Something in the raw air bruised3 afresh the thought of goodbye to theSouthland. The threat of cold in Virginia meant the piling of ice andsnow in the North. Not a sparrow chirped4 in the hedges. Only a crow,passing high in the dull sky, called his defiance5 of wind and weather.
The Colonel made his final round of inspection6 to see that his peoplewere provided against the winter. Behind each servant's cottage, a hugepile of wood was stacked. The roofs were in perfect order. The chimneyswere pouring columns of smoke. It hung low at first but rolled away atthe touch of the breeze from the North.
With Mrs. Lee he visited the aged7 and the sick. The thing that broughtthe smile to each withered8 mouth was the assurance of their love andcare always.
Among the servants Sam held the center of interest. The wonderful,doubtful, yet fascinating thing had come to him. He had been set free.
In each heart was the wish and with it fear of the future. The youngerones laughed and frankly9 envied him. The older ones wagged their headsdoubtfully.
Old Ben expressed the best feelings of the wiser as he took Sam's handfor a fatherly word. He had finished the packing in an old cowhide trunkwhich Custis had given him.
"We's all gwine ter watch ye, boy, wid good wishes in our hearts and awhole lot er misgivin's a playin' roun' in our min'.""Don't yer worry 'bout10 me, Uncle Ben. I'se all right."He paused and whispered.
"Ye didn't know dat Marse Robert done gimme five hundred dollars ingol'--did ye?""Five hundred dollars in gol'!" Ben gasped11.
Sam drew the shining yellow eagles from the bag in his pocket andjingled them before the old man's eyes.
"Dar it is."Ben touched it reverently12.
"Praise God fer de good folks He give us.""I'se er proud nigger, I is. I'se sorry fur dem dat b'longs to po'
folks."Ben looked at him benignly13.
"Don't you be too proud, boy. You'se powerful young and foolish. Yer desbarely got sense enough ter git outen a shower er rain. Dat money ain'tgwine ter las yer always.""No, but man, des watch my smoke when I git up North. Yer hear frum me,yer will.""I hopes I hear de right news."Sam replaced his coin with a touch of authority in possession.
"Don't yer worry 'bout me no mo'. I'se a free man now an' I gwine tercome into de Kingdom."The last important task done by the Colonel before taking the train forNew York was the delivery to his lawyers of instructions for the removalof the Doyles and the placing in his hands sufficient funds for theirjourney.
He spent a day in Washington investigating the chances of the newsettler securing a quarter section of land in Miami County, Kansas,the survey of which had been completed. He selected this County on theMissouri border to please Mrs. Doyle. She wished to live as near theline of old Virginia's climate as possible and in a country with trees.
Doyle promised to lose no time in disposing of his goods. The father,mother, three sons and two little girls were at Arlington to bid theColonel and his family goodbye. They were not a demonstrative people buttheir affection for their neighbor and friend could not be mistaken.
The mother's eyes followed him with no attempt to hide her tears. Shewiped them away with her handkerchief. And went right on crying andwiping them again. The boys were too shy to press forward in the crowdand grasp the Colonel's hand.
On arrival in New York the party stopped at the new Hotel Astor onBroadway. Colonel Lee had promised to spend a day at Fort Hamilton,his old command. But it was inconvenient14 to make the trip until thefollowing morning.
Besides, he had important business to do for Sam. He had sent two of theservants, whom he had emancipated15, to Liberia, and he planned the samejourney for Sam. He engaged a reservation for him on a steamer sailingfor Africa, and returned to the hotel at nine o'clock ready to leave forFort Hamilton.
He was compelled to wait for Sam's return from the boarding house forcolored people on Water Street where he had been sent by the proprietorof the Astor. Not even negro servants were quartered in a first-classhotel in New York or any other Northern city.
Sam arrived at half-past nine, and the Colonel strolled down Broadwaywith him to the little park at Bowling16 Green. He found a seat and badeSam sit down beside him.
The boy watched the expression on his old master's face with dread17. Hehad a pretty clear idea what this interview was to be about and he hadmade up his mind on the answer. His uncle, who had been freed five yearsbefore, had written him a glowing letter about Liberia.
He dreaded18 the subject.
"You know, of course, Sam," the Colonel began, "that your life is now inyour own hands and that I can only advise you as a friend.""An' I sho's glad ter have ye he'p me, Marse Robert.""I'm going to give you the best advice I can. I'm going to advise you todo exactly what I would do if I were in your place.""Yassah.""If I were you, Sam, I wouldn't stay in this country. I'd go back tothe land of my black fathers, to its tropic suns and rich soil. You cannever be a full-grown man here. The North won't have you as such. Thehotel wouldn't let you sleep under its roof, in spite of my protest thatyou were my body-servant. In the South the old shadow of your birth willbe with you. If you wish to lift up your head and be a man it can't behere. No matter what comes in the future. If every black man, woman andchild were set free to-morrow, there are not enough negroes to livealone. The white man will never make you his equal in the world he isbuilding. I've secured your passage to Liberia and I will pay for itwithout touching19 the money which I gave you. What do you think of it?"Sam scratched his head and looked away embarrassed. He spoke20 timidly atfirst, but with growing assurance.
"I'se powerful 'fraid dat Liberia's a long way frum home, Marse Robert.""It is. But if you wish to be a full-grown man, it's your chance to-day.
It will be the one chance of your people in the future as well. Can youmake up your mind to face the loneliness and build your home underyour own vine and fig21 tree? There you can look every man in the face,conscious that you're as good as he is and that the world is yours.""I'se feared I ain't got de spunk22, Marse Robert.""The gold in your pocket will build you a house on public lands. Youknow how to farm. Africa has a great future. You've seen our life. We'vetaught you to work, to laugh, to play, to worship God, to love your homeand your people. You're only twenty years old. I envy you the wealth ofyouth. I've reached the hilltop of life. Your way is still upward fora quarter of a century. It's the morning of life, boy, and a new worldcalls you. Will you hear it and go?""I'se skeered, Marse Robert," Sam persisted, shaking his head gravely.
Lee saw the hopelessness of his task and changed his point of appeal.
"What do you think of doing?""Who, me?""Who else? I can't think for you any longer.""Oh, I'll be all right, sah. I foun' er lot er good colored friends inde bordin' house las' night. Wid dat five hundred dollars, I be livin'
in clover here, sah, sho. I done talk wid a feller 'bout goin' inbusiness.""What line of business?""He gwine ter sho me ter-day, sah.""You don't think you might change your mind about Liberia?""Na sah. I don't like my uncle dat's ober dar, nohow.""Then I can't help you any more, Sam?""Na sah, Marse Robert. Y'u been de bes' master any nigger eber had indis worl' an' I ain't nebber gwine ter fergit dat. When I feels dem fivehundred dollars in my pocket I des swells23 up lak I gwine ter bust24. I'sedat proud o' myse'f an' my ole marster dat gimme a start. Lordee, sah,hit's des gwine ter be fun fer me ter git long an' I mak' my fortuneright here. Ye see ef I don't--"Lee smiled indulgently.
"Watch out you don't lose the little one I gave you.""Yassah, I got hit all sewed up in my close."The old master saw that further argument would be useless. He rosewondering if his act of emancipation25 were not an act of cowardice--theshirking of responsibility for the boy's life. His mouth closed firmly.
That was just the point about the institution of Slavery. No suchresponsibility should be placed on any man's shoulders.
Sam insisted on ministering to the wants of the family until he saw themsafely on the boat for West Point. He waved each member a long goodbye.
And then hurried to his new chum at the boarding house on Water Street.
This dusky friend had won Sam's confidence by his genial26 ways on thefirst night of their acquaintance. He had learned that Sam had just beenfreed. That this was his first trip to New York though he spoke withcareless ease of his knowledge of Washington.
But the most important fact revealed was that he had lately come intomoney through the generosity27 of his former master. The sable28 New Yorkerevinced no curiosity about the amount.
After four days of joy he waked from a sickening stupor29. He foundhimself lying in a filthy30 alley31 at dawn, bareheaded, his coat torn upthe back, every dollar gone and his friend nowhere to be found.
Colonel Lee had given him the address of three clergymen and told him tocall on them for help if he had any trouble. He looked everywhere forthese cards. They couldn't be found. He had been so cocksure of himselfhe had lost them. He couldn't make up his mind to stoop to blackingboots and cleaning spittoons. He had always lived with aristocrats32. Hefelt himself one to his finger tips.
There was but one thing he could do that seemed to be needed up here.
He could handle tobacco. He could stem the leaf. He had learned thatat Arlington in helping33 Ben superintend the curing of the weed for theservants' use.
He made the rounds of the factories only to find that the larger partof this work was done in tenement34 homes. He spent a day finding one ofthese workshops.
They offered to take him in as a boarder and give him sixty cents a day.
He could have a pallet beside the six children in the other room and aplace to put his trunk. Sixty cents a day would pay his room rent andgive him barely enough food to keep body and soul together.
He hurried back to his boarding house, threw the little trunk on hisback and trudged35 to the tobacco tenement. When he arrived no one stoppedwork. The mother waved her hand to the rear. He placed his trunk in adark corner, came out and settled to the task of stemming tobacco.
He did his work with a skill and ease that fascinated the children. Hetook time to show them how to grip the leaf to best advantage and ripthe stem with a quick movement that left scarcely a trace of the weedclinging to it. He worked with a swinging movement of his body and beganto sing in soft, low tones.
The wizened36 eyes brightened, and when he stopped one of them whispered:
"More, black man. Sing some more!"He sang one more song and choked. His eye caught the look of mortalweariness in the tired face of the little girl of six and his voicewouldn't work.
"Goddermighty!" he muttered, "dese here babies ought not ter be wukkinlak dis!"When lunch time came the six children begged Sam to live in the placeand take his meals with them.
Their mother joined in the plea and offered to board him for thirtycents a day. This would leave him a few cents to spend outside. Hecouldn't yet figure on clothes. It didn't seem right to have to pay forsuch things. Anyhow he had enough to last him awhile.
He decided37 to accept the offer and live as a boarder with the family.
The lunch was discouraging. A piece of cold bread and a glass of waterfrom the hydrant. Sam volunteered to bring the water.
The hydrant was the only water supply for the six hundred people whosehouses touched the alley. It stood in the center. The only drainagewas a sink in front of it. All the water used had to be carried up thestairs and the slops carried down. The tired people did little carryingdownstairs. Pans and pails full of dishwater were emptied out thewindows with no care for the passer below. Scarcely a day passed withouta fight from this cause. A fight in the quarter was always a pleasure tothe settlement.
Sam munched38 his bread and sipped39 his water. He watched the children eattheir pieces ravenously40. He couldn't finish his. He handed it to thesmallest one of the children who was staring at him with eyes thatchilled his heart. He knew the child was still hungry. Such a lunch as apiece of bread and a tin cup of water must be an accident, of course.
He had heard of jailers putting prisoners on bread and water to punishthem. He had never known human beings living at home to have such food.
They would have a good dinner steaming hot. He was sure of that.
A sudden commotion41 broke out in the alley below. Yells, catcalls, oathsand the sound of crashing bricks, coal, pieces of furniture, and thesplash of much water came from the court.
The mother rushed to the window and hurled42 a stone. There was a pile ofthem in the corner of the room.
Sam tried to look out.
"What's de matter, ma'm? Is dey er fight?""No--nothin' but a rent collector." The woman smiled.
It was the first pleasant thought that had entered her mind since Samhad come.
The dinner was as rude a surprise as the lunch. He watched the womanfumble over lighting43 the fire in the stove until he could stand it nolonger.
"Lemme start de fire fer ye, ma'm," he offered at last.
"I wish you would," she sighed. "I married when I wuz seventeen and Inever had made a fire before. I don't believe I'll ever learn."The negro was not long in observing that she knew no more about cookingthan she did about lighting a fire. The only cooking utensils44 in theplace were a pot and a frying pan. The frying pan was in constant use.
For dinner she fried a piece of tough beef without seasoning45. She didn'tknow how to make bread. She bought the soggy stuff at the grocer's.
There was no bread for dinner at all. They had boiled potatoes, boiledin plain water without even a grain of salt or pepper. The coffee was soblack and heavy and bitter he couldn't drink it.
The father had a cup of beer with his coffee. A cup of beer was providedfor Sam. The girl of twelve had rushed the growler to the corner saloon.
The negro had never tasted beer before and he couldn't drink it. Thestuff was horrible. It reminded him of a dose of quinine his mistresshad once made him take when he had a chill.
He worked harder than usual next day to forget the fear that hauntedhim. At night he was ill. He had caught cold and had a fever. He droppedon his pallet without dinner and didn't get up for three weeks.
He owed his landlady46 so much money now, he felt in honor bound to boardwith her and give her all his earnings47. He felt himself sinking into anabyss and he didn't have the strength to fight his way out.
The thing that hurt him more than bad food and air when he got to hiswork again was the look of death in the faces of the children. Theireyes haunted him in the dark as they slept on the same floor. He wouldget out of there when he was strong again. But these children wouldnever go except to be hauled in the dead wagon48 to the Potter's Field.
And he heard the rattle49 of this black wagon daily.
In a mood of desperation he walked down Water Street past the boardinghouse. In front of the place he met a boarder who had spoken to himthe last day of his stay. He seized Sam by the coat, led him aside andwhispered:
"Has ye heard 'bout de old man, name John Brown, dat come ter lead deniggers ter de promise' lan'?""No, but I'se waitin' fur somebody ter lead me.""Come right on wid me, man. I'se a-goin' to a meetin' to-night an' jinede ban'. Will ye jine us?""I jine anything dat'll lead me to de promise' lan'.""Come on. Hit's over in Brooklyn but a nigger's gwine ter meet me at deferry and take me dar."Sam felt in his pocket for the money for the ferry. Luckily he hadtwenty cents. It was worth while to gamble that much on a trip to thepromised land.
An emissary of the prophet met them on the Brooklyn side and led them toa vacant store with closed wooden shutters50. No light could be seen fromthe street. The guide rapped a signal and the door opened. Inside wereabout thirty negroes gathered before a platform. Chairs filled the longspace. A white man was talking to the closely packed group of blacks.
Sam pressed forward and watched him.
He was old until he began to talk. And then there was something strangeand electric in his tones that made him young. His voice was vaultingand metallic51 and throbbed52 with an indomitable will. There was contagionin the fierceness of his tones. It caught his hearers and called them ina spell.
His shoulders were stooped. His manner grim and impressive. There wasa quick, wiry movement to his body that gave the idea that he wascrouching to spring. It was uncanny. It persisted as his speechlengthened.
He was talking in cold tones of the injustice53 being done the black manin the South. Of the crimes against God and humanity which the Southernwhites were daily committing.
The one feature of the strange speaker that fascinated Sam was theglitter of his shifting eyes. He never held them still. He did not tryto bore a man through with them. They were restless, as if moved byhidden forces within. The flash of light from their depths seemed asignal from an unknown world.
Sam watched him with open mouth.
He was finishing his talk now in a desultory54 way more gripping in itsdeadly calm than the most passionate55 appeal.
"We are enrolling56 volunteers," he quietly announced. "Volunteers in theUnited States League of Gileadites. If you sign your names to the rollto-night understand clearly what you are doing. I have written for eachmember _Words of Advice_ which he must memorize as the guide to hisaction."He drew a sheet of paper from his pocket and read:
"No jury can be found in the Northern States, that would convict a manfor defending his rights to the last extremity57. This is well understoodby Southern Congressmen, who insist that the right of trial by juryshould not be granted to the fugitive58 slave. Colored people have morefast friends among the whites than they suppose. Just think of the moneyexpended by individuals in your behalf in the past twenty years! Thinkof the number who have been mobbed and imprisoned59 on your account. Haveany of you seen the branded hand? Do you remember the names of Lovejoyand Torrey? Should any of your number be arrested, you must collecttogether as quickly as possible so as to outnumber your adversaries60 whoare taking an active part against you. Let no able-bodied man appear onthe ground unequipped or with his weapons exposed to view; let that beunderstood beforehand. Your plans must be known only to yourself, andwith the understanding that all traitors61 must die, wherever caught andproven to be guilty.
"'Whosoever is fearful or afraid, let him return and depart early fromMount Gilead' (Judges VII Chapter, 3rd verse; Deuteronomy XX Chapter,8th verse). Give all cowards an opportunity to show it on condition ofholding their peace. Do not delay one moment after you're ready: youwill lose all your resolution if you do. Let the first blow be thesignal for all to engage; and when engaged do not do your work byhalves; but make clean work with your enemies--"It was the slow way in which he spoke the last words that gave themmeaning. Sam could hear in his tones the crash of steel into human fleshand the grating of the blade on the bone. It made him shiver.
Every negro present joined the League.
When the last man had signed, John Brown led in a long prayer toAlmighty God to bless the holy work on which these noble men hadentered. At the close of his prayer he announced that on the followingnight at the People's Hall on the Bowery in New York, the HonorableGerrit Smith, the noblest friend of the colored men in the North, wouldpreside over a mass meeting in behalf of the downtrodden. He asked themall to come and bring their friends.
The ceremony of signing over, Sam turned to the guide with a genialsmile.
"I done jine de League.""That's right. I knew you would.""I'se a full member now, ain't I?""Of course.""When do we eat?" Sam asked eagerly.
"Eat?""Sho.""We ain't organizin' de Gileadites to eat, man.""Ain't we?""No, sah. We'se organizin'--ter kill white men dat come atter runawayslaves.""But ain't dey got nuttin ter eat fer dem dat's here?""You come ter de big meetin' ter-morrow night an' hear sumfin dat's goodfer yo' soul.""I'll be dar," Sam promised. But he hoped to find something at themeeting that was good for his stomach as well as his soul.
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1
overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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2
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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chirped
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的过去式 ) | |
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5
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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benignly
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| adv.仁慈地，亲切地 | |
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inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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15
emancipated
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| adj.被解放的，不受约束的v.解放某人（尤指摆脱政治、法律或社会的束缚）( emancipate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bowling
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| n.保龄球运动 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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fig
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| n.无花果(树) | |
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spunk
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| n.勇气，胆量 | |
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swells
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| 增强( swell的第三人称单数 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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emancipation
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| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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sable
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| n.黑貂；adj.黑色的 | |
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stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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32
aristocrats
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| n.贵族( aristocrat的名词复数 ) | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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tenement
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| n.公寓；房屋 | |
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trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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wizened
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| adj.凋谢的；枯槁的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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munched
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
ravenously
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| adv.大嚼地，饥饿地 | |
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41
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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42
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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43
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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44
utensils
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| 器具，用具，器皿( utensil的名词复数 )； 器物 | |
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45
seasoning
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| n.调味；调味料；增添趣味之物 | |
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46
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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47
earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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49
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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50
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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51
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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52
throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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53
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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56
enrolling
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| v.招收( enrol的现在分词 )；吸收；入学；加入；[亦作enrol]( enroll的现在分词 )；登记，招收，使入伍（或入会、入学等），参加，成为成员；记入名册；卷起，包起 | |
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57
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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59
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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adversaries
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| n.对手，敌手( adversary的名词复数 ) | |
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traitors
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| 卖国贼( traitor的名词复数 )； 叛徒； 背叛者； 背信弃义的人 | |
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