Part 3

I had never seen a broken heart, but had some acquaintance with articles that had come to grief in the kitchen and had been restored to pristine wholeness by clever manipulation. I comforted him with the assurance that broken hearts did not signify anything of importance; my mammy could mend them with glue and boil them in milk so you couldn't even see the cracks in them, as she had done with my grandmother's sugar bowl. "How did you break your heart?" I inquired sympathetically. He replied that God broke it when He took from him his loved ones and left him so lonely. In return for his confidence I promised to comfort him for his losses and to be his little girl now and his wife just as soon as I was grown up to be a lady.

He took a ring from his guard-chain and put it on my finger and gave me a tiny gold heart inscribed with "Sally," which had been the name of one of his loved ones, and I crept out from under the umbrella pledged to Lieutenant George E. Pickett of the United States Army. Then and to the end he was my soldier, and always when we were alone I called him "Soldier." I still have the ring and heart, and am indebted for this reminiscence to the little red memorandum book which he gave me years after, when he was General George E. Pickett, of the Confederate Army.

"Come again, little fairy," he said as I was leaving him to the uninterrupted perusal of his book. Just then my grandmother came up, with apologies for my intrusion upon a stranger, and the explanation that my nurse had been sent to the Fort with a note for Lieutenant Pickett, the son of one of her old friends, asking the pleasure of his company to dinner. My new-found friend introduced himself as the officer in question, expressing his pleasure in the meeting and assuring her that my visit had been a charming episode in a monotonous waste of loneliness. I explained:

"I am his little girl now already and am going to be his wife as soon as I am grown up to be a lady."

"Yes, it has all been arranged," he laughed.

From that time loneliness was at an end for me. My soldier had no fear of contagion, assuring me when I asked him if he was too big to have whooping cough that it was a privilege of youth and diminutiveness. We built pine bark yachts and sailboats and steamers and sailed them on the lakes we made by damming up the waves that dashed highest on the shore. The waves of our lakes washed the coasts of every country on the map and our stately ships brought back to us rich cargoes from all the countries of the world. We built forts and garrisoned them with men as brave as those who fell with Leonidas in the great battle of which my soldier told me as we worked. Upon the sea-wall he placed a flag that fluttered defiance to the enemy-ocean as the waves dashed up to our embattled ramparts and rolled back defeated. It was my first introduction to the Star-Spangled Banner and the red and white stripes and star-gemmed sky impressed me as very beautiful. In those days the Stars and Stripes were rarely seen in the Southern States and the flag of Virginia was the only emblem of sovereignty that I had known. My soldier told me the story of the battle-born flag and the eagle that perched upon it amid the smoke of the conflict, the thunder of guns and the lightning of swords.

When I was wearied with the toil incident to our extensive commercial operations and the labors and anxieties of battle we sat upon the sand and he sang to me, playing the accompaniments on his guitar. When I hear those old songs to-day they come to me with the far faint odor of the breezes that swept across the ocean in that long gone time and I hear again the golden notes of that melodious voice mingled with the soft music floating out from the touch of his fingers.

Three years later I saw my soldier again. He had just received his commission as captain and was recruiting his company at Fortress Monroe before sailing for the unknown West. The first real sorrow came to me when I watched the _St. Louis_, the United States transport, go out to sea with my soldier on board. From her prow floated a flag like that which had waved over the fort we built on the sands in that time when life had lost all its troubles and the sunshine of the heart filled earth and sea and sky with radiance. I felt then as I had not before realized that this was my soldier's flag to which his life was given and to my view the stars in it shone with a new glory.

The _St. Louis_ was bound for Puget Sound where was the new station, Fort Bellingham, which I thought must be farther than the end of the world. Not one ship of our whole great fleet in the olden days had sailed for Puget Sound.

V

A KEEPSAKE FOR THE ANGELS

When we went home Uncle Charles came to the wharf to meet us. He was dressed in the clothes left to him by my grandfather's will and, dangling from his watch-chain, glaring at us in bold relief against his black velvet vest, a set of artificial teeth grinned in ghastly manner from their gold settings. In those days artificial teeth were not common, and when Mr. Durkee, a dentist from Connecticut, came into our neighborhood and hung out his sign, all of a certain class who could raise money enough had their teeth taken out and replaced by false ones.

That year when my grandmother asked Uncle Charles what he would like for a Christmas present he chose "a p'ar of dem sto' teef," explaining that his were "moughty nigh wo' out, chawin' 'backer en a gnashin' de mules of a week days en de sinners of a Sundays."

My grandmother reasoned with him on the folly of making the exchange but he had set his heart upon it and she, with her habit of spoiling her servants by indulging them, permitted him to be measured and fitted for his "sto' teef," of which he was so proud that he wore them more for ornament than use, displaying them at all special functions.

As Uncle Charles drove us home he had many confidences to make to my grandmother. The most important was about little Sara Elizabeth.

"Dem blin' en deef chu'ch visitors of we-alls--I don' mean no disrespect to dar reflictions--but dey's spilin' dat li'l Sara 'Lizbef. You knows, dey 'lowed dat gal to play on de spinet of a Sunday mornin's?--En dance chunes, at dat? En dat ain't all; dey 'sputes so wif deyse'fs over her dat it's scan'lous, en dar ain't no gittin' along wid 'em."

Little Sara, the bone of contention between the two, as Uncle Charles said, proved in a fair way to be spoiled. On my return she looked upon me as an intruder, but when she was made to feel that her rights were not to be infringed upon she welcomed me into the old companionship. I took great comfort in her, but often (though I kept the secret in my heart) the unguarded words of my mammy, "dat chile bleeged fer ter die anyhow," occurred to me and made me sorry and afraid, yet I knew not why, for I had no idea of death.

One night I was awakened by the sound of voices and, peeping from under the covers, saw the bald head of our old family physician, Dr. Finney, and the anxious face of my grandmother, who was holding the big brass nursery candlestick. I caught the word "croup." Then their voices were lowered to a whisper as they looked toward my bed. They went out and closed the door and I lay awake a long time thinking, wondering who or what was "croup."

Next morning I awakened long after my usual hour and was told that I must be very quiet for my grandmother had a headache. While my mammy was dressing me she sighed and looked mysteriously wise, and between the fastening of my buttons and the curling of my hair repeated over and over again, "Lord a massy on us! We're here to-day but gone to-morrow!"

As I was tiptoeing down the hall my grandmother called me. She was sitting in her wrapper before a corn-cob fire. Taking me upon her lap and rocking me she tenderly stroked my hair. Mammy, shaking her head, leaned against the mantel and moaned and groaned. I turned away and looked into the crackling fire till presently the beautiful pictures in the burning coals made me break the solemn silence, and I said:

"Look, grandmother! See! A ship of coals loaded with falling stars and Jack-er-my-lanterns--Oh, and see! There is a city of gold! See that old castle tumbling down. See the silver cloud going so fast to the city and white flowers and sunshine all falling down and----"

"Yes, I see, my darling," replied my grandmother, pressing me closely to her.

"I knowed dat chile was gwine to be pestered seein' sperits, but, Mistis, dar p'intedly ain't no occasion of yo 'couragin' her in it lak you is," objected my mammy, throwing on an armful of fresh cobs and destroying my golden glory pictures.

"Now, go along, darling, and eat your breakfast," said my grandmother, "and then you may tell Ole-Granny-Aggie that she may let you go into the weaving room and give you the old cards and some of the waste wool to card, and if you are very good she may let you run the shuttle awhile. Tell her she need not 'toker' off her stent to-day, but just take care of you."

I stopped for a minute and looking up at her said, "And little Sara, too, please, marm?" She shook her head and shivered; then mammy took me away.

It was always enchanting to watch Ole-Granny-Aggie weave, but to be allowed to sit at the loom and slide the shuttle through with my own hands was a special rapture. Yet this day I did not enjoy it, for I felt that something unusual had happened and associated it with my little friend.

The next morning mammy got out my new silk reins and hitched up Mary Frances and Arabella, my "match of blacks," for me to drive, and as we returned after a long race I saw an old gentleman with bent back carrying a beautiful white box into the house.

"Oh, how pretty! What is it for?" I asked my grandmother.

"A little jewel casket, my darling, to hold a keepsake that I am going to send to the angels. There, there; run along now and play."

I went into the garden where our own little bed of white violets was in full bloom, and suddenly remembering with a pang that my little Sara had wanted to gather them all and that I would let her have only what I saw fit she should have, I said, "She shall have every one now," and gathering my apron almost full I ran into the house.

The door of the room which had been closed to me for two days had been accidentally left ajar and, hearing my grandmother's voice, I ran in.

She and poor Miss Sophia and "Miss Mary" and several of the neighbors and servants were standing around that little white casket resting on a table in the center of the room.

"Is the keepsake in it?" I asked.

My grandmother lifted me up and there, sweetly sleeping, was my little Sara Elizabeth. I whispered my wish to put the violets into her lap so that she could see them the first thing when she awakened and know that I was sorry and had brought her both our shares. My grandmother held me while I gently, and with no word, lest I should awaken her, put my violets into her arms so as to "s'prise her when she waked." Then I whispered to my grandmother as she carried me away, "Do angels want little children for keepsakes?"

VI

AFRICAN ROYALTY

One of the enchantments of my childhood was the old cabin in the vale at the entrance to the grounds of the mansion house at Holiday's Point, where the gate-keeper, Uncle Bosun Keeling, and his wife, Aunt Charity, lived. I used to run down the cypress-bordered path to the old lodge to hear him tell "dem Bible-tales" and to see Aunt Charity's shining black face surmounted by her flaming red "haid-hankcher," a combination artistic and beautiful. She would take me on her lap and tell the old legends that had come down through generations of dusky story-tellers.

"Yas, honey," she would say, telling me one of the five versions of the origin of her race, "we was all niggers once. Dar wa'n't no white folks at all, 'twel one day de Lord was tekin' a interview of His wu'ks to see ef dey was good, when He tuk notus dat we-all didn't 'preciate what He'd done for us, so He mekt up His mind to come down to de earf en test our lub en gratichude en faif in His holy word en 'vide de sheeps fum de goats. He put on His patum leather boots en beaver hat en tuck His gold-headed cane en come 'long down de golden stairs en th'oo de golden gate, down de golden lane to whar de road forked to come to de ye'th.

"'Twas de springtime of de yeah en de whole face of de ye'th was a bloomin' en a buddin'. De paschers was all green en bescattered wid buttercups en clover blossoms en de cattles on a t'ousan' plains was a grazin' on 'em. De birds was all a singin' chunes, de roses a buddin' en de violets en Johnny-quils en hyercinfs a bloomin', de trees was all white-washed en kivered wid leaves, de grape-wines was a perfumin' up de air, en de orchards was pink en white en green all over. De hens was all a cacklin', en de chickens en ducks en goslin's all a hatchin'. All de ole sheeps had li'l lambs en some of 'em had two, en all de cows was givin' three gallons to de pail.

"De Lord was s'prized hisse'f at de glorification of His handywu'k. He bowed His haid in humble somilichude, en was jest gwine to pray, when He heard sump'n go kerchunk-kerchunk. He drapped His eyes en, lo! dar was a mud-tuckle mekin' for a pond of muddy water. He looked at de tuckle en He looked at de pond. Den He tuk some yeast powders en flung 'em in de pond. Dat 'sturbed de waters, en dey riz en bubbled, riz en bubbled, 'twel dey was as cl'ar as cryslum. Den He blessed de pond en named it de Pool of 'Thesda.

"He went 'long den to de co'tehouse, for 'twuz co'te day en He knowed dem niggers was gwine to be dar ef dey could git dar. En dey was, sho' 'nough. 'Co'se de niggers didn' know de Lord was dar, en ef dey had He was inwisible en dey couldn't see 'Im nohow. But de Lord could see dem, dough, en dey was behavin' scan'lous. Some of 'em was magestricks en constubles en auctioneers; some was swiggin' cider en drams en 'simmon beer. Some was racin' hosses en fightin' chickens or playin' games or whittlin' sticks or swoppin' knives or eatin' hoss-cakes en watermillions. Some was 'sputin' en quarlin' en foughtin' en some was sittin' on dar ham-bones gossickin' 'bout one nuther.

"De Lord's heart suttin'ly was troubled. He spuk out in a loud woice en tole 'em to go to de Pool of 'Thesda en bave darse'fs. Now dem niggers knowed ebby inch of dat groun' en dey knowed dar wan't no Pool of 'Thesda dar; but dem dat lubbed en serbed de Lord en feared His holy name didn' queschify 'bout de pool. Dey went as fars' as dey could en baved darse'fs en dey come out jest as white as ef dey had been libin' in town all dar libes en wearin' sun-bonnets. Dar lub en faif had washed away dar brack skins en mekt 'em white as de blood of de lamb.

"When dey went back to de co'tehouse de yuthers wanted to git obedient den, too, so dey tuck off en run to de pon'. De supples' en de swif'es dey got dar firs' en come out mos' as white as dat firs' passel, sep'n dar eyes en dar hyar en dar eye-brows stayed brack.

"De Chinesers en Injuns en Italyuns en yuther furriners dey sticked dar haids in firs' en unkinked dar hyar, en dey come out 'twix' a brindle en a brown. But dem dar lazy niggers dat didn' lub de Lord stayed at de co'tehouse drinkin' drams en projickin' en cussin' en cyarin' on 'twel 'twas jamby sundown, den dey jest amble darse'fs, sa'nterin' 'long lak dey had de whole day befo' 'em--a singin' chunes en a chawin' terbacker en smokin' dar pipes, en when dey reached de pon' dar wan' no pon' dar. It had all dried up.

"Dey suttinly was one s'prized passel of niggers, for dey'd allus called demse'fs de rambunkshunners en dey couldn't b'lieve dar eyes. Ebby now en den dey come 'cross a li'l moisch place yer en a li'l moisch place dar en dey'd run en pat it wid de palms of dar han's en de soles of dar foots, en dat's all de white dar is 'bout a nigger fum dat day to dis--jest de palms of dar han's en de soles of dar foots."

When Aunt Charity would tell these old legends Uncle Bosun would sit spell bound as if it were the first time he had ever heard them and when she would finish he would shake his head with pride and say:

"My ole woman she sho' kin talk lak a readin' book, en she ain't one er dem kin' dat licks de 'lasses offn yo' bread en den calls you nigger. Needer do she bek de bread en give you de crus', nor eat de meat en give you de hus'. She gives you de white meat ebby time. En she never follows de jay-bird's trade, needer, a carryin' news, en dress--she allus dresses sincerely."

He was a very pious old man, cherishing extreme reverence for the works of God, with small respect for the innovations of man. When Doctor Durkee, the "tooth doctor," appeared in the neighborhood Uncle Bosun's rigid principles arose in opposition. He looked with both scorn and fear upon the glistening teeth that were the pride of Uncle Charles's heart--and plead with him "not to 'courage dat ole doctor in de imitation of de Lord's handy wu'ks, fer he was a back-slider en a robber, en den ag'in don't de Lord say, 'Dou shalt not mek any graven image or lakness of anyt'ing dat is in de heaven above or dat is in de earf beneaf or dat is in de water under de earf,' en dat means yo' teef jest de same as ef de good Lord had specified teef en said, 'Charles 'Rastus Thessalonians, yo' teef is a graven image,' en ain't yo' teef under de earf beneaf?"

"No," said Uncle Charles, "He wouldn' say dat kase my teefs is in my mouf."

This frivolous reasoning was contemptuously set aside by the logical mind of Uncle Bosun, and later when Dr. Durkee committed various thefts and took his departure in undignified haste, my father asked the gate-keeper how he knew that the doctor was a rascal.

"Lor, Marse Dae," he said, "I lives so close to de things dat God made in de woods en on de water dat I kin scent de bad fum de good ev'y time."

Uncle Bosun claimed royal blood, having descended from Uncle Jack, the son of a king, who was brought over from Africa in the last slaveship that deposited its cargo at Old Osborne on the James River. We loved to hear him tell of his royal ancestor.

"Yes, chillun," he would say, "yo' Uncle Jack, my ancestor, was hired out to de oldes' college in de United States, William en Mary, named atter Marse William en Miss Mary from London who give 'em de groun' to build de college on, en de town what 'twas built in was de capital in dem days en was de oldes' corporal town in ole Virginny. De firs' newspaper, too, was printed dar. Yo' Uncle Jack had charge of all de books at de college en dey says ev'y time he'd dus' de books dat Marse Robert Dinsmore give to de college he'd stop en read de adbertisement writ on 'em, 'Ubi Libertas Ibi Patria,' en say to hisse'f, 'I wonder why on earf Marse Robert Dinsmore want to separate dat po' couple for, when he was rich en could a bought Libi en Pat bofe hisse'f 'stead a orderin' de yuther man to buy Libi en sayin' he was gwine to buy Pat.'"

Uncle Bosun told us how the preachers of all denominations, though they were half-starved in those days, had joined together and bought Uncle Jack from his owners and given him his freedom. He was not only good but brave and always spoke his mind without fear, telling the negroes when they would shout at revival meetings that it was scandalous for them to make so much fuss about such a calm and serious thing as religion, that they put him in mind of the little brooks after a rain, soon full, then noisy, roaring and rushing, then just as soon empty again. He asked them to try to be more dignified with their religion and more like the great, broad, deep river, for he said he had noticed that the more ignorant folks were, the more shallow their religion was, and the more noise they made over it, just like the dry and no account leaves, he said, that always make more noise when the wind blows through them than the green ones do.

A rich man, Mr. Haxall, owner of Haxall's mills--the mills that made the only flour in the United States in those days that could be carried across the ocean without spoiling--had, like many gentlemen of that time, a habit of profanity. One day when he was swearing Uncle Jack asked if he wouldn't please, being a rich and mighty man, set an example to the world and quit swearing. Mr. Haxall replied:

"Jack, old man, what for? I'm very well satisfied with myself as I am. I don't know what more I want than I have. In fact, as far as I can see, Jack, I'm just as well off as any of you Christians."

"Jest so, Marser, jest so wid de horgs," said Uncle Jack. "You know, suh, I's often stood en watched 'em rootin' 'mongst de leaves in de woods en findin' as many acorns as dey could pos'bly eat en stuff en I ain't never yet seed one of dem horgs look up to de tree fum whar de acorns drapped."

Mr. Haxall, leaning on his cane, walked up and down the floor and then stopped in front of Uncle Jack and said:

"Well, old man, what you say is all true and after this I am going to look up to the tree."

VII

OUR FIRST CURRENCY

Among my childish recollections is an intricate combination of great-grandfathers, white mulberries, gold dollars, a lone eye, guinea eggs, pipes, and bloody massacres, all centering around a visit from my own great-grandfather, Dr. John Phillips, and his friend, Judge John Y. Mason.

"Somebody's comin' down de lane en it's ole Marser, kase I knows him by his high-top gig en his star-face critter," called out a little colored boy, George Washington Cæsar Napoleon Bonaparte, whose keen eyes had caught sight of an approaching gig. "Dar's anudder gemman alongside of him en anudder li'l boy settin' in de foots of de gig."

By the time the visitors were at the gate, heralded by the barking dogs and the little colored children calling "H-y-e-r comes ole Marser, h-y-e-r comes ole Marser!" the whole family had assembled on the veranda to welcome the guests.

The first to alight was a graceful, courtly old man with the bearing of a soldier--my great-grandfather. The artificial eye which had taken the place of one of those provided by Nature was a badge of heroism, reminiscent of the war of 1812. After affectionate greetings from children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, servants and dogs, he held out his hands to his companion and assisted him to alight.

"This," he said, "is my young friend, Judge John Y. Mason, whom you know."

From my great-grandfather's point of view, Judge Mason may have been youthful, but from mine he was of great age, less venerable than his friend and companion only because he lacked the distinguishing title of patriarchal relationship, and looked out upon the world, like ordinary people, through two eyes.

"And this," he said, jumping the little boy out, "is my still younger friend, Ned Drewry, whose family you know."

Then began the unpacking of the gig-box, which we eagerly watched. I remember being especially interested in a bucket of white mulberries and a basket of guinea eggs.

Later, as a reward for reciting "Little Drops of Water," I received a shiny gold dollar, one of the first minted.

When I hear the lament of to-day, that there is no money in poetry, I recall my early lesson to the contrary. My first effort having been so successful I gave "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" as a voluntary, in the mercenary hope that the twinkles, like the drops, might be transmuted into gold. After curtseying to my great-grandfather my thanks for the dollar I ran across the room and, looking inquiringly at Judge Mason, asked:

"Are you anybody's great-grandfather? No, 'course you couldn't be, 'cause you've got two eyes."

As my own great-grandfather was the only relation of that rank whom I had ever seen, it had been borne in upon my mind that a single eye was the distinguishing characteristic of great-grandfathers.

Judge Mason's manner of smoking next attracted my attention. I had never seen a pipe used except by the negroes on the plantation.