Hubert's Wife Part 13

Upon this occasion the preacher seemed troubled with unusual indistinctness of vision. He took his gla.s.ses from his nose more than once, violently rubbing them with his spotless handkerchief. Taking up his book for the third time, his eyes or his spectacles seemed still to be at fault. Perplexed and irritated, he exclaimed, unguardedly:

"Dog-gone-it! my eyes are dim; I cannot see to read this hymn."

The congregation supposing it all right, tuned up, and repeated it, though one would have been at great loss to make sense out of the myriad-syllabled confusion.

The preacher, surprised, attempted to explain. He said energetically, book still in hand:

"I did not mean to sing that hymn, I only meant my eyes were dim."

The simple people, still supposing the hymn to be continued, again poured forth volumes of sound.

In vain the preacher gesticulated, stamped, and threatened. So varied usually were the performances, this was thought to be but part of the programme. When the music hushed again the preacher cried:

"The devil must be in you all, that is no hymn to sing at all!"

Were those black people wilfully stupid? By no means. They did not know but they were doing as they had always done. The hymn-book was Greek to them, words were words; therefore they took up Uncle Mat's last words as innocently as if they had been

"On Jordan's stormy banks I stand, And cast a wishful eye."

Uncle Mat's patience gave out completely; he hurled his book at the musical leader's head:

"Dere, now see if ye can stop yer 'fernal noise. What bizness yer sing dat? Dats nothin' for to sing. You don't know nothin'. You biggest heap o' wooly heads I eber did see. Was der eber such a pack o'

ignerant-ramuses eber in dis world afore? I answer 'firmatively--no!

What's de use o' temptin' to preach to sich people? Dey wouldn't know if one was to rise from de dead. Not know de diff'rence 'tween psalm tunes an nuffin else! Dis people be dismissed."

The latter sentence was p.r.o.nounced most disdainfully. The chorister, with head unbroken, and temper unruffled, arose and begged they might all be forgiven their heedlessness; it would be so great a disappointment to have the meeting broken up so prematurely, it would give them great pleasure if Uncle Mat would be _so_ kind as to dispense with singing and proceed to prayers and exhortations. One or two other prominent members followed in much the same strain, flattering the indignant preacher by making special reference to his eloquence and popularity.

This had the desired effect. Uncle Mat became mollified, and wiping the angry perspiration from his brow, he embarked upon his longest prayer--during which our China and many others fell fast asleep.

CHAPTER XV.

KIZZIE.

"Lucy," said Mrs. Lisle, to a dwarfed child of thirteen years, who was one of those creatures expected to "run two ways at once," "run, Lucy, and tell Kizzie to come straight here to me."

The winged child came speedily back, accompanied by the weaver, a stolid looking old negress named Kizzie.

"Kizzie," exclaimed her mistress, "I know you have stolen the cover to that barrel that has been standing for so long outside the store-room."

"What for should I want wid de cover, Missis?" inquired the servant.

"That is for you to tell, and right soon too--do you hear me?"

"I have never touched the cover, Missis."

"I do not believe you. Who has then?"

"Sure, an' I doesn't know. You allus lays eberyting on to me, Missis, when I'se jes as in'cent--"

"I wish to hear none of your palaver. You have stolen from me repeatedly; you know you have been just as hateful as you could be ever since--ever since Joe went away."

Mrs. Lisle had not designed this reference to Joe. Any mention of his name only made Kizzie more intractable.

Kizzie had been standing upon the threshold of her mistress' chamber, upon which she now sank down as if she had been shot. She had rolled herself into a ball, her grey head buried in her lap, from which issued the most protracted unearthly howl. This was succeeded by pa.s.sionate e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns, in which "my poor Joe--my poor dear Joe, my baby--my last and only one"--were alone distinguishable.

"Kizzie, stop that acting, and get up from there," commanded Mrs. Lisle.

The ball swayed to and fro, but evinced no disposition for unbending.

"Bring me the whip, Lucy--we shall see."

The blows fell heavy and fast, but as for outward demonstration, cry or moan, that human form might as well have been a cotton bale.

The wearied hand of the mistress dropped by her side. She leaned against the cas.e.m.e.nt panting for breath. Then Kizzie uprose tearless and stern.

"Miss Rusha, after this cruel floggin', I've a right to speak; but if you had a human heart I would not have this much to say. One after another ye sold my four big boys to the slave-buyer. You promised you would leave me my baby--my Joe. When he was fourteen years old you sold him too. You rob me of my five boys, and you 'cuse _me_ of stealin' a barrel-cover! Miss Rusha, de judgments of de Lord will come upon you.

Dis is my prayer, ebery day, ebery hour. Ye may whip, ye may kill--my prayer is mine own prayer to pray."

"Lucy," exclaimed Mrs. Lisle, now able again to speak, "run down to Thornton Hall and tell Mr. Hill to come here at once."

Mr. Hill was Mrs. Lisle's overseer.

"You will do no such thing, Lucy; and, madam, you have done enough,"

said the indignant voice of Mr. Lisle, who had entered upon the scene.

"Go to your cabin, Kizzie; call for Amy and take her along with you."

Kizzie disappeared, and Mr. Lisle, meeting boldly the angered face of his wife, inquired into the origin of this disgraceful scene.

"Kizzie is mine, not yours. I have a right to do with my slaves as pleases me," said the wife.

"If you have a slave who deserves kindness at your hands, it is Kizzie.

You have cruelly wronged her. To have killed her outright would have been a kindness compared to the injury you have inflicted upon her."

"How you talk, Duncan Lisle! One would think you a northern abolitionist.

I understand whence you imbibed such principles"--sneeringly--"just as though one has not a perfect right to sell a slave if he wishes to!

Don't talk to me in any such way. I have done nothing that I need be sorry for. But Kizzie is indeed the most hateful slave on the plantation. I believe she steals just for the sake of stealing. What earthly use could she have for that cover, which she denies having taken, but which has mysteriously disappeared just when I happened to want it?"

"To what cover do you refer?" questioned her husband.

He was informed.

"I saw some little black fellows rolling something of the kind back of the stables this morning. Lucy, go hunt them up, and have the cover found. Is such a trifle sufficient to drive you into a pa.s.sion, in which you accuse and punish an innocent person wrongfully?"

"I repeat to you, Mr. Lisle, that I shall do as I please with my own servants, and yours too, as you will find, and _have_ found, I should think. Moreover, I am not going to be lectured by you as if I were a child"--Mrs. Lisle flung herself out of the room, to vent her bad humor upon whatever ill-starred persons should cross her path.