a father tries to be a father
we have conducted the reader through scenes perhaps unnecessary to our narration, nevertheless associated with and appertaining to the object of our work. and, in this sense, the reader cannot fail to draw from them lessons developing the corrupting influences of a body politic that gives one man power to sell another. they go to prove how soon a man may forget himself,--how soon he may become a demon in the practice of abominations, how soon he can reconcile himself to things that outrage the most sacred ties of our social being. and, too, consoling himself with the usages of society, making it right, gives himself up to the most barbarous practices.
when we left marston in a former chapter, he had become sensible of the wrong he so long assisted to inflict upon innocent and defenceless persons; and, stung with remorse made painful by the weight of misfortune, had avowed his object of saving his children. yet, strange as it may seem, so inured were his feelings to those arbitrary customs which slave-owners are educated to view as privileges guaranteed in the rights of a peculiar institution-the rights of property in the being slave-that, although conscious of his duty toward the children, no sooner had the mother of nicholas been attacked with cholera, than he sold her to the elder pemberton praiseworthy, in whose infirmary we have just left her. the elder, since his discharge from parochial life,--from ministering the gospel, has transferred his mission to that of being the partner in a firm, the ostensible business of which is purchasing the sick, the living, and the dying.
do not blush, reader; you know not how elastic dealing in human kind makes man's feelings. gold is the beacon-light of avarice; for it man will climb over a catacomb of the dead. in this instance the very man-marston-who, touched by misfortune, began to cherish a father's natural feelings, could see nothing but property in the mother, though he knew that mother to be born free. perhaps it was not without some compunction of feelings-perhaps it was done to soften the separation at that moment so necessary to the preservation of the children. but we must leave this phase of the picture, and turn to another.
graspum had diligently watched marston's affairs, and through the cunning and perseverance of romescos, carefully noted every movement on the plantation. each death from cholera was reported,--the change in marston's feelings observed and provided against,--every stage of the crop carefully watched. graspum, however, had secured himself in the real estate, and gave little heed to the epidemic that was carrying off the negro property. finally, to pass over several stages in the decline of marston's affairs, the ravages of the disease continued until but forty-three negroes, old and young, were left on the old homestead. the culminating point had arrived. he was in the grasp of graspum, and nothing could save him from utter ruin. it had lately been proved that the rovero family, instead of being rich, were extremely poor, their plantation having long been under a mortgage, the holder of which was threatening foreclosure.
with marston, an amount of promiscuous debts had accumulated so far beyond his expectation that he was without means of discharging them. his affairs became more and more confused, while the amount of his liabilities remained a perfect obscurity to the community. rumour began to disseminate his troubles, suspicion summoned her charges, and town-talk left little unadded; while those of his creditors who had been least suspicious of his wealth and honour became the most importunate applicants for their claims. at length, driven by the pressure of the times, he calls clotilda to him, and tells her that he is resolved to send annette and nicholas into the city, where they will remain in the care of a coloured woman, until an opportunity offers of sending them to the north. he is fond of clotilda,--tells her of the excitement concerning his business affairs, and impresses her with the necessity of preserving calmness; it is requisite to the evasion of any ulterior consequence that may be brought upon him. every-thing hangs upon a thread-a political thread, a lawful thread-a thread that holds the fate of thirty, forty, or fifty human beings-that separates them from that verge of uncertainty upon which a straw may turn the weal or woe of their lives. "when i get them comfortably cared for, clotilda, i will send for you. nicholas's mother has gone, but you shall be a mother to them both," he says, looking upon her seriously, as if contemplating the trouble before him in the attempt to rescue his children.
"you will not send annette away without me?" she inquires, quickly, falling on her knees at his side, and reiterating, "don't send annette away without me,--don't, mas'r!"
"the separation will only be for a few days. annette shall be educated-i care not for the laws of our free land against it-and together you shall go where your parentage will not shame you,--where you may ornament society," he replies, as clotilda's face lights up with satisfaction. with such an assurance-she does not comprehend the tenour of his troubles-her freedom seems at hand: it excites her to joy. marston retires and she takes his seat, writes a note to maxwell, who is then in the city, relating what has transpired, and concluding with a request that he will call and see her.
a few days passed, and the two children were sent into the city and placed in the charge of a free woman, with instructions to keep them secreted for several weeks. this movement being discovered by romescos, was the first signal for an onset of creditors. graspum, always first to secure himself, in this instance compelled marston to succumb to his demands by threatening to disclose the crime lorenzo had committed. forcing him to fulfil the obligation in the bond, he took formal possession of the plantation. this increased the suspicion of fraud; there was a mystery somewhere,--nobody could solve it. marston, even his former friends declared, was a swindler. he could not be honestly indebted in so large an amount to graspum; nor could he be so connected with such persons without something being wrong somewhere. friends began to insinuate that they had been misled; and not a few among those who had enjoyed his hospitality were first inclined to scandalise his integrity. graspum had foreseen all this, and, with romescos, who had purloined the bill of sale, was prepared to do any amount of swearing. marston is a victim of circumstances; his proud spirit prompts him to preserve from disgrace the name of his family, and thus he the more easily yielded to the demands of the betrayer. hence, graspum, secure in his ill-gotten booty, leaves his victim to struggle with those who come after him.
a few weeks pass over, and the equity of graspum's claim is questioned: his character for honour being doubted, gives rise to much comment. the whole thing is denounced-proclaimed a concerted movement to defraud the rightful creditors. and yet, knowing the supremacy of money over law in a slave state, graspum's power, the revenge his followers inflict, and their desperate character, not one dare come forward to test the validity of the debt. they know and fear the fierce penalty: they are forced to fall back,--to seize his person, his property, his personal effects.
in this dilemma, marston repairs to the city, attempts to make an arrangement with his creditors, singularly fails; he can effect nothing. wherever he goes his salutation meets a cold, measured response; whisper marks him a swindler. the knife stabs deep into the already festered wound. misfortune bears heavily upon a sensitive mind; but accusation of wrong, when struggling under trials, stabs deepest into the heart, and bears its victim suffering to the very depths of despair.
to add to this combination of misfortunes, on his return to the plantation he found it deserted,--a sheriff's keeper guarding his personal effects, his few remaining negroes seized upon and marched into the city for the satisfaction of his debts. clotilda has been seized upon, manacled, driven to the city, committed to prison. another creditor has found out the hiding-place of the children; directs the sheriff, who seizes upon them, like property of their kind, and drags them to prison. oh, that prison walls were made for torturing the innocent!
marston is left poor upon the world; ellen juvarna is in the hands of a resurrectionist; nicholas-a bright boy he has grown-is within the dark confines of a prison cell, along with clotilda and annette. melancholy broods over the plantation now. the act of justice,--the right which marston saw through wrong, and which he had intended to carry out,--is now beyond his power. stripped of those comforts he had enjoyed, his offspring carried off as trophies of avarice,--perhaps for sale to some ruffian who would set a price upon their beauty,--he sits down, sick at heart, and weeps a child's tears. the mansion, so long the scene of pleasure and hospitality, is like a deserted barrack;-still, gloomy, cold, in the absence of familiar faces. no servant comes to call him master,--dandy and enoch are gone; and those familiar words, so significant of affection between master and slave, "glad to see ye home, mas'r," no longer sounded in his ears. even his overseer has become alarmed, and like the rest levied for arrears of wages.
there is nothing for marston but to give up all,--to leave the home of his childhood, his manhood, his happier days. he is suddenly reminded that there is virtue in fortitude; and, as he gazes round the room, the relics of happier days redouble his conviction of the evil he has brought upon himself by straying from the paths of rectitude. indeed, so sudden was his fall from distinction, that the scene around him seemed like a dream, from which he had just awoke to question its precipitancy. "a sheriff is here now, and i am a mere being of sufferance," he says, casting a moody glance around the room, as if contemplating the dark prospect before him. a few moments' pause, and he rises, walks to the window, looks out upon the serene scene spread out before the mansion. there is the river, on which he has spent so many pleasant hours, calmly winding its way through deep green foliage mellowed by the moonlight. its beauties only remind him of the past. he walks away,--struggles to forget, to look above his trials. he goes to the old side-board that has so long given forth its cheer; that, too, is locked! "locked to me!" he says, attempting to open its doors. a sheriff's lock hangs upon them. accustomed to every indulgence, each check indicated a doubt of his honour, wounding his feelings. the smaller the restraint the deeper did it pierce his heart. while in this desponding mood, vainly endeavouring to gain resolution to carry him through, a gentle rap is heard at the door. who can it be at this hour? he questions to himself. no servant is near him; servants have all been led into captivity for the satisfaction of debts. he approaches the door and opens it himself, looking cautiously into the corridor. there, crouched in a niche, alternately presenting fear and joy,--fear lest he be seen by the enemy, and joy to see his master,--is a dark figure with the familiar face of daddy bob,--bob of the old plantation. the old, faithful servant puts out his wrinkled hand nervously, saying, "oh, good mas'r!" he has looked up to marston with the same love that an affectionate child does to a kind parent; he has enjoyed mas'r's warm welcome, nurtured his confidence, had his say in directing the affairs of the plantation, and watched the frailties that threatened it.
"why, daddy bob! can it be you?" marston says, modulating his voice, as a change comes over his feelings.
"dis is me, mas'r; it is me," again says the old man. he is wet with the night dew, but his heart is warm and affectionate. marston seizes his hand as if to return the old man's gratitude, and leads him into the room, smiling. "sit down, bob, sit down!" he says, handing him a chair. the old servant stands at the chair hesitatingly, doubting his position. "fear nothing, bob; sit down. you are my best friend," marston continues. bob takes a seat, lays his cap quietly upon the floor, smiles to see old mas'r, but don't feel just right because there's something wrong: he draws the laps of his jacket together, covers the remnant of a shirt. "mas'r, what be da' gwine to do wid de old plantation? tings, bob reckon, b'nt gwine straight," he speaks, looking at marston shyly. the old slave knew his master's heart, and had waited for him to unfold its beatings; but the kind heart of the master yielded to the burden that was upon it, and never more so than when moved by the strong attachment evinced by the old man. there was mutual sympathy pourtrayed in the tenderest emotions. the one was full of grief, and, if touched by the word of a friend, would overflow; the other was susceptible of kindness, knew something had befallen his master, and was ready to present the best proofs of his attachment.
"and how did you get here, my old faithful?" inquires marston, drawing nearer to him.
"well, mas'r, ye see, t'ant just so wid nigger what don' know how tings is! but, bob up t' dese tings. i sees buckra, what look as if he hab no rights on dis plantation, grab'n up all de folks. and lor,' mas'r, old bob could'nt leave mas'r no how. an, den, when da' begins to chain de folks up-da' chain up old rachel, mas'r!-old bob feel so de plantation war'nt no-whare; and him time t'be gwine. da'h an't gwine t' cotch old bob, and carry 'm way from mas'r, so i jist cum possum ober dem-stows away yander, down close in de old corn crib,--"
"and you eluded the sheriff to take care of me, did you, daddy?" interrupts marston, and again takes the old man's hand.
"oh, mas'r, bob ain't white, but 'is feeling get so fo' h mas'r, he can't speak 'em," the old slave replies, pearls glistening in his eyes. "my feelings feel so, i can't speak 'em!" and with a brother's fondness he shakes his master's hand.
we must beg the reader's indulgence here for the purpose of making a few remarks upon the negro's power of observation. from the many strange disquisitions that have been put forward on the mental qualities of the man of colour-more particularly the african-few can be selected which have not had for their object his disqualification. his power of observation has been much undervalued; but it has been chiefly by those who judge him by a superficial scale, or from a selfish motive. in the position of mere property, he is, of necessity, compelled to yield all claims to mental elevation. and yet, forced to degradation, there are few negroes on the plantation, or in the spheres of labour, who do not note the rise and fall of their master's fortunes, study the nature and prospects of the crop, make enquiries about the market, concoct the best economy in managing lands, and consult among themselves as to what would promote the interests of the whole. so far is this carried out, that in many districts a rivalry for the largest amount of crop on a given space is carried on among the slaves, who not unfrequently "chafe" each other upon the superior wealth and talent of their masters. it is a well-known fact, that john c. calhoun's slaves, in addition to being extremely fond of him, were proud and boastful of his talent.
daddy bob is an exemplification. the faithful old slave had become sensible of something wrong on the plantation: he saw the sheriff seizing upon the families, secreted himself in the corn crib, and fled to the woods when they were out of sight. here, sheltered by the myrtle, he remained until midnight, intently watching the mansion for signs of old mas'r. suddenly a light glimmers from the window; the old slave's feelings bound with joy; he feels it an invitation for him to return, and, leaving his hiding-place, approaches the house stealthily, and descries his master at the window. confidence returns, his joy is complete, his hopes have not misled him. hungry and wet, he has found his way back to master, whose face at the window gladdens his heart,--carries him beyond the bounds of caution. hence the cordial greeting between the old slave and his indulgent master. we hear the oft-expressed words-"master! i love ye, i do!" marston gets a candle, lights the old man to a bed in the attic, bids him good night, and retires.
