THE MISDEMEANOR—THE PUNISHMENT—ITS CONSEQUENCE—FRIGHT.

The next day Miss Jane, observing my unusual thoughtfulness, said:

"Come, now, Ann, you are not quite free. From the airs that you have put on, one would think you had been made so."

"What have I done, Miss Jane?" This was asked in a quiet tone, perhaps not so obsequiously as she thought it should be. Thereupon she took great offence.

"How dare you, Miss, speak to me in that tone? Take that," and she dealt me a blow across the forehead with a long, limber whalebone, that laid the flesh open. I was so stunned by it that I reeled, and should have fallen to the floor, had I not supported myself by the bed-post.

"Don't you dare to scream."

I attempted to bind up my brow with a handkerchief. This she regarded as affectation.

"Take care, Miss Ann," she often prefixed the Miss when she was mad, by way of taunting me; "give yourself none of those important airs. I'll take you down a little."

When Mr. Summerville entered, she began to cry, saying:

"Husband, this nigger-wench has given me a great deal of impertinence. Father never allowed it; now I want to know if you will not protect me from such insults."

"Certainly, my love, I'll not allow any one, white or black, to insult you. Ann, how dare you give your mistress impudence?"

"I did not mean it, Master William." I had thus addressed him ever since his marriage.

I attempted to relate the conversation that had occurred, wherein Miss Jane thought I had been impudent, when she suddenly sprang up, exclaiming:

"Do you allow a negro to give testimony against your own wife?"

"Certainly not."

"Now, Mr. Summerville," she was getting angry with him, "I require you to whip that girl severely; if you don't do it—why—" and she ground her teeth fiercely.

"I will have her whipped, my dear, but I cannot whip her."

"Why can't you?" and the lady's eye flashed.

"Because I should be injured by it. Gentlemen do not correct negroes; they hire others to do that sort of business."

"Ah, well, then, hire some one who will do it well."

"Come with me, Ann," he said to me, as I stood speechless with fear and mortification.

Seeing him again motion me to follow, I, forgetful of the injustice that had been done me, and the honest resentment I should feel—forgetful of everything but the humiliation to which they were going to subject me—fell on my knees before Miss Jane, and besought her to excuse, to forgive me, and I would never offend her again.

"Don't dare to ask mercy of me. You know that I am too much like father to spare a nigger."

Ah, well I knew it! and vainly I sued to her. I might have known that she rejoiced too much in the sport; and, had she been in the country, would have asked no higher pleasure than to attend to it personally. A negro's scream of agony was music to her ears.

I governed myself as well as I could while I followed Mr. Summerville through the halls and winding galleries. Down flights of steps, through passages and lobbys we went, until at last we landed in the cellar. There Mr. Summerville surrendered me to the care of a Mr. Monkton, the bar-keeper of the establishment duly appointed and fitted for the office of slave-whipping.

"Here," said Mr. Summerville, "give this girl a good, genteel whipping; but no cruelty, Monkton, and here is your fee;" so saying he handed him a half-dollar, then left the dismal cellar.

I have since read long and learned accounts of the gloomy, subterranean cells, in which the cruel ministers of the Spanish Inquisition performed their horrible deeds; and I think this cellar very nearly resembled them. There it was, with its low, damp, vault-like roof; its unwholesome air, earthen floor, covered with broken wine bottles, and oyster cans, the debris of many a wild night's revel! There stood the monster Monkton, with his fierce, lynx eye, his profuse black beard, and frousy brows; a great, stalwart man, of a hard face and manner, forming no bad picture of those wolfish inquisitors of cruel, Catholic Spain!

Over this untempting scene a dim, waning lamp, threw its blue glare, only rendering the place more hideous.

"Now, girl, I am to lick you well. You see the half-dollar. Well, I'm to git the worth of it out of your hide. Now, what would you think if I didn't give you a single lick?"

I looked him full in the face, and even by that equivocal light I had power to discern his horrid purpose, and I quickly and proudly replied,

"I should think you did your duty poorly."

"And why?"

"Because you engaged to do the job, and even received your pay in advance; therefore, if you fail to comply with your bargain, you are not trustworthy."

"Wal, you're smart enough for a lawyer."

"Well, attend to your business."

"This is my business," and he held up a stout wagon-whip; "come, strip off."

"That is not a part of the contract."

"Yes; but it's the way I always whips 'em."

"You were not told to use me so, and I am not going to remove one article of my clothing."

"Yes, but you shall;" and he approached me, his wild eye glaring with a lascivious light, and the deep passion-spot blazing on his cheek.

"Girl, you've got to yield to me. I'll have you now, if it's only to show you that I can."

I drew back a few steps, and, seizing a broken bottle, waited, with a deadly purpose, to see what he would do. He came so near that I almost fancied his fetid breath played with its damnable heat upon my very cheek.

"You've got to be mine. I'll give you a fine calico dress, and a pretty pair of ear-bobs!"

This was too much for further endurance. What! must I give up the angel-sealed honor of my life in traffic for trinkets? Where is the woman that would not have hotly resented such an insult?

I turned upon him like a hungry lioness, and just as his wanton hand was about to be laid upon me, I dexterously aimed, and hurled the bottle directly against his left temple. With a low cry of pain he fell to the floor, and the blood oozed freely from the wound.

As my first impression was that I had slain him, so was it my first desperate impulse to kill myself; yet with a second thought came my better intention, and, unlocking the door, I turned and left the gloomy cell. I mounted the dust-covered steps, and rapidly threaded silent, spider festooned halls, until I regained the upper courts. How beautiful seemed the full gush of day-light to me! But the heavy weight of a supposed crime bowed me to the earth.

My first idea was to proceed directly to Mr. Summerville's apartment and make a truthful statement of the affair. What he would do or have done to me was a matter upon which I had expended no thought. My apprehension was altogether for the safety of my soul. Homicide was so fearful a thing, that even when committed in actual self-defence, I feared for the justice of it. The Divine interrogatory made to Cain rang with painful accuracy in my mental ear! "Am I my brother's keeper?" I repeated it again and again, and I lived years in the brief space of a moment. Away over the trackless void of the future fled imagination, painting all things and scenes with a sombre color.

The first recognizable person whom I met was Mr. Winston. I knew there was but little to hope for from him, for ever since the argument between himself and Mr. Trueman, he had appeared unusually haughty; and the waiters said that he had become excessively overbearing, that he was constantly knocking them around with his gold-headed cane, and swearing that Kentucky slaves were almost as bad as Northern free negroes.

Henry (who had become a most dear friend of mine) told me that Mr. Winston had on one or two occasions, without the slightest provocation, struck him severely over the head; but these things were pretty generally done in the presence of Mr. Trueman, and for no higher object, I honestly believe, than to annoy that pure-souled philanthropist. So I was assured that he was not one to entrust with my secret, especially as a great intimacy had sprung up between him and Miss Jane. I, therefore, hastily passed him, and a few steps on met Mr. Trueman. How serene appeared his chaste, marble face! Who that looked upon him, with his quiet, reflective eye, but knew that an angel sat enthroned within his bosom? Do not such faces help to prove the perfectibility of the race? If, as the transcendentalists believe, these noble characters are only types of what the whole man will be, may we not expect much from the advent of that dubious personage?

"Mr. Trueman," I said, and my voice was clear and unfaltering, for something in his face and manner exorcised all fear, "I have done a fearful deed."

"What, child?" he asked, and his eye was full of solicitude.

I then gave him a hurried account of what had occurred in the cellar. After a slight pause, he said:

"The best thing for you to do will be to make instant confession to Mr. Summerville. Alas! I fear it will go hard with you, for you are a slave."

I thanked him for the interest he had manifested in me, and passed on to Miss Jane's room. I paused one moment at the door, before turning the knob. What a variety of feelings were at work in my breast! Had I a fellow-creature's blood upon my hands? I trembled in every limb, but at length controlled myself sufficiently to enter.

There sat Miss Jane, engaged at her crochet-work, and Master William playing with the balls of cotton and silk in her little basket.

"Well, Ann, I trust you've got your just deserts, a good whipping," said Miss Jane, as she fixed her eyes upon me.

Very calmly I related all that had occurred. Mr. Summerville sprang to his feet and rushed from the room, whilst Miss Jane set up a series of screams loud enough to reach the most distant part of the house. All my services were required to keep her from swooning, or affecting to swoon.

The ladies from the adjoining rooms rushed in to her assistance, and were soon busy chafing her hands, rubbing her feet, and bathing her temples.

"Isn't this terrible!" ejaculated one.

"What is the matter?" cried another.

"Poor creature, she is hysterical," was the explanation of a third.

I endeavored to explain the cause of Miss Jane's excitement.

"You did right," said one lady, whose truly womanly spirit burst through all conventionality and restraint.

"What," said one, a genuine Southern conservative, "do you say it was right for a slave to oppose and resist the punishment which her master had directed?"

"Certainly not; but it was right for a female, no matter whether white or black, to resist, even to the shedding of blood, the lascivious advances of a bold libertine."

"Do you believe the girl's story?"

"Yes; why not?"

"I don't; it bears the impress of falsehood on its very face."

"No," added another Kentucky true-blue, "Mr. Monkton was going to whip her, and she resisted him. That's the correct version of the story, I'll bet my life on it."

To all of this aspersion upon myself, I was bound to be a silent auditor, yet ever obeying their slightest order to hand them water, cologne, &c. Is not this slavery indeed?

When Mr. Summerville left the room, he hastily repaired to the bar, where he made the story known, and getting assistance, forthwith went to the cellar, Mr. Winston forming one of the party of investigation. His Southern prejudices were instantly aroused, and he was ready "to do or die" for the propogation of the "peculiar institution."

The result of their trip was to find Monkton very feeble from the loss of blood, and suffering from the cut made by the broken bottle, but with enough life left in him for the fabrication of a falsehood, which was of course believed, as he had a white face. He stated that he had proceeded to the administration of the whipping, directed by my master; that I resisted him; and finding it necessary to bind me, he was attempting to do so, when I swore that I would kill him, and that suiting the action to the word, I hurled the broken bottle at his temples.

When Mr. Summerville repeated this to Miss Jane, in my presence, stating that it was the testimony that Monkton was prepared to give in open court, for I was to be arrested, I could not refrain from uttering a cry of surprise, and saying:

"Mr. Monkton has misrepresented the case, as 'I can show.'"

"Yes, but you will not be allowed to give evidence," said Master William.

"Will Mr. Monkton's testimony be taken?" I inquired.

"Certainly, but a negro cannot bear witness against a white person."

I said nothing, but many thoughts were troubling me.

"You see, Ann, what your bad conduct has brought you to," said Miss Jane.

Again I attempted to tell the facts of the case, and defend myself, but she interrupted me, saying:

"Do you suppose I believe a word of that? I can assure you I do not, and, moreover, I'm not going to spend my money to have a lawyer employed to keep you from the punishment you so richly deserve. So you must content yourself to take the public hanging or whipping in the jail yard, which is the penalty that will be affixed to your crime." Turning to Mr. Summerville, she added, "I think it will do Ann good, for it will take down her pride, and make her a valuable nigger. She has been too proud of her character; for my part, I had rather she had had less virtue. I've always thought she was virtuous because she did not want us to increase in property, and was too proud to have her children live in bondage."

I dared not make any remark; but there I stood in dread of the approaching arrest, which came full soon.

As I was sewing for Miss Jane, Mr. Summerville opened the door, and said to a rough man, pointing to me—

"There's the girl."

"Come along with me to jail, gal."

How fearfully sounded the command. The jail-house was a place of terror, and though I had in my brief life "supped full of horrors," this was a new species of torture that I had hoped to leave untasted.

Taking with me nothing but my bonnet, I followed Constable Calcraft down stairs into the street. Upon one of the landings I met Henry, and I knew from his kindly mournful glance, that he gave me all his compassion.

"Good-bye, Ann," he said, extending his hand to me, "good-bye, and keep of good cheer; the Lord will be with you." I looked at him, and saw that his lip was quivering; and his dark eye glittered with a furtive tear. I dared not trust my voice, so, with a grateful pressure of the hand, I passed him by, keeping up my composure right stoutly. At the foot of the stair I met Louise, who was weeping.

"I believe you, Ann, we all believe you, and the Lord will make it appear on the day of your trial that you are right, only keep up your spirits, and read this," and she slipped a little pocket-Testament into my hand, which was a welcome present.

Now, I thought, the last trial is over. All the tender ones who love me have spoken their comforting words, and I may resume my pride and hauteur; but no—standing within the vestibule was the man whom I reverenced above all others, Mr. Trueman. One effort more, and then I might be calm; but before the sunshine of his kindliness the snow and ice of my pride melted and passed away in showers of tears. The first glance of his pitying countenance made me weep. I was weary and heavy-laden, and, even as to a mortal brother, I longed to pour into his ear the pent-up agony of my soul.

"Poor girl," he said kindly, as he offered me his white and finely-formed hand, "I believe you innocent; there is that in your clear, womanly look, your unaffected utterance, that proves to me you are worthy to be heard. Trust in God."

Oh, can I ever forget the diamond-like glister of his blue eyes! and that tear was evoked from its fountain for my sorrow; even then I felt a thrill of joy. We love to have the sympathy and confidence of the truly great. I made no reply, in words, to Mr. Trueman, but he understood me.

Conducted by the constable, I passed through a number of streets, all crowded with the busy and active, perhaps the happy. Ah, what a fable that word seemed to express! I used to doubt every smiling face I saw, and think it a radiant lie! but, since then, though in a subdued sense, I have learned that mortals may be happy.

We stopped, after a long walk, in front of a large building of Ionic architecture, and of dark brown stone, ornamented by beautiful flutings, with a tasteful slope of rich sward in front, adorned with a variety of flowers and shrubbery. Through this we passed and reached the first court, which was surrounded by a high stone-wall. Passing through a low door-way, we stood on the first pave; here I was surrendered to the keeping of the jailer, a man apparently devoid of generosity and humanity. After hearing from Constable Calcraft an account of the crime for which I was committed, he observed—

"A sassy, impudent, onruly gal, I guess; we have plenty sich; this will larn her a lessin. Come with me," he said, as he turned his besotted face toward me.

Through dirty, dark, filthy passages I went, until we reached a gloomy, loathsome apartment, in which he rudely thrust me, saying—

"Thar's your quarters."

Such a place as it was! A small room of six by eight, with a dirty, discolored floor, over which rats and mice scampered ad libitum. One miserable little iron grate let in a stray ray of daylight, only revealing those loathsome things which the friendly darkness would have concealed. Cowering in the corner of this wretched pen was a poor, neglected white woman, whose face seemed unacquainted with soap and water, and her hair tagged, ragged, and unused to comb or brush. She clasped to her breast a weasly suckling, that every now and then gave a sickly cry, indicative of the cholic or a heated atmosphere.

"Poor comfort!" said the woman, as I entered, "poor comfort here, whare the starved wretches are cryin' for ar. My baby has bin a sinkin' ever sense I come here. I'd not keer much if we could both die."

"For what are you to be tried?"

"For takin' a loaf of bread to keep myself and child from starvin'."

She then asked me for what I stood accused. I told her my story, and we grew quite talkative and sociable, thereby realizing the old axiom, "Misery loves company."

* * * * * * *

For several days I lingered on thus, diversifying the time only by reading my Testament, the gift of Louise, and occasionally having a long talk with my companion, whom I learned to address by the name of Fanny. She was a woman of remarkably sensitive feelings, quick and warm in all her impulses; just such a creature as an education and kindly training would have made lovely and lovable; but she had been utterly neglected—had grown up a complete human weed.

Our meals were served round to us upon a large wooden drawer, as filthy as dirt and grease could make it. The cuisine dashed our rations, a slice of fat bacon and "pone" of corn bread to us, with as little ceremony as though we had been dogs; and we were allowed one blanket to sleep on.

One day, when I felt more than usually gloomy, I was agreeably disappointed, as the cumbersome door opened to admit my kind friend Louise. The jailer remarked:

"You may stay about a quarter of an hour, but no longer."

"Thank you, sir," she replied.

"This is very kind of you, Louise," for I was touched by the visit.

"I wanted to see you, Ann; and look what I brought you!" She held a beautiful bouquet to me.

"Thank you, thank you a thousand times, this is too kind," I said, as I watered the lovely flowers with my tears.

"Oh, they were sent to you," she answered, with a smile.

"And who sent them?"

"Why, Henry, of course;" and again she smiled.

I know not why, but I felt the blood rushing warmly to my face, as I bent my head very low, to conceal a confusion which I did not understand.

"But here is something that I did bring you," and, opening a basket, she drew out a nice, tempting pie, some very delicious fruit cake, and white bread.

"I suppose your fare is miserable?"

"Oh, worse than miserable."

Fanny drew near me, and without the least timidity, stretched forth her hand.

"Oh, please give me some, only a little; I'm nearly starved?"

I freely gave her the larger portion, for she could enjoy it. I had the flowers, the blessed flowers, that Henry had sent, and they were food and drink for me!

Louise informed me that, since my arrest, she had cleared up and arranged Miss Jane's room; and she thought it was Mr. Summerville's intention to sell me after the trial.

"Have you heard who will buy me?" I asked.

"Oh, no, I don't suppose an offer has yet been made; nor do I know that it is their positive intention to sell you; but that is what I judged from their conversation."

"If they get me a good master I am very willing to be sold; for I could not find a worse home than I have now."

"I expect if he sells you, it will be to a trader; but, keep up your heart and spirits. Remember, 'sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.' But I hear the sound of footsteps; the jailer is coming; my quarter of an hour is out."

"How came he to admit you?"

"Oh, I know Mr. Trayton very well. I've washed for his wife, and she owes me a little bill of a couple of dollars; so when I came here, I said by way of a bait, 'Now, Mrs. Trayton, I didn't come to dun you, I'll make you a present of that little bill;' then she and he were both in a mighty good humor with me. I then said, 'I've got a friend here, and I'd take it as a favor if you'd let me see her for a little while.'"

"Mr. Trayton said:"

"'Oh, that can't be—it's against the rules.'"

"So his wife set to work, and persuaded him that he owed me a favor, and he consented to let me see you for a quarter of an hour only. Before he comes, tell me what message I am to give Henry for you. I know he will be anxious to hear."

Again I felt the blood tingling in my veins, and overspreading my face. I began to play with my flowers, and muttered out something about gratitude for the welcome present, a message which, incoherent as it was, her woman's wit knew to be sincere and gracious. After a few moments the jailer came, saying:

"Louise, your time is up."

"I am ready to go," and she took up her basket. After bidding me a kind adieu she departed, carrying with her much of the sunshine which her presence had brought, but not all of it, for she left with me a ray or so to illumine the darkened cell of recollection. There on my lap lay the blooming flowers, his gift! Flowers are always a joy to us—they gladden and beautify our outer and every-day life; they preach us a sermon of beauty and love; but to the weary, lonely captive, in his dismal cell, they are particularly beautiful! They speak to him in a voice which nothing else can, of the glory of the sun-lit world, from which he is exiled. Thanks to God for flowers! Rude, and coarse, and vile must be the nature that can trample them with unhallowed feet!

There I sat toying with them, inhaling their mystic odor, and luxuriating upon the delicacy of their ephemeral beauty. All flowers were dear to me; but these were particularly precious, and wherefore? Is there a single female heart that will not divine "the wherefore"? You, who are clad in satin, and decked with jewels, albeit your face is as white as snow, cannot boast of emotions different from ours? Feeling, emotion, is the same in the African and the white woman? We are made of the same clay, and informed by the same spirit.

The better portion of the night I sat there, sadly wakeful, still clutching those flowers to my breast, and covering them with kisses.

The heavy breathing of my companion sounded drowsily in my ear, yet never wooed me to a like repose. Thus wore on the best part of the night, until the small, shadowy hours, when I sank to a sweet dream. I was wandering in a rich garden of tropical flowers, with Henry by my side! Through enchanted gates we passed, hand in hand, singing as we went. Long and dreamily we loitered by low-gurgling summer fountains, listening to the lulling wail of falling water. Then we journeyed on toward a fairy flower-palace, that loomed up greenly in the distance, which ever, as we approached it, seemed to recede further.

I awoke before we reached the floral palace, and I am womanly enough to confess, that I felt annoyed that the dream had been broken by the cry of Fanny's babe. I puzzled myself trying to read its import. Are there many women who would have differed from me? Yet I was distressed to find Fanny's little boy-babe very sick, so much so as to require medical attention; but, alas! she was too poor to offer remuneration to a doctor, therefore none was sent for; and, as the child was attacked with croup, it actually died for the want of medical attention. And this occurred in a community boasting of its enlightenment and Christianity, and in a city where fifty-two churches reared their gilded domes and ornamented spires, in a God-fearing and God-serving community, proud of its benevolent societies, its hospitals, &c. In what, I ask, are these Christians better than the Pharisees of old, who prayed long, well, and much, in their splendid temples?