Having informed the reader that Ellen Juvarna was mother of Nicholas, whom she bore unto Marston, we will now draw aside the veil, that he may know her real origin and be the better prepared to appreciate the fate of her child. This name, then, was a fictitious one, which she had been compelled to take by Romescos, who stole her from her father, Neamathla, a Creek Indian. In 1820, this brave warrior ruled chief of the Mickasookees, a tribe of brave Indians settled on the borders of the lake of that name, in Florida. Old in deeds of valour, Neamathla sank into the grave in the happy belief that his daughter, the long-lost Nasarge, had been carried into captivity by chiefs of a hostile tribe, in whose chivalrous spirit she would find protection, and religious respect for her caste. Could that proud spirit have condescended to suppose her languishing in the hands of mercenary slave-dealers, his tomahawk had been first dipped in the blood of the miscreant, to avenge the foul deed. From Romescos, Nasarge, who had scarce seen her twelve summers, passed into the hands of one Silenus, who sold her to Marston, for that purpose a fair slave seems born to in our democratic world.
And now again must we beg the indulgence of the reader, while we turn to the counter-scene of this chapter. The influence of that consternation which had spread throughout the city, was not long in finding its way to the citadel, a massive fort commanding the city from the east. On the plat in front are three brass field-pieces, which a few artillery-men have wheeled out, loaded, and made ready to belch forth that awful signal, which the initiated translate thus:—"Proceed to the massacre! Dip deep your knives in the heart of every negro!"
Certain alarm bells are rung in case of an insurrection of the negroes, which, if accompanied by the firing of three guns at the citadel, is the signal for an onslaught of the whites. The author, on asking a gentleman why he exhibited so much fear, or why he deemed it necessary to put to the sword his faithful servants, answered,—"Slaves, no matter of what colour, sympathise with each other in their general condition of slavery. I could not, then, leave my family to the caprice of their feelings, while I sought the scene of action to aid in suppressing the outbreak." At the alarm-bell's first tap were the guns made ready-at the second peal were matchlocks lighted-and nervous men waited in breathless suspense the third and last signal peal from the Guard Tower. But, in a moment that had nearly proved fatal to thousands, and as the crash of musketry echoed in the air, a confused gunner applied the match: two vivid flashes issued from the cannon, their peals booming successively over the city. It was at that moment, citizens who had sought in their domiciles the better protection of their families might be seen in the tragic attitude of holding savage pistols and glistening daggers at the breasts of their terrified but faithful servants,—those, perhaps, whose only crime was sincerity, and an earnest attachment to master's interests. The booming of a third cannon, and they had fallen, victims of fear, at the feet of their deluded victors. Happily, an act of heroism (which we would record to the fame of the hero) saved the city that bloody climax we sicken while contemplating. Ere the third gun belched its order of death, a mounted officer, sensible of the result that gun would produce, dashed before its angry mouth, and at the top of his voice cried out-"In Heaven's name, lay your matchlock down: save the city!" Then galloping to the trail, the gunner standing motionless at the intrepid sight, he snatched the fiery torch from his hand, and dismounting, quenched it on the ground. Thus did he save the city that awful massacre the misdirected laws of a democratic state would have been accountable for to civilisation and the world.
CHAPTER LII. — IN WHICH ARE PLEASURES AND DISAPPOINTMENTS.
IN a former chapter of this narrative, have we described our fair fugitive, Annette, as possessing charms of no ordinary kind; indeed, she was fair and beautiful, and even in the slave world was by many called the lovely blonde. In a word, to have been deeply enamoured of her would have reflected the highest credit on the taste and sentiment of any gallant gentleman. Seeming strange would it be, then, if the stranger to whose care we confided her (and hereafter to be called Montague, that being his Christian name) should render himself liable to the charge of stupidity did these attractions not make a deep impression on his heart. And here we would not have the reader lay so grave a charge at his door; for, be it known, ye who are not insensible to love's electric force, that scarce had they reached New York, ere Montague began to look upon Annette with that species of compassion which so often, in the workings of nature's mystery, turns the sympathies of the heart into purest love. The misery or happiness of this poor girl he viewed as dependent on himself: this, forsooth, was strengthened by the sad recital of her struggles, which caused his sympathies to flow in mutual fellowship with her sorrows. As he esteemed her gentleness, so was he enamoured of her charms; but her sorrows carried the captive arrow into his bosom, where she fastened it with holding forth that wrist broken in defence of her virtue: nay, more, he could not refrain a caress, as in the simplicity of her heart she looked in his face smilingly, and said she would he were the father of her future in this life. But, when did not slavery interpose its barbarous obstacles?-when did it not claim for itself the interests of federal power, and the nation's indulgence?-when did it not regard with coldest indifference the good or ill of all beyond its own limits? The slave world loves itself; but, though self-love may now and then give out a degree of virtue, slavery has none to lead those beyond its own atmosphere. To avoid, then, the terrors to which, even on the free soil of the north, a fugitive slave is constantly liable, as also that serpent-like prejudice—for into the puritanic regions of New England, forsooth, does slavery spread its more refined objections to colour—which makes the manners of one class cold and icy, while acting like a dagger in the hearts of the other, was it necessary to change her name. How many of my fair readers, then, will recur to and recognise in the lovely Sylvia De Lacy—whose vivacity made them joyous in their school days, and whose charms all envied-the person of Annette Mazatlin. Nothing could be more true than that the pretty blonde, Sylvia De Lacy, who passed at school as the daughter of a rich Bahamian, was but the humble slave of our worthy wag, Mr. Pringle Blowers. But we beg the reader to remember that, as Sylvia De Lacy, with her many gallant admirers, she is a far different person from Annette the slave.
Clotilda is made acquainted with the steps Montague has taken in behalf of his charge, as also of a further intention he will carry out at the expiration of two years; which said intention is neither more nor less than the making Sylvia De Lacy his bride ere her school days have ended. In the earnestness of a heart teeming of joy, does Clotilda respond to the disclosures she is pleased to term glad tidings. Oft and fervently has she invoked the All-protecting hand to save her child from the licentious snares of slavery; and now that she is rescued, her soul can rest satisfied. How her heart rejoices to learn that her slave child will hereafter be happy in this life! ever will she pray that peace and prosperity reward their virtues. Her own prospects brighten with the thought that she may, ere long, see them under her own comfortable roof, and bestow a mother's love on the head of her long-lost child.
And now my reader will please to suppose these two years of school-days passed-that nuptial ceremony in which so many mingled their congratulations, and showered blandest smiles upon the fair bride, celebrated in a princely mansion not far from the aristocratic Union Square of New York-and our happy couple launched upon that path of matrimony some facetious old gentlemen have been pleased to describe as so crooked that others fear to journey upon it. They were indeed a happy couple, with each future prospect golden of fortune's sunshine. Did we describe in detail the reign of happiness portended on the bright day of that nuptial ceremony, how many would recognise the gay figures of those who enlivened the scene-how deceptive would seem the fair face of events-how obscured would be presented the life of a slave in this our world of freedom-how false that democracy so boastful of its even-handed rule!
Two years have rolled into the past, since Montague led the fair Sylvia to the altar. Pringle Blowers has pocketed the loss of his beauty, the happy couple have lost all thought of slavery, and a little responsibility coming in due time adds to make their happiness complete. Now the house to which Montague was connected in New York had an agent in New Orleans; which agent was his brother. In the course of time, then, and as the avenues of business expanded, was it deemed necessary to establish a branch house at Memphis, the affairs of which it was agreed should be conducted by Montague. To this new scene of life my reader will please suppose our happy couple, having journeyed by railroad to Cincinnatti, and with hearts gladdened of hope for the future, now gliding down that river of gorgeous banks, on board the good steamer bearing its name. As our young mother again enters the atmosphere of slavery, misgivings force themselves irresistibly upon her feelings. The very face of nature wears a sluggish air; the fresh, bright offspring of northern energy, so forcibly illustrated in the many cheerful looking villages here and there dotting its free soil, is nowhere to be seen,—society again puts forth its blighting distinctions: there is the man-owner's iron deportment contrasting with the abjectness of his slave: forcibly does the change recall scenes of the past. But, with the certain satisfaction that no one will recognize the slave in her, do those misgivings give way to the happier contemplation of her new home affording the means of extending a succouring hand to some poor mortal, suffering in that condition of life through which she herself has passed.