The manner in which the business belonging to this latter office was performed might well propitiate the favour of Colonel Dart. The employment was congenial to the spirit of the employed, and was executed with intelligence, zeal, and unwearying perseverance. The task was moreover by no means an easy one. To watch the execution of a given portion of labour in a given time and to spur the languid spirit or the failing strength of a suffering wretch to its performance, may require an active and unshrinking agent; but his occupation is at least easily comprehended, and requires no faculties and no qualities which may not readily be found among the white population of a slave-holding country. Not so the employment entrusted to Jonathan Jefferson: to execute it with success, demanded great readiness, tact, presence of mind, and, above all things, most consummate cunning. It was his custom, from the hour the nature of his employment was first explained to him, to assume the appearance of being occupied by a variety of duties, all very naturally belonging to the situation of a confidential clerk. Thus, he would sometimes be seen riding through the grounds with an apparatus for measuring trees; then it would be evident that it was making a map of the estate upon which he was intent. At one time the construction of every separate hut occupied so minute an attention, that each village took several weeks to be examined and set to rights; at another, the mode of cooking the negro food demanded his peculiar care, — and this also kept him long employed upon the interior of the huts. Then again his duty took him into the fields, and the drains and ditches became the objects of his most persevering examination. On all these occasions he had from time to time need of the assistance of such negroes, whether men, women, or children, as were within his reach; and in this manner he became personally acquainted with every slave on the estate before he had been employed upon it a year. For a long time these various pretences answered perfectly, — as far, at least, as leading the negroes to believe that his ostensible was his real business among them. But though for a while he succeeded in this, he failed totally and altogether in obtaining in any single quarter the slightest approach to confidence from the wary slaves; nor could he by any means contrive to learn aught respecting them beyond what his eyes enabled him to perceive. His reports therefore were for a long time confined to the statement of a greater or less degree of cleanliness, industry, and the like; but as to how much or how little each sable victim knew of what was passing beyond the limits of Paradise Plantation — whether the attempts making in various quarters to ameliorate their condition had been in any degree made known to them, was what he found it utterly beyond the reach of all the arts he could make use of to discover.
It was quite impossible to doubt either the intelligence or zeal of his confidential agent, and therefore Colonel Dart neither expressed nor indeed felt anything approaching to dissatisfaction at the abortive result of his endeavours to obtain information on these very important points; he only wished him to go on as he had begun, kindly encouraging the young man to persevere notwithstanding his want of success, by observing that if so much cleverness and ingenuity failed of discovering the mischief he feared, he should soon have the comfort of believing that it did not exist at all.
Jonathan himself, however, was not quite of this opinion. He had more than once fancied that he had heard a voice reading or praying in his stealthy approaches to some of the more distant huts; but no sooner had the murmur reached him than it ceased, — clearly proving that, if indeed the sound itself were not imaginary, some person was on the watch to guard against surprise. On every occasion where this had occurred, he uniformly found, on entering the premises, that the persons occupying them were sedulously employed in their laborious household duties, and that not the slightest trace could be discovered of their having been engaged in any other.
Young Whitlaw knew his patron too well to venture upon rousing his terrors by what might be so purely imaginary: he knew that he should probably be himself the greatest sufferer were he to make a statement which he could in no way substantiate, and he therefore continued to report the total absence of every appearance of religious mutiny, (as the breaking in of a ray of light upon these unhappy beings is designated,) determined at the same time to mark well the spots whence he had fancied the forbidden sounds to have proceeded, and to omit no possible means of ascertaining whether they were real or not.
Shortly after he had made up his mind not to mention his suspicions to Colonel Dart till he had more assured grounds for them, it chanced that on two following evenings the same species of measured murmur struck his ear as he approached the remotest hut on a cotton plantation which was skirted on two sides by forest. As before, the sound ceased as he made another step in advance after hearing it; but in both cases he found on entering the hut a young negress, who, though in the act of very busily washing linen, had, as he conceived, an air of hurry and confusion.
She was a singularly handsome girl, who had more than once attracted his attention in the fields; and he now attempted to make a sort of toying acquaintance with her, by remarking the roundness of her arms, displayed as they were, nearly to the shoulder, for the convenience of her occupation.
It is singular that the only evidence his ready wit could discern to confirm his suspicions that this young negress had been guilty of pronouncing, or at least of listening to a prayer, was found in the peculiarly sweet and innocent expression of her countenance. Had an individual who felt and acknowledged the effect of religion come to exactly the same conclusion, there would certainly have been nothing extraordinary in it: but that Jonathan Jefferson Whitlaw, who till eleven years of age had never entered a church or chapel of any kind, and who, excepting from occasional phrases from poor Clio, doubtful and mystical from inevitable ignorance, had scarcely heard the name of God till he was taught by his patron to watch for its being pronounced by a slave as an overt act of mutiny — that he should, in a countenance expressive of the purest candour and most ingenuous modesty, see something which forcibly suggested the idea that she had been taught the worship of a Christian, is remarkable, and shows pretty plainly, despite the severity used towards them, what the general effect left on the minds of the slave-holders must have been by those who had been found guilty of listening to religious instruction.
Young Whitlaw looked in that innocent young face, and instantly decided upon the means he would take to learn what was passing in her heart.
The fearfully demoralizing effects produced among the female slaves by the unlimited power of those placed in authority over them, together with the dreadful penalties attached to every species of disobedience, is well known to all who are in any degree acquainted with the fearful statistics of a large negro population. So deep and so general is the degradation of character consequent upon vices committed, not from weakness, but from the most inevitable and hateful necessity, that the miserable victims cease at last to be conscious of shame, though awake to suffering; and it is only where the undaunted courage of some wandering preacher of the Gospel has taught them to believe that they are accountable to a Being superior to their owner, and that, beyond the wretched world that holds them now, there is a happier region for all who deserve to enter it — except where doctrines such as these have been taught and learned, the grossest sensuality is deemed no sin.
Not such, however, was the condition of Phebe, the innocent being who now stood within the grasp of young Whitlaw. Her mother, herself, and two younger sisters, had been purchased by Colonel Dart, about twelve months before, from a dealer who got them at the auction of a bankrupt’s effects in a State which bordered on Ohio. There is much difficulty in guarding slaves effectually from the approach of instruction when they are situated near a free State. The free negroes themselves are often the means of enlightening to a certain degree their less happy brethren; and there are few free States in which some individuals may not be found who will gladly seize every opportunity within their reach for the spiritual benefit of the miserable race whose condition they feel to be the greatest misfortune, as it i
s the greatest disgrace, of their country.
Phebe and her family had been as fortunate in their former situation in Kentucky as they were now in every way the reverse; and a heavy addition in the case of the poor girl to the misery produced by this change of masters, was an attachment to one of her own race as sincere and devoted as ever glowed in the heart of a woman. This lover, who was to have become her husband in the course of a few months, was bought by another.
Till Phebe was carried away from Kentucky, she had no more idea of what the real evils of her condition were than those have who reason upon the institution of slavery from the bosom of freedom, and judging by some (perhaps) well-authenticated history of the happiness of a virtuous negro under the protection of a virtuous master, conceive that though, like all other human institutions, it may be liable to abuse, yet still that it is upon the whole an arrangement which admits of much mutual benefit to the parties, There are, I believe, many who honestly and conscientiously conceive this to be the case; and that it MAY have been so in individual instances cannot be doubted: but this ought not in the slightest degree to influence the general question. The principle — the fearful, terrible, unholy principle is still the same; and wherever it is admitted and acted upon, there the social system is poisoned, and vice and misery are the inevitable results.
But not only had Phebe and her family enjoyed the blessing of belonging to a kind and considerate master — they had enjoyed also the still higher advantage of being instructed, and well instructed, as responsible beings and as immortal Christians.
A story is but ill constructed when the relater is obliged to retrograde, yet it is sometimes very difficult to avoid it; and I believe it will be impossible to give the reader a necessary insight into the character of some of the personages the most important in my story, without referring to events which had passed before the time it comprises had begun.
In order, however, to keep the two periods as distinct as may be, my retrospect shall have a chapter to itself.
CHAPTER X.
AT the distance of about ten miles from Lexington in the State of Kentucky, is, or rather was, a fine arable and pasture farm, the neat and careful cultivation of which might have reminded a European of the fertile fields of England Henry Bligh, the proprietor, though he employed slaves both as indoor and outdoor servants, detested the system, and scrupled not, though at the risk of bringing upon himself the ill-will of many, to declare both publicly and privately, that the union of the States would never be securely cemented till they were all governed by equal laws, and till every human being who drew breath upon their soil might lift his voice to heaven and say, “I am an American, and therefore I am free.”
But the beautiful spot Henry Bligh inhabited was his own, — it had, too, been his father’s; it was his own birthplace, and that of his children; and therefore, instead of seeking an abode where slavery was not, he contented himself with remaining and doing all the good in his power where it was.
A motherless son and daughter constituted his whole family, and for many years they and their negroes continued to inhabit “Beech tree Farm” without the relative situation of either party being a source of discomfort to the other.
Among several peculiarities in the character of Henry Bligh, was an averseness to letting his children quit his own house and his own care. He was himself a man of literary habits and extensive reading; and under his eye, and aided solely by his instructions, Edward and Lucy Bligh acquired more general information and more studious habits than are often found even in the more polished part of the Union.
It was a consciousness of this, and of the utter unfitness of both son and daughter either to increase the property he should leave them, or to enjoy life with less of easy indifference to daily expense than he had accustomed them to, which made him listen to the proposals of an acquaintance at Lexington for rapidly increasing his fortune by placing it small sum of ready money which he possessed in a newly-established banking concern.
The bank failed, and Henry Bligh was completely ruined. His ignorance of business had led him to conceive that the six thousand dollars he had placed in the bank was all he risked; but his name was in the firm, and house, lands, stock, and furniture, were all seized and sold by auction, towards clearing the large demands of the creditors.
A misfortune such as this might weigh down the spirits of any man; but poor Bligh was singularly ill calculated to support it. He, and his two pure-minded, intellectual, but very helpless children, were left utterly and literally destitute; and it was only by the sale of some articles of wearing apparel which they were permitted to retain, that their existence was for some time supported.
The only expedient which suggested itself to Edward by which he might hope to maintain his father and sister, was the opening a day-school in the populous village near which they had lived. By the aid of a neighbour who lent him a ruinous barn for the purpose, he so far succeeded as to be spared the agony of seeing his broken-hearted father and delicate sister actually want bread. But the exertion and fatigue which achieved this were overwhelming, and the objects of his care saw the young cheek fade and the bright eye grow dim under the irksome and unwonted toil. Poor Lucy saw it, and determined to divide the labour. Without consulting either father or brother, whose principal occupation and delight had been to guard her from every care and every sorrow, she stole from the corner of their shed in which her father and herself sat apart during the hours of Edward’s labour, and passing, for the first time since she left her home, through the long village street, she called at every house, begging permission to instruct their girls at a price so low that avarice was tempted, — and in a voice so sweet, and yet so sad, that few ears could listen to it unmoved.
The consequence was, that on the following Monday Lucy’s side of the barn held nearly as many pupils as Edward’s.
There was much to rejoice at in this, — and perhaps they did rejoice. But the arrangement necessarily left the unhappy father more alone; and whether it were that his spirits failed the more completely from this circumstance, or that his cup was full and he could bear no more, certain it is that he declined daily and hourly from that time, and in less than three months was attended to the grave by his unhappy orphans.
It had long been Edward’s intention to enter the church; but, though his father never opposed it, the putting his wish in execution had been delayed from the reluctance which Mr. Bligh felt to part with him for the period necessary for the probationary studies which must precede the taking orders.
This most unfortunate delay left him totally without profession or resource of any kind; and with a sister who was dearer to him than his own life, and whose habits were those rather of refinement than of usefulness, he had now to seek bread and shelter for both, with an aching heart and weakened health.
It is difficult to imagine consultations for the future between two young people, in which there was less of hope and more of despondency than those of Edward and Lucy Bligh. The world was before them, but it was a blank. They each felt conscious of superior powers, but more deeply conscious still of their utter incapacity to turn them to account. Lucy, though thoroughly well-read, and with information equally profound and extensive, had nevertheless no accomplishments by the teaching which she might hope to gain the means of existence. Who would pay her for her love of Pascal, her familiarity with Dante, or her enthusiasm for Shakspeare?
“Would I could work at any useful trade, dear Edward!” she said, after they had canvassed the improbability that anyone should think her qualified for the situation of governess. “I am still young enough to turn my thoughts away from all that has hitherto engrossed them, and to take interest in a new manner of existence; but the difficulty is to find out some handicraft of which I am capable.”
“Yes, Lucy, you have proved that you can submit to toil,” replied her brother. “There are few occupations I should conceive so wearing to the heart and soul as teaching children whose intellects have never been
awakened beyond the yearning to have their animal wants supplied; — Lucy, it is dreadful!”
“Let us not think of it; it is over for the week at least,” replied his sister. “Tomorrow is Sunday, Edward, and we will try to fancy that we are not — as we are. But why is it, Edward, that the task of instruction is now so terrible, when I used to take such extreme pleasure in teaching poor black Phebe? Is it possible that I am so wicked as to find delight in what was merely a matter of will or whim, and that the same thing shall become hateful to me as soon as it is my duty to do it?”
“Do not treat yourself with so great injustice, my poor girl. The teaching Phebe was a task that might have given pleasure to the most refined and intellectual person living. Her docility, her gentleness, her intelligence, her piety, and her warm gratitude, made the office of her instructor perfectly delightful. You surely cannot compare that to the unspeakable fatigue of the occupation in which we are now engaged?”
“No, certainly, Edward, it resembles it in no way, and I am heartily glad that you deem it is no wickedness of mine which leads me to think so. Poor Phebe! — I wish I knew where and how she was. The seeing the poor faithful creatures we had endeavoured to make so happy round us scattered about over the Union just as chance might decide, was not one of the least painful circumstances attending our sad downfall. And Cæsar too, — the gay, kind-hearted, generous Cæsar! — I would do much to know their destiny. Should they have been parted, their misery must be great indeed, for never did two young creatures love more tenderly.”
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 9
