37.1-CHAPTER XXXVII Liberty part1-mt

CHAPTER XXXVII

Liberty part1

"No matterwith what solemnities he may have been devoted upon the altar of slavery, themoment he touches the sacred soil of Britain, the altar and the God sinktogether in the dust, and he stands redeemed, regenerated, and disenthralled,by the irresistible genius of universal emancipation." CURRAN.*

* John PhilpotCurran (1750-1817), Irish orator and judge
who worked for Catholic emancipation.

A while we mustleave Tom in the hands of his persecutors, while we turn to pursue the fortunesof George and his wife, whom we left in friendly hands, in a farmhouse on theroad-side.

Tom Loker we leftgroaning and touzling in a most immaculately clean Quaker bed, under themotherly supervision of Aunt Dorcas, who found him to the full as tractable apatient as a sick bison.

Imagine a tall,dignified, spiritual woman, whose clear muslin cap shades waves of silveryhair, parted on a broad, clear forehead, which overarches thoughtful gray eyes.A snowy handkerchief of lisse crape is folded neatly across her bosom; herglossy brown silk dress rustles peacefully, as she glides up and down the chamber.

"Thedevil!" says Tom Loker, giving a great throw to the bedclothes.

"I mustrequest thee, Thomas, not to use such language," says Aunt Dorcas, as shequietly rearranged the bed.

"Well, Iwon't, granny, if I can help it," says Tom; "but it is enough to makea fellow swear,—socursedly hot!"

Dorcas removed acomforter from the bed, straightened the clothes again, and tucked them in tillTom looked something like a chrysalis; remarking, as she did so,

"I wish,friend, thee would leave off cursing and swearing, and think upon thyways."

"What thedevil," said Tom, "should I think of them for? Lastthing ever I want to think of—hang it all!" And Tom flouncedover, untucking and disarranging everything, in a manner frightful to behold.

"That fellowand gal are here, I s'pose," said he, sullenly, after a pause.

"They areso," said Dorcas.

"They'd betterbe off up to the lake," said Tom; "the quicker the better."

"Probably theywill do so," said Aunt Dorcas, knitting peacefully.

"And harkye," said Tom; "we've got correspondents in Sandusky, that watch theboats for us. I don't care if I tell, now. I hope they will getaway, just to spite Marks,—the cursed puppy!—d—nhim!"

"Thomas!"said Dorcas.

"I tell you,granny, if you bottle a fellow up too tight, I shall split," said Tom."But about the gal,—tell'em to dress her up some way, so's to alter her. Her description's out inSandusky."

"We willattend to that matter," said Dorcas, with characteristic composure.

As we at this placetake leave of Tom Loker, we may as well say, that, having lain three weeks atthe Quaker dwelling, sick with a rheumatic fever, which set in, in company withhis other afflictions, Tom arose from his bed a somewhat sadder and wiser man;and, in place of slave-catching, betook himself to life in one of the newsettlements, where his talents developed themselves more happily in trappingbears, wolves, and other inhabitants of the forest, in which he made himselfquite a name in the land. Tom always spoke reverently of the Quakers. "Nicepeople," he would say; "wanted to convert me, but couldn't come it,exactly. But, tell ye what, stranger, they do fix up a sick fellow first rate,—no mistake. Make jistthe tallest kind o' broth and knicknacks."

As Tom had informedthem that their party would be looked for in Sandusky, it was thought prudentto divide them. Jim, with his old mother, was forwarded separately; and a nightor two after, George and Eliza, with their child, were driven privately intoSandusky, and lodged beneath a hospital roof, preparatory to taking their lastpassage on the lake.

Their night was nowfar spent, and the morning star of liberty rose fair before them!—electric word! What isit? Is there anything more in it than a name—arhetorical flourish? Why, men and women of America, does your heart's bloodthrill at that word, for which your fathers bled, and your braver mothers werewilling that their noblest and best should die?

Is there anythingin it glorious and dear for a nation, that is not also glorious and dear for aman? What is freedom to a nation, but freedom to the individuals in it? What isfreedom to that young man, who sits there, with his arms folded over his broadchest, the tint of African blood in his cheek, its dark fires in his eyes,—what is freedom to GeorgeHarris? To your fathers, freedom was the right of a nation to be a nation. Tohim, it is the right of a man to be a man, and not a brute; the right to callthe wife of his bosom his wife, and to protect her from lawless violence; theright to protect and educate his child; the right to have a home of his own, areligion of his own, a character of his own, unsubject to the will of another.All these thoughts were rolling and seething in George's breast, as he waspensively leaning his head on his hand, watching his wife, as she was adaptingto her slender and pretty form the articles of man's attire, in which it wasdeemed safest she should make her escape.

"Now forit," said she, as she stood before the glass, and shook down her silkyabundance of black curly hair. "I say, George, it's almost a pity, isn'tit," she said, as she held up some of it, playfully,—"pity it's allgot to come off?"

George smiledsadly, and made no answer.

Eliza turned to theglass, and the scissors glittered as one long lock after another was detachedfrom her head.

"There, now,that'll do," she said, taking up a hair-brush; "now for a few fancytouches."

"There, an't Ia pretty young fellow?" she said, turning around to her husband, laughingand blushing at the same time.

"You alwayswill be pretty, do what you will," said George.

"What doesmake you so sober?" said Eliza, kneeling on one knee, and laying her handon his. "We are only within twenty-four hours of Canada, they say. Only aday and a night on the lake, and then—oh, then!—"

"O,Eliza!" said George, drawing her towards him; "that is it! Now myfate is all narrowing down to a point. To come so near, to be almost in sight,and then lose all. I should never live under it, Eliza."

"Don'tfear," said his wife, hopefully. "The good Lord would not havebrought us so far, if he didn't mean to carry us through. I seem to feel himwith us, George."

"You are ablessed woman, Eliza!" said George, clasping her with a convulsive grasp."But,—oh,tell me! can this great mercy be for us? Will these years and years of miserycome to an end?—shall we be free?

"I am sure ofit, George," said Eliza, looking upward, while tears of hope andenthusiasm shone on her long, dark lashes. "I feel it in me, that God isgoing to bring us out of bondage, this very day."

"I willbelieve you, Eliza," said George, rising suddenly up, "I willbelieve,—comelet's be off. Well, indeed," said he, holding her off at arm's length, andlooking admiringly at her, "you are a pretty littlefellow. That crop of little, short curls, is quite becoming. Put on your cap.So—a little to one side. I never saw you look quite sopretty. But, it's almost time for the carriage;—Iwonder if Mrs. Smyth has got Harry rigged?"

The door opened,and a respectable, middle-aged woman entered, leading little Harry, dressed ingirl's clothes.

"What a prettygirl he makes," said Eliza, turning him round. "We call him Harriet,you see;—don'tthe name come nicely?"

The child stoodgravely regarding his mother in her new and strange attire, observing aprofound silence, and occasionally drawing deep sighs, and peeping at her fromunder his dark curls.

"Does Harryknow mamma?" said Eliza, stretching her hands toward him.