Mou-Setsé: A Negro Hero; The Orphans' Pilgimage: A Story of Trust in God

by L. T. Meade

blackies to lookfor dose as I lobs!"

  But his great anxiety about his own people by no means closed the heartof Mou-Setse to those whose troubles he daily witnessed. For reasons ofhis own, he was always down on the quay to watch the faces of any newslaves that might come. He knew before any one else of a fresh slavewho was brought into the town, and he always attended the slave market.But he did more; he helped his brethren whose groans went daily--indeed,night and day--up to heaven. Many a poor mother, when she was torn fromher child, went to Mou-Setse's store, and poured out her great troubleinto his kind heart; and somehow or other, he managed to get tidings ofthe lost child, or the lost parent or husband. By degrees he made animmense connection for himself all over America, and no one knew moreabout the ways and doings of the black people than he did.

  STORY ONE, CHAPTER SEVEN.

  MOU-SETSE WAITS AND WATCHES.

  Years went by, bringing changes, bringing to Mou-Setse grey hairs,taking from him his fresh youth, and adding to his face some anxiouslines. But the years brought greater changes than the light hands theylay upon head and brow, to his black brothers and sisters in America.The brave souls who had fought through thick and thin for the freedom ofthe slaves, who had gone through danger and hardship almost at the perilof their lives in this great cause, had won a noble victory. America,by setting free her black brethren, had also removed from herself a mostgrievous curse.

  The black men were free, and Mou-Setse had removed from the little townwhere he had first settled to the larger and more flourishing one of StLouis. He had succeeded as a merchant, and was now a rich man. Hislove for his brethren had also increased with years. He did much tohelp them. He was reverenced and loved by all who knew him, and thatwas saying no little, for there was scarcely a black man in the Stateswho did not know Mou-Setse. But the dearly-longed-for and unfulfilledpurpose was still discernible on his face, and oftener than ever wouldhe repair to the church to pray.

  "I specs de dere Lord will be good to me," he would say; "de dere Lordhab patience wid me. I told de Lord dat I would have great patience widHim. I will wait His good leisure. I believe as I will see my peopleagain."

  Mou-Setse had for long years now added work to his prayers, leaving nostone unturned to find or obtain some tidings of the father and motherand brothers and sister from whom he had been so cruelly torn. But allhis efforts had been as yet in vain, no description even resembling themhad ever reached his ears.

  His black friends told him that his father and mother had either neverreached America or had long been dead. But Mou-Setse would neverbelieve these evil reports, his strong faith that at least some of hisown would be restored to him, that the work and labour of his life wouldnot be in vain, never deserted him.

  "I tole de Lord dat I would have great patience," he would reply tothose who begged of him to give up so hopeless a search, and doubtlesspatience was doing its perfect work, for the end for which he so longedwas at hand.

  STORY ONE, CHAPTER EIGHT.

  FRUIT OF FAITH AND PATIENCE.

  One very bitter day in March there was great commotion among the blackpeople of St Louis. The snow was falling thickly, the wind wasblowing. Inclement as the whole winter had been, this day seemed theworst of all; but it did not deter the freed blacks from braving itshardships, from hurrying in crowds from place to place, and above allfrom repairing in vast crowds to their own churches. Every colouredchurch in St Louis was full of anxious blacks, but they had notassembled for any purposes of worship. Unless, indeed, we except thatheart worship which takes in the ever-present Christ, even when he comeshungry, naked, and in the guise of a stranger. The black people of StLouis made beds in the church pews and kindled fires in the basements.

  Having made all preparations, they went, headed by their preachers, tothe quays; there to meet some six hundred famished and shiveringemigrants, who had come up the river all the way from the States of theMississippi Valley and Louisiana.

  In extreme poverty and in wretched plight whole families had come,leaving the plantations where they were born, and severing all thoselocal ties for which the negro has so strong an attachment. All ofthese poor people, including the very young and the very aged, werebound for Kansas.

  This was the beginning of a great exodus of the negroes from theSouthern to the Northern States.

  The cause did not seem at first very manifest; but it must be somethingunusual, something more than mere fancy, which would induce women andchildren, old and young, with common consent to leave their old homesand natural climate, and face storms and unknown dangers in NorthernKansas.

  Mou-Setse, with his eyes, ears, and heart ever open, had heard somethingof the dissatisfaction of the negroes in the South.

  They were suffering, not, indeed, now from actual slavery, but fromwicked rulers who would give the coloured man no justice. Outrages,murders, and wrongs of all descriptions were driving these fugitivesfrom their homes. They said little of hope in the future; it was all offear in the past. They were not drawn by the attractions of Kansas;they were driven by the terrors of Louisiana. Happen what would, theyall resolved to fly, never to return. Death rather than return wastheir invariable resolution.

  Mou-Setse, as I have said, had heard of this exodus. Profound secret asthe negroes had kept it, yet it had reached his ears. He consulted hisblack brothers and sisters in St Louis, and it was resolved that thestrangers should be well received--hence the preparations in thechurches, and hence the assemblage on the quays.

  Mou-Setse was one of the last to leave the church where he had been mostbusy. Just as he was about to turn away to help to fetch into warmthand shelter the famished emigrants he turned round. Some voice seemedto sound in his ears; some very strong impelling influence caused him topause. He entered one of the pews, sat down and buried his head in hishands.

  Something seemed to tell the black man that the desire of his eyes wascoming to him; that his life-work was bearing at last its fruit. Sosure was he of this that he forgot to pray. He only said several times,"Tank de Lord; tank de Lord berry much."

  Then he followed his companions to the quays. How often had he gonethere in vain! How often had he gazed at face after face, looking andlonging for the forms of those he loved! They had never greeted him.

  Now his step was elastic, his face bright.

  Two hours after he had left the church he entered it again, leading bythe hand a very old man and a bowed and aged woman.

  "My fader and moder," he explained very simply to the bystanders. Heput the old couple in the most comfortable pew, and sat down by them.They both seemed half dead. The woman lay nearly lifeless. Mou-Setsetook her limp and withered hand and began to rub it softly.

  "How do you know them?" asked some interested bystanders who knewMou-Setse's story.

  "De ole woman hab de smile," he said; "I neber forgot my moder's smile.She looked at me on de quay, and she smiled, and my heart leaped, and Isaid, `Tank de Lord, glory be to God.' I tole ye de Lord would helpme."

  Just then the man stretched himself, opened his eyes, fixed them onMou-Setse, and began to mutter.

  Mou-Setse bent his head to listen.

  Suddenly he sprang to his feet. "Oh praise the Lord!" he exclaimedagain. "I said as de Lord would help me. Listen to de ole man, he istalking in de tongue of the Akus, in the country of Yarriba. He was debrave warrior, my fader was."

  Yes, Mou-Setse was right. The fruit of long patience was at lastyielding to him its precious store, and the old warrior of the beautifulAfrican valley had come back through nobody knew what hardships, withhis aged wife, to be nursed, cherished, and cared for by a long-lostson.

  As soon as they were sufficiently revived Mou-Setse took them to thecomfortable home he had been so long getting ready for them. Here theytold him of their slavery, of the terrors they had undergone, of thebitterness of knowing nothing of his fate, of the lonely days when theyhad belonged to different masters; then of their release from slavery,and how, as f
ree man and woman, they had met again. But their hardshipshad been great, for though they had so-called liberty, every privilegebelonging to a white man seemed to be denied them.

  They resolved to fly with their brethren. Selling all they had, theymanaged to scrape together enough money to pay for their passage in theriver steamer.

  Penniless, famished, half dead, they arrived at St Louis.

  "It is a good land you hab come to," said Mou-Setse when his mother hadfinished her narrative, "a land flowing wid milk and honey. Yes, it isa good land; and I am like Joseph, only better dan Joseph was, for I habgot back my fader and moder too, praise de Lord."

  "I am Jacob," said the old warrior slowly, "and you are, indeed, my sonJoseph. It is enough. Praise de Lord."

  "De Lord is berry good. I tole ye so," exclaimed the aged wife andmother.

  STORY TWO, CHAPTER ONE.

  THE ORPHANS' PILGRIMAGE--A STORY OF TRUST IN GOD.

  In one of the small towns in the north of Austria there once lived ahumble pair, as far as earthly goods and position go, but who were richin what was far better--love to God and simple trust in His Fatherlycare.

  The woman was a Tyrolese, the daughter of an old harper, who stillresided in one of the small villages among the mountains. As amotherless girl she had been his only companion, and many a time hersweet pure voice would be heard accompanying her father in the simplemelodies of her native land, as he wandered from place to place to earna livelihood.

  The time came when the harper's daughter left her hills for a home intown, but was more than repaid by the tender love of her husband, who,though he could earn but a scanty subsistence, was good and kind to her.Their fare was frugal, but, happy in each other's affection, they werecontent and thankful, and, contrasting their lot with that of theSaviour, would say, "Can we, the servants, expect to fare better thanour Lord and Master?"

  As years passed by, three little children were sent to them by theirFather in heaven, to whom they gave the names of Toni, Hans, and Nanny;very precious gifts, and they showed their gratitude by training themearly in the right way, teaching them from His word to know the goodGod, to love and trust Him, to try to please Him, and to love theirneighbour as themselves. They were unselfish little children, and wouldat any time share their scanty meals with others in distress. "Littlechildren, love one another," was a text often repeated, and alsopractised, by them.

  The two boys were very fond of each other, and both were united in lovefor the little sister whom they felt bound to protect. Great was theirdelight when she first tottered alone across the room, where they stood,one at each end, with outstretched arms to receive her; and when herlittle voice was heard crying for the first time "Father," "Mother,"they shouted for joy.

  On the opposite side of the street lived an artist, who took greatpleasure in this little family, and painted a picture in which heintroduced the children, not intending it for sale, but as a gift totheir parents, in token of the esteem he felt for them. A very prettypicture it was--little Nanny, lightly draped, showing her fat dimpledshoulders and bare feet, her golden hair floating in the wind, was in ameadow chasing a butterfly; while her brothers stood by, as guardianangels, with hands extended ready to catch her if she stumbled. Itmight have fetched a high price, but the man was not in needycircumstances, and would not sell it.

  When Nanny was about four years old it happened that the cholera--thatfearful scourge which has from time to time been so fatal in manyparts--broke out in this town, and both father and mother were smittenand lay ill with it at the same time. I need not say how, in the midstof pain and weakness, many an anxious thought was turned to the futureof their little ones; but, as faith had been strong in the time ofhealth and prosperity, it did not fail them in their hour of need, andthey trusted simply to the promise, "Leave thy fatherless children; Iwill preserve them alive."

  In a very short time the children were left; orphans, and (the eldestnot being more than eight years old) quite unable to do anything fortheir own support. What was to be done? The neighbours were kind andgood to them, but, having families of their own, had enough to dowithout adding to their cares. It was at length arranged that a lettershould be written to an uncle who lived in Vienna, and was doing well asmanager of a small theatrical company in that town. Not a very goodschool, you will say, for these children who had been trained socarefully.

  No sooner did the man receive the sad news than he set off, arrivingjust after the funeral was over. He lost no time in selling hisbrother's small possessions, and, pocketing the money, started for hishome, taking the little ones with him. I should say that, at thespecial request of their friend the artist, the picture was reserved andtaken with them. This, then, together with the large Bible from whichtheir father used to read to them morning and evening, and the boxcontaining their clothes, was all that they could call their own.

  Poor children! they had certainly found a home, but what a contrast tothat to which they had been accustomed! Sorely did they miss thetender, watchful love which had surrounded them all their lives, and thepeace and calm which dwelt in that household. Their uncle was a hard,money-loving man, and determined to make the best for himself out ofthis seeming act of kindness. Therefore, instead of giving them a goodeducation and fitting them to make their way in the world respectably,he merely taught them what would be profitable to himself in his ownline, viz, dancing and gymnastics. Their whole time was spent inpractising to appear in public on the stage, and many a weary hour didthey pass, being punished if they dared to complain, and never by anychance being encouraged by a word of approval.

  Such a life as this soon began to tell upon little Nanny, who had neverbeen a strong child; but not the most earnest entreaties from herbrothers would induce the hard-hearted man to allow her to exert herselfless. It was a weary life for them all, and many a time when wreathsand bouquets were showered upon them by the applauding audience wouldthey retire and burst into tears for very fatigue and sorrow.

  Toni and Hans at last became seriously alarmed about their littlesister. She got gradually paler and thinner, and when, one day, afterdancing for some time, with flushed cheek and shortened breath, she fellto the ground in a faint, they could endure it no longer, but ran totheir uncle, beseeching him to have pity on her.

  I am sorry to tell you, the poor boys were only answered by blows, andmaking nothing of their grief, he walked carelessly away, saying shewould be better after her dinner. This was too much for Hans; he jumpedup from the floor where he had been sitting, and stamping his foot, hisface glowing with anger, cried out, "I shall not allow her to dance anymore!" to which he, of course, received only a scornful laugh in reply.

  Nanny had by this time revived, and was sitting between her brotherswiping away her tears.

  "Oh! if father and mother knew of this," said Hans, "I think it wouldmake them weep even in heaven; but perhaps then they would send an angelto help us."

  "We do not know whether they can see us or not," answered Toni; "but weare sure the good God can. I have been asking Him to put into our mindswhat we shall do for Nanny. Sometimes I am afraid she will leave uslike father and mother did. And do you know I feel as solemn as littleSamuel must have done when God called him, for a thought has come intomy mind which I am sure must have been put there by our Father inheaven."

  "And what is it?" asked Hans, in a whisper, folding his little hands, asif inspired by the devotion of his brother.

  "Why, that we must save our sister, and not let her die," answered Toni.

  "That would be glorious; but how shall we manage it?"

  "We must run away from this place with her and take her to ourgrandfather, in the mountains."

  "But that is so far away, and we have no money: and then, how should weknow the way?" asked Hans anxiously.

  "The little birds fly away in the winter to Africa--God shows them theway, and gives them strength and food; and shall not we trust Him tohelp us his children?"

  It was all c
lear to Hans now, and the bold resolve was made.

  From that time the two boys thought of little else than the intendedescape. The sight of their little darling pining away before their eyesnerved them to plan and to work. Preparations were carried on insecret: no one having any idea of what was going on. A littleplayfellow lived close by whose father was a carpenter, and being oftenin the man's workshop, he came to have a liking for the orphans; andmany a spare piece of wood he gave them to play with, which, by watchinghim at work, they learned in their rude way to fashion into shape. Theynow began to put the small knowledge they had thus acquired to someaccount; and after many attempts and failures, at last succeeded inmaking a rough sort of little cart. The cover of a box with a railround it formed the seat, the pole was a cast-off measuring-rule whichhad been thrown away as useless; but when they came to the wheels, theyhad need of all the patience they possessed; however, perseverance indue time was rewarded, when, after devoting every spare moment theycould secure, the little carriage which was to effect their escape wasfinished. How happy they felt when the finishing touch was put, when itwas drawn away to a corner of the yard behind the workshop, and hiddenamong a heap of sawdust and shavings! A heavy burden seemed lifted offtheir hearts: they dreamt not of any future difficulties, and onlylooked forward with eagerness to the moment when they should be free,and when the roses would come back again to their little sister'scheeks.

  All was now in readiness: that very evening they were to start on theirpilgrimage, leaving the shelter of their uncle's house, together withhis tyranny, behind them. It was time for Nanny to be let into thesecret; and, having done this, the two boys, kneeling down, drew herbetween them and prayed, "O Lord, send a good angel to help us, and keepuncle from waking when we go away."

  They had fixed on an evening when they had not to appear in public. Allhad retired to rest early, and they waited only till they thought itwould be safe. The boys then arose, and, dressing themselves quickly,made up a small bundle of clothes, and having lifted the preciouspicture from the wall, and their father's Bible from the box, theyproceeded to summon Nanny. This was of all the most anxious part, forshe had from the first slept in her aunt's room. Her little ears,however, were on the alert, and a gentle tap as signal made her leaplightly out of bed, and with shoes in hand and her clothes on her arm,she was in a moment at the door. It was bolted: and how could she reachit? Standing on tiptoe did not help her. So, quickened by fear, notime was lost in getting a chair and mounting on it, the bolt wasquickly drawn, and in a moment's time the child was at her brothers'side, pale and trembling. And now came a new dilemma, the house doorwas locked, and the key in their uncle's room. Here, however, theirgymnastic training stood them in good stead, and their bedroom windowbeing not far from the ground, they jumped out of it, and alightedsafely on the pavement.

  The little cart was next brought from its place of concealment. Nanny,wrapped in her cloak, took her seat in it, and the book and picturebeing laid at her feet, and the bundle serving as a cushion at her back,the children set out on their unknown way. It was quite dark. They hadnot gone very far when they encountered the watchman with his horn andlantern. Throwing the light full on the strange group, he cried--

  "Halt! who goes there?"

  "Good friends," promptly answered the elder of the boys; when the man,with a kindly smile, let them pass without further inquiry.

  STORY TWO, CHAPTER TWO.

  In due time they had got clear of the town, and were trotting along astraight country road as fast as their feet would carry them. Whetherthe Tyrolese mountains lay to the right or left, before or behind them,they knew not nor seemed to care. They had left their cruel uncle, andthe mere thought of this made them happy. They were but littlechildren, and did not reflect on any dangers they might have toencounter.

  It was in the dim twilight of early morning that they happened to meet awoman driving a cart filled with cans of milk which she was taking tothe town. A sudden thought seemed to strike Toni, for, going straightup to her, he said--

  "Please, mother, can you tell us the way to the mountains?"

  "To the Tyrolese mountains?" answered the woman, in a tone ofastonishment, standing still, and looking at the group with muchinterest. Perhaps she had children of her own, and pictured them aslittle wanderers like those before her. "You are all right so far," shecontinued, "for a sister of mine left me to go there but the other day,and drove straight along this road. I watched her till she was out ofsight. I am afraid I cannot direct you further. But what do you threechildren want there?" she inquired.

  "We are going to look for grandfather," Nanny answered in haste, "and hewill give us some breakfast, for we are so hungry." At these last wordsshe cast a longing glance at the milk cans.

  "So hungry, are you?" said the woman, looking at her with real motherlytenderness; then taking out a tin measure, she filled it to the brim,and putting it into her hands, said, "Drink it all up, my dear; and itis milk from a Tyrolese cow, too," she added, smiling. "And we must notforget your good horses. Will they take milk too, I wonder?" offeringone of the boys a full can, which she filled a second and a third time.Then she drove on, scarcely giving the children time to thank her.

  "It was God sent us our breakfast," said Toni. "Father used to say thatHe sees us, though we cannot see Him, and knows what we are in want ofas well as we do ourselves. But now the sun is rising, and we must askHim to take care of us to-day."

  Nanny stepped out of her little carriage, and under a wide-spreadingbeech-tree, the branches of which overshadowed them, the children kneltdown, and in their own simple way entreated God's blessing.

  Just at that moment the sun, like a ball of fire, rose above the horizonand shed over them his golden beams. We can fancy how lovely everythingmust have appeared to these little ones, who had never known thebeauties of sunrise in the country.

  "It seems as if God was holding his shining hand above us and blessingus," said Toni.

  "Oh, how pretty!" exclaimed Hans. "Everything about us is so bright;even the very stones; and the little blades of grass look covered withdiamonds, but it is the dew which God sends to refresh them. How goodHe is! He cares for the plants as well as for us, but He made them, sothey are His children too."

  "And look at this," cried Nanny, full of glee, taking up an acorn cup;"only see what a large drop of dew inside--it must be a bath for thetiny insects."

  Whirr, whirr--up flew a bird from its nest.

  "Ah, have I frightened you, you poor little thing?"

  "That must be a lark," said Toni; "look how high it flies, singing allthe time; up and up it goes as if it meant to go right up to heaven."

  "Greet father and mother for me, pretty bird," cried Hans, "for they arein heaven."

  "Yes, yes, and for Nanny too," said the little maiden; and touching thetips of her small fingers with her lips, she threw them up as if waftingthe kisses upward.

  "Perhaps the lark will carry our prayers to God," said Hans.

  "Oh no," replied his brother, looking very thoughtful. "God does notneed any messenger to take our prayers to Him, for He is always with us;and even if we just think in our hearts what we wish to ask Him, Heknows it all quite well. Father said He was close by at all times."

  "Hark what a pretty song the lark is singing! What a pity we cannothear what it is about!"

  "I will tell you, Nanny, what I fancy he would say," said Toni. "`Ithank the good God that He has given me wings, so that I can fly up tothe blue sky, and that He has made the sun so warm, and the fields sogreen and soft where I build my nest.'"

  "That is nice, Toni. But listen! there is a bee humming as it flies by.What does it say, do you think?"

  "Well, perhaps it is buzzing, `Praise God that He lets me rove fromflower to flower to sip the dew and gather honey, and that I am such ahappy little bee.'"

  "Now then," continued the little girl, "there is a large caterpillarcreeping along on the ground. It cannot say anything;
it neither singsnor hums."

  Toni was silent a moment; then taking both Nanny's hands into his, hewent on, "I was just thinking, my dear little sister, of somethingmother used to tell me about that. The caterpillar thinks, perhaps, `Icertainly am not so beautiful now as many other things in the world, butI have life and can enjoy it. I thank God for that; and some day, whenI am tired, He will teach me how to spin myself a cradle in which I maylie down and sleep; then, when I am quite rested, God will come and wakeme, and instead of creeping slowly on the ground I shall fly up a lovelything with wings.'"

  "And then, you know," said Hans, following out his mother's words, whichhis brother had recalled, "it will be with our parents something likethis butterfly, for first they lived on earth, then God laid them downto sleep in the churchyard, and at last He will come and wake them, andthey will be happier and more beautiful than they ever were before."

  "How can you tell what the birds and insects think about?" said Nanny,looking inquiringly into her brother's face.

  "Of course we can only fancy it all," Toni replied; "but mother oftentalked about these things, and taught us to be kind to dumb creatures,and never to hurt even the smallest insect that God had made, becausethey can feel as well as we; and then she would tell us so many prettystories of their different ways, that it makes me think sometimes theymust have some sort of reason like human beings. But now step in,Nanny; we must not talk any longer, but go on our way, or we shall neverreach grandfather's." The little one settled herself comfortably in thecart, her brothers harnessed themselves once more, and away they went.

  STORY TWO, CHAPTER THREE.

  When they had gone a short distance, Hans, who had been looking rathergrave, whispered into his brother's ear, "Toni, do not say this toNanny--but how shall we know where grandfather's house is? We maywander among the mountains all day long and never find it."

  "God will lead us right," answered the trusting boy, "and give usstrength for the long journey. Only think, we have been up all night,and are not tired yet. But, Nanny," he said, turning to his sister,"you must go to sleep now; lie down and shut your little eyes."

  The boys stopped, folded up their coats, putting them under her head fora pillow; and, being protected from the sun's rays by a sort of awningformed of green boughs, she snuggled her head down and was soon fastasleep.

  It was some hours before Nanny awoke. They had passed