Every individual has an undoubted right, if he chooses, thus to resign the rights and privileges of his earthly birthright; but the question is a very different one when it involves the improvement and the immortal interests of those for whom the ties of blood oblige him to have care.
Milly, who viewed everything with the eye of a Christian, was far less impressed by the rigor and severity of Tom Gordon’s administration than by the dreadful demoralization of character which he brought upon the plantation.
Tomtit being a bright, handsome child, his master had taken a particular fancy to him. He would have him always about his person, and treated him with the same mixture of indulgence and caprice which one would bestow upon a spaniel. He took particular pleasure in teaching him to drink and to swear, apparently for nothing else than the idle amusement it afforded him to witness the exhibition of such accomplishments in so young a child.
In vain Milly, who dared use more freedom with him than any other servant, expostulated. He laughed or swore at her, according to the state in which he happened to be. Milly, therefore, determined at once to join the flying party, and take her darling with her. Perhaps she would not have been able to accomplish this, had not what she considered a rather fortunate reverse, about this time, brought Tomtit into disgrace with his master. Owing to some piece of careless mischief which he had committed, he had been beaten with a severity as thoughtless as the indulgence he at other times received, and, while bruised and trembling from this infliction, he was fully ready to fly anywhere.
Quite unexpectedly to all parties, it was discovered that Tom Gordon’s confidential servant and valet, Jim, was one of the most forward to escape. This man, from that peculiar mixture of boldness, adroitness, cunning, and drollery which often exists among negroes, had stood for years as prime and undisputed favorite with his master; he had never wanted for money, or for anything that money could purchase; and he had had an almost unreproved liberty of saying, in an odd fashion, what he pleased, with the licensed audacity of a court buffoon.
One of the slaves expressed astonishment that he, in his favored position, should think of such a thing. Jim gave a knowing inclination of his head to one side, and said: —
“Fac’ is, bredren, dis chile is jest tired of dese yer partnership concerns. I and mas’r, we has all tings in common, sure ‘nough; but den I’d rather have less of ‘em, and have something dat’s mine; ‘sides which, I never’s going to have a wife till I can get one dat’ll belong to myself; dat ar’s a ting I’s ‘ticular ‘bout.”
The conspirators were wont to hold their meetings nightly in the woods, near the swamp, for purposes of concert and arrangement.
Jim had been trusted so much to come and go at his own pleasure that he felt little fear of detection, always having some plausible excuse on hand if inquiries were made. It is to be confessed that he had been a very profane and irreverent fellow, often attending prayer-meetings, and other religious exercises of the negroes, for no other apparent purpose than to be able to give burlesque imitations of all the proceedings for the amusement of his master and his master’s vile associates. Whenever, therefore, he was missed, he would upon inquiry assert, with a knowing wink, that “he had been out to de prayer-meetin’.”
“Seems to me, Jim,” says Tom one morning, when he felt peculiarly ill-natured, “seems to me you are doing nothing but go to meeting lately. I don’t like it, and I’m not going to have it. Some deviltry or other you are up to, and I’m going to put a stop to it. Now, mind yourself; don’t you go any more, or I’ll give you” —
We shall not mention particularly what Tom was in the habit of threatening to give.
Here was a dilemma. One attendance more in the woods this very night was necessary, — was, indeed, indispensable. Jim put all his powers of pleasing into requisition. Never had he made such desperate efforts to be entertaining. He sang, he danced, he mimicked sermons, carried on mock meetings, and seemed to whip all things sacred and profane together in one great syllabub of uproarious merriment; and this, to an idle man, with a whole day upon his hands and an urgent necessity for never having time to think, was no small affair.
Tom mentally reflected in the evening, as he lay stretched out in the veranda, smoking his cigar, what in the world he should do without Jim to keep him in spirits; and Jim, under cover of the day’s glory, had ventured to request of his master the liberty of an hour, which he employed in going to his tryst in the woods. This was a bold step, considering how positively he had been forbidden to do it in the morning; but Jim heartily prayed to his own wits, the only god he had been taught to worship, to help him out once more. He was returning home, hastening, in order to be in season for his master’s bedtime, hoping to escape unquestioned as to where he had been.
The appointments had all been made, and, between two and three o’clock that night, the whole party were to strike out upon their course, and ere morning to have traveled the first stage of their pilgrimage towards freedom.
Already the sense of a new nature was beginning to dawn on Jim’s mind, — a sense of something graver, steadier, and more manly than the wild, frolicsome life he had been leading; and his bosom throbbed with a strange, new, unknown hope. Suddenly, on the very boundary of the spot where the wood joins the plantation, whom should he meet but Tom Gordon, sent there as if he had been warned by his evil stars.
“Now, Lord help me! if dere is any Lord,” said Jim.
“Well, I’s got to blaze it out now de best way I ken.”
He walked directly up to his master, with his usual air of saucy assurance.
“Why, Jim,” said Tom, “where have you been? I’ve been looking for you.”
“Why, bless you, mas’r, honey, I’s been out to de meetin’.”
“Didn’t I tell you, you dog,” said Tom with an oath, “that you were not to go to any more of those meetings?”
“Why, laws, mas’r, honey, chile, ‘fore my Heavenly Mas’r, I done forgot every word you said!” said Jim. “I’s so kind o’ tumbled up and down this day, and things has been so cur’us!”
The ludicrous grimace and tone, and attitude of affected contrition, with which all this was said, rather amused Tom; and, though he still maintained an air of sternness, the subtle negro saw at once his advantage, and added, “‘Clare if I isn’t most dead! Ole Pomp, he preached, and he gets me so full o’ grace I’s fit to bust. Has to do something wicked, else I’ll get translated one dese yer days, like’Lijah, and den who’d mas’r have fur to wait on him?”
“I don’t believe you’ve been to meeting,” said Tom, eyeing him with affected suspicion. “You’ve been out on some spree.”
“Why, laws, mas’r, honey, you hurts my feelings! Why, now, I’s in hopes you’d say you see de grace a-shining out all over me. Why, I’s been in a clar state of glorrufication all dis evening. Dat ar ole Pomp, dar’s no mistake, he does lift a body up powerful!”
“You don’t remember a word he said, now, I’ll bet,” said Tom. “Where was the text?”
“Text!” said Jim with assurance; “‘t was in de twenty-fourth chapter of Jerusalem, sixteenth verse.”
“Well,” said Tom, “what was it? I should like to know.”
“Laws, mas’r, I b’lieve I can ‘peat it,” said Jim, with an indescribable air of waggish satisfaction. “‘T was dis yer: I Ye shall sarch fur me in de mornin’ and ye won’t find me.’ Dat ar’s a mighty solemn text, mas’r, and ye ought to be ‘fleeting on’t.”
And Tom had occasion to reflect upon it the next morning, when, having stormed and sworn and pulled until he broke the bell-wire, no Jim appeared. It was some time before he could actually realize or believe he was gone. The ungrateful dog! The impudent puppy, who had had all his life everything he wanted, to run away from him!
Tom aroused the whole country in pursuit; and, as servants were found missing in many other plantations, there was a general excitement through the community. The “Trumpet of Liberty” began to blow dolorous note
s, and articles headed, “The Results of Abolitionist Teaching and Covert Incendiarism,” began to appear. It was recommended that a general search should be made through the country for all persons tinctured with abolitionist sentiments, and immediate measures pursued to oblige them to leave the State forthwith.
One or two respectable gentlemen, who were in the habit of taking the “National Era,” were visited by members of a vigilance committee, and informed that they must immediately drop the paper or leave the State; and when one of them talked of his rights as a free citizen, and inquired how they would enforce their requisitions, supposing he determined to stand for his liberty, the party informed him succinctly to the following purport: “If you do not comply, your corn, grain, and fodder will be burned, your cattle driven off; and, if you still persist, your house will be set on fire and consumed, and you will never know who does it.”
When the good gentleman inquired if this was freedom, his instructors informed him that freedom consisted in their right and power to make their neighbors submit to their own will and dictation; and he would find himself in a free country so far as this, that every one would feel at liberty to annoy and maltreat him so long as he opposed the popular will. This modern doctrine of liberty has of late been strikingly and edifyingly enforced on the minds of some of our brethren and sisters in the new States, to whom the offer of relinquishing their principles or their property and lives has been tendered with the same admirable explicitness.
It is scarcely necessary to remark that both these worthy gentlemen, to use the language of their conquerors, “caved in,” and thus escaped with no other disadvantage than a general plundering of their smoke-houses, the hams in which were thought a desirable addition to a triumphal entertainment proposed to be given in honor of law and order by THE ASSOCIATE BANDS of the GLORIOUS IMMORTAL COONS, the body-guard which was Tom Gordon’s instrument in all these exploits.
In fact, this association, although wanting the advantage of an ordaining prayer and a distribution of Bibles, as has been the case with some more recently sent from Southern States, to beat the missionary drum of state rights and the principles of law and order on our frontiers, yet conducted themselves in a manner which might have won them approbation even in Colonel Buford’s regiment, giving such exhibitions of liberty as were sufficient to justify all despots for putting it down by force for centuries to come.
Tom Gordon was the great organizer and leader of all these operations; his suspicions had connected Clayton with the disappearance of his slaves, and he followed upon his track with the sagacity of a bloodhound. The outrage which he had perpetrated upon him in the forest, so far from being a matter of shame or concealment, was paraded as a cause for open boast and triumph. Tom rode about with his arm in a sling as a wounded hero, and received touching testimonials and demonstrations from sundry ladies of his acquaintance for his gallantry and spirit. When on the present occasion he found the pursuit of his slaves hopeless, his wrath and malice knew no bounds, and he determined to stir up and enkindle against Clayton to the utmost degree the animosities of the planters around his estate of Magnolia Grove. This it was not difficult to do. We have already shown how much latent discontent and heartburning had been excited by the course which Clayton and his sister had pursued on their estate.
Tom Gordon had a college acquaintance with the eldest son of one of the neighboring families, a young man of as reckless and dissipated habits as his own. Hearing, therefore, that Clayton had retired to Magnolia Grove, he accepted an invitation of this young man to make him a visit, principally, as it would appear, for the purpose of instigating some mischief.
CHAPTER LV
LYNCH LAW AGAIN
THE reader next beholds Clayton at Magnolia Grove, whither he had fled to recruit his exhausted health and spirits. He had been accompanied there by Frank Russel.
Our readers may often have observed how long habits of intimacy may survive between two persons who have embarked in moral courses which, if pursued, must eventually separate them forever. For such is the force of moral elements that the ambitious and self-seeking cannot always walk with those who love good for its own sake. In this world, however, where all these things are imperfectly developed, habits of intimacy often subsist a long time between the most opposing affinities.
The fact was that Russel would not give up the society of Clayton. He admired the very thing in him which he wanted himself; and he comforted himself for not listening to his admonitions by the tolerance and good nature with which he had always heard them. When he heard that he was ill, he came to him and insisted upon traveling with him, attending him with the utmost fidelity and kindness.
Clayton had not seen Anne before since his affliction, — both because his time had been very much engaged, and because they who cannot speak of their sorrows often shrink from the society of those whose habits of intimacy and affection might lead then to desire such confidence. But he was not destined in his new retreat to find the peace he desired. Our readers may remember that there were intimations conveyed through his sister some time since of discontent arising in the neighborhood.
The presence of Tom Gordon soon began to make itself felt. As a conductor introduced into an electric atmosphere will draw to itself the fluid, so he became an organizing point for the prevailing dissatisfaction.
He went to dinner-parties and talked; he wrote in the nearest paper; he excited the inflammable and inconsiderate; and before he had been there many weeks a vigilance association was formed, among the younger and more hotheaded of his associates, to search out and extirpate covert abolitionism. Anne and her brother first became sensible of an entire cessation of all those neighborly acts of kindness and hospitality in which Southern people, when in a good humor, are so abundant.
At last, one day Clayton was informed that three or four gentlemen of his acquaintance were wishing to see him in the parlor below. On descending, he was received first by his nearest neighbor, Judge Oliver, a fine-looking elderly gentleman, of influential family connection. He was attended by Mr. Bradshaw, whom we have already introduced to our readers, and by a Mr. Knapp, who was a very wealthy planter, a man of great energy and ability, who had for some years figured as the representative of his native State in Congress. It was evident, by the embarrassed air of the party, that they had come on business of no pleasing character.
It is not easy for persons, however much excited they may be, to enter at once upon offensive communications to persons who receive them with calm and gentlemanly civility; therefore, after being seated, and having discussed the ordinary topics of the weather and the crops, the party looked one upon another, in a little uncertainty which should begin the real business of the interview.
“Mr. Clayton,” at length said Judge Oliver, “we are really sorry to be obliged to make disagreeable communications to you. We have all of us had the sincerest respect for your family and for yourself. I have known and honored your father many years, Mr. Clayton; and, for my own part, I must say I anticipated much pleasure from your residence in our neighborhood. I am really concerned to be obliged to say anything unpleasant; but I am under the necessity of telling you that the course you have been pursuing with regard to your servants, being contrary to the laws and usages of our social institutions, can no longer be permitted among us. You are aware that the teaching of slaves to read and write is forbidden by the law, under severe penalties. We have always been liberal in the interpretation of this law. Exceptional violations, conducted with privacy and discretion in the case of favored servants, whose general good conduct seems to merit such confidence, have from time to time existed, and passed among us without notice or opposition; but the institution of a regular system of instruction, to the extent and degree which exists upon your plantation, is a thing so directly in the face of the law that we can no longer tolerate it; and we have determined, unless this course is dropped, to take measures to put the law into execution.”
“I had paid my adopted State t
he compliment,” said Clayton, “to suppose such laws to be a mere relic of barbarous ages, which the practical Christianity of our times would treat as a dead letter. I began my arrangements in all good faith, not dreaming that there could be found those who would oppose a course so evidently called for by the spirit of the gospel and the spirit of the age.”
“You are entirely mistaken, sir,” said Mr. Knapp, in a tone of great decision, “if you suppose these laws are, or can ever be, a matter of indifference to us, or can be suffered to become a dead letter. Sir, they are founded in the very nature of our institutions. They are indispensable to the preservation of our property and the safety of our families. Once educate the negro population, and the whole system of our domestic institutions is at an end. Our negroes have acquired already, by living among us, a degree of sagacity and intelligence which makes it difficult to hold an even rein over them; and once open the floodgates of education, and there is no saying where they and we might be carried. I, for my part, do not approve of these exceptional instances Judge Oliver mentioned. Generally speaking, those negroes whose intelligence and good conduct would make them the natural recipients of such favors are precisely the ones who ought not to be trusted with them. It ruins them. Why, just look at the history of the insurrection that very nearly cut off the whole city of Charleston: what sort of men were those who got it up? They were just your steady, thoughtful, well-conducted men, — just the kind of men that people are teaching to read, because they think they are so good it can do no harm. Sir, my father was one of the magistrates on the trial of those men, and I have heard him say often there was not one man of bad character among them. They had all been remarkable for their good character. Why, there was that Denmark Vesey, who was the head of it: for twenty years he served his master, and was the most faithful creature that ever breathed; and after he got his liberty, everybody respected him and liked him. Why, at first, my father said the magistrates could not be brought to arrest him, they were so sure that he could not have been engaged in such an affair. Now, all the leaders in that affair could read and write. They kept their lists of names; and nobody knows, or ever will know, how many were down on them, for those fellows were deep as the grave, and you could not get a word out of them. Sir, they died and made no sign; but all this is a warning to us.”
Complete Works of Harriet Beecher Stowe Page 123