The Bondwoman's Narrative (13 page)

Mrs Bry alarmed at my prolonged absence had actually dragged her unweildly person thither to acertain the cause.

“Looking at the pictures” she repeated “as if such an ignorant thing as you are would know any thing about them.”

Ignorance, forsooth. Can ignorance quench the immortal mind or prevent its feeling at times the indications of its heavenly
origin.
Can it destroy that deep abiding appreciation of the beautiful that seems inherent to the human soul? Can it seal
up the fountains of truth and all intuitive perception of life, death and eternity? I think not. Those to whom man
learns little nature
teaches little, nature like a wise and prudent mother teaches much.

When he speaks fair, believe him not; for there are severe abominations in his heart.

P
ROV. OF
S
OLOMON

The clouds are not apt to conform themselves to the wishes of man, yet once or twice in a life-time the rain falls exactly
when we wish it would, and it ceases raining precisely at the right time. It was so at our place in Lindendale. The weather
had been rainy for many days. Mrs Bry looked over her gold spectacles and through the windows where the rain-drops pattered
incessantly and assured me that she had never known such a season since that very unfortunate year which witnessed the loss
of her husband’s India ship, and his consequent failure in business; a circumstance that broke his heart and reduced her to
the extremity of accepting the situation of housekeeper. She hoped, however, that the weather would improve before the arrival
of the bridal party, but had no expectation that it would. It was so apt to rain just when a clear sky was most wanted, and
would be best appreciated. The servants were of the same opinion. Of course it would rain; it always did when they desired
fair weather—their holidays had been spoiled by rain no one could tell how often. But it left off raining at last and Lindendale
revived beneath the cheering influences of wind and sunshine. For the greater honor of the distinguished event, and the
brilliant
guests expected to grace the occasion with their presence the broken trillis-work of a bower was repaired, though a vine to
adorn it was out of the question, the leaves were gathered from the garden-alleys where the wind had carried and left them,
and the broken stalks of faded flowers removed from their beds as untimely and out of place. The clear cold sunshine glancing
down the long avenue of elms saw nothing but moving shadows of the leafless branches, and heard nothing but the roaring wind
as it passed among the trees.

What strange ways the wind has, and how particularly anxious it seemed to enter the drawing-room in the southern wing, rattling
the shutters, and shrieking like a maniac, and then breathing out a low gurgling laugh like the voice of childhood.

But whether it laughed or shrieked the wind had something expressively ominous in its tone, and not only to me; for all observed
it, and Mrs Bry said that it filled her with awe and dread, because it had just such a voice on the day during which her poor
husband was shipwrecked. Then the linden lost its huge branches and swayed and creaked distractedly, and we all knew that
was said to forbode calamity to the family. “It should not be so” said Mrs Bry, impressively. “It should not be so to[-]night
when the morrow is to bring a mistress to Lindendale. Ah me: I fear—” but she left the sentence unfinished
and the wind blew and the linden creaked.

The servants all knew the history of that tree. It had not been concealed from them that a wild and weird influence was supposed
to belong to it. Planted by Sir Clifford, it had grown and flourished exceedingly under his management. But the stern old
man was a hard master to his slaves and few in our days could be so cruel, while the linden was chosen as the scene where
the tortures and punishments were inflicted. Many a time had its roots been manured with human blood. Slaves had been tied
to its trunk to
be whipped or sometimes gibbeted on its branches.
the master belonging their agonies from the drawing room windows and doubtless enjoying the sigh On such occasions he would
drink wine or coolly discuss politics with an acquaintance, pausing prob

On such occasions, Sir Clifford sitting at the windows of his drawing room, within the full sight and hearing of their agonies
would drink wine, or coolly discuss the politics of the day with some acquaintance, pausing perhaps in the midst of a sentence
to give directions to the executioner, or order some mitigation of the torture only to prolong it.

But his direst act of cruelty, and the one of a nature to fill the soul with the deepest horror was perpetrated on the person
of an old woman, who had been nurse to his son and heir, and was treated with unusual consideration by the family in consequence.
Whether Sir Clifford thought that severity to her would teach the others a lesson of obedience, or whether he had conceived
an especial
delight to the
dislike against the poor old creature it is impossible to determine; not so the fact of her unnatural and unmerited punishment.
She had it seems a little dog, white and shaggy, with great speaking eyes, full of intelligence, and bearing a strong resemblance
to those of a child. But this dog, so singularly beautiful and innocent in his helplessness, was bound to Rose, as she was
called, by yet other ties. He had been the pet and favorite of her youngest daughter, and that daughter now languished out
a life of bondage, in the toiling in the rice swamps of Alabama. On the day of her departure she had given the dog to her
mother with a special request that the latter would never cease to care for it, though of that injunction there was little
need. As the memorial of her lost one her heart clave to it with the utmost tenacity of tenderness. It fed from her hand,
slept in her bosom, and was her companion wherever she went. In her eyes it was more much more than a little dumb animal.
It had such winning ways,
and knew so well to make its wants understood that it became to her what a grandchild is to many
aged females. The heart must have something to love, something to which its affections may cling, something to cherish and
protect. It may perchance be a tree or flower, perchance a child or domestic animal, with poor old Rose it was her little
dog. Then, too, he was her treasure, and sole possession, and the only earthly thing that regarded her with fondness, or to
whose comfort her existence was essential.

But this poor little animal was great enough to incur the wrath of Sir Clifford, and Sir Clifford in all his state and haughtiness
could demean himself sufficiently to notice the trespass of a little dog. He at once commanded Rose to drown it under pain
of his displeasure. Had he commanded any thing else, however unpleasant the duty she would doubtless have obeyed, but that
she could not do. As soon would a mother drown a favorite child. She wept, she entreated, she implored, kneeling at his feet,
that he would remit the sentence, but in vain. Sir Clifford made it a boast that he never retracted, that his commands and
decisions like the laws of the Medes and Persians were unalterable and so he bade her rise and do his bidding at once, or
that in case of refusal he should enforce her obedience by a punishment of which she had no
conception
idea. Calmly and resolutely the old woman arose with something of the martyr spirit burning in her eye. To his inquiries
she answered plainly that she should not and could not obey his orders, that—

“By heavens you shall” he cried interrupting her. “You shall see him die a thousand deaths, and vainly beg the priveledge
of killing him to end his tortures”: and he knocked loudly against the window sash, which was his manner of summoning the
servants. They soon came.

“Now take this old witch, and her whelp and gibbet them alive on the Linden” he said his features distorted and his whole
frame
seeming to dilate with intensity of passion. The obsequious slaves rudely seized the unresisting victims. An iron hoop
being fastened around the body of Rose she was drawn to the tree, and with great labor elevated and secured to one of the
largest limbs. And then with a refinement of cruelty the innocent and helpless little animal, with a broad iron belt around
its delicate body was suspended within her sight, but beyond her reach.

And thus suspended between heaven and earth in a posture the [sic] most unimaginably painful both hung through the long long
days and the longer nights. Not a particle of food, not a drop of water was allowed to either, but the master walking each
morning would fix his cold cruel eyes with appalling indifference on her agonised countenance, and calmly inquire whether
or not she was ready to be the minister of his vengeance on the dog. For three consecutive days she retained strength to answer
that she was not. Then her rigid features assumed a collapsed and corpse-like hue and appearance, her eyes seemed starting
from their sockets, and her protruding tongue refused to articulate a sound. Yet even in this state she would faintly wave
her hand towards the dog and seemed in commiseration of his sufferings to forget her own.

It was enough, they said, to have melted a heart of stone to hear her talk to that affectionate and equally tortured favorite
so long as she retained the power of speech, as if she sought by such demonstrations of tenderness to soothe her own misery
and mitigate his sufferings. How she seemed to consider him a being who could know; and think and reason, and as such assured
him of her undying love and regard, entreated him to be patient, and to bear with fortitude whatever the wickidness of man
imposed, and strove to solace him with the certainty that a few more hours would finish all their woes, and safely confide
them to the place where the weary rest.

And when her voice failed she would turn her eyes with looks
of unutterable tenderness on her equally failing companion, and
who shall say that he did not perceive and appreciate the glance. The Lady of Sir Clifford besought him with tears and prayers
to forgive the old woman in consideration of her great age, her faithful services, and her undying affection for the little
animal. Her entreaties were seconded by those of their son, who was nearly frantic at such barbarous treatment of his kind
old nurse, but the hard-hearted man was obdurate to all. She then desired that they might be put to death at once, as she
declared that the sight of their agonies and the noise of their groans would haunt her to her dying day, but this he refused
on the plea that he never changed his plans.

After they had hung in this manner five days, and till their sinews were shrunk, their nerves paralysed, their vital energies
exhausted, their flesh wasted and decayed, and their senses gone, a dreadful storm arose at night. The rain poured down in
torrents, the lightning flashed and the thunder rolled. And the concussion of the elements seemed partly to revive their exhausted
natures. The water that moistened their lips and cooled their fevered brains restored their voices and renewed their strength.
Through the din and uproar of the tempest could be heard all night the wail of a woman the howling of a dog, and the creaking
of the linden branches to which the gibbet hung. It was horrible: Oh how horrible: and slumber entirely fled the household
of Sir Clifford. His Lady heretofore one of the gayest of women was never seen to smile afterwards. The next morning when
the storm had past away, and Nature resumed her usual serenity he went forth again to interrogate his victim. But the helpless
object of his wrath had already ceased to breathe and the delicate limbs were rigid in the cold embrace of death. He surveyed
it a moment contemptuously and then turned to Rose. She was yet alive, but wan and ghastly and hedeous in countenance, and
either to sport with her sufferings or for
some other unknown purpose he proposed to have her taken down.
But the
At the sound of his voice she opened her blood-shotten lack-lustre eyes, —and her voice as she spoke had a deep sepulchral
tone. “No” she said “it shall not be. I will hang here till I die as a curse to this house, and I will come here after I am
dead to prove its bane. In sunshine and shadow, by day and by night I will brood over this tree, and weigh down its branches,
and when death, or sickness, or misfortune is to befall the family ye may listen for ye will assuredly hear the creaking of
its limbs” and with one deep prolonged wail her spirit departed.

Such was the legend of the Linden as we had heard it told in the dim duskiness of the
twilight
summer twilight or by the roaring fires of wintry nights. Hence an unusual degree of interest was attached to the tree and
the creaking of its branches filled our bosoms with supernatural dread.

But as the rain had ceased so did the wind though not a moment sooner as later on account of our wishes

But the wind ceased to blow and the linden branches no longer creaked, yet the air was sharp chilly and bracing just enough
so perhaps to give freshness to the cheek and an edge to appetite. All day long we had been looking for the bridal party.
Time and again and perhaps a dozen times had some of the younger ones climbed the trees and fences and a neighboring hill
in order to descry the cavalcade at a distance and telegraph its approach. Times without number had Mrs Bry taken the circuit
of the drawing rooms, dining rooms and parlors to make certain that all was right. Over and over again had she summoned the
servants and made the same inquiry probably for the hundredth time and received as often the same answer—that the fires were
all lighted in the various apartments—that the feast
is
was ready for the table, and everything
in
in a due state of preparation, even to the children’s hands and faces.

At last they came, at last after the sun had set, and the twilight
faded, after eyes had been dimmed with looking and ears
wearied by listening for them. Through the sharp chill night they came with their bridal company. Yet the twinkling lamps
of their traveling chariots gave warning even at a distance of their approach. Then there was great bustle and confusion.
Lanterns were lighted and rooms illuminated; doors flung open and chambers hastily surveyed. The stately mansion is no longer
a darkening mass of front, but looks most imposing to the brilliant circle as they descend from their carriages and move on
towards it. Mrs Bry, however, was mentally grieved at one thing, and so were the servants. She had planned that the entire
troop of slaves, all arrayed in the finery of flaming Madras handkerchiefs and calico blazing with crimson and scarlet flowers,
should be ranged on either side of the graveled walk leading to the mansion, with due regard to their age and character, and
thus pay homage to their master and new-found mistress. But the night to their great disappointment forbade this display,
and the ceremonial of reception was confined to the housekeeper. And well she discharged it. The deferential grace of her
manner being only equaled by the condescending politeness of the master and mistress, the latter of whom immediately asked
to be shown to her rooms. Excusing herself Mrs Bry deputed me to bear the light, and the bride escorted by the bridegroom
moves on along the passage, ascends the oaken staircase, and pauses at length before a door carved and paneled in the quaint
old style.