Complete Works of Harriet Beecher Stowe

by Harriet Beecher Stowe

  “Yes, mas’r!” said the woman in the same subdued tone.

  “Does your foot hurt you much?” said Ben.

  “Yes, mas’r!” said the woman.

  “Let me look at it,” said Ben.

  The woman put out one foot, which had been loosely bound up in old rags, now saturated in blood.

  “I declar, if that ar dog ain’t a pealer!” said Ben. “Nance, you ought ter have stood still; then he wouldn’t have hurt you so.”

  “Lord, he hurt me so I couldn’t stand still!” said the woman. “It ain’t natur to stand still with a critter’s teeth in yer foot.”

  “Well, I don’t know as it is,” said Ben good naturedly. “Here, Mis’ Dakin, you bind up this here gal’s foot. Stop your noise, sir-ee!” he added, to the young aspirant for bread and molasses, who, having dispatched one piece, was clamoring vigorously for another.

  “I’ll tell you what!” said Ben to his wife, “I am going to talk to that ar old Elder Settle. I runs more niggers for him than any man in the county, and I know there’s some reason for it. Niggers don’t run into swamps when they’s treated well. Folks that professes religion, I — think, oughtn’t to starve their niggers, noway!”

  Soon the vehicle of Ben was also on the road. He gathered up the reins vigorously, threw back his head to get the full benefit of his lungs, and commenced a vehement camp-meeting melody, to the tune of

  “Am I a soldier of the cross,

  A follower of the Lamb?”

  A hymn, by the bye, which was one of Ben’s particular favorites.

  We come next, to Tiff’s cottage, of which the inmates were astir, in the coolness of the morning, bright and early. Tiff’s wagon was a singular composite article, principally of his own construction. The body of it consisted of a long packing-box. The wheels were all odd ones, that had been brought home at different times by Cripps. The shafts were hickory-poles, thinned at one end, and fastened to the wagon by nails. Some barrel-hoops bent over the top, covered by coarse white cotton cloth, formed the curtains, and a quantity of loose straw dispersed inside was the only seat. The lean, one-eyed horse was secured to this vehicle by a harness made of old ropes; but no millionaire, however, ever enjoyed his luxuriantly cushioned coach with half the relish with which Tiff enjoyed his equipage. It was the work of his hands, the darling of his heart, the delight of his eyes. To be sure, like other mortal darlings, it was to be admitted that it had its weak points and failings. The wheels would now and then come off, the shafts get loose, or the harness break; but Tiff was always prepared, and on occasion of any such mishaps would jump out and attend to them with such cheerful alacrity, that, if anything, he rather seemed to love it better for the accident. There it stands now, before the inclosure of the little cabin; and Tiff and Fanny and Teddy, with bustling assiduity, are packing and arranging it. The gum-tree cradle-trough took precedence of all other articles. Tiff, by the private advice of Aunt Rose, had just added to this an improvement, which placed it, in his view, tip-top among cradles. He had nailed to one end of it a long splint of elastic hickory, which drooped just over the baby’s face. From this was suspended a morsel of salt pork, which this young scion of a noble race sucked with a considerate relish, while his large, round eyes opened and shut with sleepy satisfaction. This arrangement Rose had recommended, in mysterious tones, as all powerful in making sucking babies forget their mammies, whom otherwise they might pine for in a manner prejudicial to their health.

  Although the day was sultry, Tiff was arrayed in his long-skirted white greatcoat, as his nether garments were in too dilapidated a state to consist with the honor of the family. His white felt hat still bore the band of black crape.

  “It’s a ‘mazin’ good day, bless de Lord!” said Tiff. “‘Pears like dese yer birds would split der troats, praising de Lord! It’s a mighty good zample to us, anyway. You see, Miss Fanny, you never see birds put out, nor snarly like, rain or shine. Dey’s allers a-praising de Lord. Lord, it seems as if critters is better dan we be!” And as Tiff spoke, he shouldered into the wagon a mighty bag of corn; but failing in what he meant to do, the bag slid over the side, and tumbled back into the road. Being somewhat of the oldest, the fall burst it asunder, and the corn rolled into the sand, with that provoking alacrity which things always have when they go the wrong way. Fanny and Teddy both uttered an exclamation of lamentation; but Tiff held on to his sides and laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks.

  “He! he! he! ho! ho! ho! Why, dat ar is de last bag we’s got, and dar’s all de corn a-running out in de sand! Ho! ho! ho! Lord, it’s so curus!”

  “Why, what are you going to do?” said Fanny.

  “Oh, bress you, Miss Fanny,” said Tiff, “I’s bound to do something, anyhow.’Clare for it, now, if I hain’t got a box!” And Tiff soon returned with the article in question, which proved too large for the wagon. The corn, however, was emptied into it pro tern., and Tiff, producing his darning-needle and thimble, sat down seriously to the task of stitching up the hole.

  “De Lord’s things ain’t never in a hurry,” said Tiff. “Corn and ‘tatoes will have der time, and why shouldn’t II — ? Dar,” he said, after having mended the bag and replaced the corn, “dat ar’s better now nor ’twas before.” Besides his own store of provisions, Tiff prudently laid into his wagon enough of garden stuff to turn a penny for Miss Fanny and the children, on the camp-ground. His commissariat department, in fact, might have provoked appetite, even among the fastidious. There were dressed chickens and rabbits, the coon aforesaid, bundles of savory herbs, crisp, dewy lettuce, bunches of onions, radishes, and green peas.

  “Tell ye what, chil’en,” said Tiff, “we’ll live like princes! And you mind, order me round well. Let folks har ye; ‘cause what’s de use of having a nigger, and nobody knowing it?”

  And everything being arranged, Tiff got in, and jogged comfortably along. At the turn of the cross-road, Tiff, looking a little behind, saw, on the other road, the Gordon carriage coming, driven by Old Hundred, arrayed in his very best ruffled shirt, white gloves, and gold hat-band.

  If ever Tiff came near having a pang in his heart, it was at that moment; but he retreated stoutly upon the idea that, however appearances might be against them, his family was no less ancient and honorable for that; and, therefore, putting on all his dignity, he gave his beast an extra cut, as who should say, “I don’t care.”

  But as ill luck would have it, the horse, at this instant, giving a jerk, wrenched out the nails that fastened the shaft on one side, and it fell, trailing dishonored on the ground. The rope harness pulled all awry, and just at this moment the Gordon carriage swept up.

  “‘Fore I’d drive sich old trash!” said Old Hundred scornfully; “pulls all to pieces every step! If dat ar ain’t a poor white folksy ‘stablishment, I never seed one!”

  “What’s the matter?” said Nina, putting her head out. “Oh, Tiff! good-morning, my good fellow. Can we help you, there? John, get down and help him.”

  “Please, Miss Nina, de hosses is so full o’ tickle, dis yer mornin’, I couldn’t let go, noways!” said Old Hundred.

  “Oh, laws bless you, Miss Nina,” said Tiff, restored to his usual spirits, “‘t ain’t nothin’. Broke in a strordinary good place dis yer time. I ken hammer it up in a minute.” And Tiff was as good as his word; for a round stone and big nail made all straight.

  “Pray,” said Nina, “how are little Miss Fanny, and the children?”

  Miss Fanny! If Nina had heaped Tiff with presents, she could not have conferred the inexpressible obligation conveyed in these words. He bowed low to the ground, with the weight of satisfaction, and answered that “Miss Fanny and the chil’en were well.”

  “There,” said Nina, “John, you may drive on. Do you know, friends, I’ve set Tiff up for six weeks, by one word? Just saying Miss Fanny has done more for him than if I’d sent him six bushels of potatoes.”

  We have yet to take our readers to one more scene before we finish the re
view of those who were going to the camp-meeting. The reader must follow us far beyond the abodes of man, into the recesses of that wild desolation known as the “Dismal Swamp.” We pass over vast tracts where the forest seems growing out of the water. Cypress, red cedar, sweet-gum, tulip, poplar, beech, and holly form a goodly fellowship, waving their rustling boughs above. The trees shoot up in vast columns, fifty, seventy-five, and a hundred feet in height; and below are clusters of evergreen gall-bushes, with their thick and glossy foliage, mingled in with swamp honeysuckles, grapevines, twining brier, and laurels, and other shrubs, forming an impenetrable thicket. The creeping plants sometimes climb seventy or eighty feet up the largest tree, and hang in heavy festoons from their branches. It would seem impossible that human foot could penetrate the wild, impervious jungle; but we must take our readers through it, to a cleared spot, where trunks of fallen trees, long decayed, have formed an island of vegetable mould, which the art of some human hand has extended and improved. The clearing is some sixty yards long by thirty broad, and is surrounded with a natural rampart, which might well bid defiance to man or beast. Huge trees have been felled, with all their branches lying thickly one over another, in a circuit around; and nature, seconding the efforts of the fugitives who sought refuge here, has interlaced the framework thus made with thorny cat-briers, cables of grapevine, and thickets of Virginia creeper, which, running wild in their exuberance, climb on to the neighboring trees, and swinging down, again lose themselves in the mazes from which they spring, so as often to form a verdurous wall fifty feet in height. In some places the laurel, with its glossy green leaves, and its masses of pink-tipped snowy blossoms, presents to the eye, rank above rank, a wilderness of beauty. The pendants of the yellow jessamine swing to and fro in the air like censers, casting forth clouds of perfume. A thousand twining vines, with flowers of untold name, perhaps unknown as yet to the botanist, help to fill up the mosaic. The leafy ramparts sweep round on all the sides of the clearing, for the utmost care has been taken to make it impenetrable; and in that region of heat and moisture, nature, in the course of a few weeks, admirably seconds every human effort. The only egress from it is a winding path cut through with a hatchet, which can be entered by only one person at a time; and the water which surrounds this island entirely cuts off the trail from the scent of dogs. It is to be remarked that the climate, in the interior of the swamp, is far from being unhealthy. Lumbermen, who spend great portions of the year in it, cutting shingles and staves, testify to the general salubrity of the air and water. The opinion prevails among them that the quantity of pine and other resinous trees that grow there impart a balsamic property to the water, and impregnate the air with a healthy, resinous fragrance, which causes it to be an exception to the usual rule of the unhealthiness of swampy land. The soil also, when drained sufficiently for purposes of culture, is profusely fertile. Two small cabins stood around the border of the clearing, but the centre was occupied with patches of corn and sweet potatoes, planted there to secure as much as possible the advantage of sun and air.

  At the time we take our readers there, the afternoon sun of a sultry June day is casting its long shadows over the place, and a whole choir of birds is echoing in the branches. On the ground, in front of one of the cabins, lies a negro man, covered with blood; two women, with some little children, are grouped beside him; and a wild figure, whom we at once recognize as Dred, is kneeling by him, busy in efforts to stanch a desperate wound in the neck. In vain! The red blood spurts out at every pulsation of the heart, with a fearful regularity, telling too plainly that it is a great life-artery which has been laid open. The negro woman, kneeling on the other side, is anxiously holding some bandages, which she has stripped from a portion of her raiment.

  “Oh, put these on, quick — do!”

  “It’s no use,” said Dred; “he is going!”

  “Oh, do! — don’t, don’t let him go! Can’t you save him?” said the woman in tones of agony.

  The wounded man’s eyes opened, and first fixed themselves, with a vacant stare, on the blue sky above; then, turning on the woman, he seemed to try to speak. He had had a strong arm; he tries to raise it, but the blood wells up with the effort, the eye glazes, the large frame shivers for a few moments, and then all is still. The blood stops flowing now, for the heart has stopped beating, and an immortal soul has gone back to Him who gave it.

  The man was a fugitive from a neighboring plantation —— a simple-hearted, honest fellow, who had fled, with his wife and children, to save her from the licentious persecution of the overseer. Dred had received and sheltered him; had built him a cabin, and protected him for months.

  A provision of the Revised Statutes of North Carolina enacts that slaves thus secreted in the swamps, not returning within a given time, shall be considered outlawed; and that “it shall be lawful for any person or persons whatsoever to kill and destroy such slaves, by such ways and means as they shall think fit, without any accusation or impeachment of crime for the same.” It also provides that, when any slave shall be killed in consequence of such outlawry, the value of such slave shall be ascertained by a jury, and the owner entitled to receive two thirds of the valuation from the sheriff of the county wherein the slave was killed.

  In olden times, the statute provided that the proclamation of outlawry should be published on a Sabbath day, at the door of any church or chapel, or place where divine service should be performed, immediately after divine service, by the parish clerk or reader. In the spirit of this permission, a party of negro-hunters, with dogs and guns, had chased this man, who, on this day, had unfortunately ventured out of his concealment. He succeeded in outrunning all but one dog, which sprang up, and fastening his fangs in his throat, laid him prostrate within a few paces of his retreat. Dred came up in time to kill the dog, but the wound, as appeared, had proved a mortal one.

  As soon as the wife perceived that her husband was really dead, she broke into a loud wail. “Oh, dear, he’s gone! and ’twas all for me he did it! Oh, he was so good, such a good man! Oh, do tell me, is he dead, is he?”

  Dred lifted the yet warm hand in his a moment, and then dropped it heavily. “Dead!” he said, in a deep undertone of suppressed emotion. Suddenly kneeling down beside him, he lifted his hands, and broke forth with wild vehemence: “O Lord God, to whom vengeance belongeth, show thyself! Lift up thyself, thou Judge of the earth, render a reward to the proud! Doubtless thou art our Father, though Abraham be ignorant of us, and Israel acknowledge us not. Thou, O Lord, art our Father, our Redeemer; thy ways are everlasting — where is thy zeal and thy strength, and the sounding of thy bowels towards us? Are they restrained?” Then, tossing his hands to heaven, with a yet wilder gesture, lie almost screamed: “O Lord! O Lord! how long? Oh, that thou wouldst rend the heavens and come down! Oh, let the sighings of the prisoner come before thee! Our bones are scattered at the grave’s mouth, as when one cutteth and cleaveth wood! We are given as sheep to the slaughter! We are killed all the day long! O Lord, avenge us of our adversaries!”

  These words were spoken with a vehement earnestness of gesture and voice, that hushed the lamentation of the mourners. Rising up from his knees, he stood a moment looking down at the lifeless form before him. “See here,” he said, “what harm had this man done? Was he not peaceable? Did he not live here in quietness, tilling the ground in the sweat of his brow? Why have they sent the hunters upon him? Because he wanted to raise his corn for himself, and not for another. Because he wanted his wife for himself, and not for another. Was not the world wide enough? Isn’t there room enough under the sky? Because this man wished to eat the fruit of his own labor, the decree went forth against him, even the curse of Cain, so that whosoever findeth him shall kill him. Will not the Lord be avenged on such a people as this? Tonight they will hold their solemn assembly, and blow the trumpet in their new moon, and the prophets will prophesy falsely, and the priests will speak wickedly concerning oppression. The word of the Lord saith unto me, ‘Go unto this peo
ple, and break before them the staff beauty and the staff bands, and be a sign unto this people of the terror of the Lord. Behold, saith the Lord, therefore have I raised thee up and led thee through the wilderness, through the desolate places of the land not sown.’”

  As Dred spoke, his great black eye seemed to enlarge itself and roll with a glassy fullness, like that of a sleepwalker in a somnambulic dream. His wife, seeing him prepare to depart, threw herself upon him.

  “Oh, don’t, don’t leave us! You’ll be killed, some of these times, just as they killed him!”

  “Woman! the burden of the Lord is upon me. The word of the Lord is as a fire shut up in my bones. The Lord saith unto me, ‘Go show unto this people their iniquity, and be a sign unto this evil nation!’”

  Breaking away from his wife, he precipitated himself through an opening into the thicket, and was gone.

  CHAPTER XXIII

  THE CAMP-MEETING

  THE place selected for the camp-meeting was in one of the most picturesque portions of the neighborhood. It was a small, partially cleared spot, in the midst of a dense forest, which stretched away in every direction, in cool, green aisles of checkered light and shade. In the central clearing, a sort of rude amphitheatre of seats was formed of rough pine slabs. Around on the edges of the forest the tents of the various worshipers were pitched; for the spending of three or four days and nights upon the ground is deemed an essential part of the service. The same clear stream which wound round the dwelling of Tiff prattled its way, with a modest gurgle, through this forest, and furnished the assembly with water.

  The Gordons, having come merely for the purposes of curiosity, and having a residence in the neighborhood, did not provide themselves with a tent. The servants, however, were less easily satisfied. Aunt Rose shook her head, and declared, oracularly, that “de blessing was sure to come down in de night, and dem dat wanted to get a part of it would have to be dar!”