by Various
When at last the picture was hung in a proper position, with just enough light to give a good effect, all stood back to take a full view of it. Mrs. Tracy remembered, years after, the feelings she experienced when that picture was hung. All were pleased and expressed their satisfaction.
When Col. Tracy returned from his visit to the plantation, he told Richard, in the presence of Manville and Mrs. Tracy, that he had made a very foolish investment. All looked inquiringly at him.
“I attended a sale of slaves, the property of old Hartley, who resides about fifty miles up the river, and was formerly a man of considerable wealth, but being of a wild, reckless disposition, has, in a few years, squandered his fortune, and degenerated into a confirmed drunkard and gambler. I purchased several plantation and house servants, among whom is a beautiful quadroon, who is the daughter of old Hartley’s, I understand, and has been educated at a Catholic school, in Canada, and believed herself his lawful child.
The young girl is beautiful, and I think, well educated. Her distress was really affecting, and, out of pity for the young thing, I bought her with the lot, but what I am to do with the baggage, I cannot conceive, for slaves educated at the North, are not just the thing to be introduced into a Southern household. So, I guess I will sell this bit of humanity at the first offer. Why, she had the audacity to faint, when, by accident, she learned the name of her future master was Col. Tracy. I must say, although I claim to be a kind and indulgent master, I have no use for this sensitive class of negroes.”
Col. Tracy, at this juncture, noticed the effect of his language upon his wife and son, which seemed to him as singular as it was inexplicable. Mrs. Tracy looked pale and horrified, while Richard’s pale and almost defiant expression, betokened a fixed resolution, although he uttered not a word, and soon left the house, accompanied by Manville. Mrs. Tracy soon left the room also, and Col. Tracy was the sole occupant, and was at liberty to digest his astonishment as best he might.
A few hours later, Manville returned, and, after a long conference with Col. Tracy, departed with the document in his pocket, which pronounced him lawful owner of the young quadroon.
Richard returned at tea time with seeming composure, but his mother’s eye penetrated the veil. She alone read his feelings, and felt the resolution he had taken. Her heart was too full for utterance, when, after tea, Richard motioned her to follow him. He led the way to the library. A long time elapsed ere they appeared again. Mrs. Tracy was deeply agitated, while Richard’s face still wore the same determined expression. What passed during that strange conference, none ever knew. Richard followed his mother to the parlor, when he kissed her gently, saying fervently:
“Mother, pray for me. I hope all may yet be well. Pray for Lina, too. Poor child! God knows she needs your prayers.”
A moment more, and Mrs. Tracy was alone. Richard had gone. Where this would all end, she could not tell.
One beautiful morning, in a quiet New England village, far from their own home, Richard Tracy and the beautiful quadroon, Lina, were united for life. It was a quiet bridal, witnessed only by Manville and Richard’s aunt, whom we have known as Col. Tracy’s sister, Laura, while Laura’s husband performed the rite, which united this ill-fated couple.
We will here state that all correspondence had ceased, long years ago, between Laura Tracy and her brother. Her marriage with a poor minister, Alfred Hays, had incurred his lasting displeasure. Laura had several times sought to conciliate her brother, but without success. Alfred Hays was good and noble, and with his lovely wife, joined his efforts to make the young bride happy.
Richard was happy, and soon the shadows left Lina’s fair brow. They were happy, but it was as the calm that precedes the raging storm. Did Richard—did Lina feel its dread coming? Had they no warning of the shadow, that would soon fall, crushing the life from their young hearts?
CHAPTER VIII.
The Flower Fadeth.
Time passed slowly with the inmates of Rose Cottage, until the first letter would be received from Richard. Lina wandered about he cottage and garden with a listless air, and Juno seemed more quiet and thoughtful. She knew more of the real state of affairs than the young wife supposed. Juno had lived so long with Laura Hays that she was well acquainted with the history of the Tracys. She also knew much of the character and disposition of Colonel Frank Tracy; she was about twelve years old when Frank was married to pretty Nellie Thornton. She was then living with Laura’s aunt. Juno saw Frank Tracy once after that; it was when he came to forbid Laura’s marriage with the young minister, Alfred Hays. She knew well his overweening family pride, and love of wealth and position. Alfred Hays was one of nature’s noblemen, but wealth and position he had not. Juno was not likely to forget the terrible family quarrel that ensued, when Laura, who possessed much of her brother’s spirit and resolution, persisted in marrying the poor minister, declaring that she had the right and was capable of choosing her own husband, and was prepared to follow the dictates of her own heart. Frank, finding that Laura would not be persuaded to give Alfred up, said, angrily:
“Laura, if you persist in marrying that beggar, that mere fortune hunter, you are no longer a sister of mine; so reflect well ere you decide. I will never receive him as a brother.”
He was about leaving the room when his sister’s voice arrested him. She said, in a low firm tone, “I need not time for reflection, my decision is already made; I will marry Alfred. If he is poor, he is good and noble, while your interference is unnatural and cruelly unjust, and—”
“Enough,” cried Frank, impatiently interrupting and pushing her from him. “I will say no more; you have taken your own course, and must abide by the consequences.” And he strode from the room, leaving his sister heart-stricken and aghast.
Poor Laura had not quite expected this unhappy turn affairs had taken, yet she was not prepared to sacrifice her life’s happiness to her brother’s selfish demands.
Frank sought his aunt, and told her the result of his interview with his sister. Laura need not indulge the hope that he would relent his cruel decision, it was unalterable. He departed without seeing Laura again, and from that time all communication between them ceased.
Not until after their marriage did Alfred Hays learn the bitter sacrifice his gentle wife had made, when she fulfilled her plighted troth with him. Miss Tracy then went to reside with her niece, taking Juno with her. A few years later she died, leaving her entire fortune, with the exception of a legacy of ten thousand dollars, to her niece, Laura. The above legacy was willed to Frank Tracy’s little son, Richard, to be placed in the care of Alfred Hays, until the young heir should become of age, the interest of which was payable on or after his nineteenth birthday. What had induced Miss Tracy to leave this legacy to little Richard, whom she had never seen, would be impossible to say, but future events proved the wisdom of her last act of kindness.
Juno knew all this, she also knew that all was not satisfactory in relation to Richard’s marriage. She knew that some trouble was expected, though the exact nature of it she did not know, but her suspicions were very nearly correct.
Juno always had her “suspicions,” and the remarkable part of it is, they were nearly always right. At last a letter came from Richard—a kind and hopeful letter—which did much towards reviving Lina’s spirits. It was soon followed by others, all written in the same hopeful, happy style, from various points on the route, and, finally, one written immediately upon his arrival in New Orleans. “Manville,” he said,“ was at present out of the city. I shall go home this evening. You need not look for a letter again for some time, as I shall not write until I know the final result of my visit.”
Several weeks elapsed and yet no other letter came. In vain it was that Juno went to the village post-office every day, after the Ruthford stage came in; she failed to bring the white-winged messenger that would have won back the lost smile to Lina’s sad face. Truly “hope deferred make
th the heart sick,” for Lina’s face grew more pale and sad and her step more languid, as week after week sped by, and she received no tidings from the absent one.
Every day, when it drew near the time for Juno’s return from the village, she would walk down to the little gate, and wait anxiously for her coming, with eager and expectant face, but when Juno reported her ill success, she would turn away with such a look of keen disappointment, such hopeless despair as to make Juno shed tears of sympathy with the fragile creature that leaned heavily upon her arm.
At last Lina ceased to look for a letter. She never complained, but that quiet despairing look was pitiful to behold. It was in vain Juno taxed her brain in the manufacture of choice delicacies to tempt the palate of the gentle invalid, who invariably thanked her faithful friend with a sweet smile, but failed to do justice to the dainties she prepared. The golden autumn days had passed, and dreary November, with its leaden sky, made all without seem cheerless. The wind moaned dismally through the branches of the Tamaracs at the door, and played at “hide and seek” among the leafless rose bushes. One day, after Lina had been more despondent than ever, and Juno, having finished her household duties, was sitting with folded hands, seemingly intent upon the gambols of a playful kitten; but in reality thinking of Lina, and considering what she had best do, her mistress said:
“Juno, I wish to have a long talk with you.”
This was just what Juno had long been wishing for, and she arose with alacrity and followed Lina into the little parlor, where a cheerful fire was burning on the hearth, which, with the heavy red curtains, served to give the room a cheerful appearance. The piano stood open, but no light fingers called forth its lively notes. Juno would open it every morning, saying, apologetically, “that it made the room look more pleasant-like, and more as if master Richard was home.”
Lina seated herself in a large easy chair, while Juno took a seat on a low ottoman at her feet.
“Juno, I have never confided to you my early history. I have been thinking much of late, and have concluded to tell you all about myself.” Whereupon she told Juno all the reader already knows, together with other facts which it is not our purpose at present to disclose.
“Juno,” she continued, after a long silence, during which she had been toying with a beautiful ring on her third finger—it was Richard’s gift, “I sometimes think I shall not live long, and, indeed, I should not wish to, if Richard never returns, for I could not live without him.”
“Oh, my dear mistress Lina, don’t talk that way! Master will come back! You must not talk of dying!” cried Juno, striving to keep back the tears that would fall in spite of all effort to restrain them.
“No, Juno, you cannot deceive me. I know that I cannot get well. You know my situation, and it is not best that you should be with me any longer alone. I wish you to engage the services of some competent old lady immediately. My marriage certificate and letters you will find in a little rose-wood box in my work-stand drawer. When I am gone, Juno, put this ring with the other things, and keep them carefully for my sake. If Richard ever comes home, you may give them to him. Tell him that though my heart was breaking, I loved him to the last. That is all, now I am tired and wish to sleep. You may stop at the post-office as you come through the village.”
Juno was successful in finding an old lady of suitable qualifications. Old Mrs. Butterworth had just arrived by the Ruthford stage, and was one of those fat, motherly, smiling, rosy-cheeked old ladies that straightway win one’s confidence. So home she went with Juno, who, though delighted with her success, did not forget to stop at the post-office.
The postmaster, from Juno’s frequent visits and disappointed face, had learned to know her, and on this occasion hastened to produce and hand to the astonished woman a letter bearing the New Orleans post-mark, and address to Mrs. Lina H. Tracy. Juno gave an exclamation of delight, as she thought of the joyful tidings she hoped to convey to the anxious, weary wife.
Lina was standing by the window when Juno and Mrs. Butterworth came up the walk, the former holding the letter triumphantly aloft. Lina sank nervous and trembling into a seat, as Juno rushed tumultuously into the room, exclaiming, “a letter from master Richard!” and could only articulate faintly, “Give it to me, Juno.” She glanced at the well-known superscription, and, with trembling hand, opened the fatal letter, to read the cruel words which would freeze the life from her young heart, and extinguish the life of the rapidly fading flower. Once, twice she read, with staring eyes, the words that closed her brief dream of happiness, when she fell heavily to the floor in a death-like swoon.
CHAPTER X.
Richard in New Orleans.
Soon after Richard’s arrival in New Orleans he wended his way home. It was late in the afternoon. Colonel Tracy was seated on the verandah, reading, when Richard came up. “Good afternoon, father,” he said, cheerfully, extending his hand at the same time, Colonel Tracy took no notice of the proffered hand, but exclaimed, angrily, “So sir, you have come to insult me with your presence! But follow me to the library, I wish not to quarrel with you here!”
Richard followed the choleric old gentleman, as requested, into the library. Colonel Tracy closed and locked the door, to secure them from intrusion; then confronting his son, with threatening mien, said: “Now, sir, give an account of your proceedings; I want no evasion whatever, but a clear and concise statement of facts.”
Richard related all that had transpired, from his first acquaintance with Lina to the present time. His betrothal on the Alhambra—the scene at the dinner table, after Colonel Tracy’s return from the plantation. Manville’s purchase of the slave girl Lina, which was only a ruse, as Manville merely acted for his friend. The departure of the trio for the north, the quiet bridal at the little New England parsonage, Alfred Hays’ departure, the purchase of Rose Cottage, and subsequent experiences for the Colonel’s benefit, in his usual characteristic manner.
The Colonel’s rage was without bounds, and he wrathfully exclaimed, “Oh! that a son of mine should thus disgrace himself and family, as to marry a negress—a slave—the illegitimate offspring of a spendthrift, a drunkard, and a libertine; a being sunk so low in the scale of humanity as to be unworthy the name of a man. It’s awful! ’Tis abominable! Fool, that you are, to allow yourself to be thus entrapped by a pretty face; and, no doubt, by this time you have wearied of your toy. If you have, it will be well, for as you are under age, your marriage is illegal, and, with the assistance of a trusty lawyer, its validity may be annulled. You can visit Europe a year or two, until the memory of this disgraceful affair has died out. I will settle an annuity on your—” he could not add the word wife, it would have choked him, so he corrected himself by saying, “on the girl, which will be sufficient to support her decently; and that is much better than she deserves, the artful wench, to palm herself off for a lady. Our society is getting into a pretty state, when the sons of the best families stoop to marry their fathers’ slaves. You have imbibed the pernicious sentiments of northern demagogues until they have encompassed your ruin. What is to become of our institution, if we take our slaves upon an equality with ourselves? What slave on the plantation would properly respect you as their master, while they knew your wife was a negro slave—yes, worse than a slave? But to return to the point in question, will you renounce that girl? The way is perfectly clear, and the desired result may be arrived at with little difficulty. Of course it will cause some commotion in the ‘upper circles,’ and give your name an unpleasant notoriety for a season, but in the course of time that will wear away. As I said before, visit Europe a year or two, and when you return, there is not a young lady in New Orleans that would not accept your hand and fortune.”
Colonel Tracy stopped abruptly, and turned to his son, who sat erect, with livid face and flashing eyes, and with an air of such resolute determination, that he felt very uncertain as to the impression produced by his reasoning, and he imperatively asked
: “Well, sir, what is your decision?”
Richard possessed extraordinary power of self-control, and replied, in those calm, measured tones, which always give such an advantage in an exciting discussion, and voluntarily win the respect of an opponent, “Father, as much as I love and respect you, I cannot accede to a proposal that would so deeply involve my honor and integrity. I cannot forsake my wife. I did not win Lina’s affections to basely deceive her, nor did I marry her to cruelly desert her. I would submit to any fate rather than become a party to such a degrading proceeding. I see no honorable avenue of escape, if I desired one; and I earnestly assure you I do not. Those pernicious sentiments, as you are pleased to term them, which I have imbibed at the north only teach me to respect the rights of my fellow-citizens. Lina is not responsible for her unfortunate birth and surroundings. She is pure, refined, and good, has been educated far from the contaminating influence which southern society exerts over its followers. All else I can well overlook. I would not own a slave if I possessed the wealth of a Croesus. The institution of slavery is of itself accursed, and will yet prove the fatal Nemesis of the South, for do not think that a just God will allow any people so deeply wronged to go unavenged.”
Colonel Tracy sat speechless with rage and astonishment, while Richard was speaking, and when he had finished he rose from his chair and confronting his son said: “Richard, if you persist in carrying out this unexampled piece of folly, I shall disinherit you. Not a penny of mine shall go to you or yours, and my doors shall ever be closed against you. Your mother and brother shall never acknowledge you as son and brother, and your name shall be as that of one who has slept a century in his tomb, uncared for and forgotten; so you can make your choice; you know the conditions.”
“I cannot forsake my wife,” was the firm, unfaltering reply. “Your judgment is severe, and—perhaps, it is just, but I will abide by it without murmuring.”
