A Romance of the Republic Part 36

Captain Kane had informed him that the Abolitionists were "trying to get up a row"; but he had not antic.i.p.ated that they would call upon him, and it was an unpleasant surprise when he saw who his visitors were. He bowed stiffly, and waited in silence for them to explain their business.

"We have called," said Mr. Percival, "to make some inquiries concerning two fugitives from slavery, who, it is said, were found on board your s.h.i.+p, 'The King Cotton.'"

"I know nothing about it," replied Mr. Bell. "My captains understand the laws of the ports they sail from; and it is their business to see that those laws are respected."

"But," urged Mr. Percival "that a man is _claimed_ as a slave by no means proves that he _is_ a slave. The law presumes that every man has a right to personal liberty, until it is proved otherwise; and in order to secure a fair trial of the question, the writ of _habeas corpus_ has been provided."

"It's a great disgrace to Ma.s.sachusetts, sir, that she puts so many obstacles in the way of enforcing the laws of the United States,"

replied Mr. Bell.

"If your grandson should be claimed as a slave, I rather think you would consider the writ of _habeas corpus_ a wise and just provision,"

said the plain-speaking Francis Jackson. "It is said that this young stranger, whom they chased as a thief, and carried off as a slave, had a complexion no darker than his."

"I take it for granted," added Mr. Percival, "that you do not wish for a state of things that would make every man and woman in Ma.s.sachusetts liable to be carried off as slaves, without a chance to prove their right to freedom."

Mr. Bell answered, in tones of suppressed anger, his face all ablaze with excitement, "If I could choose _who_ should be thus carried off, I would do the Commonwealth a service by ridding her of a swarm of malignant fanatics."

"If you were to try that game," quietly rejoined Francis Jackson, "I apprehend you would find some of the fire of '76 still alive under the ashes."

"A man is strongly tempted to argue," said Mr. Percival, "when he knows that all the laws of truth and justice and freedom are on his side; but we did not come here to discuss the subject of slavery, Mr.

Bell. We came to appeal to your own good sense, whether it is right or safe that men should be forcibly carried from the city of Boston without any process of law."

"I stand by the Const.i.tution," answered Mr. Bell, doggedly. "I don't presume to be wiser than the framers of that venerable doc.u.ment."

"That is evading the question," responded Mr. Percival. "There is no question before us concerning the framers of the Const.i.tution. The simple proposition is, whether it is right or safe for men to be forcibly carried from Boston without process of law. Two strangers _have_ been thus abducted; and you say it is your captain's business.

You know perfectly well that a single line from you would induce your captain to give those men a chance for a fair trial. Is it not your duty so to instruct him?"

A little thrown off his guard, Mr. Bell exclaimed: "And give an Abolition mob a chance to rescue them? I shall do no such thing."

"It is not the Abolitionists who get up mobs," rejoined Francis Jackson. "Garrison was dragged through the streets for writing against slavery; but when Yancey of Alabama had the use of Faneuil Hall, for the purpose of defending slavery, no Abolitionist attempted to disturb his speaking."

A slight smile hovered about Mr. Percival's lips; for it was well known that State Street and Ann Street clasped hands when mobs were wanted, and that money changed palms on such occasions; and the common rumor was that Mr. Bell's purse had been freely used.

The merchant probably considered it an offensive insinuation, for his face, usually rubicund from the effects of champagne and oysters, became redder, and his lips were tightly compressed; but he merely reiterated, "I stand by the Const.i.tution, sir."

"Mr. Bell, I must again urge it upon your conscience," said Mr.

Percival, "that you are more responsible than the captain in this matter. Your captains, of course, act under your orders, and would do nothing contrary to your expressed wishes. Captain Kane has, doubtless, consulted you in this business."

"That's none of your concern, sir," retorted the irascible merchant.

"My captains know that I think Southern gentlemen ought to be protected in their property; and that is sufficient. I stand by the Const.i.tution, sir. I honor the reverend gentleman who said he was ready to send his mother or his brother into slavery, if the laws required it. That's the proper spirit, sir. You fanatics, with your useless abstractions about human rights, are injuring trade, and endangering the peace of the country. You are doing all you can to incite the slaves to insurrection. I don't pretend, to be wiser than the framers of the Const.i.tution, sir. I don't pretend to be wiser than Daniel Webster, sir, who said in Congress that he; would support, to the fullest extent, any law Southern gentlemen chose to frame for the recovery of fugitive slaves."

"I wish you a better conscience-keeper," rejoined Francis Jackson, rising as he spoke. "I don't see, my friend, that there's any use in staying here to talk any longer. There's none so deaf as those that _won't_ hear."

Mr. Percival rose at this suggestion, and "Good evening" was exchanged, with formal bows on both sides. But st.u.r.dy Francis Jackson made no bow, and uttered no "Good evening." When they were in the street, and the subject was alluded to by his companion, he simply replied: "I've pretty much done with saying or doing what I don't mean. It's a pity that dark-complexioned grandson of his couldn't be carried off as a slave. That might, perhaps, bring him to a realizing sense of the state of things."

CHAPTER XXVII.

A few days past the middle of the following May, a carriage stopped before the house of Mr. Joseph Bright, in Northampton, and Mrs.

Delano, with all the Blumenthal family, descended from it. Mr. Bright received them at the gate, his face smiling all over. "You're welcome, ladies," said he. "Walk in! walk in! Betsey, this is Mrs. Delano. This is Mrs. Bright, ladies. Things ain't so stylish here as at your house; but I hope you'll find 'em comfortable."

Mrs. Bright, a sensible-looking woman, with great moderation of manner, showed them into a plainly furnished, but very neat parlor.

"O, how pleasant this is!" exclaimed Mrs. Blumenthal, as she looked out of one of the side-windows.

The children ran up to her repeating: "How pleasant! What a nice hedge, mamma! And see that wall all covered with pretty flowers!"

"Those are moss-pinks," said Mrs. Bright. "I think they are very ornamental to a wall."

"Did you plant them?" inquired Rosa.

"O, no," said Mr. Bright, who was bringing in various baskets and shawls. "That's not our garden; but we have just as much pleasure looking at it as if it was. A great Southern nabob lives there. He made a heap o' money selling women and children, and he's come North to spend it. He's a very pious man, and deacon of the church." The children began to laugh; for Mr. Bright drawled out his words in solemn tones, and made his broad face look very comical by trying to lengthen it. "His name is Stillham," added he, "but I call him Deacon Steal'em."

As he pa.s.sed out, Rosa whispered to her mother, "What does he mean about a deacon's selling women and children?"

Before an answer could be given, Mr. Bright reappeared with a bird-cage. "I guess this is a pretty old parrot," said he.

"Yes, she is quite old," replied Mrs. Delano. "But we are all attached to her; and our house being shut up for the summer, we were unwilling to trust her with strangers."

The parrot, conscious of being talked about, turned up her head sideways, and winked her eye, without stirring from the corner of the cage, where she was rolled up like a ball of feathers. Then she croaked out an English phrase, which she had learned of the children, "Polly wants a cacker."

"She shall have a cracker," said good-natured Mr. Bright; and Rosa and little Lila were soon furnished with a cracker and a lump of sugar for Poll.

In a short time they were summoned to tea; and after enjoying Mrs.

Bright's light bread and sweet b.u.t.ter, they saw no more of their host and hostess for the evening. In the morning the whole family were up before the hour appointed for breakfast, and were out in the garden, taking a look at the environments of their new abode. As Mrs.

Blumenthal was walking among the bushes, Mr. Bright's beaming face suddenly uprose before her, from where he was stooping to pluck up some weeds.

"Good morning, ma'am," said he. "Do hear that old thief trying to come Paddy over the Lord!"

As he spoke, he pointed his thumb backward toward Deacon Stillham's house, whence proceeded a very loud and monotonous voice of prayer.

Mrs. Blumenthal smiled as she inquired, "What did you mean by saying he sold women and children?"

"Made his money by slave-trading down in Carolina, ma'am. I reckon a man has to pray a deal to get himself out of that sc.r.a.pe; needs to pray pretty loud too, or the voice of women screaming for their babies would get to the throne afore him. He don't like us over and above well, 'cause we're Abolitionists. But there's Betsey calling me; I mustn't stop here talking."

Mrs. Blumenthal amused her companions by a repet.i.tion of his remarks concerning the Deacon. She was much entertained by their host's original style of bubbling over, as she termed it. After breakfast she said: "There he is in the garden. Let's go and talk with him, Florimond."

And taking her parasol, she went out, leaning on her husband's arm.

"So you are an Abolitionist?" said Mr. Blumenthal, as they stopped near their host.

Mr. Bright tossed his hat on a bush, and, leaning on his hoe, sang in a stentorian voice: "I am an Abolitionist; I glory in the name.--There," said he, laughing, "I let out _all_ my voice, that the Deacon might hear. He can pray the loudest; but I reckon I can sing the loudest. I'll tell you what first made me begin to think about slavery. You see I was never easy without I could be doing something in the musical way, so I undertook to teach singing. One winter, I thought I should like to run away from Jack Frost, and I looked in the Southern papers to see if any of 'em advertised for a singing-master.

The first thing my eye lighted on was this advertis.e.m.e.nt:--

"Ran away from the subscriber a stout mulatto slave, named Joe; has light sandy hair, blue eyes, and ruddy complexion; is intelligent, and will pa.s.s himself for a white man. I will give one hundred dollars'