An Unofficial Patriot

by Helen H. Gardener

  CHAPTER VIII.--OUT OF BONDAGE.

  _"Look down. Say nothin'. Few words comprehends the whole."_

  The long, lank mountaineer stood leaning on his gun and lookinglistlessly at the collection of bundles, bags, children, dogs, guns,banjos, and other belongings of the Davenport negroes, as they waitedabout the wagons, now nearly ready to start for "Washington and thefree States"--that Mecca of the colored race. It is true that LengthyPatterson disapproved of the entire proceeding, notwithstanding hisprofound respect for, and blind admiration of Parson Davenport, as healways called Griffith; but he had tramped many miles to witness thedeparture, which had been heralded far and wide. Lengthy's companion,known to his familiars as "Whis" Biggs, slowly stroked the voluminoushirsute adornment to which he was indebted for his name, "Whiskers"being the original of the abbreviation which was now his soledesignation--Whis stroked his beard and abstractedly kicked a stray dog,which ran, howling, under the nearest wagon.

  "Hit do appear t' me that the Pahrson air a leetle teched in the haid."

  There was a long pause. The negroes looked, as they always did, at thesemountaineers in contempt.

  Lengthy dove into a capacious pocket and produced a large home-twistedhand of tobacco and passed it in silence to his companion, who gnawedoff a considerable section and in silence returned it to the owner.

  "Let's set," he remarked, and doubled himself down on a log. Lengthytook the seat beside him, and gathered his ever-present gun between hislong legs and gazed into space. Mr. Biggs stroked his beard and remainedplunged in deep thought. That is to say, he was evidently under theimpression that he was thinking, albeit skeptics had been known topoint to the dearth of results in his conversation, and to intimate thatnature had designed in him not so much a thinker as an able-bodied tackupon which to suspend a luxuriant growth of beard. He was known far andwide as "Whis" Biggs; and, if there was within or without his anatomyanything more important, or half so much in evidence as was histremendous achievement in facial adornment (if such an appendage may becalled an adornment by those not belonging to a reverted type), no onehad ever discovered the foot. What there was of him, of value, appearedto have run to hair. The rest of him was occupied in proudly displayingthe fact. He stroked his beard and looked wise, or he stroked hisbeard and laughed, or he stroked his beard and assumed a solemn air, asoccasion, in his judgment, appeared to require; but the occasion alwaysrequired him to stroke his beard, no matter what else might happen toman or to beast.

  But at last the wagons pulled out. Amidst shouts and "Whoas!" and"Gees!" and "G'langs!" Amidst tears and laughter and admonitionsfrom those who went, and those who were left behind, the strange andunaccustomed procession took its course toward the setting sun. Thefamily drove, in the old Davenport barouche, far enough behind to avoidthe dust of the wagons. The long journey was begun for master and forfreedmen. Each was launched on an unknown sea. Each was filled withapprehension and with hope. Old friends and relatives had gathered towitness the departure, some to blame, some to deprecate, and all todeplore the final leave-taking. Comments on the vanishing processionwere varied and numerous. The two mountaineers listened in silence,the one stroking his beard, the other holding his gun. Some thoughtthe preacher undoubtedly insane, some thought him merely a dangerousfanatic, some said he was only a plain, unvarnished fool; some insistedthat since he had gone counter to public opinion and the law of thestate, he was a criminal; while a semi-silent few sighed and wished forthe courage and the ability to follow a like course. The first hoursof the journey were uneventful. There was a gloom on all hearts, whichinsured silence. Each felt that he was looking for the last time uponthe valley of their love. Jerry drove the family carriage. As theypaused to lower the check-reins at the mill stream, Katherine bentsuddenly forward and shaded her eyes with her hands. "Griffith!Griffith! there goes Pete back oyer the fields I I'm sure it is Pete.No other negro has that walk--that lope. See! He looked back! He isrunning! I know it is Pete!"

  Mr. Davenport sprang from the carriage and shouted to the fleeing man.He placed his hands to the sides of his face and shouted again andagain.

  "Shell I run foh' 'im, Mos' Grif?" asked Jerry passing the lines to hismistress. "I lay I kin ketch 'im, 'n I'll fetch' im back, too, fo' he gitsto de cross-roads!"

  He grasped the carriage whip and prepared to start. The shouts hadserved to redouble Pete's.

  "He was your negro, Katherine, shall I let him go?" Griffith said in atired voice.

  "Yes, yes, oh, Griffith, let him stay in Virginia if he wants to. Wecan't have him with us--why, why not let him stay here?"

  Griffith sighed. His wife knew quite well why; but she was nervous andoverwrought and feared resistance should Pete be brought to bay--mighthe not fight for his freedom to remain where he might _not_ be free!

  The wagons had all stopped. One of the twins, with ashen face, camerunning back to report Pete's escape. "Mos' Grif, Oh, Lordy, Mos' Grif!Pete he's run off! Pete------"

  It was plain to be seen that the negroes were restless and expectant.The tone and atmosphere of uncertainty among them, the tearful eyes ofsome, and the sullen scowl of others quickly decided Mr. Davenport. Itwas no time for indecision. Prompt action alone would prevent a panicand a stampede. Katherine spoke a few hasty words to him as he leaned onthe carriage-door. He sprang in. "Go on!" he shouted. "Go on! We can'tall stop now. We must cross the ferry tonight!" Then as a precaution hesaid to the twin: "Catch up and tell Judy that 'Squire Nelson will getPete if he tries to stay here."

  'Squire Nelson, the terrible!' Squire Nelson! who had called before hima runaway boy and calmly shot him through the leg as an example to hisfellows, and then sent him to the quarters to repent his rash act--andincidentally to act as a warning! 'Squire Nelson! Did the manumissionpapers give those who stayed behind to 'Squire Nelson? The negroes lookedinto each other's faces in silent fear, and drove rapidly on.

  An hour later, as they were looking at the glorious sunset, and Griffithwas struggling to be his old cheery self, Katherine said sadly: "We areas much exiled as they, Griffith. We could never come back." She chokedup and then, steadying her voice, "If you think it is God's will we mustsubmit; but--but everything makes it so hard--so cruelly hard. I am soafraid. I--no one ever--every one loved you before, and now--now--didyou see the faces, Griffith, when we left? Did you see 'Squire Nelson'sface?" She shuddered.

  "Oh, is _that_ all?" he exclaimed lightly. "Is that it, Katherine? Well,don't worry over that, dear. We won't be here to see it, and--of coursehe wouldn't like it. Of course it will make trouble among his negroesfor awhile and I am sorry for that. I don't wonder he feels--I--"

  "But, Griffith," she said nervously, "we are not out of the State yet,and--and, Griffith," she lowered her voice to make sure that Jerry wouldnot hear, "can't the law do something dreadful to you for leaving Petehere, free? What can----"

  "Jerry, I wish you'd drive up a little. Get to the ferry before it istoo dark to cross, can't you?" said Griffith, and then, "Don't worryabout that, Katherine, Pete won't dare show himself for a day or two,and besides-" He paused. The silence ran into minutes. Then he reachedover and took her hand and with closed eyes he hummed as they rode, orbroke off to point silently to some picturesque spot or to whistle to arobin. There was a nervous tension on them all.

  "Mos' Grif, hit gwine ter be too late to cross dat ferry to-night. Ain'twe better stop at dat big house over dar?"

  Mr. Davenport opened his eyes. He had been humming--without time andwith long pauses between the words--one of his favorite hymns. He lookedout into the twilight, "That's Ferris's old mill and the Ferris house,isn't it, Katherine? Yes, Jerry, call to the boys to stop. We will haveto stay over. It is too late to cross now. That ferry isn't very safeeven in daylight."

  The following morning, just before sunrise, there was a rap at the door,and a servant came to say that Mr. Davenport was wanted. Katherine waswhite with fear. She sprang from bed and went to the window. There, infront of the house, stood Lengthy Patterso
n, gun in hand, and besidehim, sullen, crestfallen, and with one foot held in his hands, stoodPete. Griffith threw open the window, and Lengthy waited for no prelude.He nodded as if such calls were of daily occurrence, and then jerkedhis head toward Pete. "Saw him runnin'. Told him t' stop. He clim'out faster. Knowed you wanted him." He pointed to Pete's foot. Itwas bleeding. There was a bullet hole through the instep. "Few wordscomprehends the whole," added the mountaineer and relaxed his featuresinto what he intended for a humorous expression. Griffith turned sickand faint. 'Squire Nelson's lesson had been well learned even by thismountaineer.

  Pete was a dangerous negro to be without control, that was true. As afree negro left him without ties, it was only a question of time when hewould commit some desperate deed, and yet what was to be done? Lengthyappeared to grasp the preacher's thought. He slowly seated himself onthe front step and motioned Pete to sit on the grass.

  "Don't fret. Take yer time. I'm a goin' t' the ferry. Few wordscomprehends th' whole," he remarked to Griffith, and examined the lookof his gun, with critical deliberation. When the wagons were ready tostart Jerry whispered to his master that two of the other young negroeshad run off during the night, and yet Mr. Davenport pushed on. Itwas not until late the next afternoon when the dome of the Capitol atWashington burst upon their sight that Griffith and Katherine breathedfree. The splendid vision in the distance put new life and interest inthe negroes. Their restlessness settled into a childlike and emotionalmerrymaking, and snatches of song, and banter, and laughter told thatdanger of revolt or of stampede was over. Judy, alone, sulked in thewagons, and Mammy vented her discontent on the younger ones by word andblow, if they ventured too near her or her white charge. At last theLong Bridge alone stood between them and a liberty that could not begainsaid--and another liberty for the master which had been so dearlyand hazardously bought.

  The Long Bridge was spanned and the strange party drove downPennsylvania Avenue to the office of the attorney who had arrangedfor their reception. The Long Bridge was past and safety was theirs!Griffith glanced back and then turned to look. "Katherine," he said,smiling sadly, "we have crossed the dead line. We are all safe!" Hesighed with the smile still on his lips.

  "It is terrible not to feel safe! Terrible! Terrible!" she said in anundertone, "not to feel safe from pursuit, from behind, and from unknownand unaccustomed dangers near at hand--terrible!"

  So accustomed had Griffith been to caring for and housing these negroes,who, now that they were in the midst of wonders of which they never haddreamed, clung to him with an abiding faith that whatever should betidehe would be there to meet it for them--so accustomed had he been tocaring for them that it had never occurred to Griffith not do so, evennow when they were no longer his.

  "Are the cabins ready?" he asked the attorney's clerk, and sent all butMammy to the huts which had been provided on the outskirts.

  "Go along with this gentleman, children," he said. "Mammy will stay withus, and after Jerry takes us to the hotel he will come and tell you whatelse to do. Good-bye! Goodbye! Keep together until Jerry comes."

  All was uncertainty; but it was understood by all that several of thenegroes were to go with the family and the rest to remain here. Griffithhad decided to take to his new home Jerry and his wife, Ellen, and thetwins; Mammy and Judy, and, if possible, Sally and John. It was here,and now, that he learned the inhospitality of the free states to thefreed negroes.

  "I intend to take several of them with, me and----"

  "Can't do it," broke in the attorney, "Indiana's a free state."

  "Well, I can take'em along and _hire_ 'em, I reckon."

  "Reckon you can't--not in Indiana."

  "What!"

  "I said you couldn't take'em along and hire em.

  "I'd like to know the reason for that. I--"

  "Law. Law's against it."

  Griffith drew his hand across his face as if he had lost his power tothink.

  "You can't take _any_ of'em to Indiana, I tell you," said the attorneyinsistently, and Griffith seemed dazed. Then he began again: "Can't takethem!" he exclaimed, in utter dismay.

  "That's what I said twice--can't take them--none of them."

  "But I shall pay them wages! Surely I can take my own choice of servantsinto my own household if they are free and I pay them wages I Surely--"

  "Surely you _cannot_, I tell you," said the attorney, and added dryly,"not unless you are particularly anxious to run up against the lawpretty hard." He reached up and took down a leather-bound volume. Heturned the leaves slowly, and Griffith and Katherine looked at eachother in dismay. "There it is in black and white. Not a mere law,either--sometimes you can evade a law, if you are willing to risk it;but from the way you both feel about leaving those two free niggersin Virginia, I guess you won't be very good subjects for that sort ofthing--thirteenth article of the constitution of the State itself." Hedrew a pencil mark along one side of the paragraph as Griffith read."Oh! you'll find these free states have got mighty little use forniggers. Came here from one of'em myself. Free or not free, they don'twant 'em. You see," he said, slowly drawing a line down the other sideof the page, "they prohibit you from giving employment to one! Don'tpropose to have free nigger competition with their white labor. Can'tblame 'em." He shrugged his shoulders.

  Griffith began to protest. "But I have read--I thought--"

  "Of course you thought--and you've read a lot of spread-eagle stuff, Idon't doubt. Talk is one of the cheapest commodities in this world; butwhen it comes to acts--" he chuckled cynically, "s'pose you had an ideathat the border States were just holding out their arms to catch andshield and nurture and feed with a gold spoon every nigger you Southernmen were fools enough to set free; but the cold fact is they won't evenlet you bring them over and pay 'em to work for you! That is one of thecharming little differences between theory and practice. They've got thetheory and you've had the practice of looking after the niggers! Yourend is a damned sight more difficult than theirs, as you'll discover, ifyou haven't already. Excuse me, I forgot you were a preacher. You don'tlook much like one." Griffith smiled and bowed. Katherine had goneto the front window, where Mammy and the baby were enjoying theunaccustomed sights of the street. Griffith and the lawyer moved towardthem.

  "No, sir, your niggers have all got to stay right here in Washington andstarve or steal. You can't take'em to Indiana, that's mighty certain.Why, when that Constitution was passed only a year or two ago, therewern't but 21,000 voters in the whole blessed State that didn't vote topunish a white man for even giving employment to a free nigger. Publicsentiment as well as law is _all_ against you. You can't take thoseniggers to Indiana--that's certain!"

  "Dar now! Dar now! wat I done tole you?" exclaimed Mammy. "What I donetole Mos' Grif 'bout all dis foolishness? Mis' Kate, you ain't gwine ter'low dat is you? Me an' Judy free niggers! _Town_ free niggers widno fambly!" The tone indicated that no lower depth of degradation andmisfortune than this could be thrust upon any human being.

  "I's gwine ter keep dis heah baby, den. Who gwine ter take cahr ob herwidout me?" The child was patting the black face and pulling the blackear in a gleeful effort to call forth the usual snort and threat to"swaller her whole."

  "Bless yoah hawt, honey, yoh ain't gwine t' hab no odder nus, is yo'?Nus! Nus! White trash t' nus my baby! Yoh des gwine ter hab yoh olemammy, dat's wat!"

  The attorney took Mr. Davenport and Katherine to an inner office. It wastwo hours later when they came out. Both were pale and half dazed, butarrangements had been made, papers had been drawn, by which the nineoldest negroes were, in future, to appear at this office once everythree months and draw the sum of twenty-four dollars each, so long asthey might live. The younger ones must hereafter shift, as best theycould, for themselves. The die was cast. The bridges were burned behindthem. There was no return, and the negroes were indeed, "free, townniggers," henceforth.

  "God forgive me if I have done wrong," said Griffith, as he left theoffice. "If I have done wrong in deserting these poo
r black children,for children they will always be, though pensioned as too old to work!Poor Mammy, Poor Judy! And Mart, and old Peyton!"

  He shook his head and compressed his lips as he walked toward the door,with a stoop in his shoulders that was not there when he had entered.All the facts of this manumission were so wholly at variance with theestablished theories.

  Every thing had been so different from even what Griffith had expectedto meet. As they reached the door the attorney took the proffered handand laughed a little, satirically.

  "Now I want you to tell me what good you expect all this to do? What wasthe use? What is gained? It's clear to a man without a spy-glass what's_lost_ all around; but it's going to puzzle a prophet to show where thegain comes in, in a case like this. If you'll excuse the remark, sir, itlooks like a piece of romantic tom-foolery, to a man up a tree. A kindof tom-foolery, that does harm all around--to black and to white, tobond and to free. Of course if _all_ of 'em were free it would, nodoubt, be better. I'm inclined to think that way, myself. But just tellme how many slave-owners--even if they wanted to do it--_could_ doas you have? Simply impossible! Then, besides, where'd they go--theniggers? Pension the whole infernal lot? Gad! but it's the dream of aman who never will wake up to this world, as it is built. And what good_have_ you done? Just stop long enough to tell me that;" he insisted,still holding Griffith's hand. He was smiling down at his client whostood on a lower step. There was in his face a tinge of contempt and ofpity for the lack of worldly wisdom.

  "I'm not pretending to judge for you nor for other men, Mr. Wapley, butfor myself it was wrong to own them. That is all. That is simple, isit not?" The lawyer thought it was, indeed, very, very simple; but toa nature like Griffith's it was all the argument needed. His face wasclouded, for the lawyer did not seem satisfied. Griffith could not guesswhy.

  "My conscience troubled me. I am not advising other men to do as I havedone. Sometimes I feel almost inclined to advise them _not_ to followmy example if they can feel satisfied not to--the cost is verygreat--bitterly heavy has the cost been in a thousand ways that no onecan ever know but the man who tries it--and this little woman, here." Hetook her hand and turned to help her into the carriage.

  "Ah, Katherine, you have been very brave! The worst has fallen on you,after all--for no sense of imperative duty urged you on. For _my_ sakeyou have yielded! Her bravery, sir, has been double, and it is almostmore than I can bear to ask it--to accept it--of her! For my own sake!It has been selfish, in a sense, selfish in me."

  Katherine smiled through dim eyes and pressed her lips hard together.She did not trust herself to speak. She bowed to the attorney and turnedtoward Mammy and the baby as they stood by the carriage door.

  "I'm a-goin' wid yoh alls to de hotel, ain't I, Mis' Kath'rine? Dar now,honey, des put yoah foot dar an' in yoh goes! Jerry, can't yoh hol' demhosses still! Whoa, dar! Whoa! Mos' Beverly, he radder set in front widJerry, an' I gwine ter set inside wid de baby, an' yo' alls."

  The old woman bustled about and gave orders until they were, at last, atthe door of the Metropolitan, where, until other matters were arranged,the family would remain.

  Strange as it may seem, to save themselves from the final trial ofa heartbreaking farewell, from protests, from the sight of weepingchildren and excited negroes, three days later Mr. Davenport and hisfamily left by an early train for the west before the negroes, asidefrom Jerry, knew that they were gone. And in the place of the spectacleof a runaway negro escaping from white owners, the early loungers behelda runaway white family escaping from the galling bondage of ownership!