“Perhaps you’ll tink me wild,
And simple as a child,
But I’m a child of glory!”
“Laws, now,” said Tiff, pursuing his reflections to himself, “maybe he’s dead now, sure ‘nough! And if he is, why, I can do for de chil’en raal powerful. I sold right smart of eggs dis yer summer, and de sweet ‘tatoes allers fetches a good price. If I could only get de chil’en along wid der reading, and keep der manners handsome! Why, Miss Fanny, now, she’s growing up to be raal perty. She got de raal Peyton look to her; and dere’s dis yer ‘bout gals and women, dat if dey’s perty, why, somebody wants to be marrying of ‘em; and so dey gets took care of. I tell you, dere sha’n’t any of dem fellers dat he brings home wid him have any ting to say to her! Peyton blood ain’t for der money, I can tell ‘em! Dem fellers allers find ‘emselves mighty onlucky as long as I’s ‘round! One ting or ‘nother happens to ‘em, so dat dey don’t want to come no more. Drefful poor times dey has!” and Tiff shook with a secret chuckle.
“But now, yer see, dere’s never any knowing! Dere may be some Peyton property coming to dese yer chil’en. I’s known sich things happen, ‘fore now. Lawyers calling after de heirs; and den here dey be a’ready fetched up. I’s minding dat I’d better speak to Miss Nina’s man ‘bout dese yer chil’en; ‘cause he’s a nice, perty man, and nat’rally he’d take an interest; and dat ar handsome sister of his, dat was so thick wid Miss Nina, maybe she’d be doing something for her. Anyway, dese yer chil’en shall neber come to want ‘long as I’s above ground!”
Alas for the transitory nature of human expectations! Even our poor little Arcadia in the wilderness, where we have had so many hours of quaint delight, was destined to feel the mutability of all earthly joys and prospects. Even while Tiff spoke and sung, in the exuberance of joy and security of his soul, a disastrous phantom was looming up from a distance, — the phantom of Cripps’s old wagon. Cripps was not dead, as was to have been hoped, but returning for a more permanent residence, bringing with him a bride of his own heart’s choosing.
Tiff’s dismay — his utter, speechless astonishment — may be imagined when the ill-favored machine rumbled up to the door, and Cripps produced from it what seemed to be, at first glance, a bundle of tawdry, dirty finery; but at last it turned out to be a woman, so far gone in intoxication as scarcely to be sensible of what she was doing. Evidently she was one of the lowest of that class of poor whites whose wretched condition is not among the least of the evils of slavery. Whatever she might have been naturally — whatever of beauty or of good there might have been in the womanly nature within her — lay wholly withered and eclisped under the force of an education churchless, schoolless, with all the vices of civilization without its refinements, and all the vices of barbarism without the occasional nobility by which they are sometimes redeemed. A low and vicious connection with this woman had at last terminated in marriage, — such marriages as one shudders to think of, where gross animal natures come together, without even a glimmering idea of the higher purposes of that holy relation.
“Tiff, this yer is your new mistress,” said Cripps, with an idiotic laugh. “Plaguy nice girl, too! I thought I’d bring the children a mother to take care of them. Come along, girl!”
Looking closer, we recognize in the woman our old acquaintance, Polly Skinflint.
He pulled her forward; and she, coming in, seated herself on Fanny’s bed. Tiff looked as if he could have struck her dead. An avalanche had fallen upon him. He stood in the door with the slack hand of utter despair; while she, swinging her heels, began leisurely spitting about her, in every direction, the juice of a quid of tobacco which she cherished in one cheek.
“Durned if this yer ain’t pretty well!” she said. “Only I want the nigger to heave out that ar trash!” pointing to Fanny’s flowers. “I don’t want children sticking no herbs round my house! Hey, you nigger, heave out that trash!”
As Tiff stood still, not obeying this call, the woman appeared angry; and, coming up to him, struck him on the side of the head.
“Oh, come, come, Poll!” said Cripps, “you be still! He ain’t used to no such ways.”
“Still!” said the amiable lady, turning round to him. “You go ‘long! Didn’t you tell me, if I married you, I should have a nigger to order round just as I pleased?”
“Well, well,” said Cripps, who was not by any means a cruelly disposed man, “I didn’t think you’d want to go walloping him the first thing.”
“I will, if he don’t shin round,” said the virago, “and you, too!”
And this vigorous profession was further carried out by a vigorous shove, which reacted in Cripps in the form of a cuff, and in a few moments the disgraceful scuffle was at its full height. And Tiff turned in disgust and horror from the house.
“Oh, good Lord!” he said to himself, “we doesn’t know what’s ‘fore us! And I’s feeling so bad when de Lord took my poor little man, and now I’s ready to go down on my knees to thank de Lord dat he’s took him away from de evil to come! To think of my por sweet lamb, Miss Fanny, as I’s been bringing up so carful! Lord, dis yer’s a heap worse dan de cholera!”
It was with great affliction and dismay that he saw the children coming forward in high spirits, bearing between them a basket of wild grapes which they had been gathering. He ran out to meet them.
“Laws, yer por lambs,” he said, “yer doesn’t know what’s a-coming on you! Yer pa’s gone and married a drefful low white woman, sich as ain’t fit for no Christian children to speak to. And now dey’s quar’ling and fighting in dere, like two heathens! And Miss Nina’s dead, and dere ain’t no place for you to go!” And the old man sat down and actually wept aloud, while the children, frightened, got into his arms, and nestled close to him for protection, crying too.
“What shall we do? what shall we do?” said Fanny. And Teddy, who always repeated reverentially all his sister’s words, said after her, in a deplorable whimper, “What shall we do?”
“I’s a good mind to go off wid you in de wilderness, like de chil’en of Israel,” said Tiff, “though dere ain’t no manna falling nowadays.”
“Tiff, does marrying father make her our ma?” said Fanny.
No, ‘deed, Miss Fanny, it doesn’t! Yer ma was one o’ de fustest old Virginny families. It was jist throwing herself ‘way, marrying him! I neber said dat ar ‘fore, ‘cause it wa’n’t ‘spectful. But I don’t care now!”
At this moment Cripps’s voice was heard shouting:—”Hallo, you Tiff! Where is the durned nigger? I say, come back! Poll and I’s made it up, now! Bring ‘long them children, and let them get acquainted with their mammy,” he said, laying hold of Fanny’s hand, and drawing her, frightened and crying, towards the house.
“Don’t you be afraid, child,” said Cripps; “I’ve brought you a new ma.”
“We didn’t want any new ma!” said Teddy, in a dolorous voice.
“Oh, yes, you do,” said Cripps, coaxing him. “Come along, my little man! There’s your mammy,” he said, pushing him into the fat embrace of Polly.
“Fanny, go kiss your ma.”
Fanny hung back and cried, and Teddy followed her example.
“Confound the durn young uns!” said the new-married lady. “I told you, Cripps, I didn’t want no brats of t’ other woman’s! Be plague enough when I get some of my own!”
CHAPTER XL
THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT
THE once neat and happy cottage, of which Old Tiff was the guardian genius, soon experienced sad reverses. Polly Skinflint’s violent and domineering temper made her absence from her father’s establishment rather a matter of congratulation to Abijah. Her mother, one of those listless and inefficient women whose lives flow in a calm, muddy current of stupidity and laziness, talked very little about it; but, on the whole, was perhaps better contented to be out of the range of Polly’s sharp voice and long arms.
It was something of a consideration, in Abijah’s shrewd view of things, that Cripps o
wned a nigger — the first point to which the aspiration of the poor white of the South generally tends. Polly, whose love of power was a predominant element in her nature, resolutely declared, in advance, she’d make him shin round, or she’d know the reason why. As to the children, she regarded them as the incumbrances of the estate, to be got over with in the best way possible; for, as she graphically remarked, “every durned young un had to look out when she was ‘bout!”
The bride had been endowed with a marriage portion, by her father, of half a barrel of whiskey; and it was announced that Cripps was tired of trading round the country, and meant to set up trading at home. In short, the little cabin became a low grog-shop, a resort of the most miserable and vicious portion of the community. The violent temper of Polly soon drove Cripps upon his travels again, and his children were left unprotected to the fury of their stepmother’s temper. Every vestige of whatever was decent about the house and garden was soon swept away; for the customers of the shop, in a grand Sunday drinking-bout, amused themselves with tearing down even the prairie-rose and climbing-vine that once gave a sylvan charm to the rude dwelling. Polly’s course, in the absence of her husband, was one of gross, unblushing licentiousness; and the ears and eyes of the children were shocked with language and scenes too bad for repetition.
Old Tiff was almost heart-broken. He could have borne the beatings and starvings which came on himself, but the abuse which came on the children he could not bear. One night, when the drunken orgy was raging within the house, Tiff gathered courage from despair.
“Miss Fanny,” he said, “jist go in de garret, and make a bundle o’ sich tings as dere is, and throw ’em out o’ de winder. I’s been a-praying night and day, and de Lord says He’ll open some way or oder for us! I’ll keep Teddy out here under de trees, while you jist bundles up what por clothes is left, and throws ’em out o’ de winder.”
Silently as a ray of moonlight, the fair, delicate-looking child glided through the room where her stepmother and two or three drunken men were reveling in a loathsome debauch.
“Hallo, sis!” cried one of the men after her, “where are you going to? Stop here and give me a kiss!”
The unutterable look of mingled pride and fear and angry distress which the child cast, as, quick as thought, she turned from them and ran up the ladder into the loft, occasioned roars of laughter.
“I say, Bill, why didn’t you catch her?” said one.
“Oh, no matter for that,” said another; “she’ll come of her own accord one of these days.”
Fanny’s heart beat like a frightened bird as she made up her little bundle. Then, throwing it to Tiff, who was below in the dark, she called out, in a low, earnest whisper, —
“Tiff, put up that board and I’ll climb down on it. I won’t go back among those dreadful men!”
Carefully and noiselessly as possible, Tiff lifted a long, rough slab, and placed it against the side of the house. Carefully Fanny set her feet on the top of it, and, spreading her arms, came down, like a little puff of vapor, into the arms of her faithful attendant.
“Bress de Lord! Here we is, all right,” said Tiff.
“Oh, Tiff, I’m so glad!” said Teddy, holding fast to the skirt of Tiff’s apron and jumping for joy.
“Yes,” said Tiff, “all right. Now de angel of de Lord’ll go with us into de wilderness!”
“Ther’s plenty of angels there, ain’t there?” said Teddy victoriously, as he lifted the little bundle, with undoubting faith.
“Laws, yes!” said Tiff. “I don’ know why dere shouldn’t be in our days. Any rate, de Lord ‘peared to me in a dream, and says he, I Tiff, rise and take de chil’en and go in de land of Egypt, and be dere till de time I tell dee.’ Dem is de bery words. And’t was ‘tween de cockcrow and daylight dey come to me, when I’d been lying dar praying, like a hailstorm, all night, not gibing de Lord no rest! Says I to him, says I, I Lord, I don’ know nothing what to do; and now, ef you was por as I be, and I was great king like you, I’d help you! And now, Lord,’ says I, c you must help us, ‘cause we ain’t got no place else to go; ‘cause, you know, Miss Nina she’s dead, and Mr. John Gordon, too! And dis yer woman will ruin dese yer chil’en ef you don’t help us! And now I hope you won’t be angry! But I has to be very bold, ‘cause tings have got so dat we can’t bar ’em no longer!’ Den, yer see, I dropped ‘sleep; and I hadn’t no more ‘n got to sleep, jist after cockcrow, when de voice come!”
“And is this the land of Egypt,” said Teddy, “that we ‘re going to?”
“I spect so,” said Tiff. “Don’t yon know de story Miss Nina read to you once, how de angel of de Lord ‘peared to Hagar in de wilderness, when she was sitting down under de bush? Den dere was anoder one come to’Lijah, when he was under de juniper-tree, when he was wandering up and down, and got hungry and woke up; and dere, sure ‘nough, was a corncake baking for him on de coals! Don’t you mind Miss Nina was reading dat ar de bery last Sunday she come to our place? Bress de Lord for sending her to us! I’s got heaps o’ good through dem readings.”
“Do you think we really shall see any?” said Fanny, with a little shade of apprehension in her voice. “I don’t know as I shall know how to speak to them.”
“Oh, angels is pleasant-spoken, well-meaning folks, allers,” said Tiff, “and don’t take no ‘fense at us. Of course, dey knows we ain’t fetched up in der ways, and dey don’t ‘spect it of us. It’s my ‘pinion,” said Tiff, “dat when folks is honest, and does de bery best dey can, dey don’t need to be ‘fraid to speak to angels, nor nobody else; ‘cause, you see, we speaks to de Lord hisself when we prays, and, bress de Lord, he don’t take it ill of us, noways. And now it’s borne in strong on my mind dat de Lord is going to lead us through the wilderness and bring us to good luck. Now, you see, I’s going to follow de star, like de wise men did.”
While they were talking, they were making their way through dense woods in the direction of the swamp, every moment taking them deeper and deeper into the tangled brush and underwood. The children were accustomed to wander for hours through the wood; and, animated by the idea of having escaped their persecutors, followed Tiff with alacrity, as he went before them, clearing away the brambles and vines with his long arms, every once in a while wading with them across a bit of morass, or climbing his way through the branches of some uprooted tree. It was after ten o’clock at night when they started. It was now after midnight. Tiff had held on his course in the direction of the swamp, where he knew many fugitives were concealed; and he was not without hopes of coming upon some camp or settlement of them.
About one o’clock they emerged from the more tangled brushwood, and stood on a slight little clearing, where a grapevine, depending in natural festoons from a sweet gum-tree, made a kind of arbor. The moon was shining very full and calm, and the little breeze fluttered the grape leaves, casting the shadow of some on the transparent greenness of others. The dew had fallen so heavily in that moist region that every once in a while, as a slight wind agitated the leaves, it might be heard pattering from one to another, like raindrops. Teddy had long been complaining bitterly of fatigue. Tiff now sat down under this arbor, and took him fondly into his arms. — .
“Sit down, Miss Fanny. And is Tiff’s brave little man got tired? Well, he shall go to sleep, dat he shall! We’s got out a good bit now. I reckon dey won’t find us. We’s out here wid de good Lord’s works, and dey won’t none on ’em tell on us. So now hush, my por little man; shut up your eyes!” And Tiff quavered the immortal cradle-hymn, —
“Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber!
Holy angels guard thy bed;
Heavenly blessings without number
Gently falling on thy head.”
In a few moments Teddy was sound asleep, and Tiff, wrapping him in his white great-coat, laid him down at the root of a tree.
“Bress de Lord, dere ain’t no whiskey here!” he said, “nor no drunken critturs to wake him up. And now, Miss Fanny, por chile, your eyes is a-
falling. Here’s dis yer old shawl I put up in de pocket of my coat. Wrap it round you, whilst I scrape up a heap of dem pine leaves yonder. Deni is reckoned mighty good for sleeping on, ‘cause dey’s so healthy, kinder. Dar, you see, I’s got a desput big heap of ‘em.”
“I’m tired, but I’m not sleepy,” said Fanny. “But, Tiff, what are you going to do?”
“Do!” said Tiff, laughing, with somewhat of his old, joyous laugh. “Ho! ho! ho! I’s going to sit up for to meditate, — a-’sidering on de fowls of de air, and de lilies in de field, and all dem dar Miss Nina used to read ‘bout.” For many weeks, Fanny’s bedchamber had been the hot, dusty loft of the cabin, with the heated roof just above her head, and the noise of bacchanalian revels below. Now she lay sunk down among the soft and fragrant pine foliage, and looked up, watching the checkered roof of vine leaves above her head, listening to the still patter of falling dewdrops, and the tremulous whir and flutter of leaves. Sometimes the soft night-winds swayed the tops of the pines with a long swell of dashing murmurs, like the breaking of a tide on a distant beach. The moonlight, as it came sliding down through the checkered, leafy roof, threw fragments and gleams of light, which moved capriciously here and there over the ground, revealing now a great silvery fern leaf, and then a tuft of white flowers, gilding spots on the branches and trunks of the trees; while every moment the deeper shadows were lighted up by the gleaming of fireflies. The child would raise her head awhile, and look on the still scene around, and then sink on her fragrant pillow in dreamy delight. Everything was so still, so calm, so pure, no wonder she was prepared to believe that the angels of the Lord were to be found in the wilderness. They who have walked in closest communion with nature have ever found that they have not departed thence.
Complete Works of Harriet Beecher Stowe Page 109
