THE ESSAY OF WIT—YOUNG ABOLITIONIST—HIS INFLUENCE—A NIGHT AT THE DOOR OF THE "LOCK-UP."

After wiping the fresh blood-stains (produced by the severe beating of Mr. Peterkin) from Aunt Polly's shoulders, and binding up her brow to conceal the wounds made by the leeching process, I tenderly spread the old coverlet over her form, and then turned away from her to go about my usual avocations.

The doctor was just making his adieux, and the ladies had gathered round him in quite a social and sportive way. Misses Jane and Tildy were playfully disputing which one should take possession of his heart and hand, in the event of Mrs. Mandy's sudden demise. All this merriment and light-heartedness was exhibited, when but a few rods from them a poor, old, faithful creature lay in the agonies of a torturing death, and a young girl, who had striven for her liberty, and tried to achieve it at a perilous risk, had just been bound, hand and foot, and cast into outer darkness! Oh, this was a strange meeting of the extremes. What varied colors the glass of life can show!

At length, with many funny speeches, and promises very ridiculous, the doctor tore himself away from the chatty group.

Passing in and out of the house, through the hall or in the parlor, as my business required, I saw Mr. Worth and Miss Bradly sitting quietly and moodily apart, whilst, occasionally, Miss Tildy would flash out with a coarse joke, or Miss Jane would speculate upon the feelings of Lindy, in her present helpless and gloomy confinement.

"I reckon she does not relish Canada about this time."

"No; let us ask her candid opinion of it," said Miss Tildy, who considered herself the wit of the family, and this last speech she regarded as quite an extraordinary flash.

"That's very good, Till," said her patronizing sister, "but you are always witty."

"Now, sister, ain't you ashamed to flatter me so?" and with the most Laura Matilda-ish air, she turned her head aside and tried to blush.

I could read, from his clear, manly glance, that Mr. Worth was sick at heart and goaded to anguish by what he saw and heard; yet, like many another noble man, he sat in silent endurance. Miss Jane caught the idea of his gloom, and, with a good deal of sly, vulpine malice, determined to annoy him. She had not for him, as Miss Tildy had, a personal admiration; so, by way of vexing him, as well as showing off her smartness, she asked:

"Till, is there much Worth in Abolitionism?"

"I don't know, but there is a Robin in it." This she thought a capital repartee.

"Bravo! bravo, Till! who can equal you? You are the wittiest girl in town or country."

"Wit is a precious gift," said Mr. Worth, as he satirically elevated his brows.

"Indeed is it," replied Miss Tildy, "but I am not conscious of its possession." Of course she expected he would gainsay her; but, as he was silent, her cheeks blazed like a peony.

"What makes Miss Bradly so quiet and seemingly lachrymose? I do believe Johnny's Abolition lecture has given her the blues."

"Not the lecture, but the necessity for the lecture," put in Mr. Worth.

"What's that? what's that 'bout Aberlitionists?" exclaimed Mr. Peterkin, as he rushed into the room. "Is there one of 'em here? Let me know it, and my roof shan't shelter the rascal. Whar is he?"

I looked toward Mr. Worth, for I feared that, on an occasion like this, his principles would fail as Miss Bradly's had; but the fear was quickly dissipated, as he replied in a manly tone:

"I, a vindicator of the anti-slavery policy, and a denouncer of the slave system, stand before you, and declare myself proud of my sentiments."

"You? ha! ha! ha! ha! that's too ridiculous; a mere boy; a stripling, no bigger than my arm. I'd not disgrace my manhood with a fight with the like of yer."

"So thought Goliath when David met him in warfare; but witness the sequel, and then say if the battle is always to the strong, or the victory with the proud. Might is not always right. I ask to be heard for my cause. Stripling as you call me, I am yet able to vindicate my abolition principles upon other and higher ground than mere brute force."

"Oh, yes; you has larnt, I s'pose, to talk. That's all them windy Aberlitionists ken do; they berate and talk, but they can't act."

A contemptuous smile played over the face of Mr. Worth, but he did not deign to answer with words.

"Do you know, pa, that Johnny is an Abolitionist?" asked Miss Jane.

"What! John Peterkin? my son John?"

"The same," and Miss Jane bowed most significantly.

"Well, that's funny enuff; but I'll soon bring it outen him. He's a quiet lad; not much sperrit, and I guess he's hearn some 'cock and bull story' 'bout freedom and equality. All smart boys of his age is apt to feel that way, but he'll come outen it. It's all bekase he has hearn too many Fourth of July speeches; but I don't fear fur him, he is sure to come outen it. The very idee of my son's being an Aberlitionist is too funny."

"Funny is it, father, for your child to love mercy, and deal justly, even with the lowliest?" As he said this, young master stood in the doorway. He looked paler and even more spiritual than was his wont.

Mr. Peterkin sat for full five minutes, gazing at the boy; and, strange to say, made no reply, but strode away from the room.

Miss Jane and Tildy regarded each other with evident surprise. They had expected a violent outburst, and thus to see their father tamed and subdued by the word and glance of their boy-brother, astonished them not a little.

Miss Tildy turned toward young master, and said, in what was meant for a most caustic tone,

"You are an embryo Van Amburgh, thus to tame the lion's rage."

"But you, Tildy, are too vulpine to be fascinated even by the glance of Van Amburgh himself."

"Well, now, Johnny, you are getting impertinent as well as spicy."

"Pertinent, you mean," said Mr. Worth. Miss Tildy would not look angry at him; for she was besieging the fortress of his affections, and she deemed kind measures the most advantageous.

Were I to narrate most accurately the conversation that followed, the repartees that flashed from the lips of some, and the anger that burned blue in the faces of others, I should only amuse the reader, or what is more likely, weary him.

I will simply mention that, after a few hours' sojourn, Mr. Worth took his departure, not without first having a long conversation, in a private part of the garden, with young master. Miss Bradly retired to the young ladies' room (for they would not allow her to leave the house), under pretext of headache. Often, as I passed in and out to ask her if she needed anything, I found her weeping bitterly. Late in the evening, about eight o'clock, Mr. Peterkin returned; throwing the reins of his horse to Nace, he exclaimed:

"Well, I've made a good bargain of it; I've sold Lindy to a trader for one thousand dollars—that is, if she answers the description which I gave of her. He is comin' in the mornin' to look at her; and, with a little riggin' up, I think she'll 'pear a rale good-lookin' wench."

When I went into the house to prepare some supper for Mr. Peterkin (the family tea had been despatched two hours before), he was in an excellent humor, well pleased, no doubt, with his good trade.

"Now, Ann, be brisk and smart, or you might find yourself in the trader's hands afore long. Likely yellow gals like you sells mighty well; and if you doesn't behave well you is a goner."

"Down the river" was not terrible to me, nor did I dread being "sold;" yet one thing I did fear, and that was separation from young master. In the last few days he had become to me everything I could respect; nay, I loved him. Not that it was in his power to do me any signal act of good. He could not soften the severity of his father and sisters toward me; yet one thing he could and did do, he spoke an occasional kind, hopeful word to me. Those whose hearts are fed upon kindness and love, can little understand how dear to the lonely, destitute soul, is one word of friendliness. We, to whom the husks are flung with an unfeeling tone, appreciate as manna from heaven the word of gentleness; and now I thought if I were to leave young master my soul would die. Had not his blessed smile elevated and inspired my sinking spirit, and his sweet tone softened my over-taxed heart? Oh, blessed one! even now I think of thee, and with a full heart thank God that such beings have lived!

I watched master dispatch his supper in a most summary manner. At length he settled himself back in his chair, and, taking his tooth-pick from his waistcoat pocket, began picking his teeth.

"Wal, Ann," he said, as he swung himself back in his chair, "how's ole Poll?"

"She is still asleep."

"Yes, I said she was possuming; but by to-morrow, if she ain't up outen that ar' bunk of hers, I'll know the reason; and I'll sell her to the trader that's comin' for Lindy."

"I wish you would sell her, father, and buy a new cook; she prepares everything in such an old-fashioned manner—can't make a single French dish," said Miss Jane.

"I don't care a cuss 'bout yer French dishes, or yer fashionable cooks; I's gwine to sell her, becase the craps didn't yield me much this year, and I wants money, so I must make it by sellin' off niggers."

"You must not sell Aunt Polly, and you shall not," said young master, with a fearful emphasis.

"What do you mean, lad?" cried the infuriated father, and he sprang from his seat, and was in the very act of rushing upon the offender; but suddenly he quailed before the fixed, determined gaze of that eye. He looked again, then cowered, reeled, and staggered like a drunken man, and, falling back in his chair, he covered his face with his hands, and uttered a fearful groan. The ladies were frightened; they had never seen their father thus fearfully excited. They dared not speak one word. The finger of an awful silence seemed laid upon each and every one present. At length young master, with a slow step, approached his father, and, taking the large hand, which swung listlessly, within his own, said, "Fath—;" but before he had finished the syllable, Mr. Peterkin sprang up, exclaiming,

"Off, I say! off! off! she sent you here; she told you to speak so to me." Then gazing wildly at Johnny, he cried, "Those are her eyes, that is her face. I say, away! away! leave me! you torment me with the sight of that face! It's hers it's hers. Blood will have blood, and now you comes to git mine!" and the strong man fell prostrate upon the floor, in a paroxysm of agony. He foamed at the mouth, and rolled his great vacant eyes around the room in a wildness fearful to behold.

"Oh Lor'," said old Nace, who appeared in the doorway, "oh Lor', him's got a fit."

The ladies shrieked and screamed in a frightful manner. Young master was almost preternaturally calm. He and Miss Bradly (after Nace and Jake had placed master on the bed) rendered him every attention. Miss Bradly chafed his temples with camphor, and moistened the lips and palms of the hands with it. When he began to revive, he turned his face to the wall and wept like a child. Then he fell off into a quiet sleep.

Young master and Miss Bradly watched beside that restless sleeper long and faithfully. And from that night there grew up between them a fervent friendship, which endured to the last of their mortal days.

Upon frequently going into Aunt Polly's cabin, I was surprised to find her still sleeping. At length when my duties were all discharged in the house, and I went to prepare for the night's rest, I thought I would arouse her from her torpor and administer a little nourishment that might benefit her.

To my surprise her arm felt rigid, and oh, so cold! What if she is dead! thought I; and a cold thrill passed over my frame. The big drops burst from my brow and stood in chilly dew upon my temples. Oh God! can it be that she is dead! One look, one more touch, and the dreadful question would be answered; yet, when I attempted to stretch forth my hand, it was stiff and powerless. In a moment the very atmosphere seemed to grow heavy; 'twas peopled with a strange, charnel gloom. My breath was thick and broken, coming only at intervals and with choking gaspings. One more desperate effort! I commanded myself, gathered all my courage, and, seizing hold of the body with a power which was stronger than my own, I turned it over—when, oh God of mercy, such a spectacle! the question was answered with a fearful affirmation. There, rigid, still and ghastly, she lay in death. The evident marks of a violent struggle were stamped upon those features, which, despite their tough hard-favoredness, and their gaunt gloom, were dear to me; for had she not been my best of friends, nay proved her friendship by a martyrdom which, if slower, was no less heroic than that which adorns the columns of historical renown? Gently I closed those wide-staring, blank eyes, and pressed tenderly together the distended jaws; and, taking from a box a slipet of white muslin, bound up her cheeks. Slowly, and not without a feeling of terror, I unwound the bandage from her brow, which concealed the wound made by the leeches; this I replaced with my only handkerchief. I then endeavored to straighten the contracted limbs, for she had died lying upon her side, with her body drawn nearly double. I found this a rather difficult task; yet was it a melancholy pleasure, a duty that I performed irresolutely but with tenderness.

After all was done, and before getting the water to wash the body (for I wished to enrobe her decently for the burial), I gave way to the luxury of expressed grief, and, sinking down upon my knees beside that lifeless form, thanked God for having taken her from this scene of trouble and trial. "You are gone, my poor old friend; but that hereafter of which we all entertain so much dread, cannot be to you so bad as this wretched present; and though I am lonely without you, I rejoice that you have left this land of bondage. And I believe that at this moment your tried soul is free and happy!"

So saying, I stepped without the door of the cabin, and, looking up to the clear, cold moon and the way-off stars, I smiled, even in my bitterness, for I imagined I could see her emancipated soul soaring away on its new-made wings, to the land forever flowing with milk and honey. She had often in her earth-pilgrimage, as many tried martyrs had done before her, fainted by the wayside; but then was she not sorely tempted, and did not a life of captivity and seven-fold agony, atone for all her short-comings? Besides, we are divinely informed that where little is given, little is required. In view of this sacred assurance, let not the sceptic reader think that my faith was stretched to an unwarranted degree. Yes, I did and do think that she was at that moment and is now happy. If not, how am I to account for the strange feeling of peace that settled over my mind and heart, when I thought of her! For a holy, heavenly calm, like the dropping of a prophet's mantle, overspread my heart; a cool sense of ease, refreshing as the night dew, and sustaining as the high stars, seemed to gird me round!

I did not heed the cold air, but walked out a few rods in the direction of the out-house, where Lindy was confined. "Yonder," I soliloquized, "perishing for a kind word, lies a poor outcast, wretched being. I will go to her, bury all thoughts of the past, and speak one kind word of encouragement."

As I drew near to the "lock-up," the moon that had been sailing swift and high through the heaven, passed beneath the screen of a dark cloud. I paused in my steps and looked up to the sky. "Such," I thought, "is the transit of a human soul across the vault of life; beneath clouds and shadows the serene face is often hidden, and the spirit's mellow light is often, by affliction, obscured from view."

Just then a sob of anguish fell upon my ear. I knew it was Lindy, and moved hastily forward; but, light as was my foot-fall, it aroused the sentinel-dog, and, with a loud bark, he sprang toward me. "Down, Cuff! down!" said I, addressing the dog, who, as soon as he recognized me, crouched lovingly at my feet. Just then the moon glided with a queenly air from behind the clouds. "So," I said, "passeth the soul, with the same Diana-like sweep, from the heavy fold and curtain of human sorrow." Another moan, deeper and more fearful than the first! I was close beside the door of the "lock-up," and, cowering down, with my mouth close to the crevice, I called Lindy. "Who's dar? who's dar? For de love of heaven somebody come to me," said Lindy, in a half-frantic tone.

"'Tis I, Lindy, don't you know my voice?"

"Yes, it's Ann! Oh, please, Ann, help me outen here. I's seen such orful sights and hearn sich dreful sounds, I'd be a slave all my born days jist to git way frum here. Oh, Ann, I's seed a speerit," and then she gave such a fearful shriek, that I felt my flesh grow cold and stony as death. Yet I knew it was my duty to appear calm, and try to persuade her that it was not true or real.

"Oh, no, Lindy, you must not be frightened; only hope and trust in God, and pray to Him. He will take you away from all this trouble. He loves you. He cares for you, for 'twas He who made you, Your soul is precious to Him. Oh, try to pray."

"Oh, but, Ann, I doesn't know how to pray. I never seed God, and I is afraid of Him. He might be like master."

This was fearful ignorance, and how to begin to teach her the way to believe was above my ability; yet I knew that every soul was precious to God; so I made an endeavor to do all I could in the way of instruction.

"Say, Our Father, who art in heaven," Lindy.

"Our Father, who art in heaven," she repeated in a slow, nervous manner.

"Hallowed be Thy name." Again she repeated, and so on we prayed, she following accurately after me, though the heavy door separated us. Think ye not, oh, gentle reader, that this prayer was heard above? Never did words come more truly from my heart; and with a low moan, they rung plaintively upon the still, moonlit air! I could tell, from the fervent tone in which Lindy followed, that her whole soul was engaged. When the final amen had been said, she asked, "Ann, what's to become of me?"

I evaded her by saying, "how can I know what master will do?"

"Yes, but haven't you heard? Oh, don't fool me, Ann, but tell me all."

For a moment I hesitated, then said: "Yes, Lindy, I'll deal fairly with you. I have heard that master intends selling you to-morrow to a trader, whom he went to see to-day; and, if the trader is satisfied with you to-morrow, the bargain will be closed."

"Oh, Lord! oh, Lord!" she groaned forth, "oh, is I gwine down de ribber? Oh, Lord, kill me right now; but don't send me to dat dreful place, down de ribber, down de ribber!"

"Oh, trust in the Lord, and He will protect you. Down the river can't be much worse than here, maybe not so bad. For my part, Lindy, I would rather be sold and run the risk of getting a good master, than remain here where we are treated worse than dogs."

"Oh, dar isn't no sort ob hope ob my gitten any better home den dis here one; den I knows you all, and way off dar 'mong strange black folks, oh, no, I never can go; de Lord hab marcy on me."

This begging of the poor negroes to the Lord to have mercy on them, though frequent, has no particular significance. It is more a plaint of agony than a cry for actual mercy; and, in Lindy's case, it most assuredly only expressed her grief, for she had no ripe faith in the power and willingness of Our Father to send mercy to her. Religion she believed consisted in going to church every Sunday twice; consequently it was a luxury, which, like all luxuries, must be monopolized by the whites. From the very depths of my heart I prayed that the light of Divine grace might shine in upon her darkened intellect. Soul of Faith, verily art thou soul of beauty! And though, as a special gift, faith is not withheld from the lowliest, the most ignorant, yet does its possession give to the poorest and most degraded Ethiopian a divine consciousness, an inspiration, that as to what is grandest in the soul exalts him above the noblest of poets.

Whilst talking to Lindy, I was surprised to hear the muffled sound of an approaching footstep. Noiselessly I was trying to creep away, when young master said in a low voice:

"Is this you, Ann? Wait a moment. Have you spoken to Lindy? Have you told her—"

He did not finish the sentence, and I answered,

"Yes, I have told her that she is to be sold, and to a trader."

"Is she willing?"

"No, sir, she has a great terror of down the river."

"That is the way with them all, yet her condition, so far as treatment is concerned, may be bettered, certainly it cannot be made worse."

"Will you speak to her, young Master, and reconcile her to her situation?"

"Yes, I will do all I can."

"And now I will go and stay with the corpse of dear Aunt Polly;" here I found it impossible to restrain my tears, and, convulsed with emotion, I seated myself upon the ground with my back against the door of the lock-up.

"Dead? dead? Aunt Polly dead?" he asked in a bewildered tone.

"Yes, young Master, I found her dead, and with every appearance of having had a severe struggle."

I then told him about the leeching process, how the doctor had acted, &c.

"Murdered! She was most cruelly murdered!" he murmured to himself.

In the excitement of conversation he had elevated his tone a good deal, and the fearful news reached the ears of Lindy, and she shrieked out,

"Is Aunt Polly dead? Oh, tell me, for I thinks I sees her sperit now."

Then such entreaties as she made to get out were agonizing to hear.

"Oh, if you can't let me out, don't leave me! Oh, don't leave me, Ann! I is so orful skeered. I do see such terrible sights, and it 'pears like when you is here talking, dem orful things don't come arter me."

"You go, Ann, and watch with Aunt Polly's body; I will stay here with this poor creature."

"What, you, young master; no, no, you shall not, it will kill you. Your cough will increase, and it might prove fatal. No, I will stay here."

"But who will watch with Aunt Polly?"

"I will awaken Amy, and make her keep guard."

"No, she is too young, lacks nerve, will be frightened; besides, you must not be found here in the morning. You would be severely punished for it. Go now, good Ann, and leave me here."

"No, young master, I cannot leave you to what I am sure will be certain death."

"That would be no misfortune to me."

And I shall never forget the calm and half-glorified expression of his face, as he pronounced these words.

"Go, Ann," he continued, "leave me to watch and pray beside this forlorn creature, and, if the Angel of Death spreads his wings on this midnight blast, I think I should welcome him; for life, with its broken promises and its cold humanity, sickens me—oh so much."

And his beautiful head fell languidly on his breast; and again I listened to that low, husky cough. To-night it had an unusual sound, and, forgetful of the humble relation in which I stood to him, I grasped his arm firmly but lovingly, saying,

"Hark to that cough! Now you must go in."

"No, I cannot. I know best; besides, since nothing less gentle will do, I needs must use authority, and command you to go."

"I would that you did not exercise your authority against yourself."

But he waved me off. Reluctantly I obeyed him. Again I entered the cabin and roused Amy, who slept on a pallet or heap of straw at the foot of the bed, where the still, unbreathing form of my old friend lay. It was difficult to awake her, for she was always wearied at night, and slept with that deep soundness peculiar to healthful childhood; but, after various shakes, I contrived to make her open her eyes and speak to me.

"Come Amy," I said, "rouse, I want you to help me."

"In what way and what fur you wake me up?" she said as she sat upright on the straw, and began rubbing her eyes.

"Never mind, but you get up and I will tell you."

When she was fairly awake, she assisted me in lifting in a large tub of water.

"Oh, is Aunt Polly any sicker?" she inquired.

"Amy, she is dead."

"Oh, Lord, den I ain't gwine to hope you, bekase I's afeared ob a dead body."

"It can't harm you."

"Yes it ken; anyhow, I is feared ob it, and I ain't gwine to hope you."

"Well, you need not touch her, only sit up with me whilst I wash her and dress her nicely."

"Well, I'll do dat much."

Accordingly, she crouched down in the corner and concealed her face with her hands, whilst I proceeded to wash the body thoroughly and dress it out in an old faded calico, which, in life, had constituted her finest robe. Bare and undecked, but clean, appeared that tabernacle of flesh, which had once enshrined a tried but immortal spirit. When all was finished, I seated myself near the partly-opened door, and waited for the coming of day. Ah, when was the morn of glad freedom to break for me?