Amos Huntingdon Part 12

"Master," said the old man, in a voice hoa.r.s.e with emotion, "hear me; if it's to be for the last time, you must hear me. I can't hold in no longer; so it's no use, come what may."

Mr Huntingdon, struck with amazement at this speech of the old domestic, could only exclaim, "Well!" while his sister and Walter looked on and listened in mute wonder.

"Master," continued the old man, "you must hear me this once, if I'm to be turned away this blessed night for what I'm a-going to say. I've been hearing Master Amos called by Master Walter mean about his money, and I can't stand it, for I knows better."

Here Amos sprang forward, and coming in front of Harry, strove by gesture and whispered remonstrance to stop him; but the other shook his head, and motioned his young master back.

"It's of no manner of use, Master Amos," he cried; "I must and will speak--the time's come for it. _I_ know why Master Amos can't afford to subscribe: 'tain't because he hasn't got the will; 'tain't because he's been spending it on himself, or sending it to the n.i.g.g.e.rs, though he might be doing worse with it than that. His money goes to keep dear Miss Julia as was--bless her little heart!--from want; and it goes, too, to keep a home for her little ones, and one on 'em's a girl, and she's as like what her blessed mother was at her age as one lamb's like another. O master, master! if you loved Miss Julia as was as I love her, and as Master Amos loves her, though she has married a vagabond of a husband, and had the door of her home closed agen her for ever for it, and oh, if you'd but a touch still of the dear Saviour's forgiving love towards your own flesh and blood, you couldn't blame Master Amos for doing as he's doing, if you only knew too how he's been a-sacrificing of himself, and bearing the shame and scorn all the while without a murmur.

There, master, I've had it out. And now I suppose I must pack up and be off for good; but it don't matter. I couldn't keep it in, so there's an end of it."

The effect of this speech on all the members of the party was overwhelming, though in different ways.

Mr Huntingdon's face turned deadly pale, and then flushed fiery red.

He half rose from the bench on which he was sitting, and then sank back again and buried his face in his hands. Then he started up, and muttering something hoa.r.s.ely, rushed into the house, and was not seen again by the family that night. Next morning, before breakfast, his sister received a hasty note from him, merely stating that he was leaving home, and should not return that day, and perhaps not for a few days.

The old butler's disclosure was also most trying to Miss Huntingdon by its suddenness. Not that she was unprepared for it altogether, for quiet observation of Amos had made her sure that he had some n.o.ble and self-denying work in hand, and that probably it might have something to do with the welfare of his sister, whom she knew that he dearly loved.

She was grieved, however, that the old butler had blurted out the secret in such an abrupt manner, and at the terrible distress which the unexpected revelation had caused her brother.

As for Amos, he was ready to sink into the earth with dismay and vexation. All he could do was to look up reproachfully at Harry, who, now that the explosion had burst forth, and had driven his master apparently almost out of his senses, looked round him with an utterly crestfallen air, and then, coming up to Amos, said, while the big tears rolled rapidly down his cheeks, "Oh, dear Master Amos, you must forgive me. I didn't go for to do it with no bad meaning; but I couldn't bear it no longer. I daresay the master 'll turn me off for it, so I shall be punished if I've done wrong."

And how felt Walter? He was utterly crushed for a time beneath the old man's words. All the truth flashed upon him now. And this was the brother whom he had been holding up to ridicule and accusing of meanness. As thoughts of shame and stings of conscience stabbed into his heart with their thousand points, he sank down lower and lower to the ground till he had buried his face in the gra.s.s, sobbing convulsively. Then, before Amos could reply to the old butler's pitiful apology, he sprang up, and flinging his arms round his brother's neck and hiding his head in his bosom, wept for a time as if his heart would break. At last he looked up at Amos, who had pressed him close to him and had lovingly kissed him, and cried out, "Was there ever such a beastly, ungrateful sneak of a brother as I am? Here have I been calling Amos all sorts of names, and treating him worse than a dog, and he's been acting like a hundred thousand moral heroes all the time! Can you forgive your cowardly sn.o.b of a brother, Amos dear?"

There was no reply to this but another long and close embrace.

As for old Harry, his face calmed down into its usual peacefulness. He no longer waited for any reply from his young master, but turned towards the house with a smile beaming all over his countenance, and saying half out loud, "All's well as ends well. There'll be good come out of this here trouble as sure as my name's Harry."

When he was fairly gone, both nephews drew close to their aunt, and took each a hand as they sat one on either side of her. Smiling at Walter through happy tears, she said, "I cannot cross my hands, you see, for my dear nephews have each got possession of one."

"But they _ought_ to be crossed," said Walter in a low, sad voice.

"Not _now_, dear boy," she replied; "I think we may let bygones be bygones, for surely better and brighter days are coming."

"I hope so, aunt," said Walter, now more cheerily, "But you must give me the example for all that; for you have one to the purpose, I know."

"Yes," was her reply, "I think I have, and I will tell it because it may help to confirm you in keeping on the right side that new leaf which I feel sure you are now turning over."

"Ah, tell it me then, auntie; if it shames me a hit it will do me no harm."

"My hero then, this time, did not look much like one at the time when he displayed his heroism. He was a poor schoolboy, a Christ's Hospital lad."

"What! one of those who go about without hats, in long coats and yellow stockings?"

"Yes, the same. Charles Lamb, who tells the story, which is a true one, was himself one of these Bluecoat boys. Among his schoolfellows was this boy, my present moral hero. He was dull and taciturn, and no favourite with the other lads; but no one could bring any charge of improper conduct against him. There was one thing, however, about him which none of the other boys could understand. He always lingered behind all the rest after dinner was over, and came out of the dining- hall hiding something under his dress, and looking about him suspiciously. What did it mean? Had he an unnaturally large appet.i.te, so that he was led by it to steal food and eat it by himself after the meal was over? At any rate, if it was so, his extra provision did not improve his personal appearance, for he was still thin and hungry- looking.

"Some questioned him roughly on the subject, but they could get nothing out of him. He stopped for a while the practice which had drawn attention to him, but resumed it again when he thought that curiosity had died out, and that he could follow his old ways un.o.bserved. But there were boys on the watch, and at last it was fairly ascertained that the poor lad used to gather, as far as he had opportunity, sc.r.a.ps of meat, pieces of fat, and fragments of bread and potatoes, which had been left on the boys' plates. These he collected and carried off. But then, what did he do with them? It was not likely that he ate them.

No. Then he must sell them when he went home, for his parents lived in London, and he was a day boy. No doubt he disposed of them to people who were ready to give a few pence for refuse food, and thus the little miser was making money in this mean and underhand way. When this conclusion had been arrived at, the whole school was in a state of boiling indignation against the culprit.

"They might have taken the law into their own hands, and have punished him in their own rough and ready way. But no; his conduct was too shameful for that. It was looked upon as a serious disgrace to the whole school. So the case was duly reported to the masters, and by them to the governors. Witnesses were examined, and the offence proved. And now, what was the defence of the poor lad? He had borne shame, scorn, reproach, reviling; he had borne them all patiently, without murmur, without resentment. What, then, was the reason for his strange conduct?

what motive or inducement could make him thus brave the scorn and contempt, the daily jeers, and the cut direct from his schoolfellows?

All was soon made plain. This boy's parents were old and very poor--so poor, helpless, and friendless that they were often brought to the verge of starvation. In those days, remember, there was not the same attention paid to the poor of all cla.s.ses, nor loving provision made for their wants, as there is now. So the n.o.ble son--for truly n.o.ble he was--submitted cheerfully to every trouble and shame that could fall upon himself, in order to get food from time to time for his almost famis.h.i.+ng parents. They were too respectable to beg, and would have never allowed their boy to beg for them; and yet so dest.i.tute were they that they were even glad of those miserable sc.r.a.ps, the after-dinner leavings on the boys' plates. And these their son gathered for them, indifferent to the consequences which might happen to himself, while at the same time he added a portion of his own daily food to supply the wants of the old people.

"Ah! this was true moral courage, dear Walter; and it was all the greater and n.o.bler because it was exercised in such humble elements, as it were--I mean under circ.u.mstances where there was everything to degrade and nothing to elevate the poor boy in the eyes of his schoolfellows."

"I see, aunt," said Walter, sadly and thoughtfully. "Yes, they called him mean, and shabby, and selfish, and frowned and scowled at him, when all the while he was most n.o.bly denying himself, and bearing all that trouble that he might help those who were dearer to him than his good name with his schoolfellows. Ay, I see it all; and it's just a case in point. That's just what I've been doing to my own dear n.o.ble brother, who has been sacrificing himself that he might help poor Julia and her little ones. And it has been worse in my case, because those Bluecoat boys had perhaps no particular reason to think well of the other chap before they found out what he had been driving at, and so it was natural enough that they should suspect him. But it's been exactly the reverse with me. I've had no reason to suspect Amos of anything but goodness.

All the baseness and meanness have been on my own part; and yet here I've been judging him, and thinking the worst of him, and behaving myself like a regular African gorilla to him.--Dear Amos, can you really forgive me?"

Hands were clasped tightly across Miss Huntingdon's lap, and then Amos asked, "And what was done to the poor boy?"

"Oh," replied his aunt, "the governors of course acquitted him of all blame, and not only so, but rewarded him also, and, if I remember rightly, proper provision was made for the poor parents of the n.o.ble lad."

"Bravo! that's right," cried Walter with a sigh of relief. "Well, I don't like making big promises, but I do think I mean it when I say that Amos shall not have an ungenerous or reproachful word from me again."

"And so," said Miss Huntingdon with a smile, "good will come out of this evil, and it will turn out one of those 'all things' which 'work together for good to those who love G.o.d.'"

And Walter strove bravely to keep his word, and in the main succeeded.

Old Harry began, on the day after he had made the unlooked-for disclosure, to pack up his things and make preparations for his departure, feeling fully persuaded that, on his master's return, he should receive his instant dismissal. However, when Mr Huntingdon came home, two or three days after the explosion, not a word was said about the butler's leaving; indeed, if anything, his master's manner was kinder to him than usual, but not the slightest reference was made on either side to what had pa.s.sed. With Amos, however, it was different.

His father would scarcely speak to him beyond the coldest salutations morning and evening. The poor young man felt it keenly, but was not surprised. He could now open his mind fully to his aunt, and did so, and his own convictions and judgment agreed with her loving counsel that he should wait in trust and patience, and all would be well.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

PROGRESS.

Mr Huntingdon's conduct toward Amos was a great grief to his sister, but she felt that she must not openly interfere, and that she could only do her best to make up to her nephew, as far as was possible, for his father's coldness, and look for brighter times, which she felt sure were coming, though as yet scarcely the faintest streak of dawn could be seen on the horizon. The old butler also was a great comfort to his young master, being most anxious to do everything in his power to undo any evil consequences which his own abrupt outspeaking might have brought upon Amos. So he encouraged him to persevere in his great purpose, with all his might, a.s.suring him that things would come nicely round in time.

Amos shook his head sadly, for he was naturally of a desponding turn; he could see at present little but clouds and thorns before him. Not that he wavered in his purpose for a moment, or had the least thought of holding back from the work he had set his hand to, even for a time. But his father's harshness and manifestly abiding displeasure towards himself he found very hard to bear. Nevertheless he was comforted by the reiterated affirmations of Harry that things were coming nicely round.

"Take my word for it," said the shrewd old man; "I knows the old master and his ways better than you do, Master Amos, though you're his son and I ain't. But I've knowed him years longer than you have. Now he's displeased with you; but I'll tell you who he's more displeased with, and that's just his own self. I don't mean no disrespect to your father, Master Amos--he's as kind-hearted a gentleman and as good a master as ever was, only a bit hasty sometimes; but then, which on us ain't got faults of our own enough and to spare? But I'm sure of this, he has never been fairly satisfied with keeping the door shut agen dear Miss Julia as was, and he won't _be_ satisfied, depend on it, till she's back again--I know it. You see, though there was a reg'lar flare up when I spoke up for you the other night, he has never said a word of blame to me on the subject; and for why? I'll tell you--it's just because he knows and feels down in his heart of hearts as I were _not_ to blame. But he must be angry with somebody--'taint pleasant to be angry with one's own self; he's never been used to be angry with Master Walter; 'tain't no use being angry with Miss Huntingdon, 'cos she'd look the fiercest man as ever lived into a good temper--the mere sight of her face is enough for that, let alone her words. So master's just showing his anger to you, Master Amos. But it won't last; it can't last. So you just stick to your work, and I'll back you up all in my power, and I'll keep my tongue inside my teeth for the future, if I possibly can."

As for Walter, he felt thoroughly ashamed of himself, and tried in many ways to make up to his brother for his past unkindness, by various little loving attentions, and by carefully abstaining from taunting and ungracious speeches. This was very cheering to the heart of Amos, and lightened his trial exceedingly; but he felt that he could not yet take Walter fully into his confidence, nor expect him to join with him in a pursuit which would involve much quiet perseverance and habitual self- denial. For how were the banished ones to be brought back? What present steps could be taken for their restoration? Any attempt to introduce the subject of his sister's marriage and present position in his father's presence he felt would, as things now were, be worse than useless. Once he attempted to draw the conversation in that direction; but Mr Huntingdon, as soon as he became aware of the drift of his son's observations, impatiently changed the subject. On another occasion, when Walter plunged headlong into the matter by saying at tea-time to his aunt, "Eh! what a long time it is since we saw anything of Julia. I should so like to have her with us again; shouldn't you, auntie?" his father, striking his clenched fist on the table, and looking sternly at his son, said in a voice trembling with suppressed anger, "Not a word again on that subject, Walter, unless you wish to drive me out of my own house." So Amos's great purpose, his life-work to which he had dedicated himself, his means, his best energies, seemed hopelessly blocked.

The great hindrance was, alas! in that father whose heart must be touched and subdued before any effectual and really onward steps could be taken. But this barrier seemed to become daily more formidable.

"What am I to do, Aunt Kate?" Amos said, when discussing the matter with Miss Huntingdon in private; "what can I do now?"

"Rather, dear Amos," replied his aunt, "must the question be, not so much, 'What can I do now?' as, 'What must I do next?' Now it seems to me that the next thing is just prayerfully and patiently to keep your great purpose in view, and to be on the watch for opportunities, and G.o.d will give success in due time.--Ah, here comes Walter." She repeated to him what she had just been saying to his brother, and then continued, "Now here we may bring in moral heroism; for it is a very important feature in moral courage to wait steadily watching for opportunities to carry out a n.o.ble purpose, and specially so when the way seems completely, or to a great extent, hedged up."

"Examples, auntie, examples!" exclaimed Walter.

"You shall have them," she implied. "I have two n.o.ble heroes to bring before you, and they both had the same glorious object in view, and went steadily on in their pursuit of it when everything before them looked as nearly hopeless as it could do. My two heroes are Clarkson and Wilberforce.

"I daresay you remember that there was a time when slaves were as much property and a matter of course in our own foreign possessions as they were a short time since in the Southern States of America. So completely was this the case, that when a slave was brought to England by one of our countrymen, he was considered his master's absolute property. However, this was happily brought to an end more than a hundred years ago. A slave named Somerset, who had been brought by his master to this country, fell ill, and his master, thinking that he would be of no more use to him, turned him adrift. But a charitable gentleman, Mr Granville Sharp, found him in his wretched state, had pity on him, and got him restored to health. Then his old master, thinking that now he would be of service to him, claimed him as his property. This led to the matter being taken up; a suit was inst.i.tuted; and by a decision of the Court of King's Bench, slavery could no longer exist in England. That became law in 1772. The poet Cowper has some beautiful lines on this subject:--

"'Slaves cannot breathe in England: if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free; They touch our country, and their shackles fall.

That's n.o.ble, and bespeaks a nation proud And jealous of the blessing. Spread it, then, And let it circulate through every vein Of all our empire, that, where Britain's power Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too.'

"Still, we could hold, and did hold, slaves to a large extent in some of our colonies. Now the great object of Clarkson and Wilberforce was to get slavery abolished throughout the British dominions all the world over; in other words, that it should not be lawful for a slave to exist as a slave in any of our possessions. But they had a hard and steady fight for years and years in pursuit of their great object. Patience, faith, calm courage, perseverance, these were the n.o.ble const.i.tuents of their moral heroism. Thomas Clarkson, from youth to manhood, from manhood to old age, devoted himself unreservedly to the one great purpose of obtaining freedom and justice for the oppressed negro. His work was to collect information, to spread it on all sides, to agitate the question of the abolition of slavery throughout the United Kingdom and the world. William Wilberforce's place in the work was different.

His part was to introduce Clarkson's plans to the notice of Parliament, and to advocate them with his wonderful eloquence, and to persevere in that advocacy with untiring zeal and love. When he called the attention of the House of Commons to the question of the slave-trade in 1788 he was met by the most determined opposition. Men's worldly interests were arrayed in arms against the abolition. The traffic in slaves brought millions of money to the British coffers. So the case appeared for a time to be hopeless. But this made no difference to Wilberforce--his courage never failed; his resolution never wavered; year after year he brought forward the subject, and, though he experienced eleven defeats in his endeavours to carry the measure, at last he triumphed. And the result was the termination of slavery in the British dominions in August 1834, and that, too, at a cost to the country of twenty millions of money as compensation to those who, at the time, were holders of property in slaves. All honour to Clarkson and Wilberforce, for theirs was a n.o.ble victory, a grand result of the unwavering, unflinching moral courage of those two moral heroes."