Part 3

Daph had tried to banish from her mind all thoughts of her master and mistress, for the bare imagination of what they might have suffered made her wild with distress. She said to herself, “What for Daph go to tink about tings, jus as likely nebber was at all! Daph makes out de great Lord could n’t save massa and Miss Elize all hisself, widout Daph to help him! Foolish darky! She better cheer up, and take care ob de childen, ’stead o’ jus whimper, whimper, like a sick monkey.”

Daph had to go through a course of consolation, similar to the above, very frequently, to enable her to maintain her cheerfulness; but the piteous questionings of the little Louise well-nigh overcame all the poor negro’s philosophy.

“I’se tell you what it is, Miss Lou,” poor Daph said, desperately, at last, “I’se jus tell you what it is; de great Lord is a-takin care ob your mamma, and if you’s a good girl, you’ll jus see her some day, and if you is not, de great Lord will nebber, nebber bring you together!”

Daph’s manner, as well as her words, had some effect upon Louise, and she tried to content herself with watching the rain streaming down the window-panes, and was soon in a sufficiently cheerful mood to march up and down the room, to the sound of Charlie’s music, greatly to his satisfaction.

The dreary weather without was not all that Daph had to contend with; she found she had an enemy within the house, whose attacks it was far more difficult to meet.

The little woman, whose angry voice had attracted Daph’s attention at first, kept her humble lodger familiar with its harsh tones. Daph’s appearance was the signal for a volley of complaints, as to the noise made by the children, the marks left on the floor by Daph’s feet, as she returned from the well, the unpleasantness of “seeing other folks so much at home in one’s own house,” etc., etc.

Daph never had a chance to get any further than, “deed, Miss Ray!” in her attempts at self-justification, for the opening of her mouth was sure to produce another tirade on the “impudence of certain people, that nobody knew anything about.”

The demure-looking little girl was generally a silent spectator of these attacks, but now and then she was forced to cry out, “O, mother! don’t!” which protest was generally met by a sharp box of the ear, and a “take that, Mary, and learn to be quiet!” If Mary Ray had learned any lesson, it certainly was to be quiet. She rarely spoke, and her footsteps were almost as noiseless as the fall of the winter snow.

Daph soon found out that Mrs. Ray considered Mary especially guilty, in having presumed to live, when her brother, a fine healthy boy, had been snatched away by sudden disease.

The loss of her husband, and consequent poverty, had somewhat soured Mrs. Ray’s temper, but her last bereavement seemed to have made her all acidity. She constantly reproached Mary for being a useless girl, always in her mother’s sight, when the dear boy, on whom she had hoped to lean, had been taken from her.

Daph’s keen sympathies were soon warmly enlisted for little Mary, who had really begun to believe she was quite in fault for continuing to cumber the earth, when nobody wanted her here.

Daph never passed Mary without a cheerful word, and she contrived to show the child many trifling acts of kindness, which went directly to her heart.

At one time Daph, with her strong arm, lifted Mary’s heavy pail of water, at another, she took her pitcher to the milkman in a pouring rain; and one day, when she could think of no other way of showing her interest, she secretly bestowed on the little girl one of the few oranges which still remained of the store brought from the ship.

Mary’s sorrowful face, Mrs. Ray’s harsh voice, the penetrating chill in the air, and the monotonous life she led in the single room, made it hard for Daph to bear up cheerfully, and, but for the children, she would have withdrawn to a corner, and moped all the time. She managed to keep up her spirits during the day, but when the little ones were asleep, she had her own sad, wakeful hours. More than a week had passed in this dreary way. Daph saw her treasured store of money fast diminishing, under the necessary expenditure for supplying the simple wants of her little establishment, and she already saw, too plainly, that the whole party must soon have a new outfit of clothing, or they would be disgraced by their rags and uncleanliness.

The children were quietly slumbering near her; she had extinguished the candle, that it might not waste its feeble light, and, with her head on her hand, she began to consider seriously the situation in which she found herself. The present was dark enough, but what was she to think of the gloomy future!

Where should she look for the work she would so willingly do? How could she leave her little charge, even if that work were found?

A sense of utter helplessness came over the poor negro, and hot tears poured down her cheeks.

A sudden thought struck her; there was One all-powerful, and to Him she would go. She fell on her knees, and uttered her first simple prayer: “Will de great Lord gib poor Daph something for do?”

Overpowered by the effort she had made, and fearful there was something presuming in a poor creature like herself daring to speak to the being she so reverenced, Daph sank down on the floor, in a position of silent humility. A conviction that she had been heard and forgiven for the boldness of her prayer stole over her, and she stretched herself as usual on the bare floor, and was soon in a sound sleep.

VII.

A New Path.

Daph rose the following morning, at her usual early hour, and went to perform her customary ablutions beside the well, keeping, however, a sharp look out for Mrs. Ray, to be ready to beat a retreat as soon as that formidable person should make herself heard. No Mrs. Ray appeared, and Daph’s curiosity tempted her to take a peep into the room which served as kitchen, parlor, and general abiding-place for Mrs. Ray and Mary, though they slept in the loft above.

Mary was diligently ironing, at this early hour, giving from time to time, dolorous glances at a great basketful of damp clothes, which seemed to diminish but slowly under her efforts.

“Where’s your ma?” said Daph, as she thrust her head fairly in at the door, regardless of consequences.

“Mother’s very sick this morning,” said Mary, sorrowfully, “she can’t even turn herself in bed, and all these clothes must go home to-night, we have had to keep them too long now, it has been so wet.”

“Nebber fret bout de close,” said Daph, cheerily; “I’se held a flat ’fore dis! Do Daph good to work a little, she mighty tired, sittin up all day like a lady. Spose I jus steps up to look at your ma. May be I might do somewhat for her, to make her feel some better.”

“O, don’t!” exclaimed Mary, hastily, “she might not like it.”

“Nebber you mind dat!” said Daph, “you jus show me de way.”

Mary pointed to the door that led to the narrow staircase, and Daph needed no further guidance.

“Ye’s mighty sick, isn’t ye, Miss’ Ray?” said Daph, compassionately, as she stepped to the bedside of the sufferer.

Mrs. Ray turned her head to the wall and groaned, but Daph was not to be easily disconcerted.

“Spose I jus makes you a little warm drink, and kinder helps you to frow off dis ere sickness?” said Daph, insinuatingly.

“O, my back! my bones! they ache so!” said the poor woman.

“It’s jus bein out in dis wet wedder, jus a-comin from dat awful hot fire into de swash down rain,” said Daph. “White folks isn’t used to such hard work. You jus can’t bear it, dats it.”

Daph had struck the right cord, and Mrs. Ray answered, “No; I aint used to it. That’s true enough, but who have I got to help me, but just that slip of a girl. O, if my boy had only lived!”

Daph did not wait to hear more of the complaints, which were the burden of Mrs. Ray’s daily talk. She hastened to the kitchen, and with Mary’s help, she soon prepared a steaming bowl of of herb-tea, which Mrs. Ray took from her hand without a word. She would have resisted, when Daph proceeded to bathe her feet in warm water, but the kind-hearted negro went steadily on, regardless of opposition, saying, “You’s so very sick, we’s mus jus take care of you, same as if you were a bit of a baby. There now, let me jus put de cubber over you,” she said, as she released the restive feet. “Now, if you could jus git a little sleep, while I go dress de babies, I’se do believe you would feel mighty better.”

Mrs. Ray did fall into a quiet sleep, the more sound from the night of wakefulness and pain she had just passed. When she awoke, she heard unusual sounds in the kitchen below, and if she could have peeped down the stair-way, a pleasant scene would have met her eyes. A cheerful fire roared up the wide chimney. Daph, revived by the welcome heat, was ironing away at the great table, with real heartiness, while little Mary, at her side, tried to move her slender arms in the same energetic manner. Charlie was seated on the table, a happy spectator of these proceedings, while Louise stood by him, sprinkling and folding a bit of rag again and again, not doubting that she was amazingly useful.

“Mary! Mary!” said a voice from above, feebler and a little less sharp than usual, “who’s down there with you?”

“It’s jus me and de childen, Miss’ Ray,” said Daph, putting her head fearlessly up the stair-way. “Dat big basket o’ clothes wants ’tention, and I’se jus thought I’se better be ironin a bit, to git de tings out de way.”

Mrs. Ray made no answer, and Daph, after satisfying herself that the patient was a little better, stepped quietly back into the kitchen.

Daph really enjoyed her busy day, and it was followed by sound natural sleep, instead of hours of wakefulness and anxious thought.

It was more than a week before Mrs. Ray recovered from the violent cold which had so suddenly removed her from the scene of operations; meanwhile Daph and Mary had become excellent friends. The little girl exchanged her hard work for the pleasant care of the children, and Daph’s strong arms had the exercise they needed. Daph’s busy brain had not meanwhile been idle; the sight of the great oven in the wide chimney-corner had suggested to her a plan, which she was impatient to carry out.

When Mrs. Ray first appeared in the kitchen, she gave an anxious look about her, as if she expected to see nothing but disorder and dirt; but the well-scoured floor and shining plates on the dresser had another tale to tell. Of Daph’s skill in cookery, she had tasted several striking specimens, since her appetite had in a measure returned, and she looked on somewhat curiously, as Daph busied herself about the fire, preparing what she called, “Just a bit relish, to strengthen up Miss’ Ray, now she’s on her two feet again.”

Mary was with the children, and Mrs. Ray took the opportunity to say, “You have been very good to me, Daph, and I am sure you had no reason;” and tears of shame actually came into the poor woman’s eyes.

“Now don’t, Miss’ Ray!” said Daph, “I’se isn’t been and done anything at all. Come, take a little breakfast, and ye’ll feel better, I’m sure.”

“What can I do for you, Daph?” continued Mrs. Ray, who had been really touched by the persevering kindness of the honest negro.

“Well now, Miss’ Ray,” said Daph, “I wants to make a little money. I jus thinks I might do de ironin for you ebery week, for you can’t stand such hard work, and then, may be you’d jus let me hab de use ob dat beauty oven, for somewhat I wants to do. I’se jus used to cookin, and may be, if I makes some ob de cakes missus used to like so much, I might sell dem, at some ob de grand houses, and so make a pretty sum, by-and-bye.”

This arrangement was easily made, for Mrs. Ray felt within her but little strength for work, and she was also anxious to shew her sense of Daph’s late kindness.

One bright June morning, Daph put herself in what she called “splinker order,” and the children shouted with delight when her toilet was made. With the help of Mrs. Ray and Mary she had cut out and completed a good calico dress, and a full white apron, and these, with her snowy turban, made a most respectable appearance. A new basket, covered with a clean cloth, was on her head, and within it was stored a variety of nice cakes, which she was proud to show as a specimen of her cookery.

Mary stood at the window with the children, as Daph went off, and the little ones kissed their hands to her until she was fairly out of sight.

Daph had learned her way about the city with ease, for she had quick observation, and a ready memory, and she now found no difficulty in reaching what she called the “grand houses,” which were ranged in imposing rows, on what is now one of the business streets.

At door after door she tried to gain admittance, but the consequential servants turned her off with a contemptuous word, and her heart began to sink within her. At last, as an imperative footman was ordering her away from a great family mansion, two ladies passed out, to enter a carriage. Daph was desperate. She dropped a curtsy and said, “Ladies, like some nice cakes?” and at the same moment she lowered her basket, uncovered it, and displayed its tempting array.

The frank, good face of the negro, and the attractive appearance of her wares, secured the attention of the ladies, and they purchased largely. Encouraged by their kindness, Daph said, “If de ladies would jus speak for Daph to some ob de great folks, to buy from her Tuesdays and Fridays, Daph would try to please dem.”

“I like the woman, mother,” said Rose Stuyvesant, “shall we engage her to come here always, and see what we can do for her?”

The mother assented, and Daph, turning to express her gratitude, looked into the face of the youngest speaker.

It was a sweet face for man or angel to look into. Nature had made it fair, and parted the golden hair above the soft blue eyes; but there was a sweetness round the expressive mouth, and a purity in every line of the oval face, that told of a soul at peace with God, and ruled by his holy law.

Daph long remembered that face, and as she visited the Stuyvesant mansion, week after week, she deemed that a bright day when she caught even a glimpse of her, whom she called “the sweet young lady.”

Time passed on, and Daph thrived in her little traffic, until her cakes were well known, and her form eagerly looked for in many a splendid home; but the best triumphs of her skill she ever reserved for the Stuyvesant mansion, where she had first found a welcome.

VIII.

News.

As the honest efforts of poor Daph were crowned with success, she found herself abundantly able to provide for the physical wants of her master’s children. Three years of toil had rolled quickly away. Charlie had passed his fourth birth-day, and become a strong-willed, sturdy boy, while the slender figure of the fair Louise had grown and rounded, and the Rose had learned to bloom on the cheek of Captain Jones’s “Water-lily.”

Daph looked at her little ones with affectionate pride, and watched over them with the most tender care. She encouraged them to play in the small garden in the rear of their humble home, but in the street they were never seen. The garments she fashioned for them were neat and tidy, and the snowy aprons they always wore, were monuments of her skill as a laundress; but she was conscious of a something in their external appearance, which was not as it should be. About the manners of her charge, Daph was still more troubled. “Why you eat so, Miss Lou?” she would sometimes say. “How shall I eat, Daffy?” the child would reply. “Well, I jus don’t know,” poor Daph would answer, “but dere’s somewhat bout de way you childen do be, at de table, dat Daph don’t jus know how to spress it.”

More serious troubles than these by degrees came upon Daph, in her management. Charlie, though an affectionate, generous child, was hot-tempered and wilful, and when he resisted Daph’s authority, or raised his little hand to give an angry blow, the poor creature knew not what to do. In these scenes she generally triumphed, by the look of real distress which clouded her usually pleasant face, and brought Charlie, repentant to her arms.

With Louise, Daph had another difficulty. The child was usually gentle and submissive, but she seemed to pine for other companions, and a home different from that which Daph was able to provide for her.

The early lessons of piety which Louise had learned at her mother’s knee, had faded from her mind. Daph could remind the little girl to say her simple prayer at morning and evening, but she could not talk to her of the loving Saviour, or recount the wonders of the Gospel she had never read.

The little book, with the golden clasps, Daph had cherished with the utmost care. She knew it contained the secret which could bring peace and order to her little home, but its treasures she, in her ignorance, could not unlock.

Once she had ventured to ask Mrs. Ray to read a little to her from it, but she met with a short negative, and a cold, averted look.

Mary was almost as ignorant of letters as Daph herself. So the poor negro kept the precious book unopened, and awaited God’s time for leading her from darkness unto light.

That the children of her dear mistress would be allowed to grow up, ignorant of the knowledge that belonged to their station, and strangers to the Bible their mother had loved, Daph would not allow herself to believe. “It will come, I’se sure!” Daph would say to herself; “de great Lord can make it right!” and thus she stifled her anxious forebodings, and strove to do the duty of the present hour.

Mrs. Ray’s temper was not quite as trying as when Daph first made her acquaintance. The kindness of the honest negro, and her cheerful acceptance of the trials of her lot, had their influence under that humble roof, and won respect and affection, even from Mrs. Ray. The sunshine of Charlie’s happy, roguish face, had cheered the lonely widow, and Louise had exerted on her a softening, refining influence. Mrs. Ray was improved, but not thoroughly changed.

Little Mary had many harsh words yet to hear, but time had abated the poignancy of the mother’s grief for her lost darling, and made her somewhat more alive to the virtues of her hard-working, quiet, little girl.

During the three years that had passed, since they had dwelt under the same roof, sickness, at various times, had made the little household seem like one family, and the habit of helping each other had daily drawn them nearer.

Mary’s demure face was lighted up with wonder as she said to Daph, one day, “There’s a gentleman at the door, asking if mother still lives here, and if you are at home.”

“Is it a tall, tall gentleman, that looks grand-like and magnificent?” said Daph, earnestly, as the thought of her master at once rose to her mind.

“Not exactly,” said Mary, and, as she spoke, Mrs. Ray opened the door, and ushered in Captain Jones.

Although her first feeling was disappointment, Daph shed tears of joy as she clasped the hand of the honest captain; her tears, however, brightened into smiles as she saw the approving look the captain bestowed on her pets, as he caught them in his arms.

Charlie struggled and fought to be free, shouting, “I like you, sir, but you need not squeeze me so, and rub me with your rough whiskers.”

Charlie got another hug for an answer, while Louise said, “Who is it, Daph? It cannot be my father!”

“No! no! darling!” said the captain, quickly, and he dashed the tears from his eyes, and was sobered in an instant.

Mrs. Ray looked on with astonishment and curiosity, at the cordial meeting between her old acquaintance and her lodgers.

Captain Jones had known Mrs. Ray slightly in her better days, and he now turned to her, and inquired kindly after her welfare. As usual, she had a series of grievances to relate, but she forbore speaking slightingly of Mary, who had modestly retired into the background. The little girl was somewhat astonished when the captain came towards her, and gave her a hearty greeting, as the child of his old mess-mate, and seemed to think her well worth speaking to, though “only a girl.”

The whole party sat down together, and time passed rapidly on, while the captain sat, with the children in his arms, and heard Daph’s account of her various trials and adventures since they parted. Mrs. Ray listened with eager curiosity, but she could gather little from Daph’s words that she did not already know.

At length, Captain Jones said, with a great effort, “Daph, I have something to say to you, which is not fit for the children’s ears,” and he gave at the same time an expressive glance towards Mrs. Ray.

The widow seized Mary by the hand, and flounced indignantly out of the room, saying, “I am sure we have too much to do to stay here, where we are not wanted. No good comes of secrets, that ever I heard of!”

“Come children, come with Mary,” said the girl, apparently unconscious of her mother’s indignant manner.

The children followed somewhat reluctantly, and Daph and the captain were left alone together. Since the moment of her landing, Daph had had no one to whom she might speak of the dark fears for her master and mistress, that at times preyed upon her; to her own strange departure she had never alluded. She had met questionings with dignified silence, and had patiently endured insinuations, which, but for her clear conscience, would have driven her to frenzy. Now, she felt that she was to hear some important news, and her trembling knees refused to support her. Anxious and agitated, she sank on her low bench, and fixed her eyes eagerly on the captain.

“Daph,” he began, “there was horrible truth in your words that night, when you pleaded so earnestly on board the Martha Jane! I thank God that I did not turn a deaf ear to you then! Daph, you have saved your master’s children from a bloody death, and you will be rewarded, as there is a Father in Heaven!”

The captain paused, and Daph bent anxiously forward, exclaiming, “My dear missus? master?”

Captain Jones could not speak. He drew his hand significantly across his throat, and then pointed solemnly upwards.

Daph understood his meaning but too well. She had hoped on, determinately; but now the hour of awful certainty had come, and she could not bear it. She gave one loud scream, and fell senseless on the floor. The wild yell that burst from the anguished heart of the negro, rang through the house, and Mrs. Ray and Mary were at the door in a moment, followed by the terrified children. Little Louise dropped down beside Daph, and began to cry piteously, while Charlie flew at Captain Jones like a young lion, and loudly exclaiming, “The naughty man has killed dear Daffy, and I’ll punish him.”

While Mrs. Ray and her daughter were making every effort to recall poor Daph to consciousness, Charlie continued his attack upon the captain, with sturdy foot, clenched hand, and sharp teeth, until the honest sailor was actually obliged to protect himself, by putting the child forcibly from the room, and firmly locking the door.

Perfectly infuriated, Charlie flew into the street, screaming, “They’ve killed my Daffy! The wicked! wicked man.”

Several persons gathered round the enraged child, and a young physician, who was passing, stopped, to find out the cause of the disturbance. Charlie’s words, “She lies dead there! The wicked man has killed her,” caught the attention of Dr. Bates, and he eagerly asked, “Where, where, child?”

Charlie pointed towards the house, and the doctor entered, without ceremony, Charlie closely following him. His loud knock was answered by Captain Jones, whose cautious manner of unlocking the door seemed, to the young physician, a most suspicious circumstance.