Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  “And your daughter, sir?” said his wife, not a little provoked at the tone of this long harangue; “may I take the liberty of asking if you intend to make her one of your travelling party?”

  “Why, yes, my dear, I certainly think I shall. Tornorino is very useful to me, and I rather suspect that he would think it more profitable to be in partnership with me than with you.”

  “This is all waste of time, major,” said his wife, suddenly resuming her usual tone. “Will you agree to allow me one day’s trial with these quakers? If the ready, the cash, the rhino, the Spanish wheels that you talk about do not appear tolerably ready and certain, I will agree to set off with you in whatever direction you like to go. Only one day! If I fail I will be ready to start by this time to-morrow.”

  “Then to this time to-morrow I give you,” he replied. “But remember, my dear, your proofs of success must be pretty substantial before I accept them.”

  “Agreed,” was her short reply.

  And Mrs. Simcoe’s breakfast bell making itself heard at the same moment, they left their room together, meeting the Don and his lady on the top of the stairs; and then, with every appearance of family confidence and harmony, they descended to the eating parlour together.

  CHAPTER XXXII.

  NOTWITHSTANDING that the general breakfast eating was performed at the usual American pace, Mrs. Allen Barnaby was the first who had finished the meal and quitted the table.

  The departure of one or two of the boarders had caused an alteration in the juxtaposition of those who remained, and Mrs. Allen Barnaby was no longer seated next to her friend John Williams. But this change was by no means disagreeable to her; she felt that the time for mere chit-chat was past, however skilfully she might manage it, and therefore rather rejoiced at than regretted the necessity of suffering the good quaker to eat his morning meal in peace. Yet, even while divided by the whole length of the table from her new friends, she had found means to propitiate further their good opinion by the greatly improved fashion of her garments.

  During the whole of the conversation with her husband which has been recorded above, her fingers had been notably and most ingeniously employed in altering a variety of little ornamental decorations which she thought were more elegant than prudent. From her morning gown she abstracted every bow, together with a deep trimming of very broad imitation black lace from the cape of it, which left this addition to her grave-coloured silk dress of such very moderate dimensions as entirely to change its general effect, and to give to her appearance a snug sort of succinct tidiness, such as it had probably never exhibited before.

  The cap she selected for the occasion was one which owed almost all its Barnabian grace to a very magnificent wreath of crimson roses, which ran twiningly and caressingly round the front of it, and these being removed by the simple operation of withdrawing a few pins, left as decent a cap as any one would wish to see.

  Of her half-dozen luxuriously-curling “fronts,” she chose the least copious and the least curling, and having bedewed it with water from a sponge, induced its flowing meshes to repose themselves upon her forehead with a trim tranquillity that might have befitted a Magdalen. It was thus that she now encountered the friendly eyes of John Williams and his wife Rachel; and as it never entered into the imagination of either of them that the foreign lady should have thus metamorphosed herself to please them, they felt, particularly the worthy Rachel, some disagreeable twinges of, conscience at remembering the scoffing remarks that had been made on the love-locks, when it now seemed evident that it must have been mere carelessness or accident, rather than design, which had occasioned the superfluous hair to flow so wantonly.

  It was therefore with even more than the hoped-for degree of gentle kindness that Mrs. Allen Barnaby’s proposal of paying them a visit in their own drawing-room was received, and ten o’clock precisely was named as the hour at which they should be waiting to welcome her. That Mrs. Allen Barnaby was punctual need not be doubted. Much indeed depended upon this interview. If she failed now, she felt that she was pledged to give up the authorship scheme, from which she not only anticipated much substantial profit, but which had already given her so much delightful gratification, that the thought of abandoning it was inexpressibly painful to her feelings. Her hopes, however, so completely outweighed her fears, that it was with a delightful consciousness of power, and the most cheering anticipations of success, that she gave her soft quaker-like tap-tap at the quaker’s door.

  “Come in,” was uttered in the very gentlest of tones, and in the next moment my greatly altered heroine stood in straight haired comeliness before the meekly approving eyes of her new acquaintance.

  “The permission to wait on you thus early,” she began, “is a kindness for which I can hardly be sufficiently grateful, for the work to which I have dedicated myself seems to press upon my conscience. I feel as if I were not labouring with sufficient devotion and energy on that which may perhaps involve the happiness of thousands. This is an awful consideration, my dear friends!”

  “Thee art right, friend Allen Barnaby,” replied John Williams. “It is in this manner that all those who meddle in so great an undertaking should feel. It is not so much insensibility to their frightful sufferings which the poor negroes have to complain of, as want of energy in the means adopted for their relief. Tell us frankly and freely, good friend, what may be the difficulty or embarrassment which is most likely to impede thy progress, and I pledge to thee the word of an honest man, that if John Williams can remove it, it shall be removed.”

  These were not words to be listened to with indifference by Mrs. Allen Barnaby. She was indeed considerably more delighted than she thought fitting to express; she had no objection to appearing grateful for the support so kindly offered, but she did not wish that the quiet quakers should perceive all the triumphant joy and gladness that she felt throbbing at her heart. She had contrived to learn, by one or two intelligent questions addressed to Mrs. Simcoe’s help, that John Williams had very ample power to remove all such embarrassments and difficulties as at present beset her, and had he not now pledged his honourable quaker word to use in her behalf what power he had? Now then was the moment of projection, as the chemists say, now then was the very crisis of the experiment that was to prove whether she did indeed possess the precious secret by which palaver might be converted into gold, or whether she must henceforth submit to the degrading position of a merely ornamental appendage to her more highly-gifted husband’s establishment.”

  She preluded the answer which was to settle this important question by a deep sigh, and then bending forwards towards the little work table which supported the scissors, thimble, cotton-reel, and narrow morsel of fine lawn upon which the neat-handed Rachel had been employed when she entered, she remained for a few seconds supporting her head upon her hand in silence. Had attention been wanting in her audience, this piteous prelude would have been sure to command it, and when at length she spoke, not a syllable was lost on either John or Rachel.

  “It is inexpressibly painful,” said Mrs. Allen Barnaby, slowly raising herself from her bending attitude, “to submit oneself even to the dictates of duty when they command us to do or to say anything that may be misconstrued into — alas! how shall I find a word to express what I mean that shall not sound too harshly? — into abusing the generous kindness of those who stretch forth the hand of brotherly fellowship to assist us?”

  “Nay, now, friend Barnaby, I must not have thee speak thus,” interrupted John Williams, with the most expressive intonation of benevolence. “Remember that thy work is our work, and that thought will remove at once all such idle embarrassments as those thee speakest of.”

  “Oh true! most true!” exclaimed Mrs. Allen Barnaby, with renovated courage, and as if suddenly conscious that she had no feelings of which to be ashamed, but altogether the contrary. “Never again will I give way to such weakness! You will, then, my excellent friends, listen to me as to a sister, while I confess to you that my husb
and, devoted to me as he is, and kind, too, upon most points, does not partake of the enthusiasm which has brought me to this noble, but misguided country.”

  “Yea! verily! It is then as I feared, Rachel! But take courage, friend Barnaby, and think not that we shall be the less inclined to give thee assistance, because we find thee wan test it more. Thee speakest well, friend Barnaby, in calling this, our misguided country, noble; and well pleased am I to find that thee hast clearness of judgment enough to see that it is indeed noble; in simple truth, friend Barnaby, it is the very noblest and most glorious country on the face of God’s whole earth; and thee knowest there are spots on the sun. But progress, progress, good lady, and let us know in what, and how far it is, that thy husband opposes thy purpose?”

  “Perhaps,” replied my heroine, mildly, “opposes is too strong, too harsh a word to use when speaking of the conduct of Major Allen Barnaby. The very indulgence which induced him to leave his own country, where his highly-exalted reputation gives him a position so peculiarly agreeable, in order to gratify my wish in visiting this, must for ever insure my gratitude. But the fact is, that unfortunately he does not see this momentous question concerning negro emancipation in the same light that I do; so strongly do we differ, indeed, that I am persuaded, though if I publish upon it, he will never come forward publicly to controvert my opinion, yet, that if I should not do so, he would be exceedingly likely to write upon the other side.”

  “Indeed,” exclaimed John Williams, the smooth serenity of his countenance a little ruffled by the intelligence, “and dost thee think him capable of writing a work likely to produce any great effect?” —

  “It is strange for his own wife, and one who loves him too, as dearly as I do, to reply to such a question with regret, because it is only possible to reply to it in the affirmative,” said she. “He has, perhaps, the most powerful talent of any man living in controversy. His wit, his eloquence — oh, it is something magical I and like many others, I believe, who are thus gifted, he certainly has pleasure in putting down what in this case he calls popular prejudice.”

  “This is heavy news, my good lady; very heavy news, I promise thee. An European coming to this country and publishing a powerful book in favour of negro slavery will do the cause more harm than thee may’st think for. The strongest weapon which we have got to use against the avarice of our misguided, but high-minded countrymen, is the universal condemnation of Europe, and anything tending to weaken that would be a misfortune indeed.”

  “I am aware of it,” replied Mrs. Allen Barnaby, with emphasis, “and this it is that makes me feel the importance of my own undertaking. The major knows that I am employing myself in writing on this awful subject, every detail of which harrows my very heart, while he, alas! treats it all with most sad levity, and he has told me very positively, though I must say without the slightest harshness — the good major is never harsh to me! — but he has told me that although he will never interfere to prevent my writing on this or any other subject (for, in truth, he is foolishly proud of what I have done in that way), yet that, as he cannot agree with me in the views I have adopted, he should hold himself inexcusably weak were he to permit any great expenditure of money in travelling about, merely, as he expressed it, to enable me to strengthen my abolition prejudices. Upon his saying this, which occurred when we were at New Orleans, I asked him if he would object to my spending a small sum, not exceeding three hundred pounds, which he knew I had by me, as especially my own, in travelling from city to city of this majestic country, in order to become generally acquainted with it. To this he frankly answered, No. He knew, he said, that the trifle I have mentioned was intended for the purchase of some sparkling ornament, but that if I preferred seeing your gems of cities to looking upon gems of my own, he saw no good reason to oppose me. This sum, my dear friends,” continued Mrs. Allen Barnaby, “is. I grieve to say, totally exhausted, and I am under the terrible necessity of abandoning a work in which my very heart and soul are engaged, or of submitting to the embarrassing alternative of confessing this fact to you, and beseeching you to give me your opinion as to the possibility of raising, by subscriptions for my forthcoming volumes, such a sum as may enable me to continue my researches; for, as you will readily believe, my principles forbid me to state facts with which I am unacquainted; and if I cannot succeed in immediately raising a little money for the purpose of prosecuting my inquiries in the Free States, I shall be obliged to return immediately to England, and instead of publishing my own work, have to endure the intense mortification of witnessing the appearance of another of principles diametrically opposite. Tell me, therefore, my kind and excellent friends, if you conceive it would be possible for me to raise such a subscription as I speak of?”

  John Williams and his wife listened to this animated, but somewhat long harangue, in the profoundest silence. Neither cough, sneeze, hem, nor even audible breathing, interrupted the deep stillness in which she had the advantage of speaking. On ordinary occasions Mrs. Allen Barnaby would have been fully aware of the advantage this gave her, for she by no means liked to be interrupted while speaking, but now she almost felt that the stillness was too profound, for it seemed even to communicate itself to the eyelids of her auditors, which never winked: the looks of John being steadily fixed upon her face, and those of Rachel as steadily directed to the carpet. She almost feared to cease speaking, lest this chilling atmosphere of stagnant silence should condense itself into an icy refusal, but stop at last she must, and did, and then it took at least a minute ere John Williams raised his voice to answer her.

  Her heart beat a good deal during this interval, and she became anything in the world but sanguine as to the result. Nor was her acuteness altogether deceived as to the meaning of all this. If there be a form of speech which will act like an incantation upon all alike, and before which slaveholders and emancipationists, Calvinists and Unitarians, Catholics and Quakers, Yankees and Creoles, will all shrink with equal sensitiveness, it is a demand for DOLLARS. On every other imaginable theme, they may, and probably will, differ widely; but on this they are unanimous.

  Mrs. Allen Barnaby saw and felt this at her fingers’ ends. But though this sensitive shrinking unquestionably was the first fruits of her eloquence, it was not the only one, neither was it the most lasting. She had arranged her arguments with great skill; and when, as John Williams examined and cross-examined her, she recapitulated all the dangers which threatened the cause in which he was enlisted in case her object was defeated, it was soon easy to see that her eloquence was gaining ground, and his prudence losing it.

  At this stage of the business, John Williams would have given a good deal if his wife would but have looked him in the face; but she was as far as possible from doing any such thing, making no other change in her attitude, after Mrs. Allen Barnaby had finished her opening speech, than what was absolutely necessary for the stretching out of her nice little white hand towards her nice little rosewood work-table, and withdrawing thence the before-mentioned strip of lawn, to the hemming of which she again addressed herself with a pertinacity of industry which rendered all hope of her raising her eyes from it most completely abortive.

  “Thee hast made a statement that it gives me great pain to hear,” said John Williams, at length, in a tone that instantly turned the thoughts of Mrs. Allen Barnaby towards her packing up, and before he had uttered a second sentence she remembered with some satisfaction, that she had taken very few things out of their travelling recesses, and that if the worst came to the worst, she should not have a great deal of trouble in getting ready to set off, according to promise, on the following morning. But with all her acuteness, Mrs. Allen Barnaby did not yet quite understand the nature of a Philadelphian quaker.

  The first feeling which displayed itself was naturally enough that which was common to every citizen of the great republic; but there were others which lay deeper, and which belonged both to the particular class and to the individual, which in the race of conflicting feelings
were most likely to come in conquerors at last. But John Williams, though very far from being a dull man, was, nevertheless, not a quick one, and before he could frilly make up his mind what he should say next, his interesting visitor rose, and assuming a look of very touching shyness, said —

  “To give you pain in any way, my good sir, is the very last thing I would willingly do, and believe me, when I say that notwithstanding your evident unwillingness to enter actively into the business, I feel the most perfect conviction of your good-will to the cause, and am grateful for your kindness, though it cannot, as I perceive, he of a nature to serve me. Good morning, Mrs Williams! Good morning, my dear sir!”

  And thus saying, she moved towards the door, being, in truth, exceedingly desirous to get away, that she might indulge in the uttterance of a few of the animated expletives which she felt trembling on her tongue, and set about packing as fast as she could. But her interview with the quakers was not over yet.

  “Thee art over hasty, friend Barnaby,” said John Williams, interposing his tall, upright person between his guest and the door.