CHAPTER x.x.xVII.

THE RE-UNION.

TOWARDS the close of the year 1854, their being no immediate need of Vina's presence on the "low place," she went back to the island. Susanna had died during the summer, and now the boys were both with their mother, leaving Catharine sole tenant of the old home cabin.

"The island," although it was five miles above the home plantation, was not a lonely place. There were good neighbors on the river bank opposite, and with some of these, the slaves who were kept here, formed lasting friendships; even Vina, though she had been so morose and sad during these last years, had not been unmindful of the sympathy of her own people.

On Sunday morning, December seventeenth, as she was sitting alone in her cabin, a woman belonging to Mr. Hawkins, who owned a plantation on the North bank of the river, came over to pay her a visit.

"What do, you think, Vina?" said she, as soon as she was sure there were no listeners, "I heard a great secret in town last night."

"Oh, I don't know what I thinks till I yers what it's about," replied Vina.

"Well, Peter's sent for you all I and dar's a man in town whar's come from some place 'way off to de Norf dar, to tote you all off."

"How does you know?" asked Vina, her eyes dilated, and her whole frame trembling with excitement.

"Why, I's to town last night to Mr. Simpson's store, and I yer Mr.

Simpson say so hisself. Dey all's a makin out de papers, and dey'll send for you 'fore many days."

The visitor soon departed, and Vina sat down to think, but her brain whirled, and she was glad when her sons came in, that she might share with them the great joy that was swelling in her heart.

She did not for one moment doubt the truth of the report, for it was what she had expected. "O poor faithful loving heart! thou hast borne grief with patience, wait but a little longer, and thy joy shall overflow.

The mother and her sons now held a consultation on the most judicious course for them to take; and they determined to say nothing on the subject until they should hear more. Catharine they could not see before the next Sunday. Oh, how they wished that she could share this joy.

On Monday morning, they went to work, as usual. The bright glad hope with which their hearts were warm shone not in their dark faces, they had schooled their features to wear ever the same calm look. Full well they knew that any change of countenance might be construed into a token of some hidden hope. Slaves must not seem to hope for aught save Christmas Holidays, though they may laugh, and dance, and sing, so they evince no thought beyond the present.

Soon after midnight the next Wednesday, the island people were all called up. They were to kill hogs that day, and every one upon the place was obliged to be in motion.

Great fires were built here and there for scalding the fated animals, and sharp knives, gleaming in their strange light, seemed impatient to begin the sport. Soon all was noise and bustle. The merry butchers talked and laughed, their victims squealed, and grave old women scolded at the trifling of the youngsters; for though the day's work was no trifle, it was a change in their monotonous life, and fun and frolic reigned.

About ten o'clock in the morning, Vina, who amid all the confusion, was watching for a messenger, saw her master coming up the hill from the river. He walked towards the cabins, and soon called--"Vina! O Vina!"

She strove to quell the tumultuous throbbings of her heart, and she suceeeded in subduing all appearance of emotion--so that when she reached the spot where the master stood, her face was calm, and her voice was clear as usual.

"Well, Vina," said he, "how would you like to see Peter?"

"Mons's well, Sir," replied she.

"Do you know where he is?"

"I reckon, sir, he's in Cincinnati."

"No--he lives in Philadelphia, and he's bought you all."

"Bought us?"

"Yes, he's bought you;--how would you like to go to him?"

"Why, if it's true, sir, I'd like to go mighty well."

"If it's true?--don't you believe it?"

"I don't know, sir, whether I believes it or not."

"Well, don't you suppose choose?--Don't you belong to me?"

"Yes, Sir, I know you can."

"Well, if you want to go, make haste and get yourselves ready; for I've got to carry you all over to Florence to-night. There's a man there, who has come for you--he can tell you all about Peter. You ought to have been there before now, but you are all so devilish hard to hear that I had to hallo there for a boat, 'till I'm right hoa.r.s.e."

"We didn't hear you, Sir--the hogs kept such a fuss."

"I know--I know--but you all must hurry yourselves now."

He went to the boys, and told the news to them; but they, too, made strange of it, and seemed to doubt his words.

"Well," said he, "you all act like you don't believe me--now, I'm no ways anxious to sell you, and if you don't want to go, you must get ready devilish quick, for I must have you in Florence to-night; and we must cross the river before dark."

The mother and her sons entered their cabin, and hastily, gathering up such of their things as they could carry easiest, they hastened to the river. Among their fellow-slaves were many whom they counted friends, but even to these they had no time to say "Good bye." Crossing to the main land in a canoe, they sprang into the wagon which waited for them there, and drove toward home, the master riding by their side.

As soon as they arrived at the quarter, he called the overseer. "See, here, Smith, get on your horse, and go quick and tell Catharine to come here. Ride fast; for I'm in a devil of a hurry."

Away went the overseer to the clearing, where he found Catharine busy chopping down a tree. "Here, Girl," cried he, "give me your axe--go quick to the house--you're sold, and your master sent me for you in a hurry."

Half bewildered, yet guessing the truth, Catharine walked as fast as possible towards the quarter. Her mother's figure was the first that met her eye. Then her pulse beat quicker--she bounded towards her.

"Mother, what is it?"

"Why, yer father's sent for us, chile--leastways Ma.s.s'r says so."

"Has he done bought us?"

"Yes; so your Ma.s.s'r says."

"I don't want no more!" cried the girl, as with eager hands she a.s.sisted her mother in their hasty preparations.

The master remained in sight, and every minute shouted to them to hurry, or they could not cross the river; thus confusing them so that they could think of nothing. Vina wished to see her mistress, who owed her about three dollars for chickens, and had promised her the money on Christmas. Vina knew that she would not refuse to pay her now, but Mr. McKiernan would not let her go. "Never mind," said he, "I'll pay you when we get to town."

"Wouldn't you like to take your little grandchild with you?" asked the master.

"Yes, sir," said Vina, "if I could--how much you ask for him?"

"Oh, a trifle!" replied he, "I'd sell I him to you for a trifle--perhaps a hundred dollars."

"Well, Sir, here's all my things; they cost a heap o' money and, if I had time, I could sell 'em all."

"I'll pay you for them when we get to town: but come--hurry yourself."

Vina understood the value of his promise to pay her for the goods she left behind; but she was helpless. She threw a change of clothes for each of them into her trunk--she had no time to select the best-- and tying up her feather bed which Peter had bought for her nine years before, she said "Good bye" to a few mothers, who chanced just then to come in from the field to nurse their babies, and left her cabin-- to return no more.

Notwithstanding all their haste, they were not in time to cross the river before dark; and so they staid at Mr. Wm. Jackson's till morning, when they went into town.

They stopped at Mr. Simpson's store, where the papers were to be signed; and here they saw the young gentleman who had been sent for them.

It was a cold raw, day, and the slaves were shivering in their plantation clothes. "I wish, Sir," said Vina to her master, as they stood in the chilling wind, "you'd give me money enough to buy me a thick shawl."

"Why, Girl," said he, "I could n't do it. I came from home in such a hurry, that I did n't have time to get any small change--I have nothing with me less than a ten-dollar bill."

"Seems to me," said his son-in-law, who stood by, "these n.i.g.g.e.rs are poorly dressed to be for sale; you might get her the shawl now, and pay for it some other time."

"Oh!" said Mr. McKiernan, "hey've got better clothes, but they won't put them on."

Vina thought of his promise to pay her for the chickens, and also for the goods she left behind; but she determined not to ask him again, herself. So when she saw a crowd of gentlemen standing around, she sent Peter to tell him that she wanted the money for the chickens.

"Why, Boy," said he, feeling in his pocket, "I have no money smaller than ten dollars."

Vina was listening. "Yes," cried she, when she heard his answer, "so I thought when you would n't let me stop to see Missus. I knowed you was n't gwine pay me in town."

"McKiernan, d--n it," said one that stood by "why don't you give your servants something? You ought to give them a present for the good they've done you."

He muttered something to himself, but made no answer.

After awhile Peter went to him again, and asked him how much he would take for his baby. Poor Susanna's dying words rang in his cars, and it seemed as if he could not go and leave her child, that she had so solemnly committed to his charge.

"The baby, eh? Oh, you may have it for two hundred dollars."

The young father's hopes were dashed. He could not raise so large a sum as he had learned that the funds sent by his father were barely sufficient to defray the travelling expenses of the family.

"I say, McKiernan," said a gentleman in the crowd, who pitied the distress of the slave-father, "I think you ought to give that old woman her grandchild-- I heard you say she has always been a good servant--that you never struck her a lick, and that she never deserved one--and that her family have always behaved themselves well. Give them the little one for good measure."

"Oh, I'll sell the child cheap to them."

"Ha! sell it! They've no money to buy it. Give it to them-- that would be no more than fair."

Said another, "Where in the world did Peter get the money to buy his family?"

"Oh," replied McKiernan, "he's got rich relations; his friends are all wealthy. I saw one of his brothers last year in Philadelphia--William Still is his name. He is rich, and a devilish likely fellow too. He keeps the Anti-slavery Office. I was in there twice, myself, and I saw him write a hand that I could n't beat, nor you either."

"What office, did you say?"

"The Anti-Slavery Office. Ha! ha! I was as good an Abolitionist as any of them while I was there. I tell you--that William Still is a fine fellow. Another of the brothers has a store, and Peter I believe owns half of it."

The business was at last concluded, and soon after the stage drove up that was to convey them to Eastport. There they were to take the boat which could come up no higher on account of the low state of the water in the river.

"When we got in the stage," says Vina, "I felt free. 'Peared like I didn't weigh no more'n a feather."

"Aha!" said Catharine, looking down with ineffable contempt upon her soiled and tattered garb, "reckon when I git whar father is, I'll drap off these old duds."

"Why?" said her mother, "I don't reckon he's got any new clothes for you."

"But didn't Ma.s.s'r say he got a store?"