The Kidnapped And The Ransomed Part 14

In the parlor, at his childhood's home, was laid all that was mortal of Levi Gist. His father and mother, with great tears on their aged cheeks, gazed tenderly upon the face of their first-born son; and his little children stole up on tiptoe to look at dear papa; and wondered that he lay so still, when only yesterday, he told them they should start for home to-day. Dear little ones! too soon shall ye learn the full meaning of that cold word--fatherless!

The funeral was over. Fond eyes had gazed for the last time on those clear features, and to the earth had been consigned the sacred dust. Words of condolence had been duly uttered--Oh! how they rent her heart!--and curious eyes had scrutinized the widow's face and manner, to ascertain how keenly she felt the stroke. All these were satisfied. They saw her glazed eye, and pallid cheek; and even their morbid jealousy for grief could exact no more.

The desolate woman returned, with her children to her thenceforth darkened home.

No smiles greeted her coming now; but great hot tears glistened on the dark cheeks of the faithful band that came forth to meet her.

Well might they weep that their only protector had fallen! Where, in all the country round, could be found another such master? His servants had been, in some sense, his children; subject, it is true to his pa.s.sions and caprices--and who is free from these? Still he had ever protected them from the violence of overseers and other ruffians, and their supply of wholesome food and comfortable clothes had not been scant.

Equally kind, and even more indulgent, had been their mistress, and she was spared to them. But now the government would, partially, at least, fall into other hands; there was no will, and the estate must be settled according to law.

Deeply, notwithstanding her own grief, did the kind mistress sympathize with her people in their peculiar sorrow; and earnestly did she resolve to do her utmost to alleviate the hards.h.i.+ps of their lot.

Mr. John Gist, a brother of the deceased, proceeded to administer upon the estate, while Mrs. Gist remained on the place, and preserved, as far as possible, the accustomed order of affairs.

She was now a stately woman, of somewhat haughty presence, and with an eye whose lightning few would dare to brave. Usually, her voice was gentle, and her manners mild; but when the helpless were outraged, she summoned all her powers to awe and to command--for their relief. One instance will suffice to show her spirit.

It was Sunday evening, and Peter and Allison, who had been to visit some of their friends on a neighboring plantation, were returning home, when, to make their road shorter, they crossed a field belonging to Col. John D--.

Now, the gallant Colonel had made a law that no negro belonging to his neighbor, should cross his field on Sunday; and his overseer, named S--, by chance spying those trespa.s.sers, ran after them cowhide in hand.

They heard him on their track, and made all speed for home.

Bounding over the door-yard fence, they imagined themselves safe; but in an instant, their pursuer leaped over after them, and even followed them to the kitchen, where they hastened to take refuge.

Here the slaves determined to do battle, and one of them had seized the rolling-pin, and the other a large knife, when their mistress, hearing the tumult, came to the door.

The overseer quailed beneath her haughty eye. "What is your business here, sir," said she, in a voice steady and brave.

He explained his errand; with much trepidation however, for her great eyes were fixed upon him, and her majestic form seemed to grow taller every instant.

"Well, sir," said she, when he ceased speaking, "leave these premises immediately, and let this be the last time your foot approaches my house on such an errand. My boys are not subject to your authority; if they do wrong, it is not your business to punish them."

The overseer departed in silence, seeming much smaller in his own eyes than he had appeared an hour before.

CHAPTER XVI.

LEVIN'S DEATH.

JUST a year after the death of his master, Levin's health, which had been poor for several years, began rapidly to decline; and it was soon plain to all who saw him that his work was done.

His sufferings soon became intense, but he endured them with great patience. Levin was a Christian. His intellect, it is true, had possessed few means of development, but he had heard of the Lamb that was slain. Upon that bleeding sacrifice his hopes had long been fixed; and though in much ignorance and weakness, yet earnestly had he sought to follow his Redeemer. Now as the death-hour approached, he heard a voice, saying, "My peace I give unto you, not as the world giveth, give I unto you;" and, calmly resigning himself into His arms who is a Saviour of the weakest and the lowliest, he waited quietly the coming of the last Messenger.

Poor f.a.n.n.y was permitted to spend the last days by his side. This was a great comfort to both, for they had suffered much for each other, and it was very hard to part so soon. But Levin talked so sweetly of the green fields and still waters of that better land, that she could not wish to prolong his painful sojourn here.

It was the twenty-eighth of December. Peter had gone to Bainbridge, to make his usual Christmas visit to his wife and little ones, and by the bed-side of her dying husband sat the devoted f.a.n.n.y. Yet, though her eye watched every sign of change, she knew not that he was departing.

Sadly she gazed upon his placid face. Ah! did he not look happy?

Why should she weep?--and yet the tearswould flow.

"Call Peter, f.a.n.n.y," said he, suddenly waking from a gentle sleep.

"Peter's gone to Bainbridge."

A shade of disappointment pa.s.sed over his face-- for a few moments he remained silent. Then suddenly, with all his strength he cried, "Peter! Peter! O, Peter!"

But the loved brother answered not. Ah! little thought he, as he sat fondling his children, and holding pleasant converse with their mother, that poor Levin's heart, even at that hour, was breaking.

There was but a slight struggle,--a faint gasp,--and the freed spirit of the lowly slave was carried by the angels into Abraham's bosom.

They placed the lifeless form in a rude coffin, and bore it to its lowly grave. No stone marks his resting place; no fragrant flowers adorn the sod that covers his silent house. Yet he sleeps sweetly there. The loud horn of the overseer reaches not his ear at dawn; the harsh tone of command and the bitter blasphemous curse break not his peaceful slumbers.

The death of this clear brother cast a heavy gloom upon Peter's spirits. He felt that he was now alone. The memories of their early childhood, of their mother's love, and of the sad, sad day when they were stolen from their home, there was now none to share.

And the fond hope, which through all their years of bondage had lived far down in some hidden recess of his heart--even that one hope went out--and all was dark.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE JAUNT TO FLORIDA.

PATIENTLY, month after month, Aunt Sally pursued her labors on the plantation of Mr. Peoples. She had a kind master, and her boys were near her, as was also Uncle Moses, the husband of her latter years. Of poor Silas, to whom her heart's young affections had been given, she never heard. He might be dead, and--oh! what torture in the thought!--he might be enduring sufferings compared with which, even death itself were naught. She could only pray for his weal; and trust, as she ever found it sweet to do, to that compa.s.sionate father, who loves the prayers of the humble, while "the proud he knoweth afar off."

But it was concerning her daughter that Aunt Sally's spirit was most deeply troubled. She was so young to be taken away--and alone among strangers too--how often would she need her mother's sympathy and counsel!

"Well," said she to Uncle Moses, at the close of one of their frequent conversations on the subject. "I's mighty glad de pore chile done got married, 'Pears like she wont be so lonesome now.

I'd like to see her ole man. But her missus--she's a screamer. Laws!

Vine say de little gal whar waits in de house gits her back cut up powerful, and she's a sickly little thing. Hi! wont dem kind o'

ladies cotch it mightily when de bad man gits 'em? Reckon he wont think dey's so mons's nice, kase dey's white. De Lord years all de screams o' his chilluns, and he aint gwine put harps o' gold in dem dare hands, whar allers a playin wid de cowhide yer."

There were at this time two sets of slaves on Mr. Peoples' place; his own, and those belonging to the estate of a deceased brother, with whom he had been in partners.h.i.+p. Many of these were united by family ties, and all were strongly attached to each other, as they had lived together for many years.

Suddenly, late in the autumn of 1827, the gloomy tidings came among them that they were to be separated. Their master, having heard tempting accounts of the beauty and fertility of Florida's fair plains, had determined to remove there with his working hands: while those belonging to his brother's estate, as well as the children and any that were unfit for labor, should remain on the home place, in the guardians.h.i.+p of an overseer.

Aunt Sally was overwhelmed with sorrow. She was more fortunate than many of her companions, for her husband and her oldest son were to go with her; but poor Quall must stay behind, and Vina--she had not seen her for two years. She longed to make her a farewell visit, but such was now the haste to secure the crop, and to complete the needful preparations for the journey, that she could not go even to "tell" her darling child "good-bye."

The master strove to comfort them by the promise that they should some day return; or, if he liked the country so well as to wish to remain in Florida, then their friends should come to them. But the dim hope in the distant future could not dispel the present gloom; and with bitter lamentations fond mothers pressed their weeping children to their aching b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and loving husbands turned back for one more look on those dear faces which they never more might see.

They have gone! Their friends stand mournfully watching the sad procession till it pa.s.ses out of sight and their stricken hearts breathe earnest prayers for the safe keeping of their dearest treasures.

Vina did not hear of Mr. Peoples' intended removal till his family had already arrived in Florida; and her grief was then extreme. To lose her mother thus, without receiving so much as a parting message, was harder far than all her previous trials. Not even the laughing prattle of her little Peter could dispel this heavy sorrow; not even her husband's love could soothe her aching heart.

But a kind Providence was better to them than their fears. Mr.

Peoples did not like Florida; and when he had "made one crop," he returned with all his slaves in glad procession, to his former home.

Ah! earth is not all gloomy, for there be sometimes glad reunions, when the partings have been dismal-- hopeless. There be transient gleams of joy, though misery hath hung her heavy clouds over all the sky. There is an Infinite Father who looketh down in love on the weakest of his children; and though he suffer them to drink a bitter cup, he often mingles therewith rare drops of sweetness.

The summer following her return from Florida, Aunt Sally paid a visit to her daughter.

What changes have been wrought during the four years that had pa.s.sed since she had seen her child. Vina had grown quite tall, and her face, instead of the timidity and sadness that then marked its expression, now wore a careful mother-look. Poor child! she was not strong and the fatiguing labor of the hot summer days, together with the care which her two children claimed at night, taxed her exertions to the utmost.