University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.
THE DEATH.

Death is always sudden. However gradual may be its
approaches, it is, in its effects upon the survivor, always
sudden at last. Tiff thought, at first, that his mistress was
in a fainting-fit, and tried every means to restore her. It
was affecting to see him chafing the thin, white, pearly
hands, in his large, rough, black paws; raising the head
upon his arm, and calling in a thousand tones of fond endearment,
pouring out a perfect torrent of loving devotion
on the cold, unheeding ear. But, then, spite of all he
could do, the face settled itself, and the hands would not be
warmed; the thought of death struck him suddenly, and,
throwing himself on the floor by the bed, he wept with an
exceeding loud and bitter cry. Something in his heart
revolted against awakening that man who lay heavily
breathing by her side. He would not admit to himself, at
this moment, that this man had any right in her, or that the
sorrow was any part of his sorrow. But the cry awoke
Cripps, who sat up bewildered in bed, clearing the hair from
his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Tiff, what the durned are you howling about?”

Tiff got up in a moment, and, swallowing down his grief
and his tears, pointed indignantly to the still figure on the
bed.

“Dar! dar! Would n't b'lieve her last night! Now
what you think of dat ar? See how you look now! Good
Shepherd hearn you abusing de poor lamb, and he 's done
took her whar you 'll never see her again!”

Cripps had, like coarse, animal men generally, a stupid
and senseless horror of death; — he recoiled from the lifeless
form, and sprang from the bed with an expression of
horror.

“Well, now, who would have thought it?” he said.
“That I should be in bed with a corpse! I had n't the least
idea!”

“No, dat 's plain enough, you did n't! You 'll believe
it now, won't you? Poor little lamb, lying here suffering
all alone! I tell you, when folks have been sick so long,
dey has to die to make folks believe anything ails 'em!”

“Well, really,” said Cripps, “this is really — why, it
an't comfortable! darned if it is! Why, I 'm sorry about
the gal! I meant to steam her up, or done something with
her. What 's we to do now?”

“Pretty likely you don't know! Folks like you, dat
never tends to nothing good, is always flustered when de
Master knocks at de do'! I knows what to do, though.
I 's boun' to get up de crittur, and go up to de old plantation,
and bring down a woman and do something for her,
kind of decent. You mind the chil'en till I come back.”

Tiff took down and drew on over his outer garment a
coarse, light, woollen coat, with very long skirts and large
buttons, in which he always arrayed himself in cases of
special solemnity. Stopping at the door before he went
out, he looked over Cripps from head to foot, with an air of
patronizing and half-pitiful contempt, and delivered himself
as follows:

“Now, mas'r, I 's gwine up, and will be back quick as
possible; and now do pray be decent, and let dat ar whiskey
alone for one day in your life, and 'member death, judgment,
and 'ternity. Just act, now, as if you 'd got a streak
of something in you, such as a man ought for to have who
is married to one of de very fustest families in old Virginny.
'Flect, now, on your latter end; may be will do your
poor old soul some good; and don't you go for to waking up

the chil'en before I gets back. They 'll learn de trouble
soon enough.”

Cripps listened to this oration with a stupid, bewildered
stare, gazing first at the bed, and then at the old man, who
was soon making all the speed he could towards Canema.

Nina was not habitually an early riser, but on this morning
she had awaked with the first peep of dawn, and, finding
herself unable to go to sleep again, she had dressed herself,
and gone down to the garden.

She was walking up and down in one of the alleys, thinking
over the perplexities of her own affairs, when her ear
was caught by the wild and singular notes of one of those
tunes commonly used among the slaves as dirges. The
words “She ar dead and gone to heaven” seemed to come
floating down upon her; and, though the voice was cracked
and strained, there was a sort of wildness and pathos in it,
which made a singular impression in the perfect stillness of
everything around her. She soon observed a singular-looking
vehicle appearing in the avenue.

This wagon, which was no other than the establishment
of Cripps, drew Nina's attention, and she went to the hedge
to look at it. Tiff's watchful eye immediately fell upon her,
and, driving up to where she was standing, he climbed out
upon the ground, and, lifting his hat, made her a profound
obeisance, and “hoped de young lady was bery well, dis
morning.”

“Yes, quite well, thank you, Uncle,” said Nina, regarding
him curiously.

“We 's in 'fliction to our house!” said Tiff, solemnly.
“Dere 's been a midnight cry dere, and poor Miss Sue
(dat 's my young missis), she 's done gone home.”

“Who is your mistress?”

“Well, her name was Seymour 'fore she married, and her
ma come from de Virginny Peytons, — great family, dem
Peytons! She was so misfortunate as to get married, as
gals will, sometimes,” said Tiff, speaking in a confidential
tone. “The man wan't no 'count, and she 's had a drefful

hard way to travel, poor thing! and dere she 's a lying at
last stretched out dead, and not a woman nor nobody to do
de least thing; and please, missis, Tiff comed for to see if
de young lady would n't send a woman for to do for her —
getting her ready for a funeral.”

“And who are you, pray?”

“Please, missis, I 's Tiff Peyton, I is. I 's raised in Virginny,
on de great Peyton place, and I 's gin to Miss Sue's
mother; and when Miss Sue married dis yer man, dey was
all 'fended, and would n' t speak to her; but I tuck up for
her, 'cause what 's de use of makin' a bad thing worse?
I 's a 'pinion, and telled 'em, dat he oughter be 'couraged
to behave hisself, seein' the thing was done, and could n't
be helped. But no, dey would n't; so I jest tells 'em, says
I, `You may do jis you please, but old Tiff's a gwine with
her,' says I. `I 'll follow Miss Sue to de grave's mouth,'
says I; and ye see I has done it.”

“Well done of you! I like you better for it,” said Nina.
“You just drive up to the kitchen, there, and tell Rose to
give you some breakfast, while I go up to Aunt Nesbit.”

“No, thank you, Miss Nina, I 's noways hungry. 'Pears
like, when a body 's like as I be, swallerin' down, and all de
old times risin' in der throat all de time, dey can't eat; dey
gets filled all up to der eyes with feelin's. Lord, Miss Nina,
I hope ye won't never know what 't is to stand outside de
gate, when de best friend you 've got 's gone in; it 's hard,
dat ar is!” And Tiff pulled out a decayed-looking handkerchief,
and applied it under his spectacles.

“Well, wait a minute, Tiff.” And Nina ran into the house,
while Tiff gazed mournfully after her.

“Well, Lor; just de way Miss Sue used to run — trip,
trip, trip! — little feet like mice! Lord's will be done!”

“O, Milly!” said Nina, meeting Milly in the entry,
“here you are. Here 's a poor fellow waiting out by the
hedge, his mistress dead all alone in the house, with children
— no woman to do for them. Can't you go down? you

could do so well! You know how better than any one else
in the house.”

“Why, that must be poor old Tiff!” said Milly; “faithful
old creature! So that poor woman 's gone, at last? the
better for her, poor soul! Well, I 'll ask Miss Loo if I may
go — or you ask her, Miss Nina.”

A quick, imperative tap on her door startled Aunt Nesbit,
who was standing at her toilet, finishing her morning's
dressing operations.

Mrs. Nesbit was a particularly systematic, early riser.
Nobody knew why; only folks who have nothing to do are
often the most particular to have the longest possible time
to do it in.

“Aunt,” said Nina, “there 's a poor fellow, out here,
whose mistress is just dead, all alone in the house, and wants
to get some woman to go there to help. Can't you spare
Milly?”

“Milly was going to clear-starch my caps, this morning,”
said Aunt Nesbit. “I have arranged everything with reference
to it, for a week past.”

“Well, aunt, can't she do it to-morrow, or next day, just
as well?”

“To-morrow she is going to rip up that black dress, and
wash it. I am always systematic, and have everything arranged
beforehand. Should like very much to do anything
I could, if it was n't for that. Why can't you send Aunt
Katy?”

“Why, aunt, you know we are to have company to dinner,
and Aunt Katy is the only one who knows where anything
is, or how to serve things out to the cook. Besides,
she 's so hard and cross to poor people, I don't think she
would go. I don't see, I 'm sure, in such a case as this,
why you could n't put your starching off. Milly is such a
kind, motherly, experienced person, and they are in affliction.”

“O, these low families don't mind such things much,”
said Aunt Nesbit, fitting on her cap, quietly; “they never

have much feeling. There 's no use doing for them — they
are miserable poor creatures.”

“Aunt Nesbit, do, now, as a favor to me! I don't often
ask favors,” said Nina. “Do let Milly go! she 's just the
one wanted. Do, now, say yes!” And Nina pressed nearer,
and actually seemed to overpower her slow-feeling, torpid
relative, with the vehemence that sparkled in her eyes.

“Well, I don't care, if —”

“There, Milly, she says yes!” said she, springing out
the door. “She says you may. Now, hurry; get things
ready. I 'll run and have Aunt Katy put up biscuits and
things for the children; and you get all that you know you
will want, and be off quick, and I 'll have the pony got up,
and come on behind you.”