 CHAPTER 39 THE NEW MOTHER The cholera at length disappeared, and the establishment of our old friend Tiff proceeded as of yore. His chickens and turkeys grew to maturity, and cackled and strutted joyously. His corn waved its ripening flags in the September breezes, the grave of the baby had grown green with its first coat of grass, and Tiff was comforted for his loss, because, as he said, he knowed he's better off. Miss Fanny grew healthy and strong, and spent many long sunny hours wandering in the woods with Teddy, or sitting out on the bench where Nina had been want to read to them would spell out with difficulty for her old friend's comfort and enlightenment. The half-familiar words of the wondrous story that Nina had brought to their knowledge, the interior of the poor cottage bore its wanton air of quaint, Sylvan refinement, and Tiff went on with his old dream of imagining it an ancestral residence of which his young master and mistress were the head, and himself their whole retinue. He was sitting in his tent door in the cool of the day, while Teddy and Fanny had gone for wild grapes, cheerfully examining and mending his old pantaloons, meanwhile recreating his soul with a cheerful conversation with himself. Now, old Tiff, said he, one more patch on this year, because it ain't much matter what you oars. Masser is always a promise and to bring me some cloth fur to make a more speckable pair, but, laws, he never does nothing he says he will. Ain't no trustin' in that scripture, old people, jiggatin' up and down the country, drinkin' all the taverns, fetchin' disgrace on the family, spite o' all I can do, might a long time since he been home, anyhow. Shouldn't wonder if the cholerate catched him. Well, the lords will be done, pity to kill such critters. Wouldn't much mind if he should die, laws, he ain't much profit to the family. I'min' home here with lots o' old trash, drinkin' up all my chicken money down to buy huck's skin flints. For my part, I believe them devils, when they went out o' disfine, went into the whiskey barrel. This year, liquor makes folks so ugly, tatty, shant never touch, none, as long as there's a drop o' paintin' blood in my veins, lord, but this year world is full o' spin-sations. Oh, dear Miss Nanna, tat was a doin' for the children. She's gone up among the angels. Well, breast-in-ord, we must do the best we can, and we'll all land on that Canaan shore at last. And Tiff uplifted, a quavering stave of a favorite melody. My brother, I have found the land that doth abound with food as sweet as manna, the more I eat. I find the more I am inclined to shout and sing hozana. Shoo, shoo, shoo! He said, observing certain long-legged, half-grown chickens, who were surreptitiously taking advantage of his devotional engrossments to rush past him into the kitchen. Pairs like these, your chickens never, well-armed nothin', said Tiff, finding that his vigorous shooing only scared the flock in. Instead of admonishing them out, so Tiff had to lay down his work, and his thimble rolled one way, and his cake of wax another, hiding themselves under the leaves, while the hens, seeing Tiff at the door. Instead of accepting his polite invitation to walk out, acted in that provoking and inconsiderate way that hens generally will, running promiscuously up and down, flapping their wings, cackling, shedding pots, kettles, and pans. In promiscuous ruin, Tiff each moment becoming more and more wrathful at their entire want of consideration. Gras me, if I ever did see any kind of critter, so shaller as hens, said Tiff, as, having finally ejected them, he was busy repairing the ruin they had wrought in Miss Fanny's fanciful floral arrangements, which were all lying in wild confusion. I taught the Lord made room in every beast's head for some sense, but pairs like hens and got the least discreene, puts me out, seein' them crockin' and crawling on one leg, cuz they hadn't got sense enough to know, whar to set down, tutter. They never has no IDs, what day's goin' to do? From mornin' to night, I believe, but then there's folks that's just like them. That the Lord has gin brains, too, and they won't use them, they's always settin' round, but they never lays no eggs, so hens, anti-wolf-scritters, are their all. And I, rallyin' down, know what we do without him, said old Tiff, relentingly, as, appeased from his wrath, he took up at once his needle and his psalm, singing lustily and with good courage, perhaps you'll tink me wild, and simple as a child, that I'm a child of glory. Noah's now, said Tiff, pursuing his reflections to himself, maybe he's dead now, sure enough, and if he is, why, I can do for the chillin' rail-powerful, I sewed rats mod of eggs this year summer, and the sweet-taters allers fetches a good price, if I could get the chillin' along with their readin' and keep their manners handsome, why, Miss Fanny, now, she's grown up to be rail-perty, she got the rail-patin' look to her, and there's this year about gales and women, that if they's perty, why, somebody wants to be merryin' of them, and so they gets took care of, I tell you, there shan't any of them fellers that he brings home with him have any team to say to her, patent blood and for their money, I can tell them, them fellers allers find themselves mighty unlucky, as long as eyes round, wanting or another happens to them, so that they don't want to come no more, dreadful poor times they has, and Tiff shook with a secret chuckle, but now, you're see, there's never any knowing, there may be some patent property comin' to diss your chillin', eyes known, sitch, things happen, for now, lawyers callin' after the heirs, and then here they be already fetched up, eyes mindin' that I'd better speak to Miss Nanna's man about diss your chillin', cause he's a nice, perty man, and naturally he'd take an interest, and that our handsome sister of his, that was so thick with Miss Nanna, maybe she'd be doin' somethin' for her, anyway, diss your chillin' shall meeper come to want, long as eyes above ground, alas for the transitory nature of human expectations, even our poor little Arcadia in the wilderness, where we have had so many hours of quaint delight, was destined to feel the mutability of all earthly joys and prospects. Even while Tiff's bow-con-sung, in the exuberance of joy and security of his soul, a disastrous phantom was looming up from a distance, the phantom of Cripp's old wagon. Cripp's was not dead, as was to have been hoped, but returning for a more permanent residence, bringing with him a ride of his own hearts choosing, Tiff's dismay, his utter, speechless astonishment, may be imagined when the ill-favored machine rumbled up to the door, and Cripp's produced from it what seemed to be, at first glance, a bundle of tawdry, dirty finery, but at last it turned out to be a woman, so far gone in intoxication as scarcely to be sensible of what she was doing. Evidently, she was one of the lowest of that class of poor whites whose wretched condition is not among the least of the evils of slavery. Whatever she might have been, naturally, whatever a beauty or of good there might have been in the womanly nature within her, lay wholly withered and eclipsed under the force of an education churchless, schoolless, with all the vices of civilization without its refinements, and all the vices of barbarism without the occasional nobility by which they are sometimes redeemed. A low and vicious connection with this woman had at last terminated in marriage. Such marriages as one shudders to think of, where gross animal natures come together without even a glimmering idea of the higher purposes of that holy relation. Tiff, this year is your new mistress, said Cripp's with an idiotic laugh. Plug an ass girl, too. I thought I'd bring the children a mother to take care of them. Come along, girl. Looking closer, we recognize in the woman our old acquaintance, Polly Skinflint. He pulled her forward, and she, coming in, seated herself on Fanny's bed. Tiff looked as if he could have struck her dead, and Avalanche had fallen upon him. He stood in the door with the slack hand of utter despair, while she, swinging her heels, began leisurely spitting about her in every direction, the juice of a quid of debacle which she cherished in one cheek. Durned! If this year ought pretty well, she said, only I want the nigger to heave out that our trash, pointing to Fanny's flowers. I don't want children sticking no herbs around my house. Hey, you nigger, heave out that trash! As Tiff stood still, not obeying this call, the woman appeared angry, and, coming up to him, struck him on the side of the head. Oh, come, come, pole, said Cripp's. You be still. He ain't used to know such ways. Still, said the Amy of Oladie, turning round to him, you go long. Didn't you tell me? If I married you, I should have a nigger to order round, just as I pleased. Well, well, said Cripp's, who was not, by any means, a cruelly disposed man. I didn't think you'd want to go walloping him, the first thing. I will, if he don't chin round, said the Varago, and you, too. And this vigorous profession was further carried out by a vigorous shove, which reacted in Cripp's in the form of a cuff, and in a few moments the disgraceful scuffle was at its full height, and Tiff turned in disgust and horror from the house. Oh, good Lord, he said to himself, we doesn't know what's for us, and I was feeling so bad when the Lord took my poor little man, and now I was ready to go down on monies to thank the Lord, that he's took him away from the evil to come, to think of my poor sweet lamb, Miss Fanny, as I've been bringing up so carful. Lord, is yours a heap worse than the cholera? It was, with great affliction and dismay, that he saw the children coming forward in high spirits, bearing between them a basket of wild grapes, which they had been gathering. He ran out to meet them. Lord, you poor lambs, he said, you doesn't know what's coming on you. Your father's gone and married a dreadful low-wild woman, such as Aunt Fit for no Christian children to speak to, and nowadays quarreling and fighting in there like two heathens, and Miss Nine is dead, and there ain't no place for you to go. And the old man sat down and actually wept aloud, while the children, frightened, got into his arms and nestled close to him for protection, crying too, What shall we do? What shall we do? said Fanny, and Teddy, who always repeated reverentially all his sister's words, said, after her, in a deplorable whimper. What shall we do? Has a good mind to go off with you in the wilderness, like the children of Israel? said Tiff. No, there ain't no man of fallen nowadays. Tiff, does marrying father make her our ma, said Fanny? No, deed, Miss Fanny, it doesn't. Your ma was one of the fustous old Virginie families. It was just throwing herself away, marrying him. A neighbor said that are four, because it weren't speckful, but I don't care now. At this moment, Crips's voice was heard shouting, Hello, you, Tiff, where's the dirt nigger? I say, come back. Pole and eyes made it up now. Bring along them children, and let them get acquainted with their mammy, he said, laying hold of Fanny's hand, and drawing her, frightened and crying, towards the house. Don't you be afraid, child, said Crips. I brought you a new ma. We didn't want any new ma, said Teddy, in a Dolores voice. Oh, yes, you do, said Crips, coaxing him, Come along, my little man. There's your mammy, he said, pushing him into the fat embrace of Polly. Fanny, go kiss your ma. Fanny hung back and cried, and Teddy followed her example. Count found the Dern Youngens, said the new married lady. I told you, Crips. I didn't want no brats of tether-womens. Be plague enough when I get some of my own. End of Chapter 39 The New Mother Chapter 40 Of Dread A Tale of the Great Dismal Swamp by Harriet Beecher Stowe This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Chapter 40 The Flight Into Egypt The once neat and happy cottage of which old Tiff was the guardian genius, soon experienced sad reverses. Polly's skin flints, violent and domineering temper, made her absent from her father's establishment. Rather a matter of congratulation to Evigia, her mother, one of those listless and inefficient women, whose lives flow in a calm, muddy current of stupidity and laziness, talked very little about it, but on the whole was perhaps better contented to be out of the range of Polly's sharp voice and long arms. It was something of a consideration in Evigia's shrewd view of things that Cripps owned a nigger, the first point to which the aspiration of the poor white of the South generally tens. Polly, whose love of power was a predominant element in her nature, resolutely declared in advance, she'd make him shin brown, or she'd know the reason why. As to the children, she regarded them as the encumbrances of the estate, to be got over with in the best way possible, for, as she graphically remarked, every darn youngin had to look out when she was about. The bride had been endowed with a marriage portion by her father of half a barrel of whiskey, and it was announced that Cripps was tired of trading round the country and meant to set up trading at home. In short, the little cabin became a low grog shop, a resort of the most miserable and vicious portion of the community. The violent temper of Polly soon drove Cripps upon his travels again, and his children were left unprotected to the fury of their stepmother's temper. Every vestige of whatever was decent about the house and garden was soon swept away for the customers of the shop in a grand Sunday drinking bout, amused themselves with tearing down even the prairie rows and climbing vine that once gave a Sylvan charm to the rude dwelling. Polly's course, in the absence of her husband, was one of the gross, unblushing licentiousness, and the ears and eyes of the children were shocked, with language and scenes too bad for repetition. Old Tiff was almost heartbroken. He could have borne the beatings and starvings which came on himself, but the abuse which came on the children he could not bear. One night, when the drunken orgy was raging within the house, Tiff gathered courage from despair. Miss Fanny, he said, just go in to Garrett and make a bundle of sitch-tings as there is, and throw him out or de-winder. I has been a prey in night and day, and the Lord says he'll open some way or other for us. I'll keep Teddy out here under the trees, while you just bundles up what pull-closes lift, and throws him out or de-winder, silently as a ray of moonlight. The fair, delicate-looking child glided through the room where her stepmother and two or three drunken men were reveling in a loathsome debauch. Aloa, sis, cried one of the men, after her. Where are you going to? Stop here, and give me a kiss. The unutterable look of mingled pride and fear and angry distress, which the child cast, as quick as thought. She turned from them and ran up the ladder into the loft, occasioned roars of laughter. I say, Bill, why didn't you catch her? Said one. Oh, no matter for that, said another. She'll come of her own accord, one of these days. Fanny's heart beat like a frightened bird. As she made up her little bundle, then, throwing it to Tiff, who was below in the dark, she called out. In a low, earnest whisper, Tiff, put up that board, and I'll climb down on it. I won't go back among those dreadful men. Carefully and noiselessly as possible, Tiff lifted a long, rough slab, and placed it against the side of the house. Carefully, Fanny set her feet on the top of it, and, spreading her arms, came down, like a little puff of vapor, into the arms of her faithful attendant. Breasty Lord, here we is. All right, said Tiff. Oh, Tiff, I'm so glad, said Teddy, holding fast to the skirt of Tiff's apron and jumping for joy. Yes, said Tiff. All right, now the angel of Delordal go with us into dewilderness. There's plenty of angels there, and there, said Teddy, victoriously, as he lifted the little bundle, with undoubting faith. Loes, yes, said Tiff. I don't know why there shouldn't be in our days. Any rate, Delord peered to me in a dream, and says he. Tiff, rise and take dechillin' and go in de land of Egypt, and be there till de time I tell thee, dem is de very words. And to us, tween, de cockro, and de light, de come to me, when I'd been lyin' dar prayin', like a hailstorm, all night, not givin' de lord no rest. Says I to him, says I. Lord, I don't know nothin' what to do, and now, if you was poor as I be, and I was great king, like you, I'd help you. And now, Lord, says I, you must help us, cause we ain't got no place else to go, cause you know. Miss Nana, she's dead, and Mr. John Gordon, too, and this your woman will ruin, dease your chillin', if you don't help us. And now I hope you won't be angry, but I has to be very bold, cause things have got so dat we can't borrow no longer. Then, your see, I dropped sleep, and I hadn't no more and got to sleep, just after cockro, when de voice come. And is this the land of Egypt, said Teddy, that we're going to? I speck so, said Tiff. Don't you know de story Miss Nana read to you, once, how the angel of the Lord peered to haggar in de wilderness, when she was sittin' down under de bush. Then there was another one come to Laja, when he was under de juniper tree, when he was wandern' up and down, and got hungry, and woke up. And there, sure enough, was a corn cake bakin' for him on de coals. Don't you mind, Miss Nana was readin' that our de very last Sunday, she came to our place. Breast of the Lord for sending her to us, eyes got heaps of good through dim-readens. Do you think we really shall see any, said Fanny, with a little shade of apprehension in her voice? I don't know, as I shall know how to speak to them. Oh, angels is pleasant-spoken, well-meaning folks, allers, said Tiff. And don't take no fancy at us. Of course, de knows we ain't fetched up in de ways, and de don't speck it of us. It's my opinion, said Tiff, that when folks is honest, and does the very best they can, de don't need to be afraid to speak to angels, nor nobody else, cause you see, we speaks to de Lord, Hisself, when we praise. And rest the Lord, He don't take it ill of us, no ways. And now it's born and strung on my mind, that de Lord is goin' to lead us through the wilderness, and bring us to good luck. Now you see, as goin' to follow de star, like de wise men did. While they were talking, they were making their way through dense woods in the direction of the swamp, every moment taking them deeper and deeper into the tangled brush and underwood. The children were accustomed to wonder for hours through the wood, and, animated by the idea of having escaped their persecutors, followed Tiff with alacrity as he went before them, clearing away the brambles and vines with his long arms, every once in a while wading with them across a bit of morass, or climbing his way through the branches of some uprooted tree. It was after ten o'clock at night when they started, it was now after midnight. Tiff had held on his course in the direction of the swamp, where he knew many fugitives were concealed, and he was not without hopes of coming upon some camp, or settlement of them. About one o'clock they emerged from the more tangled brushwood, and stood on a slight little clearing where a grapevine, depending in natural festoons from a sweet gumtree, made a kind of arbor. The moon was shining very full and calm, and the little breeze fluttered the grape leaves, casting the shadow of some on the transparent greenness of others. The dew had fallen so heavily in that moist region that every once in a while, as a slight wind agitated the leaves. It might be heard pattering from one to another, like raindrops. Teddy had long been complaining bitterly of fatigue. Tiff now sat down under this arbor, and took him fondly into his arms. Sit down, Miss Fanny, and his tiff's brave little man got tired. Well, he shall go to sleep. Dad, he shall. We's got out a good bit now. I reckon they won't find us. We's out here with the good Lord's works, and they won't none on him tell on us. So now, hush, a poor little man, shut up your eyes, and tiff quavered the immortal cradle him. Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber. Holy angels guard thy bed, heavenly blessings without number, gently falling on thy head. In a few moments Teddy was sound asleep, and tiff, wrapping him in his white, great coat, laid him down at the root of a tree. Rest, ye Lord, there ain't no whiskey here, he said, nor no drunken critters to wake him up. And now, Miss Fanny, poor child, your eyes is a-falling. Here's this here, old shawl, I put up in the pocket of my coat. Wrap it round you, whilst I scrape up a heap of dim-pied leaves. Yonder, dim is reckoned might a good for sleeping on, cause day is so healthy, kinder. There, you see, I's got a desperate big heap of them. I'm tired, but I'm not sleepy, said Fanny. But, tiff, what are you going to do? Do, said tiff, laughing with somewhat of his old joyous laugh. Ho, ho, ho, I's going to sit up for to meditate, a sitter in on-do fouls of the air, and a lily's in defiled, and all them darn Miss Nanna used to reap out. For many weeks Fanny's bedchamber had been the hot, dusty loft of the cabin, and the heated roof just above her head, and the noise of bacchanalean revels below. Now she lay sunk down among the soft and fragrant pine foliage, and looked up, watching the checkered roof of vine leaves above her head, listening to the still patter of falling dew drops, and the tremulous whirr and flutter of leaves. Sometimes the soft night winds swayed the tops of the pines with a long swell of dashing murmurs, like the breaking of a tide on a distant beach. The moonlight, as it came sliding down through the checkered, leafy roof, through fragments and gleams of light, which moved capriciously here and there over the ground, revealing now a great silvery fern leaf, and then a tuft of white flowers, gilding spots on the branches and trunks of the trees, while every moment the deeper shadows were lighted up by the gleaming of fireflies, the child would raise her head a while, and look on the still scene around, and then sink on her fragrant pillow in dreamy delight. Everything was so still, so calm, so pure. No wonder she was prepared to believe that the angels of the Lord were to be found in the wilderness. They who have walked in closest communion with nature have ever found that they have not departed thence. The wilderness and solitary places are still glad for them, and their presence makes the desert to rejoice and blossom as the rose, when Fanny and Teddy were both asleep. Old Tiff knelt down and addressed himself to his prayers, and, though he had neither prayer book nor cushion nor formula, his words went right to the mark, in the best English he could command for any occasion, and so near as we could collect from the sound of his words, Tiff's prayer ran as follows, Oh, good Lord, now please do look down on these you're chilling. I started them out, as you'd help me. And now, where is we to go, and where is we to get any breakfast? I sure I don't know, but, oh, good Lord, you's got everything in the world in your hands, and it's mighty easy for you to be helping on us, and I has faith to believe that you will. Oh, rest, Lord Jesus, that was carried off into Egypt for fear of the King Herod, do pray, look down on these you're poor chilling, for I sure that odd woman is as bad as Herod. Any day, good Lord, you've seen how she's been treating on him, and now do pray open away for us through the wilderness to the promised land everlasting. Amen. The last two words Tiff always added to his prayers, from a sort of sense of propriety, feeling as if they rounded off the prayer, and made it, as it would have phrased it, more like a white prayer. We have only to say, to those who question concerning this manner of prayer, that, if they will examine the supplications of patriarchs of ancient times, they will find that, with the exception of the broken English and bad grammar. They were in substance very much like this of Tiff. The Bible divides men into two classes, those who trust in themselves, and those who trust in God. The one class walk by their own might, trust in their own strength, fight their own battles, and have no confidence otherwise. The other, not neglecting to use the wisdom and strength which God has given them, still trust in his wisdom and his strength to carry out the weakness of theirs. The one class go through life as orphans, the other have a father. Tiff's prayer had at least this recommendation, that he felt perfectly sure that something was to come of it. Had he not told the Lord all about it, certainly he had. And of course he would be helped. And this confidence Tiff took, as Jacob did a stone for his pillow, as he lay down between his children and slept soundly. Ho innocent, soft, and kind are all God's works. From the silent shadows of the forest, the tender and loving presence which our sin exiled, from the haunts of men hath not departed, sweet fall the moonbeams through the dewy leaves, peaceful is the breeze that waves the branches of the pines, merciful and tender the little wind that shakes the small flowers, and tremulous wood grasses fluttering over the heads of the motherless children. O thou who bearest in thee a heart hot and weary, sick and faint with the vain Talmuds, and confusions of the haunts of men, go to the wilderness, and thou shalt find him there who sayeth, as one whom his mother comforteth. So will I comfort you. I will be as the dew to Israel. He shall grow as a lily, and cast forth his roots as Lebanon. Well, they slept there quietly, all night long, between three and four o'clock, and Oriel, who had his habitation in the vine above their heads, began a gentle twittering conversation with some of his neighbors, not a loud song I would give you to understand, but a little low inquiry as to what o'clock it was, and then, if you had been in a still room at that time, you might have heard, through all the trees of pine, beech, holly, sweet gum, and march, a little tremulous stir and flutter of birds awaking and stretching their wings. Little eyes were opening in a thousand climbing vines, where soft, feathery habitants had hung, swinging breezily, all night. Low twitterings and chirpings were heard, then a loud, clear, echoing chorus of harmony answering from tree to tree, jubilant and joyous as if there never had been a morning before. The morning star had not yet gone down, nor were the purple curtains of the east undrawn, and the moon, which had been shining full at night, stood still like a patient, light burning light in a quiet chamber. It is not everybody that wakes to hear this first chorus of the birds, they who sleep till sunrise have lost it, and with it a thousand mysterious pleasures, strange, sweet communings, which, like morning do, begin to evaporate when the sun rises. But, though Tiff and the children slept all night, we were under no obligations to keep our eyes shut to the fact that between three and four o'clock there came crackling through the swamps, the dark figure of one whose journeyings were more often by night than by day. Dredd had been out on one of his nightly excursions, carrying game, which he disposed of for powder and shot at one of the low stores we have alluded to. He came unexpectedly on the sleepers, while making his way back. His first movement, on seeing them, was out of surprise. Then, stooping and examining the group more closely, he appeared to recognize them. Dredd had known old Tiff before, and had occasion to go to him more than once to beg supplies for fugitives in the swamps, or to get some errand performed, which he could not himself venture abroad to attend to. Like others of his race, Tiff, on all such subjects, was so habitually and unfathomably secret that the children, who knew him most intimately, had never received even a suggestion from him of the existence of any such person. Dredd, whose eyes sharpened by habitual caution, never lost sight of any change in his vicinity, had been observant of that which had taken place in old Tiff's affairs, when, therefore, he saw him sleeping as we have described. He understood the whole matter at once. He looked at the children, as they lay nestled at the roots of the tree, with something of a softened expression, muttering to himself. They embraced the rock for shelter. He opened a pouch which he wore on his side, and took from dense one or two corn dodgers and half a broiled rabbit, which his wife had put up for hunting provision the day before, and, laying them down on the leaves, hastened on to a place where he had intended to surprise some game in the morning. The chorus of birds we have before described awakened old Tiff, accustomed to habits of early rising. He set up and began rubbing his eyes and stretching himself. He had slept well. For his habits of life had not been such as to make him at all fastidious with regard to his couch. Well, he said to himself, anyway, that our woman won't get these air children, this her day. And he gave one of his old hearty laughs to think how nicely he had outfitted her. Loves, he said to himself, don't I hear her now? Tiff, Tiff, Tiff, she says, all the way. Oh, missed. Tiff, don't hear her. No, nor do you tell an utter poor, blessed lambs. Here, interning to the children, his eye fell on the provisions. At first he stood petrified, with his hands lifted in astonishment. Had the angel been there? Sure enough, he thought. Well, now, breast and oared. Sure enough, here's the very breakfast I has been asking for last night. Well, I know the Lord would do something for us, but I really didn't know as to come so quick. Maybe Ravens brought it, as they did to Lycia. Bread and flesh in the morning, and bread and flesh at night. Well, this yours couragein', Tissot. I won't wake up the poor little lambs. Let them sleep. They'll be mine to tickle when they comes for to see the breakfast. And then, out here, it's so sweet and clean. None your nasty back of spittin's of folks that doesn't know how to be decent. Brass me, I was rather tired, myself. I, Spex, I'd better camp down again, till the chillin' wakes. That our critters kept me guine till I's got, pretty stiff. With her contrary ways, Spex she'll be as troubled as King Herod was, and all Ruslan whitter. And Tiff rolled and laughed quietly in the security of his heart. I say, Tiff, where are we? Said a little voice at his side. Where is we, puppet? Said Tiff, turning over. Why, brush your sweet eyes. How does your do this mornin'? Stretch away, my man, neighbor be afraid. Weasin' din lords diggin's now, all safe. And the angels got a breakfast ready for us. To, said Tiff, displaying the provision which he had arranged on some vine leaves. Oh, Uncle Tiff, did the angels bring that? Said Teddy. Why didn't you wake me up? I wanted to see them. I never saw any angel in all my life. Nor I need her, honey. Day comes mostly when we sleep, but stay, dares miss Fanny. I'll wakin' up. How's ye, lamb? Is ye freshed? Oh, Uncle Tiff. I've slept so sound, said Fanny, and I dreamed such a beautiful dream. Well, then, tell it right off. For breakfast, said Tiff, to make it come true. Well, said Fanny, I dreamed I was in a desolate place where I couldn't get out. All full of rocks and brambles, and Teddy was with me. And while we were trying and trying, our ma came to us. She looked like our ma, only a great deal more beautiful, and she had a strange white dress on, that's shown, and hung clear to her feet. And she took hold of our hands, and the rocks opened, and we walked through a path into a beautiful green meadow, full of lilies and wild strawberries. And then she was gone. Well, said Teddy, maybe to a she who brought some breakfast to us. See here, what we've got. Fanny looked surprised and pleased, but after some consideration, said, I don't believe Mama brought that. I don't believe they have corn cake and roast meat in heaven. If it had been Manna, no, it would have been more likely. Never mind where it comes from, said Tiff. It's right good, and we breast it hard for it. And they sat down accordingly, and ate their breakfast with a good heart. Now, said Tiff, Somewhere around in this year's swamp there's a camp, oldie-colored people. But I don't know right now where it is. If we could get there, we could stay there a while, till something or another should turn up. Hark, what's that there? T'was the crack of a rifle reverberating through the dewy, leafy stillness of the forest. That dar aren't far off, said Tiff. The children looked a little terrified. Don't you be afraid, he said. I wouldn't wonder, but I knowed, who that I was. Hark, now. Tiff, somebody come and diss your way. A clear, exultant voice sung through the leafy distance. Oh, had I the wings of the morning, I'd fly away to Canaan shore. Yes, said Tiff, to himself. Dad ars his voice. Now, chillin', he said. Dar's somebody coming, and you mustn't be afraid on him. Cause I suspect you'll get us to dad, our camp, as tellin' bout. And Tiff, in a cracked and strained voice, which contrasted oddly enough with the bell-like notes of the distant singer, convinced singing part of an old song, which might, perhaps, have been used as a signal. Hailing so stormily, cold, stormy, weeder. I want my true love all day. Where shall I find him? Where shall I find him? The distant singer stopped his song, apparently to listen. And, while Tiff kept on singing, they could hear the crackling of approaching footsteps. At last, red emerged to view. So you fled to the wilderness, he said. Yes, yes, said Tiff, with a kind of giggle. We had to come to it, that our woman was so aggravated on the children of all the pison critters that I knows on. These here mean white women is the pisonist. They ain't got no manners, and no bringing up. Day doesn't begin to know how things ought to be done, mong, speckable people. So we just tucked to debush. You might have taken to a worse place, said Dread. The Lord God giveth grace and glory to the trees of the wood, and the time will come when the Lord will make a covenant of peace and cause the evil beast to cease out of the land. And they shall dwell safely in the wilderness and shall sleep in the woods, and the tree of the field shall yield her fruit, and they shall be safe in the land when the Lord hath broken the bands of their yoke and delivered them out of the hands of those that serve themselves of them. And you tink damn good times coming? Sure enough, said Tiff. The Lord hath said it, said the other, but first the day of vengeance must come. I don't want no stitch, said Tiff. I want to live peaceable. Dread looked upon Tiff with an air of acquiescent pity, which had in it a slight shade of contempt, and said, As if in soliloquy, Isachar is a strong ass, couching down between two burdens, and he saw that rest was good, and the land that it was pleasant, and bowed his shoulder to bear, and became a servant unto tribute. As to rest, said Tiff. Dinor knows I ain't had much of that or if I be an ass. If I had a good, strong-packed saddle, I'd like to trot these your chillin' out in some good cleared place. Well, said Dread, you have served him that was ready to perish, and not betrayed him who wondered, therefore the Lord will open for you a fenced city in the wilderness. Just so, said Tiff, that our camp yorn is just what eyes art her, eyes willing to lend a hand to most any ting that's good. Well, said Dread, the children are too tender to walk where we must go. We must bear them as an eagle bereth her young. Come, my little man! And, as Dread spoke, he stooped down and stretched out his hands to Teddy. His severe and gloomy countenance relaxed into a smile, and, to Tiff's surprise, the child went immediately to him and allowed him to lift him in his arms. Now, I thought he'd been scared of you, said Tiff. Not he. I never saw a child or dog that I couldn't make come to me. Hold fast. Now, my little man, he said, seating the boy on his shoulder. Trees have long arms. Don't let them rake you off. Now, Tiff, he said, you take the girl and come after. And when we come into the thick of the swamp, mind you step right in my tracks. Mind you don't set your foot on a tussock if I haven't set mine there before you, because the moccasins lie on the tussocks. And thus saying, Dread and his companion began making their way towards the Fugitive Camp. End of chapter 40, The Flight Into Egypt Chapter 41 of Dread, A Tale of the Great Dismal Swamp by Harriet Beecher Stowe This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Larry Wilson Chapter 41 The Clerical Conference A few days found Clayton in the city of, Blank, guest of the Reverend Dr. Cushing. He was a man in middle life of a fine personal presence, Urbane courtly, gentlemanly. Dr. Cushing was a popular and much admired clergyman, standing high among his brethren in the ministry, and almost the idol of a large and flourishing church. A man of warm feelings, humane impulses, and fine social qualities. His sermons beautifully written and delivered with great fervor often drew tears from the eyes of the hearers. His pastoral ministrations, whether at wedding or funeral, had a peculiar tenderness and unction. None was more capable than he of celebrating the holy fervor and self-denying sufferings of apostles and martyrs. None more easily kindled by those devout hymns which describe the patience of the saints. But with all this, for any practical emergency, Dr. Cushing was nothing of a soldier. There was a species of moral effeminacy about him, and the very luxuriant softness and richness of his nature unfitted him to endure hardness. He was known in all his intercourse with his brethren as a peacemaker, a modifier, and harmonizer. Nor did he scrupulously examine how much of the credit to this was due to a fastidious softness of nature which made controversy disagreeable and wearisome. Nevertheless, Clayton was at first charmed with the sympathetic warmth with which he and his plans were received by his relative. He seemed perfectly to agree with Clayton in all his views of the terrible evils of the slave system, and was prompt with anecdotes and instances to enforce everything that he said. Clayton was just in time, he said. A number of his ministerial brethren were coming tomorrow, some of them from the northern states. Clayton should present his views to them. Dr. Cushing's establishment was conducted on the footing of the most liberal hospitality, and that very evening the domestic circle was made larger by the addition of four or five ministerial brethren. Among these Clayton was glad to meet once more Father Dixon. The serene good man seemed to bring the blessing of the gospel of peace with him wherever he went. Among others was one whom we will more particularly introduce as the Reverend Shubail Pakthred. Dr. Shubail Pakthred was a minister of a leading church in one of the northern cities. Constitutionally, he was an amiable and kindly man with very fair natural abilities, fairly improved by culture. Long habits, however, of theological and ecclesiastical controversy had cultivated a certain species of acuteness of mind into such disproportioned activity that other parts of his intellectual and moral nature had been dwarfed and dwindled beside it. What might under other circumstances have been agreeable and useful tact became in him a constant and lifelong habit of strategy. While other people look upon words as vehicles for conveying ideas, Dr. Pakthred regarded them only as mediums for concealment. His constant study on every controverted topic was so to adjust language that with the appearance of the utmost precision it should always be capable of a double interpretation. He was a cunning master of all forms of indirection, of all phrases by which people appear to say what they do not say, and not to say what they do say. He was an adept also in all the mechanism of ecclesiastical debate of the intricate labyrinths of heresy hunting, of every scheme by which more simple and less advised brethren, speaking with ignorant sincerity, could be entrapped and deceived. He was OFE, also in all compromise measures, in which two parties unite in one form of words, meaning by them exactly opposite ideas, and call the agreement a union. He was also expert in all those parliamentary modes in synod or general assembly, by which troublesome discussions could be avoided or disposed of, and credulous brethren made to believe that they had gained points which they had not gained, by which discussions could be at will blinded with dusty clouds of misrepresentation, or trailed on through interminable marshes of awareness to accomplish some maneuver of ecclesiastical tactics. Dr. Pakthred also was master of every means by which the influence of opposing parties might be broken. He could spread a convenient report on necessary occasions by any of those forms which do not assert, but which disseminate as lander quite as certainly as if they did. If it was necessary to create a suspicion of the orthodoxy or the piety or even of the morality of an opposing brother, Dr. Pakthred understood how to do it in the neatest and most tasteful manner. He was an infallible judge whether it should be accomplished by innocent interrogations as to whether you had heard so-and-so of Mr. Black, or by charitably expressed hopes that you had not heard so-and-so, or by gentle suggestion whether it would not be as well to inquire, or by shakes of the head and lifts of eyes at proper intervals in conversation, or lastly by silence when silence became the strongest as well as safest form of assertion. In person he was rather tall, thin, and the lines of his face appeared, every one of them to be engraved by caution and care. In his boyhood and youth the man had had a trick of smiling and laughing without considering why. The grace of prudence however had corrected all this. He never did either in these days, without understanding precisely what he was about. His face was a part of his stock and trade, and he understood the management of it remarkably well. He knew precisely all the gradations of smile which were useful for accomplishing different purposes. The solemn smile, the smile of inquiry, the smile affirmative, the smile suggestive, the smile of incredulity, and the smile of innocent credulity, which encouraged the simple-hearted narrator to go on unfolding himself to the brother, who sat quietly behind his face as a spider does behind his web. Waiting till his unsuspecting friend had tangled himself with incautious, impulsive, and of course contradictory meshes of statement, which were in some future hour in the most gentle and Christian spirit to be tightened around the incautious captive, while as much blood was sucked as the good of the cause demanded. It was not to be supposed that the Reverend Dr. Packthread, so skillful and adroit as we have represented him, failed in the necessary climax of such skill, that of deceiving himself, far from it. Truly and honestly, Dr. Packthread thought himself one of the hundred and forty and four thousand who follow the Lamb withersoever he goeth, and whose mouth is found no guile. Prudence, he considered, the chief of Christian graces. He worshiped Christian prudence, and a whole category of accomplishments which we have described, he considered as the fruits of it. His prudence, in fact, served him all the purposes that the stalk of the tree did to the ancient idolater. With part thereof he eateth flesh, he roasteth roast, and is satisfied. Yea, he warmeth himself, and saith, Aha, I am warm, I have seen the fire. And the residue thereof he maketh the God, even his graven image. He falleth down unto it, and worshipeth it, and prayeth unto it, and saith, Deliver me, for thou art my God. No doubt Dr. Packthread expected to enter heaven by the same judicious arrangement by which he had lived on earth, and so he went on from year to year doing deeds which even a political candidate would blush at, violating the most ordinary principles of morality and honor, while he sung hymns, made prayers, and administered sacraments, expecting no doubt at last to enter heaven by some neat arrangement of words used in two senses. Dr. Packthread's cautious agreeableness of manner formed a striking contrast to the innocent and almost childlike simplicity with which Father Dixon, in his threadbare coat, appeared at his side. Almost as poor in this world's goods as his master, Father Dixon's dwelling had been a simple one-story cottage, in all saved thrift and neatness very little better than those of the poorest, and it was a rare year when a hundred dollars passed through his hands. He had seen the time when he had not even wherewithal to take from the office a necessary letter. He had seen his wife suffer from medicine and comforts and sickness. He had himself ridden without overcoat through the chilled months of winter. But all those things he had borne as the Traveller bears a storm on the way to his home. And it was beautiful to see the unenviying frank, simple pleasures which he seemed to feel in the elegant and abundant home of his brother, and in the thousand appliances of hospitable comfort by which he was surrounded. The spirit within us that lusteth to envy had been chased from his bosom by the explosive force of a higher love, and his simple and unstudied acts of constant goodwill showed that simple Christianity can make the gentleman. Father Dixon was regarded by his ministerial brethren with great affection and veneration, though wholly devoid of any ecclesiastical wisdom. They were fond of using him much as they did their hymn books and testaments, for their better hours of devotion and equally apt to let slip his admonitions when they came to the hard matter-of-fact business of ecclesiastical discussion and management. Yet they loved well to have him with them, as they felt that, like a Psalm or a text, his presence in some sort gave sanction to what they did. In due time there was added to the number of the circle our joyous outspoken friend Father Bonnie, fresh from a recent series of camp meetings in a distant part of the state, and ready in a minute's notice for either a laugh or a prayer. Very little of the stereotype print of his profession had he. The sort of wild woodland freedom of his life, giving to his manners and conversation a tone of sylvan roughness, of which Dr. Packthread evidently stood in considerable doubt. Father Bonnie's early training had been that of what is called, in common parlance, a self-made man. He was unsophisticated by Greek or Latin, and had rather a contempt for the forms of the schools, and a joyous determination to say what he pleased on all occasions. There were also present one or two of the leading Presbyterian ministers of the North. They had in fact come for a private and confidential conversation with Dr. Cushing concerning the reunion of the new school Presbyterian Church with the Old. It may be necessary to apprise some of our readers, not conversant with American ecclesiastical history, that the Presbyterian Church of America is divided into two parties in relation to certain theological points, and that the adherents on either side call themselves Old or New School. Some years since, these two parties divided, and each of them organized its own general assembly. It so happened that all the slave-holding interest, with some very inconsiderable exceptions, went into the Old School body. The great majority of the New School body were avowedly anti-slavery men, according to a solemn declaration which committed the whole Presbyterian Church to the Old Sentiments, in the year 1800 and 18. And the breach between the two sections was caused quite as much by the difference of feeling between the Northern and Southern branches on the subject of slavery as by any difference of doctrine. After the first year of separation was over, thoughts of reunion began to arise on both sides, and to be quietly discussed among leading minds. There is a power in men of a certain class of making an organization of any kind, whether it be political or ecclesiastical, an object of absorbing an individual devotion. Most men feel empty and insufficient of themselves, and find a need to ballast their own insufficiency by attaching themselves to something of more weight than they are. They put their stock of being out at interest, and invest themselves somewhere and in something, and the love of wife or child is not more absorbing than the love of the bank where the man has invested himself. It is true this power is a noble one, because thus a man may pass out of self and choose God, the great good of all for his portion. But human weakness falls below this, and as the idolater worships the infinite and unseen under a visible symbol till it effaces the memory of what is signified, so men begin by loving institutions for God's sake, which come at last to stand with them in the place of God. Such was the Reverend Dr. Cawker. He was a man of powerful though narrow mind, of great energy and efficiency, and of that capability of abstract devotion, which makes the soldier or the statesman. He was earnestly and sincerely devout, as he understood devotion. He began with loving the church for God's sake, and ended with loving her better than God. And by the church, he meant the organization of the Presbyterian church in the United States of America. Her cause in his eyes was God's cause. Her glory, God's glory. Her success, the indispensable condition of the millennium. Her defeat, the defeat of all that was good for the human race. His devotion to her was honest and unselfish. Of course Dr. Cawker estimated all interest by their influence on the Presbyterian church. He weighed every cause in the balance of her sanctuary. What promised extension and power to her, that he supported. What threatened defeat or impediment, that he was ready to sacrifice. He would at any day sacrifice himself and all his interests to that cause, and he felt equally willing to sacrifice others in their interests. The anti-slavery cause he regarded with a simple eye to this question. It was a disturbing force weakening the harmony among brethren, threatening disruption and disunion. He regarded it therefore with distrust and aversion. He would read no facts on that side of the question, and when the discussions of zealous brethren would bring frightful and appalling statements into the General Assembly, he was too busy in seeking what could be said to ward off their force, to allow them to have much influence on his own mind. Gradually he came to view the whole subject with dislike, as a pertinacious intruder in the path of the Presbyterian church, that the whole train of cars laden with the interests of the world for all time, should be stopped by a ragged, manacled slave across the track, was to him an impertinence and absurdity. What was he that the Presbyterian church should be divided and hindered for him, so thought the exalted thousands who followed Christ once, when the blind beggar raised his importunate clamor, and they bade him hold his peace. So thought not he who stopped the tide of triumphant success, that he might call the neglected one to himself and lay his hands upon him. Dr. Cawker had from year to year opposed the agitation of the slavery question in the General Assembly of the Presbyterian church, knowing well that it threatened disunion, when in spite of all his efforts disunion came, he bent his energies to the task of reuniting, and he was the most important character in the present caucus. Of course a layman and a young man also would feel some natural hesitancy in joining at once in the conversation of those older than himself. Clayton therefore sat at the hospitable breakfast table of Dr. Cushing, rather as an auditor than as a speaker. Now Brother Cushing said Dr. Cawker, the fact is there never was any need of this disruption. It has crippled the power of the church and given the enemy occasion to speak reproachfully. Our divisions are plain right into the hands of the Methodists and Baptists, and ground that we might hold united is going into their hands every year. I know it, said Dr. Cushing, and we Southern brethren mourn over it. I assure you the fact is, Brother Cawker, there is no such doctrinal division after all, why there are brethren among us that are as new school as Dr. Draper, and we don't meddle with them. Just so, replied Dr. Cawker, and we have two blue old schoolmen among us. I think, said Dr. Pactred, that with suitable care, a document might be drawn up which will meet the views on both sides. You see, we must get the extreme men on both sides to agree to hold still. By now I am called new school. But I wrote a set of definitions once which I showed to Dr. Pike, who is as sharp as anybody on the other side, and he said, he agreed with them entirely. Those in, each, men are incautious. Yes, said Dr. Cawker, and it's just dividing the resources and the influence of the church for nothing. Now those discussions as to the time when moral agency begins are, after all, of no great account in practical workings. Well, said Dr. Cushing. It's after all nothing but the tone of your abolition fanatics that stands in the way. These slavery discussions in General Assembly have been very disagreeable and painful to our people, particularly those of the Western Brethren. They don't understand us, nor the delicacy of our position. They don't know that we need to be let alone in order to affect anything. Now I am for trusting to the softening, milliorating influences of the gospel. The kingdom of God cometh not with observation. I trust that in his mysterious providence, the Lord will see fit in his own good time to remove this evil of slavery. Meanwhile, brethren ought to possess their souls in patience. Ah, Brother Cushing, said Father Dixon. Since the assembly of 1800 and 18, the number of slaves has increased in this country fourfold. New slave states have been added, and a great regular system of breeding and trading organized, which is filling our large cities with trading houses. The ships of our ports go out as slavers, carrying loads of miserable creatures down to New Orleans, and there is a constant increase of this traffic through the country. This very summer I was at the deathbed of a poor girl, only 17 or 18, who had been torn from all her friends and sent off with a coughle, and she died there in the wilderness. It does seem to me, Brother Cushing, that this silent plan does not answer. We are not half as near to emancipation, apparently, as we were in 1800 and 18. Has there ever been any attempt, said Clayton, among the Christians of your denominations, to put a stop to this internal slave trade? Well, said Dr. Cushing, I don't know that there has any further than general preaching against injustice. Have you ever made any movement in the church to prevent the separation of families? said Clayton. No, not exactly. We leave that thing to the conscience of individuals. The synods have always enjoined it on professors of religion to treat their servants according to the spirit of the gospel. Has the church ever endeavored to influence the legislature to allow general education? said Clayton. No, that subject is fraught with difficulties, said Dr. Cushing. The fact is, if these rabid northern abolitionists would let us alone, we might perhaps make a movement on some of these subjects, but they excite the minds of our people and get them into such a state of inflammation that we cannot do anything. During all the time that Father Dixon and Clayton had been speaking, Dr. Cawker had been making minutes with a pencil on a small piece of paper for future use. It was always disagreeable to him to hear of slave coffals and the internal slave trade, and therefore when anything was ever said on these topics, he would generally employ himself in some other way than listening. Father Dixon, he had known of old, has been remarkably pertinacious on those subjects, and therefore when he began to speak, he took the opportunity of jotting down a few ideas for a future exigency. He now looked up from his paper and spoke. Oh, those fellows are without any reason, perfectly wild and crazy. They are monomaniacs. They cannot see but one subject anywhere. Now there's Father Ruskin of Ohio. There's nothing can be done with that man. I have had him at my house hours and hours talking to him, and laying it all down before him, and showing him what great interests he was compromising. But it didn't do a bit of good. He just harps on one eternal stream. Now it's all the pushing and driving of these fellows in the General Assembly that made the division, in my opinion. We kept it off a good many years, said Dr. Packford, and it took all our ingenuity to do it. I assure you. Now ever since 1835, these fellows have been pushing and crowding in every assembly, and we have stood faithfully in our lot to keep the assembly from doing anything which could give offense to our southern brethren. We have always been particular to put them forward in our public services and to show them every imaginable deference. I think our brethren ought to consider how hard we have worked. We had to be instant in season and out of season, I can tell you. I think I may claim some little merit, continued the doctor with a cautious smile spreading over his face. If I have any talent, it is a capacity in the judicious use of language. Now sometimes brethren will wrangle a whole day till they get tired and sick of a subject, and then just let a man who understands the use of terms step in, and sometimes by omitting a single word, he will alter the whole face of an affair. I remember one year those fellows were driving us up to make some sort of declaration about slavery, and we really had to do it because it wouldn't do to have the whole west split off. And there was a three days fight till finally we got the thing pared down to the lowest terms. We thought we would pass a resolution that slavery was a moral evil if the southern brethren liked that better than the old way of calling it a sin. And we really were getting on quite harmoniously when some of the southern elders took it up and they said that moral evil meant the same as sin, and that would imply a censure on the brethren. Well it got late and some of the hottest ones were tired and had gone off, and I just quietly drew my pen across the word moral, and read the resolution and it went unanimously. Most ministers you see are willing to call slavery an evil, but the trouble lay in that word moral. Well that kept the crater for that year, but then they were added again the very next time they came together, for those fellows never sleep. Well we took a new turn. I told the brethren we had better get it on to the ground of the reserved rites of presbyteries and synods, and decline interfering. Well then that was going very well, but some of the brethren very injudiciously got up a resolution in the assembly recommending disciplinary measures for dancing. That was passed without much thought because you know there's no great interest involved in dancing, and of course there's nobody to oppose such a resolution. But then it was very injudicious under the circumstances, for the abolitionists made a handle of it immediately and wanted to know why we couldn't as well recommend a discipline for slavery, because you see dancing isn't a sin per se, any more than slavery is, and they haven't done blowing their trumpets over us to this day. Here the company rose from breakfast, and according to the good old devout custom seated themselves for family worship. Two decent well-dressed black women were called in, and also a negro man. At Father's Dixon's request all united in singing the following hymn. I am a soldier of the cross, a follower of the Lamb, and shall I fear to own his cause, or blush to speak his name? Must I be carried to the skies on flowery beds of ease, while others fought to win the prize, and sailed through bloody seas? Sure I must fight if I would reign, increase my courage, Lord, I'll bear the cross, endure the shame, supported by thy word. The saints in all this glorious war shall conquer, though they die. They see the victory from afar, with face discerning eye. When that illustrious day shall rise, and all thine armies shine, and robes of victory through the skies, the glory shall be thine. Anybody who had seen the fervor with which these brethren now united in singing these stanzas, might have supposed them a company of the primitive martyrs and confessors, who having drawn the sword and thrown away the scabbard, were now ready for a millennial charge on the devil and all his works. None sang with more heartiness than Dr. Packthrid, for his natural feelings were quick and easily excited. Nor did he dream that he was not a soldier of the cross, and that the species of kermishes he had been describing were not all in accordance with the spirit of the hymn. Had you interrogated him, he would have shown you a syllogistic connection between the glory of God and the best good of the universe, and the course he had been pursuing. So that if Father Dixon had supposed the hymn would act as a gentle suggestion, he was very much mistaken. As to Dr. Cawker, he joined with enthusiasm, applying it all the while to the enemies of the Presbyterian Church, in the same manner as Ignatia Loyola might have sung it, applying it to Protestantism. Dr. Cushing considered the conflict described as holy and internal one, and thus all joined alike in swelling the chorus, a soldier for Jesus hallelujah, love and serve the Lord. Father Dixon read from the Bible as follows, Our rejoicing is this, the testimony of our consciences, that in simplicity and godly sincerity, not with fleshly wisdom, but by the grace of God, we have our conversation in the world. Father Dixon had many gentle and quiet ways, peculiar to himself, of suggesting his own views to his brethren. Therefore having read these verses, he paused and asked Dr. Packard if he did not think that there was danger of departing from this spirit, and losing the simplicity of Christ when we conduct Christian business on worldly principles. Dr. Packard cordially assented and continued to the same purpose in a strain, so edifying as entirely to exhaust the subject. And Dr. Cawker, who was thinking of the business that was before them, giving an uneasy motion here. They immediately united in the devotional exercises which were led with great fervor by Dr. Cushing. William Jones, Benita Springs, Florida Dread Chapter 42 The Result After the devotional services were over, Dr. Cawker proceeded immediately with the business that he had in his mind. Now, Brother Cushing, he said, there never was any instrumentality raised up by Providence to bring to the latter day equal to the Presbyterian Church in the United States of America. It is the great hope of the world. For here, in this country, we are trying the great experiment for all ages. And undoubtedly, the Presbyterian Church comes the nearest perfection of any form of organization possible to our frail humanity. It is the Ark of the Covenant for this nation and for all nations. Missionary enterprises to foreign countries, tract societies, all missionary, seamen's friend societies, Bible societies, Sunday school unions, all are embraced in its bosom. And it grows in a free country planted by God's own right hand with such laws and institutions as never were given to mortal man before. It is carrying us right on to the millennium, and all we want is union. United we stand, the most glorious, the most powerful institution in the world. Now, there was no need for your southern brethren to be so restive as you were. We were doing all we could to keep down the fire and keep things quiet, and you ought not to have bolted so, since you have separated from us what have we done? I suppose you thought we were going to blaze out in a regular abolition fury, but you see, we haven't done it. We haven't done any more than when we were united. Just look at our minutes and you'll see it. We have strong and determined abolitionists among us, and they are constantly urging and pushing. There have been great public excitement on the subject of slavery, and we have been plagued and teased to declare ourselves, but we haven't done it in a single instance, not one. You see that Ruskin and his clique have gone off from us, because we would hold still. It is true that now and then we had to let some anti-slavery man preach on opening sermon or something of that sort, but then opening sermons are nothing. They don't commit anybody. They don't show the opinion of anybody but the speaker. In fact, they don't express any more than that declaration of 1800 and 18, which stands unrepealed on your records as well as on ours. Of course, we are all willing to say that slavery is an evil entirely inconsistent with the spirit of the gospel and all that, because that's on your own books. We only agree to say nothing about it nowadays in our public capacity, because what was said in 1800 and 18 is all sufficient and prevents the odium and scandal of public controversy now. Now, for proof that what I have just said is true, look at the facts. We had three presbyteries in slave holding stays when we started, and now we have over 20 with 15 to 20,000 members. That must show you what our hearts are on this subject, and have we not always been making overtures for reunion, really humbling ourselves to you brethren? Now, I say you ought to take these facts into account. Our slave holding members and churches are left as perfectly undisturbed to manage in their own way as yours. To be sure some of those western men will fire off at remonstrance once a year or something of that sort, just let them do that. It keeps them easy and contented, and so long as there is really no interfering in the way of discipline or control, what harm is done. You ought to bear some with the northern brethren, unreasonable as they are, and we may as well have a discussion every year to let off the steam. For my part, said Father Bonnie, I want union, I'm sure. I'd tar and feather those northern abolitionists if I could get at them. Figuratively, I suppose, said Dr. Packthread with a gentle smile. Yes, figuratively, and literally too, said Father Bonnie laughing, let them come down here and see what they'll get. If they will set the country in a blaze, they ought to be the first ones to be warmed at the fire. For my part, brethren, I must say that you lose time and strength by your admissions, all of you. You don't hit the buck in the eye. I thank the Lord that I am delivered from the bondage of thinking slavery is a sin or an evil in any sense. Our abolitionist brethren have done one good thing. They have driven us to examine the scriptures, and there we find that slavery is not only permitted but appointed and joined. It is a divine institution. If a northern abolitionist comes at me now, I shake the Bible at him and say, Nay, but, oh man, who art thou that replyest against God? Hath not the potter power over the clay to make one lump to honor and another to dishonor? I tell you, brethren, it blazes from every page of the scriptures. You'll never do anything till you get onto that ground. A man's conscience is always hanging onto his skirts. He goes on just like a bear with a trap on its leg. Can't make any progress that way. You have got to get your feet on the rock of ages, I can tell you, and get the trap off your leg. There's nothing like the study of the scriptures to clear a fellow's mind. Well then, said Clayton, would it not be as well to repeal the laws which forbid the slaves to learn to read and put the scriptures into their hands? These laws are the cause of a great deal of misery and immorality among the slaves, and they furnish abolitionists with some of their strongest arguments. Oh, said Father Bonnie, that will never do in the world. It will expose them to whole floods of abolition and incendiary documents, corrupt their minds, and make them discontented. Well, said Dr. Cushing, I have read Dr. Carn's book, and I must say that the scriptural argument lies in my mind on the other side. Hang, Dr. Carn's book, said Father Bonnie. Figuratively, I suppose, said Dr. Packthread. Why, Dr. Carn's much learning has made him mad, said Father Bonnie. I don't believe anything that can't be got out of a plain English Bible. When a fellow goes shuffling off in a Hebrew fog, in a Latin fog, in a Greek fog, I say, ah, my boy, you are treed. You had better come down. Why is it not plain enough to any reader of the Bible how the apostles talked to the slaves? They didn't fill their heads with stuff about the rights of men. No, see here, just that adventure, he said, making a dive at a pocket Bible that lay on the table. Now, just let me read you. Quote, Masters give unto your servants that which is just and equal. Close quote. Show, show, that isn't the place I was thinking of. It's here. Quote, servants, obey your masters. There's into them, you see, obey your masters that are in the flesh. Now, these abolitionists won't even allow that we are masters. Perhaps, said Clayton quietly, if the slaves could read, they'd pay more attention to the first passage that you favored us with. Oh, likely, said Father Bonnie, because you see their interest naturally would lead them to pervert scripture. If it wasn't for that perverting influence of self-love, I, for my part, would be willing enough to put the scriptures into their hands. I suppose, said Clayton, there's no such danger in the case of us masters, is there? I say, said Father Bonnie, not noticing the interruption. Cushing, you ought to read Fletcher's book. That book, sir, is a sweater. I can tell you, I sweat over it, I know, but it does not up this Greek and Hebrew work thoroughly, I promise you. Though I can't read Greek or Hebrew, I see there's heaps of it there. Why, he takes you clear back to the creation of the world, and drags you through all the history and literature of the old botherers of all ages, and he comes down on the father's leg forty. There's Christastem and Tertullian, and all the rest of those old cocks and the old Greek philosophers besides Plato and Aristotle, and all the rest of them. If a fellow wants learning, there he'll get it. I declare I'd rather cut my way through the dismal swamp in dog days. But I was determined to be thorough, so I offcoat and went at it, and there's no mistake about it. Cushing, you must get the book. You'll feel so much better if you'll settle your mind on that point. I never allow myself to go trailing along with anything hanging by the gills. I am in out and outer. Walk up to the captain's office and settle. That's what I say. We shall all have to do that, one of these days, said Father Dixon, and maybe we shall find it one thing to settle with the clerk, and another to settle with the captain. Well, Brother Dixon, you needn't look at me with any of your solemn faces. I'm settled now. For my part, said Dr. Pactred, I think instead of condemning slavery in the abstract, we ought to direct our attention to its abuses. And what do you consider its abuses? said Clayton. Why the separation of families, for instance, said Dr. Pactred, and the forbidding of education. You think, then, said Clayton, that the slave ought to have a legal right to his family? Well, yes. Of course, he ought to have the legal means of maintaining it. Yes. Then, of course, he ought to be able to enter suit when this right is violated and to bear testimony in accord of justice? Yes. And do you think that the master ought to give him what is just and equal in the way of wages? Certainly in one shape or another, said Dr. Pactred, and ought the slave to have the means of enforcing this right? Certainly. Then the slave ought to be able to hold property. Yes. And he should have the legal right to secure education if he desires it. Yes. Well, said Clayton, when the slave has a legal existence and legal rights can hold property and defendant acquire education and protect his family relations, he ceases to be a slave. For slavery consists in the fact of legal incapacity for any of these things. It consists in making a man a dead inert substance in the hands of another, holding men pro-nullus pro-mortuous. What you call reforming abuses is abolishing slavery. It is in this very way that I wish to seek its abolition, and I desire the aid of the church and ministry in doing it. Now, Dr. Pactred, what efforts has the church has yet made to reform these abuses of slavery? There was a silence of some minutes. At last Dr. Cushing replied, There has been a good deal of effort made in oral religious instruction. Oh, yeah, said Father Bonnie, our people have been added with great zeal in our port of the country. I have a class myself that I have been instructing in the assembly's catechism in the oral way, and ascendents have taken it up, and they are preaching the gospel to them and writing catechisms for them. But, said Clayton, would it not be best to give them a legal ability to obey the gospel? Is there any use in teaching the sanctity of marriage unless you obtain for husbands and wives the legal right to live faithful to each other? It seems to me only cruelty to awaken conscience on that subject without giving the protection and assistance of law. What he says is very true, said Dr. Cushing with emphasis. We ministers are called to field the necessity of that with regard to our slave church members. You see, we are obliged to preach unlimited obedience to masters, and yet, why it was only last week a very excellent pious mulatto woman in my church came to me to know what she should do. Her master was determined she should live with him as a mistress, yet she has a husband on the place. How am I to advise her? The man is a very influential man and capable of making a good deal of commotion. Besides which she will gain nothing by resistance but to be sold away to some other master who will do worse. Now this is a very trying case to a minister. I'm sure if anything could be done I'd be glad. But the fact is the moment a person begins to move in the least to reform these abuses he is called an abolitionist and the whole community is down on him at once. That's the state these northern fanatics have got us into. Oh yes, said Dr. Bascom, a leading minister who had recently come in. Besides a man can't do everything. We've got as much as we can stagger under on our shoulders now. We've got the building above the church to attend to. That's the great instrumentality which at last will set everything straight. We must do as the apostles did, confine ourselves to preaching the gospel and the gospel will bring everything else in its train. The world can't be made over in the day. We must do one thing at a time. We can't afford just at present to tackle in all our other difficulties the odium and misrepresentation of such a movement. The minute we begin to do anything which looks like restraining the rights of masters, the cry of church and state and abolition will be raised and we shall be swapped. But, said Father Dixon, isn't it the right way first to find out our duty and do it and then leave the result to God? Aren't we to take the counsel of flesh and blood in matters like these? Of course not, said Dr. Packthread, but there is a wise way and an unwise way of doing things. We are to consider the times and only undertake such works as the movements of divine providence seem to indicate. I don't wish to judge for brethren. A time may come when it will be their duty to show themselves openly on this subject. But in order to maintain a foothold for the influences of the gospel to work on, it may be necessary to bear and forebear with many evils. Under the present state of things, I hope many of the slaves are becoming hopefully pious. Brethren seem to feel the education will be attended with dangers. Probably it might. It would seem desirable to secure the family relations of the slaves if it could be done without too much sacrifice of more important things. After all, the kingdom of our Lord Jesus Christ is not of this world. The apostle entered no public protest against the abuses of slavery that we read of. It strikes me, said Clayton, that there is a difference between our position under a republican government, in which we vote for our legislators and in fact make laws ourselves and have the admitted right to seek their repeal, and that of the apostles who were themselves slaves and could do nothing about the laws. We make our own laws and every one of us is responsible for any unjust law which we do not do our best to alter. We have the right to agitate, write, print, and speak, and bring up the public mind to the point of reform, and therefore we are responsible if unjust laws are not repealed. Well, said Father Dixon, God forgive me that I have been so remiss in times past. Henceforth, whatever others may do, I will not confer with flesh and blood, but I will go forth and declare the word of the Lord plainly to this people and show unto the house of Judah their transgressions. And now I have one thing to say to our dear northern brethren. I mourn over the undecided course which they take. Brethren in slave states are beset with many temptations. The whole course of public opinion is against them. They need that their northern brethren should stand firm and hold up their hands. Alas, how different has been their course. Their apologies for this mighty sin have weakened us more than all things put together. Public opinion is going back. The church is becoming corrupted. Ministers are drawn into connivance with deadly sin. Children and youth are being ruined by habits of early tyranny. Our land is full of slave prisons and the poor traitor no man careth for his soul. Our poor whites are given up to ignorance and licentiousness and our ministers, like our brother Bani here, begin to defend this evil from the Bible. Brother Kalker here talks of the Presbyterian Church. Alas, in her scourge is found the blood of poor innocents and she is willing for the sake of union to destroy them for whom Christ died. Brethren, you know not what you do. You enjoy the blessings of living in a land uncursed by any such evils. Your churches, your schools and all your industrial institutions are going forward while ours are going backward and you do not feel it because you do not live amongst us. But take care. One part of the country cannot become demoralized without, at last, affecting the other. The sin you cherish and strengthen by your indifference may at last come back in judgments that may visit even you. I pray God to avert it. But as God is just, I tremble for you and for us. Well, goodbye, brethren. I must be on my way. You will not listen to me and my soul cannot come into your councils. And Father Dixon rose to depart. Oh, come, come now, brother. Don't take it so seriously, said Dr. Cushing. Stay at least and spend the day with us and let us have a little Christian talk. I must go, said Father Dixon. I have an appointment to preach which I must keep for this evening, and so I must bid you farewell. I hope to do something by coming here, but I see that it is all in vain. Farewell, brethren. I shall pray for you. Well, Father Dixon, I should like to talk more with you on this subject, said Dr. Cushing. Do come again. It is very difficult to see the path of duty in these matters. Poor Dr. Cushing was one of those who are destined, like stationary ships, forever to float up and down, in one spot only useful in marking the ebb and flood of the tide. Affection, generosity, devotion, he had, everything but the power to move on. Clayton, who had seen at once that nothing was to be done or gained, rose, and said that his business was also pressing, and that he would accompany Father Dixon on his way. What a good fellow Dixon is, said Cushing, after he returned to the room. He exhibits a very excellent spirit, said Dr. Pactrain. Oh, Dixon would do well enough, said Dr. Kalker, if he wasn't a monomaniac. That's what's the matter with him, but when he gets to going on this subject, I never hear what he says. I know it's no use to reason with him. Entirely time lost. I have heard all these things over and over again. But I wish, said Dr. Cushing, something could be done. Well, who doesn't, said Dr. Kalker. We all wish something could be done. But if it can't, it can't. There's the end of it. So now let us proceed and look into business a little more particularly. After all, said Dr. Pactrain, you old school brethren have greatly the advantage of us. Although you have a few poor good souls, like this Dixon, they are in so insignificant a minority that they can do nothing, can't even get to the General Assembly, or send in a remonstrance or petition or anything else. So that you are never plagued as we are. We cannot even choose a moderator from the slave-holding states for fear of an explosion. But you can have slave-holding moderators or anything else that will promote harmony and union. End of Dread, Chapter 42, The Result