A Romance of the Republic Part 45

CHAPTER x.x.xV.

A few weeks after the funeral of Mr. Bell, Gerald wrote the following letter to Mr. King:--

"My honored and dear Friend,--Lily-mother has decided to go to Europe this fall, that I may have certain educational advantages which she has planned for me. That is the only reason she a.s.signs; but she is evidently nervous about your investigations, and I think a wish to be out of the country for the present has had some effect in producing this decision. I have not sought to influence her concerning this, or the other important point you wot of. My desire is to conform to her wishes, and promote her happiness in any way she chooses. This it is my duty as well as my pleasure to do. She intends to remain in Europe a year, perhaps longer. I wish very much to see you all; and Eulalia might well consider me a very impolite acquaintance, if I should go without saying good by. If you do not return to Boston before we sail, I will, with your permission, make a short call upon you in Northampton. I thank Rose-mother for her likeness. It will be very precious to me. I wish you would add your own and another; for wherever my lot may be cast, you three will always be among my dearest memories."

"I am glad of this arrangement," said Mr. King. "At their age, I hope a year of separation will prove sufficient."

The Rose-mother covered the wound in her heart, and answered, "Yes, it is best." But the constrained tone of the letter pained her, and excited her mind to that most unsatisfactory of all occupations, the thinking over what might have been. She had visions of her first-born son, as he lay by her side a few hours before Chloe carried him away from her sight; and then there rose before her the fair face of that other son, whose pretty little body was pa.s.sing into the roses of Provence. Both of them had gone out of her life. Of one she received no tidings from the mysterious world of spirits; while the other was walking within her vision, as a shadow, the reality of which was intangible.

Mr. King returned to Boston with his family in season for Gerald to make the proposed call before he sailed. There was a little heightening of color when he and Eulalia met, but he had drilled himself to perform the part of a polite acquaintance; and as she thought she had been rather negligently treated of late, she was cased in the armor of maidenly reserve.

Both Mr. and Mrs. King felt it to be an arduous duty to call on Mrs.

Fitzgerald. That lady, though she respected their conscientiousness, could not help disliking them. They had disturbed her relations with Gerald, by suggesting the idea of another claim upon his affections; and they had offended her pride by introducing the vulgar phantom of a slave son to haunt her imagination. She was continually jealous of Mrs. King; so jealous, that Gerald never ventured to show her the likeness of his Rose-mother. But though the discerning eyes of Mr. and Mrs. King read this in the very excess of her polite demonstrations, other visitors who were present when they called supposed them to be her dearest friends, and envied her the distinguished intimacy.

Such formal attempts at intercourse only increased the cravings of Rosa's heart, and Mr. King requested Gerald to grant her a private interview. Inexpressibly precious were these few stolen moments, when she could venture to call him son, and hear him call her mother. He brought her an enamelled locket containing some of his hair, inscribed with the word "Gerald"; and she told him that to the day of her death she would always wear it next her heart. He opened a small morocco case, on the velvet lining of which lay a lily of delicate silver filigree.

"Here is a little souvenir for Eulalia," said he.

Her eyes moistened as she replied, "I fear it would not be prudent, my son."

He averted his face as he answered: "Then give it to her in my mother's name. It will be pleasant to me to think that my sister is wearing it."

A few days after Gerald had sailed for Europe, Mr. King started for New Orleans, taking with him his wife and daughter. An auctioneer was found, who said he had sold to a gentleman in Natchez a runaway slave named Bob Bruteman, who strongly resembled the likeness of Gerald.

They proceeded to Natchez and had an interview with the purchaser, who recognized a likeness between his slave Bob and the picture of Gerald. He said he had made a bad bargain of it, for the fellow was intelligent and artful, and had escaped from him two months ago. In answer to his queries, Mr. King stated that, if Bob was the one he supposed, he was a white man, and had friends who wished to redeem him; but as the master had obtained no clew to the runaway, he could of course give none. So their long journey produced no result, except the satisfaction of thinking that the object of their interest had escaped from slavery.

It had been their intention to spend the coldest months at the South, but a volcano had flared up all of a sudden at Harper's Ferry, and boiling lava was rolling all over the land. Every Northern man who visited the South was eyed suspiciously, as a possible emissary of John Brown; and the fact that Mr. King was seeking to redeem a runaway slave was far from increasing confidence in him. Finding that silence was unsatisfactory, and that he must either indorse slavery or be liable to perpetual provocations to quarrel, he wrote to Mr.

Blumenthal to have their house in readiness for their return; an arrangement which Flora and her children hailed with merry shouts and clapping of hands.

When they arrived, they found their house as warm as June, with Flora and her family there to receive them, backed by a small army of servants, consisting of Tulee, with her tall son and daughter, and little Benny, and Tom and Chloe; all of whom had places provided for them, either in the household or in Mr. King's commercial establishment. Their tropical exuberance of welcome made him smile.

When the hearty hand-shakings were over, he said to his wife, as they pa.s.sed into the parlor, "It really seemed as if we were landing on the coast of Guinea with a cargo of beads."

"O Alfred," rejoined she, "I am so grateful to you for employing them all! You don't know, and never _can_ know, how I feel toward these dusky friends; for you never had them watch over you, day after day, and night after night, patiently and tenderly leading you up from the valley of the shadow of death."

He pressed her hand affectionately, and said, "Inasmuch as they did it for you, darling, they did it for me."

This sentiment was wrought into their daily deportment to their servants; and the result was an harmonious relation between employer and employed, which it was beautiful to witness. But there are skeletons hidden away in the happiest households. Mrs. King had hers, and Tom and Chloe had theirs. The death of Mr. Bell and the absence of Mrs. Fitzgerald left no one in Boston who would be likely to recognize them; but they knew that the Fugitive Slave Act was still in force, and though they relied upon Mr. King's generosity in case of emergency, they had an uncomfortable feeling of not being free. It was not so with Tulee. She had got beyond Mount Pisgah into the Canaan of freedom; and her happiness was unalloyed. Mr. King, though kind and liberal to all, regarded her with especial favor, on account of old a.s.sociations. The golden hoops had been taken from her ears when she was in the calaboose; but he had presented her with another pair, for he liked to have her look as she did when she opened for him that door in New Orleans, which had proved an entrance to the temple and palace of his life. She felt herself to be a sort of prime minister in the small kingdom, and began to deport herself as one having authority.

No empress ever had more satisfaction in a royal heir than she had in watching her Benny trudging to school, with his spelling-book slung over his shoulder, in a green satchel Mrs. King had made for him. The stylishness of the establishment was also a great source of pride to her; and she often remarked in the kitchen that she had always said gold was none too good for Missy Rosy to walk upon. Apart from this consideration, she herself had an Oriental delight in things that were l.u.s.trous and gayly colored. Tom had learned to read quite fluently, and was accustomed to edify his household companions with chapters from the Bible on Sunday evenings. The descriptions of King Solomon's splendor made a lively impression on Tulee's mind. When she dusted the s.p.a.cious parlors, she looked admiringly at the large mirrors, the gilded circles of gas lights, and the great pictures framed in crimson and gold, and thought that the Temple of Solomon could not have been more grand. She could scarcely believe Mrs. Delano was wealthy. "She's a beautiful lady," said she to Flora; "but if she's got plenty o'

money, what makes her dress so innocent and dull? There's Missy Rosy now, when _she_'s dressed for company, she looks like the Queen of Shebee."

One morning Tulee awoke to look out upon a scene entirely new to her Southern eyes, and far surpa.s.sing anything she had imagined of the splendor of Solomon's Temple. On the evening previous, the air had been full of mist, which, as it grew colder, had settled on the trees of the Common, covering every little twig with a panoply of ice. A very light snow had fallen softly during the night, and sprinkled the ice with a feathery fleece. The trees, in this delicate white vesture, standing up against a dark blue sky, looked like the glorified spirits of trees. Here and there, the sun touched them, and dropped a shower of diamonds. Tulee gazed a moment in delighted astonishment, and ran to call Chloe, who exclaimed, "They looks like great white angels, and Ise feared they'll fly away 'fore Missis gits up."

Tulee was very impatient for the sound of Mrs. King's bell, and as soon as the first tinkle was heard she rushed into her dressing-room, exclaiming, "O, do come to the window, Missy Rosy! Sure this is silver land."

Rosa was no less surprised when she looked out upon that wonderful vision of the earth, in its transfigured raiment of snow-glory. "Why, Tulee," said she, "it is diamond land. I've seen splendid fairy scenes in the theatres of Paris, but never anything so brilliant as this."

"I used to think the woods down South, all covered with jess'mines, was the beautifullest thing," responded Tulee; "but, Lors, Missy Rosy, this is as much handsomer as Solomon's Temple was handsomer than a meetin'-house."

But neither the indoor nor the outdoor splendor, nor all the personal comforts they enjoyed, made this favored band of colored people forgetful of the brethren they had left in bondage. Every word about John Brown was sought for and read with avidity. When he was first taken captive, Chloe said: "The angel that let Peter out o' prison ha'n't growed old an' hard o' hearing. If we prays loud enough, he'll go and open the doors for old John Brown."

Certainly, it was not for want of the colored people's praying loud and long enough, that the prisoner was not supernaturally delivered.

They did not relinquish the hope till the 2d of December: and when that sad day arrived, they a.s.sembled in their meeting-house to watch and pray. All was silent, except now and then an occasional groan, till the hands of the clock pointed to the moment of the martyr's exit from this world. Then Tom poured forth his soul in a mighty voice of prayer, ending with the agonized entreaty, "O Lord, thou hast taken away our Moses. Raise us up a Joshua!" And all cried, "Amen!"

Chloe, who had faith that could walk the stormiest waves, spoke words of fervent cheer to the weeping congregation.

"I tell ye they ha'n't killed old John Brown," said she; "'cause they _couldn't_ kill him. The angel that opened the prison doors for Peter has let him out, and sent him abroad in a different way from what we 'spected; that's all."

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

Through the following year, the political sky grew ever darker with impending clouds, crinkled with lightning, and vocal with growlings of approaching thunder. The North continued to make servile concessions, which history will blush to record; but they proved unavailing.

The arrogance of slaveholders grew by what it fed on. Though a conscientious wish to avoid civil war mingled largely with the selfishness of trade, and the heartless gambling of politicians, all was alike interpreted by them as signs of Northern cowardice. At last, the Sumter gun was heard booming through the gathering storm.

Instantly, the air was full of starry banners, and Northern pavements resounded with the tramp of horse and the rolling of artillery wagons.

A thrill of patriotic enthusiasm kindled the souls of men. No more sending back of slaves. All our cities became at once cities of refuge; for men had risen above the letter of the Const.i.tution into the spirit of the Declaration of Independence.

Gerald and his Lily-mother arrived in New York to find the social atmosphere all aglow. Under its exciting influence, he wrote to Mr.

King:--

"Yesterday, I informed you of our arrival; and now I write to tell you that they are forming a regiment here to march to the defence of Was.h.i.+ngton, and I have joined it. Lily-mother was unwilling at first. But a fine set of fellows are joining,--all first-cla.s.s young gentlemen. I told Lily-mother she would be ashamed to have me loiter behind the sons of her acquaintance, and that Mr. Seward said it was only an affair of sixty days. So she has consented. I enclose a letter to Rose-mother, to ask her blessing on my enterprise, which I am quite sure I shall have, together with your own."

Thus, with the unreflecting exhilaration of youth, Gerald went forth to the war, as light of heart as if he had been joining a boat-race or a hunting excursion; so little did he comprehend that ferocious system of despotism which was fastening its fangs on free inst.i.tutions with the death-grapple of a bloodhound.

For the next two months, his letters, though hurried, were frequent, and always cheerful; mostly filled with trifling gossipings about camp-life, and affectionate remembrances to those he had left behind.

At last, Mr. King received one of graver import, which ran thus:--

"I have met with a strange adventure. A number of us were on picket duty, with orders to keep a sharp lookout. We went pacing back and forth on our allotted ground, now pa.s.sing under the shadow of trees, now coming out into the moonlight. I walked very erect, feeling myself every inch a soldier. Sometimes I cast scrutinizing glances into groups of shrubbery, and sometimes I gazed absently on the sparkling Potomac, while memory was retracing the events of my life, and recalling the dear ones connected with them. Just as I reached a large tree which formed the boundary of my prescribed course, the next sentinel, whose walk began where mine ended, approached the same tree, and before he turned again we met face to face for an instant. I started, and I confess to a momentary feeling of superst.i.tion; for I thought I had seen myself; and that, you know, is said to be a warning of approaching death. He could not have seen me very plainly, for I was in shadow, while he for an instant was clearly revealed by the moonlight. Anxious to be sure whether I had seen a vision or a reality, when I again approached the tree I waited for him; and a second time I saw such a likeness of myself as I never saw excepting in the mirror. He turned quickly, and marched away with military prompt.i.tude and precision. I watched him for a moment, as his erect figure alternately dipped into shadow and emerged into light. I need not tell you what I was thinking of while I looked; for you can easily conjecture. The third time we met, I said, 'What is your name?' He replied, 'George Falkner,' and marched away. I write on a drumhead, in a hurry. As soon as I can obtain a talk with this duplicate of myself, I will write to you again. But I shall not mention my adventure to Lily-mother. It would only make her unhappy."

Another letter, which arrived a week after, contained merely the following paragraph on the subject that interested them most:--

"We soldiers cannot command our own movements or our time. I have been able to see G.F. but once, and then our interview was brief. He seemed very reserved about himself. He says he came from New York; but his speech is Southern. He talks about 'toting' things, and says he 'disremembers,' I shall try to gain his confidence, and perhaps I shall be able to draw him out."

A fortnight later he wrote:--

"I have learned from G.F. that the first thing he remembers of himself is living with an old negress, about ten miles from New Orleans, with eight other children, of various shades, but none so white as himself.

He judges he was about nine years old when he was carried to New Orleans, and let out by a rich man named Bruteman to a hotel-keeper, to black boots, do errands, &c. One of the children that the old negress brought up with him was a mulatto named Henriet. The boys called her Hen, he said. He used to 'tote' her about when she was a baby, and afterward they used to roll in the mud, and make mud-pies together. When Hen was twelve years old, she was let out to work in the same hotel where he was. Soon afterward, Mr. Bruteman put him out to learn the carpenter's trade, and he soon became expert at it. But though he earned five or six dollars a week, and finally nine or ten, he never received any portion of it; except that now and then Mr.

Bruteman, when he counted his wages, gave him a fip. I never thought of _this_ side of the question when I used to hear grandfather talk about the rights of slaveholders; but I feel now, if this had been my own case, I should have thought it confounded hard. He and Hen were very young when they first begun to talk about being married; but he couldn't bear the thoughts of bringing up a family to be slaves, and they watched for an opportunity to run away. After several plans which proved abortive, they went boldly on board 'The King Cotton,' he as a white gentleman, and she disguised as his boy servant. You know how that attempt resulted. He says they were kept two days, with hands and feet tied, on an island that was nothing but rock. They suffered with cold, though one of the sailors, who seemed kind-hearted, covered them with blankets and overcoats. He probably did not like the business of guarding slaves; for one night he whispered to G.F., 'Can't you swim?'

But George was very little used to the water, and Hen couldn't swim at all. Besides, he said, the sailors had loaded guns, and some of them would have fired upon them, if they had heard them plunge; and even if by a miracle they had gained the sh.o.r.e, he thought they would be seized and sent back again, just as they were in Boston.

"You may judge how I felt, while I listened to this. I wanted to ask his forgiveness, and give him all my money, and my watch, and my ring, and everything. After they were carried back, Hen was sold to the hotel-keeper for six hundred dollars, and he was sold to a man in Natchez for fifteen hundred. After a while, he escaped in a woman's dress, contrived to open a communication with Hen, and succeeded in carrying her off to New York. There he changed his woman's dress, and his slave name of Bob Bruteman, and called himself George Falkner.

When I asked him why he chose that name, he rolled up his sleeve and showed me G.F. marked on his arm. He said he didn't know who put them there, but he supposed they were the initials of his name. He is evidently impressed by our great resemblance. If he asks me directly whether I can conjecture anything about his origin, I hardly know how it will be best to answer. Do write how much or how little I ought to say. Feeling unsafe in the city of New York, and being dest.i.tute of money, he applied to the Abolitionists for advice. They sent him to New Roch.e.l.le, where he let himself to a Quaker, called Friend Joseph Houseman, of whom he hired a small hut. There, Hen, whom he now calls Henriet, takes in was.h.i.+ng and ironing, and there a babe has been born to them. When the war broke out he enlisted; partly because he thought it would help him to pay off some old scores with slaveholders, and partly because a set of rowdies in the village of New Roch.e.l.le said he was a white man, and threatened to mob him for living with a n.i.g.g.e.r wife. While they were in New York city, he and Henriet were regularly married by a colored minister. He said he did it because he hated slavery and couldn't bear to live as slaves did. I heard him read a few lines from a newspaper, and he read them pretty well. He says a little boy, son of the carpenter of whom he learned his trade, gave him some instruction, and he bought a spelling-book for himself.

He showed me some beef-bones, on which he practises writing with a pencil. When he told me how hard he had tried to get what little learning he had, it made me ashamed to think how many cakes and toys I received as a reward for studying my spelling-book. He is teaching an old negro, who waits upon the soldiers. It is funny to see how hard the poor old fellow tries, and to hear what strange work he makes of it. It must be 'that stolen waters are sweet,' or slaves would never take so much more pains than I was ever willing to take to learn to spell out the Bible. Sometimes I help G.F. with his old pupil; and I should like to have Mrs. Blumenthal make a sketch of us, as I sit on the gra.s.s in the shade of some tree, helping the old negro hammer his syllables together. My New York companions laugh at me sometimes; but I have gained great favor with G.F. by this proceeding. He is such an ingenious fellow, that he is always in demand to make or mend something. When I see how skilful he is with tools, I envy him. I begin to realize what you once told me, and which did not please me much at the time, that being a fine gentleman is the poorest calling a man can devote himself to.