“My — ! not eaten to-day! — oh, how bad you must be, Juno! But where’s the meal — and where’s the tinder-box? — you don’t think you’re going to eat cake a hundred years old, Juno.” And without waiting for an answer, the active, helpful girl bustled about till she found what she sought, and in marvellously little time two or three light Johnny-cakes (which being interpreted, mean journey-cakes, from the rapidity with which they may be prepared) smoked on a board before a blazing fire. Materials for the universal beverage, coffee, were also found, and in a few minutes the failing strength of poor Juno was recruited by the refreshment she so greatly needed.
“But your Cæsar is waiting for you all this time, Phebe,” said the old woman, as if to try the constancy of the assiduous kindness that was so warmly demonstrated.
“Well!” replied the sable beauty, “if he is not tired with his waiting tonight, he may come again to-morrow — thanks to your kindness, Juno! and God Almighty bless you for it!”
“I am very glad you are not white, Phebe,” reiterated Juno; “but go away home now, dear, — perhaps he mayn’t be gone yet.”
“Go away home, Juno? and leave you to eat and drink by yourself — and you not over-well, I expect, either? I tell you Juno, dear, that we will just see if Master Cæsar will be affronted, or if he will come again orderly and civil to-morrow night as he ought to do. — Don’t fancy you have done yet, Juno. Here’s another beautiful cake, better baked and lighter than either; and while you eat it, I’ll tell you all the news. And, first, as in duty bound, I must tell you of our colonel; and he’s sick, they say, and has taken it into his head that he’s poisoned, because his blessed clerk is not here to watch him: that’s the best news from the great house. And dear blessed Miss Lucy has been out to see us, and came, bless her! in the middle of the night, though she had got to go back to Natchez. And you’ve been gone two Sundays, Juno, and the people haven’t one of them budged an inch towards the forest for prayer-meeting, because they say you didn’t tell them that they might go; and our master Edward has been sorely vexed about it, Juno. But now you are come again, all will go right, won’t it?”
“It was a sin to forget it, Phebe; but I did forget it, and may God forgive me! But we shall have need to watch as well as to pray, Phebe, for the drivers are like ravening wolves after all who would teach us God’s word.”
“I expect, Juno, that is because they think God’s word too good and precious for us blacks, and so they would keep it for their own use and salvation. But if Master Edward speaks right — and I am not going to doubt it — some of it was meant for us; and them who would rob us of the share intended for our use, Juno, will have a worse sin to answer for, I expect, than if they stole the colonel’s silver plate big cup that they tell of, and all. Don’t you think they will, Juno?”
“It is a joy to think it, Phebe,” said the old woman eagerly, and with an expression, of countenance far unlike the gentle look of the well-taught and truly Christian Phebe: “it is a joy to believe that all will be made even hereafter; and for that belief, if for nothing else, every slave should be a Christian.”
“I don’t want it to be paid ’em back in full neither, Juno,” said Phebe gently; “and I don’t think quite that it will — God is too pitiful for that.”
But here the discussion was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Cæsar, who, with the faith of a true heart, in the affection of his sable love, felt sure that as she was not at home to receive him, she must be attending some duty that detained her elsewhere. The remote hut of old Juno, their common benefactress, was therefore the spot where he sought her, instead of amidst the gossiping gatherings together of the slaves, who were many of them eating their suppers in the open air.
“I thought so!” exclaimed he, gaily entering the hut, after listening for a moment at the door of it; “I thought where I should find Miss Phebe. And how is our dear mother, Phebe? I am thankful she is come back to us; for they do so talk of her at our house, and our Miss Lotte wants to see her again so much, that it will be a glory to tell ’em she’s home again. Ah, mother!” continued he, laughing, “I’m not after bringing Phebe any more beef-steaks now. But Master Edward says we shall have a decent Christian wedding in the forest — and he will do the parson’s part himself, God bless him! and we’ve only waited for you, Juno, to bring the congregation back to witness it — for there isn’t a man or woman of them all, as I find from mother Peggy, that will budge a step to pray in the woods till you tell ’em there’s no danger.”
Cæsar stopped for a moment to take breath, and Juno seized the opportunity to ask him if he was contented with his new place.
“Contented, mother! — oh, ’tis like being in heaven, or back with old master in Kentuck over again. Each one of ’em all tries to beat all the rest in kindness to the poor runaway; and only that they are afraid to make mischief, or they would come every soul of them to make acquaintance with my wife that is to be: and my beautiful Miss Lotte tells me that she means to be after coaxing you, Juno, to persuade your sour old colonel to sell Phebe to my master. Will you, Juno? — do you think you can? Say, Juno?”
“There’s few things impossible, Cæsar, except making a thorough-going slave-driving white man fit for heaven. Don’t ask this of me, for I won’t try it; but I’ll do what I can, my children, to make you both content, for you are black and innocent and kind-hearted, and you deserve to be happy. And now away with you both! Back to your mother, Phebe, or maybe she’ll be uneasy for you. Good night, my children, good night!”
“Good night, dear mother! good night!” repeated Cæsar, taking Phebe’s hand, and appearing to be leading her off, but lingering at every step to say another happy word.
“Think, mother, if you could get Phebe there, what a life she would lead, always waiting upon Miss Lotte maybe, as she did before, or precious Miss Lucy. And Miss Lotte’s going to be married too, they do so say, — just think of that, mother: and the Herr Hochland maybe will take us both to a free country — think of that, mother.”
“And I just want to go to sleep again — think of that, Cæsar,” said old Juno good-humouredly; “so just go your ways home both of you, and we’ll see what can be done for Phebe.”
The happy pair retreated; but though soothed and softened by the endearments of those who truly loved her, the wounded spirit of the miserable old woman did not again find rest till many hours had been spent by her in meditating on the scheme of her revenge. Agents of powerful physical strength would be needed to execute the plan that had taken possession of her soul, and for a moment she thought that the strong feelings and profound gratitude of Cæsar pointed him out as one well fitted to aid her purpose.
“He has good reason to hate the wretch, as well as I have,” thought she; “and by doing my terrible bidding, he would not only cancel the debt of gratitude he owes me, but make me for ever his debtor. Where can I find another so bound to me as he?”
But something at her heart told her, that holy as she deemed the vengeance she proposed to take, it would not accord with the principles in which Caesar was reared to join her in it.
“He bears so light, so innocent a heart,” thought she, “that it were deadly sin to lay on it the weight of blood. I — even I, bound by a thousand iron chains to do the deed — shall I ever sleep after it as I did through the long peaceful hours of this day? Will not the ghastly blood-stained visage ever rise before me? — shall I not see his young hair matted stiff in blood? — I shall — I shall, and Selina will be avenged! Waking or sleeping, my harassed spirit will still rejoice; for I shall have accomplished my destiny. — But poor Cæsar, happy, light-hearted boy! he shall know nothing of it. There are others — alas, too many! — who groan in the chains this wretch has tightened round them, and they will feel as I do, that when they grapple for his life, they do but perform the duty to which fate has called them. — No, Cæsar shall know nothing of it.”
And as she came to this resolution, she turned on her hard pillow, and onc
e more dropped asleep.
CHAPTER IV.
CÆSAR’S first care on the ensuing morning was to repair to the dwelling of Edward Bligh. No longer under the lash of a task-master, he feared not to steal from sleep an hour or two for his garden, that with a safe conscience he might for the same space leave his work upon a business so very near his heart as the informing his first and kindest friend, that old Juno was returned, and only waited his orders to give notice to “the people” to again assemble themselves that they might have the Gospel preached to them. “And then, Master Edward,” continued Cæsar, looking timidly in Edward’s eyes for his consent— “then we may be married — Phebe and I, Master Edward? — may we?”
“Alas, my poor fellow!” replied Edward mournfully, “I am no ordained minister, nor even an appointed magistrate to do this for you; but yet I do believe that in the eyes of the Most High the ceremony that shall be read to you under the arch of Heaven even by me shall suffice to bless your union.”
“That means that you will do it, sir?” said Cæsar, bewildered, and breathless with hope and joy.
“It does, Cæsar. I will not refuse to aid you as best I can in this. And tell old Juno, since it is her voice only that can give them courage to lift their hearts to God — tell old Juno, Cæsar, to lead the people to me at the usual hour on next Sabbath night. My heart yearns to meet them; but it is yet five days to it.”
“Dreadful long time! dreadful long time!” murmured Cæsar as, after many bows and thanks, he withdrew. “Why did not old Juno come home Saturday?”
He hastened back to his work; but having reached the garden, he felt so infinitely too happy to know what he was about, and so certain that he would do more harm than good there, that upon seeing Lotte and the Herr Hochland walking under the avenue of peach-trees at the bottom of the garden, he ran towards them, and clasping his hands together with a look that seemed to say, “You too must understand all about it,” he implored their interest to procure him a day’s holiday from,” the master.”
“Oh, Miss Lotte! when one is going to be married, you see, the head will run upon it, do what one will. Don’t it, master? And what good is it to stand with a hoe or a spade in one’s hand, if one can’t tell for the life of one where one ought to stick it first? Will ye speak a word for me, Miss Lotte? I will pray that you may both be jest as happy as I am now, if you will but get me this one day’s, holiday. For there’s my poor Phebe, Miss Lotte, don’t know it yet; and how should you like, Miss Lotte, to be left in ignorance so?”
“I’ll go, I’ll go, Cæsar,” cried Lotte, running off very swiftly. “And I’ll help too, Cæsar,” said the young baron in his best English, as he flew after her.
Such a request, to such a quarter, and seconded by such interest, was not likely to fail, and in a few moments Cæsar was bounding over ziz-zag fences, wide ditches, and stumps innumerable, to communicate to the lady of his heart, that master Edward had consented to marry them on the ensuing Sabbath in the midst of the forest congregation.
The young Phebe received the intelligence with tears and smiles, and burned her taper fingers with the iron she was employing upon one of the colonel’s own shirts, in her efforts to keep her volatile bridegroom in order. But, less happy than him, she dared not leave her allotted task, and finding that his presence was far from aiding her in the performance of it, she begged him to leave her, till the hours of labour were over.
“Now isn’t that altogether unreasonable, Phebe? — and can’t I help her, mother Peggy? — and did anybody ever send off a poor fellow at such a time before?” To all which he received for answer that go he must, or that Phebe would get punished for scorching the linen. Seeing, however, that he looked really and truly miserable, his gentle-hearted mistress found him an occupation for his holiday at once delightful to him and gratifying to herself.
“There is a thing, Cæsar, that you could do to-day,” she said, “that would be better than helping me spoil all the colonel’s clothes, and it would make next Sabbath a blessed day indeed!”
“And a blessed day it will be, Phebe, as ever God-a’mighty made — don’t you be doubting that: but tell me, Phebe dear, what is it I can do to please you?”
“Can you walk to Natchez, Cæsar? Can you find out my own dear Miss Lucy? Can you tell her, Cæsar, what is going to be? And can you beg her, for the sake of the precious love she has ever shown her poor Phebe, to stand by her on next Sabbath night?”
“Can I? — and will I? — and won’t I?” cried the happy Caesar, capering like a young Newfoundland-dog when a favourite hand has thrown a stone or a stick for him to follow. “I expect I will, Miss Phebe; and I expect that I will bring you word too, that she’s most as happy as you are, and that she’ll come and stand by you in the moonshine, looking jest like an angel as she is.—”
The young lover then snatched a kiss as his self-allotted reward for this agreeable prophecy, and instantly set off upon his mission.
When the heart is light and beats gaily, the step in general keeps time with it, —— and so it was with Cæsar. In little more than half an hour after receiving his mistress’s commands, he entered the door of Mrs. Shepherd’s store at Natchez, and standing before her very respectfully cap in hand, begged to know if he could speak a word to Miss Lucy Bligh.
“And who may you be sent by?” said the sour Mrs. Shepherd with the glance of an inquisitor.
She could hardly have put an inquiry in a more puzzling form. Whom was Cæsar sent by? certainly by the most charming slave in the world, and the very particular friend and favourite of the young lady he had asked for; but he knew well enough, poor fellow, that this would not avail him, for a slave was but a slave after all. He changed his attitude twice before he had decided what it would be best to answer, and then said, “I am jest come from Colonel Dart’s plantation, mistress, and ’tis by one there that I am sent.”
“One there? — and do you think, you stupid fellow! that I shall let my young ladies be called out from their work to see a nigger that is sent by ONE at Colonel Dart’s plantation? One what, pray? — one nigger perhaps?”
Poor Cæsar had not a word to say for himself in answer to this shrewd conjecture, and having twisted himself about for a minute in very evident embarrassment, he ended by saying, “It would be right-down kind of you, mistress, jest to let me speak a minute to Miss Lucy.
“I do wonder what the niggers will come to!” exclaimed Mrs. Shepherd, turning to a gentleman who was cheapening cotton neckcloths. “Now did you ever, sir? — I expect you’d better be after returning the way you came, you saucy fellow, and not bide here looking to be waited upon by the young ladies of my establishment.”
“’Tis pretty considerable cool, that’s a fact,” replied the customer. “Mayhap, my fine fellow, you may be sent with a love-token to the young lady?”
“Like enough, sir,” said Mrs. Shepherd tartly. “Let’s see what you’ve brought, young man;” and she held out her hand to receive the suspected love-letter.
“Not I indeed, mistress!” exclaimed Cæsar. “Miss Lucy isn’t one to receive love-letters that fashion. Please, mistress, let me jest speak one little word to her.”
“You are a very impudent fellow to stand there persevering at me that rate. Do you expect that I sit here to do your errands, and run backwards and forwards to fetch out my young ladies from their work to talk to all the black niggers in town? Be off if you please, and quit — you’d best, I can tell you, before I fetch them that will make ye.”
“And so, mistress, you positive won’t let me speak to Miss Lucy Bligh?” said Cresar, with something like indignation in his tone.
“My — !” exclaimed Mrs. Shepherd, “you are going to knock me down, I expect! Jest hear him, sir. People may well say that the niggers will get to be our masters if we don’t look sharp.”
“I say, my black prince,” said the cheapener of neckcloths, “I expect you had better quit before worse comes. Off with ye, and be thankful.”
The gentleman raised his cane as he spoke, and poor Cæsar, his heart swelling with vexation, silently turned from them and left the shop.
“A first-rate black blackguard that, Mrs. Shepherd! He looked monstrous as if he’d like to eat us both up, bones and all. A couple of hundred lashes would do him a deal of good, I guess. What was the gal’s name as he asked for.”
“Bligh, Mr. Smith; Miss Lucy Bligh. She hasn’t been with me long, and I calculate she won’t, if she’s to have such followers as that chap after her. A pretty life I shall have to lead, if I’m to sit here and be bullied by all the niggers in town and country as choose to come in messages to my gals!”
“Bligh?” repeated Mr. Smith, without appearing to hear this tirade. “That’s queer too; and the name’s not that common neither. I say, Mrs. Shepherd, do you happen to know anything about that gal Bligh?”
“Why, perhaps not altogether so much as I ought, Mr. Smith, seeing that I has set her to work with ladies of such good standing as mine. But she’s no bad needle, and not much to complain of in the way of manner; but I don’t know what her raising has been, that’s a fact.”
“Well, now, do you know, Mrs. Shepherd, I’m altogether curious to find out something about her, and not without good reason neither. I needn’t tell such a sensible woman as you, that these are ticklish times, Mrs. Shepherd, and that it behoves the masters to look pretty sharp after the slaves; for, thanks to them eternal English, there’s damnable doctrines going.”
“You may say that, Mr. Smith!” responded Mrs. Shepherd with a sigh. “But after all, Mrs. Shepherd, it isn’t half so much the niggers themselves, as the rascally whites, that puts ’em up to mischief and emancipation, and the devil’s own laws about slavery, that we have got to fear. Lord bless your soul! if the d — d missionary chaps would but let them alone, the nigger beasts would go on, and be born and flogged, and work and die, world everlasting amen, and nobody say a word against it, good, bad, or indifferent. ’Tis these canting hypocrites, I tell you, with their Bibles and their preachments, that does all the damage; and ’tis against them, you see, as in duty bound, that we gentlemen planters are setting our strength. And that brings me round to this Dame of Bligh, Mrs. Shepherd. I know I may trust you, for your principles are sound: I remember the plague and trouble you got into about the flogging that gal that died afterwards, and how powerful you spoke up against the French surgeon that wanted to make you answerable. You conducted throughout like a true-hearted Louisianian and a patriot. We’ve none of us forgot it, I promise you; and that’s one reason, I take it, why you have the best creole custom in Natchez.”
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 37