AN AWFUL REVELATION—MORE CLOUDS TO DARKEN THE SUN OF LIFE—SICKNESS AND BLESSED INSENSIBILITY. I slept uninterruptedly that night, and, on awaking in the morning, I was surprised to find it ten minutes past five. Hurrying on my clothes, I went to Miss Nancy's apartment, and was much surprised to find her sitting in her easy chair, her toilette made. Looking up from the Bible, which lay open on the stand before her, she said, "I have stolen a march, Ann, and have risen before you." "Yes, ma'm," replied I, in a mortified tone, "I am ten minutes behind the time; I am very sorry, and hope you will excuse me." "No apologies, now; I hope you do not take me for a cruel, exacting task-mistress, who requires every inch of your time." "No, indeed, I do not, for I know you to be the kindest mistress and best friend in the world." "And now, Ann, I will read some from the Lamentations of Jeremiah; and we will unite in family prayer." At the ringing of the little bell Biddy quickly appeared, and we seated ourselves near Miss Nancy, and listened to her beautiful voice as it broke forth in the plaintive eloquence of the holy prophet! "Let us pray," she said, fervently, extending her thin, white hands upward, and we all sank upon our knees. She prayed for grace to rest on the household; for its extension over the world; that it might visit the dark land of the South; that the blood of Christ might soften the hearts of slave-holders. She asked, in a special manner, for power to carry out her good intentions; prayed that the blessing of God might be given to me, in a particular manner, to enable me to meet the trials of life, and invoked benedictions upon Biddy. When we rose, both Biddy and I were weeping; and as we left her, Biddy broke forth in all her Irish enthusiasm, "The Lord love her heart! but she is sanctified! I never heard a prettier prayer said in the Cathedral!" * * * * * Miss Nancy's health improved a great deal. She began to walk of evenings through the yard, and a little in the city. I always attended her. Of mornings we rode in a carriage that she hired for the occasion, and of evenings Henry came, and always brought with him his banjo. One evening he and Louise came round to sit with me, and after we had been out upon the portico listening to Henry's songs, Miss Nancy bade me go to the sideboard and get some cake and wine. Placing it on the table in the dining-room, I invited them, in Miss Nancy's name, to come in and partake of it. After proposing the health of my kind Mistress, to which we all drank, Biddy joining in, Louise pledged a glass to the speedy ransom of Henry. Just then Miss Nancy entered, saying: "My good Henry, when you buy yourself, and find a home in the North, write us word where you have established yourself, and I will immediately make out Ann's free papers, and remove thither; but I cannot think of losing my good nurse. So, for her's, your's and my own convenience, I will take up my residence wherever you may settle. Stop now, Ann, no thanks; I know all about your gratitude, for I was a pleased, though unintentional listener to a conversation between yourself and Henry, in which I found out how deep is your attachment to me." Hers, then, was the sigh which had so alarmed me! It was all explained. I had no words to express my overflowing heart. My whole soul seemed melted. Henry's eyes were filled with grateful tears. He sank upon his knees and kissed the hem of Miss Nancy's dress. "No, no, my brave-hearted man, do not kneel to me. I am but the humble instrument under Heaven; and, oh, how often And so saying she glided out of the room. "Well," exclaimed Biddy, "she is more than a saint, she is an angel," and she wiped the tears from her honest eyes. "I have known her for some time," said Louise, "and never saw her do, or heard of her doing a wrong action. She is very different from her brother. Does he come here often, Ann?" "Not often; about once a fortnight." "He is too much taken up with business; hasn't a thought outside of his counting-room. He doesn't share in any of her philanthropic ideas." "She hasn't her equal on earth," added Henry. "Mr. Moodwell is a good man, though not good enough to be her brother." Thus passed away the evening, until the near approach of ten o'clock warned them to leave. I was too happy for sleep. Many a wakeful night had I passed from unhappiness, but now I was sleepless from joy. * * * * * * * The next morning, after Miss Nancy had breakfasted, I asked her what I should read to her. "Nothing this morning, Ann. I had rather you would talk with me. Let us arrange for the future; but first tell me how much money does Henry lack to buy himself?" "About one hundred dollars." "I think I can help him to make that up." "You have already done enough, dear Miss Nancy. We could not ask more of you." "No, but I am anxious to do all I can for you, my good girl. You are losing the greenest part of your lives. I feel that it is wrong for you to remain thus." Seeing that I was in an unusually calm mood, she asked me to tell her the story of my life, or at least the main incidents. I entered upon the narrative with the same fidelity that I have observed in writing these memoirs. At many points and scenes I observed her weeping bitterly. Fearing that the excitement When I came to the account of my meeting with Mr. Trueman, she bent eagerly forward, and asked if it was Justinian Trueman, of Boston. Upon my answering in the affirmative, she exclaimed: "How like him! The same noble, generous, disinterested spirit!" "Do you know him, Miss Nancy?" "Oh yes, child, he is one of our prominent Northern men, a very able lawyer; every one in the State of Massachusetts knows him by reputation, but I have a personal acquaintance also." Just as I was about to ask her something of Mr. Trueman's history, Biddy came running in, exclaiming: "Oh, dear me! Miss Nancy! what do you think? They say that Mr. Barkoff, the green grocer, has let his wife whip a colored woman to death." "Oh, it can't be true," cried Miss Nancy, as she started up from her chair. "It is, I trust, some slanderous piece of gossip." "Oh, the Lord love your saintly heart, but I do believe 'tis true, for, as I went down the street to market, I heard some awful screaming in there, and I asked a girl, standing on the pavement, what it meant; and she said Mrs. Barkoff was whipping a colored woman; then, when I came back there was a crowd of children and colored people round the back gate, and one of them told me the woman was dead, and that she died shouting." "Oh, God, how fearful is this!" exclaimed Miss Nancy, as the big tears rolled down her pale cheeks. "Give me, oh, sweet Jesus, the power to pray as Thou didst, to the Eternal Father, 'to forgive them, for they know not what they do!'" "Come, Ann," continued the impetuous Biddy, "you go with "I cannot leave Miss Nancy." "Yes, go with her, Ann; but don't allow her to say anything imprudent. Poor Biddy has such a good, philanthropic heart, that she forgets the patient spirit which Christianity inculcates." With a strange kind of awe, I followed Biddy through the streets, scarcely heeding her impassioned garrulity. The blood seemed freezing in my veins, and my teeth chattered as though it had been the depth of winter. As we drew near the place, I knew the house by the crowd that had gathered around the back and side gates. "Let us enter here," said Biddy, as she placed her hand upon the heavy plank gate at the back of the lot. "Stop, Biddy, stop," I gasped out, as I held on to the gate for support, "I feel that I shall suffocate. Give me one moment to get my breath." "Oh, Ann, you are only frightened," and she led me into the yard, where we found about a dozen persons, mostly colored. "Where is the woman that's been kilt?" inquired Biddy, of a mulatto girl. "She ain't quite dead. Pity she isn't out of her misery, poor soul," said the mulatto girl. "But where is she?" demanded Biddy. "Oh, in thar, the first room in the basement," and, half-led by Biddy, I passed in through a mean, damp, musty basement. The noxious atmosphere almost stifled us. Turning to the left as directed, we entered a low, comfortless room, with brick walls and floor. Upon a pile of straw, in this wretched place, lay a bleeding, torn, mangled body, with scarcely life in it. Two colored women were bathing the wounds and wrapping greased cloths round the body. I listened to her pitiful groans, until I thought my forbearance would fail me. "Poor soul!" said one of the colored women, "she has had "Whar is de white folks?" asked another. "Oh, dey is skeered, an' done run off an' hid up stairs." "Who done it?" "Why, Miss Barkoff; she put Aunt Kaisy to clean de harth, an' you see, de poor ole critter had a broken arm. De white folks broke it once when dey was beatin' of her, and so she couldn't work fast. Well den, too, she'd been right sick for long time. You see she was right sickly like, an' when Miss Barkoff come back—she'd only bin gone a little while—an' see'd dat de harth wasn't done, she fell to beatin' of de poor ole sick critter, an' den bekase she cried an' hollered, she tuck her into de coal-house, gagged her mouth, tied her hands an' feet, an' fell to beatin' of her, an' she beat her till she got tired, den ole Barkoff beat her till he got satisfied. Den some colored person seed him, an' tole him dat he better stop, for Aunt Kaisy was most gone." "Yes, 'twas me," said the other woman, "I was passin' 'long at de back of de lot, an' I hearn a mighty quare noise, so I jist looked through the crack, an' there I seed him a beatin' of her, an' I hollered to him to stop, for de Lor' sake, or she would die right dar. Den he got skeered an' run off in de house." The narration was here interrupted by a fearful groan from the sufferer. One of the women very gently turned her over, with her face full toward me. Oh, God have mercy on me! In those worn, bruised anguish-marked features, in the glance of that failing, filmy eye, I recognized my long-lost mother! With one loud shriek I fell down beside her! After years of bitter separation, thus to meet! Oh that the recollection had faded from my mind, but no, that awful sight is ever before my eyes! I see her, even now, as there she lay bleeding to death! Oh that I had been spared the knowledge of it! There was the same mark upon the brow, and, I suppose, My frantic screams soon drew a crowd of persons to the room. My mother, my dear, suffering mother, unclosed her eyes, and, by that peculiar mesmerism belonging to all mothers, she knew it was her child whose arms were around her. "Ann, is it you?" she asked feebly. "Yes, mother, it is I; but, oh, how do I find you!" "Never mind me, child, I feel that I shall soon be at peace! 'Tis for you that I am anxious. Have you a good home?" "Yes; oh, that you had had such!" "Thank God for that. You are a woman now, I think; but I am growing blind, or it is getting dark so fast that I cannot see you. Here, here, hold me Ann, child, hold me close to you, I am going through the floor, sinking, sinking down. Catch me, catch me, hold me! It is dark; I can't see you, where, where are you?" "Here, mother, here, I am close to you." "Where, child, I can't see you; here catch me;" and, suddenly springing up as if to grasp something, she fell back upon the straw——a corpse! After such a separation, this was our meeting—and parting! I had hoped that life's bitterest drop had been tasted, but this was as "vinegar upon nitre." When I became conscious that the last spark of life was extinct in that beloved body, I gave myself up to the most delirious grief. As I looked upon that horrid, ghastly, mangled form, and thought it was my mother, who had been butchered by the whites, my very blood was turned to gall, and in this chaos of mind I lost the faculty of reason. * * * * * * * * When my consciousness returned I was lying on a bed in my room, the blinds of which were closed, and Miss Nancy was seated beside me, rubbing my hands with camphor. As I opened my eyes, they met her kind glance fixed earnestly upon me. "You are better, Ann," she said, in a low, gentle voice. I was too languid to reply; but closed my eyes again, with a faint smile. When I once more opened them I was alone, and through one shutter that had blown open, a bright ray of sunlight stole, and revealed to me the care and taste with which my room had been arranged. Fresh flowers in neat little vases adorned the mantel; and the cage, containing Miss Nancy's favorite canary, had been removed to my room. The music of this delightful songster broke gratefully upon my slowly awakening faculties. I rose from the bed, and seated myself in the large arm-chair. Passing my hand across my eyes, I attempted to recall the painful incidents of the last few days; and as that wretched death-bed rose upon my memory, the scalding tears rushed to my eyes, and I wept long, long, as though my head were turned to waters! Miss Nancy entered, and finding me in tears she said nothing; but turned and left the room. Shortly after, Biddy appeared with some nourishment, "Laws, Ann, but you have been dreadfully sick. You had fever, and talked out of your head. Henry was here every evening. He said that once afore, when you took the fevers, you was out of your head, just the same way. He brought you flowers; there they are in the vase," and she handed me two beautiful bouquets. In this pleasant way she talked on until I had satisfied the cravings of an empty stomach with the niceties she had brought me. That evening Henry came, and remained with me about half an hour. Miss Nancy warned him that it was not well to excite me much. So with considerable reluctance he shortened his visit. |