember telling me about your +mother and brother?" + +"Yes," said Marie, in a questioning tone." + +"Well," continued Iola, with eyes full of gladness, "I think I have +found them." + +"Can it be possible!" exclaimed Marie, in astonishment. "It is more than +thirty years since we parted. I fear you are mistaken." + +"No, mamma; I have drawn my conclusions from good circumstantial +evidence. After I was taken from you, I passed through a fearful siege +of suffering, which would only harrow up your soul to hear. I often +shudder at the remembrance. The last man in whose clutches I found +myself was mean, brutal, and cruel. I was in his power when the Union +army came into C----, where I was living. A number of colored men +stampeded to the Union ranks, with a gentleman as a leader, whom I think +is your brother. A friend of his reported my case to the commander of +the post, who instantly gave orders for my release. A place was given me +as nurse in the hospital. I attended that friend in his last illness. +Poor fellow! he was the best friend I had in all the time I have been +tossing about. The gentleman whom I think is your brother appeared to be +very anxious about his friend's recovery, and was deeply affected by his +death. In one of the last terrible battles of the war, that of Five +Forks, he was wounded and put into the hospital ward where I was an +attendant. For awhile he was delirious, and in his delirium he would +sometimes think that I was his mother and at other times his sister. I +humored his fancies, would often sing to him when he was restless, and +my voice almost invariably soothed him to sleep. One day I sang to him +that old hymn we used to sing on the plantation:-- + + "Drooping souls no longer grieve, + Heaven is propitious; + If on Christ you do believe, + You will find Him precious." + +"I remember," said Marie, with a sigh, as memories of the past swept +over her. + +"After I had finished the hymn," continued Iola, "he looked earnestly +and inquiringly into my face, and asked, 'Where did you learn that hymn? +I have heard my mother sing it when I was a boy, but I have never heard +it since.' I think, mamma, the words, 'I was lost but now I'm found; +glory! glory! glory!' had imprinted themselves on his memory, and that +his mind was assuming a higher state of intellectuality. He asked me to +sing it again, which I did, until he fell asleep. Then I noticed a +marked resemblance between him and Harry, and I thought, 'Suppose he +should prove to be your long-lost brother?' During his convalescence we +found that we had a common ground of sympathy. We were anxious to be +reunited to our severed relations. We had both been separated from our +mothers. He told me of his little sister, with whom he used to play. She +had a mole on her cheek which he called her beauty spot. He had the red +spot on his forehead which you told me of." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + + +DELIGHTFUL REUNIONS. + +Very bright and happy was the home where Marie and her children were +gathered under one roof. Mrs. Leroy's neighbors said she looked ten +years younger. Into that peaceful home came no fearful forebodings of +cruel separations. Harry and Iola were passionately devoted to their +mother, and did all they could to flood her life with sunshine. + +"Iola, dear," said Harry, one morning at the breakfast-table, "I have a +new pleasure in store for you." + +"What is it, brother mine?" asked Iola, assuming an air of interest. + +"There is a young lady living in this city to whom I wish to introduce +you. She is one of the most remarkable women I have ever met." + +"Do tell me all about her," said Iola. "Is she young and handsome, +brilliant and witty? + +"She," replied Harry, "is more than handsome, she is lovely; more than +witty, she is wise; more than brilliant, she is excellent." + +"Well, Harry," said Mrs. Leroy, smiling, "if you keep on that way I +shall begin to fear that I shall soon be supplanted by a new daughter." + +"Oh, no, mamma," replied Harry, looking slightly confused, "I did not +mean that." + +"Well, Harry," said Iola, amused, "go on with your description; I am +becoming interested. Tax your powers of description to give me her +likeness." + +"Well, in the first place," continued Harry, "I suppose she is about +twenty-five years old." + +"Oh, the idea," interrupted Iola, "of a gentleman talking of a lady's +age. That is a tabooed subject." + +"Why, Iola, that adds to the interest of my picture. It is her +combination of earnestness and youthfulness which enhances her in my +estimation." + +"Pardon the interruption," said Iola; "I am anxious to hear more about +her." + +"Well, she is of medium height, somewhat slender, and well formed, with +dark, expressive eyes, full of thought and feeling. Neither hair nor +complexion show the least hint of blood admixture." + +"I am glad of it," said Iola. "Every person of unmixed blood who +succeeds in any department of literature, art, or science is a living +argument for the capability which is in the race." + +"Yes," responded Harry, "for it is not the white blood which is on trial +before the world. Well, I will bring her around this evening." + +In the evening Harry brought Miss Delany to call on his sister and +mother. They were much pleased with their visitor. Her manner was a +combination of suavity and dignity. During the course of the evening +they learned that she was a graduate of the University of A----. One day +she saw in the newspapers that colored women were becoming unfit to be +servants for white people. She then thought that if they are not fit to +be servants for white people, they are unfit to be mothers to their own +children, and she conceived the idea of opening a school to train future +wives and mothers. She began on a small scale, in a humble building, +and her work was soon crowned with gratifying success. She had enlarged +her quarters, increased her teaching force, and had erected a large and +commodious school-house through her own exertions and the help of +others. + +Marie cordially invited her to call again, saying, as she rose to go: "I +am very glad to have met you. Young women like you always fill my heart +with hope for the future of our race. In you I see reflected some of the +blessed possibilities which lie within us." + +"Thank you," said Miss Delany, "I want to be classed among those of whom +it is said, 'She has done what she could.'" + +Very pleasant was the acquaintance which sprang up between Miss Delany +and Iola. Although she was older than Iola, their tastes were so +congenial, their views of life and duty in such unison, that their +acquaintance soon ripened into strong and lasting friendship. There were +no foolish rivalries and jealousies between them. Their lives were too +full of zeal and earnestness for them to waste in selfishness their +power to be moral and spiritual forces among a people who so much needed +their helping hands. Miss Delany gave Iola a situation in her school; +but before the term was quite over she was force to resign, her health +having been so undermined by the fearful strain through which she had +passed, that she was quite unequal to the task. She remained at home, +and did what her strength would allow in assisting her mother in the +work of canning and preserving fruits. + +In the meantime, Iola had been corresponding with Robert. She had told +him of her success in finding her mother and brother, and had received +an answer congratulating her on the glad fruition of her hopes. He also +said that his business was flourishing, that his mother was keeping +house for him, and, to use her own expression, was as happy as the days +are long. She was firmly persuaded that Marie was her daughter, and she +wanted to see her before she died. + +"There is one thing," continued the letter, "that your mother may +remember her by. It was a little handkerchief on which were a number of +cats' heads. She gave one to each of us." + +"I remember it well," said Marie, "she must, indeed, be my mother. Now, +all that is needed to complete my happiness is her presence, and my +brother's. And I intend, if I live long enough, to see them both." + +Iola wrote Robert that her mother remembered the incident of the +handkerchief, and was anxious to see them. + +In the early fall Robert started for the South in order to clear up all +doubts with respect to their relationship. He found Iola, Harry, and +their mother living cosily together. Harry was teaching and was a leader +among the rising young men of the State. His Northern education and +later experience had done much toward adapting him to the work of the +new era which had dawned upon the South. + +Marie was very glad to welcome Robert to her home, but it was almost +impossible to recognize her brother in that tall, handsome man, with +dark-brown eyes and wealth of chestnut-colored hair, which he readily +lifted to show the crimson spot which lay beneath it. + +But as they sat together, and recalled the long-forgotten scenes of +their childhood, they concluded that they were brother and sister. + +"Marie," said Robert, "how would you like to leave the South?" + +"I should like to go North, but I hate to leave Harry. He's a splendid +young fellow, although I say it myself. He is so fearless and outspoken +that I am constantly anxious about him, especially at election time." + +Harry then entered the room, and, being introduced to Robert, gave him a +cordial welcome. He had just returned from school. + +"We were talking of you, my son," said Marie. + +"What were you saying? Nothing of the absent but good?" asked Harry. + +"I was telling your uncle, who wants me to come North, that I would go, +but I am afraid that you will get into trouble and be murdered, as many +others have been." + +"Oh, well, mother, I shall not die till my time comes. And if I die +helping the poor and needy, I shall die at my post. Could a man choose a +better place to die?" + +"Were you aware of the virulence of caste prejudice and the disabilities +which surround the colored people when you cast your lot with them?" +asked Robert. + +"Not fully," replied Harry; "but after I found out that I was colored, I +consulted the principal of the school, where I was studying, in +reference to the future. He said that if I stayed in the North, he had +friends whom he believed would give me any situation I could fill, and I +could simply take my place in the rank of workers, the same as any other +man. Then he told me of the army, and I made up my mind to enter it, +actuated by a desire to find my mother and sister; and at any rate I +wanted to avenge their wrongs. I do not feel so now. Since I have seen +the fearful ravages of war, I have learned to pity and forgive. The +principal said he thought I would be more apt to find my family if I +joined a colored regiment in the West than if I joined one of the Maine +companies. I confess at first I felt a shrinking from taking the step, +but love for my mother overcame all repugnance on my part. Now that I +have linked my fortunes to the race I intend to do all I can for its +elevation." + +As he spoke Robert gazed admiringly on the young face, lit up by noble +purposes and lofty enthusiasm. + +"You are right, Harry. I think it would be treason, not only to the +race, but to humanity, to have you ignoring your kindred and +masquerading as a white man." + +"I think so, too," said Marie. + +"But, sister, I am anxious for you all to come North. If Harry feels +that the place of danger is the post of duty, let him stay, and he can +spend his vacations with us. I think both you and Iola need rest and +change. Mother longs to see you before she dies. She feels that we have +been the children of many prayers and tears, and I want to make her last +days as happy as possible. The South has not been a paradise to you all +the time, and I should think you would be willing to leave it." + +"Yes, that is so. Iola needs rest and change, and she would be such a +comfort to mother. I suppose, for her sake, I will consent to have her +go back with you, at least for awhile." + +In a few days, with many prayers and tears, Marie, half reluctantly, +permitted Iola to start for the North in company with Robert Johnson, +intending to follow as soon as she could settle her business and see +Harry in a good boarding place. + +Very joyful was the greeting of the dear grandmother. Iola soon nestled +in her heart and lent additional sunshine to her once checkered life, +and Robert, who had so long been robbed of kith and kin, was delighted +with the new accession to his home life. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + +NORTHERN EXPERIENCE. + +"Uncle Robert," said Iola, after she had been North several weeks, "I +have a theory that every woman ought to know how to earn her own living. +I believe that a great amount of sin and misery springs from the +weakness and inefficiency of women." + +"Perhaps that's so, but what are you going to do about it?" + +"I am going to join the great rank of bread-winners. Mr. Waterman has +advertised for a number of saleswomen, and I intend to make +application." + +"When he advertises for help he means white women," said Robert. + +"He said nothing about color," responded Iola. + +"I don't suppose he did. He doesn't expect any colored girl to apply." + +"Well, I think I could fill the place. At least I should like to try. +And I do not think when I apply that I am in duty bound to tell him my +great-grandmother was a negro." + +"Well, child, there is no necessity for you to go out to work. You are +perfectly welcome here, and I hope that you feel so." + +"Oh, I certainly do. But still I would rather earn my own living." + +That morning Iola applied for the situation, and, being prepossessing in +her appearance, she obtained it. + +For awhile everything went as pleasantly as a marriage bell. But one day +a young colored lady, well-dressed and well-bred in her manner, entered +the store. It was an acquaintance which Iola had formed in the colored +church which she attended. Iola gave her a few words of cordial +greeting, and spent a few moments chatting with her. The attention of +the girls who sold at the same counter was attracted, and their +suspicion awakened. Iola was a stranger in that city. Who was she, and +who were her people? At last it was decided that one of the girls should +act as a spy, and bring what information she could concerning Iola. + +The spy was successful. She found out that Iola was living in a good +neighborhood, but that none of the neighbors knew her. The man of the +house was very fair, but there was an old woman whom Iola called +"Grandma," and she was unmistakably colored. The story was sufficient. +If that were true, Iola must be colored, and she should be treated +accordingly. + +Without knowing the cause, Iola noticed a chill in the social atmosphere +of the store, which communicated itself to the cash-boys, and they +treated her so insolently that her situation became very uncomfortable. +She saw the proprietor, resigned her position, and asked for and +obtained a letter of recommendation to another merchant who had +advertised for a saleswoman. + +In applying for the place, she took the precaution to inform her +employer that she was colored. It made no difference to him; but he +said:-- + +"Don't say anything about it to the girls. They might not be willing to +work with you." + +Iola smiled, did not promise, and accepted the situation. She entered +upon her duties, and proved quite acceptable as a saleswoman. + +One day, during an interval in business, the girls began to talk of +their respective churches, and the question was put to Iola:-- + +"Where do you go to church?" + +"I go," she replied, "to Rev. River's church, corner of Eighth and L +Streets." + +"Oh, no; you must be mistaken. There is no church there except a colored +one." + +"That is where I go." + +"Why do you go there?" + +"Because I liked it when I came here, and joined it." + +"A member of a colored church? What under heaven possessed you to do +such a thing?" + +"Because I wished to be with my own people." + +Here the interrogator stopped, and looked surprised and pained, and +almost instinctively moved a little farther from her. After the store +was closed, the girls had an animated discussion, which resulted in the +information being sent to Mr. Cohen that Iola was a colored girl, and +that they protested against her being continued in his employ. Mr. Cohen +yielded to the pressure, and informed Iola that her services were no +longer needed. + +When Robert came home in the evening, he found that Iola had lost her +situation, and was looking somewhat discouraged. + +"Well, uncle," she said, "I feel out of heart. It seems as if the +prejudice pursues us through every avenue of life, and assigns us the +lowest places." + +"That is so," replied Robert, thoughtfully. + +"And yet I am determined," said Iola, "to win for myself a place in the +fields of labor. I have heard of a place in New England, and I mean to +try for it, even if I only stay a few months." + +"Well, if you _will_ go, say nothing about your color." + +"Uncle Robert, I see no necessity for proclaiming that fact on the +house-top. Yet I am resolved that nothing shall tempt me to deny it. The +best blood in my veins is African blood, and I am not ashamed of it." + +"Hurrah for you!" exclaimed Robert, laughing heartily. + +As Iola wished to try the world for herself, and so be prepared for any +emergency, her uncle and grandmother were content to have her go to New +England. The town to which she journeyed was only a few hours' ride from +the city of P----, and Robert, knowing that there is no teacher like +experience, was willing that Iola should have the benefit of her +teaching. + +Iola, on arriving in H----, sought the firm, and was informed that her +services were needed. She found it a pleasant and lucrative position. +There was only one drawback--her boarding place was too far from her +work. There was an institution conducted by professed Christian women, +which was for the special use of respectable young working girls. This +was in such a desirable location that she called at the house to engage +board. + +The matron conducted her over the house, and grew so friendly in the +interview that she put her arm around her, and seemed to look upon Iola +as a desirable accession to the home. But, just as Iola was leaving, she +said to the matron: "I must be honest with you; I am a colored woman." + +Swift as light a change passed over the face of the matron. She withdrew +her arm from Iola, and said: "I must see the board of managers about +it." + +When the board met, Iola's case was put before them, but they decided +not to receive her. And these women, professors of a religion which +taught, "If ye have respect to persons ye commit sin," virtually shut +the door in her face because of the outcast blood in her veins. + +Considerable feeling was aroused by the action of these women, who, to +say the least, had not put their religion in the most favorable light. + +Iola continued to work for the firm until she received letters from her +mother and uncle, which informed her that her mother, having arranged +her affairs in the South, was ready to come North. She then resolved to +return, to the city of P----, to be ready to welcome her mother on her +arrival. + +Iola arrived in time to see that everything was in order for her +mother's reception. Her room was furnished neatly, but with those +touches of beauty that womanly hands are such adepts in giving. A few +charming pictures adorned the walls, and an easy chair stood waiting to +receive the travel-worn mother. Robert and Iola met her at the depot; +and grandma was on her feet at the first sound of the bell, opened the +door, clasped Marie to her heart, and nearly fainted for joy. + +"Can it be possible dat dis is my little Marie?" she exclaimed. + +It did seem almost impossible to realize that this faded woman, with +pale cheeks and prematurely whitened hair, was the rosy-cheeked child +from whom she had been parted more than thirty years. + +"Well," said Robert, after the first joyous greeting was over, "love is +a very good thing, but Marie has had a long journey and needs something +that will stick by the ribs. How about dinner, mother?" + +"It's all ready," said Mrs. Johnson. + +After Marie had gone to her room and changed her dress, she came down +and partook of the delicious repast which her mother and Iola had +prepared for her. + +In a few days Marie was settled in the home, and was well pleased with +the change. The only drawback to her happiness was the absence of her +son, and she expected him to come North after the closing of his school. + +"Uncle Robert," said Iola, after her mother had been with them several +weeks, "I am tired of being idle." + +"What's the matter now?" asked Robert. "You are surely not going East +again, and leave your mother?" + +"Oh, I hope not," said Marie, anxiously. "I have been so long without +you." + +"No, mamma, I am not going East. I can get suitable employment here in +the city of P----." + +"But, Iola," said Robert, "you have tried, and been defeated. Why +subject yourself to the same experience again?" + +"Uncle Robert, I think that every woman should have some skill or art +which would insure her at least a comfortable support. I believe there +would be less unhappy marriages if labor were more honored among women." + +"Well, Iola," said her mother, "what is your skill?" + +"Nursing. I was very young when I went into the hospital, but I +succeeded so well that the doctor said I must have been a born nurse. +Now, I see by the papers, that a gentleman who has an invalid daughter +wants some one who can be a nurse and companion for her, and I mean to +apply for the situation. I do not think, if I do my part well in that +position, that the blood in my veins will be any bar to my success." + +A troubled look stole over Marie's face. She sighed faintly, but made no +remonstrance. And so it was decided that Iola should apply for the +situation. + +Iola made application, and was readily accepted. Her patient was a frail +girl of fifteen summers, who was ill with a low fever. Iola nursed her +carefully, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing her restored to +health. During her stay, Mr. Cloten, the father of the invalid, had +learned some of the particulars of Iola's Northern experience as a +bread-winner, and he resolved to give her employment in his store when +her services were no longer needed in the house. As soon as a vacancy +occurred he gave Iola a place in his store. + +The morning she entered on her work he called his employes together, and +told them that Miss Iola had colored blood in her veins, but that he was +going to employ her and give her a desk. If any one objected to working +with her, he or she could step to the cashier's desk and receive what +was due. Not a man remonstrated, not a woman demurred; and Iola at last +found a place in the great army of bread-winners, which the traditions +of her blood could not affect. + +"How did you succeed?" asked Mrs. Cloten of her husband, when he +returned to dinner. + +"Admirably! 'Everything is lovely and the goose hangs high.' I gave my +employes to understand that they could leave if they did not wish to +work with Miss Leroy. Not one of them left, or showed any disposition +to rebel." + +"I am very glad," said Mrs. Cloten. "I am ashamed of the way she has been +treated in our city, when seeking to do her share in the world's work. I +am glad that you were brave enough to face this cruel prejudice, and +give her a situation." + +"Well, my dear, do not make me a hero for a single act. I am grateful +for the care Miss Leroy gave our Daisy. Money can buy services, but it +cannot purchase tender, loving sympathy. I was also determined to let my +employes know that I, not they, commanded my business. So, do not crown +me a hero until I have won a niche in the temple of fame. In dealing +with Southern prejudice against the negro, we Northerners could do it +with better grace if we divested ourselves of our own. We irritate the +South by our criticisms, and, while I confess that there is much that is +reprehensible in their treatment of colored people, yet if our Northern +civilization is higher than theirs we should 'criticise by creation.' We +should stamp ourselves on the South, and not let the South stamp itself +on us. When we have learned to treat men according to the complexion of +their souls, and not the color of their skins, we will have given our +best contribution towards the solution of the negro problem." + +"I feel, my dear," said Mrs. Cloten, "that what you have done is a right +step in the right direction, and I hope that other merchants will do the +same. We have numbers of business men, rich enough to afford themselves +the luxury of a good conscience." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + + +AN OLD FRIEND. + +"Good-morning, Miss Leroy," said a cheery voice in tones of glad +surprise, and, intercepting her path, Dr. Gresham stood before Iola, +smiling, and reaching out his hand. + +"Why, Dr. Gresham, is this you?" said Iola, lifting her eyes to that +well-remembered face. "It has been several years since we met. How have +you been all this time, and where?" + +"I have been sick, and am just now recovering from malaria and nervous +prostration. I am attending a medical convention in this city, and hope +that I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again." + +Iola hesitated, and then replied: "I should be pleased to have you +call." + +"It would give me great pleasure. Where shall I call?" + +"My home is 1006 South Street, but I am only at home in the evenings." + +They walked together a short distance till they reached Mr. Cloten's +store; then, bidding the doctor good morning, Iola left him repeating to +himself the words of his favorite poet:-- + + "Thou art too lovely and precious a gem + To be bound to their burdens and sullied by them." + +No one noticed the deep flush on Iola's face as she entered the store, +nor the subdued, quiet manner with which she applied herself to her +tasks. She was living over again the past, with its tender, sad, and +thrilling reminiscences. + +In the evening Dr. Gresham called on Iola. She met him with a pleasant +welcome. Dr. Gresham gazed upon her with unfeigned admiration, and +thought that the years, instead of detracting from, had only +intensified, her loveliness. He had thought her very beautiful in the +hospital, in her gray dress and white collar, with her glorious wealth +of hair drawn over her ears. But now, when he saw her with that hair +artistically arranged, and her finely-proportioned form arrayed in a +dark crimson dress, relieved by a shimmer of lace and a bow of white +ribbon at her throat, he thought her superbly handsome. The lines which +care had written upon her young face had faded away. There was no +undertone of sorrow in her voice as she stood up before him in the calm +loveliness of her ripened womanhood, radiant in beauty and gifted in +intellect. Time and failing health had left their traces upon Dr. +Gresham. His step was less bounding, his cheek a trifle paler, his +manner somewhat graver than it was when he had parted from Iola in the +hospital, but his meeting with her had thrilled his heart with +unexpected pleasure. Hopes and sentiments which long had slept awoke at +the touch of her hand and the tones of her voice, and Dr. Gresham found +himself turning to the past, with its sad memories and disappointed +hopes. No other face had displaced her image in his mind; no other love +had woven itself around every tendril of his soul. His heart and hand +were just as free as they were the hour they had parted. + +"To see you again," said Dr. Gresham, "is a great and unexpected +pleasure." + +"You had not forgotten me, then?" said Iola, smiling. + +"Forget you! I would just as soon forget my own existence. I do not +think that time will ever efface the impressions of those days in which +we met so often. When last we met you were intending to search for your +mother. Have you been successful?" + +"More than successful," said Iola, with a joyous ring in her voice. "I +have found my mother, brother, grandmother, and uncle, and, except my +brother, we are all living together, and we are so happy. Excuse me a +few minutes," she said, and left the room. Iola soon returned, bringing +with her her mother and grandmother. + +"These," said Iola, introducing her mother and grandmother, "are the +once-severed branches of our family; and this gentleman you have seen +before," continued Iola, as Robert entered the room. + +Dr. Gresham looked scrutinizingly at him and said: "Your face looks +familiar, but I saw so many faces at the hospital that I cannot just now +recall your name." + +"Doctor," said Robert Johnson, "I was one of your last patients, and I +was with Tom Anderson when he died." + +"Oh, yes," replied Dr. Gresham; "it all comes back to me. You were +wounded at the battle of Five Forks, were you not?" + +"Yes," said Robert. + +"I saw you when you were recovering. You told me that you thought you +had a clue to your lost relatives, from whom you had been so long +separated. How have you succeeded?" + +"Admirably! I have been fortunate in finding my mother, my sister, and +her children." + +"Ah, indeed! I am delighted to hear it. Where are they?" + +"They are right here. This is my mother," said Robert, bending fondly +over her, as she returned his recognition with an expression of intense +satisfaction; "and this," he continued, "is my sister, and Miss Leroy is +my niece." + +"Is it possible? I am very glad to hear it. It has been said that every +cloud has its silver lining, and the silver lining of our war cloud is +the redemption of a race and the reunion of severed hearts. War is a +dreadful thing; but worse than the war was the slavery which preceded +it." + +"Slavery," said Iola, "was a fearful cancer eating into the nation's +heart, sapping its vitality, and undermining its life." + +"And war," said Dr. Gresham, "was the dreadful surgery by which the +disease was eradicated. The cancer has been removed, but for years to +come I fear that we will have to deal with the effects of the disease. +But I believe that we have vitality enough to outgrow those effects." + +"I think, Doctor," said Iola, "that there is but one remedy by which our +nation can recover from the evil entailed upon her by slavery." + +"What is that?" asked Robert. + +"A fuller comprehension of the claims of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and +their application to our national life." + +"Yes," said Robert; "while politicians are stumbling on the barren +mountains of fretful controversy and asking what shall we do with the +negro? I hold that Jesus answered that question nearly two thousand +years ago when he said, 'Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, +do ye even so to them.'" + +"Yes," said Dr. Gresham; "the application of that rule in dealing with +the negro would solve the whole problem." + +"Slavery," said Mrs. Leroy, "is dead, but the spirit which animated it +still lives; and I think that a reckless disregard for human life is +more the outgrowth of slavery than any actual hatred of the negro." + +"The problem of the nation," continued Dr. Gresham, "is not what men +will do with the negro, but what will they do with the reckless, lawless +white men who murder, lynch and burn their fellow-citizens. To me these +lynchings and burnings are perfectly alarming. Both races have reacted +on each other--men fettered the slave and cramped their own souls; +denied him knowledge, and darkened their spiritual insight; subdued him +to the pliancy of submission, and in their turn became the thralls of +public opinion. The negro came here from the heathenism of Africa; but +the young colonies could not take into their early civilization a stream +of barbaric blood without being affected by its influence and the negro, +poor and despised as he is, has laid his hands on our Southern +civilization and helped mould its character." + +"Yes," said Mrs. Leroy; "the colored nurse could not nestle her master's +child in her arms, hold up his baby footsteps on their floors, and walk +with him through the impressible and formative period of his young life +without leaving upon him the impress of her hand." + +"I am glad," said Robert, "for the whole nation's sake, that slavery +has been destroyed." + +"And our work," said Dr. Gresham, "is to build over the desolations of +the past a better and brighter future. The great distinction between +savagery and civilization is the creation and maintenance of law. +A people cannot habitually trample on law and justice without +retrograding toward barbarism. But I am hopeful that time will bring us +changes for the better; that, as we get farther away from the war, we +will outgrow the animosities and prejudices engendered by slavery. The +short-sightedness of our fathers linked the negro's destiny to ours. We +are feeling the friction of the ligatures which bind us together, but I +hope that the time will speedily come when the best members of both +races will unite for the maintenance of law and order and the progress +and prosperity of the country, and that the intelligence and virtue of +the South will be strong to grapple effectually with its ignorance and +vice." + +"I hope that time will speedily come," said Marie. "My son is in the +South, and I am always anxious for his safety. He is not only a teacher, +but a leading young man in the community where he lives." + +"Yes," said Robert, "and when I see the splendid work he is doing in the +South, I am glad that, instead of trying to pass for a white man, he has +cast his lot with us." + +"But," answered Dr. Gresham, "he would possess advantages as a white man +which he could not if he were known to be colored." + +"Doctor," said Iola, decidedly, "he has greater advantages as a colored +man." + +"I do not understand you," said Dr. Gresham, looking somewhat puzzled. + +"Doctor," continued Iola, "I do not think life's highest advantages are +those that we can see with our eyes or grasp with our hands. To whom +to-day is the world most indebted--to its millionaires or to its +martyrs?" + +"Taking it from the ideal standpoint," replied the doctor, "I should say +its martyrs." + +"To be," continued Iola, "the leader of a race to higher planes of +thought and action, to teach men clearer views of life and duty, and to +inspire their souls with loftier aims, is a far greater privilege than +it is to open the gates of material prosperity and fill every home with +sensuous enjoyment." + +"And I," said Mrs. Leroy, her face aglow with fervid feeling, "would +rather--ten thousand times rather--see Harry the friend and helper of +the poor and ignorant than the companion of men who, under the cover of +night, mask their faces and ride the country on lawless raids." + +"Dr. Gresham," said Robert, "we ought to be the leading nation of the +earth, whose influence and example should give light to the world." + +"Not simply," said Iola, "a nation building up a great material +prosperity, founding magnificent cities, grasping the commerce of the +world, or excelling in literature, art, and science, but a nation +wearing sobriety as a crown and righteousness as the girdle of her +loins." + +Dr. Gresham gazed admiringly upon Iola. A glow of enthusiasm overspread +her beautiful, expressive face. There was a rapt and far-off look in her +eye, as if she were looking beyond the present pain to a brighter +future for the race with which she was identified, and felt the +grandeur of a divine commission to labor for its uplifting. + +As Dr. Gresham was parting with Robert, he said: "This meeting has been +a very unexpected pleasure. I have spent a delightful evening. I only +regret that I had not others to share it with me. A doctor from the +South, a regular Bourbon, is stopping at the hotel. I wish he could have +been here to-night. Come down to the Concordia, Mr. Johnson, to-morrow +night. If you know any colored man who is a strong champion of equal +rights, bring him along. Good-night. I shall look for you," said the +doctor, as he left the door. + +When Robert returned to the parlor he said to Iola: "Dr. Gresham has +invited me to come to his hotel to-morrow night, and to bring some +wide-awake colored man with me. There is a Southerner whom he wishes me +to meet. I suppose he wants to discuss the negro problem, as they call +it. He wants some one who can do justice to the subject. I wonder whom I +can take with me?" + +"I will tell you who, I think, will be a capital one to take with you, +and I believe he would go," said Iola. + +"Who?" asked Robert. + +"Rev. Carmicle, your pastor." + +"He is just the one," said Robert, "courteous in his manner and very +scholarly in his attainments. He is a man whom if everybody hated him no +one could despise him." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + + +OPEN QUESTIONS. + +In the evening Robert and Rev. Carmicle called on Dr. Gresham, and found +Dr. Latrobe, the Southerner, and a young doctor by the name of Latimer, +already there. Dr. Gresham introduced Dr. Latrobe, but it was a new +experience to receive colored men socially. His wits, however, did not +forsake him, and he received the introduction and survived it. + +"Permit me, now," said Dr. Gresham, "to introduce you to my friend, Dr. +Latimer, who is attending our convention. He expects to go South and +labor among the colored people. Don't you think that there is a large +field of usefulness before him?" + +"Yes," replied Dr. Latrobe, "if he will let politics alone." + +"And why let politics alone?" asked Dr. Gresham. + +"Because," replied Dr. Latrobe, "we Southerners will never submit to +negro supremacy. We will never abandon our Caucasian civilization to an +inferior race." + +"Have you any reason," inquired Rev. Carmicle, "to dread that a race +which has behind it the heathenism of Africa and the slavery of America, +with its inheritance of ignorance and poverty, will be able, in less +than one generation, to domineer over a race which has behind it ages of +dominion, freedom, education, and Christianity?" + +A slight shade of vexation and astonishment passed over the face of Dr. +Latrobe. He hesitated a moment, then replied:-- + +"I am not afraid of the negro as he stands alone, but what I dread is +that in some closely-contested election ambitious men will use him to +hold the balance of power and make him an element of danger. He is +ignorant, poor, and clannish, and they may impact him as their policy +would direct." + +"Any more," asked Robert, "than the leaders of the Rebellion did the +ignorant, poor whites during our late conflict?" + +"Ignorance, poverty, and clannishness," said Dr. Gresham, "are more +social than racial conditions, which may be outgrown." + +"And I think," said Rev. Carmicle, "that we are outgrowing them as fast +as any other people would have done under the same conditions." + +"The negro," replied Dr. Latrobe, "always has been and always will be an +element of discord in our country." + +"What, then, is your remedy?" asked Dr. Gresham. + +"I would eliminate him from the politics of the country." + +"As disfranchisement is a punishment for crime, is it just to punish a +man before he transgresses the law?" asked Dr. Gresham. + +"If," said Dr. Latimer, "the negro is ignorant, poor, and clannish, let +us remember that in part of our land it was once a crime to teach him to +read. If he is poor, for ages he was forced to bend to unrequited toil. +If he is clannish, society has segregated him to himself." + +"And even," said Robert, "has given him a negro pew in your churches +and a negro seat at your communion table." + +"Wisely, or unwisely," said Dr. Gresham, "the Government has put the +ballot in his hands. It is better to teach him to use that ballot aright +than to intimidate him by violence or vitiate his vote by fraud." + +"To-day," said Dr. Latimer, "the negro is not plotting in beer-saloons +against the peace and order of society. His fingers are not dripping +with dynamite, neither is he spitting upon your flag, nor flaunting the +red banner of anarchy in your face." + +"Power," said Dr. Gresham, "naturally gravitates into the strongest +hands. The class who have the best brain and most wealth can strike with +the heaviest hand. I have too much faith in the inherent power of the +white race to dread the competition of any other people under heaven." + +"I think you Northerners fail to do us justice," said Dr. Latrobe. "The +men into whose hands you put the ballot were our slaves, and we would +rather die than submit to them. Look at the carpet-bag governments the +wicked policy of the Government inflicted upon us. It was only done to +humiliate us." + +"Oh, no!" said Dr. Gresham, flushing, and rising to his feet. "We had no +other alternative than putting the ballot in their hands." + +"I will not deny," said Rev. Carmicle, "that we have made woeful +mistakes, but with our antecedents it would have been miraculous if we +had never committed any mistakes or made any blunders." + +"They were allies in war," continued Dr. Gresham, "and I am sorry that +we have not done more to protect them in peace." + +"Protect them in peace!" said Robert, bitterly. "What protection does +the colored man receive from the hands of the Government? I know of no +civilized country outside of America where men are still burned for real +or supposed crimes." + +"Johnson," said Dr. Gresham, compassionately, "it is impossible to have +a policeman at the back of each colored man's chair, and a squad of +soldiers at each crossroad, to detect with certainty, and punish with +celerity, each invasion of his rights. We tried provisional governments +and found them a failure. It seemed like leaving our former allies to be +mocked with the name of freedom and tortured with the essence of +slavery. The ballot is our weapon of defense, and we gave it to them for +theirs." + +"And there," said Dr. Latrobe, emphatically, "is where you signally +failed. We are numerically stronger in Congress to-day than when we went +out. You made the law, but the administration of it is in our hands, and +we are a unit." + +"But, Doctor," said Rev. Carmicle, "you cannot willfully deprive the +negro of a single right as a citizen without sending demoralization +through your own ranks." + +"I think," said Dr. Latrobe, "that we are right in suppressing the +negro's vote. This is a white man's government, and a white man's +country. We own nineteen-twentieths of the land, and have about the same +ratio of intelligence. I am a white man, and, right or wrong, I go with +my race." + +"But, Doctor," said Rev. Carmicle, "there are rights more sacred than +the rights of property and superior intelligence." + +"What are they?" asked Dr. Latrobe. + +"The rights of life and liberty," replied Rev. Carmicle. + +"That is true," said Dr. Gresham; "and your Southern civilization will +be inferior until you shall have placed protection to those rights at +its base, not in theory but in fact." + +"But, Dr. Gresham, we have to live with these people, and the North is +constantly irritating us by its criticisms." + +"The world," said Dr. Gresham, "is fast becoming a vast whispering +gallery, and lips once sealed can now state their own grievances and +appeal to the conscience of the nation, and, as long as a sense of +justice and mercy retains a hold upon the heart of our nation, you +cannot practice violence and injustice without rousing a spirit of +remonstrance. And if it were not so I would be ashamed of my country and +of my race." + +"You speak," said Dr. Latrobe, "as if we had wronged the negro by +enslaving him and being unwilling to share citizenship with him. I think +that slavery has been of incalculable value to the negro. It has lifted +him out of barbarism and fetich worship, given him a language of +civilization, and introduced him to the world's best religion. Think +what he was in Africa and what he is in America!" + +"The negro," said Dr. Gresham, thoughtfully, "is not the only branch of +the human race which has been low down in the scale of civilization and +freedom, and which has outgrown the measure of his chains. Slavery, +polygamy, and human sacrifices have been practiced among Europeans in +by-gone days; and when Tyndall tells us that out of savages unable to +count to the number of their fingers and speaking only a language of +nouns and verbs, arise at length our Newtons and Shakspeares, I do not +see that the negro could not have learned our language and received our +religion without the intervention of ages of slavery." + +"If," said Rev. Carmicle, "Mohammedanism, with its imperfect creed, is +successful in gathering large numbers of negroes beneath the Crescent, +could not a legitimate commerce and the teachings of a pure Christianity +have done as much to plant the standard of the Cross over the ramparts +of sin and idolatry in Africa? Surely we cannot concede that the light +of the Crescent is greater than the glory of the Cross, that there is +less constraining power in the Christ of Calvary than in the Prophet of +Arabia? I do not think that I underrate the difficulties in your way +when I say that you young men are holding in your hands golden +opportunities which it would be madness and folly to throw away. It is +your grand opportunity to help build up a new South, not on the shifting +sands of policy and expediency, but on the broad basis of equal justice +and universal freedom. Do this and you will be blessed, and will make +your life a blessing." + +After Robert and Rev. Carmicle had left the hotel, Drs. Latimer, +Gresham, and Latrobe sat silent and thoughtful awhile, when Dr. Gresham +broke the silence by asking Dr. Latrobe how he had enjoyed the evening. + +"Very pleasantly," he replied. "I was quite interested in that parson. +Where was he educated?" + +"In Oxford, I believe. I was pleased to hear him say that he had no +white blood in his veins." + +"I should think not," replied Dr. Latrobe, "from his looks. But one +swallow does not make a summer. It is the exceptions which prove the +rule." + +"Don't you think," asked Dr. Gresham, "that we have been too hasty in +our judgment of the negro? He has come handicapped into life, and is now +on trial before the world. But it is not fair to subject him to the same +tests that you would a white man. I believe that there are possibilities +of growth in the race which we have never comprehended." + +"The negro," said Dr. Latrobe, "is perfectly comprehensible to me. The +only way to get along with him is to let him know his place, and make +him keep it." + +"I think," replied Dr. Gresham, "every man's place is the one he is best +fitted for." + +"Why," asked Dr. Latimer, "should any place be assigned to the negro +more than to the French, Irish, or German?" + +"Oh," replied Dr. Latrobe, "they are all Caucasians." + +"Well," said Dr. Gresham, "is all excellence summed up in that branch of +the human race?" + +"I think," said Dr. Latrobe, proudly, "that we belong to the highest +race on earth and the negro to the lowest." + +"And yet," said Dr. Latimer, "you have consorted with them till you have +bleached their faces to the whiteness of your own. Your children nestle +in their bosoms; they are around you as body servants, and yet if one of +them should attempt to associate with you your bitterest scorn and +indignation would be visited upon them." + +"I think," said Dr. Latrobe, "that feeling grows out of our Anglo-Saxon +regard for the marriage relation. These white negroes are of +illegitimate origin, and we would scorn to share our social life with +them. Their blood is tainted." + +"Who tainted it?" asked Dr. Latimer, bitterly. "You give absolution to +the fathers, and visit the misfortunes of the mothers upon the +children." + +"But, Doctor, what kind of society would we have if we put down the bars +and admitted everybody to social equality?" + +"This idea of social equality," said Dr. Latimer, "is only a bugbear +which frightens well-meaning people from dealing justly with the negro. +I know of no place on earth where there is perfect social equality, and +I doubt if there is such a thing in heaven. The sinner who repents on +his death-bed cannot be the equal of St. Paul or the Beloved Disciple." + +"Doctor," said Dr. Gresham, "I sometimes think that the final solution +of this question will be the absorption of the negro into our race." + +"Never! never!" exclaimed Dr. Latrobe, vehemently. "It would be a death +blow to American civilization." + +"Why, Doctor," said Dr. Latimer, "you Southerners began this absorption +before the war. I understand that in one decade the mixed bloods rose +from one-ninth to one-eighth of the population, and that as early as +1663 a law was passed in Maryland to prevent English women from +intermarrying with slaves; and, even now, your laws against +miscegenation presuppose that you apprehend danger from that source." + +"Doctor, it is no use talking," replied Dr. Latrobe, wearily. "There +are niggers who are as white as I am, but the taint of blood is there +and we always exclude it." + +"How do you know it is there?" asked Dr. Gresham. + +"Oh, there are tricks of blood which always betray them. My eyes are +more practiced than yours. I can always tell them. Now, that Johnson is +as white as any man; but I knew he was a nigger the moment I saw him. I +saw it in his eye." + +Dr. Latimer smiled at Dr. Latrobe's assertion, but did not attempt to +refute it; and bade him good-night. + +"I think," said Dr. Latrobe, "that our war was the great mistake of the +nineteenth century. It has left us very serious complications. We cannot +amalgamate with the negroes. We cannot expatriate them. Now, what are we +to do with them?" + +"Deal justly with them," said Dr. Gresham, "and let them alone. Try to +create a moral sentiment in the nation, which will consider a wrong done +to the weakest of them as a wrong done to the whole community. Whenever +you find ministers too righteous to be faithless, cowardly, and time +serving; women too Christly to be scornful; and public men too noble to +be tricky and too honest to pander to the prejudices of the people, +stand by them and give them your moral support." + +"Doctor," said Latrobe, "with your views you ought to be a preacher +striving to usher in the millennium." + +"It can't come too soon," replied Dr. Gresham. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + + +DIVERGING PATHS. + +On the eve of his departure from the city of P----, Dr. Gresham called +on Iola, and found her alone. They talked awhile of reminiscences of the +war and hospital life, when Dr. Gresham, approaching Iola, said:-- + +"Miss Leroy, I am glad the great object of your life is accomplished, +and that you have found all your relatives. Years have passed since we +parted, years in which I have vainly tried to get a trace of you and +have been baffled, but I have found you at last!" Clasping her hand in +his, he continued, "I would it were so that I should never lose you +again! Iola, will you not grant me the privilege of holding this hand as +mine all through the future of our lives? Your search for your mother is +ended. She is well cared for. Are you not free at last to share with me +my Northern home, free to be mine as nothing else on earth is mine." Dr. +Gresham looked eagerly on Iola's face, and tried to read its varying +expression. "Iola, I learned to love you in the hospital. I have tried +to forget you, but it has been all in vain. Your image is just as deeply +engraven on my heart as it was the day we parted." + +"Doctor," she replied, sadly, but firmly, as she withdrew her hand from +his, "I feel now as I felt then, that there is an insurmountable barrier +between us." + +"What is it, Iola?" asked Dr. Gresham, anxiously. + +"It is the public opinion which assigns me a place with the colored +people." + +"But what right has public opinion to interfere with our marriage +relations? Why should we yield to its behests?" + +"Because it is stronger than we are, and we cannot run counter to it +without suffering its penalties." + +"And what are they, Iola? Shadows that you merely dread?" + +"No! no! the penalties of social ostracism North and South, except here +and there some grand and noble exceptions. I do not think that you fully +realize how much prejudice against colored people permeates society, +lowers the tone of our religion, and reacts upon the life of the nation. +After freedom came, mamma was living in the city of A----, and wanted to +unite with a Christian church there. She made application for +membership. She passed her examination as a candidate, and was received +as a church member. When she was about to make her first communion, she +unintentionally took her seat at the head of the column. The elder who +was administering the communion gave her the bread in the order in which +she sat, but before he gave her the wine some one touched him on the +shoulder and whispered a word in his ear. He then passed mamma by, gave +the cup to others, and then returned to her. From that rite connected +with the holiest memories of earth, my poor mother returned humiliated +and depressed." + +"What a shame!" exclaimed Dr. Gresham, indignantly. + +"I have seen," continued Iola, "the same spirit manifested in the North. +Mamma once attempted to do missionary work in this city. One day she +found an outcast colored girl, whom she wished to rescue. She took her +to an asylum for fallen women and made an application for her, but was +refused. Colored girls were not received there. Soon after mamma found +among the colored people an outcast white girl. Mamma's sympathies, +unfettered by class distinction, were aroused in her behalf, and, in +company with two white ladies, she went with the girl to that same +refuge. For her the door was freely opened and admittance readily +granted. It was as if two women were sinking in the quicksands, and on +the solid land stood other women with life-lines in their hands, seeing +the deadly sands slowly creeping up around the hapless victims. To one +they readily threw the lines of deliverance, but for the other there was +not one strand of salvation. Sometime since, to the same asylum, came a +poor fallen girl who had escaped from the clutches of a wicked woman. +For her the door would have been opened, had not the vile woman from +whom she was escaping followed her to that place of refuge and revealed +the fact that she belonged to the colored race. That fact was enough to +close the door upon her, and to send her back to sin and to suffer, and +perhaps to die as a wretched outcast. And yet in this city where a +number of charities are advertised, I do not think there is one of them +which, in appealing to the public, talks more religion than the managers +of this asylum. This prejudice against the colored race environs our +lives and mocks our aspirations." + +"Iola, I see no use in your persisting that you are colored when your +eyes are as blue and complexion as white as mine." + +"Doctor, were I your wife, are there not people who would caress me as +a white woman who would shrink from me in scorn if they knew I had one +drop of negro blood in my veins? When mistaken for a white woman, I +should hear things alleged against the race at which my blood would +boil. No, Doctor, I am not willing to live under a shadow of concealment +which I thoroughly hate as if the blood in my veins were an undetected +crime of my soul." + +"Iola, dear, surely you paint the picture too darkly." + +"Doctor, I have painted it with my heart's blood. It is easier to +outgrow the dishonor of crime than the disabilities of color. You have +created in this country an aristocracy of color wide enough to include +the South with its treason and Utah with its abominations, but too +narrow to include the best and bravest colored man who bared his breast +to the bullets of the enemy during your fratricidal strife. Is not the +most arrant Rebel to-day more acceptable to you than the most faithful +colored man?" + +"No! no!" exclaimed Dr. Gresham, vehemently. "You are wrong. I belong to +the Grand Army of the Republic. We have no separate State Posts for the +colored people, and, were such a thing proposed, the majority of our +members, I believe, would be against it. In Congress colored men have +the same seats as white men, and the color line is slowly fading out in +our public institutions." + +"But how is it in the Church?" asked Iola. + +"The Church is naturally conservative. It preserves old truths, even if +it is somewhat slow in embracing new ideas. It has its social as well as +its spiritual side. Society is woman's realm. The majority of church +members are women, who are said to be the aristocratic element of our +country. I fear that one of the last strongholds of this racial +prejudice will be found beneath the shadow of some of our churches. I +think, on account of this social question, that large bodies of +Christian temperance women and other reformers, in trying to reach the +colored people even for their own good, will be quicker to form +separate associations than our National Grand Army, whose ranks are open +to black and white, liberals and conservatives, saints and agnostics. +But, Iola, we have drifted far away from the question. No one has a +right to interfere with our marriage if we do not infringe on the rights +of others." + +"Doctor," she replied, gently, "I feel that our paths must diverge. My +life-work is planned. I intend spending my future among the colored +people of the South." + +"My dear friend," he replied, anxiously, "I am afraid that you are +destined to sad disappointment. When the novelty wears off you will be +disillusioned, and, I fear, when the time comes that you can no longer +serve them they will forget your services and remember only your +failings." + +"But, Doctor, they need me; and I am sure when I taught among them they +were very grateful for my services." + +"I think," he replied, "these people are more thankful than grateful." + +"I do not think so; and if I did it would not hinder me from doing all +in my power to help them. I do not expect all the finest traits of +character to spring from the hot-beds of slavery and caste. What matters +it if they do forget the singer, so they don't forget the song? No, +Doctor, I don't think that I could best serve my race by forsaking them +and marrying you." + +"Iola," he exclaimed, passionately, "if you love your race, as you call +it, work for it, live for it, suffer for it, and, if need be, die for +it; but don't marry for it. Your education has unfitted you for social +life among them." + +"It was," replied Iola, "through their unrequited toil that I was +educated, while they were compelled to live in ignorance. I am indebted +to them for the power I have to serve them. I wish other Southern women +felt as I do. I think they could do so much to help the colored people +at their doors if they would look at their opportunities in the light of +the face of Jesus Christ. Nor am I wholly unselfish in allying myself +with the colored people. All the rest of my family have done so. My dear +grandmother is one of the excellent of the earth, and we all love her +too much to ignore our relationship with her. I did not choose my lot in +life, and the simplest thing I can do is to accept the situation and do +the best I can." + +"And is this your settled purpose?" he asked, sadly. + +"It is, Doctor," she replied, tenderly but firmly. "I see no other. I +must serve the race which needs me most." + +"Perhaps you are right," he replied; "but I cannot help feeling sad that +our paths, which met so pleasantly, should diverge so painfully. And +yet, not only the freedmen, but the whole country, need such helpful, +self-sacrificing teachers as you will prove; and if earnest prayers and +holy wishes can brighten your path, your lines will fall in the +pleasantest places." + +As he rose to go, sympathy, love, and admiration were blended in the +parting look he gave her; but he felt it was useless to attempt to +divert her from her purpose. He knew that for the true reconstruction of +the country something more was needed than bayonets and bullets, or the +schemes of selfish politicians or plotting demagogues. He knew that the +South needed the surrender of the best brain and heart of the country to +build, above the wastes of war, more stately temples of thought and +action. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + + +DR. LATROBE'S MISTAKE. + +On the morning previous to their departure for their respective homes, +Dr. Gresham met Dr. Latrobe in the parlor of the Concordia. + +"How," asked Dr. Gresham, "did you like Dr. Latimer's paper?" + +"Very much, indeed. It was excellent. He is a very talented young man. +He sits next to me at lunch and I have conversed with him several times. +He is very genial and attractive, only he seems to be rather cranky on +the negro question. I hope if he comes South that he will not make the +mistake of mixing up with the negroes. It would be throwing away his +influence and ruining his prospects. He seems to be well versed in +science and literature and would make a very delightful accession to our +social life." + +"I think," replied Dr. Gresham, "that he is an honor to our profession. +He is one of the finest specimens of our young manhood." + +Just then Dr. Latimer entered the room. Dr. Latrobe arose and, greeting +him cordially, said: "I was delighted with your paper; it was full of +thought and suggestion." + +"Thank you," answered Dr. Latimer, "it was my aim to make it so." + +"And you succeeded admirably," replied Dr. Latrobe. "I could not help +thinking how much we owe to heredity and environment." + +"Yes," said Dr. Gresham. "Continental Europe yearly sends to our shores +subjects to be developed into citizens. Emancipation has given us +millions of new citizens, and to them our influence and example should +be a blessing and not a curse." + +"Well," said Dr. Latimer, "I intend to go South, and help those who so +much need helpers from their own ranks." + +"I hope," answered Dr. Latrobe, "that if you go South you will only +sustain business relations with the negroes, and not commit the folly of +equalizing yourself with them." + +"Why not?" asked Dr. Latimer, steadily looking him in the eye. + +"Because in equalizing yourself with them you drag us down; and our +social customs must be kept intact." + +"You have been associating with me at the convention for several days; I +do not see that the contact has dragged you down, has it?" + +"You! What has that got to do with associating with niggers?" asked Dr. +Latrobe, curtly. + +"The blood of that race is coursing through my veins. I am one of them," +replied Dr. Latimer, proudly raising his head. + +"You!" exclaimed Dr. Latrobe, with an air of profound astonishment and +crimsoning face. + +"Yes;" interposed Dr. Gresham, laughing heartily at Dr. Latrobe's +discomfiture. "He belongs to that negro race both by blood and choice. +His father's mother made overtures to receive him as her grandson and +heir, but he has nobly refused to forsake his mother's people and has +cast his lot with them." + +"And I," said Dr. Latimer, "would have despised myself if I had done +otherwise." + +"Well, well," said Dr. Latrobe, rising, "I was never so deceived before. +Good morning!" + +Dr. Latrobe had thought he was clear-sighted enough to detect the +presence of negro blood when all physical traces had disappeared. But he +had associated with Dr. Latimer for several days, and admired his +talent, without suspecting for one moment his racial connection. He +could not help feeling a sense of vexation at the signal mistake he had +made. + +Dr. Frank Latimer was the natural grandson of a Southern lady, in whose +family his mother had been a slave. The blood of a proud aristocratic +ancestry was flowing through his veins, and generations of blood +admixture had effaced all trace of his negro lineage. His complexion was +blonde, his eye bright and piercing, his lips firm and well moulded; his +manner very affable; his intellect active and well stored with +information. He was a man capable of winning in life through his rich +gifts of inheritance and acquirements. When freedom came, his mother, +like Hagar of old, went out into the wide world to seek a living for +herself and child. Through years of poverty she labored to educate her +child, and saw the glad fruition of her hopes when her son graduated as +an M.D. from the University of P----. + +After his graduation he met his father's mother, who recognized him by +his resemblance to her dear, departed son. All the mother love in her +lonely heart awoke, and she was willing to overlook "the missing link of +matrimony," and adopt him as her heir, if he would ignore his identity +with the colored race. + +Before him loomed all the possibilities which only birth and blood can +give a white man in our Democratic country. But he was a man of too much +sterling worth of character to be willing to forsake his mother's race +for the richest advantages his grandmother could bestow. + +Dr. Gresham had met Dr. Latimer at the beginning of the convention, and +had been attracted to him by his frank and genial manner. One morning, +when conversing with him, Dr. Gresham had learned some of the salient +points of his history, which, instead of repelling him, had only +deepened his admiration for the young doctor. He was much amused when he +saw the pleasant acquaintanceship between him and Dr. Latrobe, but they +agreed to be silent about his racial connection until the time came when +they were ready to divulge it; and they were hugely delighted at his +signal blunder. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + + +VISITORS FROM THE SOUTH. + +"Mamma is not well," said Iola to Robert. "I spoke to her about sending +for a doctor, but she objected and I did not insist." + +"I will ask Dr. Latimer, whom I met at the Concordia, to step in. He is +a splendid young fellow. I wish we had thousands like him." + +In the evening the doctor called. Without appearing to make a +professional visit he engaged Marie in conversation, watched her +carefully, and came to the conclusion that her failing health proceeded +more from mental than physical causes. + +"I am so uneasy about Harry," said Mrs. Leroy. "He is so fearless and +outspoken. I do wish the attention of the whole nation could be turned +to the cruel barbarisms which are a national disgrace. I think the term +'bloody shirt' is one of the most heartless phrases ever invented to +divert attention from cruel wrongs and dreadful outrages." + +Just then Iola came in and was introduced by her uncle to Dr. Latimer, +to whom the introduction was a sudden and unexpected pleasure. + +After an interchange of courtesies, Marie resumed the conversation, +saying: "Harry wrote me only last week that a young friend of his had +lost his situation because he refused to have his pupils strew flowers +on the streets through which Jefferson Davis was to pass." + +"I think," said Dr. Latimer, indignantly, "that the Israelites had just +as much right to scatter flowers over the bodies of the Egyptians, when +the waves threw back their corpses on the shores of the Red Sea, as +these children had to strew the path of Jefferson Davis with flowers. We +want our boys to grow up manly citizens, and not cringing sycophants. +When do you expect your son, Mrs. Leroy?" + +"Some time next week," answered Marie. + +"And his presence will do you more good than all the medicine in my +chest." + +"I hope, Doctor," said Mrs. Leroy, "that we will not lose sight of you, +now that your professional visit is ended; for I believe your visit was +the result of a conspiracy between Iola and her uncle." + +Dr. Latimer laughed, as he answered, "Ah, Mrs. Leroy, I see you have +found us all out." + +"Oh, Doctor," exclaimed Iola, with pleasing excitement, "there is a +young lady coming here to visit me next week. Her name is Miss Lucille +Delany, and she is my ideal woman. She is grand, brave, intellectual, +and religious." + +"Is that so? She would make some man an excellent wife," replied Dr. +Latimer. + +"Now isn't that perfectly manlike," answered Iola, smiling. "Mamma, what +do you think of that? Did any of you gentlemen ever see a young woman of +much ability that you did not look upon as a flotsam all adrift until +some man had appropriated her?" + +"I think, Miss Leroy, that the world's work, if shared, is better done +than when it is performed alone. Don't you think your life-work will be +better done if some one shares it with you?" asked Dr. Latimer, slowly, +and with a smile in his eyes. + +"That would depend on the person who shared it," said Iola, faintly +blushing. + +"Here," said Robert, a few evenings after this conversation, as he +handed Iola a couple of letters, "is something which will please you." + +Iola took the letters, and, after reading one of them, said: "Miss +Delany and Harry will be here on Wednesday; and this one is an +invitation which also adds to my enjoyment." + +"What is it?" asked Marie; "an invitation to a hop or a german?" + +"No; but something which I value far more. We are all invited to Mr. +Stillman's to a _conversazione_." + +"What is the object?" + +"His object is to gather some of the thinkers and leaders of the race to +consult on subjects of vital interest to our welfare. He has invited Dr. +Latimer, Professor Gradnor, of North Carolina, Mr. Forest, of New York, +Hon. Dugdale, Revs. Carmicle, Cantnor, Tunster, Professor Langhorne, of +Georgia, and a few ladies, Mrs. Watson, Miss Brown, and others." + +"I am glad that it is neither a hop nor a german," said Iola, "but +something for which I have been longing." + +"Why, Iola," asked Robert, "don't you believe in young people having a +good time?" + +"Oh, yes," answered Iola, seriously, "I believe in young people having +amusements and recreations; but the times are too serious for us to +attempt to make our lives a long holiday." + +"Well, Iola," answered Robert, "this is the first holiday we have had +in two hundred and fifty years, and you shouldn't be too exacting." + +"Yes," replied Marie, "human beings naturally crave enjoyment, and if +not furnished with good amusements they are apt to gravitate to low +pleasures." + +"Some one," said Robert, "has said that the Indian belongs to an old +race and looks gloomily back to the past, and that the negro belongs to +a young race and looks hopefully towards the future." + +"If that be so," replied Marie, "our race-life corresponds more to the +follies of youth than the faults of maturer years." + +On Dr. Latimer's next visit he was much pleased to see a great change in +Marie's appearance. Her eye had grown brighter, her step more elastic, +and the anxiety had faded from her face. Harry had arrived, and with him +came Miss Delany. + +"Good evening, Dr. Latimer," said Iola, cheerily, as she entered the +room with Miss Lucille Delany. "This is my friend, Miss Delany, from +Georgia. Were she not present I would say she is one of the grandest +women in America." + +"I am very much pleased to meet you," said Dr. Latimer, cordially; "I +have heard Miss Leroy speak of you. We were expecting you," he added, +with a smile. + +Just then Harry entered the room, and Iola presented him to Dr. Latimer, +saying, "This is my brother, about whom mamma was so anxious." + +"Had you a pleasant journey?" asked Dr. Latimer, after the first +greetings were over. + +"Not especially," answered Miss Delany. "Southern roads are not always +very pleasant to travel. When Mr. Leroy entered the cars at A----, where +he was known, had he taken his seat among the white people he would have +been remanded to the colored." + +"But after awhile," said Harry, "as Miss Delany and myself were sitting +together, laughing and chatting, a colored man entered the car, and, +mistaking me for a white man, asked the conductor to have me removed, +and I had to insist that I was colored in order to be permitted to +remain. It would be ludicrous, if it were not vexatious, to be too white +to be black, and too black to be white." + +"Caste plays such fantastic tricks in this country," said Dr. Latimer. + +"I tell Mr. Leroy," said Miss Delany, "that when he returns he must put +a label on himself, saying, 'I am a colored man,' to prevent annoyance." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + + +FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. + +On the following Friday evening, Mr. Stillman's pleasant, spacious +parlors were filled to overflowing with a select company of earnest men +and women deeply interested in the welfare of the race. + +Bishop Tunster had prepared a paper on "Negro Emigration." Dr. Latimer +opened the discussion by speaking favorably of some of the salient +points, but said:-- + +"I do not believe self-exilement is the true remedy for the wrongs of +the negro. Where should he go if he left this country?" + +"Go to Africa," replied Bishop Tunster, in his bluff, hearty tones. "I +believe that Africa is to be redeemed to civilization, and that the +negro is to be gathered into the family of nations and recognized as a +man and a brother." + +"Go to Africa?" repeated Professor Langhorne, of Georgia. "Does the +United States own one foot of African soil? And have we not been +investing our blood in the country for ages?" + +"I am in favor of missionary efforts," said Professor Gradnor, of North +Carolina, "for the redemption of Africa, but I see no reason for +expatriating ourselves because some persons do not admire the color of +our skins." + +"I do not believe," said Mr. Stillman, "in emptying on the shores of +Africa a horde of ignorant, poverty-stricken people, as missionaries of +civilization or Christianity. And while I am in favor of missionary +efforts, there is need here for the best heart and brain to work in +unison for justice and righteousness." + +"America," said Miss Delany, "is the best field for human development. +God has not heaped up our mountains with such grandeur, flooded our +rivers with such majesty, crowned our valleys with such fertility, +enriched our mines with such wealth, that they should only minister to +grasping greed and sensuous enjoyment." + +"Climate, soil, and physical environments," said Professor Gradnor, +"have much to do with shaping national characteristics. If in Africa, +under a tropical sun, the negro has lagged behind other races in the +march of civilization, at least for once in his history he has, in this +country, the privilege of using climatic advantages and developing under +new conditions." + +"Yes," replied Dr. Latimer, "and I do not wish our people to become +restless and unsettled before they have tried one generation of +freedom." + +"I am always glad," said Mr. Forest, a tall, distinguished-looking +gentleman from New York, "when I hear of people who are ill treated in +one section of the country emigrating to another. Men who are deaf to +the claims of mercy, and oblivious to the demands of justice, can feel +when money is slipping from their pockets." + +"The negro," said Hon. Dugdale, "does not present to my mind the picture +of an effete and exhausted people, destined to die out before a stronger +race. Gilbert Haven once saw a statue which suggested this thought, 'I +am black, but comely; the sun has looked down upon me, but I will teach +you who despise me to feel that I am your superior.' The men who are +acquiring property and building up homes in the South show us what +energy and determination may do even in that part of the country. I +believe such men can do more to conquer prejudice than if they spent all +their lives in shouting for their rights and ignoring their duties. No! +as there are millions of us in this country, I think it best to settle +down and work out our own salvation here." + +"How many of us to-day," asked Professor Langhorne, "would be teaching +in the South, if every field of labor in the North was as accessible to +us as to the whites? It has been estimated that a million young white +men have left the South since the war, and, had our chances been equal +to theirs, would we have been any more willing to stay in the South with +those who need us than they? But this prejudice, by impacting us +together, gives us a common cause and brings our intellect in contact +with the less favored of our race." + +"I do not believe," said Miss Delany, "that the Southern white people +themselves desire any wholesale exodus of the colored from their labor +fields. It would be suicidal to attempt their expatriation." + +"History," said Professor Langhorne, "tells that Spain was once the +place where barbarian Europe came to light her lamp. Seven hundred years +before there was a public lamp in London you might have gone through the +streets of Cordova amid ten miles of lighted lamps, and stood there on +solidly paved land, when hundreds of years afterwards, in Paris, on a +rainy day you would have sunk to your ankles in the mud. But she who +bore the name of the 'Terror of Nations,' and the 'Queen of the Ocean,' +was not strong enough to dash herself against God's law of retribution +and escape unscathed. She inaugurated a crusade of horror against a +million of her best laborers and artisans. Vainly she expected the +blessing of God to crown her work of violence. Instead of seeing the +fruition of her hopes in the increased prosperity of her land, +depression and paralysis settled on her trade and business. A fearful +blow was struck at her agriculture; decay settled on her manufactories; +money became too scarce to pay the necessary expenses of the king's +exchequer; and that once mighty empire became a fallen kingdom, pierced +by her crimes and dragged down by her transgressions." + +"We did not," said Iola, "place the bounds of our habitation. And I +believe we are to be fixtures in this country. But beyond the shadows I +see the coruscation of a brighter day; and we can help usher it in, not +by answering hate with hate, or giving scorn for scorn, but by striving +to be more generous, noble, and just. It seems as if all creation +travels to respond to the song of the Herald angels, 'Peace on earth, +good-will toward men.'" + +The next paper was on "Patriotism," by Rev. Cantnor. It was a paper in +which the white man was extolled as the master race, and spoke as if it +were a privilege for the colored man to be linked to his destiny and to +live beneath the shadow of his power. He asserted that the white race of +this country is the broadest, most Christian, and humane of that branch +of the human family. + +Dr. Latimer took exception to his position. "Law," he said, "is the +pivot on which the whole universe turns; and obedience to law is the +gauge by which a nation's strength or weakness is tried. We have had two +evils by which our obedience to law has been tested--slavery and the +liquor traffic. How have we dealt with them both? We have been weighed +in the balance and found wanting. Millions of slaves and serfs have been +liberated during this century, but not even in semi-barbaric Russia, +heathen Japan, or Catholic Spain has slavery been abolished through such +a fearful conflict as it was in the United States. The liquor traffic +still sends its floods of ruin and shame to the habitations of men, and +no political party has been found with enough moral power and numerical +strength to stay the tide of death." + +"I think," said Professor Gradnor, "that what our country needs is truth +more than flattery. I do not think that our moral life keeps pace with +our mental development and material progress. I know of no civilized +country on the globe, Catholic, Protestant, or Mohammedan, where life is +less secure than it is in the South. Nearly eighteen hundred years ago +the life of a Roman citizen in Palestine was in danger from mob +violence. That pagan government threw around him a wall of living clay, +consisting of four hundred and seventy men, when more than forty Jews +had bound themselves with an oath that they would neither eat nor drink +until they had taken the life of the Apostle Paul. Does not true +patriotism demand that citizenship should be as much protected in +Christian America as it was in heathen Rome?" + +"I would have our people," said Miss Delany, "more interested in +politics. Instead of forgetting the past, I would have them hold in +everlasting remembrance our great deliverance. Hitherto we have never +had a country with tender, precious memories to fill our eyes with +tears, or glad reminiscences to thrill our hearts with pride and joy. We +have been aliens and outcasts in the land of our birth. But I want my +pupils to do all in their power to make this country worthy of their +deepest devotion and loftiest patriotism. I want them to feel that its +glory is their glory, its dishonor their shame." + +"Our esteemed friend, Mrs. Watson," said Iola, "sends regrets that she +cannot come, but has kindly favored us with a poem, called the "Rallying +Cry." In her letter she says that, although she is no longer young, she +feels that in the conflict for the right there's room for young as well +as old. She hopes that we will here unite the enthusiasm of youth with +the experience of age, and that we will have a pleasant and profitable +conference. Is it your pleasure that the poem be read at this stage of +our proceedings, or later on?" + +"Let us have it now," answered Harry, "and I move that Miss Delany be +chosen to lend to the poem the charm of her voice." + +"I second the motion," said Iola, smiling, and handing the poem to Miss +Delany. + +Miss Delany took the poem and read it with fine effect. The spirit of +the poem had entered her soul. + + A RALLYING CRY. + + Oh, children of the tropics, + Amid our pain and wrong + Have you no other mission + Than music, dance, and song? + + When through the weary ages + Our dripping tears still fall, + Is this a time to dally + With pleasure's silken thrall? + + Go, muffle all your viols; + As heroes learn to stand, + With faith in God's great justice + Nerve every heart and hand. + + Dream not of ease nor pleasure, + Nor honor, wealth, nor fame, + Till from the dust you've lifted + Our long-dishonored name; + + And crowned that name with glory + By deeds of holy worth, + To shine with light emblazoned, + The noblest name on earth. + + Count life a dismal failure, + Unblessing and unblest, + That seeks 'mid ease inglorious + For pleasure or for rest. + + With courage, strength, and valor + Your lives and actions brace; + Shrink not from toil or hardship, + And dangers bravely face. + + Engrave upon your banners, + In words of golden light, + That honor, truth, and justice + Are more than godless might. + + Above earth's pain and sorrow + Christ's dying face I see; + I hear the cry of anguish:-- + "Why hast thou forsaken me?" + + In the pallor of that anguish + I see the only light, + To flood with peace and gladness + Earth's sorrow, pain, and night. + + Arrayed in Christly armor + 'Gainst error, crime, and sin, + The victory can't be doubtful, + For God is sure to win. + +The next paper was by Miss Iola Leroy, on the "Education of Mothers." + +"I agree," said Rev. Eustace, of St. Mary's parish, "with the paper. The +great need of the race is enlightened mothers." + +"And enlightened fathers, too," added Miss Delany, quickly. "If there is +anything I chafe to see it is a strong, hearty man shirking his burdens, +putting them on the shoulders of his wife, and taking life easy for +himself." + +"I always pity such mothers," interposed Iola, tenderly. + +"I think," said Miss Delany, with a flash in her eye and a ring of +decision in her voice, "that such men ought to be drummed out of town!" +As she spoke, there was an expression which seemed to say, "And I would +like to help do it!" + +Harry smiled, and gave her a quick glance of admiration. + +"I do not think," said Mrs. Stillman, "that we can begin too early to +teach our boys to be manly and self-respecting, and our girls to be +useful and self-reliant." + +"You know," said Mrs. Leroy, "that after the war we were thrown upon the +nation a homeless race to be gathered into homes, and a legally +unmarried race to be taught the sacredness of the marriage relation. We +must instill into our young people that the true strength of a race +means purity in women and uprightness in men; who can say, with Sir +Galahad:-- + + 'My strength is the strength of ten, + Because my heart is pure.' + +And where this is wanting neither wealth nor culture can make up the +deficiency." + +"There is a field of Christian endeavor which lies between the +school-house and the pulpit, which needs the hand of a woman more in +private than in public," said Miss Delany. + +"Yes, I have often felt the need of such work in my own parish. We need +a union of women with the warmest hearts and clearest brains to help in +the moral education of the race," said Rev. Eustace. + +"Yes," said Iola, "if we would have the prisons empty we must make the +homes more attractive." + +"In civilized society," replied Dr. Latimer, "there must be restraint +either within or without. If parents fail to teach restraint within, +society has her check-reins without in the form of chain-gangs, prisons, +and the gallows." + +The closing paper was on the "Moral Progress of the Race," by Hon. +Dugdale. He said: "The moral progress of the race was not all he could +desire, yet he could not help feeling that, compared with other races, +the outlook was not hopeless. I am so sorry to see, however, that in +some States there is an undue proportion of colored people in prisons." + +"I think," answered Professor Langhorne, of Georgia, "that this is +owing to a partial administration of law in meting out punishment to +colored offenders. I know red-handed murderers who walk in this Republic +unwhipped of justice, and I have seen a colored woman sentenced to +prison for weeks for stealing twenty-five cents. I knew a colored girl +who was executed for murder when only a child in years. And it was +through the intervention of a friend of mine, one of the bravest young +men of the South, that a boy of fifteen was saved from the gallows." + +"When I look," said Mr. Forest, "at the slow growth of modern +civilization--the ages which have been consumed in reaching our present +altitude, and see how we have outgrown slavery, feudalism, and religious +persecutions, I cannot despair of the future of the race." + +"Just now," said Dr. Latimer, "we have the fearful grinding and friction +which comes in the course of an adjustment of the new machinery of +freedom in the old ruts of slavery. But I am optimistic enough to +believe that there will yet be a far higher and better Christian +civilization than our country has ever known." + +"And in that civilization I believe the negro is to be an important +factor," said Rev. Cantnor. + +"I believe it also," said Miss Delany, hopefully, "and this thought has +been a blessed inspiration to my life. When I come in contact with +Christless prejudices, I feel that my life is too much a part of the +Divine plan, and invested with too much intrinsic worth, for me to be +the least humiliated by indignities that beggarly souls can inflict. I +feel more pitiful than resentful to those who do not know how much they +miss by living mean, ignoble lives." + +"My heart," said Iola, "is full of hope for the future. Pain and +suffering are the crucibles out of which come gold more fine than the +pavements of heaven, and gems more precious than the foundations of the +Holy City." + +"If," said Mrs. Leroy, "pain and suffering are factors in human +development, surely we have not been counted too worthless to suffer." + +"And is there," continued Iola, "a path which we have trodden in this +country, unless it be the path of sin, into which Jesus Christ has not +put His feet and left it luminous with the light of His steps? Has the +negro been poor and homeless? The birds of the air had nests and the +foxes had holes, but the Son of man had not where to lay His head. Has +our name been a synonym for contempt? 'He shall be called a Nazarene.' +Have we been despised and trodden under foot? Christ was despised and +rejected of men. Have we been ignorant and unlearned? It was said of +Jesus Christ, 'How knoweth this man letters, never having learned?' Have +we been beaten and bruised in the prison-house of bondage? 'They took +Jesus and scourged Him.' Have we been slaughtered, our bones scattered +at the graves' mouth? He was spit upon by the mob, smitten and mocked by +the rabble, and died as died Rome's meanest criminal slave. To-day that +cross of shame is a throne of power. Those robes of scorn have changed +to habiliments of light, and that crown of mockery to a diadem of glory. +And never, while the agony of Gethsemane and the sufferings of Calvary +have their hold upon my heart, will I recognize any religion as His +which despises the least of His brethren." + +As Iola finished, there was a ring of triumph in her voice, as if she +were reviewing a path she had trodden with bleeding feet, and seen it +change to lines of living light. Her soul seemed to be flashing through +the rare loveliness of her face and etherealizing its beauty. + +Every one was spell-bound. Dr. Latimer was entranced, and, turning to +Hon. Dugdale, said, in a low voice and with deep-drawn breath, "She is +angelic!" + +Hon. Dugdale turned, gave a questioning look, then replied, "She is +strangely beautiful! Do you know her?" + +"Yes; I have met her several times. I accompanied her here to-night. The +tones of her voice are like benedictions of peace; her words a call to +higher service and nobler life." + +Just then Rev. Carmicle was announced. He had been on a Southern tour, +and had just returned. + +"Oh, Doctor," exclaimed Mrs. Stillman, "I am delighted to see you. We +were about to adjourn, but we will postpone action to hear from you." + +"Thank you," replied Rev. Carmicle. "I have not the cue to the meeting, +and will listen while I take breath." + +"Pardon me," answered Mrs. Stillman. "I should have been more thoughtful +than to press so welcome a guest into service before I had given him +time for rest and refreshment; but if the courtesy failed on my lips it +did not fail in my heart. I wanted our young folks to see one of our +thinkers who had won distinction before the war." + +"My dear friend," said Rev. Carmicle, smiling, "some of these young +folks will look on me as a back number. You know the cry has already +gone forth, 'Young men to the front.'" + +"But we need old men for counsel," interposed Mr. Forest, of New York. + +"Of course," said Rev. Carmicle, "we older men would rather retire +gracefully than be relegated or hustled to a back seat. But I am pleased +to see doors open to you which were closed to us, and opportunities +which were denied us embraced by you." + +"How," asked Hon. Dugdale, "do you feel in reference to our people's +condition in the South?" + +"Very hopeful, although at times I cannot help feeling anxious about +their future. I was delighted with my visits to various institutions of +learning, and surprised at the desire manifested among the young people +to obtain an education. Where toil-worn mothers bent beneath their heavy +burdens their more favored daughters are enjoying the privileges of +education. Young people are making recitations in Greek and Latin where +it was once a crime to teach their parents to read. I also became +acquainted with colored professors and presidents of colleges. Saw young +ladies who had graduated as doctors. Comfortable homes have succeeded +old cabins of slavery. Vast crops have been raised by free labor. I read +with interest and pleasure a number of papers edited by colored men. I +saw it estimated that two millions of our people had learned to read, +and I feel deeply grateful to the people who have supplied us with +teachers who have stood their ground so nobly among our people." + +"But," asked Mr. Forest, "you expressed fears about the future of our +race. From whence do your fears arise?" + +"From the unfortunate conditions which slavery has entailed upon that +section of our country. I dread the results of that racial feeling which +ever and anon breaks out into restlessness and crime. Also, I am +concerned about the lack of home training for those for whom the +discipline of the plantation has been exchanged for the penalties of +prisons and chain-gangs. I am sorry to see numbers of our young men +growing away from the influence of the church and drifting into prisons. +I also fear that in some sections, as colored men increase in wealth and +intelligence, there will be an increase of race rivalry and jealousy. It +is said that savages, by putting their ears to the ground, can hear a +far-off tread. So, to-day, I fear that there are savage elements in our +civilization which hear the advancing tread of the negro and would +retard his coming. It is the incarnation of these elements that I dread. +It is their elimination I do so earnestly desire. Whether it be outgrown +or not is our unsolved problem. Time alone will tell whether or not the +virus of slavery and injustice has too fully permeated our Southern +civilization for a complete recovery. Nations, honey-combed by vice, +have fallen beneath the weight of their iniquities. Justice is always +uncompromising in its claims and inexorable in its demands. The laws of +the universe are never repealed to accommodate our follies." + +"Surely," said Bishop Tunster, "the negro has a higher mission than that +of aimlessly drifting through life and patiently waiting for death." + +"We may not," answered Rev. Carmicle, "have the same dash, courage, and +aggressiveness of other races, accustomed to struggle, achievement, and +dominion, but surely the world needs something better than the results +of arrogance, aggressiveness, and indomitable power. For the evils of +society there are no solvents as potent as love and justice, and our +greatest need is not more wealth and learning, but a religion replete +with life and glowing with love. Let this be the impelling force in the +race and it cannot fail to rise in the scale of character and +condition." + +"And," said Dr. Latimer, "instead of narrowing our sympathies to mere +racial questions, let us broaden them to humanity's wider issues." + +"Let us," replied Rev. Carmicle, "pass it along the lines, that to be +willfully ignorant is to be shamefully criminal. Let us teach our people +not to love pleasure or to fear death, but to learn the true value of +life, and to do their part to eliminate the paganism of caste from our +holy religion and the lawlessness of savagery from our civilization." + + * * * * * + +"How did you enjoy the evening, Marie?" asked Robert, as they walked +homeward. + +"I was interested and deeply pleased," answered Marie. + +"I," said Robert, "was thinking of the wonderful changes that +have come to us since the war. When I sat in those well-lighted, +beautifully-furnished rooms, I was thinking of the meetings we used to +have in by-gone days. How we used to go by stealth into lonely woods and +gloomy swamps, to tell of our hopes and fears, sorrows and trials. I +hope that we will have many more of these gatherings. Let us have the +next one here." + +"I am sure," said Marie, "I would gladly welcome such a conference at +any time. I think such meetings would be so helpful to our young +people." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + + +DAWNING AFFECTIONS. + +"Doctor," said Iola, as they walked home from the _conversazione_, "I +wish I could do something more for our people than I am doing. I taught +in the South till failing health compelled me to change my employment. +But, now that I am well and strong, I would like to do something of +lasting service for the race." + +"Why not," asked Dr. Latimer, "write a good, strong book which would be +helpful to them? I think there is an amount of dormant talent among us, +and a large field from which to gather materials for such a book." + +"I would do it, willingly, if I could; but one needs both leisure and +money to make a successful book. There is material among us for the +broadest comedies and the deepest tragedies, but, besides money and +leisure, it needs patience, perseverance, courage, and the hand of an +artist to weave it into the literature of the country." + +"Miss Leroy, you have a large and rich experience; you possess a vivid +imagination and glowing fancy. Write, out of the fullness of your heart, +a book to inspire men and women with a deeper sense of justice and +humanity." + +"Doctor," replied Iola, "I would do it if I could, not for the money it +might bring, but for the good it might do. But who believes any good can +come out of the black Nazareth?" + +"Miss Leroy, out of the race must come its own thinkers and writers. +Authors belonging to the white race have written good racial books, for +which I am deeply grateful, but it seems to be almost impossible for a +white man to put himself completely in our place. No man can feel the +iron which enters another man's soul." + +"Well, Doctor, when I write a book I shall take you for the hero of my +story." + +"Why, what have I done," asked Dr. Latimer, in a surprised tone, "that +you should impale me on your pen?" + +"You have done nobly," answered Iola, "in refusing your grandmother's +offer." + +"I only did my duty," he modestly replied. + +"But," said Iola, "when others are trying to slip out from the race and +pass into the white basis, I cannot help admiring one who acts as if he +felt that the weaker the race is the closer he would cling to it." + +"My mother," replied Dr. Latimer, "faithful and true, belongs to that +race. Where else should I be? But I know a young lady who could have +cast her lot with the favored race, yet chose to take her place with the +freed people, as their teacher, friend, and adviser. This young lady was +alone in the world. She had been fearfully wronged, and to her stricken +heart came a brilliant offer of love, home, and social position. But she +bound her heart to the mast of duty, closed her ears to the syren song, +and could not be lured from her purpose." + +A startled look stole over Iola's face, and, lifting her eyes to his, +she faltered:-- + +"Do you know her?" + +"Yes, I know her and admire her; and she ought to be made the subject +of a soul-inspiring story. Do you know of whom I speak?" + +"How should I, Doctor? I am sure you have not made me your confidante," +she responded, demurely; then she quickly turned and tripped up the +steps of her home, which she had just reached. + +After this conversation Dr. Latimer became a frequent visitor at Iola's +home, and a firm friend of her brother. Harry was at that age when, for +the young and inexperienced, vice puts on her fairest guise and most +seductive smiles. Dr. Latimer's wider knowledge and larger experience +made his friendship for Harry very valuable, and the service he rendered +him made him a favorite and ever-welcome guest in the family. + +"Are you all alone," asked Robert, one night, as he entered the cosy +little parlor where Iola sat reading. "Where are the rest of the folks?" + +"Mamma and grandma have gone to bed," answered Iola. "Harry and Lucille +are at the concert. They are passionately fond of music, and find +facilities here that they do not have in the South. They wouldn't go to +hear a seraph where they must take a negro seat. I was too tired to go. +Besides, 'two's company and three's a crowd,'" she added, significantly. + +"I reckon you struck the nail on the head that time," said Robert, +laughing. "But you have not been alone all the time. Just as I reached +the corner I saw Dr. Latimer leaving the door. I see he still continues +his visits. Who is his patient now?" + +"Oh, Uncle Robert," said Iola, smiling and flushing, "he is out with +Harry and Lucille part of the time, and drops in now and then to see us +all." + +"Well," said Robert, "I suppose the case is now an affair of the heart. +But I cannot blame him for it," he added, looking fondly on the +beautiful face of his niece, which sorrow had touched only to chisel +into more loveliness. "How do you like him?" + +"I must have within me," answered Iola, with unaffected truthfulness, "a +large amount of hero worship. The characters of the Old Testament I most +admire are Moses and Nehemiah. They were willing to put aside their own +advantages for their race and country. Dr. Latimer comes up to my ideal +of a high, heroic manhood." + +"I think," answered Robert, smiling archly, "he would be delighted to +hear your opinion of him." + +"I tell him," continued Iola, "that he belongs to the days of chivalry. +But he smiles and says, 'he only belongs to the days of hard-pan +service.'" + +"Some one," said Robert, "was saying to-day that he stood in his own +light when he refused his grandmother's offer to receive him as her +son." + +"I think," said Iola, "it was the grandest hour of his life when he made +that decision. I have admired him ever since I heard his story." + +"But, Iola, think of the advantages he set aside. It was no sacrifice +for me to remain colored, with my lack of education and race sympathies, +but Dr. Latimer had doors open to him as a white man which are forever +closed to a colored man. To be born white in this country is to be born +to an inheritance of privileges, to hold in your hands the keys that +open before you the doors of every occupation, advantage, opportunity, +and achievement." + +"I know that, uncle," answered Iola; "but even these advantages are too +dearly bought if they mean loss of honor, true manliness, and self +respect. He could not have retained these had he ignored his mother and +lived under a veil of concealment, constantly haunted by a dread of +detection. The gain would not have been worth the cost. It were better +that he should walk the ruggedest paths of life a true man than tread +the softest carpets a moral cripple." + +"I am afraid," said Robert, laying his hand caressingly upon her head, +"that we are destined to lose the light of our home." + +"Oh, uncle, how you talk! I never dreamed of what you are thinking," +answered Iola, half reproachfully. + +"And how," asked Robert, "do you know what I am thinking about?" + +"My dear uncle, I'm not blind." + +"Neither am I," replied Robert, significantly, as he left the room. + +Iola's admiration for Dr. Latimer was not a one-sided affair. Day after +day she was filling a larger place in his heart. The touch of her hand +thrilled him with emotion. Her lightest words were an entrancing melody +to his ear. Her noblest sentiments found a response in his heart. In +their desire to help the race their hearts beat in loving unison. One +grand and noble purpose was giving tone and color to their lives and +strengthening the bonds of affection between them. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + + +WOOING AND WEDDING. + +Harry's vacation had been very pleasant. Miss Delany, with her fine +conversational powers and ready wit, had added much to his enjoyment. +Robert had given his mother the pleasantest room in the house, and in +the evening the family would gather around her, tell her the news of the +day, read to her from the Bible, join with her in thanksgiving for +mercies received and in prayer for protection through the night. Harry +was very grateful to Dr. Latimer for the kindly interest he had shown in +accompanying Miss Delany and himself to places of interest and +amusement. He was grateful, too, that in the city of P---- doors were +open to them which were barred against them in the South. + +The bright, beautiful days of summer were gliding into autumn, with its +glorious wealth of foliage, and the time was approaching for the +departure of Harry and Miss Delany to their respective schools, when Dr. +Latimer received several letters from North Carolina, urging him to come +South, as physicians were greatly needed there. Although his practice +was lucrative in the city of P----, he resolved he would go where his +services were most needed. + +A few evenings before he started he called at the house, and made an +engagement to drive Iola to the park. + +At the time appointed he drove up to the door in his fine equipage. +Iola stepped gracefully in and sat quietly by his side to enjoy the +loveliness of the scenery and the gorgeous grandeur of the setting sun. + +"I expect to go South," said Dr. Latimer, as he drove slowly along. + +"Ah, indeed," said Iola, assuming an air of interest, while a shadow +flitted over her face. "Where do you expect to pitch your tent?" + +"In the city of C----, North Carolina," he answered. + +"Oh, I wish," she exclaimed, "that you were going to Georgia, where you +could take care of that high-spirited brother of mine." + +"I suppose if he were to hear you he would laugh, and say that he could +take care of himself. But I know a better plan than that." + +"What is it?" asked Iola, innocently. + +"That you will commit yourself, instead of your brother, to my care." + +"Oh, dear," replied Iola, drawing a long breath. "What would mamma say?" + +"That she would willingly resign you, I hope." + +"And what would grandma and Uncle Robert say?" again asked Iola. + +"That they would cheerfully acquiesce. Now, what would I say if they all +consent?" + +"I don't know," modestly responded Iola. + +"Well," replied Dr. Latimer, "I would say:-- + + "Could deeds my love discover, + Could valor gain thy charms, + To prove myself thy lover + I'd face a world in arms." + +"And prove a good soldier," added Iola, smiling, "when there is no +battle to fight." + +"Iola, I am in earnest," said Dr. Latimer, passionately. "In the work to +which I am devoted every burden will be lighter, every path smoother, if +brightened and blessed with your companionship." + +A sober expression swept over Iola's face, and, dropping her eyes, she +said: "I must have time to think." + +Quietly they rode along the river bank until Dr. Latimer broke the +silence by saying:-- + +"Miss Iola, I think that you brood too much over the condition of our +people." + +"Perhaps I do," she replied, "but they never burn a man in the South +that they do not kindle a fire around my soul." + +"I am afraid," replied Dr. Latimer, "that you will grow morbid and +nervous. Most of our people take life easily--why shouldn't you?" + +"Because," she answered, "I can see breakers ahead which they do not." + +"Oh, give yourself no uneasiness. They will catch the fret and fever of +the nineteenth century soon enough. I have heard several of our +ministers say that it is chiefly men of disreputable characters who are +made the subjects of violence and lynch-law." + +"Suppose it is so," responded Iola, feelingly. "If these men believe in +eternal punishment they ought to feel a greater concern for the wretched +sinner who is hurried out of time with all his sins upon his head, than +for the godly man who passes through violence to endless rest." + +"That is true; and I am not counseling you to be selfish; but, Miss +Iola, had you not better look out for yourself?" + +"Thank you, Doctor, I am feeling quite well." + +"I know it, but your devotion to study and work is too intense," he +replied. + +"I am preparing to teach, and must spend my leisure time in study. Mr. +Cloten is an excellent employer, and treats his employes as if they had +hearts as well as hands. But to be an expert accountant is not the best +use to which I can put my life." + +"As a teacher you will need strong health and calm nerves. You had +better let me prescribe for you. You need," he added, with a merry +twinkle in his eyes, "change of air, change of scene, and change of +name." + +"Well, Doctor," said Iola, laughing, "that is the newest nostrum out. +Had you not better apply for a patent?" + +"Oh," replied Dr. Latimer, with affected gravity, "you know you must +have unlimited faith in your physician." + +"So you wish me to try the faith cure?" asked Iola, laughing. + +"Yes, faith in me," responded Dr. Latimer, seriously. + +"Oh, here we are at home!" exclaimed Iola. "This has been a glorious +evening, Doctor. I am indebted to you for a great pleasure. I am +extremely grateful." + +"You are perfectly welcome," replied Dr. Latimer. "The pleasure has been +mutual, I assure you." + +"Will you not come in?" asked Iola. + +Tying his horse, he accompanied Iola into the parlor. Seating himself +near her, he poured into her ears words eloquent with love and +tenderness. + +"Iola," he said, "I am not an adept in courtly phrases. I am a plain +man, who believes in love and truth. In asking you to share my lot, I am +not inviting you to a life of ease and luxury, for year after year I may +have to struggle to keep the wolf from the door, but your presence would +make my home one of the brightest spots on earth, and one of the fairest +types of heaven. Am I presumptuous in hoping that your love will become +the crowning joy of my life?" + +His words were more than a tender strain wooing her to love and +happiness, they were a clarion call to a life of high and holy worth, a +call which found a response in her heart. Her hand lay limp in his. She +did not withdraw it, but, raising her lustrous eyes to his, she softly +answered: "Frank, I love you." + +After he had gone, Iola sat by the window, gazing at the splendid stars, +her heart quietly throbbing with a delicious sense of joy and love. She +had admired Dr. Gresham and, had there been no barrier in her way, she +might have learned to love him; but Dr. Latimer had grown irresistibly +upon her heart. There were depths in her nature that Dr. Gresham had +never fathomed; aspirations in her soul with which he had never mingled. +But as the waves leap up to the strand, so her soul went out to Dr. +Latimer. Between their lives were no impeding barriers, no inclination +impelling one way and duty compelling another. Kindred hopes and tastes +had knit their hearts; grand and noble purposes were lighting up their +lives; and they esteemed it a blessed privilege to stand on the +threshold of a new era and labor for those who had passed from the old +oligarchy of slavery into the new commonwealth of freedom. + +On the next evening, Dr. Latimer rang the bell and was answered by +Harry, who ushered him into the parlor, and then came back to the +sitting-room, saying, "Iola, Dr. Latimer has called to see you." + +"Has he?" answered Iola, a glad light coming into her eyes. "Come, +Lucille, let us go into the parlor." + +"Oh, no," interposed Harry, shrugging his shoulders and catching +Lucille's hand. "He didn't ask for you. When we went to the concert we +were told three's a crowd. And I say one good turn deserves another." + +"Oh, Harry, you are so full of nonsense. Let Lucille go!" said Iola. + +"Indeed I will not. I want to have a good time as well as you," said +Harry. + +"Oh, you're the most nonsensical man I know," interposed Miss Delany. +Yet she stayed with Harry. + +"You're looking very bright and happy," said Dr. Latimer to Iola, as she +entered. + +"My ride in the park was so refreshing! I enjoyed it so much! The day +was so lovely, the air delicious, the birds sang so sweetly, and the +sunset was so magnificent." + +"I am glad of it. Why, Iola, your home is so happy your heart should be +as light as a school-girl's." + +"Doctor," she replied, "I must be prematurely old. I have scarcely known +what it is to be light-hearted since my father's death." + +"I know it, darling," he answered, seating himself beside her, and +drawing her to him. "You have been tried in the fire, but are you not +better for the crucial test?" + +"Doctor," she replied, "as we rode along yesterday, mingling with the +sunshine of the present came the shadows of the past. I was thinking of +the bright, joyous days of my girlhood, when I defended slavery, and of +how the cup that I would have pressed to the lips of others was forced +to my own. Yet, in looking over the mournful past, I would not change +the Iola of then for the Iola of now." + +"Yes," responded Dr. Latimer, musingly, + + "'Darkness shows us worlds of light + We never saw by day.'" + +"Oh, Doctor, you cannot conceive what it must have been to be hurled +from a home of love and light into the dark abyss of slavery; to be +compelled to take your place among a people you have learned to look +upon as inferiors and social outcasts; to be in the power of men whose +presence would fill you with horror and loathing, and to know that there +is no earthly power to protect you from the highest insults which brutal +cowardice could shower upon you. I am so glad that no other woman of my +race will suffer as I have done." + +The flush deepened on her face, a mournful splendor beamed from her +beautiful eyes, into which the tears had slowly gathered. + +"Darling," he said, his voice vibrating with mingled feelings of +tenderness and resentment, "you must forget the sad past. You are like a +tender lamb snatched from the jaws of a hungry wolf, but who still needs +protecting, loving care. But it must have been terrible," he added, in a +painful tone. + +"It was indeed! For awhile I was like one dazed. I tried to pray, but +the heavens seemed brass over my head. I was wild with agony, and had I +not been placed under conditions which roused all the resistance of my +soul, I would have lost my reason." + +"Was it not a mistake to have kept you ignorant of your colored blood?" + +"It was the great mistake of my father's life, but dear papa knew +something of the cruel, crushing power of caste; and he tried to shield +us from it." + +"Yes, yes," replied Dr. Latimer, thoughtfully, "in trying to shield you +from pain he plunged you into deeper suffering." + +"I never blame him, because I know he did it for the best. Had he lived +he would have taken us to France, where I should have had a life of +careless ease and pleasure. But now my life has a much grander +significance than it would have had under such conditions. Fearful as +the awakening was, it was better than to have slept through life." + +"Best for you and best for me," said Dr. Latimer. "There are souls that +never awaken; but if they miss the deepest pain they also lose the +highest joy." + +Dr. Latimer went South, after his engagement, and through his medical +skill and agreeable manners became very successful in his practice. In +the following summer, he built a cosy home for the reception of his +bride, and came North, where, with Harry and Miss Delany as attendants, +he was married to Iola, amid a pleasant gathering of friends, by Rev. +Carmicle. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + + +CONCLUSION. + +It was late in the summer when Dr. Latimer and his bride reached their +home in North Carolina. Over the cottage porch were morning-glories to +greet the first flushes of the rising day, and roses and jasmines to +distill their fragrance on the evening air. Aunt Linda, who had been +apprised of their coming, was patiently awaiting their arrival, and +Uncle Daniel was pleased to know that "dat sweet young lady who had sich +putty manners war comin' to lib wid dem." + +As soon as they arrived, Aunt Linda rushed up to Iola, folded her in her +arms, and joyfully exclaimed: "How'dy, honey! I'se so glad you's come. I +seed it in a vision dat somebody fair war comin' to help us. An' wen I +yered it war you, I larffed and jist rolled ober, and larffed and jist +gib up." + +"But, Aunt Linda, I am not very fair," replied Mrs. Latimer. + +"Well, chile, you's fair to me. How's all yore folks in de up kentry?" + +"All well. I expect them down soon to live here." + +"What, Har'yet, and Robby, an' yer ma? Oh, dat is too good. I allers +said Robby had san' in his craw, and war born for good luck. He war a +mighty nice boy. Har'yet's in clover now. Well, ebery dorg has its day, +and de cat has Sunday. I allers tole Har'yet ter keep a stiff upper lip; +dat it war a long road dat had no turn." + +Dr. Latimer was much gratified by the tender care Aunt Linda bestowed +on Iola. + +"I ain't goin' to let her do nuffin till she gits seasoned. She looks as +sweet as a peach. I allers wanted some nice lady to come down yere and +larn our gals some sense. I can't read myself, but I likes ter yere dem +dat can." + +"Well, Aunt Linda, I am going to teach in the Sunday-school, help in the +church, hold mothers' meetings to help these boys and girls to grow up +to be good men and women. Won't you get a pair of spectacles and learn +to read?" + +"Oh, yer can't git dat book froo my head, no way you fix it. I knows +nuff to git to hebben, and dat's all I wants to know." Aunt Linda was +kind and obliging, but there was one place where she drew the line, and +that was at learning to read. + +Harry and Miss Delany accompanied Iola as far as her new home, and +remained several days. The evening before their departure, Harry took +Miss Delany a drive of several miles through the pine barrens. + +"This thing is getting very monotonous," Harry broke out, when they had +gone some distance. + +"Oh, I enjoy it!" replied Miss Delany. "These stately pines look so +grand and solemn, they remind me of a procession of hooded monks." + +"What in the world are you talking about, Lucille?" asked Harry, looking +puzzled. + +"About those pine-trees," replied Miss Delany, in a tone of surprise. + +"Pshaw, I wasn't thinking about them. I'm thinking about Iola and +Frank." + +"What about them?" asked Lucille. + +"Why, when I was in P----, Dr. Latimer used to be first-rate company, +but now it is nothing but what Iola wants, and what Iola says, and what +Iola likes. I don't believe that there is a subject I could name to him, +from spinning a top to circumnavigating the globe, that he wouldn't +somehow contrive to bring Iola in. And I don't believe you could talk +ten minutes to Iola on any subject, from dressing a doll to the latest +discovery in science, that she wouldn't manage to lug in Frank." + +"Oh, you absurd creature!" responded Lucille, "this is their honeymoon, +and they are deeply in love with each other. Wait till you get in love +with some one." + +"I am in love now," replied Harry, with a serious air. + +"With whom?" asked Lucille, archly. + +"With you," answered Harry, trying to take her hand. + +"Oh, Harry!" she exclaimed, playfully resisting. "Don't be so +nonsensical! Don't you think the bride looked lovely, with that dress of +spotless white and with those orange blossoms in her hair?" + +"Yes, she did; that's a fact," responded Harry. "But, Lucille, I think +there is a great deal of misplaced sentiment at weddings," he added, +more seriously. + +"How so?" + +"Oh, here are a couple just married, and who are as happy as happy can +be; and people will crowd around them wishing much joy; but who thinks +of wishing joy to the forlorn old bachelors and restless old maids?" + +"Well, Harry, if you want people to wish you much happiness, why don't +you do as the doctor has done, get yourself a wife?" + +"I will," he replied, soberly, "when you say so." + +"Oh, Harry, don't be so absurd." + +"Indeed there isn't a bit of absurdity about what I say. I am in +earnest." There was something in the expression of Harry's face and the +tone of his voice which arrested the banter on Lucille's lips. + +"I think it was Charles Lamb," replied Lucille, "who once said that +school-teachers are uncomfortable people, and, Harry, I would not like +to make you uncomfortable by marrying you." + +"You will make me uncomfortable by not marrying me." + +"But," replied Lucille, "your mother may not prefer me for a daughter. +You know, Harry, complexional prejudices are not confined to white +people." + +"My mother," replied Harry, with an air of confidence, "is too noble to +indulge in such sentiments." + +"And Iola, would she be satisfied?" + +"Why, it would add to her satisfaction. She is not one who can't be +white and won't be black." + +"Well, then," replied Lucille, "I will take the question of your comfort +into consideration." + +The above promise was thoughtfully remembered by Lucille till a bridal +ring and happy marriage were the result. + +Soon after Iola had settled in C---- she quietly took her place in the +Sunday-school as a teacher, and in the church as a helper. She was +welcomed by the young pastor, who found in her a strong and faithful +ally. Together they planned meetings for the especial benefit of mothers +and children. When the dens of vice are spreading their snares for the +feet of the tempted and inexperienced her doors are freely opened for +the instruction of the children before their feet have wandered and gone +far astray. She has no carpets too fine for the tread of their little +feet. She thinks it is better to have stains on her carpet than stains +on their souls through any neglect of hers. In lowly homes and +windowless cabins her visits are always welcome. Little children love +her. Old age turns to her for comfort, young girls for guidance, and +mothers for counsel. Her life is full of blessedness. + +Doctor Latimer by his kindness and skill has won the name of the "Good +Doctor." But he is more than a successful doctor; he is a true patriot +and a good citizen. Honest, just, and discriminating, he endeavors by +precept and example to instill into the minds of others sentiments of +good citizenship. He is a leader in every reform movement for the +benefit of the community; but his patriotism is not confined to race +lines. "The world is his country, and mankind his countrymen." While he +abhors their deeds of violence, he pities the short-sighted and besotted +men who seem madly intent upon laying magazines of powder under the +cradles of unborn generations. He has great faith in the possibilities +of the negro, and believes that, enlightened and Christianized, he will +sink the old animosities of slavery into the new community of interests +arising from freedom; and that his influence upon the South will be as +the influence of the sun upon the earth. As when the sun passes from +Capricorn to Cancer, beauty, greenness, and harmony spring up in his +path, so he hopes that the future career of the negro will be a greater +influence for freedom and social advancement than it was in the days of +yore for slavery and its inferior civilization. + +Harry and Lucille are at the head of a large and flourishing school. +Lucille gives her ripening experience to her chosen work, to which she +was too devoted to resign. And through the school they are lifting up +the homes of the people. Some have pitied, others blamed, Harry for +casting his lot with the colored people, but he knows that life's +highest and best advantages do not depend on the color of the skin or +texture of the hair. He has his reward in the improved condition of his +pupils and the superb manhood and noble life which he has developed in +his much needed work. + +Uncle Daniel still lingers on the shores of time, a cheery, lovable old +man, loved and respected by all; a welcome guest in every home. Soon +after Iola's marriage, Robert sold out his business and moved with his +mother and sister to North Carolina. He bought a large plantation near +C----, which he divided into small homesteads, and sold to poor but +thrifty laborers, and his heart has been gladdened by their increased +prosperity and progress. He has seen the one-roomed cabins change to +comfortable cottages, in which cleanliness and order have supplanted the +prolific causes of disease and death. Kind and generous, he often +remembers Mrs. Johnson and sends her timely aid. + +Marie's pale, spiritual face still bears traces of the beauty which was +her youthful dower, but its bloom has been succeeded by an air of +sweetness and dignity. Though frail in health, she is always ready to +lend a helping hand wherever and whenever she can. + +Grandmother Johnson was glad to return South and spend the remnant of +her days with the remaining friends of her early life. Although feeble, +she is in full sympathy with her children for the uplifting of the race. +Marie and her mother are enjoying their aftermath of life, one by +rendering to others all the service in her power, while the other, with +her face turned toward the celestial city, is + + "Only waiting till the angels + Open wide the mystic gate." + +The shadows have been lifted from all their lives; and peace, like +bright dew, has descended upon their paths. Blessed themselves, their +lives are a blessing to others. + + + + +NOTE. + +From threads of fact and fiction I have woven a story whose mission will +not be in vain if it awaken in the hearts of our countrymen a stronger +sense of justice and a more Christlike humanity in behalf of those whom +the fortunes of war threw, homeless, ignorant and poor, upon the +threshold of a new era. Nor will it be in vain if it inspire the +children of those upon whose brows God has poured the chrism of that new +era to determine that they will embrace every opportunity, develop every +faculty, and use every power God has given them to rise in the scale of +character and condition, and to add their quota of good citizenship to +the best welfare of the nation. There are scattered among us materials +for mournful tragedies and mirth-provoking comedies, which some hand may +yet bring into the literature of the country, glowing with the fervor of +the tropics and enriched by the luxuriance of the Orient, and thus add +to the solution of our unsolved American problem. + +The race has not had very long to straighten its hands from the hoe, to +grasp the pen and wield it as a power for good, and to erect above the +ruined auction-block and slave-pen institutions of learning, but + + There is light beyond the darkness, + Joy beyond the present pain; + There is hope in God's great justice + And the negro's rising brain. + Though the morning seems to linger + O'er the hill-tops far away, + Yet the shadows bear the promise + Of a brighter coming day. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Iola Leroy, by Frances E.W. 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