Aunt Phillis's Cabin; Or, Southern Life As It Is. Mary H. Eastman
are right, Emmy, in your views of Susan's conduct; but you should be careful how you trace motives to such a source. She certainly did wrong, and she has suffered; that is all we can say. We must do the best we can to restore her to health. She is very happy with us now, and will, no doubt, after a while, enjoy her liberty: it would be a most unnatural thing if she did not."
"But how is it, Mr. Kent," said the colonel, "that after you induce these poor devils to give up their homes, that you do not start them in life; set them going in some way in the new world to which you transfer them. You do not give them a copper, I am told."
"We don't calculate to do that," said Mr. Kent.
"I believe you," said Mrs. Moore, maliciously.
Mr. Kent looked indignant at the interruption, while his discomfiture was very amusing to the young officers, they being devoted admirers of Mrs. Moore's talents and mince pies. They laughed heartily; and Mr. Kent looked at them as if nothing would have induced him to overlook their impertinence but the fact, that they were very low on the list of lieutenants, and he was an abolition agent. "We calculate, sir, to give them their freedom, and then let them look out for themselves."
"That is, you have no objection to their living in the same world with yourself, provided it costs you nothing," said the colonel.
"We make them free," said Mr. Kent. "They have their right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. They are no longer enslaved, body and soul. If I see a man with his hands and feet chained, and I break those chains, it is all that God expects me to do; let him earn his own living."
"But suppose he does not know how to do so," said Mrs. Moore, "what then? The occupations of a negro at the South are so different from those of the people at the North."
"Thank God they are, ma'am," said Mr. Kent, grandly. "We have no overseers to draw the blood of their fellow creatures, and masters to look on and laugh. We do not snatch infants from their mothers' breasts, and sell them for whisky."
"Neither do we," said Mrs. Moore, her bosom heaving with emotion; "no one but an Abolitionist could have had such a wicked thought. No wonder that men who glory in breaking the laws of their country should make such misstatements."
"Madam," said Mr. Kent, "they are facts; we can prove them; and we say that the slaves of the South shall be free, cost what it will. The men of the North have set out to emancipate them, and they will do it if they have to wade through fire, water, and blood."
"You had better not talk in that style when you go South," said Captain Moore, "unless you have an unconquerable prejudice in favor of tar and feathers."
"Who cares for tar and feathers?" said Mr. Kent; "there has been already a martyr in the ranks of Abolition, and there may be more. Lovejoy died a glorious martyr's death, and there are others ready to do the same."
"Give me my cane, there, captain, if you please," said Colonel Watson, who had been looking at Mr. Kent's blazing countenance and projecting eyes, in utter amazement. "Why, Buena Vista was nothing to this. Good night, madam, and do tell Susan not to jump into the fire again; I wonder she was not burned up while she was there. Come, captain, let us make our escape while we can."
The captain followed, bidding the whole party good night, with a smile. He had been perfectly charmed with the Abolition discussion. Mr. Jones had got very sleepy, and he and Mr. Scott made their adieu. Mr. Kent, with some embarrassment, bade Mrs. Moore good night. Mrs. Moore begged him to go South and be converted, for she believed his whole heart required changing. Captain Moore followed them to the door, and shivered as he inhaled the north-easter. "Come, Emmy," said he, as he entered, rubbing his hands, "you've fought for your country this night; let's go to bed."
Mrs. Moore lit a candle, and put out the lard-lamp, wondering if she had been impolite to Mr. Kent. She led the way to the staircase, in a reflective state of mind; Neptune followed, and stood at the foot of the steps for some moments, in deep thought; concluding that if there should be danger of any one's falling into a river up there, they would call him and let him know, he went back, laid down on the soft rug, and fell asleep for the night.
It does not take long to state a fact. Mr. Kent went to Washington on Abolition business—through the introduction of a senator from his own State he obtained access to good society. He boarded in the same house with a Virginian who had a pretty face, very little sense, but a large fortune. Mr. Kent, with very little difficulty, persuaded her he was a saint, ready to be translated at the shortest notice. He dropped his Abolition notions, and they were married. At the time that my story opens, he is a planter, living near Mr. Weston, and we will hear of him again.
CHAPTER VI.
Arthur Weston is in his college-room in that far-famed city, New Haven. He is in the act of replacing his cigar in his mouth, after having knocked the ashes off it, when we introduce to him the reader. Though not well employed, his first appearance must be prepossessing; he inherited his mother's clear brunette complexion, and her fine expressive eyes. His very black hair he had thrown entirely off his forehead, and he is now reading an Abolition paper which had fallen into his hands. There are two other young men in the room, one of them Arthur's friend, Abel Johnson; and the other, a young man by the name of Hubbard.
"Who brought this paper into my room?" said Arthur, after laying it down on the table beside him.
"I was reading it," said Mr. Hubbard, "and threw it aside."
"Well, if it makes no difference to you, Mr. Hubbard, I'd prefer not seeing any more of these publications about me. This number is a literary curiosity, and deserves to be preserved; but as I do not file papers at present, I will just return it, after expressing my thanks to you for affording me the means of obtaining valuable information about the Southern country."
"What is it about, Arthur," said Abel Johnson, "it is too hot to read this morning, so pray enlighten me?"
"Why, here," said Arthur, opening the paper again, "here is an advertisement, said to be copied from a Southern paper, in which, after describing a runaway slave, it says: 'I will give four hundred dollars for him alive, and the same sum for satisfactory proof that he has been killed.' Then the editor goes on to say, 'that when a planter loses a slave, he becomes so impatient at not capturing him, and is so angry at the loss, that he then does what is equivalent to inducing some person to murder him by way of revenge.' Now, is not this infamous?"
"But it is true, I believe," said Mr. Hubbard.
"It is not true, sir," said Arthur, "it is false, totally and entirely false. Why, sir, do you mean to say, that the life of a slave is in the power of a master, and that he is not under the protection of our laws?"
"I am told that is the case," said Mr. Hubbard.
"Then you are told what is not true; and it seems to me, you are remarkably ignorant of the laws of your country."
"It is not my country," said Mr. Hubbard, "I assure you. I lay no claims to that part of the United States where slavery is allowed."
"Then if it is not your country, for what reason do you concern yourself so much about its affairs?"
"Because," replied Mr. Hubbard, "every individual has the right to judge for himself, of his own, and of other countries."
"No, not without proper information," said Arthur. "And as you have now graduated and intend to be a lawyer, I trust you will have consideration enough for the profession, not to advance opinions until you are sufficiently informed to enable you to do so justly. Every country must have its poor people; you have yours at the North, for I see them—we have ours; yours are white, ours are black. I say yours are white; I should except your free blacks, who are the most miserable class of human beings I ever saw. They are indolent, reckless, and impertinent. The poorer classes of society, are proverbially improvident—and yours, in sickness, and in old age, are often victims of want and suffering. Ours in such circumstances,