XLVII. PROSPERITY THE RESULT OF JUSTICE…

XLVII. PROSPERITY THE RESULT OF JUSTICE

TEN years have rolled into the past since the Rosebrook family-moved by a sense of right to enquire into the errors of a bad system of labour-resolved to try the working of a new scheme. There was to be no cutting, nor lashing, nor abusing with overburdening tasks. Education was to regulate the feelings, kindness to expand the sympathies, and justice to bind the affections and stimulate advancement. There were only some fifty negroes on the Rosebrook plantation, but its fame for raising great crops had resounded far and wide. Some planters said it "astonished everything," considering how much the Rosebrooks indulged their slaves. With a third less in number of hands, did they raise more and better cotton than their neighbours; and then everything was so neat and bright about the plantation, and everybody looked so cheerful and sprightly. When Rosebrook's cotton was sent into the market, factors said it was characteristic of his systemised negroes; and when his negroes rolled into the city, as they did on holidays, all brightened up with new clothes, everybody said-There were Rosebrook's dandy, fat, and saucy "niggers." And then the wise prophets, who had all along predicted that Rosebrook's project would never amount to much, said it was all owing to his lady, who was worth her weight in gold at managing negroes. And she did conceive the project, too; and her helping hand was felt like a quickening spring, giving new life to the physical being. That the influence might not be lost upon others of her sex in the same sphere of life, she was ever reasoning upon the result of female sympathy. She felt that, were it exercised properly, it could raise up the menial slave, awaken his inert energies, give him those moral guides which elevate his passive nature, and regenerate that manhood which provides for its own good.

They had promised their people that all children born at and after a given date should be free; that all those over sixty should be nominally free, the only restriction being the conditions imposed by the state law; that slaves under fifteen years of age, and able to do plantation work, should, during the ten years prescribed, be allowed for their extra labour at a given rate, and expected to have the sum of two hundred and fifty dollars set to their credit; that all prime people should be required to work a given number of hours, as per task, for master, beyond which they would be allotted a "patch" for cultivation, the products of which were entrusted to Rosebrook for sale, and the proceeds placed in missus' savings bank to their credit. The people had all fulfilled the required conditions ere the ten years expired; and a good round sum for extra earnings was found in the bank. The Rosebrooks kept faith with their slaves; and the happy result is, that Rosebrook, in addition to the moral security he has founded for the good of his people-and which security is a boon of protection between master and slave-has been doubly repaid by the difference in amount of product, the result of encouragement incited by his enlightened system. The family were bound in affection to their slaves; and the compact has given forth its peaceful products for a good end. Each slave being paid for his or her labour, there is no decline of energy, no disaffection, no clashing of interests, no petulant disobedience. Rosebrook finds his system the much better of the two. It has relieved him of a deal of care; he gets more work for less money; he laughs at his neighbours, who fail to raise as much cotton with double the number of negroes; and he knows that his negroes love instead of fear him. And yet, notwithstanding the proof he has produced, the whole district of planters look upon him with suspicion, consider him rather a dangerous innovator, and say, that while his foolish system cannot be other than precarious to the welfare of the state, time will prove it a monster fallacy.

A happy moment was it when the time rolled round, and the morning of the day upon which Rosebrook would proclaim the freedom of his people broke serenely forth. The cabins looked bright and airy, were sanded and whitewashed, and, surrounded by their neatly attired inhabitants, presented a picturesque appearance. It was to be a great gala-day, and the bright morning atmosphere seemed propitious of the event. Daddy Daniel had got a new set of shiny brass buttons put on his long blue coat, and an extremely broad white cravat for his neck. Daniel was a sort of lawgiver for the plantation, and sat in judgment over all cases brought before him, with great gravity of manner. As to his judgments, they were always pronounced with wondrous solemnity, and in accordance with what he conceived to be the most direct process of administering even-handed justice. Daddy was neither a democrat nor an unjust judge. Believing that it were better to forgive than inflict undue punishments, he would rather shame the transgressor, dismiss him with a firm admonition to do better, and bid him go, transgress no more!

Harry had prepared a new sermon for the eventful day; and with it he was to make his happy flock remember the duty which they would henceforth owe to those who had been their kind protectors, as well as the promoters of that system which would result in happier days. How vivid of happiness was that scene presented in the plantation church, where master and missus, surrounded by their faithful old slaves, who, with a patriarchal attachment, seemed to view them with reverence, sat listening to the fervent discourse of that once wretched slave, now, by kindness, made a man! Deep, soul-stirring, and affecting to tears, were the words of prayer with which that devout negro invoked the all-protecting hand of Almighty God, that he would guide master and slave through the troubles of this earthly stage, and receive them into his bosom. How in contrast with that waging of passion, and every element of evil that has its source in injustice, so rife of plantation life, was the picture here presented!

The service ended, Rosebrook addresses a few remarks to his people; after which they gather around him and pour forth their gratitude in genial sentiments. Old and young have a "Heaven save master!" for Rosebrook, and a "God bless missus!" for his noble-hearted lady, to whom they cling, shaking her hand with warmest affection.

How enviable to her sex is the position of that woman who labours for the fallen, and whose heart yields its kindred sympathy for the oppressed!

After congratulations and tokens of affection had been exchanged, master, missus, and the people-for such they now were-repaired to the green in front of the plantation mansion, where a sumptuous collation was spread out, to which all sat down in one harmonious circle. Then the festivities of the day-a 4th of July in miniature-ended with a gathering at Dad Daniel's cabin, where he profoundly laid down a system of rules for the future observance of the people.

Six months have passed under the new r‚gime; and Rosebrook, feeling that to require labour of his people for a sum much beneath its value must in time become a source from which evil results would flow, awarded them a just and adequate remuneration, and finds it work well. Harry had not been included among those who were enrolled as candidates for the enjoyment offered by the new system; but missus as well as master had confidentially promised him he should be free before many years, and with his family, if he desired, sent to Liberia, to work for the enlightenment of his fellow Africans. Harry was not altogether satisfied that the greater amount of labour to be done by him for the unfortunate of his race was beyond the southern democratic states of America; and, with this doubt instinctively before him, he was not restless for the consummation.

Some three months after the introduction of the new state of affairs, Dad Daniel was observed to have something weighing heavily on his mind. At times he was seen consulting seriously with Harry; but of the purport of these consultations no one, except themselves, was made acquainted. That very many venerable uncles and aunts were curious to know Daddy's secret contemplations was equally evident. At length Daniel called a meeting of his more aged and sagacious brethren, and with sage face made known his cherished project. Absalom and Uncle Cato listened with breathless suspense as the sage sayings fell from his lips. His brethren had all felt the sweet pleasures of justice, right, freedom, and kindness. "Well, den, broderin, is't 'um right in de sight ob de Lord, dat ye forgets dat broder what done so much fo'h ye body and ye soul too?"

"No, No! dat tisn't!" interrupted a dozen voices.

"Well, den!-I know'd, broderin, ye hab got da' bright spirit in ye, and wouldn't say 'twas!" Daniel continues, making a gesture with his left hand, as he raises the spectacles from his eyes with his right, and in his fervency lets them speed across the room. Daniel is only made conscious of his ecstasy when his broken eyes are returned to him. Turning to his brethren, he makes one of his very best apologies, and continues-"Dis ar poposition I'se gwine to put! And dat is, dat all ye broderin ere present put up somefin ob he arnin, and wid dat somefin, and what mas'r gib, too, we sarve dat geman what preach the gospel dat do 'em good wid 'e freedom for sef and family. Tain't right in de sight ob de Lor, nohow, to have preacher slave and congration free: I tell ye dat, my broderin, tain't!" With these sage remarks, Daddy Daniel concluded his proposition, leaned his body forward, spread his hands, and, his wrinkled face filled with comicality, waited the unanimous response which sounded forth in rapturous medley. Each one was to put in his mite, the preacher was to have a fund made up for him, which was to be placed in the hands of missus, and when sufficiently large (master will add his mite) be handed over for the freedom of the clergyman and his family. But missus, ever generous and watchful of their interests, had learned their intentions, and forestalled their kindness by herself setting them free, and leaving it to their own discretion to go where they will. There were many good men at the south-men whose care of their slaves constituted a bond of good faith; but they failed to carry out means for protecting the slave against the mendacity of the tyrant. None more than Harry had felt how implicated was the state for giving great power to tyrant democracy-that democracy giving him no common right under the laws of the land, unless, indeed, he could change his skin. Ardently as he was attached to the plantation and its people-much as he loved good master and missus, he would prefer a home in happy New England, a peaceful life among its liberty-loving people. To this end the Rosebrooks provided him with money, sent him to the land he had longed to live in. In Connecticut he has a neat and comfortable home, far from the cares of slave life; no bloodhounds seek him there, no cruel slave-dealer haunts his dreams. An intelligent family have grown up around him; their smiles make him happy; they welcome him as a father who will no more be torn from them and sold in a democratic slave mart. And, too, Harry is a hearty worker in the cause of freedom, preaches the gospel, and is the inventor of a system of education by which he hopes to elevate the fallen of his race. He has visited foreign lands, been listened to by dukes and nobles, and enlisted the sympathies of the lofty in the cause of the lowly. And while his appeals on behalf of his race are fervent and fiery, his expositions of the wrongs of slavery are equally fierce; but he is not ungrateful to the good master, whom he would elevate high above the cruel laws he is born and educated to observe. With gratitude and affection does he recur to the generous Rosebrooks; he would hold them forth as an example to the slave world, and emblazon their works on the pages of history, as proof of what can be done. Bright in his eventful life, was the day, when, about to take his departure from the slave world, he bid the Rosebrooks a long, long good by. He vividly remembers how hope seemed lighting up the prospect before him-how good missus shook his hand so motherly-how kindly she spoke to Jane, and how fondly she patted his little ones on the head. "The Rosebrooks," says our restored clergyman, "have nothing to fear save the laws of the state, which may one day make tyrranny crumble beneath its own burden."

XLVIII. IN WHICH THE FATE OF FRANCONIA IS SEEN

THE reader may remember that in a former chapter we left Annette and Franconia, in company of the stranger, on board the steamer for Wilmington, swiftly gliding on her course. Four bells struck as the surging craft cleared the headlands and shaped her course. The slender invalid, so neat of figure, and whose dress exhibited so much good taste, has been suddenly transformed into a delicate girl of some seventeen summers. As night spreads its shadows over the briny scene, and the steaming craft surges onward over rolling swells, this delicate girl may be seen emerging from her cabin confines, leaning on Franconia's arm as she approaches the promenade deck. Her fawn-coloured dress, setting as neatly as it is chastefully cut, displays a rounded form nicely compact; and, together with a drawn bonnet of green silk, simply arranged, and adding to her fair oval face an air of peculiar delicacy, present her with personal attractions of no ordinary character. And then her soft blue eyes, and her almost golden hair, hanging in thick wavy folds over her carnatic cheeks, add to the symmetry of her features that sweetness which makes modesty more fascinating. And though she has been but a slave, there is a glow of gentleness pervading her countenance, over which a playful smile now sheds a glow of vivacity, as if awakening within her bosom new hopes of the future.

The suddenness with which they embarked served to confuse and dispel all traces of recognition; and even the stranger, as they advanced toward him, hesitated ere he greeted Annette and extended his hand. But they soon joined in conversation, promenaded and mingled with the passengers. Cautious not to enter the main cabin, they remained, supperless, on the upper deck, until near midnight. That social prejudice which acts like a crushing weight upon the slave's mind was no longer to deaden her faculties; no, she seemed like a new being, as, with childish simplicity, her soul bounded forth in rhapsody of praise and thankfulness. Holding Franconia by the hand, she would kiss her, fondle her head on her bosom, and continue to recount the pleasure she anticipated when meeting her long-lost mother. "They'll sell me no more, Franconia, will they?" she would exclaim, looking enquiringly in her face.

"No, my poor child; you won't be worth selling in a land of freedom!" Franconia would answer, jocosely. After charging Maxwell to be a father and a brother to the fugitive girl,--to remember that a double duty was to be performed in his guardianship over the being who had just escaped from slavery, they retired below, and on the following morning found themselves safely landed at Wilmington, where, after remaining about six hours, Franconia bid Annette and Maxwell adieu! saw them on their way to New York, and returned to Charleston by the same steamer.

On reaching her home, she was overjoyed at finding a letter from her parents, who, as set forth, had many years resided on the west coast of Mexico, and had amassed a considerable fortune through a connection with some mining operations. Lorenzo, on the first discovery of gold in California, having joined a marauding party who were traversing that country, was amongst the earliest who enriched themselves from its bountiful yield. They gave up their wild pursuits, and with energy and prudence stored-up their diggings, and resolved to lead a new life. With the result of one year's digging, Lorenzo repaired to San Francisco, entered upon a lucrative business, increased his fortune, and soon became a leading man of the place. The hope that at some day he would have means wherewith to return home, wipe away the stain which blotted his character, and relieve his parents from the troubles into which his follies had brought them, seemed like a guiding star ever before him. And then there was his generous-hearted uncle in the hands of Graspum,--that man who never lost an opportunity of enriching himself while distressing others. And now, by one of those singularities of fortune which give persons long separated a key to each other's wayfaring, Lorenzo had found out the residence of his parents on the west coast of Mexico. Yes; he was with them, enjoying the comforts of their domicile, at the date of their letter. How happy they would be to see their Franconia, to have her with them, and once more enjoy their social re-unions so pleasantly given on brother Marston's plantation! Numberless were the letters they had written her, but not an answer to one had been received. This had been to them a source of great misgiving; and as a last resource they had sent this letter enclosed to a friend, through whose kindness it reached her.

The happy intelligence brought by this letter so overjoyed Franconia that she could with difficulty restrain her feelings. Tears of gladness coursed down her cheeks, as she rested her head on Mrs. Rosebrook's bosom, saying, "Oh, how happy I am! Sweet is the forgiveness which awaits us,--strong is the hope that through darkness carries us into brighter prospects of the future." Her parents were yet alive-happy and prosperous; her brother, again an honourable man, and regretting that error which cost him many a tear, was with them. How inscrutable was the will of an all-wise Providence: but how just! To be ever sanguine, and hope for the best, is a passion none should be ashamed of, she thought. Thus elated in spirits she could not resist the temptation of seeking them out, and enjoying the comforts of their parental roof.

But we must here inform the reader that M'Carstrow no longer acted the part of a husband towards Franconia. His conduct as a debauchee had driven her to seek shelter under the roof of Rosebrook's cottage, while he, a degraded libertine, having wasted his living among cast-out gamblers, mingled only with their despicable society. Stripped of all arts and disguises, and presented in its best form, the result of Franconia's marriage with Colonel M'Carstrow was but one of those very many unhappy connections so characteristic of southern life.

Provided with funds which the generous Rosebrooks kindly furnished her, a fortnight after the receipt of her father's letter found her embarked on board a steamer bound for the Isthmus, from whence she would seek her parents overland. With earnest resolution she had taken a fond leave of the Rosebrooks, and bid adieu to that home and its associations so dear to her childhood; and with God and happy associations her guide and her protector, was bounding over the sea. For three days the gallant ship sped swiftly onward, and the passengers, among whom she made many friends, seemed to enjoy themselves with one accord, mingling together for various amusements, spreading their social influence for the good of all, and, with elated spirits at the bright prospect, anticipating a speedy voyage. All was bright, calm, and cheering-the monster machines working smoothly, pressing the leviathan forward with curling brine at her bows, until the afternoon of the fourth day, when the wind in sharp gusts from the south-west, and the sudden falling of the barometer, admonished the mariner of the approaching heavy weather. At sunset a heavy bank in the west hung its foreboding festoons along the horizon, while light, fleecy clouds gathered over the heavens, and scudded swiftly into the east. Steadily the wind increased, the sea became restless, and the sharp chops thundering at the weather bow, veering the ship from her course, rendering it necessary to keep her head a point nearer the westward, betokened a gale. To leeward were the Bahamas, their dangerous banks spreading awe among the passengers, and exciting the fears of the more timid. On the starboard bow was Key West, with its threatening and deceptive reefs, but far enough ahead to be out of danger. At midnight, the wind, which had increased to a gale, howled in threatening fierceness. Overhead, the leaden clouds hung low their massive folds, and thick spray buried the decks and rigging; beneath, the angry ocean spread out in resistless waves of phosphorous light, and the gallant craft surged to and fro like a thing of life on a plain of rolling fire. Now she yields to the monster wave threatening her bow, over another she rides proudly, and to a third her engines slowly rumble round, as with half-buried deck she careens to its force. The man at the wheel, whose head we see near a glimmering light at the stern, watches anxiously for the word of command, and when received, executes it with quickness. An intruding sea has driven the look-out from the knight-heads to a post at the funnel, where, near the foremast, he clings with tenacious grip. Near him is the first officer, a veteran seaman, who has seen some twenty years' service, receiving orders from the captain, who stands at the weather quarter. Noiselessly the men proceed to execute their duties. There is not that bustle nor display of seamanship, in preparing a steamer for encountering a gale, so necessary in a sailing-ship; and all, save the angry elements, move cautiously on. The engineer, in obedience to the captain's orders, has slowed his engines. The ship can make but little headway against the fierce sea; but still, obedient to her command, it is thought better to maintain power just sufficient to keep her head to the sea. The captain says it is necessary, as well to ease her working as not to strain her machinery. He is supposed the better judge, and to his counsel all give ear. Now and then a more resolute passenger shoots from no one knows where, holds struggling by the jerking shroud, and, wrapt in his storm cloak, his amazed eyes, watching the scudding elements overhead, peer out upon the raging sea: then he mutters, "What an awful sight! how madly grand with briny light!" How sublimely terrific are the elements here combined to wage war against the craft he thought safe from their thunders! She is but a pigmy in their devouring sweep, a feeble prey at their mercy. The starboard wheel rumbles as it turns far out of water; the larboard is buried in a deep sea the ship careens into. Through the fierce drear he sees the black funnel vomiting its fiery vapour high aloft; he hears the chain braces strain and creak in its support; he is jerked from his grasp, becomes alarmed for his safety, and suddenly disappears. In the cabin he tells his fellow voyagers how the storm rages fearfully: but it needed not his word to confirm the fact: the sudden lurching, creaking of panel-work, swinging to and fro of lamps, sliding from larboard to starboard of furniture, the thumping of the sea against the ship's sides, prostrate passengers made helpless by sea sickness, uncouched and distributed about the floor, moaning females, making those not ill sick with their wailings, timid passengers in piteous accents making their lamentations in state rooms, the half frightened waiter struggling timidly along, and the wind's mournful music as it plays through the shrouds, tell the tale but too forcibly. Hope, fear, and prayer, mingle in curious discord on board this seemingly forlorn ship on an angry sea. Franconia lies prostrate in her narrow berth, now bracing against the panels, then startled by an angry sea striking at her pillow, like death with his warning mallet announcing, "but sixteen inches separate us!"

Daylight dawns forth, much to the relief of mariners and passengers; but neither the wind nor the sea have lessened their fierceness. Slowly and steadily the engines work on; the good ship looks defiantly at each threatening sea, as it sweeps along irresistibly; the yards have been sent down, the topmasts are struck and housed; everything that can render her easy in a sea has been stowed to the snuggest compass; but the broad ocean is spread out a sheet of raging foam. The drenched captain, his whiskers matted with saline, and his face glowing and flushed (he has stood the deck all night), may be seen in the main cabin, cheering and dispelling the fears of his passengers. The storm cannot last-the wind will soon lull-the sea at meridian will be as calm as any mill-pond-he has seen a thousand worse gales; so says the mariner, who will pledge his prophecy on his twenty years' experience. But in this one instance his prophecy failed, for at noon the gale had increased to a hurricane, the ship laboured fearfully, the engines strained and worked unsteadily, while the sea at intervals made a breach of the deck. At two o'clock a more gloomy spectacle presented itself; and despondency seemed to have seized all on board, as a sharp, cone-like sea boarded the ship abaft, carried away the quarter-boats from the starboard davys, and started several stancheons. Scarcely was the work of destruction complete, when the condenser of the larboard engine gave out, rendering the machine useless, and spreading dismay among the passengers. Thus, dragging the wheel in so fearful a sea strained the ship more and more, and rendered her almost unmanageable. Again a heavy, clanking noise was heard, the steam rumbled from the funnel, thick vapour escaped from the hatchways, the starboard engine stopped, and consternation reigned triumphant, as a man in oily fustian approached the captain and announced both engines disabled. The unmanageable monster now rolled and surged at the sweep of each succeeding sea, which threatened to engulph her in its sway. A piece of canvas is set in the main rigging, and her helm put hard down, in the hope of keeping her head to the wind. But she obeys not its direction. Suddenly she yaws off into the trough of the sea, lurches broad on, and ere she regains her way, a fierce sea sweeps the house from the decks, carrying those within it into a watery grave. Shrieks and moans, for a moment, mingle their painful discord with the murmuring wind, and all is buried in the roar of the elements. By bracing the fore-yard hard-a-starboard the unwieldy wreck is got before the wind; but the smoke-funnel has followed the house, and so complete is the work of demolition that it is with difficulty she can be kept afloat. Those who were in the main, or lower cabin, startled at the sudden crash which had removed the house above, and leaving the passages open, exposing them to the rushing water that invaded their state-rooms, seek the deck, where a more dismal sight is presented in the fragments of wreck spread from knight-head to taffrail. The anxious captain, having descended from the upper deck a few minutes before the dire calamity, is saved to his passengers, with whom and his men he labours to make safe what remains of his noble ship. Now more at ease in the sea, with canvas brought from the store-rooms, are the hatches and companions battened down, the splintered stancheons cleared away, and extra pumps prepared for clearing the water fast gaining in the lower hold. Lumbering moves the heavy mass over the mounting surge; but a serious leak having sprung in the bow, consternation and alarm seem on the point of adding to the sources of danger. "Coolness is our safeguard," says the captain. Indeed, the exercise of that all-important virtue when destruction threatens would have saved thousands from watery graves.

His admonition was heeded,--all worked cheerfully, and for some time the water was kept within bounds of subjection. As night approached the sea became calmer, a bright streak gleamed along the western horizon; hearts that had sorrowed gladdened with joy, as the murky clouds overhead chased quickly into the east and dissolved, and the blue arch of heaven-hung with pearly stars of hope-shed its peaceful glows over the murmuring sea.

Again the night was passed in incessant labour of pumping and clearing up the dismantled hull; but when daylight appeared, the wind having veered and increased, the sea ran in short swells, rocking the unwieldly hull, and fearfully straining every timber in its frame. The leak now increased rapidly, as also did the water in the hold, now beyond their exertions to clear. At ten o'clock all hopes of keeping the wreck afloat had disappeared; and the last alternative of a watery grave, or launching upon the broad ocean, presented its stern terms for their acceptance. A council decided to adopt the latter, when, as the hulk began to settle in the sea, and with no little danger of swamping, boats were launched, supplied with such stores as were at hand, the passengers and crew embarked, and the frail barks sent away with their hapless freight to seek a haven of safety. The leviathan hulk soon disappeared from sight. Franconia, with twenty-five fellow unfortunates, five of whom were females, had embarked in the mate's boat, which now shaped her course for Nassau, the wind having veered into the north-west, and that seeming the nearest and most available point. The clothing they stood in was all they saved; but with that readiness to protect the female, so characteristic and noble of the sailor, the mate and his men lightened the sufferings of the women by giving them a portion of their own: incasing them with their jackets and fearnoughts, they would shield them from the night chill. For five days were sufferings endured without a murmur that can only be appreciated by those who have passed through shipwreck, or, tossed upon the ocean in an open boat, been left to stare in the face grim hunger and death. At noonday they sighted land ahead; and as each eager eye strained for the welcome sight, it seemed rising from the ocean in a dim line of haze. Slowly, as they neared, did it come bolder and bolder to view, until it shone out a long belt of white panoramic banks. Low, and to the unpractised eye deceptive of distance, the mate pronounced it not many miles off, and, the wind freshening fair, kept the little bark steadily on her course, hoping thereby to gain it before night came on: but the sun sank in a heavy cloud when yet some four miles intervened. Distinctly they saw a cluster of houses on a projecting point nearly ahead; but not a sail was off shore, to which the increasing wind was driving them with great violence.

And now that object which had been sighted with so much welcome in the morning-that had cheered many a drooping heart, and seemed a haven of safety, threatened their destruction. The water shoaled; the sea broke and surged in sharp cones; the little craft tippled and yawed confusedly; the counter eddies twirled and whirled in foaming concaves; and leaden clouds again hung their threatening festoons over the awful sea. To lay her head to the sea was impracticable-an attempt to "lay-to" under the little sail would be madness; onward she rode, hurrying to an inevitable fate. Away she swept through the white crests, as the wind murmured and the sea roared, and the anxious countenance of the mate, still guiding the craft with a steady hand, seemed masked in watchfulness. His hand remained firm to the helm, his eyes peered into the black prospect ahead: but not a word did he utter.

It was near ten o'clock, when a noise as of thunder rolling in the distance, and re-echoing in booming accents, broke fearfully upon their ears. The sea, every moment threatening to engulph the little craft, to sweep its freight of human beings into eternity, and to seal for ever all traces of their fate, was now the lesser enemy. Not a word had escaped the lips of a being on board for several minutes; all seemed resigned to whatever fate Providence awarded.

"The beach roars, Mr. Slade-"

The mate interrupted before the seaman in the sheets had time to finish his sentence: "I have not been deaf to the breakers; but there is no hope for us but upon the beach; and may heaven save us there! Passengers, be calm! let me enjoin you to remain firm to your places, and, if it be God's will that we strike, the curling surf may be our deliverer. If it carry you to the sand in its sweep, press quickly and resolutely forward, lest it drag you back in its grasp, and bury you beneath its angry surge. Be firm, and hope for the best!" he said, with great firmness. The man who first spoke sat near Franconia, and during the five days they had been in the boat exhibited great sympathy and kindness of heart. He had served her with food, and, though a common sailor, displayed those traits of tenderness for the suffering which it were well if those in higher spheres of life did but imitate. As the mate ceased speaking, the man took his pilot coat from his shoulder and placed it about Franconia's, saying, "I will save this lady, or die with her in the very same sea."

"That's well done, Mr. Higgins!" (for such was the man's name). "Let the hardiest not forget the females who have shown so much fortitude under trying circumstances; let the strong not forget the weak, but all save who can," returned the mate, as he scanned through the stormy elements ahead, in the hope of catching a glimpse of the point.

Drenched with the briny spray that swept over the little bark, never did woman exhibit fortitude more resolute. Franconia thanked the man for his solicitude, laid her hand nervously upon his arm, and, through the dark, watched his countenance as if her fate was in its changes.

The din and murmur of the surf now rose high above the wail of the sea. Fearful and gloomy, a fretted shore stood out before them, extending from a bold jut on the starboard hand away into the darkness on the left. Beneath it the angry surf beat and lashed against the beach in a sheet of white foam, roaring in dismal cadences.

"Hadn't you better put her broad on, Mr. Slade?" enquired the young seaman, peering along the line of surf that bordered the shore with its deluging bank.

"Ask no questions!" returned the mate, in a firm voice: "Act to the moment, when she strikes-I will act until then." At the moment a terrific rumbling broke forth; the din of elements seemed in battle conflict; the little bark, as if by some unforeseen force, swept through the lashing surge, over a high curling wave, and with a fearful crash lay buried in the boiling sand. Agonising shrieks sounded amid the rage of elements; and then fainter and fainter they died away on the wind's murmurs. Another moment, and the young sailor might have been seen, Franconia's slender form in his arms, struggling against the devouring surf; but how vain against the fierce monster were his noble efforts! The receding surge swept them far from the shore, and buried them in its folds,--a watery grave received the fair form of one whose life of love had been spotless, just, and holy. The white wave was her winding-sheet,--the wind sang a requiem over her watery grave,--and a just God received her spirit, and enthroned it high among the angels.

Of the twenty-seven who embarked in the little craft, but two gained the beach, where they stood drenched and forlorn, as if contemplating the raging surf that had but a minute before swallowed up their fellow voyagers. The boat had driven on a flat sandy beach some two miles from the point on which stood the cluster of dwellings before described; and from which two bright lights glimmered, like beacons to guide the forlorn mariner. For them, the escaped men-one a passenger, the other a seaman-shaped their course, wet, and sad at heart.

XLIX. IN WHICH IS A SAD RECOGNITION

THE mate did not mistake his position, for the jut of land we described in the last chapter is but a few hours' ride from Nassau, and the houses are inhabited by wreckers. With desponding hearts did our unfortunates approach one of the rude cabins, from the window of which a faint light glimmered, and hesitate at the door, as if doubting the reception they were about to receive. The roaring of the beach, and the sharp whistling of the wind, as in clouds it scattered the sand through the air, drowned what sound might otherwise be heard from within. "This cabin seems deserted," says one, as he taps on the door a second time. "No, that cannot be!" returns the other, peering through a small window into the barrack-like room. It was from this window the light shone, and, being a bleak November night, a wood fire blazed on the great hearth, shedding its lurid glows over everything around. It is the pale, saline light of wreckwood. A large binnacle lamp, of copper, hung from the centre of the ceiling, its murky light mingling in curious contrast to the pale shadows of the wreckwood fire. Rude chains, and chests, and boxes, and ropes, and canvas, and broken bolts of copper, and pieces of valuable wood, and various nautical relics-all indicating the trade of shipwreck, lie or stand promiscuously about the room; while in the centre is a table surrounded by chairs, some of which are turned aside, as if the occupants had just left. Again, there may be seen hanging from the unplastered walls numerous teeth of fish, bones and jaws of sharks, fins and flukes of curious species, heads of the Floridian mamalukes, and preserved dolphins-all is interspersed here and there with coloured prints, illustrative of Jack's leaving or returning to his favourite Mary, with a lingering farewell or fond embrace.

Louder and louder, assured of some living being within they knock at the door, until a hoarse voice rather roars than speaks-"Aye, aye! hold hard a bit! I'se bearin' a hand!" The sound came as if from the clouds, for not a living being was visible. A pause followed; then suddenly a pair of dingy legs and feet descended from a small opening above the window, which, until that moment, had escaped their notice. The sight was, indeed, not the most encouraging to weak nerves. Clumsily lowered the legs, the feet making a ladder of cleets of wood nailed to the window, until the burly figure of the wrecker, encased with red shirt and blue trousers, stood out full to view. Over his head stood bristly hair in jagged tufts; and as he drew his brawny hand over the broad disc of his sun-scorched face, winking and twisting his eyes in the glare, there stood boldly outlined on his features the index of his profession. He shrugged his shoulders, gathered his nether garments quickly about him, paused as if half confused and half overjoyed, then ran to the fire-place, threw into a heap the charred wood with a long wooden poker, and sought the door, saying--"Avast heavin a bit, Tom!" Having removed a wooden bar, he stands in the opening, braving out the storm. "A screachin nor'easter this, Tom--what'r ye sighted away, eh!" he concludes. He is--to use a vulgar term--aghast with surprise. It was Tom Dasher's watch to-night; but no Tom stands before him. "Hallo!--From whence came you?" he enquires of the stranger, with an air of anxious surprise. He bids them come in, for the wind carries the sand rushing into his domicile.

"We are shipwrecked men in distress," says the passenger--the wrecker, with an air of kindness, motioning them to sit down: "Our party have been swallowed up in the surf a short distance below, and we are the only survivors here seeking shelter."

"Zounds you say--God be merciful!" interrupts the hardy wrecker, ere the stranger had time to finish his sentence. "It was Tom's look-out to-night. Its ollers the way wi' him--he gits turned in, and sleeps as niver a body see'd, and when time comes to unbunk himself, one disn't know whether 'ts wind or Tom's snoarin cracks hardest. Well, well,--God help us! Think ye now, if wife and I, didn't, in a half sort of dream, fancy folks murmuring and crying on the beach about twelve, say. But the wind and the surf kept up such a piping, and Tom said ther war nought a sight at sundown." With a warm expression of good intention did our hardy host set about the preparing something to cheer their drooping spirits. "Be at home there wi' me," says he; "and if things b'nt as fine as they might be, remember we're poor folks, and have many a hard knock on the reefs for what we drag out. Excuse the bits o' things ye may see about; and wife 'll be down in a fip and do the vary best she can fo'h ye." He had a warm heart concealed beneath that rough exterior; he had long followed the daring profession, seen much suffering, lightened many a sorrowing heart. Bustling about among old boxes and bags, he soon drew forth a lot of blankets and quilts, which he spread upon the broad brick hearth, at the same time keeping up a series of questions they found difficult to answer, so rapidly were they put. They had indeed fallen into the hands of a good Samaritan, who would dress their wounds with his best balms.

"An' now I tak it ye must be famished; so my old woman must get up an' help mak ye comfortable," says he, bringing forth a black tea-kettle, and filling it from a pail that stood on a shelf near the fire-frame. He will hang it on the fire. He had no need of calling the good dame; for as suddenly as mysteriously does the chubby figure of a motherly-looking female of some forty years shoot from the before described opening, and greeting the strangers with a hearty welcome, set about preparing something to relieve their exhaustion. A gentle smile pervades her little red face, so simply expressive; her peaked cap shines so brightly in contrast with the black ribbon with which she secures it under her mole-bedecked chin; and her short homespun frock sets so comely, showing her thick knit stockings, and her feet well protected in calfskin laces, with heels a trooper might not despise; and then, she spreads her little table with a heartiness that adds its value to simple goodness,--her invitingly clean cups and saucers, and knives and forks, as she spreads them, look so cheerful. The kettle begins to sing, and the steam fumes from the spout, and the hardy wrecker brings his bottle of old Jamaica, and his sugar; and such a bowl of hot punch was never made before. "Come now," he says, "ye're in my little place; the wrecker as don't make the distressed comfortable aneath his ruf 's a disgrace to the craft." And now he hands each a mug of steaming punch, which they welcomely receive, a glow of satisfaction bespreading his face, telling with what sincerity he gives it. Ere they commenced sipping, the good dame brought pilot bread and set it before them; and while she returned to preparing her supper the wrecker draws his wooden seat by their side, and with ears attentive listens to the passenger as he recites the disaster.

"Only two out of twenty-seven saved-a sorry place that gulf!" he exclaims; "you bear away, wife. Ah, many a good body's bones, too, have whitened the beach beside us; many 's the bold fellow has been dashed upon it to die unknown," he continues, with serious face. "And war ner onny wemen amang ye, good man?" interposes the good dame.

"Seven; they have all passed into eternity!" rejoins the seaman, who, till then, had been a mute looker-on.

"Poor souls! how they mun' 'ave suffered!" she sighs, shaking her head, and leaning against the great fire frame, as her eyes fill with tears. The wrecker must needs acquaint Tom Dasher, bring him to his aid, and, though the storm yet rages, go search the beating surf where roll the unfortunates. Nay, the good dame will herself execute the errand of mercy, while he supplies the strangers with dry clothes; she will bring Tom hither. She fears not the tempest while her soul warms to do good; she will comfort the distressed who seek shelter under her roof. With the best his rough wardrobe affords does the wrecker clothe them, while his good wife, getting Tom up, relates her story, and hastens back with him to her domicile. Tom is an intrepid seafarer, has spent some seven years wrecking, saved many a life from the grasp of the grand Bahama, and laid up a good bit of money lest some stormy day may overtake him and make the wife a widow.

"This is a hard case, Stores!" says Tom, addressing himself to our wrecker, as with sharp, hairy face, and keen black eyes, his countenance assumes great seriousness. Giving his sou'-wester a cant back on his head, running his left hand deep into the pocket of his pea-jacket, and supplying his mouth with tobacco from his right, he stands his tall figure carelessly before the fire, and in a contemplative mood remains silent for a few minutes.

"Aye, but somethin' mun' be done, Tom," says the first wrecker, breaking silence.

"Yes; as my name is Tom Dasher, there must. We must go to the beach, and see what it's turned up,--what there is to be seen, an' the like o' that." Then, turning to the strangers, he continued, "Pity yer skipper hadn't a headed her two points further suthard, rounded the point just above here a bit, and made a lee under the bend. Our craft lies there now,--as snug as Tompkins' wife in her chamber!"

"Yes, but, Tom! ye dinna think as the poor folks could know all things," speaks up the woman, as Tom was about to add a few items more, merely to give the strangers some evidence of his skill.

"Aye, aye,--all right; I didn't get the balance on't just then," returned Tom, nodding his head with an air of satisfaction.

A nice supper of broiled fish, and toast, and tea, and hot rum punch-of which Tom helped himself without stint-was set out, the strangers invited to draw up, and all partook of the plain but cheering fare. As daylight was fast approaching, the two wreckers dispatched their meal before the others, and sought the spot on the beach described as where the fatal wreck took place, while the good dame put the shipwrecked to sleep in the attic, and covered them with her warmest rugs and blankets.

Not a vestige of the wreck was to be seen-not a fragment to mark the spot where but a few hours before twenty-five souls were hurried into eternity. They stood and stood, scanning over the angry ocean into the gloom: nothing save the wail of the wind and the sea's roar greeted their ears. Tom Dasher thinks either they have been borne out into the fathomless caves, or the men are knaves with false stories in their mouths.

Stores,--for such is our good man's name-turning from the spot, says daylight will disclose a different scene; with the wind as it is the bodies will be drawn into the eddy on the point, and thrown ashore by the under-current, for burial. "Poor creatures! there's no help for them now;" he adds, sighing, as they wend their way back to the cabin, where the good dame waits their coming. Their search was in vain; having no news to bring her, she must be contented until morning. If the bodies wash ashore, the good woman of the Humane Society will come down from the town, and see them decently buried. Stores has several times spoken of this good woman; were she a ministering angel he could not speak of her name with more reverence. For years, he tells us, has she been a harbinger of good, ever relieving the sick and needy, cheering the downcast, protecting the unfortunate. Her name has become a symbol of compassion; she mingles with the richest and the poorest, and none know her but to love and esteem her. "And she, too, is an American lady!" Stores says, exultingly. And to judge from his praise, we should say, if her many noble deeds were recorded on fair marble, it would not add one jot to that impression of her goodness made on the hearts of the people among whom she lives.

"Ah, man! she's a good woman, and everybody loves and looks up to her. And she's worth loving, too, because she's so kind," adds the good dame, significantly canting her head.

Daylight was now breaking in the east, and as there seemed no chance of making a search on the bank that day, such was the fierceness of the wind, the two men drank again of the punch, spread their blankets before the fire, lay their hardy figures down, and were soon in a profound sleep. The woman, more watchful, coiled herself in a corner of the room on some sail-cloth, but did not sleep.

At ten o'clock they were aroused by the neighbours, who, in great anxiety, had come to inform them of an event they were already conscious of,--adding, however, as an evidence of what had taken place, that sixteen male and three female bodies, borne to the rips at the point, had been thrown upon the shore. The denizens of the point were indeed in a state of excitement; a messenger had been sent into the town for the coroner, which said functionary soon spread the news about, creating no little commotion among the inhabitants, many of whom repaired to the scene of the disaster.

When it became known that two witnesses to the dire misfortune had been spared to tell the tale, and were now at Stores' house, the excitement calmed into sympathy. The wrecker's little village resounded with curious enquiries, and few were they who would be satisfied without a recital of the sad tale by the rescued men.

Carefully they brought the dead bodies from the shore, and laid them in an untenanted house, to await the coroner's order. Among them was the slender form of Franconia, the dark dress in which she was clad but little torn, and the rings yet remaining on her fingers. "How with fortitude she bore the suffering!" said the rescued passenger, gazing on her blanched features as they laid her on the floor: the wrecker's wife covered her with a white sheet, and spread a pillow carefully beneath her head.

"Yes!" returns the unfortunate seaman, who stood by his side, "she seemed of great goodness and gentleness. She said nothing, bore everything without a murmur; she was Higgins' pet; and I'll lay he died trying to save her, for never a braver fellow than Jack Higgins stood trick at a wheel."

The coroner arrives as the last corpse is brought from the sand: he holds his brief inquest, orders them buried, and retires. Soon, three ladies-Stores' wife tells us they are of the Humane Society-make their appearance in search of the deceased. They enter Stores' house, greet his good dame familiarly, and remain seated while she relates what has happened. One of the three is tall and stately of figure, and dressed with that quiet taste so becoming a lady. And while to the less observing eye no visible superiority over the others is discernible, it is evident they view her in such a light, always yielding to her counsels. Beneath a silk bonnet trimmed with great neatness, is disclosed a finely oval face, glowing with features of much regularity, large dark eyes of great softness, and silky hair, laid in heavy wavy folds across a beautifully arched brow-to which is added a sweet smile that ever and anon plays over her slightly olive countenance. There, boldly outlined, is the unmistakeable guide to a frank and gentle nature. For several minutes does she listen to the honest woman's recital of the sad event, which is suspended by the passenger making his appearance. The wrecker's wife introduces him by motioning her hand, and saying, "This is the kind lady of whose goodness I spoke so last night." Anxiously does she gather from the stranger each and every incident of the voyage: this done, she will go to the house where lay the dead, our good Dame Stores leading the way, talking from the very honesty of her heart the while. In a small dilapidated dwelling on the bleak sands, the dead lay. Children and old men linger about the door,--now they make strange mutterings, and walk away, as if in fear. Our messengers of mercy have entered the abode of the dead. The wrecker's wife says, "They are to be buried to-morrow, ma'am;" while the lady, with singular firmness, glances her eye along the row of male bodies, counting them one by one. She has brought shrouds, in which to bury them like Christians.

"Them three females is here, ma'am," says Dame Stores, touching the lady on the elbow, as she proceeds to uncover the bodies. The passenger did, indeed, tell our Lady of Mercy there was one handsome lady from Carolina. One by one she views their blanched and besanded features.

"A bonny figure that, mum; I lay she's bin a handsome in her day," with honest simplicity remarks Dame Stores, as, bent over the lifeless body of Franconia, she turns back the sheet, carefully. "Yes," is the quick reply: the philanthropic woman's keen eye scans along the body from head to foot. Dame Stores will part the silken hair from off that cold brow, and smooth it with her hand. Suddenly our lady's eyes dart forth anxiety; she recognises some familiar feature, and trembles. The rescued seaman had been quietly viewing the bodies, as if to distinguish their different persons, when a wrecker, who had assisted in removing the bodies, entered the room and approached him, "Ah!" exclaims the seaman, suddenly, "yonder's poor Jack Higgins." He points to a besanded body at the right, the arms torn and bent partly over the breast, adding, "Jack had a good heart, he had." Turning half round, the wrecker replies, "That 'un had this 'un fast grappled in his arms; it was a time afore we got 'um apart."

"Was it this body?" enquires the lady, looking at the lifeless form before her. He says, "That same, ma'am; an' it looked as if he had tried to save the slender woman." He points to the body which Dame Stores has just uncovered. The good lady kneels over the body: her face suddenly becomes pale; her lips purple and quiver; she seems sinking with nervous excitement, as tremulously she seizes the blanched hand in her own. Cold and frigid, it will not yield to her touch "That face-those brows, those pearly teeth, those lips so delicate,--those hands,--those deathless emblems! how like Franconia they seem," she ejaculates frantically, the bystanders looking on with surprise. "And are they not my Franconia's-my dear deliverer's?" she continues. She smooths the cold hands, and chafes them in her own. The rings thereon were a present from Marston. "Those features like unto chiselled marble are hers; I am not deceived: no! oh no! it cannot be a dream" (in sorrow she shakes her head as the tears begin to moisten her cheeks), "she received my letter, and was on her way seeking me." Again she smooths and smooths her left hand over those pallid cheeks, her right still pressing the cold hand of the corpse, as her emotions burst forth in agonising sobs.

The wrecker's wife loosens the dress from about deceased's neck-bares that bosom once so fair and beautiful. A small locket, attached to a plain black necklace, lies upon it, like a moat on a snowy surface. Nervously does the good woman grasp it, and opening it behold a miniature of Marston, a facsimile of which is in her own possession. "Somethin' more 'ere, mum," says Dame Stores, drawing from beneath a lace stomacher the lap of her chemise, on which is written in indelible ink-"Franconia M'Carstrow." The doubt no longer lent its aid to hope; the lady's sorrowing heart can no longer withstand the shock. Weeping tears of anguish, she says, "May the God of all goodness preserve her pure spirit, for it is my Franconia! she who was my saviour; she it was who snatched me from death, and put my feet on the dry land of freedom, and gave me-ah, me!" she shrieked,--and fell swooning over the lifeless body, ere Dame Stores had time to clasp her in her arms.

My reader can scarcely have failed to recognise in this messenger of mercy,--this good woman who had so ennobled herself by seeking the sufferer and relieving his wants, and who makes light the cares of the lowly, the person of that slave-mother, Clotilda. Having drank of the bitterness of slavery, she the more earnestly cheers the desponding. That lifeless form, once so bright of beauty, so buoyant of heart and joyous of spirit, is Franconia; she it was who delivered the slave-mother from the yoke of bondage, set her feet on freedom's heights, and on her head invoked its genial blessings. Her soul had yearned for the slave's good; she had been a mother to Annette, and dared snatch her from him who made the slave a wretch,--democracy his boast! It was Franconia who placed the miniature of Marston about Clotilda's neck on the night she effected her escape,--bid her God speed into freedom. All that once so abounded in goodness now lies cold in death. Eternity has closed her lips with its strong seal,--no longer shall her soul be harassed with the wrongs of a slave world: no! her pure spirit has ascended among the angels.

We will not longer pain the reader's feelings with details of this sad recognition, but inform him that the body was removed to Clotilda's peaceful habitation, from whence, with becoming ceremony, it was buried on the following day. A small marble tablet, standing in a sequestered churchyard near the outskirts of Nassau, and on which the traveller may read these simple words:--"Franconia, my friend, lies here!" over which, in a circle, is chiseled the figure of an angel descending, and beneath, "How happy in Heaven are the Good!" marks the spot where her ashes rest in peace.

L. IN WHICH A DANGEROUS PRINCIPLE IS ILLUSTRATED

SHOULD the sagacious reader be disappointed in our hero Nicholas, who, instead of being represented as a model of disinterestedness, perilling his life to save others, sacrificing his own interests for the cause of liberty, and wasting on hardened mankind all those amiable qualities which belong only to angels, but with which heroes are generally invested for the happy purpose of pleasing the lover of romance, has evinced little else than an unbending will, he will find a palliation in that condition of life to which his oppressors have forced him to submit. Had Nicholas enjoyed his liberty, many incidents of a purely disinterested character might have been recorded to his fame, for indeed he had noble traits. That we have not put fiery words into his mouth, with which to execrate the tyrant, while invoking the vengeance of heaven-and, too, that we are guilty of the crime of thus suddenly transferring him from boyhood to manhood, nor have hanged him to please the envious and vicious,--will find excuse with the indulgent reader, who will be kind enough to consider that it is our business to relate facts as they are, to the performance of which-unthankful though it may be-we have drawn from the abundance of material placed in our hand by the southern world. We may misname characters and transpose scenes, but southern manners and customs we have transcribed from nature, to which stern book we have religiously adhered. And, too (if the reader will pardon the digression), though we never have agreed with our very best admirers of the gallows, some of whom hold it a means of correcting morals-nor, are yet ready to yield assent to the opinions of the many, so popularly laid down in favour of what we consider a medium of very unwholesome influence, we readily admit the existence of many persons who have well merited a very good hanging. But, were the same rules of evidence admissible in a court of law when a thief is on trial, applied against the practice of "publicly hanging," there would be little difficulty in convicting it of inciting to crime. Not only does the problem of complex philosophy-the reader may make the philosophy to suit his taste-presented in the contrariety of scenes on and about the gallows offer something irreconcileable to ordinary minds, but gives to the humorous large means with which to feast their love of the ludicrous. On the scaffold of destruction, our good brothers of the clergy would, pointing to the "awful example," assure the motley assembly gathered beneath, that he hath purified that soul, which will surely be accepted in heaven; but, he can in no wise condescend to let it, still directing the flesh, live on the less pure platform of earth. With eager eyes, the mass beneath him, their morbid appetites curiously distended, heed not the good admonition; nay, the curious wait in breathless suspense the launching a human being into eternity; the vicious are busy in crime the while; the heedless make gay the holiday. Sum up the invention and perpetration of crime beneath the gallows on one of those singular gala-days, and the culprit expiating his guilt at the rope's end, as an "awful warning," will indeed have disclosed a shallow mockery. Taking this view of the hanging question, though we would deprive no man of his enjoyment, we deem it highly improper that our hero should die by any other means than that which the chivalrous sons of the south declared "actually necessary."

But before proceeding further with Nicholas, it may be proper here to state that Annette and the stranger, in whose hands we left her, have arrived safe at New York. Maxwell-for such is his name-is with his uncle engaged in a lucrative commercial business; while Annette, for reasons we shall hereafter explain, instead of forthwith seeking the arms of an affectionate mother, is being educated at a female seminary in a village situated on the left bank of the Hudson River.

In returning to Nicholas, the reader will remember that Grabguy was something of a philosopher, the all-important functions of which medium he invoked on the occasion of his ejectment from Fetter's court, for an interference which might at that moment have been taken as evidence of repentance. The truth, however, was, that Grabguy, in the exercise of his philosophy, found the cash value of his slave about to be obliterated by the carrying out of Fetter's awful sentence. Here there rose that strange complexity which the physical action and mental force of slave property, acting in contrariety, so often produce. The physical of the slave was very valuable, and could be made to yield; but the mental being all powerful to oppose, completely annulled the monetary worth. But by allowing the lacerations to heal, sending him to New Orleans, and making a positive sale, some thousand or twelve hundred dollars might be saved; whereas, did Fetter's judgment take effect, Mr. Grabguy must content himself with the state's more humble award of two hundred dollars, less the trouble of getting. In this democratic perplexity did our economical alderman find himself placed, when, again invoking his philosophy-not in virtue of any sympathetic admonition, for sympathy was not of Grabguy-he soon found means of protecting his interests. To this end he sought and obtained an order from the Court of Appeals, which grave judiciary, after duly considering the evidence on which the criminal was convicted before Fetter's tribunal, was of opinion that evidence had been improperly extorted by cruelty; and, in accordance with that opinion, ordered a new trial, which said trial would be dististinguished above that at Fetter's court by being presided over by a judicial magistrate. This distinguished functionary, the judicial magistrate, who generally hears the appeals from Fetter's court, is a man of the name of Fairweather Fuddle, a clever wag, whose great good-nature is only equalled by the rotundity of his person, which is not a bad portraiture of our much-abused Sir John Falstaff, as represented by the heavy men of our country theatres. Now, to enter upon an analysis of the vast difference between Fetter's court in ordinary, and Fuddle's court in judiciary, would require the aid of more philosophy than we are capable of summoning; nor would the sagacious reader be enlightened thereby, inasmuch as the learned of our own atmosphere have spent much study on the question without arriving at any favourable result. Very low people, and intelligent negroes-- whose simple mode of solving difficult problems frequently produces results nearest the truth--do say without fear or trembling that the distinction between these great courts exists in the fact of Justice Fuddle drinking the more perfect brandy. Now, whether the quality of brandy has anything to do with the purity of ideas, the character of the judiciary, or the tempering of the sentences, we will leave to the reader's discrimination; but true it is, that, while Fetter's judgments are always for the state, Fuddle leans to mercy and the master's interests. Again, were Fuddle to evince that partiality for the gallows which has become a trait of character with his legal brother, it would avail him nothing, inasmuch as by confirming Fetter's judgments the fees would alike remain that gentleman's. If, then, the reader reason on the philosophy of self-interest, he may find the fees, which are in no wise small, founding the great distinction between the courts of Messrs. Fuddle and Fetter; for by reversing Fetter's judgments fees accrue to Fuddle's own court, and belong to his own well-lined pocket; whereas, did he confirm them, not one cent of fees could he claim. The state should without delay remedy this great wrong, and give its judicial gentlemen a fair chance of proving their judgments well founded in contrariety. We should not, forsooth, forget to mention that Fuddle, in his love of decorum--though he scarce ever sat in judgment without absorbing his punch the while--never permitted in his forum the use of those knock-down arguments which were always a prelude to Fetter's judgments.

Before Fuddle's court, then, Grabguy has succeeded in getting a hearing for his convicted property, still mentally obstinate. Not the least doubt has he of procuring a judgment tempered by mercy; for, having well drunk Fuddle on the previous night, and improved the opportunity for completely winning his distinguished consideration, he has not the slightest apprehension of being many months deprived of his property merely to satisfy injured justice. And, too, the evidence upon which Nicholas was convicted in Fetter's court, of an attempt to create an insurrection--the most fatal charge against him--was so imperfect that the means of overthrowing it can be purchased of any of the attendant constables for a mere trifle,--oaths with such fellows being worth about sixty-two and a half cents each.

If the reader will be pleased to fancy the trial before Fetter's tribunal--before described--with the knock-down arguments omitted, he will have a pretty clear idea of that now proceeding before Fuddle's; and having such will excuse our entering into details. Having heard the case with most, learned patience, the virtue of which has been well sustained by goodly potions of Paul and Brown's perfect "London Dock," Fuddle, with grave deportment, receives from the hands of the clerical-looking clerk-a broken-down gentleman of great legal ability-the charge he is about to make the jury. "Gentlemen," he says, "I might, without any detriment to perfect impunity, place the very highest encomiums on the capabilities displayed in the seriousness you have given to this all-important case, in which the state has such deep and constitutional interests; but that I need not do here. The state having placed in my possession such responsible functions, no one more than me can feel the importance of the position; and which position has always been made the judicial medium of equity and mercy. I hold moderation to be the essential part of the judiciary, gentlemen! And here I would say" (Fuddle directs himself to his gentlemanly five) "and your intelligence will bear me out in the statement, that the trial below seems to have been in error from beginning to end. I say this-understand, gentlemen!--with all deference to my learned brother, Fetter, whose judgments, in the exercise of the powers in me invested, and with that respect for legal equity by which this court is distinguished, it has become me so often to reverse. On the charge of creating an insurrection--rather an absurdity, by the way--you must discharge the prisoner, there being no valid proof; whereas the charge of maiming or raising his hand to a white man, though clearly proved, and according to the statutes a capital offence, could not in the spirit of mercy which now prevails in our judiciary--and, here, let me say, which is emulated by that high state of civilisation for which the people of this state are distinguished--be carried rigidly into effect. There is only this one point, then, of maiming a white gentleman, with intention--Ah! yes (a pause) the intention the court thinks it as well not to mind! open to you for a conviction. Upon this point you will render your verdict, guilty; only adding a recommendation to the mercy of the court." With this admonition, our august Mr. Fuddle, his face glowing in importance, sits down to his mixture of Paul and Brown's best. A few moments' pause--during which Fetter enters looking very anxious--and the jury have made up their verdict, which they submit on a slip of paper to the clerk, who in turn presents it to Fuddle. That functionary being busily engaged with his punch, is made conscious of the document waiting his pleasure by the audience bursting into a roar of laughter at the comical picture presented in the earnestness with which he regards his punch-some of which is streaming into his bosom-and disregards the paper held for some minutes in the clerk's hand, which is in close proximity with his nasal organ. Starting suddenly, he lets the goblet fall to the floor, his face flushing like a broad moon in harvest-time, takes the paper in his fingers with a bow, making three of the same nature to his audience, as Fetter looks over the circular railing in front of the dock, his face wearing a facetious smile. "Nigger boy will clear away the break,--prisoner at the bar will stand up for the sentence, and the attending constable will reduce order!" speaks Fuddle, relieving his pocket of a red kerchief with which he will wipe his capacious mouth. These requests being complied with, he continues-having adjusted his glasses most learnedly-making a gesture with his right hand--"I hold in my hand the solemn verdict of an intelligent jury, who, after worthy and most mature deliberation, find the prisoner at the bar, Nicholas Grabguy, guilty of the heinous offence of raising his hand to a white man, whom he severely maimed with a sharp-edged tool; and the jury in their wisdom, recognising the fact of their verdict involving capital punishment, have, in the exercise of that enlightened spirit which is inseparable from our age, recommended him to the mercy of this court, and, in the discretion of that power in me invested, I shall now pronounce sentence. Prepare, then, ye lovers of civilisation, ye friends of humanity, ye who would temper the laws of our land of freedom to the circumstance of offences--prepare, I say, to have your ears and hearts made glad over the swelling sound of this most enlightened sentence of a court, where judgments are tempered with mercy." Our hero, a chain hanging loosely from his left arm, stands forward in the dock, his manly deportment evincing a stern resolution to meet his fate unsubdued. Fuddle continues:--"There is no appeal from this court!" (he forgot the court of a brighter world) "and a reversing the decision of the court below, I sentence the prisoner to four years' imprisonment with hard labour, two months' solitary confinement in each year, and thirty blows with the paddle, on the first day of each month until the expiration of the sentence." Such, reader, was Fuddle's merciful sentence upon one whose only crime was a love of freedom and justice. Nicholas bowed to the sentence; Mr. Grabguy expressed surprise, but no further appeal on earth was open to him; Squire Fetter laughed immeasurably; and the officer led his victim away to the place of durance vile.

To this prison, then, must we go with our hero. In this magnificent establishment, its princely exterior seeming like a modern fort with frowning bastions, are some four hundred souls for sale and punishment. Among them Nicholas is initiated, having, for the time being, received his first installment of blows, and takes his first lesson in the act of breaking stone, which profession is exclusively reserved for criminals of his class. Among the notable characters connected with this establishment is Philip Fladge, the wily superintendent, whose power over the criminals is next to absolute. Nicholas has been under Philip's guardianship but a few months, when it is found that he may be turned into an investment which will require only the outlay of kindness and amelioration on his part to become extremely profitable. Forthwith a convention is entered into, the high contracting parties being Nicholas and himself. Mr. Fladge stipulates on his part that the said Nicholas, condemned by Fairweather Fuddle's court to such punishments as are set forth in the calendar, shall be exempt from all such punishments, have the free use of the yard, comfortable apartments to live in, and be invested with a sort of foremanship over his fellow criminals; in consideration of which it is stipulated on the part of Nicholas that he do work at the more desirable profession of stucco-making, together with the execution of orders for sculpture, the proceeds of which were to be considered the property of Fladge, he allowing the generous stipend of one shilling a week to the artist. Here, then, Mr. Fladge becomes sensible of the fact that some good always come of great evils, for indeed his criminal was so far roving a mine of wealth that he only hoped it might be his fortune to receive many more such enemies of the state: he cared not whether they came from Fetter or Fuddle's court. With sense enough to keep his heart-burnings well stored away in his own bosom, Nicholas soon became a sort of privileged character. But if he said little, he felt much; nor did he fail to occupy every leisure moment in inciting his brother bondmen to a love of freedom. So far had he gained complete control over their feelings, that scarce two months of his sentence had expired ere they would have followed his lead to death or freedom.

Among those human souls stored for sale was one Sal Stiles, an olive wench of great beauty, and daughter of one of the very first families. This Sal Stiles, who was indeed one of the most charming creatures to look upon, had cousins whom the little world of Charleston viewed as great belles; but these said belles were never known to ring out a word in favour of poor Sal, who was, forsooth, only what-in our vulgar parlance-is called a well-conditioned and very marketable woman. Considering, then, that Nicholas had been separated by Grabguy from his wife and children, the indulgent reader, we feel assured, will excuse our hero for falling passionately in love with this woman. That it was stipulated in the convention between himself and Fladge, he should take her unto himself, we are not justified in asserting; nevertheless, that that functionary encouraged the passion rather than prevented their meetings is a fact our little world will not pretend to deny.

LI. A CONTINUATION OF THE LAST CHAPTER

A YEAR and two months have rolled by, since Nicholas, a convict, took up his abode within the frowning walls of a prison: thus much of Fuddle's merciful sentence has he served out. In the dreary hours of night, fast secured in his granite cell, has he cherished, and even in his dreams contemplated, the means of escaping into that freedom for which his soul yearns. But, dearly does he love Sal Stiles, to whose keeping he confides the secret of his ambition; several times might he, having secured the confidence of Fladge, have effected his own escape; but the admonitions of a faithful heart bid him not leave her behind in slavery. To that admonition of his bosom did he yield, and resolve never to leave her until he secured her freedom. A few days after he had disclosed to her his resolution, the tall figure of Guy Grantham, a broker of slaves by profession, appeared in the prison yard, for the purpose of carrying away the woman, whom he had sold for the Washington market, where her charms would indeed be of much value during the session, when congress-men most do riot. Already were the inseparable chains about her hands, and the miserable woman, about to be led away, bathed in grief. Nicholas, in his studies, had just finished a piece of scroll-work for Mrs. Fladge, as a companion approached him in great haste, and whispered the word of trouble-"they're taking her away"-in his ear. Quick as lightning did the anger of his very soul break forth like a tempest: he rushed from his place of labour, vaulted as it were to the guard gate, seized the woman as she stepped on the threshold in her exit, drew her back with great force, and in a defiant attitude, drawing a long stiletto from his belt, placed himself between her and her destroyer. "Foes of the innocent, your chains were not made for this woman; never shall you bear her from this; not, at least, while I have arm to defend her, and a soul that cares not for your vengeance!" spake he, with curling contempt on his lip, as his adversaries stood aghast with fear and trembling. "Nay!-do not advance one step, or by the God of justice I make ye feel the length of this steel!" he continued, as Grantham nervously motioned an attempt to advance. Holding the woman with his left hand pressed backward, he brandished his stiletto in the faces of his opponents with his right. This was rebellion in its most legal acceptation, and would have justified the summary process Grantham was about adopting for the disposal of the instigator, at whose head he levelled his revolver, and, without effect, snapped two caps, as Nicholas bared his bosom with the taunt--"Coward, shoot!" Mr. Fladge, who was now made sensible of the error his indulgence had committed, could not permit Grantham the happy display of his bravery; no, he has called to his aid some ten subguardsmen, and addressing the resolute Grantham, bids him lay aside his weapon. Albeit he confesses his surprise at such strange insolence and interference; but, being responsible for the life, thinks it well to hold a parley before taking it. Forsooth his words fall useless on the ears of Nicholas, as defiantly he encircles the woman's waist with his left arm, bears her away to the block, dashes the chains from her hands, and, spurning the honied words of Fladge, hurls them in the air, crying: "You have murdered the flesh;--would you chain the soul?" As he spoke, the guard, having ascended the watch tower, rings out the first alarm peal. "Dogs of savage might! ring your alarms; I care not," he continued, casting a sardonic glance at the tower as the sound died away on his ear. His pursuers now made a rush upon him, but ere they had secured him he seized a heavy bludgeon, and repelling their attack, found some hundred of his companions, armed with stone hammers, rallying in his defence. Seeing this formidable force thus suddenly come to his rescue, Mr. Fladge and his force were compelled to fall back before the advance. Gallantly did Nicholas lead on his sable band, as the woman sought refuge in one of the cells, Mr. Fladge and his posse retreating into the guard-house. Nicholas, now in full possession of the citadel, and with consternation and confusion triumphant within the walls, found it somewhat difficult to restrain his forces from taking possession of the guardhouse, and putting to death those who had sought shelter therein. Calmly but firmly did he appeal to them, and beseech them not to commit an outrage against life. As he had placed himself between the woman and her pursuers, so did he place himself before a file of his sable companions, who, with battle hammers extended, rushed for the great gates, as the second alarm rung out its solemn peal. Counselling his compatriots to stand firm, he gathered them together in the centre of the square, and addressed them in a fervent tone, the purport of which was, that having thus suddenly and unexpectedly become plunged into what would be viewed by the laws of the land as insurrection, they must stand on the defensive, and remember it were better to die in defence of right than live under the ignorance and sorrow of slavery.

While our hero-whose singular exploit we have divested of that dramatic effect presented in the original-addressed his forlorn band in the area of the prison, strange indeed was the scene of confusion presenting along the streets of the city. The alarm peals had not died ineffectual on the air, for as a messenger was despatched to warn the civil authorities of the sad dilemma at the prison, the great bell of St. Michael's church answered the warning peal with two loud rings; and simultaneously the city re-echoed the report of a bloody insurrection. On the long line of wharfs half circling the city, stood men aghast with fright; to the west all was quiet about the battery; to the south, the long rampart of dark moving pines that bordered on that side the calm surface of a harbour of unsurpassed beauty, seemed sleeping in its wonted peacefulness; to the east, as if rising from the sea to mar the beauty of the scene, stood fort Sumpter's sombre bastions, still and quiet like a monster reposing; while retracing along the north side of the harbour, no sign of trouble flutters from Fort Moultrie or Castle Pinkney-no, their savage embrasures are closed, and peace hangs in mists over their dark walls. The feud is in the city of democrats, wherein there are few who know not the nature of the warning peal; nor, indeed, act on such occasions like a world in fear, waiting but the tap of the watchman's baton ere it rushes to bloodshed.

In the busy portion of the city have men gathered at the corners of the street to hold confused controversy; with anxious countenances and most earnest gesticulations do they discuss the most certain means of safety. Ladies, in fright, speedily seek their homes, now asking questions of a passerby, whose intense excitement has carried off his power of speech, then shunning every luckless negro who chances in their way. The rumour of an insurrection, however falsely founded, turns every negro (of skin there is no distinction) into an enemy; whilst the second sound of the alarm peal makes him a bloody votary, who it needs but the booming of the cannon ere he be put to the sword. Guardsmen, with side-arms and cross-belts, are eager and confused, moving to and fro with heavy tread; merchants and men of more easy professions hasten from their labours, seek their homes, prepare weapons for the conflict, and endeavour to soothe the fears of their excited families, beseeching protection. That a deadly struggle is near at hand no one doubts, for men have gathered on the house-tops to watch the moving mass, bearing on its face the unmistakeable evidence of fear and anxiety, as it sweeps along the streets. Now the grotesque group is bespotted with forms half dressed in military garb; then a dark platoon of savage faces and ragged figures brings up the rear; and quickly catching the sound "To the Workhouse!" onward it presses to the scene of tumult. Firemen in curious habiliment, and half-accoutred artillerymen, at the alarm peal's call are rallying to their stations, as if some devouring element, about to break over the city, demanded their strongest arm; while eager and confused heads, protruded from green, masking shutters, and in terror, would know whither lies the scene of the outbreak. Alarm has beset the little world, which now moves a medley of fear and trembling.

The clock in St. Michael's tall spire has just struck two, as, in the arena of the prison, Nicholas is seen, halted in front of his little band, calmly awaiting the advance of his adversaries, who, fearing to open the great gates, have scaled the long line of wall on the north side. Suddenly the sound of an imploring voice breaks upon his ear, and his left hand is firmly grasped, as starting with surprise he turns and beholds the slave woman, her hair hanging loosely over her shoulders, and her face bathed in tears. With simple but earnest words does she admonish him against his fatal resolution. Fast, and in the bitter anguish of her soul, fall her implorings; she would have him yield and save his life, that she may love him still. Her words would melt his resolution, had he not taken the rash step. "In my soul do I love thee, woman!" he says, raising her gently to her feet, and imprinting a kiss upon her olive brow; "but rather would I die a hero than live a crawling slave: nay, I will love thee in heaven!" The woman has drawn his attention from his adversaries, when, in that which seems a propitious moment, they rush down from the walls, and ere a cry from his band warn him of the danger, have well nigh surprised and secured him. With two shots of a revolver pierced through the fleshy part of his left arm, does he bound from the grasp of his pursuers, rally his men, and charge upon the miscreants with undaunted courage. Short but deadly is the struggle that here ensues; far, indeed, shrieks and horrid groans rend the very air; but the miscreants are driven back from whence they came, leaving on the ground five dead bodies to atone for treble the number dead of our hero's band. In the savage conflict did the woman receive a fatal bullet, and now lies writhing in the agonies of death (a victim of oppression in a land of liberty) at our hero's feet. Not a moment is there to spare, that he may soothe her dying agonies, for a thundering at the great gates is heard, the bristling of fire-arms falls upon his ear, and the drums of the military without beat to the charge. Simultaneously the great gates swing back, a solid body of citizen soldiery, ready to rush in, is disclosed, and our hero, as if by instinct moved to rashness, cries aloud to his forces, who, following his lead, dash recklessly into the soldiery, scatter it in amazement, and sweep triumphantly into the street. The first line of soldiery did not yield to the impetuous charge without effect, for seven dead bodies, strewn between the portals of the gate, account for the sharp report of their rifles. Wild with rage, and not knowing whither to go, or for what object they have rushed from the bounds of their prison house, our forlorn band, still flourishing their battle hammers, have scarcely reached the second line of military, stationed, in war order, a few squares from the prison, when our hero and nine of his forlorn band fall pierced through the hearts with rifle bullets. Our Nicholas has a sudden end; he dies, muttering, "My cause was only justice!" as twenty democratic bayonets cut into shreds his quivering body. Oh, Grabguy! thou wilt one day be made to atone for this thy guilt. Justice to thy slave had saved the city its foreboding of horror, and us the recital of a bloody tragedy we would spare the feelings of our readers by ending here.

Having informed the reader that Ellen Juvarna was mother of Nicholas, whom she bore unto Marston, we will now draw aside the veil, that he may know her real origin and be the better prepared to appreciate the fate of her child. This name, then, was a fictitious one, which she had been compelled to take by Romescos, who stole her from her father, Neamathla, a Creek Indian. In 1820, this brave warrior ruled chief of the Mickasookees, a tribe of brave Indians settled on the borders of the lake of that name, in Florida. Old in deeds of valour, Neamathla sank into the grave in the happy belief that his daughter, the long-lost Nasarge, had been carried into captivity by chiefs of a hostile tribe, in whose chivalrous spirit she would find protection, and religious respect for her caste. Could that proud spirit have condescended to suppose her languishing in the hands of mercenary slave-dealers, his tomahawk had been first dipped in the blood of the miscreant, to avenge the foul deed. From Romescos, Nasarge, who had scarce seen her twelve summers, passed into the hands of one Silenus, who sold her to Marston, for that purpose a fair slave seems born to in our democratic world.

And now again must we beg the indulgence of the reader, while we turn to the counter-scene of this chapter. The influence of that consternation which had spread throughout the city, was not long in finding its way to the citadel, a massive fort commanding the city from the east. On the plat in front are three brass field-pieces, which a few artillery-men have wheeled out, loaded, and made ready to belch forth that awful signal, which the initiated translate thus:--"Proceed to the massacre! Dip deep your knives in the heart of every negro!"

Certain alarm bells are rung in case of an insurrection of the negroes, which, if accompanied by the firing of three guns at the citadel, is the signal for an onslaught of the whites. The author, on asking a gentleman why he exhibited so much fear, or why he deemed it necessary to put to the sword his faithful servants, answered,--"Slaves, no matter of what colour, sympathise with each other in their general condition of slavery. I could not, then, leave my family to the caprice of their feelings, while I sought the scene of action to aid in suppressing the outbreak." At the alarm-bell's first tap were the guns made ready-at the second peal were matchlocks lighted-and nervous men waited in breathless suspense the third and last signal peal from the Guard Tower. But, in a moment that had nearly proved fatal to thousands, and as the crash of musketry echoed in the air, a confused gunner applied the match: two vivid flashes issued from the cannon, their peals booming successively over the city. It was at that moment, citizens who had sought in their domiciles the better protection of their families might be seen in the tragic attitude of holding savage pistols and glistening daggers at the breasts of their terrified but faithful servants,--those, perhaps, whose only crime was sincerity, and an earnest attachment to master's interests. The booming of a third cannon, and they had fallen, victims of fear, at the feet of their deluded victors. Happily, an act of heroism (which we would record to the fame of the hero) saved the city that bloody climax we sicken while contemplating. Ere the third gun belched its order of death, a mounted officer, sensible of the result that gun would produce, dashed before its angry mouth, and at the top of his voice cried out-"In Heaven's name, lay your matchlock down: save the city!" Then galloping to the trail, the gunner standing motionless at the intrepid sight, he snatched the fiery torch from his hand, and dismounting, quenched it on the ground. Thus did he save the city that awful massacre the misdirected laws of a democratic state would have been accountable for to civilisation and the world.

LII. IN WHICH ARE PLEASURES AND DISAPPOINTMENTS

IN a former chapter of this narrative, have we described our fair fugitive, Annette, as possessing charms of no ordinary kind; indeed, she was fair and beautiful, and even in the slave world was by many called the lovely blonde. In a word, to have been deeply enamoured of her would have reflected the highest credit on the taste and sentiment of any gallant gentleman. Seeming strange would it be, then, if the stranger to whose care we confided her (and hereafter to be called Montague, that being his Christian name) should render himself liable to the charge of stupidity did these attractions not make a deep impression on his heart. And here we would not have the reader lay so grave a charge at his door; for, be it known, ye who are not insensible to love's electric force, that scarce had they reached New York, ere Montague began to look upon Annette with that species of compassion which so often, in the workings of nature's mystery, turns the sympathies of the heart into purest love. The misery or happiness of this poor girl he viewed as dependent on himself: this, forsooth, was strengthened by the sad recital of her struggles, which caused his sympathies to flow in mutual fellowship with her sorrows. As he esteemed her gentleness, so was he enamoured of her charms; but her sorrows carried the captive arrow into his bosom, where she fastened it with holding forth that wrist broken in defence of her virtue: nay, more, he could not refrain a caress, as in the simplicity of her heart she looked in his face smilingly, and said she would he were the father of her future in this life. But, when did not slavery interpose its barbarous obstacles?-when did it not claim for itself the interests of federal power, and the nation's indulgence?-when did it not regard with coldest indifference the good or ill of all beyond its own limits? The slave world loves itself; but, though self-love may now and then give out a degree of virtue, slavery has none to lead those beyond its own atmosphere. To avoid, then, the terrors to which, even on the free soil of the north, a fugitive slave is constantly liable, as also that serpent-like prejudice--for into the puritanic regions of New England, forsooth, does slavery spread its more refined objections to colour--which makes the manners of one class cold and icy, while acting like a dagger in the hearts of the other, was it necessary to change her name. How many of my fair readers, then, will recur to and recognise in the lovely Sylvia De Lacy--whose vivacity made them joyous in their school days, and whose charms all envied-the person of Annette Mazatlin. Nothing could be more true than that the pretty blonde, Sylvia De Lacy, who passed at school as the daughter of a rich Bahamian, was but the humble slave of our worthy wag, Mr. Pringle Blowers. But we beg the reader to remember that, as Sylvia De Lacy, with her many gallant admirers, she is a far different person from Annette the slave.

Clotilda is made acquainted with the steps Montague has taken in behalf of his charge, as also of a further intention he will carry out at the expiration of two years; which said intention is neither more nor less than the making Sylvia De Lacy his bride ere her school days have ended. In the earnestness of a heart teeming of joy, does Clotilda respond to the disclosures she is pleased to term glad tidings. Oft and fervently has she invoked the All-protecting hand to save her child from the licentious snares of slavery; and now that she is rescued, her soul can rest satisfied. How her heart rejoices to learn that her slave child will hereafter be happy in this life! ever will she pray that peace and prosperity reward their virtues. Her own prospects brighten with the thought that she may, ere long, see them under her own comfortable roof, and bestow a mother's love on the head of her long-lost child.

And now my reader will please to suppose these two years of school-days passed-that nuptial ceremony in which so many mingled their congratulations, and showered blandest smiles upon the fair bride, celebrated in a princely mansion not far from the aristocratic Union Square of New York-and our happy couple launched upon that path of matrimony some facetious old gentlemen have been pleased to describe as so crooked that others fear to journey upon it. They were indeed a happy couple, with each future prospect golden of fortune's sunshine. Did we describe in detail the reign of happiness portended on the bright day of that nuptial ceremony, how many would recognise the gay figures of those who enlivened the scene-how deceptive would seem the fair face of events-how obscured would be presented the life of a slave in this our world of freedom-how false that democracy so boastful of its even-handed rule!

Two years have rolled into the past, since Montague led the fair Sylvia to the altar. Pringle Blowers has pocketed the loss of his beauty, the happy couple have lost all thought of slavery, and a little responsibility coming in due time adds to make their happiness complete. Now the house to which Montague was connected in New York had an agent in New Orleans; which agent was his brother. In the course of time, then, and as the avenues of business expanded, was it deemed necessary to establish a branch house at Memphis, the affairs of which it was agreed should be conducted by Montague. To this new scene of life my reader will please suppose our happy couple, having journeyed by railroad to Cincinnatti, and with hearts gladdened of hope for the future, now gliding down that river of gorgeous banks, on board the good steamer bearing its name. As our young mother again enters the atmosphere of slavery, misgivings force themselves irresistibly upon her feelings. The very face of nature wears a sluggish air; the fresh, bright offspring of northern energy, so forcibly illustrated in the many cheerful looking villages here and there dotting its free soil, is nowhere to be seen,--society again puts forth its blighting distinctions: there is the man-owner's iron deportment contrasting with the abjectness of his slave: forcibly does the change recall scenes of the past. But, with the certain satisfaction that no one will recognize the slave in her, do those misgivings give way to the happier contemplation of her new home affording the means of extending a succouring hand to some poor mortal, suffering in that condition of life through which she herself has passed.

After a pleasant passage, then, do we find them comfortably settled in Memphis, that city of notorious character, where the venerable Lynch presides judge over all state cases, and administers summary justice according to the most independent of bar rules. Montague pursues the ordinary routine of a flourishing business, and moves among the very best society of the little fashionable world; with which his Sylvia, being the fair belle of the place, is not only a great favourite, but much sought after and caressed. Gentle as a slave, so was she an affectionate mother and dutiful wife. Some twelve months passed pleasantly at their new home, when there came to the city a Jew of the name of Salamons Finch. This Finch, who was "runner" to a commercial firm in the city of Charleston (he was lank of person, with sallow, craven features), knew Annette when but a child. Indeed, he was a clerk of Graspum when that gentleman sold the fair slave to Gurdoin Choicewest; in addition to which he had apartments at Lady Tuttlewell's most fashionable house, where the little doll-like thing used to be so sprightly in waiting at table. The quick eye of this harpy, as may readily be supposed, was not long in detecting the person of Annette the slave in our fair mother; which grand discovery he as soon communicated to Montague, pluming himself a generous fellow for being first to disclose what he supposed a valuable secret. Indeed, such was the force of association on this fellow, that he could not bring his mind to believe such a match possible, unless the fair fugitive (of the circumstances of whose escape he was well posted) had, by the exercise of strategy, imposed herself on the gentleman. The reader may easily picture to himself the contempt in which Montague held the fellow's generous expos‚; but he as readily became sensible of the nature of the recognition, and of its placing him in a dangerous position. At first he thought of sending his wife and child immediately to her mother, in Nassau; but having intimations from the fellow that the matter might be reconciled with golden eagles, he chose rather to adopt that plan of procuring peace and quietness. With a goodly number of these gold eagles, then, did he from time to time purchase the knave's secrecy; but, with that singular propensity so characteristic of the race, was he soon found making improper advances to the wife of the man whose money he received for keeping secret her early history. This so exasperated Montague, that in addition to sealing the fellow's lips with the gold coin, he threatened his back with stripes of the raw hide, in payment of his insolence. Albeit, nothing but the fear of exposure, the consequences of which must prove fatal, caused him to bear with pain the insult while withholding payment of this well-merited debt. With keen instincts, and a somewhat cultivated taste for the beautiful, Finch might with becoming modesty have pleaded them in extenuation of his conduct; but the truth was, he almost unconsciously found himself deeply enamoured of the fair woman, without being able to look upon her as a being elevated above that menial sphere his vulgar mind conditioned for her when in slavery. Here, then, the reader will more readily conceive than we can describe the grievous annoyances our otherwise happy couple were subjected to; nor, if a freeman's blood course in his veins, can he fail to picture the punishment it so dearly merited. However, it came to pass that in the course of a few months this fellow disappeared suddenly, and nearly at the same time was Montague summoned to New Orleans to direct some complicated affairs of his brother, who lay a victim to that fearful scourge which so often devastates that city of balmy breezes. After due preparations for an absence of some two months, Montague set out on his journey; but had not been forty-eight hours gone, when Finch again made his appearance, and taking advantage of a husband's absence, pressed his advances with grossest insult, threatening at the same time to convey information of the discovery to Pringle Blowers. Successively did these importunities fail to effect Mr. Finch's purpose; but he was of an indomitable temper, and had strong faith in that maxim of his race, which may be transcribed thus:--"If one effort fail you, try another." To carry out this principle, then, did Finch draw from the cunning inventive of his brain a plan which he could not doubt for a moment would be successful. The reader may blush while we record the fact, of Finch, deeming a partner necessary to the gaining his purpose, finding a willing accomplice in one of Montague's clerks, to whom he disclosed the secret of the fair woman being nothing more than a fugitive slave, whose shame they would share if the plan proved successful. This ingenious plan, so old that none but a fellow of this stamp would have adopted it, was nothing more than the intercepting by the aid of the clerk all Montague's letters to his wife. By this they came in possession of the nature of his family affairs; and after permitting the receipt of two letters by Sylvia, possessed themselves of her answers that they might be the better able to carry out the evil of their scheme. After sufficient time had passed, did Sylvia receive a letter, duly posted at New Orleans, purporting to have been written by a clerk in the employ of the firm, and informing her, having acknowledged becomingly the receipt of her letter, that Montague had been seized with the epidemic, and now lay in a precarious state. Much concerned was she at the painful intelligence; but she almost as soon found consolation in the assurances of the clerk who brought her the letter, and, to strengthen his own cause, told her he had seen a captain just arrived up, who had met her husband a day after the date of the letter, quite well. Indeed, this was necessary to that functionary's next move, for he was the conspirator of Finch, and the author of the letter which had caused so much sadness to the woman who now sought his advice. In suspense did the anxious woman wait the coming tidings of her affectionate husband: alas! in a few days was the sad news of his death by the fatal scourge brought to her in an envelope with broad black border and appropriate seal. Overwhelmed with grief, the good woman read the letter, describing her Montague to have died happy, as the conspirator looked on with indifference. The confidential clerk of the firm had again performed a painful and unexpected duty. The good man died, said he, invoking a blessing on the head of his child, and asking heaven to protect his wife; to which he would add, that the affairs of the house were in the worst possible condition, there not being assets to pay a fraction of the debts. And here we would beg the reader to use his imagination, and save us the description of much that followed. Not all their threats nor persuasions, however, could induce her to yield to their designs; defiantly did she repulse the advances of the crawling Finch; nobly did she spurn his persuasions; firmly did she, heedless of his threat to acquaint Pringle Blowers of her whereabouts, bid him be gone from her door. The fellow did go, grievously disappointed; and, whether from malice or mercenary motives we will not charge, sought and obtained from Pringle Blowers, in exchange for his valuable discovery, a promise of the original reward. Shudder not, reader, while we tell it! It was not many days ere the notorious Blowers set out for Memphis, recovered his lost property, who, like a lamb panting in the grasp of a pursuing wolf, was, with her young child, dragged back, a wretch, into the melancholy waste of slavery. Long and loudly was the grand discovery resounded through the little world of Memphis; not in sympathy for the slave, for many hearts were made glad with joy over what the fashionable were pleased to term a fortunate disclosure and a happy removal. Many very grave gentlemen said the miscreant who dared impose a slave on society, well merited punishment at the hands of the venerable Lynch,--a judge of that city whose celebrity is almost world wide.

LIII. A FAMILIAR SCENE, IN WHICH PRINGLE BLOWERS HAS BUSINESS

OF a bright morning, not many days after Pringle Blowers returned with his fair slave to Charleston (which said slave he would not sell for gold), there sat on a little bench at the entrance gate of the "upper workhouse," the brusque figure of a man, whose coarse and firmly knit frame, to which were added hard and weather-stained features, indicated his having seen some fifty summers. But, if he was brusque of figure and coarse of deportment, he had a good soft heart in the right place; nor did he fail to exercise its virtues while pursuing the duties of a repulsive profession; albeit, he was keeper of the establishment, and superintended all punishments. Leisurely he smoked of a black pipe; and with shirt sleeves rolled up, a grey felt hat almost covering his dark, flashing eyes, and his arms easily folded, did he seem contemplating the calm loveliness of morning. Now he exhaled the curling fume, then scanned away over the bright landscape to the east, and again cast curious glances up and down the broad road stretching in front of his prison to the north and south. It was not long before a carriage and pair appeared on the hill to the south, advancing at a slow pace towards the city. The keeper's keen eye rested upon it intently, as it neared, bearing in a back seat what seemed to be a lady fine of figure and deportment; while on the front drove a figure of great rotundity, the broad, full face shining out like a ripe pumpkin in a sun shower. "It's Pringle Blowers, I do believe in my soul! but it's seeming strange how he's got a lady to ride with him," mused the man, who, still watching the approach, had quite forgotten the escape of the fair slave. The man was not mistaken, for as he touched his hat, on the carriage arriving opposite the gate, it halted, and there, sure enough, was our valiant democrat, who, placing his whip in the socket, crooked his finger and beckoned the keeper. "Broadman!" said he, (for that was the man's name) "I'ze a bit of something in your way of business this morning." The honest functionary, with seeming surprise, again touching his hat as he approached the vehicle, replied: "Your servant, sir!" Blowers motioned his hand to the woman, whose tears were now, to Broadman's surprise, seen coursing down her pale cheeks. To use a vulgar phrase, Broadman was entirely "taken aback" by the singularity of Blowers' manner; for the woman, whose dress and deportment the honest man conceived to be nothing less than that of a lady of one of the "first families," obeying the motion, began to descend from the carriage. "Now, Broadman," continued Blowers, arranging his reins, and with clumsy air making his descent over the fore wheels, "take that 'ar wench o' mine, and, by the State's custom, give her the extent of the law, well laid on."

The author here writes the incident as given by the prison-keeper. The man hesitated, as if doubting his senses; rather would he have been courteous to what he still viewed as a lady, than extend his rude hand to lead her away.

"Pardon me, Sir! but you cannot mean what you say," nervously spoke the man, as in doubt he exchanged glances first with the fair woman and then with Blowers. "I means just what I says," returned that gentleman, peremptorily; "you'ze hearn o' that 'un afore. She's a nigger o' mine, what runned away more nor six years ago; come, do the job for her, and no fussing over't." "Nigger!" interrupted the man, in surprise. "Yes!" rejoined Blowers, emphasising his assurance with oaths, of which he had a never-failing supply, "that's the cussed white nigger what's gin me all the bother. The whiter niggers is, the more devil's in em; and that ar' one's got devil enough for a whole plantation; 'tisn't the licks I cares about, but it's the humblin' on her feelings by being punished in the workhouse!" The man of duty was now brought to his senses, when, seeing Blowers was inclined to relieve his anger on what he was pleased to consider the stupidity of a keeper, he took the weeping but resolute woman by the arm, and called a negro attendant, into whose charge he handed her, with an order to "put her in the slings." Soon she disappeared within the gate, following the mulatto man. And here we will again spare the reader's feelings, by omitting much that followed. Blowers and Broadman follow the hapless woman, as she proceeds through a narrow passage leading to the punishment room, and when about half way to that place of torture, a small, square door opens on the right, into a dingy office, the keeper says is where he keeps his accounts with the State, which derives a large revenue from the punishments. Into this does the worthy man invite his patron, whom he would have be seated while the criminal is got "all right" in the slings. Fain would Blowers go and attend the business himself; but Broadman saying "that cannot be," he draws from his pocket a small flask, and, seemingly contented, invites him to join in "somethin" he says is the very choicest. Broadman has no objection to encouraging this evidence of good feeling, which he will take advantage of to introduce the dialogue that follows. "Good sir," says he, "you will pardon what I am about to say, for indeed I feel the weakness of my position when addressing you, fortune having made a wide distinction between us; but judge me not because I am coarse of flesh, nor have polished manners, for I have a heart that feels for the unfortunate." Here Blowers interrupted the keeper by saying he would hear no chicken-hearted interpositions. "Remember, keeper," he added, "you must not presume on the small familiarity I have condescended to admit in drinking with you. I hold no controversies with prison-keepers (again he gulps his brandy) or their subs; being a servant of the state, I order you to give that wench the extent of the law. She shall disclose the secret of her escape, or I'll have her life; I'm a man what won't stand no nonsense, I am!" The keeper, rejoining, hopes he will pardon the seeming presumption; but, forsooth, notwithstanding necessity has driven him to seek a livelihood in his repulsive occupation, there is a duty of the heart he cannot betray, though the bread of his maintenance be taken from him. Blowers again assumes his dignity, rises from his seat, scowls significantly at the keeper, and says he will go put through the business with his own hands. "Good friend," says Broadman, arresting Blowers' progress, "by the state's ruling you are my patron; nevertheless, within these walls I am master, and whatever you may bring here for punishment shall have the benefit of my discretion. I loathe the law that forces me to, in such cases, overrule the admo- nitions of my heart. I, sir, am low of this world,--good! but, in regret do I say it, I have by a slave mother two fair daughters, who in the very core of my heart I love; nor would I, imitating the baser examples of our aristocracy, sell them hapless outcasts for life." Here Blowers again interrupted by allowing his passion to manifest itself in a few very fashionable oaths; to which he added, that he (pacing the room several times) would no longer give ear to such nonsense from a man of Broadman's position,--which was neither socially nor politically grand. "No doubt, good sir, my humble and somewhat repulsive calling does not meet your distinguished consideration; but I am, nevertheless, a man. And what I was about to say-I hope you will grant me a hearing-was, that having these two daughters-poverty only prevents my purchasing them-has made me sensible of these slaves having delicate textures. The unhappy possession of these daughters has caused me to reflect-to study constitutions, and their capacity to endure punishments. The woman it has pleased you to bring here for chastisement, I take it, is not coarse of flesh; but is one of those unfortunates whom kindness might reform, while the lash never fails to destroy. Why, then, not consider her in the light of a friendless wretch, whom it were better to save, than sink in shame? One word more and I am done" (Blowers was about to cut short the conversation); "the extent of the law being nothing less than twenty blows of the paddle, is most severe punishment for a woman of fine flesh to withstand on her naked loins. Nor, let me say-and here I speak from twelve years' experience-can the lady-I beg pardon, the slave you bring me!-bear these blows: no, my lips never spoke truer when I say she'll quiver and sink in spasms ere the second blow is laid on." Here-some twenty minutes having passed since the fair slave was led into the punishment room-Blowers cut short the conversation which had failed to thaw his resolution, by saying Broadman had bored his ears in spinning out his long song, and if he were unwilling to fulfil the duties of his office, such should be reported to the authorities, who would not permit workhouse-keepers so to modify their ordnances that black and white niggers have different punishments. "Nay, sir!" says the honest man, with an air of earnestness, as he rises from his seat; "follow me, and with the reality will I prove the truth of my words." Here he proceeds to that place of torments, the punishment-room, followed by Blowers; who says, with singular indifference-"Can do the job in five minutes; then I'll leave her with you for two, three, or four days or so. Then if she's civilly humbled down, I'll send my nigger fellow, Joe, with an order for her. Joe'll be the fellow's name; now, mind that: but you know my Joe, I reckon?" The keeper led the way, but made no reply; for indeed he knew nothing of his Joe, there being innumerable niggers of that name. As the men left the little office, and were sauntering up the passage, our worthy friend Rosebrook might be seen entering in search of Broadman; when, discovering Blowers in his company, and hearing the significant words, he shot into a niche, unobserved by them, and calling a negro attendant, learned the nature of his visit. And here it becomes necessary that we discover to the reader the fact of Rosebrook having been apprised of the forlorn woman's return, and her perilous position in the hands of Pringle Blowers; and, further, that the communication was effected by the negro man Pompe, who we have before described in connection with Montague at the time of his landing from the witch-like schooner. This Pompe was sold to Blowers but a few months before Annette's recovery, and acting upon the force of that sympathy which exists among fellow slaves of a plantation, soon renewed old acquaintance, gained her confidence, and, cunningly eluding the owner's watchfulness, conveyed for her a letter to the Rosebrooks. In truth, Pompe had an inveterate hatred of Blowers, and under the incitement would not have hesitated to stake his life in defence of the fair woman. Now, the exacting reader may question Rosebrook's intrepidity in not proceeding at once to the rescue of the victim; but when we say that he was ignorant of the positive order given the keeper, and only caught distinctly the words-"I'll send my nigger fellow, Joe, with an order for her!" they may discover an excuse for his hastily withdrawing from the establishment. Indeed, that my reader may withhold his censure, it may be well to add that he did this in order to devise more strategical means of effecting her escape.

And now, ye who have nerves-let them not be shaken; let not your emotions rise, ye who have souls, and love the blessings of liberty; let not mothers nor fathers weep over democracy's wrongs; nor let man charge us with picturing the horrors of a black romance when we introduce the spectacle in the room of punishments: such, be it known, is not our business, nor would we trifle unjustly with the errors of society; but, if chivalry have blushes, we do not object to their being used here. The keeper, followed by Blowers, enters a small room at the further end of the passage. It is some sixteen feet long by twelve wide, and proportionately high of ceiling. The pale light of a tallow candle, suspended from the ceiling by a wire, and from which large flakes of the melted grease lay cone-like on the pine floor, discloses the gloom, and discovers hanging from the walls, grim with smoke, sundry curious caps, cords, leathern cats, and the more improved paddles of wood, with flat blades. The very gloom of the place might excite the timid; but the reflection of how many tortures it has been the scene, and the mysterious stillness pervading its singularly decorated walls, add still more to increase apprehension. A plank, some two feet wide, and raised a few inches, stretches across the floor, and is secured at each end with cleets. About midway of this are ropes securing the victim's feet; and through the dim light is disclosed the half nude body of our fair girl, suspended by the wrists, which are clasped in bands of cord, that, being further secured to a pulley block, is hauled taut by a tackle. Suddenly the wretched woman gives vent to her feelings, and in paroxysms of grief sways her poor body to and fro, imploring mercy! "Nay, master! think that I am a woman-that I have a heart to feel and bleed; that I am a mother and a wife, though a slave. Let your deeds be done quickly, or end me and save me this shame!" she supplicates, as the bitter, burning anguish of her goaded soul gives out its flood of sorrow. Chivalry, forsooth, lies cold and unmoved-Blowers has no relish for such inconsistency;--such whinings, he says, will not serve southern principles. The mulatto attendant has secured the fall, and stands a few feet behind Blowers and the keeper, as that functionary says, laying his coarse hands on the woman's loins, "How silky!" The mulatto man shakes his head, revengefully, making a grimace, as Broadman, having selected the smallest paddle (reminding us of the curious sympathy now budding between the autocratic knout and democratic lash) again addresses Blowers. "I doubt, sir," he says, "if the woman stand a blow. Necessity 's a hard master, sir; and in this very act is the test more trying than I have ever known it. I dissemble myself when I see a wretch of fine flesh-a woman with tender senses, in distress, and I am made the instrument of adding to her suffering. Indeed, sir, when I contemplate the cause of such wretchedness, and the poverty forcing me to remain in this situation, no imagination can represent the horror of my feelings."

"We have no demand on your feelings, my man! we want your duty-what the state put you here to perform," interrupted Blowers, placing his thumbs in his vest, and making a step backward. Another second, and the attendant lighted a hand-lamp,--a sharp, slapping blow was heard, a death-like shriek followed; the flesh quivered and contracted into a discoloured and inflamed pustule; the body writhed a few seconds in convulsive spasms; a low moaning followed, and that fair form hung swooning in the slings, as the keeper, in fright, cried out, at the top of his voice, to the attendant--"Lower away the fall!" As if the fiend had not yet gratified his passion, no sooner was the seemingly lifeless body lowered clumsily to the floor, than he grasped the weapon from Broadman's hand, and like a tiger seeking its banquet of flesh, was about to administer a second blow. But Broadman had a good heart, the admonitions of which soared high above the state's mandate: seizing Blowers in his arms, he ejected him from the door, ran back to the prostrate woman, released her bruised limbs from the fastenings, gathered her to his arms; and with nervous hands and anxious face did he draw from his pocket the well-timed hartshorn, by the application of which he sought to restore her, as the mulatto man stood by, bathing her temples with cold water. "Ah! shame on the thing called a man who could abuse a sweet creature of fine flesh, like thee! it's not many has such a pretty sweet face," says Broadman, with an air of compassion, resting her shoulder against his bended knee as he encircles it with his left arm, and looks upon the pale features, tears glistening in his honest eyes. We might say with Broadman--"It's not the finest, nor the polished of flesh, that hath the softest hearts." But, reader, having performed our duty, let us drop the curtain over this sad but true scene; and when you have conjectured the third and fourth acts of the drama, join with us in hoping the chivalry of our State may yet awake to a sense of its position, that, when we again raise it, a pleasanter prospect may be presented.

LIV. IN WHICH ARE DISCOVERIES AND PLEASANT SCENES

ST. PATRICK'S night closed the day on which the scenes of the foregoing chapter were enacted; and that patron saint being of aristocratic descent, which caused him to be held in high esteem by our "very first families," than among whom better admirers could nowhere be found, his anniversary was sure to be celebrated with much feasting and drinking. But while this homage to the good saint made glad the hearts of thousands-while the city seemed radiant of joy, and reeling men from Hibernia's gorgeous hall found in him an excuse for their revelries--there sat in the box of a caf‚, situated on the west side of Meeting Street, two men who seemed to have a deeper interest at heart than that of the Saint's joy on his road to paradise. The one was a shortish man, coarse of figure, and whose browned features and figured hands bespoke him a sailor; the other was delicate of figure, with pale, careworn countenance and nervous demeanour. Upon the marble slab, on which they rested their elbows, sat a bottle of old Madeira, from which they sipped leisurely, now and then modulating their conversation into whispers. Then the man of brown features spoke out more at ease, as if they had concluded the preliminaries of some important business.

"Well, well,--now isn't that strange?" said he, sighing as he spread his brawny hands upon the white marble. "Natur's a curious mystery, though" (he looked intently at the other): "why, more nor twenty years have rolled over since I did that bit of a good turn, and here I is the very same old Jack Hardweather, skipper of the Maggy Bell. But for all that--and I'd have folks know it!--the Maggy's as trim a little craft as ever lay to on a sou'-easter; and she can show as clean a pair of heels as any other--barring her old top timbers complain now and then--to the best cutter as ever shook Uncle Sam's rags." His hard features softened, as in the earnest of his heart he spoke. He extended his hand across the table, grasping firmly that of his nervous friend, and continued--"And it was no other witch than the taunt Maggy Bell that landed that good woman safe on the free sands of old Bahama!" The Maggy, he tells the other, is now at the wharf, where the good wife, Molly Hardweather, keeps ship while the boys take a turn ashore.

"There's always a wise provision to relieve one's feelings when sorrow comes unexpectedly," returns the nervous man, his hand trembling as he draws forth the money to pay the waiter who answered his call.

"Yes!" quickly rejoined the other, "but keep up a good heart, like a sailor hard upon a lee shore, and all 'll be bright and sunny in a day or two. And now we'll just make a tack down the bay-street-and sight the Maggy. There's a small drop of somethin' in the locker, that'll help to keep up yer spirits, I reckon--a body's spirits has to be tautened now and then, as ye do a bobstay,--and the wife (she's a good sort of a body, though I say it) will do the best she can in her hard way to make ye less troubled at heart. Molly Hardweather has had some hard ups and downs in life, knows well the cares of a mother, and has had twins twice; yes"-adds the hardy seafarer-"we arn't polished folks, nor high of blood, but we've got hearts, and as every true heart hates slavery, so do we, though we are forced to dissemble our real feelings for the sake of peace in the trade." Here the delicate man took the sailor's arm, and sallied out to seek the little Maggy Bell, the former saying the meeting was as strange as grateful to his very soul. Down Market Street, shaded in darkness, they wended their way, and after reaching the wharf, passed along between long lines of cotton bales, piled eight and ten feet high, to the end, where lay motionless the pretty Maggy Bell, as clipper-like a craft as ever spread canvas. The light from the cabin shed its faint gleams over the quarter-deck, as Hardweather halted on the capsill, and with a sailor's pride run his quick black eye along her pirate-like hull, then aloft along the rigging. Exultingly, he says, "She is the sauciest witch that ever faced sea or showed a clean pair of heels. The Maggy Bell!"-he pats his friend on the shoulder-"why, sir, she has-just between ourselves now-slided many a poor slave off into freedom; but folks here don't think it of me. Now, if I reckon right"-he bites his tobacco, and extends it to the stranger-"and I believe I do, it's twenty years since the Maggy, of one dark night, skimmed it by that point, with Fort Pinkney on it, yonder, that good creature on board." He points to the murky mass, scarce visible in the distance, to the east. "And now she's one of the noblest women that ever broke bread to the poor; and she's right comfortable off, now,--alwa's has a smile, and a kind word, and something good for old Jack Hardweather whenever she sees him. Lord bless yer soul!"-here he shakes his head earnestly, and says he never was a lubber-"Jack Hardweather didn't care about the soft shot for his locker; it was my heart that felt the kindness. Indeed, it always jumps and jerks like a bobstay in a head sea, when I meets her. And then, when I thinks how 'twas me done the good turn, and no thanks to nobody! You hearn of me 'afore, eh" (he turns to his companion, who measuredly answers in the affirmative). "Well, then, my name's Skipper Jack Hardweather, known all along the coast; but, seeing how the world and navigation's got shortened down, they call me old Jack Splitwater. I suppose it's by the way of convenience, and so neither wife nor me have a bit of objection." Here the conversation was interrupted by the good wife's round, cheery face shooting suddenly from out the companion-way, and enjoining our friend Jack to come away aboard, her high peaked cap shining like snow on a dark surface. The truth was, that Splitwater, as he was styled, had become so much absorbed in excitement as to forget the length of his yarn. "Come away, now!" says the good wife, "everybody's left the Maggy to-night; and ther's na knowin' what 'd a' become 'un her if a'h hadn't looked right sharp, for ther' wer' a muckle ship a'mast run her dune; an' if she just had, the Maggy wad na mar bene seen!" The good wife shakes her head; her rich Scotch tongue sounding on the still air, as with apprehension her chubby face shines in the light of the candle she holds before it with her right hand. Skipper Splitwater will see his friend on board, he says, as they follow her down the companion-ladder. "Wife thinks as much of the Maggy-and would, I believe in my soul, cry her life out if anything happened till her: wife's a good body aboard a ship, and can take a trick at the wheel just as well as Harry Span the mate." Skipper Splitwater leads the way into a little dingy cabin, a partition running athwart ships dividing it into two apartments; the former being where Skipper Hardweather "sleeps his crew" and cooks his mess, the sternmost where he receives his friends. This latter place, into which he conducts the nervous man, is lumbered with boxes, chests, charts, camp-seats, log lines, and rusty quadrants, and sundry marine relics which only the inveterate coaster could conceive a use for. But the good wife Molly, whose canny face bears the wrinkles of some forty summers, and whose round, short figure is so simply set off with bright plaid frock and apron of gingham check, in taste well adapted to her humble position, is as clean and tidy as ever was picture of mine Vrow Vardenstein. Nevertheless,--we know the reader will join us in the sentiment-that which gave the air of domestic happiness a completeness hitherto unnoticed, was a wee responsibility, as seen sprawling and kicking goodnaturedly on the white pillow of the starboard berth, where its two peering eyes shone forth as bright as new-polished pearls. The little darling is just a year old, Dame Hardweather tells us; it's a twin,--the other died, and, she knows full well, has gone to heaven. Here she takes the little cherub in her lap, and having made her best courtesy as Hardweather introduces her to his nervous friend, seats herself on the locker, and commences suckling it, while he points to the very place on the larboard side where Clotilda-"Ah! I just caught the name," he says,--used to sit and sorrow for her child. "And then," he continues, "on the quarter-deck she'd go and give such longing looks back, like as if she wanted to see it; and when she couldn't, she'd turn away and sigh so. And this, Molly," he continues, "is the self-same child my friend here, who I am as happy to meet as a body can be, wants me to carry off from these wolves of slavery; and if I don't, then my name's not Jack Splitwater!" So saying, he bustles about, tells the nervous man he must excuse the want of finery, that he has been a hard coaster for God knows how many years, and the little place is all he can afford; for indeed he is poor, but expects a better place one of these days. Then he draws forth from a little nook in the stern locker a bottle, which he says contains pure stuff, and of which he invites his visitor to partake, that he may keep up a good heart, still hoping for the best. The nervous man declines his kind invitation,--he has too much at heart, and the sight of the child so reminds him of his own now blighted in slavery. The good woman now becoming deeply concerned, Hardweather must needs recount the story, and explain the strange man's troubles, which he does in simple language; but, as the yarn is somewhat long, the reader must excuse our not transcribing it here. With anxious face and listening ears did the woman absorb every word; and when the earnest skipper concluded with grasping firmly the man's hand, and saying-"Just you scheme the strategy, and if I don't carry it out my name aint Jack Hardweather!" would she fain have had him go on. "Lack a day, good man!" she rejoined, fondling closer to her bosom the little suckling; "get ye the wee bairn and bring it hither, and I'll mak it t'uther twin-na body'll kno't! and da ye ken hoo ye may mak the bonny wife sik a body that nane but foxes wad ken her. Just mak her a brae young sailor, and the Maggy Bell 'll do the rest on't." Hardweather here interrupted Molly's suggestion which was, indeed, most fortunate, and albeit supplied the initiative to the strategy afterwards adopted-for slavery opens wide the field of strategy-by reminding the stranger that she had a long Scotch head. The night had now well advanced; the stranger shook the woman's hand firmly, and bade her good night, as a tear gushed into his eyes. The scene was indeed simple, but touching. The hard mariner will accompany his friend to the wharf; and then as he again turns on the capsill, he cannot bid him good night without adding a few words more in praise of the little Maggy Bell, whose name is inscribed in gilt letters upon the flash-board of her stern. Holding his hand, he says: "Now, keep the heart up right! and in a day or two we'll have all aboard, and be in the stream waiting for a fair breeze-then the Maggy 'll play her part. Bless yer soul! the little craft and me's coasted down the coast nobody knows how many years; and she knows every nook, creek, reef, and point, just as well as I does. Just give her a double-reefed mainsail, and the lug of a standing jib, and in my soul I believe she'd make the passage without compass, chart, or a hand aboard. By the word of an old sailor, such a craft is the Maggy Bell. And when the Spanish and English and French all got mixed up about who owned Florida, the Maggy and me's coasted along them keys when, blowing a screecher, them Ingins' balls flew so, a body had to hold the hair on his head; but never a bit did the Maggy mind it." The stranger's heart was too full of cares to respond to the generous man's simplicity; shaking his hand fervently, he bid him good night, and disappeared up the wharf.

We apprehend little difficulty to the reader in discovering the person of Montague in our nervous man, who, in the absence of intelligence from his wife, was led to suspect some foul play. Nor were his suspicions unfounded; for, on returning to Memphis, which he did in great haste, he found his home desolate, his wife and child borne back into slavery, and himself threatened with Lynch law. The grief which threatened to overwhelm him at finding those he so dearly loved hurled back into bondage, was not enough to appease a community tenacious of its colour. No! he must leave his business, until the arrival of some one from New York, to the clerk who so perfidiously betrayed him. With sickened heart, then, does he-only too glad to escape the fury of an unreasoning mob-seek that place of bondage into which the captives have been carried; nay, more, he left the excited little world (reporting his destination to be New York) fully resolved to rescue them at the hazard of his life, and for ever leave the country. Scarcely necessary then, will it be for us to inform the reader, that, having sought out the Rosebrooks, he has counselled their advice, and joined them in devising means of relief. Blowers had declared, on his sacred honour, he would not sell the captives for their weight in gold.

Rosebrook had no sooner received Annette's letter from the hand of Pompe than he repaired to Blowers' plantation-as well to sound that gentleman's disposition to sell his captives, as a necessary precaution against the dangers he had incurred through his participation in the fair girl's escape; for albeit the disclosure might be extorted from her by cruelty. But Blowers was too much of a gentleman to condescend to sell his captive; nor would he listen to arguments in her behalf. Nevertheless, we will not underrate Blowers' character, that the reader may suppose him devoid of compassion; for-be it recorded to his fame-he did, on the morning following that on which the punishment we have described in the foregoing chapter took place, send the child, whose long and piercing cries he could no longer endure, to the arms of its poor disconsolate mother, whom he hoped would take good care of it.

Now, let not the reader restrain his fancy, but imagine, if he can, Pringle Blowers' disappointment and state of perturbation, when, three days after the punishment, he presented himself at Broadman's establishment, and was informed by that functionary that the fair mother was non est. With honest face did Broadman assert his ignorance of wrong. That he had not betrayed his duty he would satisfy the enraged man, by producing the very order on which he delivered them to Joe! "Yes, Joe was his name!" continues the honest man; "and he asserted his ownership, and told a straightforward story, and didn't look roguish." He passes the order over to Blowers, who, having examined it very cautiously, says: "Forgery, forgery!-'tis, by the Eternal!" Turning his fat sides, he approaches the window, and by the light reads each successive word. It is written in a scrawl precisely like his own; but, forsooth, it cannot be his. However, deeming it little becoming a man of his standing to parley with Broadman, he quickly makes his exit, and, like a locomotive at half speed, exhausting his perturbation the while, does he seek his way into the city, where he discovers his loss to the police. We have in another part of our history described Blowers as something of a wag; indeed, waggery was not the least trait in his curious character, nor was he at all cautious in the exercise of it; and, upon the principle that those who give must take, did he render himself a fit object for those who indulge in that sort of pastime to level their wit upon. On this occasion, Blowers had not spent many hours in the city ere he had all its convenient corners very fantastically decorated with large blue placards, whereon was inscribed the loss of his valuable woman, and the offer of the increased sum of four hundred dollars for her apprehension. The placards were wonderful curiosities, and very characteristic of Blowers, who in this instance excited no small amount of merriment among the city wags, each of whom cracked a joke at his expense. Now it was not that those waggish spirits said of his placard things exceedingly annoying to his sensitive feelings, but that every prig made him the butt of his borrowed wit. One quizzed him with want of gallantry,--another told him what the ladies said of his oss,--a third pitied him, but hoped he might get back his property; and then, Tom Span, the dandy lawyer, laconically told him that to love a fair slave was a business he must learn over again; and Sprout, the cotton-broker, said there was a law against ornamenting the city with blue placards and type of such uncommon size. In this interminable perplexity, and to avoid the last-named difficulty, did he invoke the genius of the "bill-sticker," who obliterated the blue placards by covering them over with brown ones, the performance of which, Blowers himself superintended. This made the matter still worse, for with jocose smile did every wag say he had hung the city in mourning for his loss; which singular proceeding the ladies had one and all solemnly protested against. Now, Blowers regard for the ladies was proverbial; nor will it disparage his character to say that no one was more sensitive of their opinions concerning himself. In this unhappy position, then, which he might have avoided had he exercised more calmly his philosophy, did his perturbation get the better of him;--an object of ridicule for every wag, and in ill-favour with the very first ladies, never was perplexed man's temper so near the exploding point of high pressure. And here, forsooth, disgusted within the whole city, nor at all pleased with the result of his inventive genius, he sought relief in strong drinks and a week of dissipation; in which sad condition we must leave him to the reader's sympathy.

As some of our fair readers may be a little prudish, or exacting of character, and as we are peculiarly sensitive of the reputation some of the characters embodied in this history should bear to the very end, we deem it prudent here not to disclose the nature of the little forgery which was perpetrated at Blowers' expense, nor the means by which it was so cleverly carried out, to the release of the fair captives, who must now be got out of the city. Should we, in the performance of this very desirable duty, fail to please the reader's taste for hair-breadth escapes, unnatural heroism, and sublime disinterestedness, an excuse may be found in our lack of soul to appreciate those virtues of romance. We have no taste for breathless suspenses, no love of terror: we deal not in tragedy, nor traffic in dramatic effects. But as the simplest strategy is often the most successful of results, so did it prove in this particular case; for, be it known, that on the morning of the twenty-fourth of March,--, was Molly Hardweather's suggestion adopted and effectually carried out, to the gratification of sundry interested persons. Calm and bright was that morning; Charleston harbour and its pretty banks seemed radiant of loveliness: the phantom-like Maggy Bell, with mainsail and jib spread motionless in the air, swung gently at anchor midway the stream; and Dame Hardweather sat in the dingy cabin, her little chubby face beaming contentment as she nursed the "t'other twin." The brusque figure of old Jack, immersed in watchfulness, paced to and fro the Maggy's deck; and in the city as trim a young sailor as ever served signal halliards on board man-o'-war, might be seen, his canvas bag slung over his shoulder, carelessly plodding along through the busy street, for the landing at the market slip. Soon the Maggy's flying jib was run up, then the foresail followed and hung loose by the throat. Near the wheel, as if in contemplation, sat Montague, while Hardweather continued his pacing, now glancing aloft, then to seaward, as if invoking Boreas' all-welcome aid, and again watching intently in the direction of the slip. A few minutes more and a boat glided from the wharf, and rowed away for the little craft, which it soon reached, and on board of which the young sailor flung his bag, clambered over the rail, and seemed happy, as old Jack put out his brawny hand, saying: "Come youngster, bear a hand now, and set about brightening up the coppers!" We need not here discover the hearts that leaped with joy just then; we need not describe the anxiety that found relief when the young sailor set foot on the Maggy's deck; nor need we describe those eyes on shore that in tears watched the slender form as it disappeared from sight. Just then a breeze wafted from the north, the anchor was hove up, the sails trimmed home, and slowly seaward moved the little bark. As she drifted rather than sailed past Fort Pinkney, two burly officials, as is the custom, boarded to search for hapless fugitives; but, having great confidence in the honesty of Skipper Splitwater, who never failed to give them of his best cheer, they drank a pleasant passage to him, made a cursory search, a note of the names of all on board (Jack saying Tom Bolt was the young sailor's), and left quite satisfied. Indeed, there was nothing to excite their suspicions, for the good dame sat nursing the "twa twins," nor left aught to discover the discrepancy between their ages, if we except a pair of little red feet that dangled out from beneath the fringe of a plaid shawl. And the young sailor, who it is hardly necessary to inform the reader is Annette, was busy with his cooking. And now the little craft, free upon the wave, increased her speed as her topsails spread out, and glided swiftly seaward, heaven tempering the winds to her well-worn sails. God speed the Maggy Bell as she vaults over the sea; and may she never want water under keel, slaves to carry into freedom, or a good Dame Hardweather to make cheerful the little cabin! say we.

And now, reader, join us in taking a fond farewell of the Rosebrooks, who have so nobly played their part, to the shame of those who stubbornly refuse to profit by their example. They played no inactive part in the final escape; but discretion forbids our disclosing its minuti‘. They sought to give unto others that liquid of life to which they owed their own prosperity and happiness; nor did selfish motive incite them to action. No; they sought peace and prosperity for the state; they would bind in lasting fellowship that union so mighty of states, which the world with mingled admiration and distrust watches; which in kindred compact must be mightier, which divided must fall! And while taking leave of them, hoping their future may be brightened with joys-and, too, though it may not comport with the interests of our southern friends, that their inventive genius may never want objects upon which to illustrate itself so happily-let us not forget to shake old Jack Hardweather warmly by the hand, invoking for him many fair winds and profitable voyages. A big heart enamelled of "coarse flesh" is his; but with his warm functions he has done much good; may he be rich in heaven's rewards, for he is poor in earth's!

Chapter LV

IN WHICH IS A HAPPY MEETING, SOME CURIOUS FACTS DEVELOPED, AND CLOTILDA'S HISTORY DISCLOSED.

IT was seven days after the sailing of the Maggy Bell, as described in the foregoing chapter, that Montague was seen sitting in the comfortably furnished parlour of a neat cottage in the suburbs of Nassau. The coal fire burned brightly in a polished grate; the carpets and rugs, and lolling mats, indicated of care and comfort; the tabbied furniture and chastely worked ottomans, and sofas, and chairs, and inlaid workstands, seem bright of regularity and taste; and the window curtains of lace and damask, and the scroll cornices from which they flowingly hung, and the little landscape paintings that hung upon the satin-papered walls, and the soft light that issued from two girandoles on the mantel-piece of figured marble, all lent their cheering aid to make complete the radiant picture of a happy home. But Montague sat nervous with anxiety. "Mother won't be a minute!" said a pert little fellow of some seven summers, who played with his hands as he sat on the sofa, and asked questions his emotions forbid answering. On an ottoman near the cheerful fire, sat, with happy faces, the prettily dressed figures of a boy and girl, older in age than the first; while by the side of Montague sat Maxwell, whose manly countenance we transcribed in the early part of our narrative, and to whom Montague had in part related the sad events of the four months past, as he heaved a sigh, saying, "How happy must he die who careth for the slave!" Ere the words had escaped his lips, the door opened, and the graceful form of a beautiful woman entered, her finely oval but pensive face made more expressive by the olive that shaded it, and those deep soul-like eyes that now sparkled in gentleness, and again flashed with apprehension. Nervously she paused and set her eyes with intense stare on Montague; then vaulted into his arms and embraced him, crying, "Is not my Annette here?" as a tear stole down her cheeks. Her quick eye detected trouble in his deportment; she grasped his left hand firmly in her right, and with quivering frame besought him to keep her no longer in the agony of suspense. "Why thus suddenly have you come? ah!-you disclose a deep-rooted trouble in not forewarning me! tell me all and relieve my feelings!" she ejaculated, in broken accents. "I was driven from that country because I loved nature and obeyed its laws. My very soul loved its greatness, and would have done battle for its glories-yea, I loved it for the many blessings it hath for the favoured; but one dark stain on its bright escutcheon so betrayed justice, that no home was there for me-none for the wife I had married in lawful wedlock." Here the woman, in agonising throbs, interrupted him by enquiring why he said there was no home for the wife he had married in lawful wedlock-was not the land of the puritans free? "Nay!" he answered, in a measured tone, shaking his head, "it is bestained not with their crimes-for dearly do they love justice and regard the rights of man-but with the dark deeds of the man-seller, who, heedless of their feelings, and despising their moral rectitude, would make solitary those happy homes that brighten in greatness over its soil." Again, frantic of anxiety, did the woman interrupt him: "Heavens!-she is not dragged back into slavery?" she enquired, her emotions rising beyond her power of restraint, as she drew bitter pangs from painful truths. With countenance bathed in trouble did Montague return her solicitous glance, and speak. "Into slavery" he muttered, in half choked accents "was she hurled back." He had not finished the sentence ere anxiety burst its bounds, and the anxious woman shrieked, and fell swooning in his arms. Even yet her olive face was beautefully pale. The cheerful parlour now rung with confusion, servants bustled about in fright, the youthful family shrieked in fear, the father sought to restore the fond mother, as Montague chafed her right hand in his. Let us leave to the reader's conjecture a scene his fancy may depict better than we can describe, and pass to one more pleasant of results. Some half an hour had transpired, when, as if in strange bewilderment, Clotilda opened her eyes and seemed conscious of her position. A deep crimson shaded her olive cheeks, as in luxurious ease she lay upon the couch, her flushed face and her thick wavy hair, so prettily parted over her classic brow, curiously contrasting with the snow-white pillow on which it rested. A pale and emaciated girl sat beside her, smoothing her brow with her left hand, laying the right gently on the almost motionless bosom, kissing the crimsoning cheek, and lisping rather than speaking, "Mother, mother, oh mother!-it's only me." And then the wet courses on her cheeks told how the fountain of her soul had overflown. Calmly and vacantly the woman gazed on the fair girl, with whom she had been left alone. Then she raised her left hand to her brow, sighed, and seemed sinking into a tranquil sleep. "Mother! mother! I am once more with my mother!" again ejaculates the fair girl, sobbing audibly; "do you not know me, mother?" Clotilda started as if suddenly surprised. "Do I dream?" she muttered, raising herself on her elbow, as her great soft eyes wandered about the room. She would know who called her mother. "'Tis me," said the fair girl, returning her glances, "do you not know your Annette-your slave child?" Indeed the fair girl was not of that bright countenance she had anticipated meeting, for though the punishment had little soiled her flesh the dagger of disgrace had cut deep into her heart, and spread its poison over her soul. "This my Annette!" exclaimed Clotilda, throwing her arms about the fair girl's neck, drawing her frantically to her bosom, and bathing her cheeks with her tears of joy. "Yes, yes, 'tis my long-lost child; 'tis she for whom my soul has longed-God has been merciful, rescued her from the yawning death of slavery, and given her back to her mother! Oh, no, I do not dream-it is my child,--my Annette!" she continued. Long and affectionately did they mingle their tears and kisses. And now a fond mother's joy seemed complete, a child's sorrow ended, and a happy family were made happier. Again the family gathered into the room, where, as of one accord, they poured out their affectionate congratulations. One after another were the children enjoined to greet Annette, kiss her, and call her sister. To them the meeting was as strange as to the parents it was radiant of joy. "Mother!" said the little boy, as he took Annette by the hand and called her sister, and kissed her as she kissed him, "was you married before you was married to father?" The affectionate mother had no answer to make; she might have found one in the ignominy of the slave world. And now, when the measure of joy seemed full-when the bitterness of the past dwindled away like a dream, and when the future like a beacon hung out its light of promise,--Clotilda drew from a small workstand a discoloured paper written over in Greek characters, scarce intelligible. "Annette!" said she, "my mother gave me this when last I saw her. The chains were then about her hands, and she was about to be led away to the far south slave market: by it did I discover my history." Here she unfolded its defaced pages, lifted her eyes upwards invokingly, and continued--"To speak the crimes of great men is to hazard an oblivion for yourself, to bring upon you the indifference of the multitude; but great men are often greatest in crime-for so it proved with those who completed my mother's destruction. Give ear, then, ye grave senators, and if ye have hearts of fathers, lend them! listen, ye queen mothers of my country, whose sons and daughters are yet travelling the world's uncertainties! listen, ye fathers, who have souls above Mammon's golden grasp, and sons in whom ye put your trust! listen, ye brothers, whose pride brightens in a sister's virtue! listen, ye sisters, who enjoy paternal affections, and feel that one day you may grace a country's social life! listen, ye philanthropists, ye men of the world, who love your country, and whose hearts yearn for its liberties-ye men sensitive of our great Republic's honour, nor seek to traffic in the small gains of power when larger ones await you; and, above all, lend your hearts, ye brothers of the clergy in the slave church, and give ear while I tell who I am, and pray ye, as ye love the soul of woman, to seek out those who, like unto what I was, now wither in slavery. My grandfather's name was Iznard Maldonard, a Minorcan, who in the year 1767 (some four years after Florida was by the king of Spain ceded to Great Britain) emigrated with one Dr. Turnbull-whose name has since shone on the pages of history-to that land of sunshine and promise; for, indeed, Florida is the Italy of America. In that year did numerous of the English aristocracy conceive plans as various as inconsistent for the population and improvement of the colony. With a worthy motive did Lord Rolle draw from the purlieus of London [Footnote: See Williams' History of Florida, page 188.] State Papers, three hundred wretched females, whose condition he would better by reforming and making aid in founding settlements. This his lordship found no easy task; but the climate relieved him of the perplexity he had brought upon himself, for to it did they all fall victims in a very short time. But Turnbull, with motive less commendable, obtained a grant of his government, and, for the sum of four hundred pounds, (being then in the Peleponnesus) was the governor of Modon bribed into a permission to convey sundry Greek families to Florida, for colonization. Returning from Modon with a number of families, he touched at the islands of Corsica and Minorca, added another vessel to his fleet, and increased the number of his settlers to fifteen hundred. With exciting promises did he decoy them to his land of Egypt, which proved a bondage to his shame. He would give them lands, free passages, good provisions and clothing; but none of these promises did he keep. A long passage of four months found many victims to its hardships, and those who arrived safe were emaciated by sickness. Into the interior were these taken; and there they founded a settlement called New Smyrna, the land for which-some sixty thousand acres-was granted by the governor of Florida. Faithfully and earnestly did they labour for the promised reward, and in less than five years had more than three thousand acres of land in the highest state of cultivation; but, as Turnbull's prosperity increased, so did the demon avarice; and men, women, and children, were reduced to the most abject slavery. Tasks greater than they could perform were assigned them, and a few Italians and negroes made overseers and drivers. For food the labourers were allotted seven quarts of corn per week. Many who had lived in affluence in their own country were compelled to wear osnaburgs, and go bare-foot through the year. More than nine years were those valuable settlers kept in this state of slavery, the cruelties inflicted upon them surpassing in enormity those which so stigmatised the savage Spaniards of St. Domingo. Drivers were compelled to beat and lacerate those who had not performed their tasks; many were left naked, tied all night to trees, that mosquitoes might suck their blood, and the suffering wretches become swollen from torture. Some, to end their troubles, wandered off, and died of starvation in the forest, and, including the natural increase, less than six hundred souls were left at the end of nine years. But, be it known to those whose hearts and ears I have before invoked, that many children of these unfortunate parents were fair and beautiful, which valuable charms singularly excited the cupidity of the tyrant, who betook himself to selling them for purposes most infamous. A child overhearing the conversation of three English gentlemen who made an excursion to the settlement, and being quick of ear, conveyed the purport of it to his mother, who, in the night, summoned a council of her confidants to concoct the means of gaining more intelligence. The boy heard the visitors, who stood in the great mansion, which was of stone, say, "Did the wretches know their rights they had not suffered such enormities of slavery." It was resolved that three ask for long tasks, under the pretext of gaining time to catch turtle on the coast; but having gained the desired time, they set off for St. Augustine, which they reached, after swimming rivers and delving almost impenetrable morasses. They sought the attorney-general of the province, Mr. Younge,--I speak his name with reverence-and with an earnest zeal did he espouse the cause of this betrayed people. At that time, Governor Grant-since strongly suspected of being concerned with Turnbull in the slavery of the Greeks and Minorcans-had just been superseded by Tonyn, who now had it in his power to rebuke a tyrant, and render justice to a long-injured people. Again, on the return of the envoys, who bore good tidings, did they meet in secret, and choose one Pallicier, a Greek, their leader. This man had been master mechanic of the mansion. With wooden spears were the men armed and formed into two lines, the women, children, and old men in the centre; and thus did they set off from the place of bondage to seek freedom. In vain did the tyrant-whose name democracy has enshrined with its glories-pursue them, and exhaust persuasion to procure their return. For three days did they wander the woods, delve morasses, and swim rivers, ere they reached the haven of St. Augustine, where, being provided with provisions, their case was tried, and, albeit, though Turnbull interposed all the perfidy wealth could purchase, their fredeom established. But alas! not so well was it with those fair daughters whom the tyrant sold slaves to a life of infamy, and for whose offspring, now in the bitterness of bondage, do we plead. Scores of these female children were sold by the tyrant; but either the people were drunk of joy over their own liberty, and forgot to demand the return of their children, or the good Younge felt forcibly his weakness to bring to justice the rich and great-for the law is weak where slavery makes men great-so as to make him disgorge the ill-gotten treasure he might have concealed, but the proof of which nothing was easier than to obliterate.

"Maldonard, then, was my grandfather; and, with my grandmother and three children, was of those who suffered the cruelties I have detailed. Two of his children were girls, fair and beautiful, whom the tyrant, under the pretext of bettering their condition in another colony, sold away into slavery. One was my dear mother." Here tears coursed down the woman's cheeks. "And she, though I blush to tell it, was sold to Rovero, who was indeed my father as well as Franconia's. But I was years older than Franconia-I visit her grave by day, and dream of her by night;--nor was it strange that she should trace the cause of similarity in our features. Forsooth, it was that singular discovery-of which I was long ignorant-coupled with the virtues of a great soul, that incited her to effect my escape. Rovero, ere he married Franconia's mother, sold Sylvia Maldonard, who was my mother; and may angels bring glad tidings of her spirit! Yes, true is it that my poor mother was sold to one Silenus, of whom Marston bought my body while heaven guarded the soul: but here would I drop the curtain over the scene, for Maldonard is dead; and in the grave of his Italian wife, ere he gained his freedom, was he buried." Here again the fond mother, as she concluded, lifted her eyes invokingly, fondled her long-lost child to her bosom,--smiled upon her, kissed her, and was happy.

Chapter LVI

IN WHICH A PLOT IS DISCLOSED, AND THE MAN-SELLER MADE TO PAY THE PENALTY OF HIS CRIMES.

WHILE the scenes which we have detailed in the foregoing chapter were being enacted at Nassau, there stood in the portico of a massive dwelling, fronting what in Charleston is called the "Battery Promenade," the tall and stately figure of a man, wrapped in a costly black cloak, the folds of which lay carelessly about his neck and shoulders. For some minutes did he stand, hesitating, and watching up and down the broad walk in front. The gas-light overhead shed its glare upon the freestone walls-for the night was dark-and, as he turned, discovered the fine features of a frank and open countenance, to which the flashing of two great intelligent eyes, a long silvery beard, and a flowing moustache, all shaded by the broad brim of a black felt hat, lent their aid to make impressive. Closer he muffled his face in the folds of his cloak, and spoke. "Time!" said he, in a voice musical and clear, "hath worn little on his great mansion; like his heart, it is of good stone." The mansion, indeed, was of princely front, with chiselled fa‡ade and great doric windows of deep fluted mouldings, grand in outline. Now a small hand stole from beneath his cloak, rapped gently upon the carved door of black walnut, and rang the bell. Soon the door swung open, and a negro in a black coat, white vest, and handkerchief of great stiffness, and nether garments of flashy stripes, politely bowed him into a hall of great splendour. Rows of statuary stood in alcoves along its sides; the walls dazzled with bright coloured paintings in massive gilt frames; highly coloured and badly blended mythological designs spread along the ceiling: the figure of a female, with pearly tears gushing from her eyes, as on bended knee she besought mercy of the winged angel perched above her, stood beside the broad stairway at the further end of the hall-strangely emblematical of the many thousand souls the man-seller had made weep in the bitterness of slavery; the softest rugs and costly Turkey carpets, with which its floor was spread, yielded lightly to the footfall, as the jetting lights of a great chandelier shed refulgence over the whole: indeed, what there lacked of taste was made up with air of opulence. The negro exhibited some surprise at the stranger's dress and manner, for he affected ease and indifference. "Is your master at leisure?" said he. "Business, or a friend?" inquired the negro, making one of his best bows, and drawing back his left foot. "Both," was the quick reply. "I, boy, am a gentleman!" "I sees dat, mas'r," rejoined the boy, accompanying his answer with another bow, and requesting the stranger's name, as he motioned him into a spacious drawing-room on the right, still more gorgeously furnished.

"My name is Major Blank: your master knows my name: I would see him quickly!" again spoke the stranger, as the boy promptly disappeared to make the announcement. The heavy satin-damask curtains, of finest texture, that adorned the windows; the fresco-paintings of the walls; the elaborate gilding that here and there in bad taste relieved the cornices; the massive pictures that hung in gauze-covered frames upon the walls; the chastely designed carpets, and lolls, and rugs, with which the floor gave out its brilliancy; the costly tapestry of the curiously carved furniture that stood here and there about the room; and the soft light of a curiously constructed chandelier, suspended from the left hand of an angel in bronze, the said angel having its wings pinioned to the ceiling, its body in the attitude of descending, and its right hand gracefully raised above the globe, spreading its prismatic glows over the whole, did indeed make the scene resplendent of luxury. The man carelessly seated himself at a table that stood in the centre of the room, threw the hat he had declined yielding to the negro on the floor beside him, rested the elbow of his left arm on the table, and his head in his hand, as with the fingers of his right hand did he fret the long silvery beard that bedecked his chin, and contemplate with eager gaze the scene around him. "Yea, the man-seller hath, with his spoils of greed, gotten him a gorgeous mansion; even he liveth like a prince, his head resteth more in peace, and because he hath great wealth of crime men seek to honour him. The rich criminal hath few to fear; but hard is the fate of him who hath not the wherewith to be aught but a poor one!" he muttered to himself, as the door opened, and the well-rounded figure of Graspum whisked into the room. The negro bowed politely, and closed the door after him, as the stranger's eye flashed upon his old acquaintance, who, bedecked somewhat extravagantly, and with a forced smile on his subtle countenance, advanced rubbing his hands one over the other, making several methodical bows, to which the stranger rose, as he said, "Most happy am I to see you, Major! Major Blake, I believe, I have the pleasure of receiving?" Here the stranger interpolated by saying his name was not Blake, but Blank: the other apologised, said he was just entertaining a small but very select circle of friends; nevertheless, always chose to follow the maxim of "business before pleasure." Again he bustled about, worked his fingers with a mechanical air, frisked them through his hair, with which he covered the bald surface of his head, kept his little keen eyes leering apprehensively on what he deemed a ripe customer, whom he bid keep his seat. To an invitation to lay off his cloak the stranger replied that it was of no consequence. "A planter just locating, if I may be permitted to suggest?" enquired Graspum, taking his seat on the opposite side of the table. "No!" returned the other, emphatically; "but I have some special business in your line." The man of business, his face reddening of anxiety, rose quickly from his seat, advanced to what seemed a rosewood cabinet elaborately carved, but which was in reality an iron safe encased with ornamental wood, and from it drew forth a tin case, saying, as he returned and set it upon the table, "Lots from one to five were sold yesterday at almost fabulous prices-never was the demand for prime people better; but we have Lots (here he began to disgorge invoices) six, seven, eight, and nine left; all containing the primest of people! Yes, sir, let me assure you, the very choicest of the market." He would have the customer examine the invoices himself, and in the morning the live stock may be seen at his yard. "You cherish no evil in your breast, in opposition to the command of Him who reproved the wrong of malice; but you still cling to the sale of men, which you conceive no harm, eh, Graspum?" returned the stranger, knitting his brows, as a curl of fierce hatred set upon his lip. With an air of surprise did Graspum hesitate for a moment, and then, with a measured smile, said, "Why, Lord bless you! it would be a dishonour for a man of my celebrity in business to let a day escape without a sale; within the last ten days I have sold a thousand people, or more,--provided you throw in the old ones!" Here he again frisked his fingers, and leaned back in his chair, as his face resumed an air of satisfaction. The stranger interrupted as the man-seller was about to enquire the number and texture of the people he desired. "Graspum," said he, with significant firmness, setting his eyes upon him with intense stare,--"I want neither your men, nor your women, nor your little children; but, have you a record of souls you have sunk in the bitterness of slavery in that box"-here the stranger paused, and pointed at the box on the table-"keep it until you knock for admittance at the gates of eternity." It was not until this moment that he could bring his mind, which had been absorbed in the mysteries of man-selling, to regard the stranger in any other light than that of a customer. "Pardon me, sir!" said he, somewhat nervously, "but you speak with great familiarity." The stranger would not be considered intrusive. "Then you have forgotten me, Graspum?" exclaimed the man, with an ominous laugh. As if deeply offended at such familiarity, the man-seller shook his head rebukingly, and replied by saying he had an advantage of him not comprehensible. "Then have you sent my dearest relatives to an untimely grave, driven me from the home of my childhood, and made a hundred wretches swim a sea of sorrow; and yet you do not know me?" Indeed, the charges here recounted would have least served to aid the recognition, for they belonged only to one case among many scores that might have been enumerated. He shook his head in reply. For a minute did they,--the stranger scowling sarcastically upon his adversary (for such he now was),--gaze upon each other, until Graspum's eyes drooped and his face turned pale. "I have seen you; but at this moment cannot place you," he replied, drawing back his chair a pace. "It were well had you never known me!" was the stranger's rejoinder, spoken in significant accents, as he deliberately drew from beneath his cloak a revolver, which he laid on the table, warning his adversary that it were well he move cautiously. Graspum affects not to comprehend such importune demeanor, or conjecture what has brought him hither. Trembling in fright, and immersed in the sweat of his cowardice, he would proclaim aloud his apprehension; to which medium of salvation he makes an attempt to reach the door. But the stranger is too quick for him: "Calm your fears, Graspum," he says; "act not the child, but meet the consequences like a hero: strange is it, that you, who have sold twenty thousand souls, should shrink at the yielding up of one life!" concludes he, placing his back firmly against the door, and commanding Graspum to resume his seat. Having locked the door and placed the key in his pocket, he paced twice or thrice up and down the floor, seemingly in deep contemplation, and heaved a sigh. "Graspum!" he ejaculated, suddenly turning towards that terrified gentleman; "in that same iron chest have you another box, the same containing papers which are to me of more value than all your invoices of souls. Go! bring it hither!" Tremblingly did the man-seller obey the command, drew from the chest an antiquated box, and placed it hesitatingly upon the table. "I will get the key, if you will kindly permit me," he said, bowing, as the sweat fell from his chin upon the carpet. The stranger says it wants no key; he breaks it open with his hands. "You have long stored it with goodly papers; let us see of what they are made," said he. Here Graspum commenced drawing forth package after package of papers, the inscriptions on which were eagerly observed by the stranger's keen eye. At length there came out a package of letters, superscribed in the stranger's own hand, and directed to Hugh Marston. "How came you by these?" enquired the stranger, grasping them quickly: "Ah, Graspum, I have heard all! Never mind,--continue!" he resumed. Presently there came forth a package addressed to "Franconia M'Carstrow," some of which the stranger recognised as superscribed by his mother, others by Clotilda, for she could write when a slave. Graspum would put this last aside; but in an angry tone did the stranger demand it, as his passion had well nigh got the better of his resolution. "How the deep and damning infamy discovers itself! Ah, Graspum, for the dross of this world hast thou betrayed the innocent. Through thine emissaries has thus intercepted these letters, and felt safe in thy guilt. And still you know not who I am?" Indeed, the man-seller was too much beside himself with terror to have recognised even a near friend. "My name is Lorenzo,--he who more than twenty years ago you beguiled into crime. There is concealed beneath those papers a bond that bears on its face the secret of the many sorrows brought upon my family." "Lorenzo!" interrupted Graspum, as he let fall a package of papers, and sat aghast and trembling. "Yes," replied the other, "you cannot mistake me, though time hath laid a heavy hand upon my brow. Now is your infamy complete!" Here the stranger drew forth the identical bond we have described in the early part of our history, as being signed by Marston, at his mansion, on the night previous to Lorenzo's departure. Bidding the man-seller move not an inch, he spread the document before him, and commanded him to read the contents. This he had not resolution to do. "Graspum!" spoke Lorenzo, his countenance flushed in passion; "you can see, if you cannot read; look ye upon the words of that paper (here he traced the lines with the forefinger of his right hand as he stood over the wretched miscreant) and tell me if it be honourable to spare the life of one who would commit so foul a deed. On the night you consummated my shame, forced me to relieve you by procuring my uncle's signature to a document not then filled up, or made complete, how little did I conjecture the germs of villainy so deep in your heart as to betray the confidence I reposed in you. You, in your avarice, changed the tenor of that instrument, made the amount more than double that which I had injudiciously become indebted to you, and transcribed it in the instrument, in legal phraseology, which you made a death-warrant to my nearest and dearest relatives. Read it, miscreant! read it! Read on it sixty-two thousand dollars, the cause of your anxiety to hurry me out of the city into a foreign land. I returned to seek a sister, to relieve my uncle, to live an honourable man on that home so dear in my boyhood, so bright of that which was pleasant in the past, to make glad the hearts of my aged parents, and to receive the sweet forgiveness of those who honoured me when fortune smiled; but you have left me none of these boons-nay, you would have me again wander an outcast upon the world!" And now, as the miscreant fell tremblingly on his knees, and beseeching that mercy which he had denied so many, Lorenzo's frenzy surmounted all his resolution. With agitated hand he seized his revolver, saying, "I will go hence stained with a miscreant's blood." Another moment, and the loud shriek of the man-seller echoed forth, the sharp report of a pistol rung ominously through the mansion; and quivering to the ground fell dead a wretch who had tortured ten thousand souls, as Lorenzo disappeared and was seen no more.