A crowd gathered about her. They remarked her light skin and delicate features, her ladylike form and neat dress. Could she be a slave? they asked. Would such a child as she appeared to be attempt to gain her liberty? They dashed water on her head, and, as her consciousness returned, she saw the faces of those two pleasant Scotch gentlemen, who had rode with her the day before all the way from Virginia, looking kindly and pitifully upon her.

"If you had only told us," they said, "we could have helped you."

But there was no friend or helper in that terrible hour, and poor Tidy, weeping and almost heart-broken, was carried back to Baltimore, and thrown into the SLAVE-JAIL.

CHAPTER XIII. A LONG JOURNEY.

IF I p.r.o.nounce this disastrous event in Tidy's life another link in the chain of loving-kindness by which G.o.d was leading her to himself, perhaps you will wonder. But, my dear children, adversities are designed for this very purpose, and are all directed in infinite love and wisdom for our good. Tidy had prayed that she might be free, and the Lord heard, and meant to answer her prayer. He meant not only to give her the liberty she sought, but, more than that, to make her soul free in Christ Jesus; but there were some things she needed to learn first. She was not prepared yet to use her personal liberty rightly, nor did she at all appreciate or desire that other and better freedom. Therefore the Lord disappointed her at this time, and turned the course of her life, as it were, upside down, that by painful experiences and narrow straits she might learn what an all-sufficient Friend he could be to her; that she might learn too the sinfulness of her own heart, and his free grace and mercy for her pardon and salvation.

G.o.d "leads the blind in the way they know not." Tidy knew nothing of the method by which he was guiding her, and when she found her hopes crushed, and herself crouching, forlorn and friendless, weary and half-famished, in a prison, she gave up all for lost. She felt indeed cast off and forsaken. For hours she sat and cried despairingly, the pretty dress crumpled and stained with tears, and the hat which had been so much admired trampled under foot. Shame, grief, and fear of what was to come drove her almost to distraction.

At the end of three days, Mr. Lee, acting as her master, who had been apprised of her arrest, arrived at the prison. But what a wretched object had he come to see! He could scarcely believe that the miserable, dejected being before him was the once bright, beautiful Tidy,--such a change had her disappointment and sorrow wrought. He really pitied her, if a slaveholder ever can pity a slave, and yet he reproached her severely. He told her she was a fool to run away; that n.i.g.g.e.rs never knew when they were well off; that if she had had a thimble-full of sense she might have known she couldn't make her escape. He said they had just been offered a thousand dollars for her,--which was then considered an enormous price,--by a gentleman in Virginia, and they had been on the point of selling her.

"I's Miss Matilda's," fiercely cried the poor girl at this, "and SHE wouldn't a sold me; she said she never would."

"Yes, she would, Miss," replied Mr. Lee; "we don't let her throw away such a valuable piece of property for nothing, I can tell you. A thousand dollars in the bank isn't a small thing. It wouldn't find feet to walk off with very soon, that we know."

"Miss Matilda TOLD me to take my liberty," said Tidy, disconsolately.

"Miss Matilda is a fool, like you. But we shall look out she don't cheat herself in such a fashion. Now you can have your choice, little one; you can go home with me, and take a good flogging for an example to the rest, and stay with us till another buyer comes up,--for Mr. Nicholson won't take such an uncertain piece of goods as you have showed yourself to be,--or you can go South. There's a trader here ready to take you right off. I'll give you till tomorrow morning to make up your mind."

"I'll go South," said the poor girl, the next morning. "I can't bear ever to see Miss Tilda again." And she settled herself down to her fate.

She knew her life of bondage would be hard there, and she would not have much chance of getting her freedom. But it was better than the mortification of going back.

So she was sold to Mr. Pervis, the slave-trader. Mr. Pervis made about fifty purchases in Baltimore and the vicinity, and then organizing his gang he started for the South. Oh, what a different journey from that which Tidy had intended when she left home. A thousand miles South, into the very heart of slavery's dominions, with a company of coa.r.s.e, stupid, filthy, wretched creatures, such as she never would have willingly a.s.sociated with at home, so much more delicately had she been reared. Many of these were field-hands sold to go to the cotton plantations,--sold for "rascality."

Do you know what that means? You think it is ugliness. But no; it is a DISEASE. It is a droll sort of malady, to which a learned Louisiana doctor has given a singular name, which I can't spell, and which you wouldn't know how to p.r.o.nounce; but the symptoms I can describe. Where a slave is attacked with this disease, he acts in a very stupid and careless manner, and does a great deal of mischief, breaking, abusing, and wasting every thing he can lay his hands on. He tears his clothes, throws away food, cuts up plants in the field, breaks his tools, hurts the horses and cattle, and does a vast amount of injury, and in such a way that it seems as if it was all done on purpose. He will neither work, nor eat the food offered him; quarrels with the other slaves and fights with the drivers, and altogether acts in such an ugly way that the overseer says he is "rascally." If it was really ugliness, he would be whipped; but, of course, whipping won't cure disease; so the masters consider it incurable, and sell the slave to go South to work in the rice-swamps and cotton-fields. They, perhaps, think a change of climate will do more for the patient than any other means. The Southern physicians don't have much success, to tell the truth, in curing this difficulty, for they don't seem to understand it. If they would only consult with some of their profession at the North, I have no doubt they would get some valuable suggestions on the subject. I really believe that the liberty-cure, practised by some judicious money-pathic physician, would effectually cure this "rascality." I wish I could see it tried.

Tidy found herself, therefore, in very undesirable company on this expedition to Georgia, and made up her mind very shortly that there would not be much enjoyment in it. She did not have to drag wearily along on foot all the way; for Mr. Lee was considerate enough to suggest to Mr. Pervis, that, as she had been brought up as a house-servant, and not accustomed to very hard work, she would not be able to walk much, and if she was not allowed to ride, there would be no Tidy left by the time they got to their journey's end, and the thousand dollars which had just been paid for her would have been thrown away. So Mr. Pervis gave her a permanent place in one of the wagons, and the other women were taken up by turns, whenever the poor creatures could step no longer.

The men dragged along, handcuffed in pairs, and their low, brutal, and profane conversation was dreadful to Tidy. Oh, how often she wished she had staid contentedly with Mammy Grace, and not tried to run away. And yet her hope was not utterly gone, for she often caught herself saying, with closed teeth, "Give me a chance, and I'll try it again." Freedom looked too attractive to be entirely relinquished.

The gang halted at night, put up their tents, lighted fires and cooked their mean repast. Then they stretched themselves on the bare ground to sleep. In the morning, after the wretched breakfast was eaten, the tents were struck, the wagons loaded again, and they started for another day's travel,--and so on till the long, wearisome march was over. It took them many weeks before they arrived at their destination.

There Tidy was soon resold, the trader making two hundred dollars by the bargain, and she became the property of Mr. Turner, who took her to Natchez, on the Mississippi River, where she became waiting-maid to Mrs.

Turner, his wife.

The poor girl was never the same in appearance after she left her Virginia home. A deep pall seemed to have been thrown over her spirit, and her hopes and happiness lay buried beneath it. Her disposition had lost its buoyancy, and her face wore a sad, pensive look. She tried to do her duty here as before, and her skill and neatness made her a favorite. But there was no one here to care for her and love her as Mammy Grace had done; and she missed the children sadly. Her hymn-book was neglected; for when she opened it such a flood of recollections came over her that the tears blinded her eyes and she could not see a word, and she never now heard a prayer. She was again in an irreligious family, and among an unG.o.dly set of servants, and her faith, hope, and love began to grow dim. A dull, heavy manner, and a careless, reckless state of mind was growing upon her.

It required deeper sorrow than she had yet experienced to wake her up from this sluggish, unhappy condition.

CHAPTER XIV. CRUELTY.

SHE was standing one beautiful evening at the front gate of the house, leaning on the rail, and gazing listlessly up the street. She was thinking, perhaps, of that starry night when first she had heard of the name of G.o.d, or that other, when her faith had been so wonderfully built up in listening to the striking experiences and prayer of the memorable Lony. Perhaps she had wandered farther back to the time, when, under old Rosa's protection, she had fed the chickens and watered the flowers at Rosevale with childish content. Whatever it was, the tears would come, and several times she raised her hand and dashed them away. Then she turned her head and gazed the other way.

A large hotel stood nearly opposite the house, and across the narrow street she watched the mingling, busy crowd of black and white, young and old, coming and going, each intent on his own interests, each holding in his heart the secret of his own history. Who are they all?

thought Tidy, what business are they all about? I wonder if they are all happy? not one of them knows or cares for poor, unhappy me,--when lo!

there suddenly loomed up before her a familiar face. She watched it eagerly as it moved up and down in the throng, for she felt that she had seen it before. But it was some minutes before she could tell exactly where. At last it all came to her. It was Arthur Carroll, the son of the man who had owned her when a baby. She had often seen and played with him in her visits to her mother. Many years had pa.s.sed since she last beheld him, and he had grown to be a young gentleman; but she was sure it was he. He stepped out of the hotel and came towards the house.

She uttered a little, quick cry, "Why, Ma.s.s Arthur!" He turned and recognized her, and at once stopped to inquire into her condition and circ.u.mstances.

It was almost like a visit to old Virginia to see young Carroll; and as cold water to a thirsty soul was the news he brought her from that far country. Tidy drank in eagerly every word he could tell her of the Lees, and others whom she knew, and they were enjoying an animated conversation when Tidy's master pa.s.sed that way. He saw his slave engaged in familiar talk with a stranger, and remembering the remark of the trader of whom he had bought her, that she had tried "the running-away game" once, and must be watched lest she should repeat the attempt, without waiting to inquire into the circ.u.mstances of the case, he resolved to administer a proper chastis.e.m.e.nt. Coming up behind, he struck her a violent blow on the side of the head that sent the frail girl reeling to the ground.

For a few minutes Tidy lay stunned upon the earth. When she came to herself, her head was smarting with pain and her heart burned like fire with indignation, and in a perfect frenzy of distress and mortification she rushed out of the gate and flew down the street. Up and down, through the streets and lanes of the city, she ran for hours, not knowing or caring whither she went, until finally, exhausted and bewildered, she dropped down upon the ground. Some one raised the panting girl and took her to the guard-house. There she lay until morning before she could give any distinct thought to what she had done, and what course she was now to pursue.

When she began to think clearly, she felt that she had acted very unwisely. For a slave to resist punishment, if it is ever so undeserved, or to attempt to escape it by running away, is only to provoke severer chastis.e.m.e.nt. That she well knew, and that there was nothing to be done now, but to walk back to her master's house and meet a fate she could not avoid. She only hoped that, when she acknowledged her fault, and frankly told her master that she did it under a wild and bewildering excitement, he would pardon her and let it pa.s.s.

She dragged her weary steps back to her master's house, fainting with fatigue and hunger, and presented herself before her mistress.

"I's right sorry I runned so," she said, "but I was kind o' scared like, and didn't know jest what I did. I knows I's no business to run away when ma.s.sa cuffed me."

Her mistress made no reply but an angry look; but nothing was said by any one about what had happened, and Tidy felt that trouble was brewing.

What it would be she could not tell, but her heart was heavy within her.

Nothing occurred that day, but the next morning she was told to tie up her clothes and be ready to go up the river at ten o'clock. She knew what going up the river meant. Mr. Turner owned a large cotton plantation about twenty miles from Natchez, and the severest punishment dreaded by his servants in the city was to be sent there.

Tom, the coachman, accompanied Tidy, bearing in his pocket a note to the overseer of the plantation. Would you take a peep into it before she, whom it most concerned, learned its contents? It ran thus,--

"NATCHEZ, Wednesday, A. M.

"DIOSSY,--

"Give this wench a hundred lashes with the long whip this afternoon.

Wash her down well, and when she is fit to work, put her into the cotton field.

"ABRAM TURNER."

Oh, let us weep, dear children, for the poor girl, who, for no crime at all, not even a misdeed, was made to bare her tender skin to such shameless cruelty. No friend was there to help her, to plead for her, to deliver her from the relentless, violent hand of the wicked oppressor.

She was left all alone to her terrible suffering. Can we wonder that she felt that even the Lord had forgotten her?

That night there was scarcely an inch of flesh from her neck to her feet that was not torn, raw, and bleeding. The salt brine, which is used to heal the wounds, although when first applied it seems to aggravate the torture, was poured pitilessly over her, and writhing with agony, fainting, and almost dead, she was borne to a wretched hut, and laid on a hard pallet. Three weeks she lay there, sick and helpless; but she cried unto the Lord in her distress, and he heard her, and prepared to deliver her, though the time of her deliverance was not yet fully come.

She had been brought low, but her eyes were not yet opened to her true needs, and she had not yet learned the prayer G.o.d would have her offer, "Be merciful to me, a SINNER."

Children, when you pray, do not be discouraged, if G.o.d does not answer you INSTANTLY. His way is not as our way; and though he hears us, and means to answer us, he may see that we are not yet ready to receive and appreciate the blessing we seek. Besides, there is no TIME with G.o.d as we count time. WE reckon by days and weeks, by months and years, but with him all is "one, eternal NOW;" and he goes steadily on, executing his purposes of love and mercy, without regard to those points and measures of time which seem so important to us. We must remember, too, that it takes longer to do some things than others. A praying woman whose faith was greatly tried, once asked her minister what this verse meant,--Luke xviii. 8: "I tell you that he will avenge them SPEEDILY."

He replied, "If you make a loaf of bread in ten minutes, you think you have done your work speedily. Supposing a steam-engine is to be built.

The pattern must be drafted, the iron brought, the parts cast, fitted, polished, tried,--it will take months to complete it, and then you may consider it SPEEDILY executed. So, when we ask G.o.d to do something for us, he may see a good deal of preparation to be necessary,--obstacles are to be removed, stepping-stones to be laid,--in the words of the Bible, the rough places are to be made plain, and the crooked ways straight, before the way of the Lord is prepared, and he can come directly with the thing we have asked."

It was thus with Tidy. She kept praying all the time to be free, but the Lord, who meant to give her a larger and better freedom than she asked, led her through such rough and crooked paths that she was quite discouraged, and nearly gave up all for lost.

This was her painful condition when she was driven, for the first time in her life, with a gang of men and women to work in the cotton-field.

CHAPTER XV. COTTON.

LET us look into a cotton-field; we will take this one of a hundred acres. The cotton is planted in rows, and requires incessant tillage to secure a good crop. The weeds and long gra.s.s grow so rankly in this warm climate that great watchfulness and care are required to keep them down.

If there should be much rain during the season, they will spread so rapidly as perhaps quite to outgrow and ruin the crop.