University of Virginia Library

22. CHAPTER XXII.

WHILE Rosabella was thus exchanging the laurel
crown for the myrtle wreath, Flora and her friend
were on their way to search the places that had formerly
known her. Accompanied by Mr. Jacobs, who had long
been a steward in her family, Mrs. Delano passed through
Savannah, without calling on her friend Mrs. Welby, and
in a hired boat proceeded to the island. Flora almost flew
over the ground, so great was her anxiety to reach the cottage.
Nature, which pursues her course with serene indifference
to human vicissitudes, wore the same smiling aspect
it had worn two years before, when she went singing
through the woods, like Cinderella, all unconscious of the
beneficent fairy she was to meet there in the form of a
new Mamita. Trees and shrubs were beautiful with young,
glossy foliage. Pines and firs offered their aromatic incense
to the sun. Birds were singing, and bees gathering
honey from the wild-flowers. A red-headed woodpecker
was hammering away on the umbrageous tree under which
Flora used to sit while busy with her sketches. He cocked
his head to listen as they approached, and, at first sight of
them, flew up into the clear blue air, with undulating swiftness.
To Flora's great disappointment, they found all the
doors fastened; but Mr. Jacobs entered by a window and
opened one of them. The cottage had evidently been deserted
for a considerable time. Spiders had woven their
tapestry in all the corners. A pane had apparently been
cut out of the window their attendant had opened, and it

afforded free passage to the birds. On a bracket of shell-work,
which Flora had made to support a vase of flowers,
was a deserted nest, bedded in soft green moss, which hung
from it in irregular streamers and festoons.

“How pretty!” said Mrs. Delano. “If the little creature
had studied the picturesque, she could n't have devised
anything more graceful. Let us take it, bracket and all,
and carry it home carefully.”

“That was the very first shell-work I made after we
came from Nassau,” rejoined Flora. “I used to put fresh
flowers on it every morning, to please Rosa. Poor Rosa!
Where can she be?”

She turned away her head, and was silent for a moment
Then, pointing to the window, she said: “There's that
dead pine-tree I told you I used to call Old Man of the
Woods. He is swinging long pennants of moss on his
arms, just as he did when I was afraid to look at him in
the moonlight.”

She was soon busy with a heap of papers swept into a
corner of the room she used to occupy. They were covered
with sketches of leaves and flowers, and embroidery-patterns,
and other devices with which she had amused
herself in those days. Among them she was delighted to
find the head and shoulders of Thistle, with a garland round
his neck. In Rosa's sleeping-room, an old music-book,
hung with cobwebs, leaned against the wall.

“O Mamita Lila, I am glad to find this!” exclaimed
Flora. “Here is what Rosa and I used to sing to dear
papa when we were ever so little. He always loved old-fashioned
music. Here are some of Jackson's canzonets,
that were his favorites.” She began to hum, “Time has
not thinned my flowing hair.” “Here is Dr. Arne's

`Sweet Echo.' Rosa used to play and sing that beautifully.
And here is what he always liked to have us sing
to him at sunset. We sang it to him the very night before
he died.” She began to warble, “Now Phæbus sinketh
in the west.” “Why, it seems as if I were a little girl
again, singing to Papasito and Mamita,” said she.

Looking up, she saw that Mrs. Delano had covered her
face with her handkerchief; and closing the music-book,
she nestled to her side, affectionately inquiring what had
troubled her. For a little while her friend pressed her
hand in silence.

“O darling,” said she, “what a strange, sad gift is menory!
I sang that to your father the last time we ever saw
the sunset together; and perhaps when he heard it he
used to see me sometimes, as plainly as I now see him. It
is consoling to think he did not quite forget me.”

“When we go home, I will sing it to you every evening
if you would like it, Mamita Lila,” said Flora.

Her friend patted her head fondly, and said: “You must
finish your researches soon, darling; for I think we had
better go to Magnolia Lawn to see if Tom and Chloe can
be found.”

“How shall we get there? It's too far for you to walk,
and poor Thistle's gone,” said Flora.

“I have sent Mr. Jacobs to the plantation,” replied Mrs.
Delano, “and I think he will find some sort of vehicle.
Meanwhile, you had better be getting together any little
articles you want to carry away.”

As Flora took up the music-book, some of the loose
leaves fell out, and with them came a sketch of Tulee's
head, with the large gold hoops and the gay turban.
“Here's Tulee!” shouted Flora. “It is n't well drawn,

but it is like her. I'll make a handsome picture from it,
and frame it, and hang it by my bedside, where I can see
it every morning. Dear, good Tulee! How she jumped
up and kissed us when we first arrived here. I suppose
she thinks I am dead, and has cried a great deal about little
Missy Flory. O, what wouldn't I give to see her!”

She had peeped about everywhere, and was becoming
very much dispirited with the desolation, when Mr. Jacobs
came back with a mule and a small cart, which he said
was the best conveyance he could procure. The jolting
over hillocks, and the occasional grunts of the mule, made
it an amusing ride; but it was a fruitless one. The plantation
negroes were sowing cotton, but all Mr. Fitzgerald's
household servants were leased out in Savannah during his
absence in Europe. The white villa at Magnolia Lawn
peeped out from its green surroundings; but the jalousies
were closed, and the tracks on the carriage-road were
obliterated by rains.

Hiring a negro to go with them to take back the cart,
they made the best of their way to the boat, which was
waiting for them. Fatigued and disconsolate with their
fruitless search, they felt little inclined to talk as they
glided over the bright waters. The negro boatmen frequently
broke in upon the silence with some simple, wild
melody, which they sang in perfect unison, dipping their
oars in rhythm. When Savannah came in sight, they
urged the boat faster, and, improvising words to suit the
occasion, they sang in brisker strains:—

With the business they had on hand, Mrs. Delano preferred
not to seek her friends in the city, and they took lodgings
at a hotel. Early the next morning, Mr. Jacobs was sent
out to ascertain the whereabouts of Mr. Fitzgerald's servants;
and Mrs. Delano proposed that, during his absence,
they should drive to The Pines, which she described as an
extremely pleasant ride. Flora assented, with the indifference
of a preoccupied mind. But scarcely had the horses
stepped on the thick carpet of pine foliage with which the
ground was strewn, when she eagerly exclaimed, “Tom!
Tom!” A black man, mounted on the seat of a carriage
that was passing them, reined in his horses and stopped.

“Keep quiet, my dear,” whispered Mrs. Delano to her
companion, “till I can ascertain who is in the carriage.”

“Are you Mr. Fitzgerald's Tom?” she inquired.

“Yes, Missis,” replied the negro, touching his hat.

She beckoned him to come and open her carriage-door,
and, speaking in a low voice, she said: “I want to ask you
about a Spanish lady who used to live in a cottage, not far
from Mr. Fitzgerald's plantation. She had a black servant
named Tulee, who used to call her Missy Rosy. We
went to the cottage yesterday, and found it shut up. Can
you tell us where they have gone?”

Tom looked at them very inquisitively, and answered,
“Dunno, Missis.”

“We are Missy Rosy's friends, and have come to bring
her some good news. If you can tell us anything about
her, I will give you this gold piece.”

Tom half stretched forth his hand to take the coin, then
drew it back, and repeated, “Dunno, Missis.”

Flora, who felt her heart rising in her throat, tossed back
her veil, and said, “Tom, don't you know me?”

The negro started as if a ghost had risen before him.

“Now tell me where Missy Rosy has gone, and who
went with her,” said she, coaxingly.

“Bress yer, Missy Flory! am yer alive!” exclaimed the
bewildered negro.

Flora laughed, and, drawing off her glove, shook hands
with him. “Now you know I'm alive, Tom. But don't
tell anybody. Where's Missy Rosy gone.”

“O Missy,” replied Tom, “dar am heap ob tings to
tell.”

Mrs. Delano suggested that it was not a suitable place;
and Tom said he must go home with his master's carriage.
He told them he had obtained leave to go and see his wife
Chloe that evening; and he promised to come to their hotel
first. So, with the general information that Missy Rosy
and Tulee were safe, they parted for the present.

Tom's communication in the evening was very long, and
intensely interesting to his auditors; but it did not extend
beyond a certain point. He told of Rosa's long and dangerous
illness; of Chloe's and Tulee's patient praying and
nursing; of the birth of the baby; of the sale to Mr.
Bruteman; and of the process by which she escaped with
Mr. Duroy. Further than that he knew nothing. He had
never been in New Orleans afterward, and had never
heard Mr. Fitzgerald speak of Rosa.

At that crisis in the conversation, Mrs. Delano summoned
Mr. Jacobs, and requested him to ascertain when a
steamboat would go to New Orleans. Flora kissed her
hand, with a glance full of gratitude. Tom looked at her
in a very earnest, embarrassed way, and said: “Missis, am
yer one ob dem Ab-lish-nishts dar in de Norf, dat Massa
swars 'bout?”

Mrs. Delano turned toward Flora with a look of perplexity,
and, having received an interpretation of the question,
she smiled as she answered: “I rather think I am
half an Abolitionist, Tom. But why do you wish to
know?”

Tom went on to state, in “lingo” that had to be frequently
explained, that he wanted to run away to the
North, and that he could manage to do it if it were not
for Chloe and the children. He had been in hopes that
Mrs. Fitzgerald would have taken her to the North to
nurse her baby while she was gone to Europe. In that
case, he intended to follow after; and he thought some
good people would lend them money to buy their little
ones, and, both together, they could soon work off the
debt. But this project had been defeated by Mrs. Bell,
who brought a white nurse from Boston, and carried her
infant grandson back with her.

“Yer see, Missis,” said Tom, with a sly look, “dey tinks
de niggers don't none ob 'em wants dare freedom, so dey
nebber totes 'em whar it be.”

Ever since that disappointment had occurred, he and his
wife had resolved themselves into a committee of ways and
means, but they had not yet devised any feasible mode of
escape. And now they were thrown into great consternation
by the fact that a slave-trader had been to look at
Chloe, because Mr. Fitzgerald wanted money to spend in
Europe, and had sent orders to have some of his negroes
sold.

Mrs. Delano told him she did n't see how she could help
him, but she would think about it; and Flora, with a sideway
inclination of the head toward her, gave Tom an
expressive glance, which he understood as a promise to

persuade her. He urged the matter no further, but asked
what time it was. Being told it was near nine o'clock, he
said he must hasten to Chloe, for it was not allowable for
negroes to be in the street after that hour.

He had scarcely closed the door, before Mrs. Delano said,
“If Chloe is sold, I must buy her.”

“I thought you would say so,” rejoined Flora.

A discussion then took place as to ways and means, and
a strictly confidential letter was written to a lawyer from
the North, with whom Mrs. Delano was acquainted, requesting
him to buy the woman and her children for her,
if they were to be sold.

It happened fortunately that a steamer was going to
New Orleans the next day. Just as they were going on
board, a negro woman with two children came near, and,
dropping a courtesy, said: “Skuse, Missis. Dis ere 's
Chloe. Please say Ise yer nigger! Do, Missis!”

Flora seized the black woman's hand, and pressed it,
while she whispered: “Do, Mamita! They're going to
sell her, you know.”

She took the children by the hand, and hurried forward
without waiting for an answer. They were all on board
before Mrs. Delano had time to reflect. Tom was nowhere
to be seen. On one side of her stood Chloe, with
two little ones clinging to her skirts, looking at her imploringly
with those great fervid eyes, and saying in suppressed
tones, “Missis, dey's gwine to sell me away from de chillen”;
and on the other side was Flora, pressing her hand,
and entreating, “Don't send her back, Mamita! She was
so good to poor Rosa.”

“But, my dear, if they should trace her to me, it would
be a very troublesome affair,” said the perplexed lady.

“They won't look for her in New Orleans. They 'll
think she's gone North,” urged Flora.

During this whispered consultation, Mr. Jacobs approached
with some of their baggage. Mrs. Delano
stopped him, and said: “When you register our names,
add a negro servant and her two children.”

He looked surprised, but bowed and asked no questions.
She was scarcely less surprised at herself. In the midst
of her anxiety to have the boat start, she called to mind
her former censures upon those who helped servants to
escape from Southern masters, and she could not help
smiling at the new dilemma in which she found herself.

The search in New Orleans availed little. They alighted
from their carriage a few minutes to look at the house
where Flora was born. She pointed out to Mrs. Delano
the spot whence her father had last spoken to her on that
merry morning, and the grove where she used to pelt him
with oranges; but neither of them cared to enter the house,
now that everything was so changed. Madame's house
was occupied by strangers, who knew nothing of the previous
tenants, except that they said to have gone to
Europe to live. They drove to Mr. Duroy's, and found
strangers there, who said the former occupants had all died
of yellow-fever,—the lady and gentleman, a negro woman,
and a white baby. Flora was bewildered to find every
link with her past broken and gone. She had not lived
long enough to realize that the traces of human lives often
disappear from cities as quickly as the ocean closes over
the tracks of vessels. Mr. Jacobs proposed searching for
some one who had been in Mr. Duroy's employ; and with
that intention, they returned to the city. As they were
passing a house where a large bird-cage hung in the open

window, Flora heard the words, “Petit blanc, mon bon
frère! Ha! ha!”

She called out to Mr. Jacobs, “Stop! Stop!” and
pushed at the carriage door, in her impatience to get out.

“What is the matter, my child?” inquired Mrs. Delano.

“That's Madame's parrot,” replied she; and an instant
after she was ringing at the door of the house. She told
the servant they wished to make some inquiries concerning
Signor and Madame Papanti, and Monsieur Duroy; and
she and Mrs. Delano were shown in to wait for the lady of
the house. They had no sooner entered, than the parrot
flapped her wings and cried out, “Bon jour, joli petit
diable!” And then she began to whistle and warble,
twitter and crow, through a ludicrous series of noisy variations.
Flora burst into peals of laughter, in the midst of
which the lady of the house entered the room. “Excuse
me, Madame,” said she. “This parrot is an old acquaintance
of mine. I taught her to imitate all sorts of birds, and
she is showing me that she has not forgotten my lessons.”

“It will be impossible to hear ourselves speak, unless I
cover the cage,” replied the lady.

“Allow me to quiet her, if you please,” rejoined Flora.
She opened the door of the cage, and the bird hopped on
her arm, flapping her wings, and crying, “Bon jour!
Ha! ha!”

“Taisez vous, jolie Manon,” said Flora soothingly, while
she stroked the feathery head. The bird nestled close and
was silent.

When their errand was explained, the lady repeated the
same story they had already heard about Mr. Duroy's
family.

“Was the black woman who died there named Tulee?”
inquired Flora.

“I never heard her name but once or twice,” replied the
lady. “It was not a common negro name, and I think that
was it. Madame Papanti had put her and the baby there
to board. After Mr. Duroy died, his son came home from
Arkansas to settle his affairs. My husband, who was one
of Mr. Duroy's clerks, bought some of the things at auction;
and among them was that parrot.”

“And what has become of Signor and Madame Papanti?”
asked Mrs. Delano.

The lady could give no information, except that they had
returned to Europe. Having obtained directions where to
find her husband, they thanked her, and wished her good
morning.

Flora held the parrot up to the cage, and said, “Bon
jour, jolie Manon!”

“Bon jour!” repeated the bird, and hopped upon her
perch.

After they had entered the carriage, Flora said: “How
melancholy it seems that everybody is gone, except Jolie
Manon! How glad the poor thing seemed to be to see
me! I wish I could take her home.”

“I will send to inquire whether the lady will sell her,”
replied her friend.

“O Mamita, you will spoil me, you indulge me so
much,” rejoined Flora.

Mrs. Delano smiled affectionately, as she answered: “If
you were very spoilable, dear, I think that would have
been done already.”

“But it will be such a bother to take care of Manon,”
said Flora.

“Our new servant, Chloe can do that,” replied Mrs.
Delano. “But I really hope we shall get home without
any further increase of our retinue.”

From the clerk information was obtained that he heard
Mr. Duroy tell Mr. Bruteman that a lady named Rosabella
Royal had sailed to Europe with Signor and Madame Papanti
in the ship Mermaid. He added that news afterward
arrived that the vessel foundered at sea, and all on
board were lost.

With this sorrow on her heart, Flora returned to Boston.
Mr. Percival was immediately informed of their arrival,
and hastened to meet them. When the result of their
researches was told; he said: “I shouldn't be disheartened
yet. Perhaps they didn't sail in the Mermaid. I will
send to the New York Custom-House for a list of the passengers.”

Flora eagerly caught at that suggestion; and Mrs. Delano
said, with a smile: “We have some other business in
which we need your help. You must know that I am involved
in another slave case. If ever a quiet and peace-loving
individual was caught up and whirled about by a
tempest of events, I am surely that individual. Before I
met this dear little Flora, I had a fair prospect of living
and dying a respectable and respected old fogy, as you irreverent
reformers call discreet people. But now I find
myself drawn into the vortex of abolition to the extent of
helping off four fugitive slaves. In Flora's case, I acted
deliberately, from affection and a sense of duty; but in this
second instance I was taken by storm, as it were. The
poor woman was aboard before I knew it, and I found myself
too weak to withstand her imploring looks and Flora's
pleading tones.” She went on to describe the services

Chloe had rendered to Rosa, and added: “I will pay any
expenses necessary for conveying this woman to a place of
safety, and supplying all that is necessary for her and her
children, until she can support them; but I do not feel as
if she were safe here.”

“If you will order a carriage, I will take them directly
to the house of Francis Jackson, in Hollis Street,” said Mr.
Percival. “They will be safe enough under the protection
of that honest, sturdy friend of freedom. His house is the
depot of various subterranean railroads; and I pity the
slaveholder who tries to get on any of his tracks. He finds
himself `like a toad under a harrow, where ilka tooth gies
him a tug,' as the Scotch say.”

While waiting for the carriage, Chloe and her children
were brought in. Flora took the little ones under her care,
and soon had their aprons filled with cakes and sugar-plums.
Chloe, unable to restrain her feelings, dropped
down on her knees in the midst of the questions they were
asking her, and poured forth an eloquent prayer that the
Lord would bless these good friends of her down-trodden
people.

When the carriage arrived, she rose, and, taking Mrs.
Delano's hand, said solemnly: “De Lord bress yer, Missis!
De Lord bress yer! I seed yer once fore ebber I knowed
yer. I seed yer in a vision, when I war prayin' to de Lord
to open de free door fur me an' my chillen. Ye war an
angel wid white shiny wings. Bress de Lord! 'T war
Him dat sent yer.—An' now, Missy Flory, de Lord bress
yer! Ye war allers good to poor Chloe, down dar in de
prison-house. Let me gib yer a kiss, little Missy.”

Flora threw her arms round the bended neck, and promised
to go and see her wherever she was.

When the carriage rolled away, emotion kept them both
silent for a few minutes. “How strange it seems to me
now,” said Mrs. Delano, “that I lived so many years without
thinking of the wrongs of these poor people! I used
to think prayer-meetings for slaves were very fanatical and
foolish. It seemed to me enough that they were included
in our prayer for `all classes and conditions of men'; but
after listening to poor Chloe's eloquent outpouring, I am
afraid such generalizing will sound rather cold.”

“Mamita,” said Flora, “you know you gave me some
money to buy a silk dress. Are you willing I should use
it to buy clothes for Chloe and her children?”

“More than willing, my child,” she replied. “There is
no clothing so beautiful as the raiment of righteousness.”

The next morning, Flora went out to make her purchases.
Some time after, Mrs. Delano, hearing voices near
the door, looked out, and saw her in earnest conversation
with Florimond Blumenthal, who had a large parcel in his
arms. When she came in, Mrs. Delano said, “So you had
an escort home?”

“Yes, Mamita,” she replied; “Florimond would bring
the parcel, and so we walked together.”

“He was very polite,” said Mrs. Delano; “but ladies
are not accustomed to stand on the doorstep talking with
clerks who bring bundles for them.”

“I did n't think anything about that,” rejoined Flora.
“He wanted to know about Rosa, and I wanted to tell
him. Florimond seems just like a piece of my old home,
because he loved papa so much. Mamita Lila, did n't you
say papa was a poor clerk when you and he first began to
love one another?”

“Yes, my child,” she replied; and she kissed the bright,

innocent face that came bending over her, looking so frankly
into hers.

When she had gone out of the room, Mrs. Delano said
to herself, “That darling child, with her strange history
and unworldly ways, is educating me more than I can educate
her.”

A week later, Mr. and Mrs. Percival came, with tidings
that no such persons as Signor and Madame Papanti were
on board the Mermaid; and they proposed writing letters
of inquiry forthwith to consuls in various parts of Italy
and France.

Flora began to hop and skip and clap her hands. But
she soon paused, and said, laughingly: “Excuse me, ladies
and gentlemen. Mamita often tells me I was brought up
in a bird-cage; and I ask her how then can she expect me
to do anything but hop and sing. Excuse me. I forgot
Mamita and I were not alone.”

“You pay us the greatest possible compliment,” rejoined
Mr. Percival.

And Mrs. Percival added, “I hope you will always forget
it when we are here.”

“Do you really wish it?” asked Flora, earnestly. “Then
I will.”

And so, with a few genial friends, an ever-deepening attachment
between her and her adopted mother, a hopeful
feeling at her heart about Rosa, Tulee's likeness by her
bedside, and Madame's parrot to wish her Bon jour!
Boston came to seem to her like a happy home.