“Are you here, mistress?” was pronounced almost close to the ear of Lucy before the sound of any foot-fall had given notice that the negress approached them.
“We are both here, Peggy,” replied Edward; “can you not strike a light, that we may see each other while we converse? We have never had a night so dark as this.”
“A light, Master Edward! — you were raised on the old master’s grounds, and you don’t know yet what slavery means. If I was to kindle a light, we would have a dozen cow-hides hanging over us — at least over me, Master Edward — in less than ten minutes.”
“Well, then,” said Lucy, “we will do without a light. But tell us about Phebe — when did she leave you?”
“Oh me! it was I left her!” replied the poor slave, weeping bitterly, “it was I left her, Miss Lucy! — Had I stopped by her, I must have knowed something; and now I know nothing — nothing!”
The inquiries of Edward elicited an account of the scene which took place between Whitlaw and Phebe on the evening he had last quitted the hut; and when Peggy repeated the cruel threats with which it had concluded, Lucy exclaimed with a burst of uncontrollable emotion— “Did I not tell you, Edward, that she was true to us? — Oh, my poor Phebe! it was this that she would not tell! — She knew how much we would have done to save her, and she feared the danger it might cost us — dear, generous Phebe! — But I will find her if she be above ground; — what have I to fear? — I am not a slave. — Edward! shall we not seek for Phebe, in spite of master, overseers, and all! We are not black blood; — what is the worst we can fear?”
“Murder!” in a deep distinct whisper, was the answer to this question; and so peculiar was the tone in which it was pronounced, that the brother and sister started, for neither of them recognised in it the voice of their old servant. Nevertheless, it was Peggy who uttered it; and in the next moment she added, but still in so low a tone as to show that even in that hour of universal rest she feared a listener, “Nothing less is now punishment enough for any white who dares openly to befriend a slave.”
Bligh well knew that this doctrine was daily becoming more general among the planters. The principles of the “LYNCH LAW,” which have since been openly recognised, acknowledged, and acted upon with impunity in the face of day, and before the eyes of thousands of American citizens, were indeed at that time only beginning to show themselves in occasional acts of desperate ferocity, which, though from the first they were permitted to pass unpunished by the legislatures of the States in which they were committed, had not then fully reached the sort of tacit legality at which they soon afterwards arrived; but Edward, when from time to time he heard of the outrages perpetrated at New Orleans, had felt, while he shuddered at their atrocity, a something at his heart which seemed like a foretaste of martyrdom.
If there were any mixture therefore of human terror in this sensation, the young enthusiast was himself unconscious of it; and if his pulse had fluttered and his cheek grown paler than ordinary while listening to the frightful tales which reached him in his forest dwelling, it was only when some idea of Lucy’s being exposed to danger suggested itself.
Thus was it with him now, as he heard the prophetic denunciation of Peggy upon all who should seek to befriend her race. He trembled — and stretching out a cold damp hand to seek that of his sister, who sat beside him, he said sternly, “It is your first duty, Lucy, to obey implicitly the brother to whose care it has pleased the Almighty to consign you; — speak not then so presumptuously of what it is your purpose to do. I have made you, Lucy, my companion in a perilous enterprise; but I did so in the belief that no rash or self-willed measures on your part would ever thwart or trouble me.”
“Edward!” exclaimed the startled girl, eagerly grasping his extended hand, “what reason can you have to doubt my willing obedience to everything you wish? — What have I said, dear brother, to make you speak thus?”
“Forgive me, love!” replied Edward, recovering himself; “I was very wrong to doubt you — but in truth you terrified me when I heard you talk of seeking Phebe. This would not be the way to assist her, Lucy: whatever is done in this must be done most cautiously, for her sake as well as your own. — But we have not yet heard all. What happened, Peggy, after your daughter returned from Fox’s clearing? You have seen her since, have you not?”
The bereaved mother then related the having perceived the approach of Whitlaw and Johnson on the following morning, and confessed, with the bitterest expressions of self-reproach, that rather than witness the outrage and cruelty which threatened her child, she had escaped with her two little ones into the forest, where she remained in a state of unspeakable misery — for about an hour, and then returned sick and trembling to her hut, which she found totally deserted, and with no trace of the scene that had probably been acted there but the cow-hide that Johnson had thrown on the floor when Whitlaw had first commanded him to retire.
For several minutes after Peggy had concluded her narrative, no sound was heard in the still darkness which surrounded them but the stifled sobs of the poor negress. Lucy was silent, lest the expression of her strong feelings might renew the displeasure of her brother; and Edward himself was too deeply occupied in pondering upon the mysterious disappearance of the girl, to speak hastily on the subject. At length he said, “Your grief is so violent, Peggy, that it is plain you fear something very terrible. — Let us know all. What is the worst you fear? Do you think that wretch Whitlaw will kill her?”
Edward might have been puzzled how to interpret without the commentary of words the bitter smile which this question brought to the lips of the poor slave; but he saw it not, — and in a moment she answered, “Kill her, master! — No, they will not kill her, no more than they would the finest horse in the colonel’s stable. My Phebe is the flower of all his gang — there is none other like her!” And again tears choked her utterance.
“Then you can fear nothing for her,” resumed Edward, “worse than what you fled to the forest to avoid seeing. Think not, poor soul! that I speak lightly of this,” he continued, in a voice of the tenderest compassion; “God knows it cannot be more horrible in your eyes than in mine; but if you think her life is safe—”
“But where, Master Edward,” exclaimed the mother in agony of grief, “where is she to live? — That will be the punishment. My Phebe loved her mother! — there’s not an overseer on the estate but knows that: for if my limbs ached, it was she was up in the morning to lighten my work; and when I was sick and afraid to say it, it was she was away to the overseer, to tell it, and frighten them into thinking they might lose my labour, and then making all straight by offering to be double-tasked. The devil clerk, Master Edward, knows all this, and he has taken her from me on purpose to torture her.”
“Likely enough, my poor Peggy,” replied Edward; “but, as you are aware that the profit of your owner is the first object, do you not see that it is probable they will not separate you long? They must know that you work better together than you could asunder.”
“But that’s not all — that’s not all!” cried Peggy bitterly; “’tis the price they’ll get for her! — Oh, Master Edward, I have always trembled for that! Black Phebe is counted such a handsome girl, that at New Orlines, they say, she’d fetch double what her value would be if she was only kept for her work.”
The miserable truth these words contained admitted of no consolation; and the faintly expressed hope that this most cruel measure might not be resorted to, was all her pitying friends could give.
Lucy started as she perceived that the objects around her were becoming faintly visible.
“We must go, Edward,” said she with nervous agitation. “It was our being here on Tuesday evening that brought on all this misery. Let us not be found here again, or poor Peggy may be made more wretched still.”
A few minutes longer were occupied in listening to Peggy’s earnest prayers that’ they would use the privilege “their blessed white skin” gave them — such was her phrase — to i
nquire at Natchez, and in all directions round about, whether “Black Phebe” had been sold. Edward very solemnly gave his promise that he would fearlessly use every means in his power to obtain intelligence respecting her; and then, leaving some pastoral instructions to be cautiously delivered to his flock during the time he might be employed in this perilous quest, he again led forth his sister into the forest, through which they now found their way without difficulty, by help of the faint light, which gradually increased upon them as they advanced. —
But the spirits of both were heavily oppressed. Lucy trembled with the most affectionate anxiety for the safety of her humble friend; and Edward felt more keenly than he had ever before done, how terrible was the responsibility he had taken upon himself in leading his young sister into dangers from which he might find he had no power to shield her. If the peril had threatened himself alone, he would have hailed it as a summons to glory; but when the frightful idea crossed him that Lucy might share it, his courage failed entirely, his heart sunk within him, and tears trembled in his eyes, Edward very solemnly gave his promise that he would fearlessly use every means in his power to obtain intelligence respecting her; and then, leaving some pastoral instructions to be cautiously delivered to his flock during the time he might be employed in this perilous quest, he again led forth his sister into the forest, through which they now found their way without difficulty, by help of the faint light, which gradually increased upon them as they advanced. — But the spirits of both were heavily oppressed. Lucy trembled with the most affectionate anxiety for the safety of her humble friend; and Edward felt more keenly than he had ever before done, how terrible was the responsibility he had taken upon himself in leading his young sister into dangers from which he might find he had no power to shield her. If the peril had threatened himself alone, he would have hailed it as a summons to glory; but when the frightful idea crossed him that Lucy might share it, his courage failed entirely, his heart sunk within him, and tears trembled in his eyes, while he pressed the pale girl to his bosom as he reached the threshold of their own rude home.
“Lie down, my poor Lucy, for an hour or two,” he said, tenderly kissing her: “my head is working strangely upon what we have heard this night, — I want to be alone, and will wander about for another hour or so, and then return to fix the corn-cakes for our breakfast. When they are ready, I will call you, and you shall see if I am not almost as skilful as yourself. — Go to rest, dear love! Sleep, dear Lucy — sleep!”
CHAPTER XIV.
EDWARD BLIGH had indeed need to be alone. Never till now had his poor spirit been harassed by that worst of human anxieties, a conscientious doubt as to what it was his duty to do.
Not only had he pledged himself secretly and solemnly before Heaven to devote himself body and soul to alleviate the miseries of American slaves, but he had this night given a promise to one amongst them who, from her well-known worth and faithful services, deserved his warmest zeal; — to her he had promised to be an active agent in discovering her daughter, though he knew that daughter to be in the hands of one who had power and will to punish any interference with the most terrible severity. Could he perform this promise without involving his sister in the danger? — could he break it without violating the vow he had voluntarily pronounced before God?
The agony of his mind was terrible. Could he have seen Lucy placed in safety, his own path would have been plain before him; nay, it would have appeared to his exalted contemplation both easy and delightful. He firmly believed that it might, and probably would, lead him to death; but it would be the blessed death of a martyr, and he hugged the idea of it with a sort of rapture. But even at the moment that he seemed to see a crown of glory waiting for him, the image of Lucy came before his eyes, and his hope and his strength failed at once. At one moment he had convinced himself that it was his duty to leave Louisiana immediately, and pursue the business of teaching with his orphan sister either in the State of Ohio, or any other not infected with the mildew of slavery which they might be able to reach. But scarcely had he permitted himself to breathe freely as one whose doubts were over, when, not only Peggy and Phebe, but all his woodland congregation resumed their place in his memory, and he held himself in abhorrence as a renegade and a coward.
This mental strife lasted much beyond the hour he had allotted for his walk; but the corn-cakes were forgotten, and the weary Edward threw himself at length upon the ground utterly exhausted both in mind and body.
In this situation, “Nature’s kind restorer” settled on his eyelids, and he slept long and soundly. When he awoke, all things appeared to wear a different aspect. Multitudes of birds were joyously singing around him; the bright sun shone furtively through the trees, chequering the ground with golden trellis-work; and the sweet morning air seemed to bring new life and vigour to his spirit.
Earnest and ardent was the prayer which followed his waking, and he rose from his knees cheered, strengthened, and full of hope.
There is ever an alertness in the spirit at such an hour as this, which enables us both readily to suggest and promptly to decide on what we have to do. Before his homeward path was fully trod, Edward had completely settled in his own mind what his future line of conduct should be; and the cheerful air with which he apologised to Lucy, whom he found engaged in performing the task he had himself undertaken, for having lingered so long, made her bless the effect of the lengthened walk which she had wept to think of.
Their breakfast of milk and corn-bread was eaten hastily, for the children who attended their school were already seen approaching by more than one forest-path. Edward started up, saying, “Lucy! will you undertake once more to-day to perform the work which rightfully belongs to me? — Will you keep school without me?”
“Most certainly I will, dearest Edward,” she replied; “and if, as I guess, you have hit upon some promising expedient for the discovery of my poor Phebe, the double duty will seem very light.”
Though these words implied no direct question, Edward felt that his sister expected to learn from him why he was about to absent himself; and his projects were as yet too vague to justify his stating them. After a moment’s pause, however, he answered cheerfully, —
“I am going to Natchez, Lucy. There are, you know, four dollars destined to be expended in the purchase of some needful comforts for our establishment here. Now, I flatter myself that by means of a little store-gossip where I shall buy one thing, and a little more where I shall buy another, I may pick up all the news stirring about the sale of negroes, which is as interesting a theme there as the barter of horses among jockeys. If Phebe has been sold since Wednesday, I think I shall find it out. Should this be the case, notwithstanding poor Peggy’s grief, I shall be thankful, as your unfortunate favourite cannot be in worse hands than those of Colonel Dart and his detestable parasite Whitlaw. If, on the contrary, she has not been sold—” Here Edward paused, for he knew there was no comfort to be found in the alternative; but, after a moment’s silence, he added, “If she has not been sold, I must endeavour to discover among our poor scattered flock, what has been her fate.”
The importance of the errand as thus stated appeared to Lucy amply sufficient to account for her brother’s walk to Natchez; so, begging God’s blessing upon him, she waved him off, and immediately sat down surrounded by a dozen boys and girls, and for six long hours devoted herself to the drudgery of teaching.
Edward had very faithfully explained a part of his business, but not the whole of it. It was indeed his purpose to discover, if possible, whether Phebe had been sold; and he felt pretty certain that if this had happened, he should hear of it. But there was another and a dearer object which took him from his daily task, the hope of success in which gave elasticity to his step and a cheering warmth to his heart. He hoped at Natchez to hear of some occupation for Lucy which might shelter her from the danger he was deeply persuaded must soon fall upon himself. Could he succeed in this, all the painful vacillation he had recently suffered from woul
d, he well knew, leave him for ever; and unchecked by fear or doubt of any kind, he should move steadily onward in the path he had traced for himself, and which, it was his earnest hope, would lead him at no very distant period to the point where he might pass from earth to heaven.
The distance to Natchez was about five miles; and his sound nap in the forest, together with the hope that cheered him, caused him totally to forget his night of anxious watchfulness, and he found himself already looking down from the bright green slope on which stands this singular little town, equally blessed by nature and accursed by man, before he thought that he could have traversed half the distance.
Edward Bligh was not perhaps likely to be particularly successful in any business in which that style of colloquy usually denominated gossip was of necessity to make a part. But on this particular occasion he seemed inspired; and in justice to the versatility of his powers, we must follow him in his talk as he rambled from store to store.
He first entered the wide, multifarious magazine of Mr. Monroe Vandumper. Though it was still early in the forenoon, there were no less than seven gentlemen of first-rate standing at Natchez indulging in the luxury of a cigar in and about the store. Three of these were perched in attitudes of undoubted ease, but rather questionable elegance, on bales or boxes placed outside the door; and the other four were accommodated within it, in a manner evidently very satisfactory to themselves, but which would probably have been the last chosen by the inhabitants of any other country when engaged in a search after comfort.
One sat astride the counter; a second had climbed to a third tier of woollen cloths set edgeways, apparently, with no other object than to place his heels upon a shelf immediately above the door of entrance, so that by a judicious position of his head he was enabled to peep between his knees at every person who entered: the third sat deep sunk in an empty cask; while the fourth balanced himself on one leg out of four of a stool so placed as to permit his hitching his heels on the bar from which the shop-scales for coffee, sugar, and the like, were suspended over the counter.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 13