Complete Works of Harriet Beecher Stowe

by Harriet Beecher Stowe

  “The fact is, my dear Miss Clayton,” he said, “I have something on my mind that I want to tell you; and I hope you will think my long friendship for the family a sufficient warrant for my speaking on matters which really belong chiefly to yourself. The fact is, my dear Miss Clayton, I was at a small dinner-party of gentlemen, the other day, at Colonel Grandon’s. There was a little select set there, you know, — the Howards, and the Elliotts, and the Howlands, and so on, — and the conversation happened to turn upon your brother. Now, there was the very greatest respect for him; they seemed to have the highest possible regard for his motives; but still they felt that he was going on a very dangerous course.”

  “Dangerous?” said Anne a little startled.

  “Yes, really dangerous; and I think so myself, though I, perhaps, don’t feel as strongly as some do.”

  “Really,” said Anne, “I’m quite at a loss!”

  “My dear Miss Anne, it’s these improvements, you know, which you are making. Don’t misapprehend me! Admirable, very admirable, in themselves, — done from the most charming of motives, Miss Anne, — but dangerous, dangerous!”

  The solemn, mysterious manner in which these last words were pronounced made Anne laugh; but when she saw the expression of real concern on the face of her good friend, she checked herself, and said, —

  “Pray, explain yourself. I don’t understand you.”

  “Why, Miss Anne, it’s just here. We appreciate your humanity, and your self-denial, and your indulgence to your servants. Everybody is of opinion that it’s admirable. You are really quite a model for us all. But when it comes to teaching them to read and write, Miss Anne,” he said, lowering his voice, “I think you don’t consider what a dangerous weapon you are putting into their hands. The knowledge will spread on to the other plantations; bright niggers will pick it up; for the very fellows who are most dangerous are the very ones who will be sure to learn.”

  “What if they should?” said Anne.

  “Why, my dear Miss Anne,” said he, lowering his voice, “the facilities that it will afford them for combinations, for insurrections! You see, Miss Anne, I read a story once of a man who made a cork leg with such wonderful accuracy that it would walk of itself, and when he got it on he couldn’t stop its walking — it walked him to death — actually did! Walked him up hill and down dale, till the poor man fell down exhausted; and then it ran off with his body. And it’s running with its skeleton to this day, I believe.”

  And good-natured Mr. Bradshaw conceived such a ridiculous idea, at this stage of his narrative, that he leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily, wiping his perspiring face with a cambric pocket-handkerchief.

  “Really, Mr. Bradshaw, it’s a very amusing idea, but I don’t see the analogy,” said Anne.

  “Why, don’t you see? You begin teaching niggers, and having reading and writing, and all these things, going on, and they begin to open their eyes, and look round and think; and they are having opinions of their own, they won’t take yours; and they want to rise directly. And if they can’t rise, why, they are all discontented; and there’s the what’s-his-name to pay with them! Then come conspiracies and insurrections, no matter how well you treat them; and now, we South Carolinians have had experience in this matter. You must excuse us, but it is a terrible subject with us. Why, the leaders of that conspiracy, all of them, were fellows who could read and write”, and who had nothing in’ the world to wish for, in the way of comfort, treated with every consideration by their masters. It is a most melancholy chapter in human nature. It shows that there is no trust to be placed in them. And now, the best way to get along with negroes, in my opinion, is to make them happy; give them plenty to eat and drink and wear, and keep them amused and excited, and don’t work them too hard. I think it’s a great deal better than this kind of exciting instruction. Mind,” he said, seeing that Anne was going to interrupt him, “mind, now, I’d have religious instruction, of course. Now, this system of oral instruction, teaching them hymns and passages of Scripture suited to their peculiar condition, it’s just the thing; it isn’t so liable to these dangers. I hope you’ll excuse me, Miss Anne, but the gentlemen really feel very serious about these things; they find it’s affecting their own negroes. You know, somehow everything goes round from one plantation to another; and one of them said that he had a very smart man who is married to one of your women, and he actually found him with a spelling-book, sitting out under a tree. He said if the man had had a rifle he couldn’t have been more alarmed; because the man was just one of those sharp, resolute fellows, that, if he knew how to read and write, there’s no knowing what he would do. Well, now, you see how it is. He takes the spelling-book away, and he tells him he will give him nine-and-thirty if he ever finds him with it again. What’s the consequence? Why, the consequence is, the man sulks and gets ugly, and he has to sell him. That’s the way it’s operating.”

  “Well, then,” said Anne, looking somewhat puzzled, “I will strictly forbid our people to allow spelling-books to go out of their hands, or to communicate any of these things off of the plantation.”

  “Oh, I tell you, Miss Anne, you can’t do it. You don’t know the passion in human nature for anything that is forbidden. Now, I believe it’s more that than love of reading. You can’t shut up such an experiment as you are making here. It’s just like a fire. It will blaze; it will catch on all the plantations round; and I assure you it’s matter of life and death with us. You smile, Miss Anne, but it’s so.”

  “Really, my dear Mr. Bradshaw, you could not have addressed me on a more unpleasant subject. I am sorry to excite the apprehension of our neighbors; but”—”Give me leave to remind you, also, Miss Anne, that the teaching of slaves to read and write is an offense to which a severe penalty is attached by the laws.”

  “I thought,” said Anne, “that such barbarous laws were a dead letter in a Christian community, and that the best tribute I could pay to its Christianity was practically to disregard them.”

  “By no means, Miss Anne, by no means! Why, look at us here in South Carolina. The negroes are three to one over the whites now. Will it do to give them the further advantages of education and facilities of communication? You see, at once, it will not. Now, well-bred people, of course, are extremely averse to mingling in the affairs of other families; and had you merely taught a few favorites, in a private way, as I believe people now and then do, it wouldn’t have seemed so bad; but to have regular provision for teaching school, and school hours —

  I think, Miss Anne, you’ll find it will result in unpleasant consequences.”

  “Yes, I fancy,” said Anne, raising herself up, and slightly coloring, “that I see myself in the penitentiary for the sin and crime of teaching children to read! I think, Mr. Bradshaw, it is time such laws were disregarded. Is not that the only way in which many laws are repealed? Society outgrows them, people disregard them, and so they fall away, like the calyx from some of my flowers. Come, now, Mr. Bradshaw, come with me to my school. I’m going to call it together,” said Anne, rising, and beginning to go down the veranda steps. “Certainly, my dear friend, you ought not to judge without seeing. Wait a moment, till I call Miss Gordon.”

  And Anne stepped across the shady parlor, and in a few moments reappeared with Nina, both arrayed in white cape-bonnets. They crossed to the right of the house, to a small cluster of neat cottages, each one of which had its little vegetable garden, and its plot in front, carefully tended, with flowers. They passed onward into a grove of magnolias which skirted the back of the house, till they came to a little building, with the external appearance of a small Grecian temple, the pillars of which were festooned with jessamine.

  “Pray what pretty little place is this?” said Mr. Bradshaw.

  “This is my schoolroom,” said Anne.

  Mr. Bradshaw repressed a whistle of astonishment; but the emotion was plainly legible in his face, and Anne said, laughing, —

  “A lady’s schoolroom, you know, shoul
d be lady-like. Besides, I wish to inspire ideas of taste, refinement, and self-respect in these children. I wish learning to be associated with the idea of elegance and beauty.”

  They ascended the steps, and entered a large room, surrounded on three sides by blackboards. The floor was covered with white, matting, and the walls hung with very pretty pictures of French lithographs, tastefully colored. In some places cards were hung up, bearing quotations of Scripture. There were rows of neat desks, before each of which there was a little chair.

  Anne stepped to the door and rang a bell, and in about ten minutes the patter of innumerable little feet was heard ascending the steps, and presently they came streaming in —— all ages, from four or five to fifteen and from the ebony complexion of the negro, with its closely curling wool, to the rich brown cheek of the quadroon, with melancholy, lustrous eyes and waving hair. All were dressed alike, in a neat uniform of some kind of blue stuff, with white capes and aprons.

  They filed in to the tune of one of those marked rhythmical melodies which characterize the negro music, and moving in exact time to the singing, assumed their seats, which were arranged with regard to their age and size. As soon as they were seated, Anne, after a moment’s pause, clapped her hands, and the whole school commenced a morning hymn, in four parts, which was sung so beautifully that Mr. Bradshaw, quite overpowered, stood with tears in his eyes. Anne nodded at Nina, and cast on him a satisfied glance.

  After that there was a rapid review of the classes. There was reading, spelling, writing on the blackboard, and the smaller ones were formed in groups in two adjoining apartments, under the care of some of the older girls. Anne walked about superintending the whole; and Nina, who saw the scene for the first time, could not repress her exclamation of delight. The scholars were evidently animated by the presence of company, and anxious to do credit to the school and teacher, and the two hours passed rapidly away. Anne exhibited to Mr. Bradshaw specimens of the proficiency of her scholars in handwriting, and the drawing of maps, and even the copying of small lithograph cards, which contained a series of simple drawing-patterns. Mr. Bradshaw seemed filled with astonishment.

  “‘Pon my word,” said he, “these are surprising! Miss Anne, you are a veritable magician — a worker of miracles! You must have found Aaron’s rod, again! My dear madam, you run the risk of being burned for a witch!”

  “Very few, Mr. Bradshaw, know how much of beauty lies sealed up in this neglected race,” said Anne, with enthusiasm.

  As they were walking back to the house, Mr. Bradshaw fell a little behind, and his face wore a thoughtful and almost sad expression.

  “Well,” said Anne, looking round, “a penny for your thoughts!”

  “Oh, I see, Miss Anne, you are for pursuing your advantage. I see triumph in your eyes. But yet,” he added, “after all this display, the capability of your children makes me feel sad. To what end is it? What purpose will it serve, except to unfit them for their inevitable condition — to make them discontented and unhappy?”

  “Well,” replied Anne, “there ought to be no inevitable condition that makes it necessary to dwarf a human mind. Any condition which makes a full development of the powers that God has given us a misfortune cannot, certainly, be a healthy one — cannot be right. If a mind will grow and rise, make way and let it. Make room for it, and cut down everything that stands in the way!”

  “That’s terribly leveling doctrine, Miss Anne.”

  “Let it level, then!” said Anne. “I don’t care! I come from the old Virginia Cavalier blood, and am not afraid of anything.”

  “But, Miss Anne, how do you account for it that the best-educated and best-treated slaves — in fact, as you say, the most perfectly developed human beings — were those who got up the insurrection in Charleston?”

  “How do you account for it,” said Anne, “that the best-developed and finest specimens of men have been those that have got up insurrections in Italy, Austria, and Hungary?”

  “Well, you admit, then,” said Mr. Bradshaw, “that if you say A in this matter, you’ve got to say B?”

  “Certainly,” said Anne, “and when the time comes to say B l’m ready to say it. I admit, Mr. Bradshaw, it’s a very dangerous thing to get up steam, if you don’t intend to let the boat go. But when the steam is high enough, let her go, say I.”

  “Yes, but, Miss Anne, other people don’t want to say so. The fact is, we are not all of us ready to let the boat go. It’s got all our property in it — all we have to live on. If you are willing yourself, so far as your people are concerned, they’ll inevitably want liberty, and you say you’ll be ready to give it to them; but your fires will raise a steam on our plantations, and we must shut down these escape-valves. Don’t you see? Now, for my part, I’ve been perfectly charmed with this school of yours; but, after all, I can’t help inquiring whereto it will grow.”

  “Well, Mr. Bradshaw,” said Anne, “I’m obliged to you for the frankness of this conversation. It’s very friendly and sincere. I think, however, I shall continue to compliment the good sense and gallantry of this state, by ignoring its unworthy and unchristian laws. I will endeavor, nevertheless, to be more careful and guarded as to the manner of what I do; but if I should be put into the penitentiary, Mr. Bradshaw, I hope you’ll call on me.”

  “Miss Anne, I beg ten thousand pardons for that unfortunate allusion.”

  “I think,” said Anne, “I shall impose it as a penance upon you to stay and spend the day with us, and then I’ll show you my rose-garden. I have great counsel to hold with you on the training of a certain pillar-rose. You see, my design is to get you involved in my treason. You’ve already come into complicity with it, by visiting my school.”

  “Thank you, Miss Aline; I should be only too much honored to be your abettor in any treason you might meditate. But, really, I’m a most unlucky dog! Think of my having four bachelor friends engaged to dine with me, and so being obliged to decline your tempting offer! In fact, I must take horse before the sun gets any hotter.”

  “There he goes, for a good-hearted creature as he is!” said Anne.

  “Do you know,” said Nina, laughing, “that I thought that he was some poor desperate mortal who was on the verge of a proposal, this morning, and I ran away like a good girl to give him a fair field?”

  “Child,” said Anne, “you are altogether too late in the day. Mr. Bradshaw and I walked that little figure some time ago, and now he is one of the most convenient and agreeable of friends.”

  “Anne, why in the world don’t you get in love with somebody?” said Nina.

  “My dear, I think there was something or other left out when I was made up,” said Anne, laughing, “but I never had much of a fancy for the lords of creation. They do tolerably well till they come to be lovers; but then they are perfectly unbearable. Lions in love, my dear, don’t appear to advantage, you know. I can’t marry papa or Edward, and they have spoiled me for everybody else. Besides, I’m happy, and what do I want of any of them? Can’t there be now and then a woman sufficient to herself? But, Nina, dear, I’m sorry that our affairs here are giving offense and making uneasiness.”

  “For my part,” said Nina, “I should go right on. I have noticed that people try all they can to stop a person who is taking an unusual course; and when they are perfectly certain that they can’t stop him, then they turn round and fall in with him; and I think that will be the case with you.”

  “They certainly will have an opportunity of trying,” said Anne. “But there is Dulcimer coming up the avenue with the letter-bag. Now, child, I don’t believe you appreciate half my excellence, when you consider that I used to have all these letters that fall to you every mail.” At this moment Dulcimer rode up to the veranda steps, and deposited the letter-bag in Anne’s hands.

  “What an odd name you have given him!” said Nina, “and what a comical-looking fellow he is! He has a sort of waggish air that reminds me of a crow.”

  “Oh, Dulcimer don’t belong to our
régime,” said Anne. “He was the prime minister and favorite under the former reign, — a sort of licensed court jester, — and to this day he hardly knows how to do anything but sing and dance; and so brother, who is for allowing the largest liberty to everybody, imposes on him only such general and light tasks as suit his roving nature. But there!” she said throwing a letter on Nina’s lap, and at the same time breaking the seal of one directed to herself. “Ah, I thought so! You see, puss, Edward has some law business that takes him to this part of the state forthwith. Was ever such convenient law business? We may look for him to-night. Now there will be rejoicings! How now, Dulcimer? I thought you had gone,” she said, looking up, and observing that personage still lingering in the shade of a tulip-tree near the veranda.

  “Please, Miss Anne, is Master Clayton coming home to-night?”

  “Yes, Dulcimer; so now go and spread the news; for that’s what you want, I know.”

  And Dulcimer, needing no second suggestion, was out of sight in the shrubbery in a few moments.

  “Now, I’ll wager,” said Anne, “that creature will get up something or other extraordinary for this evening.”

  “Such as what?” said Nina.

  “Well, he is something of a troubadour, and I shouldn’t wonder if he should be cudgeling his brain at this moment for a song. We shall have some kind of operatic performance, you may be sure.”

  CHAPTER XXIX

  THE TROUBADOUR

  ABOUT five o’clock in the evening Nina and Anne amused themselves with setting a fancy tea-table on the veranda. Nina had gathered a quantity of the leaves of the live-oak which she possessed a particular faculty of plaiting in long, flat wreaths, and with these she garlanded the social round table, after it had been draped in its snowy damask, while Anne was busy arranging fruit in dishes with vine leaves.

  “Lettice will be in despair to-night,” said Anne, looking up and smiling at a neatly dressed brown mulatto girl, who stood looking on with large lustrous eyes; “her occupation’s gone!”