 | CHAPTER XXIX. A romance of the republic |  |
29. CHAPTER XXIX.
WHEN the sisters were alone together, the next day
after dinner, Flora said, “Rosa, dear, does it pain
you very much to hear about Mr. Fitzgerald?”
“No; that wound has healed,” she replied. “It is
merely a sad memory now.”
“Mrs. Bright was nursery governess in his family before
her marriage,” rejoined Flora. “I suppose you have
heard that he disappeared mysteriously. I think she may
know something about it, and I have been intending to ask
her; but your sudden appearance, and the quantity of
things we have had to say to each other, have driven it out
of my head. Do you object to my asking her to come in
and tell us something about her experiences?”
“I should be unwilling to have her know we were ever
acquainted with Mr. Fitzgerald,” responded Mrs. King.
“So should I,” said Flora. “It will be a sufficient
reason for my curiosity that Mrs. Fitzgerald is our acquaintance
and neighbor.”
And she went out to ask her hostess to come and sit
with them. After some general conversation, Flora said:
“You know Mrs. Fitzgerald is our neighbor in Boston. I
have some curiosity to know what were your experiences
in her family.”
“Mrs. Fitzgerald was always very polite to me,” replied
Mrs. Bright; “and personally I had no occasion to
find fault with Mr. Fitzgerald, though I think the Yankee
schoolma'am was rather a bore to him. The South is a
where they spent most of the summer, was as beautiful
as Paradise before the fall; but I never felt at home
there. I didn't like the state of things. It's my theory
that everybody ought to help in doing the work of the
world. There's a great deal to be done, ladies, and it
don't seem right that some backs should be broken with
labor, while others have the spine complaint for want of
exercise. It didn't agree with my independent New England
habits to be waited upon so much. A negro woman
named Venus took care of my room. The first night I
slept at the plantation, it annoyed me to see her kneel
down to take off my stockings and shoes. I told her she
might go, for I could undress myself. She seemed surprised;
and I think her conclusion was that I was no lady.
But all the negroes liked me. They had got the idea,
somehow, that Northern people were their friends, and
were doing something to set them free.”
“Then they generally wanted their freedom, did they?”
inquired Flora.
“To be sure they did,” rejoined Mrs. Bright. “Did
you ever hear of anybody that liked being a slave?”
Mrs. King asked whether Mr. Fitzgerald was a hard
master.
“I don't think he was,” said their hostess. “I have
known him to do very generous and kind things for his
servants. But early habits had made him indolent and
selfish, and he left the overseer to do as he liked. Besides,
though he was a pleasant gentleman when sober, he was
violent when he was intoxicated; and he had become much
addicted to intemperance before I went there. They said
he had been a very handsome man; but he was red and
acquaintances, who used to meet at his house in Savannah,
and gamble with cards till late into the night; and the
liquor they drank often made them very boisterous and
quarrelsome. Mrs. Fitzgerald never made any remark,
in my presence, about these doings; but I am sure they
troubled her, for I often heard her walking her chamber
long after she had retired for the night. Indeed, they
made such an uproar, that it was difficult to sleep till they
were gone. Sometimes, after they had broken up, I heard
them talking on the piazza; and their oaths and obscene
jests were shocking to hear; yet if I met any of them the
next day, they appeared like courtly gentlemen. When
they were intoxicated, niggers and Abolitionists seemed
always to haunt their imaginations. I remember one night
in particular. I judged by their conversation that they
had been reading in a Northern newspaper some discussion
about allowing slaveholders to partake of the sacrament.
Their talk was a strange tipsy jumble. If Mr. Bright had
heard it, he would give you a comical account of it. As
they went stumbling down the steps, some were singing
and some were swearing. I heard one of them bawl out,
`God damn their souls to all eternity, they're going to
exclude us from the communion-table.' When I first told
the story to Mr. Bright, I said d—their souls; but he
said that was all a sham, for everybody knew what d—
stood for, and it was just like showing an ass's face to
avoid speaking his name. So I have spoken the word
right out plain, just as I heard it. It was shocking talk to
hear, and you may think it very improper to repeat it, ladies;
but I have told it to give you an idea of the state of
things in the midst of which I found myself.”
Mrs. King listened in sad silence. The Mr. Fitzgerald
of this description was so unlike the elegant young gentleman
who had won her girlish love, that she could not recognize
him as the same person.
“Did Mr. Fitzgerald die before you left?” inquired
Flora.
“I don't know when or how he died,” replied Mrs.
Bright; “but I have my suspicions. Out of regard to
Mrs. Fitzgerald, I have never mentioned them to any one
but my husband; and if I name them to you, ladies, I
trust you will consider it strictly confidential.”
They promised, and she resumed.
“I never pried into the secrets of the family, but I could
not help learning something about them, partly from my own
observation, and inferences drawn therefrom, and partly
from the conversation of Venus, my talkative waiting-maid.
She told me that her master married a Spanish lady, the
most beautiful lady that ever walked the earth; and that he
conveyed her away secretly somewhere after he married the
milk-face, as she called Mrs. Fitzgerald. Venus was still
good-looking when I knew her. From her frequent remarks
I judge that, when she was young, her master thought
her extremely pretty; and she frequently assured me that
he was a great judge `ob we far sex.' She had a handsome
mulatto daughter, whose features greatly resembled his;
and she said there was good reason for it. I used to imagine
Mrs. Fitzgerald thought so too; for she always
seemed to owe this handsome Nelly a grudge. Mr. Fitzgerald
had a body-servant named Jim, who was so genteel
that I always called him `Dandy Jim o' Caroline.' Jim
and Nelly were in love with each other; but their master,
for reasons of his own, forbade their meeting together.
to a New Orleans trader, and the poor girl almost cried her
handsome eyes out. A day or two after he was sold, Mr.
Fitzgerald and his lady went to Beaufort on a visit, and
took their little son and daughter with them. The walls
of my sleeping-room were to be repaired, and I was told to
occupy their chamber during their absence. The evening
after they went away, I sat up rather late reading, and
when I retired the servants were all asleep. As I sat before
the looking-glass, arranging my hair for the night, I
happened to glance toward the reflection of the bed, which
showed plainly in the mirror; and I distinctly saw a dark
eye peeping through an opening in the curtains. My heart
was in my throat, I assure you; but I had the presence of
mind not to cry out or to jump up. I continued combing
my hair, occasionally glancing toward the eye. If it be one
of the negroes, thought I, he surely cannot wish to injure
me, for they all know I am friendly to them. I tried to
collect all my faculties, to determine what it was best to do.
I reflected that, if I alarmed the servants, he might be driven
to attack me in self-defence. I began talking aloud to myself,
leisurely taking off my cuffs and collar as I did so, and
laying my breastpin and watch upon the table. `I wish
Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald were not going to stay so long at
Beaufort,' said I. `It is lonesome here, and I don't feel
at home in this chamber. I sha'n't sleep if I go to bed; so
I think I'll read a little longer.' I looked round on the
table and chairs, and added: `There, now! I've left my
book down stairs, and must go for it.' I went down to the
parlor and locked myself in. A few minutes afterward I
saw a dark figure steal across the piazza; and, unless the
moonlight deceived me, it was Dandy Jim. I wondered at it,
course, there was no sleep for me that night. When the
household were all astir, I went to the chamber again.
My watch and breastpin, which I had left on purpose,
were still lying on the table. It was evident that robbery
had not been the object. I did not mention the adventure
to any one. I pitied Jim, and if he had escaped, I had no
mind to be the means of his recapture. Whatever harm
he had intended, he had not done it, and there was no
probability that he would loiter about in that vicinity. I
had reason to be glad of my silence; for the next day an
agent from the slave-trader arrived, saying that Jim had
escaped, and that they thought he might be lurking near
where his wife was. When Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald returned,
they questioned Nelly, but she averred that she
had not seen Jim, or heard from him since he was sold.
Mr. Fitzgerald went away on horseback that afternoon.
The horse came back in the evening with an empty saddle,
and he never returned. The next morning Nelly was missing,
and she was never found. I thought it right to be
silent about my adventure. To have done otherwise might
have produced mischievous results to Jim and Nelly, and
could do their master no good. I searched the woods in
every direction, but I never came upon any trace of Mr.
Fitzgerald, except the marks of footsteps near the sea, before
the rising of the tide. I had made arrangements
to return to the North about that time; but Mrs. Fitzgerald's
second son was seized with fever, and I stayed
with her till he was dead and buried. Then we all came
to Boston together. About a year after, her little daughter,
who had been my pupil, died.”
“Poor Mrs. Fitzgerald!” said Flora. “I have heard
suffered so much.”
“She did suffer,” replied Mrs. Bright, “though not so
deeply as some natures would have suffered in the same
circumstances. Her present situation is far from being enviable.
Her father is a hard, grasping man, and he was
greatly vexed that her splendid marriage turned out to be
such a failure. It must be very mortifying to her to depend
upon him mainly for the support of herself and son.
I pitied her, and I pitied Mr. Fitzgerald too. He was
selfish and dissipated, because he was brought up with
plenty of money, and slaves to obey everything he chose to
order. That is enough to spoil any man.”
Rosa had listened with downcast eyes, but now she
looked up earnestly and said, “That is a very kind judgment,
Mrs. Bright, and I thank you for the lesson.”
“It is a just judgment,” replied their sensible hostess.
“I often tell Mr. Bright we cannot be too thankful that we
were brought up to wait upon ourselves and earn our own
living. You will please to excuse me now, ladies, for it is
time to prepare tea.”
As she closed the door, Rosa pressed her sister's hand,
and sighed as she said, “O, this is dreadful!”
“Dreadful indeed,” rejoined Flora. “To think of him
as he was when I used to make you blush by singing,
`Petit blanc! mon bon frère!' and then to think what an
end he came to!”
The sisters sat in silence for some time, thinking with
moistened eyes of all that had been kind and pleasant in
the man who had done them so much wrong.
| CHAPTER XXIX. A romance of the republic | |