And behold the tears of such as are oppressed; and on the side oftheir oppressors there was power. Wherefore I praised the dead that arealready dead more than the living that are yet alive.--ECCL. 4:1.

It was late at night, and Tom lay groaning and bleeding alone, in an oldforsaken room of the gin-house, among pieces of broken machinery, pilesof damaged cotton, and other rubbish which had there accumulated.

The night was damp and close, and the thick air swarmed with myriads ofmosquitos, which increased the restless torture of his wounds; whilsta burning thirst--a torture beyond all others--filled up the uttermostmeasure of physical anguish.

"O, good Lord! _Do_ look down,--give me the victory!--give me thevictory over all!" prayed poor Tom, in his anguish.

A footstep entered the room, behind him, and the light of a lanternflashed on his eyes.

"Who's there? O, for the Lord's massy, please give me some water!"

The woman Cassy--for it was she,--set down her lantern, and, pouringwater from a bottle, raised his head, and gave him drink. Another andanother cup were drained, with feverish eagerness.

"Drink all ye want," she said; "I knew how it would be. It isn't thefirst time I've been out in the night, carrying water to such as you."

"Thank you, Missis," said Tom, when he had done drinking.

"Don't call me Missis! I'm a miserable slave, like yourself,--a lowerone than you can ever be!" said she, bitterly; "but now," said she,going to the door, and dragging in a small pallaise, over which she hadspread linen cloths wet with cold water, "try, my poor fellow, to rollyourself on to this."

Stiff with wounds and bruises, Tom was a long time in accomplishing thismovement; but, when done, he felt a sensible relief from the coolingapplication to his wounds.

The woman, whom long practice with the victims of brutality had madefamiliar with many healing arts, went on to make many applications toTom's wounds, by means of which he was soon somewhat relieved.

"Now," said the woman, when she had raised his head on a roll of damagedcotton, which served for a pillow, "there's the best I can do for you."

Tom thanked her; and the woman, sitting down on the floor, drew up herknees, and embracing them with her arms, looked fixedly before her, witha bitter and painful expression of countenance. Her bonnet fell back,and long wavy streams of black hair fell around her singular andmelancholy-face.

"It's no use, my poor fellow!" she broke out, at last, "it's of no use,this you've been trying to do. You were a brave fellow,--you had theright on your side; but it's all in vain, and out of the question, foryou to struggle. You are in the devil's hands;--he is the strongest, andyou must give up!"

Give up! and, had not human weakness and physical agony whisperedthat, before? Tom started; for the bitter woman, with her wild eyes andmelancholy voice, seemed to him an embodiment of the temptation withwhich he had been wrestling.

"O Lord! O Lord!" he groaned, "how can I give up?"

"There's no use calling on the Lord,--he never hears," said the woman,steadily; "there isn't any God, I believe; or, if there is, he's takensides against us. All goes against us, heaven and earth. Everything ispushing us into hell. Why shouldn't we go?"

Tom closed his eyes, and shuddered at the dark, atheistic words.

"You see," said the woman, "_you_ don't know anything about it--I do.I've been on this place five years, body and soul, under this man'sfoot; and I hate him as I do the devil! Here you are, on a loneplantation, ten miles from any other, in the swamps; not a white personhere, who could testify, if you were burned alive,--if you were scalded,cut into inch-pieces, set up for the dogs to tear, or hung up andwhipped to death. There's no law here, of God or man, that can do you,or any one of us, the least good; and, this man! there's no earthlything that he's too good to do. I could make any one's hair rise, andtheir teeth chatter, if I should only tell what I've seen and beenknowing to, here,--and it's no use resisting! Did I _want_ to live withhim? Wasn't I a woman delicately bred; and he,--God in heaven! whatwas he, and is he? And yet, I've lived with him, these five years, andcursed every moment of my life,--night and day! And now, he's got anew one,--a young thing, only fifteen, and she brought up, she says,piously. Her good mistress taught her to read the Bible; and she'sbrought her Bible here--to hell with her!"--and the woman laughed awild and doleful laugh, that rung, with a strange, supernatural sound,through the old ruined shed.

Tom folded his hands; all was darkness and horror.

"O Jesus! Lord Jesus! have you quite forgot us poor critturs?" burstforth, at last;--"help, Lord, I perish!"

The woman sternly continued:

"And what are these miserable low dogs you work with, that you shouldsuffer on their account? Every one of them would turn against you, thefirst time they got a chance. They are all of 'em as low and cruel toeach other as they can be; there's no use in your suffering to keep fromhurting them."

"Poor critturs!" said Tom,--"what made 'em cruel?--and, if I give out,I shall get used to 't, and grow, little by little, just like 'em! No,no, Missis! I've lost everything,--wife, and children, and home, and akind Mas'r,--and he would have set me free, if he'd only lived a weeklonger; I've lost everything in _this_ world, and it's clean gone,forever,--and now I _can't_ lose Heaven, too; no, I can't get to bewicked, besides all!"

"But it can't be that the Lord will lay sin to our account," said thewoman; "he won't charge it to us, when we're forced to it; he'll chargeit to them that drove us to it."

"Yes," said Tom; "but that won't keep us from growing wicked. If I getto be as hard-hearted as that ar' Sambo, and as wicked, it won't makemuch odds to me how I come so; it's the bein' so,--that ar's what I'm adreadin'."

The woman fixed a wild and startled look on Tom, as if a new thought hadstruck her; and then, heavily groaning, said,

"O God a' mercy! you speak the truth! O--O--O!"--and, with groans, shefell on the floor, like one crushed and writhing under the extremity ofmental anguish.

There was a silence, a while, in which the breathing of both partiescould be heard, when Tom faintly said, "O, please, Missis!"

The woman suddenly rose up, with her face composed to its usual stern,melancholy expression.

"Please, Missis, I saw 'em throw my coat in that ar' corner, and in mycoat-pocket is my Bible;--if Missis would please get it for me."

Cassy went and got it. Tom opened, at once, to a heavily marked passage,much worn, of the last scenes in the life of Him by whose stripes we arehealed.

"If Missis would only be so good as read that ar',--it's better thanwater."

Cassy took the book, with a dry, proud air, and looked over the passage.She then read aloud, in a soft voice, and with a beauty of intonationthat was peculiar, that touching account of anguish and of glory. Often,as she read, her voice faltered, and sometimes failed her altogether,when she would stop, with an air of frigid composure, till she hadmastered herself. When she came to the touching words, "Father forgivethem, for they know not what they do," she threw down the book, and,burying her face in the heavy masses of her hair, she sobbed aloud, witha convulsive violence.

Tom was weeping, also, and occasionally uttering a smotheredejaculation.

"If we only could keep up to that ar'!" said Tom;--"it seemed to come sonatural to him, and we have to fight so hard for 't! O Lord, help us! Oblessed Lord Jesus, do help us!"

"Missis," said Tom, after a while, "I can see that, some how, you'requite 'bove me in everything; but there's one thing Missis might learneven from poor Tom. Ye said the Lord took sides against us, because helets us be 'bused and knocked round; but ye see what come on his ownSon,--the blessed Lord of Glory,--wan't he allays poor? and have we,any on us, yet come so low as he come? The Lord han't forgot us,--I'msartin' o' that ar'. If we suffer with him, we shall also reign,Scripture says; but, if we deny Him, he also will deny us. Didn't theyall suffer?--the Lord and all his? It tells how they was stoned andsawn asunder, and wandered about in sheep-skins and goat-skins, and wasdestitute, afflicted, tormented. Sufferin' an't no reason to make usthink the Lord's turned agin us; but jest the contrary, if only we holdon to him, and doesn't give up to sin."

"But why does he put us where we can't help but sin?" said the woman.

"I think we _can_ help it," said Tom.

"You'll see," said Cassy; "what'll you do? Tomorrow they'll be at youagain. I know 'em; I've seen all their doings; I can't bear to think ofall they'll bring you to;--and they'll make you give out, at last!"

"Lord Jesus!" said Tom, "you _will_ take care of my soul? O Lord,do!--don't let me give out!"

"O dear!" said Cassy; "I've heard all this crying and praying before;and yet, they've been broken down, and brought under. There's Emmeline,she's trying to hold on, and you're trying,--but what use? You must giveup, or be killed by inches."

"Well, then, I _will_ die!" said Tom. "Spin it out as long as they can,they can't help my dying, some time!--and, after that, they can't dono more. I'm clar, I'm set! I _know_ the Lord'll help me, and bring methrough."

The woman did not answer; she sat with her black eyes intently fixed onthe floor.

"May be it's the way," she murmured to herself; "but those that _have_given up, there's no hope for them!--none! We live in filth, and growloathsome, till we loathe ourselves! And we long to die, and wedon't dare to kill ourselves!--No hope! no hope! no hope?--this girlnow,--just as old as I was!

"You see me now," she said, speaking to Tom very rapidly; "see what Iam! Well, I was brought up in luxury; the first I remember is, playingabout, when I was a child, in splendid parlors,--when I was kept dressedup like a doll, and company and visitors used to praise me. There wasa garden opening from the saloon windows; and there I used to playhide-and-go-seek, under the orange-trees, with my brothers and sisters.I went to a convent, and there I learned music, French and embroidery,and what not; and when I was fourteen, I came out to my father'sfuneral. He died very suddenly, and when the property came to besettled, they found that there was scarcely enough to cover the debts;and when the creditors took an inventory of the property, I was set downin it. My mother was a slave woman, and my father had always meant toset me free; but he had not done it, and so I was set down in the list.I'd always known who I was, but never thought much about it. Nobody everexpects that a strong, healthy man is going to die. My father was a wellman only four hours before he died;--it was one of the first choleracases in New Orleans. The day after the funeral, my father's wife tookher children, and went up to her father's plantation. I thought theytreated me strangely, but didn't know. There was a young lawyer who theyleft to settle the business; and he came every day, and was about thehouse, and spoke very politely to me. He brought with him, one day, ayoung man, whom I thought the handsomest I had ever seen. I shall neverforget that evening. I walked with him in the garden. I was lonesome andfull of sorrow, and he was so kind and gentle to me; and he told me thathe had seen me before I went to the convent, and that he had loved mea great while, and that he would be my friend and protector;--in short,though he didn't tell me, he had paid two thousand dollars for me, and Iwas his property,--I became his willingly, for I loved him. Loved!"said the woman, stopping. "O, how I _did_ love that man! How I love himnow,--and always shall, while I breathe! He was so beautiful, so high,so noble! He put me into a beautiful house, with servants, horses, andcarriages, and furniture, and dresses. Everything that money could buy,he gave me; but I didn't set any value on all that,--I only cared forhim. I loved him better than my God and my own soul, and, if I tried, Icouldn't do any other way from what he wanted me to.

"I wanted only one thing--I did want him to _marry_ me. I thought, if heloved me as he said he did, and if I was what he seemed to think I was,he would be willing to marry me and set me free. But he convincedme that it would be impossible; and he told me that, if we were onlyfaithful to each other, it was marriage before God. If that is true,wasn't I that man's wife? Wasn't I faithful? For seven years, didn't Istudy every look and motion, and only live and breathe to please him? Hehad the yellow fever, and for twenty days and nights I watched with him.I alone,--and gave him all his medicine, and did everything for him; andthen he called me his good angel, and said I'd saved his life. We hadtwo beautiful children. The first was a boy, and we called him Henry.He was the image of his father,--he had such beautiful eyes, such aforehead, and his hair hung all in curls around it; and he had all hisfather's spirit, and his talent, too. Little Elise, he said, looked likeme. He used to tell me that I was the most beautiful woman in Louisiana,he was so proud of me and the children. He used to love to have me dressthem up, and take them and me about in an open carriage, and hearthe remarks that people would make on us; and he used to fill my earsconstantly with the fine things that were said in praise of me and thechildren. O, those were happy days! I thought I was as happy as any onecould be; but then there came evil times. He had a cousin come to NewOrleans, who was his particular friend,--he thought all the world ofhim;--but, from the first time I saw him, I couldn't tell why, I dreadedhim; for I felt sure he was going to bring misery on us. He got Henry togoing out with him, and often he would not come home nights till twoor three o'clock. I did not dare say a word; for Henry was so highspirited, I was afraid to. He got him to the gaming-houses; and hewas one of the sort that, when he once got a going there, there was noholding back. And then he introduced him to another lady, and I saw soonthat his heart was gone from me. He never told me, but I saw it,--Iknew it, day after day,--I felt my heart breaking, but I could not saya word! At this, the wretch offered to buy me and the children of Henry,to clear off his gambling debts, which stood in the way of his marryingas he wished;--and _he sold us_. He told me, one day, that he hadbusiness in the country, and should be gone two or three weeks. He spokekinder than usual, and said he should come back; but it didn't deceiveme. I knew that the time had come; I was just like one turned intostone; I couldn't speak, nor shed a tear. He kissed me and kissed thechildren, a good many times, and went out. I saw him get on his horse,and I watched him till he was quite out of sight; and then I fell down,and fainted.

"Then _he_ came, the cursed wretch! he came to take possession. He toldme that he had bought me and my children; and showed me the papers. Icursed him before God, and told him I'd die sooner than live with him."

"'Just as you please,' said he; 'but, if you don't behave reasonably,I'll sell both the children, where you shall never see them again.' Hetold me that he always had meant to have me, from the first time he sawme; and that he had drawn Henry on, and got him in debt, on purpose tomake him willing to sell me. That he got him in love with another woman;and that I might know, after all that, that he should not give up for afew airs and tears, and things of that sort.

"I gave up, for my hands were tied. He had my children;--whenever Iresisted his will anywhere, he would talk about selling them, and hemade me as submissive as he desired. O, what a life it was! to live withmy heart breaking, every day,--to keep on, on, on, loving, when it wasonly misery; and to be bound, body and soul, to one I hated. I used tolove to read to Henry, to play to him, to waltz with him, and sing tohim; but everything I did for this one was a perfect drag,--yet I wasafraid to refuse anything. He was very imperious, and harsh to thechildren. Elise was a timid little thing; but Henry was bold andhigh-spirited, like his father, and he had never been brought under, inthe least, by any one. He was always finding fault, and quarrelling withhim; and I used to live in daily fear and dread. I tried to make thechild respectful;--I tried to keep them apart, for I held on to thosechildren like death; but it did no good. _He sold both those children_.He took me to ride, one day, and when I came home, they were nowhere tobe found! He told me he had sold them; he showed me the money, the priceof their blood. Then it seemed as if all good forsook me. I raved andcursed,--cursed God and man; and, for a while, I believe, he really wasafraid of me. But he didn't give up so. He told me that my children weresold, but whether I ever saw their faces again, depended on him; andthat, if I wasn't quiet, they should smart for it. Well, you can doanything with a woman, when you've got her children. He made me submit;he made me be peaceable; he flattered me with hopes that, perhaps, hewould buy them back; and so things went on, a week or two. One day, Iwas out walking, and passed by the calaboose; I saw a crowd about thegate, and heard a child's voice,--and suddenly my Henry broke away fromtwo or three men who were holding him, and ran, screaming, and caughtmy dress. They came up to him, swearing dreadfully; and one man, whoseface I shall never forget, told him that he wouldn't get away so; thathe was going with him into the calaboose, and he'd get a lesson therehe'd never forget. I tried to beg and plead,--they only laughed; thepoor boy screamed and looked into my face, and held on to me, until, intearing him off, they tore the skirt of my dress half away; and theycarried him in, screaming 'Mother! mother! mother!' There was one manstood there seemed to pity me. I offered him all the money I had, ifhe'd only interfere. He shook his head, and said that the boy had beenimpudent and disobedient, ever since he bought him; that he was goingto break him in, once for all. I turned and ran; and every step of theway, I thought that I heard him scream. I got into the house; ran, allout of breath, to the parlor, where I found Butler. I told him, andbegged him to go and interfere. He only laughed, and told me the boyhad got his deserts. He'd got to be broken in,--the sooner the better;'what did I expect?' he asked.

"It seemed to me something in my head snapped, at that moment. I feltdizzy and furious. I remember seeing a great sharp bowie-knife on thetable; I remember something about catching it, and flying upon him; andthen all grew dark, and I didn't know any more,--not for days and days.

"When I came to myself, I was in a nice room,--but not mine. An oldblack woman tended me; and a doctor came to see me, and there was agreat deal of care taken of me. After a while, I found that he had goneaway, and left me at this house to be sold; and that's why they tooksuch pains with me.

"I didn't mean to get well, and hoped I shouldn't; but, in spite of methe fever went off and I grew healthy, and finally got up. Then, theymade me dress up, every day; and gentlemen used to come in and standand smoke their cigars, and look at me, and ask questions, and debatemy price. I was so gloomy and silent, that none of them wanted me. Theythreatened to whip me, if I wasn't gayer, and didn't take some painsto make myself agreeable. At length, one day, came a gentleman namedStuart. He seemed to have some feeling for me; he saw that somethingdreadful was on my heart, and he came to see me alone, a great manytimes, and finally persuaded me to tell him. He bought me, at last, andpromised to do all he could to find and buy back my children. He wentto the hotel where my Henry was; they told him he had been sold to aplanter up on Pearl River; that was the last that I ever heard. Then hefound where my daughter was; an old woman was keeping her. He offered animmense sum for her, but they would not sell her. Butler found out thatit was for me he wanted her; and he sent me word that I should neverhave her. Captain Stuart was very kind to me; he had a splendidplantation, and took me to it. In the course of a year, I had a sonborn. O, that child!--how I loved it! How just like my poor Henry thelittle thing looked! But I had made up my mind,--yes, I had. I wouldnever again let a child live to grow up! I took the little fellow in myarms, when he was two weeks old, and kissed him, and cried over him; andthen I gave him laudanum, and held him close to my bosom, while he sleptto death. How I mourned and cried over it! and who ever dreamed that itwas anything but a mistake, that had made me give it the laudanum? butit's one of the few things that I'm glad of, now. I am not sorry, tothis day; he, at least, is out of pain. What better than death couldI give him, poor child! After a while, the cholera came, and CaptainStuart died; everybody died that wanted to live,--and I,--I, though Iwent down to death's door,--_I lived!_ Then I was sold, and passed fromhand to hand, till I grew faded and wrinkled, and I had a fever; andthen this wretch bought me, and brought me here,--and here I am!"

The woman stopped. She had hurried on through her story, with a wild,passionate utterance; sometimes seeming to address it to Tom, andsometimes speaking as in a soliloquy. So vehement and overpowering wasthe force with which she spoke, that, for a season, Tom was beguiledeven from the pain of his wounds, and, raising himself on one elbow,watched her as she paced restlessly up and down, her long black hairswaying heavily about her, as she moved.

"You tell me," she said, after a pause, "that there is a God,--a Godthat looks down and sees all these things. May be it's so. The sistersin the convent used to tell me of a day of judgment, when everything iscoming to light;--won't there be vengeance, then!

"They think it's nothing, what we suffer,--nothing, what our childrensuffer! It's all a small matter; yet I've walked the streets when itseemed as if I had misery enough in my one heart to sink the city. I'vewished the houses would fall on me, or the stones sink under me. Yes!and, in the judgment day, I will stand up before God, a witness againstthose that have ruined me and my children, body and soul!

"When I was a girl, I thought I was religious; I used to love God andprayer. Now, I'm a lost soul, pursued by devils that torment me dayand night; they keep pushing me on and on--and I'll do it, too, some ofthese days!" she said, clenching her hand, while an insane light glancedin her heavy black eyes. "I'll send him where he belongs,--a short way,too,--one of these nights, if they burn me alive for it!" A wild, longlaugh rang through the deserted room, and ended in a hysteric sob; shethrew herself on the floor, in convulsive sobbing and struggles.

In a few moments, the frenzy fit seemed to pass off; she rose slowly,and seemed to collect herself.

"Can I do anything more for you, my poor fellow?" she said, approachingwhere Tom lay; "shall I give you some more water?"

There was a graceful and compassionate sweetness in her voice andmanner, as she said this, that formed a strange contrast with the formerwildness.

Tom drank the water, and looked earnestly and pitifully into her face.

"O, Missis, I wish you'd go to him that can give you living waters!"

"Go to him! Where is he? Who is he?" said Cassy.

"Him that you read of to me,--the Lord."

"I used to see the picture of him, over the altar, when I was a girl,"said Cassy, her dark eyes fixing themselves in an expression of mournfulreverie; "but, _he isn't here!_ there's nothing here, but sin and long,long, long despair! O!" She laid her hand on her breast and drew in herbreath, as if to lift a heavy weight.

Tom looked as if he would speak again; but she cut him short, with adecided gesture.

"Don't talk, my poor fellow. Try to sleep, if you can." And, placingwater in his reach, and making whatever little arrangements for hiscomforts she could, Cassy left the shed.