Our World Or the Slaveholder's Daughter Part 29

"Well, ye see, I know'd all the ins and outs of the law,--keeps mighty shy about all the judicial quibbles on't,--never takes n.o.body with me whose swearin' would stand muster in a court of law. All right on that score (Romescos exults in his law proficiency). I makes sure o' the dogs fust, ollers keepin' the double-barrel on the right eye for the best n.i.g.g.e.r in the lot. It would make the longest-faced deacon in the district laugh to see the fire flash out o' the n.i.g.g.e.r's big black eyes, when he sees the cur drop, knowin'

how he'll get the next plugs souced into him. It's only natural, cos it would frighten a feller what warn't used to it just to see what a thunder-cloud of agitation the n.i.g.g.e.r screws his black face into.

And then he starts to run, and puts it like streaks o' cannon-b.a.l.l.s chased by express lightnin'.

"'Stand still, ye thievin' varmint! hold up,--bring to a mooring: take the mixture according to Gunter!' I shouts. The way the n.i.g.g.e.r pulls up, begs, pleads, and says things what'll touch a feller's tender feelins, aint no small kind of an inst.i.tution. 'Twould just make a man what had stretchy conscience think there was somethin'

crooked somewhere. 'Well, boys,' says I, feeling a little soft about the stomach, 'seeing how it's yer Boss what don't feed ye, I'll be kind o' good, and give ye a dose of the mixture in an honourable way.' Then I loads t'other barrel, the feller's eyes flashin'

streaks of blue lightnin' all the time, lookin' at how I rams it down, chunk! 'Now, boys,' says I, when the plugs shot is all ready, 'there's system 'bout this ere thing a'

mine--t'aint killin' ye I wants,--don't care a copper about that (there an't no music in that), but must make it bring the finances out a' yer master's pocket. That's the place where he keeps all his morals. Now, run twenty paces and I'll gin ye a fair chance! The n.i.g.g.e.r understands me, ye see, and moves off, as if he expected a thunderbolt at his heel, lookin' back and whining like a puppy what's lost his mother. Just when he gets to an honourable distance,--say twenty paces, according to fighting rule,--I draws up, takes aim, and plumps the plugs into him. The way the critter jumps reminds me of a circus rider vaultin' and turnin' sumersets. You'd think he was inginrubber 'lectrified. A'ter all, I finds these playin' doses don't do; they don't settle things on the square. So I tries a little stronger mixture, which ends in killin' three o'

Mack's n.i.g.g.e.rs right up smooth. But the best on't is that Mack finds he han't no proof, goes right into it and kills three o' my prime fat n.i.g.g.e.rs: that makes us bad friends on every score. But he got a n.i.g.g.e.r ahead o' me a'ter awhile, and I ware detarmined to straighten accounts, if it was by stealin' the odds. Them ar's my principles, and that's just the way I settles accounts with folks what don't do the square thing in the way o' n.i.g.g.e.r property."

Thus the two gentlemen lived in the terror of internal war; and Romescos, seeing such a fine piece of property pa.s.s into the hands of his antagonist, resolved on squaring accounts by stealing the preacher,--an act Mr. M'Fadden least expected.

The candidates' festival offered every facility for carrying this singular coup-d'tat into effect. Hence, with the skilful a.s.sistance of Nath. Nimrod, and Dan Bengal, Harry was very precipitately and dexterously pa.s.sed over to the chances of a new phase of slave life.

Ellen waited patiently for Harry's return until it became evident some ill-luck had befallen him. Lantern in hand, she proceeds to the pen in search. No Harry is to be found there; Mr. M'Fadden's common negroes only are there, and they sleep sweetly and soundly. What can have befallen him? She conjectures many things, none of which are the right. The lock is upon the door; all is still outside; no traces of kidnapping can be found. She knows his faithfulness,-- knows he would not desert his master unless some foul means had been used to decoy him into trouble. She returns to the house and acquaints her master.

Straggling members, who had met to enjoy the generous political banquet, and who still remain to see the night "through" with appropriate honour, are apprised of the sudden disappearance of this very valuable piece of property. They are ready for any turn of excitement,--anything for "topping off" with a little amus.e.m.e.nt; and to this end they immediately gather round mine host in a party of pursuit. Romescos-he must make his innocence more imposing-has been conspicuous during the night, at times expressing sympathy for Mr.

M'Fadden, and again a.s.suring the company that he has known fifty worse cases cured. In order to make this better understood, he will pay the doctor's bill if M'Fadden dies. Mine host has no sooner given the alarm than Romescos expresses superlative surprise. He was standing in the centre of a conclave of men, whom he harangues on the particular political points necessary for the candidates to support in order to maintain the honour of the State; now he listens to mine host as he recounts the strange absence of the preacher, pauses and combs his long red beard with his fingers, looks distrustfully, and then says, with a quaintness that disarmed suspicion, "n.i.g.g.e.r-like!-preacher or angel, n.i.g.g.e.r will be n.i.g.g.e.r!

The idea o' makin' the black rascals preachers, thinkin' they won't run away! Now, fellers, that ar' chap's skulkin' about, not far off, out among the pines; and here's my two dogs"-he points to his dogs, stretched on the floor-"what'll scent him and bring him out afore ten minutes! Don't say a word to Mack about it; don't let it 'scape yer fly-trap, cos they say he's got a notion o' dying, and suddenly changed his feelins 'bout n.i.g.g.e.r tradin'. There's no tellin' how it would affect the old democrat if he felt he warnt goin' to slip his breeze. This child"-Romescos refers to himself-"felt just as Mack does more nor a dozen times, when Davy Jones looked as if he was making slight advances: a feller soon gets straight again, nevertheless. It's only the difference atween one's feelings about makin' money when he's well, and thinkin' how he made it when he's about to bid his friends good morning and leave town for awhile.

Anyhow, there aint no dodging now, fellers! We got to hunt up the n.i.g.g.e.r afore daylight, so let us take a drop more and be moving." He orders the landlord to set on the decanters,--they join in a social gla.s.s, touch gla.s.ses to the recovery of the n.i.g.g.e.r, and then rush out to the pursuit. Romescos heads the party. With dogs, horses, guns, and all sorts of negro-hunting apparatus, they scour the pinegrove, the swamp, and the heather. They make the pursuit of man full of interest to those who are fond of the chase; they allow their enthusiasm to bound in unison with the sharp baying of the dogs.

For more than two hours is this exhilarating sport kept up. It is sweet music to their ears; they have been trained (educated) to the fascination of a man-hunt, and dogs and men become wearied with the useless search.

Romescos declares the n.i.g.g.e.r is near at hand: he sees the dogs curl down their noses; he must be somewhere in a hole or jungle of the swamp, and, with more daylight and another dog or two, his apprehension is certain. He makes a halt on the brow of a hill, and addresses his fellow-hunters from the saddle. In his wisdom on n.i.g.g.e.r nature he will advise a return to the tavern-for it is now daylight-where they will spend another hour merrily, and then return brightened to the pursuit. Acting on this advice, friends and foes-both join as good fellows in the chase for a n.i.g.g.e.r-followed his retreat as they had his advance.

"No n.i.g.g.e.r preacher just about this circle, Major!" exclaims Romescos, addressing mine host, as he puts his head into the bar-room, on his return. "Feller's burrowed somewhere, like a c.o.o.n: catch him on the broad end of morning, or I'll hang up my old double-barrel," he concludes, shaking his head, and ordering drink for the party at his expense.

The morning advanced, however, and nothing was to be seen of Romescos: he vanished as suddenly from among them as Harry had from the pen. Some little surprise is expressed by the knowing ones; they whisper among themselves, while mine host reaches over the counter, cants his head solicitously, and says:--"What's that, gentlemen?"

In this dilemma they cannot inform mine host; they must continue the useless chase without Romescos' valuable services. And here we must leave mine host preparing further necessaries for capturing the lost property, that he may restore it to its owner so soon as he shall become convalescent, and turn to Harry.

Like a well-stowed bale of merchandise, to be delivered at a stated place within a specified time, he was rolled in bagging, and not permitted to see the direction in which he was being driven. When the pursuing party started from the crossing, Romescos took the lead in order to draw it in an opposite direction, and keep the dogs from the trail. This would allow the stolen clergyman to get beyond their reach. When daylight broke upon the capturers they were nearly twenty miles beyond the reach of the pursuers, approaching an inn by the road side. The waggon suddenly stopped, and Harry found himself being unrolled from his winding sheet by the hands of two strangers.

Lifting him to his feet, they took him from the waggon, loosed the chains from his legs, led him into the house, and placed him in a dark back room. Here, his head being uncovered, he looks upon his captors with an air of confusion and distrust. "Ye know me too, I reckon, old feller, don't ye?" enquires one of the men, with a sardonic grin, as he lifts his hat with his left hand, and scratches his head with his right.

"Yes, mas'r; there's no mistakin on ye!" returns Harry, shaking his head, as they release the chains from his hands. He at length recognises the familiar faces of Dan Bengal and Nath. Nimrod. Both have figured about Marston's plantation, in the purchase and sale of negroes.

"Ye had a jolly good ride, old feller, had'nt ye?" says Bengal, exultingly, looking Harry in the face, shrugging his shoulders, and putting out his hand to make his friendship.

Harry has no reply to make; but rubs his face as if he is not quite satisfied with his new apartment, and wants to know a little more of the motive of the expedition. "Mas'r! I don't seem to know myself, nor nothin'. Please tell me where I am going to, and who is to be my master? It will relieve my double troubles," he says, casting an enquiring look at Nimrod.

"Shook up yer parson-thinkin' some, I reckon, did'nt it, old chap?"

returns Nimrod, laughing heartily, but making no further reply. He thinks it was very much like riding in a railroad backwards.

"Did my sick mas'r sell me to you?" again he enquires.

"No business o' yourn, that ain't; yer n.i.g.g.e.r-knowin ought to tell you how ye'd got into safe hands. We'll push along down south as soon as ye gets some feed. Put on a straight face, and face the music like a clever deacon, and we'll do the square in selling ye to a Boss what 'll let ye preach now and then. (Nimrod becomes very affectionate). Do the thing up righteous, and when yer sold there 'll be a five-dollar shiner for yerself. (He pats him on the head, and puts his arm over his shoulder.) Best t' have a little shot in a body's own pocket; now, shut up yer black bread-trap, and don't go makin a fuss about where yer goin' to: that's my business!"

Harry pauses as if in contemplation; he is struggling against his indignation excited by such remarks. He knew his old master's weaknesses, enjoyed his indulgences; but he had never been made to feel so acutely how degraded he could be as a mere article of trade.

It would have been some consolation to know which way he was proceeding, and why he had been so suddenly s.n.a.t.c.hed from his new owner. Fate had not ordained this for him; oh no! He must resign himself without making any further enquiries; he must be nothing more than a n.i.g.g.e.r--happy n.i.g.g.e.r happily subdued! Seating himself upon the floor, in a rec.u.mbent position, he drops his face on his knees,--is humbled among the humblest. He is left alone for some time, while his captors, retiring into an adjoining room, hold a consultation.

Breakfast is being prepared, and much conversation is kept up in an inaudible tone of voice. Harry has an instinctive knowledge that it is about him, for he hears the words, "Peter! Peter!" his name must be transmogrified into "Peter!" In another minute he hears dishes rattling on the table, and Bengal distinctly complimenting the adjuncts, as he orders some for the n.i.g.g.e.r preacher. This excites his anxiety; he feels like placing his ear at the keyhole,--doing a little evesdropping. He is happily disappointed, however, for the door opens, and a black boy bearing a dish of h.o.m.ony enters, and, placing it before him, begs that he will help himself. Harry takes the plate and sets it beside him, as the strange boy watches him with an air of commiseration that enlists his confidence. "Ain't da'h somefin mo' dat I can bring ye?" enquires the boy, pausing for an answer.

"Nothing,--nothing more!"

Harry will venture to make some enquiries about the locality. "Do you belong to master what live here?" He puts out his hand, takes the other by the arm.

"Hard tellin who I belongs to. Buckra man own 'em to-day; ain't sartin if he own 'em to-morrow, dough. What country-born n.i.g.g.e.r is you?"

"Down country! My poor old master's gone, and now I'm goin'; but G.o.d only knows where to. White man sell all old Boss's folks in a string,--my old woman and children among the rest. My heart is with them, G.o.d bless them!"

"Reckon how ya' had a right good old Boss what larn ye somethin."

The boy listens to Harry with surprise. "Don't talk like dat down dis a way; no country-born n.i.g.g.e.r put in larn'd wods so, nohow,"

returns the boy, with a look of curious admiration.

"But you harn't told me what place this is?"

"Dis 'ouse! e' ant nowhare when Buckra bring n.i.g.g.e.r what he want to sell, and don' want n.o.body to know whar e' bring him from. Dat man what bring ye here be great Buckra. De 'h way he lash n.i.g.g.e.r whin e'

don do jist so!" The boy shakes his head with a warning air.

"How did you get here? There must be roads leading in some directions?"

"Roads runnin' every which way, yand'r; and trou de woods anyway, but mighty hard tellin whar he going to, he is. Mas'r Boss don lef 'e n.i.g.g.e.r know how 'e bring'um, nor how he takes 'um way. Guess da 'h gwine to run ye down country, so G.o.d bless you," says the boy, shaking him by the hand, and taking leave.

"Well! if I only knew which way I was going I should feel happy; because I could then write to my old master, somewhere or somehow.

And I know my good friend Missus Rosebrook will buy me for her plantation,--I know she will. She knows my feelings, and in her heart wouldn't see me abused, she wouldn't! I wish I knew who my master is, where I am, and to whom I'm going to be sold next. I think new master has stolen me, thinking old master was going to die," Harry mutters to himself, commencing his breakfast, but still applying his listening faculties to the conversation in the next room. At length, after a long pause, they seem to have finished breakfast and taken up the further consideration of his sale.

"I don't fear anything of the kind! Romescos is just the keenest fellow that can be scared up this side of Baltimore. He never takes a thing o' this stamp in hand but what he puts it through," says Bengal, in a whispering tone.

"True! the trouble's in his infernal preaching; that's the devil of n.i.g.g.e.rs having intelligence. Can do anything in our way with common n.i.g.g.e.rs what don't know nothin'; but when the critters can do clergy, and preach, they'll be sending notes to somebody they know as acquaintances. An intelligent n.i.g.g.e.r's a bad article when ye want to play off in this way," replies the other, curtly.

"Never mind," returns Bengal, "can't ollers transpose a n.i.g.g.e.r, as easy as turnin' over a sixpence, specially when he don't have his ideas brightened. Can't steer clar on't. Larnin's mighty dangerous to our business, Nath.-better knock him on the head at once; better end him and save a sight of trouble. It'll put a stopper on his preaching, this pesks exercisin' his ideas."

A third interrupts. "Thinks such a set of chicken-hearted fellows won't do when it comes to cases of 'mergency like this. He will just make clergyman Peter Somebody the deacon; and with this honorary t.i.tle he'll put him through to Major Wiley's plantation, when he'll be all right down in old Mississippi. The Colonel and he, understanding the thing, can settle it just as smooth as sunrise.

The curate is what we call a right clever fellow, would make the tallest kind of a preacher, and pay first-rate per centage on himself." Bengal refers to Harry. His remarks are, indeed, quite applicable. "I've got the dockerment, ye see, all prepared; and we'll put him through without a wink," he concludes, in a measured tone of voice.

The door of Harry's room opens, and the three enter together. "Had a good breakfast, old feller, hain't ye?" says Nimrod, approaching with hand extended, and patting him on the head with a child's playfulness. "I kind o' likes the looks on ye" (a congratulatory smile curls over his countenance), "old feller; and means to do the square thing in the way o' gettin' on ye a good Boss. Put on the Lazarus, and no n.i.g.g.e.r tricks on the road. I'm sorry to leave ye on the excursion, but here's the gentleman what'll see ye through,--will put ye through to old Mississip just as safe as if ye were a nugget of gold." Nimrod introduces Harry to a short gentleman with a bald head, and very smooth, red face. His dress is of brown homespun, a garb which would seem peculiar to those who do the villainy of the peculiar inst.i.tution. The gentleman has a pair of handcuffs in his left hand, with which he will make his pious merchandise safe.

Stepping forward, he places the forefinger of his right hand on the preacher's forehead, and reads him a lesson which he must get firm into his thinking sh.e.l.l. It is this. "Now, at this very time, yer any kind of a n.i.g.g.e.r; but a'ter this ar' ye got to be a Tennessee n.i.g.g.e.r, raised in a pious Tennessee family. And yer name is Peter-Peter-Peter!-don't forget the Peter: yer a parson, and ought t' keep the old apostle what preached in the marketplace in yer noddle. Peter, ye see, is a pious name, and Harry isn't; so ye must think Peter and sink Harry."

"What do I want to change my name for? Old master give me that name long time ago!"

"None o' yer business; n.i.g.g.e.rs ain't t' know the philosophy of such things. No n.i.g.g.e.r tricks, now!" interrupts Bengal, quickly, drawing his face into savage contortions. At this the gentleman in whose charge he will proceed steps forward and places the manacles on Harry's hands with the coolness and indifference of one executing the commonest branch of his profession. Thus packed and baled for export, he is hurried from the house into a two-horse waggon, and driven off at full speed. Bengal watches the waggon as it rolls down the highway and is lost in the distance. He laughs heartily, thinks how safe he has got the preacher, and how much hard cash he will bring. G.o.d speed the slave on his journey downward, we might add.

It will be needless for us to trace them through the many incidents of their journey; our purpose will be served when we state that his new guardian landed him safely at the plantation of Major Wiley, on the Tallahatchee River, Mississippi, on the evening of the fourth day after their departure, having made a portion of their pa.s.sage on the steamer Ohio. By some process unknown to Harry he finds himself duly ingratiated among the major's field hands, as nothing more than plain Peter. He is far from the high-road, far from his friends, without any prospect of communicating with his old master. The major, in his way, seems a well-disposed sort of man, inclined to "do right" by his negroes, and willing to afford them an opportunity of employing their time after task, for their own benefit. And yet it is evident that he must in some way be connected with Graspum and his party, for there is a continual interchange of negroes to and from his plantation. This, however, we must not a.n.a.lyse too closely, but leave to the reader's own conjectures, inasmuch as Major Wiley is a very distinguished gentleman, and confidently expects a very prominent diplomatic appointment under the next administration.

Harry, in a very quiet way, sets himself about gaining a knowledge of his master's opinions on religion, as well as obtaining his confidence by strict fidelity to his interests. So far does he succeed, that in a short time he finds himself holding the respectable and confidential office of master of stores. Then he succeeds in inducing his master to hear him preach a sermon to his negroes. The major is perfectly willing to allow him the full exercise of his talents, and is moved to admiration at his fervency, his apt.i.tude, his knowledge of the Bible, and the worth there must be in such a piece of clergy property. Master Wiley makes his man the offer of purchasing his time, which Harry, under the alias of Peter, accepts, and commences his mission of preaching on the neighbouring plantations.

Ardently and devoutedly does he pursue his mission of Christianity among his fellow-bondmen; but he has reaped little of the harvest to himself, his master having so increased the demand for his time that he can scarcely save money enough to purchase clothes. At first he was only required to pay six dollars a week; now, nothing less than ten is received. It is a happy premium on profitable human nature; and through it swings the strongest hinge of that cursed inst.i.tution which blasts alike master and slave. Major Wiley is very chivalrous, very hospitable, and very eminent for his many distinguished qualifications; but his very pious piece of property must pay forty-seven per cent. annual tribute for the very hospitable privilege of administering the Word of G.o.d to his brother bondmen. Speak not of robed bishops robbing Christianity in a foreign land, ye men who deal in men, and would rob nature of its tombstone! Ye would rob the angels did their garments give forth gold.

The poor fellow's income, depending, in some measure, upon small presents bestowed by the negroes to whom he preached, was scarcely enough to bring him out at the end of the week, and to be thus deprived of it seemed more than his spirits could bear. Again and again had he appealed to his master for justice; but there was no justice for him,--his appeals proved as fruitless as the wind, on his master's callous sensibilities. Instead of exciting compa.s.sion, he only drew upon him his master's prejudices; he was threatened with being sold, if he resisted for a day the payment of wages for his own body. Hence he saw but one alternative left-one hope, one smile from a good woman, who might, and he felt would, deliver him; that was in writing to his good friend, Mrs. Rosebrook, whose generous heart he might touch through his appeals for mercy. And yet there was another obstacle; the post-office might be ten miles off, and his master having compelled him to take the name of Peter Wiley, how was he to get a letter to her without the knowledge of his master?