The Kidnapped And The Ransomed Part 40

The boys also were questioned concerning their knowledge of the route, and they gave similar answers; "though to tell the truth,"

says Vina, "I should n't know no more about it when I got off o' the river, than if I was blind."

Their prompt a.s.sertions that they knew "every inch of the road,"

did not diminish their master's fear that they might repeat the attempt to escape, and he determined to take every possible means to prevent another trial. But he could not control his own base pa.s.sions; and though Vina never smiled, and seldom spoke cheerfully in his presence, his evil nature impelled him to make one more effort to accomplish the base purpose in which, years before, she had so signally foiled him. Her gloom, the consequence of disappointed hope and stern resolve to make another effort to escape his hated rule, he construed into the effect of shame at her disgrace; and now, if ever, he deemed he might succeed in depriving her of her honor.

It was winter. She was upon the island engaged in picking up trash and burning it to prepare the land for plowing.

The master came, and sat down by the fire. She took no notice of his approach, but continued picking up the rubbish, and adding it to the heap.

"Vina! O, Vina!"

She did not answer--there was something in his tone that made her angry.

"Girl! O, Girl! Come here!"

She turned her head towards him, but continued her work.

"Here--this fire don't burn much."

"No, sir--its just kindled--it'll burn to-reck'ly."

"Well, you bring some more trash to crowd in here."

She brought him a handful of sticks.

"Look here, Vina," said he in his most insinuating tone, "I intend to stay here on the island to-night-- won't you come to my house, and stay with me?"

"What you mean, sir, by askin' me such a thing as that? You mought as well sing a psalm to a dead cow as to name such a thing as that to me. I hav n't forgot how you've used me and my chillern just bekase I done what any person else would do. I did n't do no wrong, and I ain't ashamed o' goin' off ; but you ought to be ashamed, sir, to talk to me this way--after my knowin' all about you that I do."

"Well, now look here,"urged the gracious master, "I've forgiven all that--it's all dead and buried."

"No, sir, it ain't buried so but what I can scratch it up, and it never will be forgot--not by me."

"Well, won't you come to my house? If you will, I'll do all I can for you; and you never shall want for anything."

"No, sir, I never will come to your house. Thar's a little old hut yon', that you built for me, whar don't keep the rain out nights; I cun stay thar like I has done. You think I done forgot seein' poor Lydia, only a few months ago, bucked down afore that very door o'

yourn, and all the five hundred blows the poor thing tuck just for you?"

"Well, I didn't do that."

"No, sir, but your son did; and your wife sent him the note tellin'

him to whip her till he just left the breath o' life in her, and Aunt Lucy heard him a readin' the note. Thar in the mornin', when thar's a white fross on the ground, she was stripped by your son--a right young man, not of age yet, and beat with whips and an oak paddle as thick as my hand till the breath was a'most gone out of her body.

That too, after you'd whipped her yourself for killin' her child. She would n't a killed it only 'twas yourn, and she knowed what she'd suffer about it if it was seen.*

* The whole history of the affair here referred to is in the possession of the writer, but it is too horrid for publication.

You mighty good-- it's all honey till you gits girls into trouble, and then you walks off--and leaves 'em to b'ar all the 'buse they gits.

And it's good enough for 'em if they'll be fooled by you when they knows you so well. Now, would n't it be mighty strange if I did n't hat you, knowin' so much about your ways as I does. I tell you, sir, I never did like you, and I never shall."

"The devil! Don't you stand there, and tell me you don't like me."

"Well, sir it ain't no hurt to tell the truth; and that is so--I don't like you, and I don't want to hear no more such talk as you talked to me to-day."

"Well, you think of it," said he, returning to his softest tone--"and you'd better do as I want you to."

"It's no use talkin"--I'll never put myself in your power while I live."

"What's that girl's name of yours?"

"What girl?"

"Why, your daughter, there."

"You know her name, sir, just as well as I does. You done knowed her from the day she's born. Her name Catharine--why, what you gwine say 'bout her?"

"I say she's a devilish likely gir, and I--"

"Now, ma.s.s'r I wants to tell you--if you ever comes a foolin' round her, you'll be sorry. You know I never said I'd do a thing, but I done it, or least ways, tried; and if my girl ever consent to your mean ways, I'll kill her or you--one. I ruther die a peaceable death 'an to be hung, but jst as sure as you meddles with my daughter, I'll do what I say. I ain't gwine to see her like the other girls yer, whar you been the means o' gettin' all cut to pieces."

The master walked away. He had listened to such a lecture as he seldom received; and from that time he ceased to torment the resolute woman that dared to speak the truth even to his face. Vina was very impudent. He might have killed her on the spot; but she knew he would not strike her. Her just and fearless words, slave though she was, s.h.i.+elded herself and the daughter that she loved from further insults.

Notwithstanding that during their absence their cabin had been robbed of nearly all it comforts, yet on their return from their unfortunate journey Northward, Vina and her family resumed their former industrious habits. The boys cultivated their patches as had been their custom, and saved every penny which they gained, in order to fulfil their father's injunction-- to provide every thing needful for their mother's comfort. Meantime, Vina and Catharine labored faithfully both nights and Sundays, and the well-mended garments and warm stockings that the brothers wore testified to the skill with which their fingers wrought.

During the summer of 1853 the patches yielded well, and the people had all their little crops secured before Christmas. They were obliged to sell them to their master, as had ever been his rule; and when they were all ready, the overseer weighed the corn and cotton they had raised, and promised them to see that all was right.

The master affected to rejoice in their success; and told them to come to him the first day of Christmas, and he would pay them.

Accordingly, when Christmas came they all, accompanied by the overseer, went to the house to receive their money.

"Well, well," said the master, "I havn't got the money now; but I'll tell you what I'll do. Every one of you, big and little, that wants to go to town, may go to-morrow,-- and I'll go too, and pay you all in town. I've got the promise of some money that is due me there to-morrow."

"Aha!" said Vina, as they came away, "I know how it will be--you all won't git no money to-morrow. He aint gwine pay no money, and I wont go."

But her companions could not believe that their master would thus deceive them; and the next morning the whole plantation force climbed into the huge wagons and took the road to Tusc.u.mbia.

To one unused to Christmas sights in slave-land a more grotesque spectacle than was presented by these loaded wagons could scarcely be imagined. There were old women with red and yellow turbans--stiffstarched and tall--and a score of boys and girls--some with bare heads, and others glorying in comical old rimless hats and bonnets, in styles unknown to Paris milliners.

Then there were sage uncles and prim young girls who were anxious to show off their best behavior "gwine to town"--and these sat up stately and stiff; while those less dignified, with laugh, and song, and frolic, and grimace, reminded them that "Christmas time" would not last all the year.

The master met them as he had promised at the store of Mr. N--, and there, instead of paying them the money, he selected a lot of poor damaged calico, and called the women to choose each of them a dress. They looked at each other in consternation. Here was the fruit of all their toil! Nights and holidays they had spent for this--a few yards of mean thin calico, that would not pay for making up. Their eyes rolled angrily and their lips pouted the displeasure which they dared not speak; and so the calico was measured off, though in their hearts they scorned the mean-spirited wretch who could thus stoop to cheat them.

One or two, however, rebelled. Catharine went quietly and selected something for herself. "Ugh!" said her master, "that's too dear."

"Well," said she, "if I can't have that, I don't want none at all."

He finally yielded and allowed her to take what she had chosen.

But when Amanda, a middle-aged woman, followed her example, and sought such goods as would make comfortable clothes for her children, he swore she should take such as the others had, or none at all.

"No, sir," said she, "I wouldn't walk out de store with such stuff as dat dar. I done worked hard all dis year to make a c.r.a.p, and I don't want to be cheated now. I got a house fall of chillern, and dey's all mighty nigh naked, and I want something decent to make clothes for 'em."