 | XLI.
CONFESSIONS. Neighbor Jackwood |  |
41. XLI.
CONFESSIONS.
Charlotte raised her head feebly from the pillow, with a
troubled expression; but, perceiving Bertha, who sat watching by
the bedside, a faint, grateful smile stole over her wan features.
“O,” said she, with deep emotion, “you are always watching!
Good Bertha! dear Bertha! I should have died but for you! I
have been very sick, have I not?”
“Very sick,” replied Bertha, taking the poor girl's hands in
hers. “O, I am so thankful to see you better now!”
“I am afraid my mind is not quite right, as yet,” Charlotte
said. “Every noise startles me. I thought, just now, some persons
I feared were rushing into the room.”
“It was grandmother, who looked in, to ask how you were.”
“And Hector?” said Charlotte. “Something has happened to
him! God help me, if he does not come soon! I am still hunted;
and I lie here sick, while I should be hastening to a place of
safety! But I will not repine. — Tell me, Bertha! did I talk
much in my fever?”
“A good deal, at times,” said Bertha.
“Will you tell me all I said?”
“I did not try to remember anything, because you were delirious.”
“I wish you would tell me!” said Charlotte, with a troubled
smile.
Bertha drew near; her cheeks changed their color, and her
lips quivered; but, bending affectionately over the pillow, she
whispered something which made the sufferer start and clasp her
hand upon her heart.
“It is true, Bertha!” faltered Charlotte.
“You are his wife!” said Bertha; and her features seemed
transfixed with pain.
“You are not glad to hear it!” said Charlotte, sadly. “You
think that one in my position — But, believe me, Bertha, it
was his LOVE! Perhaps I should not have yielded. I know I have
destroyed the peace and the pride of his family, — but, O, Bertha,
do not you hate me for it! do not! You are happy; you are
united to the man you love; and I am glad for you! And you —
in your place — do not judge me harshly, — do not, good
Bertha!”
“O, Charlotte!” Bertha cried out; “if you could look into
my heart! You have not understood me! And I have not
understood myself till now!”
“You know me now, what I am,” said Charlotte. “If you
still love me and trust me, why not open our hearts to each
other? I will show you all of mine —”
“But mine!” exclaimed Bertha, — “O, what a wayward thing
it is! You would hate me, Charlotte!”
“Hate you, dearest Bertha!”
“Yes, — for just now I hated you; I had something like death
for you in my soul! You did not know — that I — that I — loved
Hector!”
“Bertha! Bertha!” moaned Charlotte.
“What frenzy has forced me to tell you?” cried Bertha. “But
you will not hate me; you will not betray me! I must confess
myself to you, or the weight that is on my soul will kill me! I
love my husband; — for he is good, and how could I not love him?
— but not as a wife should love a husband! I never did! I believed,
I hoped I should, when we were married. But I shrink from his
near approach. I am repelled from him by every instinct and
feeling of my nature. Charlotte, tell me what to do!”
Charlotte, in her amazement and pity, could not utter a word.
“I am no longer jealous,” Bertha went on. “I felt but one
sharp, piercing pang, when you told me you were Hector's wife.
I gave him up long ago; I have schooled myself to resignation;
I pray for his happiness and yours, from the depths of my heart.”
“I know you do!” said Charlotte. “O, Bertha! poor, dear
Bertha! what can I do for you? — Do not sob so!”
“I will not,” returned Bertha, struggling with herself. “I
have no right to lay my burdens upon you. Yet I needed to
confess myself to some one.”
“And you deemed me worthy.” Bertha kissed her friend. “O,
sister!” breathed Charlotte, “your lot is hard! But duty will
sustain you, and prayer will make you strong.”
“I do not know,” exclaimed Bertha, wildly. “I thought I
did my duty when I married. I see now how it was. I silenced
my nature; I stifled my deepest convictions; I followed the
dictates of calculation. But I thought I was doing right. And,
if I could then be so deceived, how can I ever be sure of the truth?
I dare not even pray! In the very act horrible promptings come
to me. It is as if Satan mocked me!”
“Perhaps,” said Charlotte, “this is the punishment for disobeying
your deepest convictions. The Spirit has been grieved
away. But seek it again, and it will come; it will teach you
what to do.”
“You comfort me, Charlotte! But, O, the fatal error! — I
had not the heroism to live an old maid; that is it! Mr. Rukely
was good — he was a minister — I desired a home, and a
position. And, as I could not have the one I loved, I flattered
myself I ought to marry him. I called esteem and friendship
love; I made expediency appear a duty. Do not think I have
been disappointed in my husband. He is all I expected, and more;
he is too good to me. Only — we do not belong to each other.
And, Charlotte, was it not a great sin?”
Charlotte shuddered involuntarily. A long silence followed.
“You have something to say to me of yourself,” uttered Bertha,
at length.
“Yes; but I am too weak now. To-morrow, if I am stronger —”
“To-morrow, then, dear Charlotte! — I will wait. We will
both be stronger then.” And Bertha embraced her friend, holding
her long in her arms, and kissing her fervently.
On the following day, Bertha, having an hour's leisure, came
me something,” she said.
“Yes, dear Bertha. But sit nearer. I want your hand in
mine.”
Having raised her friend to an easy position, and braced her up
with pillows, Bertha sat upon the side of the bed, holding her
hand, and supporting her in a half-embrace.
“It is the story of my life, Bertha. Camille is the name my
father gave me. He was a French merchant, named Antoine
Delisard. In his youth he had been attached to a young girl, —
my namesake; but both were poor, and, on a visit to Louisiana,
he became acquainted with a lady whose wealth and accomplishments
fascinated him, and they were married. It was an unhappy
union. She proved a cold and heartless woman, with nothing in
her nature to compensate him for the sacrifice of poor Camille. A
separation took place; and he was about returning to France,
when, by chance, he saw my mother. She belonged to a bankrupt
estate; she was to be sold; and he purchased her. She was then
seventeen. I think she was beautiful. She was the child of a
white father, and of a mother scarce darker than himself. She
was not wanting in education and accomplishments. Brought up
in her father's family, she had received the same advantages
with his legitimate children. My father loved her; and the
difference in their ages did not prevent her returning his attachment
with all the fervor of her nature.
“I was their only child. We lived in a pleasant part of the
city, where not more than half a dozen friends came to visit my
father in the course of the year. He seemed entirely absorbed in
his affection for my mother and me. I was his pet. I remember
how playfully he used to snatch me up in his arms, when he
returned home at night from his work. It was joyful times then!
My mother was proud and happy. Sometimes they took me with
them into the country; and I recollect that once there was a great
storm; the wind broke down trees, and tore them up by the roots,
and my father's hat flew away in a cloud of dust. He held me in
his arms, to prevent my flying away too. At first I thought it
great fun, and clapped my hands; but afterwards I cried with
to a house which remains as distinct a picture in my mind as if I
had seen it yesterday. A few such incidents form prominent
points in my memory of those days; the rest is smooth and quiet.
“When we were alone, my mother used to occupy herself in
teaching me to read and write. If I was indolent, she excited my
ambition by reminding me of my father, whose praise and encouragement
made my little heart beat proudly and happily. I remember
his saying to me, one day, `You will shine with the rest of
them, when we go to France.' I was sitting on his knee repeating
a lesson my mother had taught me. I looked in his face — I
think of it now as such a kind, good face! — and asked what he
meant by going to France. `You will know, one of these days,
darling!' said he, — and, kissing me, he took me in his arms and
hugged me tight. For a good many days I thought of what he
had said. I asked my mother what he meant; she told me
that France was a beautiful country away over the sea, and that
we were all going there together, as soon as my father was rich
enough, so that we could live in grand style, and spend as much
money as we pleased. She seemed elated with the idea, and of
course I thought it fine; but an old negro servant we had laughed
at us, and told us she had heard too many such stories to believe
them. That was the first time I ever saw my mother angry. She
threatened to have the old woman whipped; but she only laughed
the more, showing her hideous gums and broken teeth, which I
remember to this day.
“After that we talked a great deal about France. But we
were careful not to let the old woman hear us; and, if she entered
the room, we were silent. My mother excited my imagination
with romantic stories, repeating what my father had told her,
with a thousand exaggerations. I thought of nothing, dreamed
of nothing, but France. But one day my father came home with
a headache, and went to bed. The next I remember, the house
was filled with strangers; I was terrified, and my mother was
frantic. There was a tall, pale, severe woman, who had her
servants and doctors, and who would not let us go into the room
where he was. One day, however, my mother armed herself
There was a pallor and fury in her looks which frightened the
attendants away, and for some time we had sole possession of the
chamber. My father called her his brave girl; and, although he
was very sick, he pressed us in his arms, declaring that we should
not be taken from him again. But suddenly he fell back. My
mother screamed. The pale woman rushed in, and we were carried
out. I remember my mother clinging to the bed, from which
she was torn by main force, struggling and shrieking; then we
were locked up in a solitary room. I knew, from her grief and
despair, that my father was dead. I had little knowledge, however,
of the destiny that awaited us. I cried because he could not
go with us to France! I wondered if we should go without him!
“The pale woman was his wife. By law, we were a part of
his property, and she and her children were his heirs. Then we
learned what it was to be slaves! My mother had almost forgotten;
I had never known. I became the companion of slave-children,
on a plantation owned by Mrs. Delisard's father. I was
half-clad, like them; I ate their coarse food; I slept in their miserable
huts.”
“And your mother?” said Bertha.
“She was kept as a servant in the house. I did not know,
then, how much she was to be pitied. The change in her own
condition was not her hardest trial. To see me, her darling
growing up with children of an ignorant and degraded class, was
more than she could bear. One day Mrs. Delisard brought a lady
to visit the plantation. It is one of the most terrible days in my
remembrance. I do not know the immediate cause of the outburst;
but my mother lost all command of her temper, and poured
forth a volley of indignation and anger against her mistress, of
which I had a vague consciousness of being in some way the subject.
Mrs. Delisard said, `The child shall be sold!' Her paleness
frightened me more than my mother's violence. During the
scene, a young man rode up, and, throwing himself from his horse,
struck my mother with the butt of his riding-whip across the temples.
It was Mrs. Delisard's son —”
“Your brother?” ejaculated Bertha.
“I suppose so! — My mother fell to the ground, and was carried
away insensible. I never saw her again.”
“She died!”
“O, no! she was not so happy! There was a place on the
plantation where the worst field-hands were, on extraordinary occasions,
confined for bad behavior. It was a wretched, dismal
pen, which the superstitious slaves had peopled with imaginary
horrors; and to be imprisoned there over night was looked upon
as a more dreadful and degrading punishment than whipping.
There my mother was shut up, and the great black padlock was
put upon the door. I heard Mrs. Delisard say, `to humiliate
her,' — and for years after I could not hear the word humiliate,
without associating it with all that was gloomy and terrible.”
“How long was she kept there?”
“I do not know. No person was allowed to go near her. The
slaves huddled together that night, and told over all the stories
which could be remembered or imagined in connection with the
jail. There was a tradition of an old negro who died there, one
night, years before, in consequence of a cutting-up, or flogging,
and whose ha'nt, or apparition, was sure to manifest itself whenever
there were any troubles on the plantation. One of the storytellers,
who had passed a night in the jail, declared that he heard
the old negro shelling corn on a shovel until three o'clock in the
morning. The rest related similar superstitions, frightening themselves
and each other, until they scarcely dared separate for the
night. For my part, I was glad to creep into the bunk with the
other children, and cover my eyes, for fear of seeing the ghost of
the old negro. How I trembled for my mother! I was too terrified
even to cry.
“The next morning, after the hands had gone to the field, I
was waiting anxiously to know what would be done with my
mother, or if she was still alive, when there was an inquiry made
for me, and the children whispered that `Milly was going to be
sold!'”
“Who was Milly?” inquired Bertha.
“If you had seen all eyes turned upon me, with shy and wondering
looks, you would have discovered who Milly was! That
The overseer of the plantation turned me around, and made me
show my arms and knees to a stranger, who was going to buy me.
I remember the man's saying that I looked sickly, and the overseer's
saying that it was `nat'ral white.' Then they walked away
tegether, to conclude the bargain. I saw the overseer point
towards the jail; and it seemed to me that he was explaining why
I was to be sold, and telling about my mother. All this time I
could say nothing but `Don't sell me! please don't have me
sold!' I was sobbing, when one of the servants came to take me
to the piazza, where Mrs. Delisard was walking with her visitor.
The lady spoke to me kindly, and asked me how I would like to
have her buy me. I said I did not want to be sold. `But you
would rather go with me than with that man, would you not?'
said the lady. `I want to go with my mother,' said I, `and I do
not want to be sold.' Then she said something aside to Mrs. Delisard's
I only heard Mrs. Delisard's reply that she was determined.
I thought it was something awful to be determined; for
I was wise enough to see that there was no mercy in her heart for
either my mother or me.
“I was sold, and carried away that day. I remember struggling
and crying to see my mother again; after which, I can
recall nothing, until I found myself in my new home. It was at
the house of the lady who had purchased me. She came and
asked me how I was, as I lay upon a bed, in a room in which I
had awaked without even knowing how I was brought there. I
begged to be taken back to my mother. It was not until years
after that I heard anything definite with regard to her fate.
Then I learned that, on coming out of the jail, she never laughed
again, or spoke, unless she was addressed. Her spirit was crushed.
She pined away, and her owners tried to sell her; but she had
become unfit for any labor; and, in the course of a few months,
she died.”
“Your own mother!” said Bertha.
“Alas, Bertha!” continued her friend, wiping her tears, “I
had already divined her fate. For a long time after I was sold,
I felt her spirit crying out for me, and refusing to be comforted.
such perfect consciousness of her presence, that I firmly believed
she had been near. The next night, I felt her presence again.
She told me in a dream that she was free, and that she would be
with me always, to guard and strengthen me. By degrees the
truth revealed itself, and I knew her spirit had attained that freedom
which did not exist for her on earth.
“Like Mrs. Delisard, my new mistress was a widow; she was
gay and independent; but she had a benevolent heart, and, from
the first, she treated me with a great deal of kindness. She was
naturally impatient; but, as I became accustomed to her habits
and caprices, I could wait upon her and please her better than
any one else. I think she had a real affection for me. I could
tell you a great many anecdotes about her; but I will relate only
one or two, which make points in my own history. As I had
much leisure time, I used to amuse myself with reading such
books as I could steal from the library and return without danger
of discovery. How Mrs. Beman came to suspect the habit, I
never knew; but one day she said to me, `Milly, can you read?'
`I could read a little once,' I acknowledged, tremblingly. After
a few more such questions, which I answered evasively, she said,
`Take my advice, Milly, and do not read any more. It is a bad
practice for girls in your condition. Servants have no business
with books. Above all, do not read such stories as the Bride of
the Forest; they will only serve to put idle fancies into your
head, and make you unhappy.'
“The Bride of the Forest was the book I had been reading
that very day! I said nothing, but went away and cried. That
night Mrs. Beman called me to her, after she was in bed. `Take
this book,' said she, `and show me how well you can read.' The
book was the Bride of the Forest! I felt my cheek burn, and my
voice trembled as I read. But, after a little stammering, I got on
very well. Mrs. Beman praised me. `It is quite interesting,'
said she. `Continue; but do not try to read so fast.' I was encouraged.
I read chapter after chapter, waiting for her to tell
me to stop. At length I glanced furtively from the page, to
observe her expression. She was fast asleep. From that time,
sleep.
“An unfortunate occurrence put an end to this recreation.
Mrs. Beman married. She took home a handsome young husband,
several years younger than herself. The servants said
among themselves that he married her for her property, and she
him for his beauty. They liked the change; and not enough
could be said in praise of the new master. He was careless, liberal,
and indulgent. Everybody was happy but me. I found the
coarse society of the servants a poor recompense for the delicious
nights I used to spend reading to my mistress.
“But it was not long before I met with another change of fortune.
One day, my mistress called me to an account. `Milly,'
said she, `how do you like Mr. Woodbridge?' `He is a good
master,' said I; `all the servants like him.' `He is kind to
you, Milly, is he not?' `O, always!' said I. `Indeed,' said my
mistress, `he has taken a particular fancy to you, has n't he?' I
trembled, and blushed, and said I did not know. `O,' said she,
laughing, — it was a laugh I did not like, — `you know very well
whether he fancies you or not. Did he ever kiss you?' `No,'
said I, earnestly, `he never did!' `Did he ever try?' she asked,
in a quiet, significant tone, which told me that she knew everything.
`Be honest, Milly, and tell me the truth.'
“Although I had learned to lie in her service, without doing
the least violence to my conscience, I could not compose my face
to lie to her. `Yes,' said I, `he tried once — in fun.' — `And
once afterwards, in earnest — eh, Milly?' — `But I would n't let
him!' I protested, looking her full in the face. `I believe you,'
said my mistress. `He is coming,' she added, starting from her
seat. `Tell him I am in the garden.'
“She stepped into the alcove, just as Mr. Woodbridge entered
the room. `Where is your mistress, Milly?' he asked. `I don't
know, sir,' said I. `I reckon she 's in the garden.' He pulled
me by the arm, and tried to make me sit upon his knee. `You
are the queerest girl that ever was!' said he. `What 's the reason
you won't let me kiss you?' I told him that he was my mistress'
husband, and that she was very fond of him. `And so am
young face like yours, you know. She was young once, but that
was a good while ago. Don't tell her I said so, unless you want
her to take both our heads off!'
“He was trying to kiss me again, and I was fighting him away,
when he suddenly let me go. My mistress was coming out of the
alcove. `That will do, George!' said she, smiling, with her forefinger
raised. But her cheek was pale, and there was something
bitter and vindictive in her smile. I never saw so blank a face
as his! `You may go, Milly,' — and I ran from the room. Two
or three days after, she called me to her, and, talking to me
kindly, though not with the frank good-nature with which she
used to talk to me, told me she thought it best for me to have
another mistress. `Don't cry, Milly,' said she. `You are a good
girl, and I have found a good mistress for you. It is Mrs. Graves.
She has coveted you ever since I told her, long ago, that I had a
servant to read me to sleep. Her husband is an old man; and
there will be little danger of his liking you too well.'
“All this was some consolation. But I was attached to Mrs.
Woodbridge, and could not bear the thought of leaving her. I
did not know, until afterwards, how really kind she had been.
She had sold me at a sacrifice to Mrs. Graves, in order to secure
for me a good mistress; although she might have obtained a much
higher price for me, at the hands of speculators.”
“How strange it sounds, to hear you speak of being bought and
sold!” exclaimed Bertha.
“It sounds strange to me, too, Bertha! All this part of my
life seems like a dream, as I look back upon it. Mrs. Graves
was very young. She had married when a mere child, to please
an ambitious parent; her husband was old and jealous. She had
suffered extremely before I saw her; but she had naturally a patient
temper, and a spiritual mind; and she found her consolation
in the deep realities of a religious life. I never cease to be thankful
to the kind Providence that placed me under her influence.
As her husband's jealousy shut her out from society, she made
a companion and confidant of me; and I grew up with her,
much like a younger sister. She first taught me the beauty of
my heart, that I asked no greater privilege than to sit at her
feet, with tears of tenderness in my eyes, and listen. She used
to tell me that nobody in the world knew her, but me. I am sure
there was no one else to whom she could talk of that which was
nearest her heart. The little society she saw consisted of worldly
and superficial people, with whom she could feel no sympathy.
Her chief consolation, out of herself, was books, which I used to
read to her. But the volumes she chose were different from those
I read to Mrs. Beman. She took great delight in the Gospels;
I used often to read a passage, then together we would seek for
its interior meaning. O, Bertha! how wonderful are all those
sayings of our Saviour! I had read them before, without understanding
them. To Mrs. Graves I owed the revelation of their
spirit. The love, the wisdom, the beauty of that spirit, widened,
and deepened, and brightened, day by day, as I studied under her
instruction. Next to the Scriptures, there were a few books of
essays and philosophy, that gratified her most. Then I read
choice volumes of travels, history, poetry, and romance. So three
years passed. I was seventeen, when Richard, a nephew of Mr.
Graves, came home from Germany, where he had been studying.
He visited us often; and I soon discovered a strong sympathy
between him and his youthful aunt. She confessed to him her
aspirations and her faith; and, in return, he imparted to her the
results of his philosophical studies, with reminiscences of his
foreign tour. He was surprised to find that, with her own intuitive
perceptions, she had discerned truths which he had arrived at
only with great labor. But, with all his learning, she became his
teacher. Like me, he sat at her feet, and listened with tearful
eyes. Sometimes she spoke like one inspired, putting all his
philosophy aside; then she would ask his forgiveness, sweetly and
humbly, telling him that she knew nothing, and that it was not
herself that spoke.
“I was nearly always witness of their interviews. Sometimes
Mr. Graves was present; then his wife would tell me gently that
I could retire. If he went away, I was recalled. But this state
of things could not continue. One evening, Mr. Graves came
the morning he had given out word that he was going upon a
journey, to be absent a couple of days. He had remained in
town to watch. When he entered, Richard was on the floor;
Mrs. Graves sat upon an ottoman, holding his head in her lap.
The night was warm; the doors were all flung open; there was
no light but the glimmer of the moon, which shone through the
windows. The old man crept in like a cat. I cannot describe
the scene that ensued. Mrs. Graves, in her gentlest tones, called
me to witness her innocence. Until that moment, he had not been
aware of my presence. I hastened from the obscure corner where
I sat; but the sight of me appeared only to enrage him the more.
He knew the confidence Mrs. Graves placed in me, and believed me
a mere tool, that could be blind, deaf, and dumb, in her service,
as occasion required. Richard was driven from the house. He
would have set up a defence, but Mrs. Graves requested him to
go. She was calm and resigned, and only said, in answer to her
husband's charges, that he did his own soul injustice. Her innocence
appeared a shield from which his shafts glanced off harmless.
Unfortunately, they struck me. Some sacrifice to his rage
was necessary. Richard had gone too quietly; his wife was too
patient under the stroke. To tear her heart, he resolved that I
should go too. This was the third great blow of my life. But it
fell more heavily upon me than either my father's death or the
separation from my mother, because I was now of an age to appreciate
all my loss. Another such mistress did not exist on earth.
I was once more a slave. I was young; I was not without some
personal attractions; I was at the mercy of whoever might purchase
me. Once more I was sold. The affair was concluded
before even Mrs. Graves suspected the turn her husband's vengeance
had taken. I knew nothing of it until the morning I was
carried away. At the announcement of my fate, I fell down in
a swoon. Ah, Bertha! I can tell you nothing of the agony of
that day!”
“But it is terrible,” said Bertha, “to be subject to the caprices
of a mean and revengeful old man! His wife, could she do nothing
for you?”
“How could she? Although her servant, I was his property.
I was torn from her arms, and placed in a close carriage, which
bore me away from her forever. My new owner accompanied me
He was a speculator, who had been for a few days at New Orleans
transacting business with Mr. Graves. He was taking me to Mobile.
I can only describe him as one of those smooth, pleasant
men, with something indefinably bad and repulsive in their natures,
from which we shrink instinctively. He tried to cheer me,
by telling me, gayly, that one good master was worth forty good
mistresses, for a handsome young girl like me. We reached Mobile
that afternoon. His wife met us, on our arrival. She was
a passionate woman, with a certain plumpness and fairness about
her, which passed with many for beauty. But she looked anything
but beautiful to me then. `For heaven's sake, doctor!'
she cried, `what have you got there?' `Only a bit of a speculation,'
said my new master, with a laugh. `I bought her for seven
hundred,' he added, in a low tone, `and if I don't get twelve for
her within as many days, I 'll give her to you. You shall have
that new shawl the day I get her off my hands.' Ah, Bertha!
you never knew what it was to be the property of a base and
selfish man! No law to protect me; no friend to whom I could
appeal; no chance or hope of escape, — what could I do? He
could not comprehend how a person in my condition should resist
him; and the longer I evaded his pursuit, the more desperate and
determined he became. At length, — it was after the lapse of
several months, — there came a change. O, Bertha! if I had the
courage to draw the dark picture of those months! — but let
them pass!
“Dr. Tanwood was frequently absent, on affairs of business or
pleasure; at which times his wife was in the habit of receiving
visitors, who rarely came when he was supposed to be at home.
I should tell you that, in the mean while, the twelve days having
long since elapsed during which I was to have been sold, he had
gone through with the mockery of giving me to his wife. She
was naturally an extravagant and luxurious woman, and the gratification
of having me to dress her, and wait upon her, and fan
her as she lolled upon her favorite lounge, had partly reconciled
was waiting in the parlor, that she would be with him in two minutes,
— which meant ten. As I entered, he looked at me strangely,
as he had often done before, — for he had been frequently at the
house, — and as I was retiring, he called me back. I asked him
what he would have. `You can put away my hat,' said he. But,
as I went to take it, he held it, and looked up in my face. `What
is your name?' `Camille,' said I, — `people call me Milly.'
`Camille,' said he, `I am a northern man. There is something
I would say to you, if I dared.' I was frightened by the wild
thoughts that rushed through my brain. `You understand me,'
he said. `Yes,' I answered; `and you may dare to say anything!'
`Can you read?' `Yes.' `And write?' `Yes.' `You
have heard of the northern states?' said he. `The free states!'
I answered. `Good!' said he. `There is no need of explanations.
Go now. I will see you again.'
“I ran back trembling to my mistress. She was dressing, and
scolded me for leaving her so long alone. I assisted her, scarce
knowing what I did; but I finished the task without exciting her
suspicions, and she swept into the parlor. Presently she summoned
me, and called for water and glasses. `For Mr. Roberts,'
said she, languidly, with a wave of her fan, as I reëntered with a
salver. Mr. Roberts took a glass and handed it to her; then
taking one for himself, he dropped a little ball of paper upon the
salver. You can imagine the eagerness with which I unrolled it,
and examined its contents, the moment I was alone. There were
four lines, written with a pencil, which I will repeat, if I have
not forgotten them:
In a swate little billet, directed to Pat,
She wrote all her sorrow, her hopes, and her trouble,
And pinned it one night in the crown of his hat.'
“It was not easy to forget those lines, Bertha! I thought I
discovered in Mr. Roberts a generous and adventurous spirit, that
might be of infinite service, if I would trust him. I stole pencil
and paper from the doctor's office, and, carrying them to the garret,
of her state, was ready to adopt any measures to escape from the
tyranny of the aged couple. Had the note actually fallen into
my mistress' hands, I doubt if she would have understood it. I
think she was not even aware that I could write. But it did not
fall into her hands. I secreted it in the lining of the visitor's
hat, which I had previously placed upon the hall-table. Thus
our correspondence began. When he came again, I found another
communication where I had placed mine. It was in rhyme, which
he appeared to have a talent for composing; and in it I read, with
trembling interest, the assurance that Patrick O'Rooney would
devise speedy means for the deliverance of poor Ellen.
“I had now strong hopes of escaping from my precarious situation.
It was time. Irritated by my constant evasions, the doctor
had threatened to sell me to a coarser and brutal man, whom
he brought to the house to intimidate me. `He has offered a
thousand dollars for you,' said he, `and if I can't tame you, he
shall. He has no jealous wife to stand in the way.' The menace
served to accelerate the crisis. I found Mr. Roberts resolute and
ingenious. Indeed, his extraordinary audacity alarmed me more
than once. Sometimes he came twice the same day, bringing me
messages in his hat. I wondered how Mrs. Tanwood could
avoid seeing that his visits were designed for me; but she was
infatuated, and believed that she had charmed him to that point.
“On one occasion, he brought an acquaintance, whom he introduced
to Mrs. Tanwood. Ah, Bertha! it is with strange feelings
that I recall the incidents of that night! The acquaintance
was Hector! How well I remembered him, when I saw him for
the second time at your house, there on the hill!”
“You had seen him, then!” exclaimed Bertha. “Tell
about it!”
“Indeed, there is not much to tell. I was afraid of him, and
wished him away. Mr. Roberts had been wise enough not to
call his attention to me; it seemed, however, when I met him at
your house, that my features were fixed in his memory, and that
I could not move or speak without danger of recognition. One
incident I thought surely would recur to him, at sight of me.
taken from his hat, and concealed in a barrel in the garret, during
their visit. On going away, Hector observed his friend's hat,
and spoke of this package. `Do you take me for a lackey?' cried
Mr. Roberts, with a laugh. `You certainly had a package,' said
Hector, `for I remarked it both in the street and after we came
in.' My mistress called me, to know what I had done with it.
I am good for nothing when a sudden shock comes upon me, and
coolness and self-possession are required to turn aside suspicion.
I trembled, and felt my cheek change color; but before I had
time to reply, Mr. Roberts declared that it was a joke of his
friend's; and I took advantage of the discussion which ensued,
to escape from observation.”
“What was the package?” asked Bertha.
“It contained articles destined for my disguise; I had been
unable to get them myself, and Mr. Roberts had engaged to procure
them for me. I need not tell you with what anxiety I now
counted the days, and hours, and minutes. At last, O, Bertha!
at last the night of all nights in my life was at hand! There
was so much depending upon the secrecy of my movements, and
such fatality might topple down, like an avalanche, at the touch
of the slightest accident, that I prayed continually for the guidance
of a power above my own.
“For some weeks I had been accustomed to make my bed on
the kitchen floor with the cook. She was no very pleasant companion;
she was decrepit and cross; more than that, she affected
to despise and hate me, because I was white. She suspected, however,
the reasons why I preferred her company to sleeping in a
room alone, and suffered me to occupy a corner of her dormitory.
I spread out my bed that night, and, lying down as usual, pretended
soon to be fast asleep. She was in a grumbling mood,
and talked in her worst style for over an hour; but I made no
reply; and at length, becoming weary of her muttered soliloquy,
she turned over, and became silent. About an hour later, the
doctor came home. The clock had just struck twelve. I heard
him enter softly, and take off his boots, before going up stairs.
He had reasons for not wishing to disturb his wife; and, notwithstanding
me in the garret. I listened with a beating heart; and, after a
long silence, I heard his stealthy steps again on the stairs. He
came to the kitchen, and spoke to me. It was dark, and I lay still
as death, hoping that he would go away; but there was nothing
to prevent his entering the room, and he came in, on tiptoe. My
only resource was to rouse old Juno, and I shook her arm; but
her sleep was so heavy that I could not awaken her. The doctor
attempted to take me from her, and for a week after I carried
the mark of his hand upon my arm. The struggle awoke the
cook; I was saved. After the doctor was gone, she lay down
again in her corner, chuckling at his discomfiture. It was not
long before she was again asleep, and all was still in the house.
My great fear then was that he would return; I lay listening for
hours. At three o'clock, hearing no sound, I got up, and stole
softly from the kitchen. His office was on the same floor. His
wife's apartments and the parlor were on the floor above. I had
to pass these to arrive at the garret; but first I took the precaution
to open the street door. After waiting some time to ascertain
that no one was disturbed, I ascended the stairs, pausing and
listening at every step.
“Well, I reached the garret, and all was still. I then groped
my way to the barrel, where I had concealed my disguise, together
with a candle, necessary in making my toilet. I struck a light,
and proceeded to adjust my costume before a fragment of glass
stuck against the wall. I had an old and faded merino dress,
which I had arranged for the occasion. The articles Mr. Roberts
brought me I had prepared by stealth, and they were all ready to
put on. There was a wig of gray hair, and old-fashioned spectacles,
with colored glasses; in addition to which, I had an old
woman's cap, and a bonnet that shaded my face. The most difficult
thing of all was to color my complexion, to give it that
wrinkled appearance characteristic of old age. But this I had
already done once before, to give Mrs. Graves an evening's entertainment;
and had, at that time, succeeded so well, even in
deceiving the members of the house, that I felt confidence in adopting
the disguise for a more serious adventure.
“At length all was arranged; and, looking in the glass, I was
half frightened at the image that met my view. It was no longer
myself, but a veritable old woman. So far, all was well; but, O,
Bertha, so much yet remained to be done! I had first to descend
the stairs, with a small bundle of clothes in one hand, and my
shoes in the other, pausing and listening at every step, as before.
But I will not dwell upon that; you can imagine my feelings, at
such a time. I succeeded in passing the hall, — then how glad I
was that I had taken the precaution to leave the door ajar! I
glided into the street, and put on my shoes. The city lay around
me, like a wilderness, so silent and deserted that the sound of my
own footsteps startled me. The stars were just beginning to wane
before the light of day. On the corner, where I expected to meet
my friend and guide, I encountered three or four intoxicated men,
who accosted me, and refused to let me pass, until I had answered
their tipsy questions. I dared not cry for help; for I knew not
which most to fear, them, or the city watchmen. Fortunately, at
this crisis, Mr. Roberts appeared, and rescued me from their
hands. I got away, and hastened along the street. In a little
while he rejoined me; then first I felt that I was safe; but he had
bad news to tell me, which left me little time to rejoice. He had
engaged the captain of a merchant ship, whom he had interested
in my behalf, to carry me to New York. His vessel lay down the
bay, and he was to send a boat at daybreak, to take me on board.
The evening previous, however, he had sent word, at a late hour,
that the day of sailing was postponed, — which Mr. Roberts had
not received in season to communicate to me. But he told me
not to be discouraged. `Of course,' said he, `you are not anxious
to go back.' Go back! I did not know what would tempt me to
go through again what I had that night suffered! `Well,' said
he, `the sooner you are out of the city, the better. There are
oyster-boats going down the river at all hours of the morning, and
I see no reason why one of them cannot be engaged to put you on
board the Manhattan.' We reached the river, and, walking along
the wharves, found two men preparing to push off. My companion
addressed them; but he did not like their appearance; and, for
my part, I was afraid to trust myself alone in their charge.”
“Mr. Roberts was not going with you, then?” said Bertha.
“O, no; — but I will tell you about that. Near by, we saw
an old man and a boy, also on the point of setting out for the
oyster-banks; and Mr. Roberts proceeded to make a bargain for my
passage. `She is a poor old woman,' said he, `whose son has run
away, and she wants to catch him before he sails.' — The regret,
anxiety, joy, — O, Bertha! you can imagine what I felt as I took
leave of him, and stepped into the boat. He remained standing
upon the wharf; the old man pushed off; a light wind filled the
sail, and in a few moments the only friend I then had in the wide
world was lost to sight.
“The sun was near two hours' high when we approached the
Fleet, as it is called; and the old man pointed out to me the Manhattan,
riding at anchor in the bay. We had a good breeze; and
in a little while we sailed alongside. My heart stood still when
the old man hailed for the captain. The reply came that he was
ashore, and would not come on board until ten o'clock. I was
greatly alarmed at this; but, fortunately, I was recognized by the
mate, who was in the secret, and received on board. The old man
and his son were sent away, and I was conducted to the stateroom
secured for me. O, when the door was shut, and I was
alone, — and safe, — O, Bertha, how my full heart overflowed in
prayers and tears! I lay down in my berth; and I was so
exhausted and weary that I soon fell asleep. A rap at my door
awakened me. I was foolish enough to be frightened, imagining
that my master had come; but presently I summoned courage,
and turned back the bolt. A bronzed, bright, benevolent face
looked in upon me; it was the captain, whom I knew at once as a
friend. He assured me that the vessel would sail on the following
day, and, on hearing my story, offered to bet heavy sums that nobody
would think of looking for me on board his ship.
“I was more grateful than my words could express. The day
and night dragged slowly, but, O, I was patient, Bertha, and my
heart was full of a new joy. I was free! At last the time of
sailing arrived; what, then, was my surprise, on receiving a visit
from Mr. Roberts! I was still more surprised to learn that he
had come on board with his baggage, resolved upon making the
into the heart of that man. He had intended going with me, from
the first.”
“Why had he deceived you?”
“Before my escape, he had expressed, in one of his notes,
sentiments which I disliked; and I had replied that if such were
his motives in assisting me, I must decline those services which
I could not repay in the manner he seemed to anticipate. He
was not a man I could ever regard otherwise than as a friend,
and I told him so. He denied the motives I imputed to him;
but, Bertha, when we met on board the ship, I could no longer
shut my ears against a truth which had been whispered to me continually.
I had charged my heart with ingratitude and injustice,
and refused to believe what it said. Now, however, it was but too
plainly revealed. Selfishness was the mainspring of his conduct,
and all that he had done for me was marred.
“Once at sea, I abandoned my disguise, and often appeared
upon deck with no other attempt at concealment than a simple
veil thrown over my face. When off the coast of Florida, we had
fine breezes, the sea was surpassingly beautiful, and the sky was
of a clear, deep, heavenly blue, which filled my soul with wonder
and joy. There was but one cloud above my horizon. It appeared
in the form of Mr. Roberts. One day, to escape him, I
retreated to my room; but he followed me, and, by an unworthy
stratagem, succeeded in gaining admittance. We were the only
passengers, and the sole occupants of the cabin at the time; and
I was in his power. As an excuse for his violence, he had the baseness
to remind me of what I owed to him, and to charge me with
ingratitude. `It is true,' said I, `I owe you my liberty, and in
return I will give you my life.' — I said this despairingly, for I
was ready to die. He declared impetuously that I was wrong to
speak so; for it was only my love he sought. `But,' said I,
`your approach will kill me! I give you that warning.'
“I no longer held him from me; but, as he caught me in his
arms, he felt a hard substance strike him. Starting aside, he
caught the glimpse of a knife-handle, and thought I had stabbed
the blade was in my own breast.”
“You had stabbed yourself!”
“No, Bertha. But I had placed the knife between us. It was
one I had borrowed of the captain on some pretence; the blade
was broad and sharp; but, fortunately, the point had become
entangled in my handkerchief, in which I held it concealed. I
suffered from a deathly faintness; but I did not quite lose my
consciousness at any moment: I placed my handkerchief upon the
wound, to stop the blood, and entreated Mr. Roberts, with all my
remaining force, to have mercy upon me, and leave me. Overcome
with horror and remorse, he fell upon his knees, and prayed
to be forgiven, and to be permitted to atone for his wrong. He
hastened to bring me linen from his trunk; but I locked the door,
and would not let him return. Afterwards, when I was stronger,
I washed and dressed the wound myself, and left nature to do the
rest. I appealed to the captain for protection, and found in him
a genuine, hearty friend. As the voyage approached its termination,
he asked me what I proposed to do on my arrival at New
York. I showed him a letter which Mr. Roberts had previously
given me to a person in that city, who, he said, would assist me
in reaching Canada. `But, since he is with me,' said I, `I no
longer know what to do.'
“How well he managed, you will know, when I tell you that,
on arriving at New York, I was taken secretly from his ship, at
night, and placed on board a sloop, bound up the North River.
He had, by chance, met a skipper of his acquaintance, who was to
sail with the first wind, and who promised to land me in Albany,
free of expense. How fortune seemed to favor me, Bertha! I
was on my way to Canada, before Mr. Roberts knew I had left
the ship.
“As I was travelling alone, I had followed Captain Damon's
prudent counsel, and resumed my disguise. `An old woman,' he
said, `will get along much better among a certain class of people
than a young girl.' I had had experience enough to believe him.
He put into my hands a letter for a brother of his at Whitehall,
which he said was directly on my route, assuring me that, on its
journey. Two days after quitting the Manhattan, I was landed
at Albany, as the skipper had promised. But he did not leave
me until he had placed me on board a boat bound for Whitehall,
and made a bargain for my passage, which I paid with money
Captain Damon had given me for the purpose. Thus far I
had played my part so well that no person, not even the skipper,
suspected that my age was less than three score.”
“I cannot conceive how you could do it!” said Bertha.
“It was not so difficult as you imagine. People do not scrutinize
old women. I pretended to have a catarrh, which obliged
me to wear my bonnet; then I dressed to disguise my form, and
wore old gloves upon my hands. I experienced more difficulty in
managing the tones of my voice than in all the rest. But I have
a respectable talent at mimicry, and succeeded even in that;
although, I fancy, people must have thought me exceedingly quiet
for an old lady. Few, I think, ever felt less ambition to talk!
“Everything happened favorably until my arrival at Whitehall,
when, to my consternation, I learned that Captain Damon's
brother had removed into the country, on account of ill-health.
As I had no means of getting to Canada without assistance, I
obtained his address, and set out on foot, the same evening, to
find him.
“I had not gone far before I ascertained that the distance was
much greater than I had suspected. I walked four miles that
night, and stopped to rest at a farm-house. I was allowed to
sleep in the barn, and invited to breakfast on the following
morning. I had no appetite; but, to guard against future
hunger, I forced myself to eat a morsel, and, thanking them
hastily, took my leave. This house proved to be that of Mr.
Jackwood's brother-in-law, in Sawney Hook; it was there I first
made the acquaintance of grandmother Rigglesty.
“I was now among the mountains, in the midst of new and
surprising scenery. I walked far, in the cool of the day; when I
became tired, I sat down on the roadside, and listened to the
singing of the birds. I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed that
morning! Hope and freedom inspired me; but hope and freedom
noon. But, as I was fast approaching the house I was in search
of, I kept on, and arrived in sight of it at about one o'clock. I
was alarmed to find a number of carriages at the fence, and a
group of solemn people near the door. Presently a coffin was
brought out, and placed in a wagon; then the people began to get
into their carriages, and a procession was formed.
“I sat down upon a stone by the road, and waited for the
funeral to pass. Presently two men came out on foot, and stopped
to talk near the place where I sat. I inquired if that was Mr.
Damon's house.
“`That was Charles Damon's house,' one of them replied, `but
he has moved.' I was so disturbed at this that I could scarcely
speak, to ask where he had gone. `He has just gone down the
road,' the man said. `You will find his new house in the graveyard
just over the hill. It is a house of but one story, and that
is built under ground.'
“I was trying to collect my thoughts, and wondering what I
should do, when the men began to discuss an item of news which
frightened me so much that I quite forgot the funeral. They
spoke of the fugitive-slave law, and of some slave-hunters, who, as
I understood them, had recently arrived in town. `For my part,'
said one, `I hope they will put the law in force, and carry back
every fugitive this side of Canada. I 'll help them, if I 'm called
upon.' I waited until the men went away; then, rising to my
feet, set out to walk as fast as I could down the road. I afterwards
learned that the slave-hunters alluded to were probably
some who about that time visited a town in the State of New
York; but, in my panic, I imagined them in full pursuit of me.
I took by-roads, and travelled on and on, keeping a northerly
direction, but with no definite purpose in view, until I found
myself on a wild mountain-side, and the path I had followed
became lost in a gloomy forest. My courage failed. I had eaten
nothing since morning, and there was danger of perishing in the
woods. But, looking off upon the valley, I saw houses and farms,
and, weary as I was, I began to descend the mountain. I crossed
a steep pasture-land, full of rocks and thistles, among which I
that sometimes I could scarce rise again to my feet. But
the valley lay before, and it seemed to me that on reaching the
meadows I would find less difficulty in proceeding, they looked so
smooth, and green, and cool! I drank at a clear brook, that
leaped plashing and singing along the mountain-side; and, feeling
slightly rested and refreshed, kept on down the slope. On
reaching the low land, however, I found the grass an unexpected
obstacle; and as I proceeded it became ranker, deeper, and
thicker, at every step, until I sank down in utter helplessness and
despair. But night was setting in, a storm was gathering and
blackening, and I made a final effort to reach an old barn that
stood not far off in the valley. I came to a stream hedged with
willows and vines, and, as I was searching for an opening in the
bushes, I discovered a bridge. I had hardly crossed, when a
dizziness seized me, and I fainted, within a dozen yards of the
barn. On recovering my consciousness, I heard a shout, and
exerted myself to answer it. It was Mr. Jackwood calling Abimelech,
who was lost in the meadow.
“I feel too weak, Bertha,” said Camille, for so we now must
call her, “to tell you more to-day. I have made a long and
tedious story. But another time you shall hear more of Mr.
Roberts —”
“And Hector,” said Bertha, — “how were you married? He
had left you once!”
“Yes, when I told him my history. But his love,” said
Camille, with a glorious smile, “his love was great as his soul!
He came back, and claimed me as his wife.”
Bertha covered her face. “Happy, happy wife! God bless
you!” and she sobbed upon Camille's bosom.
| XLI.
CONFESSIONS. Neighbor Jackwood | |