XIV.
“You have been a tower of strength to me, Jack, in the grief and trouble of the last three months. I don’t know what would have become of us all without your aid and comfort.”
So spoke Mr. John Dunlap. He appeared many years older than he did when three months before he arrived in Boston on board the “Adams.” He was bent, and care worn. Deep sorrow had taken the fire and mirth from his honest, kindly eyes.
“I am rejoiced and repaid if I have been able to be of service to those whom I love, and who have always been so kind to me,” replied Jack Dunlap simply.
The two men were seated in the library of the Dunlap mansion in the closing hour of that late November day, watching the heavy snow flakes falling without.
“Jack, I have meditated for several days upon what I am about to say and can find no way but to beg you to make more sacrifices for us,” said the old gentleman, after a lapse of several minutes.
“The condition in which our family is demands the presence of some younger, stronger head and hand than mine is now. I know the ‘Adams’ is refitted, after her two years of service, and ready for sea. I know you, my lad, and your reluctance to remain idle when you think that you should be at work.”
“To be frank, sir, you have hit upon a subject about which I desired to talk with you but have hesitated for several days,” said the young man, with something of relief in his tone.
“Well then, Jack, to begin with, I wish to charter your ship for a voyage and to show that it is no subterfuge to hold you here, I say at once I wish you to sail in her.” Mr. Dunlap paused for a moment to note the effect of his proposal and then continued,
“Let me go over the situation, Jack, and tell me if you do not agree in my conclusions. Lucy, while apparently restored in a degree to her former health, is still weak and looks fragile. The physicians advise me to take her to a warmer climate before our New England Winter sets in. Her dementia still continues, and while she is perfectly gentle and harmless, she will neither tolerate the presence of her husband, nor poor Mrs. Church, and is even not pleased or quiet in my company. I think my likeness to my beloved brother affects her. She clings to your good mother and to you, my lad, with the confident affection of a child. When she is not softly singing, as she rocks and smiles in a heartrending, far-off-way, some baby lullaby, she is flitting about the house like some sweet and sorrowful shadow. Can we, Jack, expose our girl in this condition to the unsympathetic gaze of strangers?”
“No, no, a thousand times no!” was the quick and emphatic answer of the younger man.
“Now listen, Jack. Since the death of that poor, little misshapen black creature, which innocently brought so much trouble into our lives, and, Jack, your thoughtfulness in having it buried quietly in Bedford instead of here is something I shall never forget. But to return to Lucy: Since that object is out of the way, and after the consultation of those great specialists in mental disorder cases, I am led to hope that Lucy may be restored to us in all the glory of her former mental condition.”
“God speed the day,” exclaimed Jack fervently and reverently.
“The specialists affirm that as this aberration of mind was produced by a shock and as there is no inherited insanity involved in the case, that the restoration may occur at any moment in the most unexpected manner. A surprise, shock or some accident may instantly produce the joyful change.
“It is for that very reason that I have insisted that Burton should remain near at hand, and ready to respond to a call from the restored wife for her husband’s presence. We must bear in mind the fact that Lucy, before this hallucination, was devotedly attached to her husband and grandfather. With the return of her reason we may justly expect the return of her former affections and feelings,” interrupted Jack by way of explanation of something he had done.
“I know that, Jack, and approve of your course, but I am only a weak human creature, and notwithstanding the injunction of my dying brother to blame no one, I cannot eradicate from my mind a feeling of animosity toward Burton. I know that he is not culpable, but still I should be glad to have him pass out of our lives, if it were not for the probable effect upon Lucy if she ever be restored to reason. However, I was not displeased by his decision to return to his own house, the ‘Eyrie,’ until his presence was required here.”
“Burton’s position, sir, has been a very trying one. I may say a very dreadful one, and I think that he has acted in a very manly, courageous manner, sir, and I think it our duty, as Christian men, to put aside even our natural repugnance to the author of our misfortune and be lenient toward one who has suffered as well as ourselves.”
The young sailor stopped, hesitated, and then jerked out the words
“And to be frank and outspoken with you, sir, by heavens! I am saving him for Lucy’s sake; if she wish him, when she know all, she shall have him safe and sound if it cost my life.” There was a fierce determination in Jack’s voice that boded no good to Burton should he attempt to disappear, nor to any one who attempted to injure the man whom Lucy’s loyal sailor knight was safe-keeping for his hopeless love’s sake.
“Jack, I love you, lad.” was all that the old Dunlap said, but he knew and felt the grandeur of the character of the man, who pressed the dagger down into his own heart, to save a single pang to the woman whom he loved so unselfishly.
“But to resume the recital of my plans and our situation,” said the old gentleman settling back in his chair. He had leaned forward to pat Jack on the shoulder.
“We agree that Lucy cannot be subjected to the scrutiny and criticism of strangers. I propose, that as the physicians advise a warmer climate, to charter the ‘Adams,’ have the cabin remodeled to accommodate Lucy, your mother, the nurse and Lucy’s maid, and to take them all with me to Haiti, just as soon as the changes in the accommodations on your ship can be made.”
“Burton goes with us, of course,” said Jack, assertively.
“Well, I had not determined that point. What do you think?”
“Decidedly, yes! The business may suffer, but let it. What is business in comparison to the restoration of Lucy?” cried Jack in an aggressive tone of voice.
“It shall be as you think best, my lad. The business will not suffer in any event, for since Burton’s return to his position as manager, he has in some extraordinary manner become worthless in the management of the affairs of the house. He does not inspire the respect that he did formerly nor does he seem to possess the same self-confidence and decision of character that marked his manner before the events of the past few weeks. I don’t know what I should have done had it not been for Chapman. He has taken full charge of everything and will continue in control while I am absent, if you decide to take Burton along.”
“You surprise me, sir. I had noticed no alteration in Burton’s manner,” exclaimed Jack, sincerely astonished at what he heard.
“That is quite likely as he seems to regard you with a kind of awed respect, but nevertheless what I state is an absolute fact. When first he made his appearance at the office he endeavored by a brave, bold front to resume his position, but somehow his attempt was a lamentable failure. He seemed to feel that everyone was aware that there was something sham about his assumed dignity and authority and like an urchin caught masquerading in his father’s coat and hat, he has discarded the borrowed garments and relapsed into the character that nature gave him. Burton’s succeeding efforts to impress the office force and people with whom we do business with a sense of his importance have been absurdly laughable,” said Mr. Dunlap.
“The secret of the child, and all that concerns our family is confined to our own people, and a few old and faithful friends, is it not?” asked Jack in an anxious, troubled voice.
“Certainly, but that apparently does not lessen Burton’s sense of being garbed in stolen apparel. I can notice the dignity and culture of the white race growing less day by day in Burton’s speech and manner, just as frost-pictures on a window pane lessen each hour in the rays of the sun until naught remains but the naked and bared glass.”
“What will be the end of all this, if you be correct?” cried Jack.
“One by one the purloined habiliments of the superior race will disappear until finally he will stand forth stripped of the acquired veneering created by the culture of the white race, a negro. This transformation, which I think time will effect, recalls to me an example of the inordinate vanity and love of parading in borrowed plumage common to the negro race. During one of the numerous insurrections in Haiti I used to see one of the major generals of the insurgents—they had a dozen for every hundred privates—a big black fellow, strut about, puffed up with assumed importance and dignity. In less than one week after the insurrection was suppressed he was at my door selling fish. While there he began to ‘pat Juba,’ as he called it, and dance, giggling with childish glee and winding up the performance by begging me for a quarter. There you see the negro of it. Prick the balloon and when the borrowed elevating gas escapes the skin collapses immediately,” said John Dunlap, with the positiveness of a prophet.
“God grant that the end be not as you surmise or let God in His mercy continue our Lucy in her present condition. It were more merciful. History gives the records of men of the negro race who did not end their lives in the manner you suggest, however,” replied Jack, extracting a crumb of comfort from the last statement.
“True! my lad, true! There have been white elephants and white crows; in every forest occasionally a rare bird is found. So with the negro race, rare exceptions to the general rule do appear but so infrequently as to only accentuate the accuracy of the general rule.”
Walter Burton was seated at a table in his bedroom at the “Eyrie.” Before him were scattered letters, papers and writing material. It was late at night and he had evidently been engaged in assorting and destroying the contents of an iron box placed beside him on the floor. His elbows were on the table and his chin rested in both of his hands while he gazed meditatively at the flame in the lamp before him.
“I am, oh! so weary of this farce. How I long to be able to run away and be free,” he sighed as he said this to himself. After a little while he continued.
“The farce has been played to the final act. I know it. What is the use to continue upon the stage longer? Should Lucy’s mind return to its normal condition she must be informed of what has transpired and then my happiness will terminate anyhow. Of what earthly use is it for me to remain here. She might call for me at first, but only to repulse me at last. I am tolerated by old John Dunlap, hated or despised by the others except the noblest of them all, Jack Dunlap. He relies upon my word of honor. I must not lose his respect. I would to God I had given another the promise not to disappear.”
The man paused for some time in his soliloquy and then broke out again by exclaiming,
“The moment that the nurse showed the child to me a curtain of darkness seemed to roll back. I saw clearly what produced the strange spells that for so long have mystified me. I am a negro. My blood and natural inclinations are those common to the descendants of Ham. It matters not that my skin is white, I am still a negro. The acquirement of the education, culture and refinement of the white race has made no change in my blood and inherent instincts. I am ever a negro. Like a jaded harlot I may paint my face with the hues of health but I am like her, a diseased imitator of the healthy. I may have every outward and visible sign but the inward and spiritual grace of the white race is not and can never be mine. I am a wretched sham, fraud and libel upon the white race with my fair skin and affected manner.”
The man’s arms fell upon the table and he hid his head in them and groaned. Thus he remained for a short time, then raised his head and cried out,
“I even doubt that my Christianity is genuine and not a hollow mockery! The doctrine of Mahomet is received more readily, and practiced more consistently by my native race in its ancient home of Africa than the pure and elevating teachings of Christ. The laws of Mahomet seem more consistent with the sensual nature of my race than the chaste commands of Christ. History relates that Islamism is able to turn an African negro from idolatry where the Christian religion utterly fails. Are my protestations of faith in Christianity like my refinement, culture and manners, merely outward manifestations in imitation of the white race and as deceitful as is the color of my skin?”
Burton sat silent for several moments and then said in a tone of sad reminiscence.
“I recall how everything in the Christian religion or service that appealed to the emotional element within me aroused me, but is my nature as a negro, susceptible of receiving, retaining and appreciating permanently the truths of that purest and noblest of all faiths?” Again the man paused as if silently struggling to solve the problem suggested.
“It has of late, I know, become the fashion to refuse to accept the Scriptures literally, but there is one prophecy concerning the descendants of Ham which thousands of years have demonstrated as true.”
“The sculpture of that oldest of civilizations, the mother of all culture, the Egyptian, proves beyond a doubt that the children of Ham came in contact with the source of Greek and Roman culture yet they advanced not one step. The profiles of some even of the early Pharaohs as seen on their tombs furnish unmistakable proof of that contact in the Negroid type of the features of Egypt’s rulers.”
“The Romans carried civilization to every people whom they conquered and to those who escaped the Roman domination they bequeathed an impetus that urged them forward, with the single exception of the accursed Hamites.”
“The Arabs occupied Northern Africa and kept burning the torch of civilization in the chaos of the Dark Ages in Europe. The Arabs fraternized more freely with the sons of Ham than all other branches of the human race, but failed to push, pull or drive them along the highway of culture.”
“The negro race seems bound by that old Scriptural prophecy concerning the descendants of Ham. It does not advance beyond being the hewers of wood and drawers of water for the balance of mankind, notwithstanding five thousand years of opportunity and inducement.”
“The negro race in Africa, its ancestral land, can point to no ruined temples, no not even mounds like can the American Indians. It borrowed not even the art of laying stones from Egypt. It has no written language though the Phoenicians gave that blessing to the world. It has no religion worthy of the name, neither laws nor well defined language. Notwithstanding its association with Egyptian, Roman and Arabian culture and civilization, fountains for all of the thirsty white race, the negro race has benefited not at all. It is where it was five thousand years ago. God’s will be done!”
Burton paused while a sneer came to his lips when he began again speaking.
“Haiti, after decades of freedom, starting with the benefits conferred by the religion and civilization of one of the leading nations of earth, is the home today of ignorance, slothfulness and superstition. Every improvement made by the former white rulers neglected and passing away. In the hands of the white race it had now been a Paradise. Liberia is as dead, stagnant and torpid as if progress had vanished with the fostering care of the white nations that founded that republic.”
The young man ceased in recapitulating the failures of his race, but added with a sigh,
“In America! Well one may grow oranges in New England by covering the trees with glass and heating the conservatory, but break the glass or let the fire expire and the orange trees die. Break the civilization of the white race in America like the glass, let the fire of its culture become extinguished and alas for the exotic race and its artificial progress.”
“But enough of my race,” exclaimed Burton impatiently as he arose from the table and began walking about the room.
“Formerly I tried to curb an inclination that was incomprehensible. Now that I know the cause I rather enjoy the relapses into my natural self. I welcome the casting aside of the mask and affectation of the unreal. It is a relief. The restraint imposed by the presence of those who know me for what I am, is irksome. I long all day for the freedom of my isolation here in the ‘Eyrie’ where no prying eye is finely discriminating the real from the sham. I loath the office and the association there. Each day I seem to drop a link of the chain that binds me to an artificial existence.”
Suddenly an idea seemed to present some new phase to the soliloquizing man. He put his hand to his head as if in pain, and cried out,
“But the end! What shall it be?”