COLLECTION NORTH CAROLIN B.W. C.ROBERTS ANN CUR EME SS NAAT rs eres ae MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY, ESPECIALLY S USTE. A STORY OF SOUTHERN LIFE. BY GEO. G. SMITH, Author of “Harry Thornton,” “Berrys Triumph,” “Childhood and + Couverston,” etc. "A little child shall iead them.” (Bible.) SUNDAY SCHOOL DEPARTMENT. PusiisHinc House or THE Metuopist Episcora, CuuRCH, SOUTH. Barbee & Smitu, AGENTS, NASHVILLE, TENN. 1893. The Sherrod Library EAST TENNESSEE STATE UNIVERSITY —eO haperewos Entered, according to Act of Congress, E Book AGENTs oF THE MErtuHopist Epis In the Office of the Librarian of Congres. in the year 1892, Copal Cuurcn, Sout, Ss, at Washington. $$$ BY TH PREFACE. THE children—and as for that, the grown folks—don’t often read “ Prefaces,” and I shall not write a long one. A little girl had her mother to write and ask me to write a story for girls, and I could not refuse. The story has no plot; it is simply a series of pictures in the life of a child who might have lived when my dear mother lived, It is not a biography. Many of the in- cidents are true as I have toldthem. The story of that cruel school in Charleston, save that the picture of the teacher is imaginary, is as my mother told it to me. The conversion of Mr. Henry Hall found its parallel in the conversion of my grandfather’s brother. It has been my purpose in my three stories, ‘Harry Thorn- ton,” ‘ Berry’s Triumph,” and “Mr. Hall and His Family,” to give a true picture of a life gone out of sight never toreturn. There is neither poet nor fiction writer who has seemed to me to present the South as I know it. The “Georgia Scenes” and “ The Dukes- boro Tales” are accurate portrayals of a common fea- ture of life sixty years agqgbut, as I have already said in another “ Preface,” neither the “ Planter’s Son” nor the “ Georgia Cracker” has, as I think, been fully pic- tured. As to the Methodist, save to caricature him, or (3) 4 PREFACE. Se RS Ble gy ae to overpaint him, he has been almost entirely over- looked. The rector has had his full place. The good minister of the presbytery or the meeting has had his but the Methodist has had none. These stories are ai sectarian, but they are Methodist. They are Metho- dist, Southern, and I am neither disposed to deny it nor to apologize for it. Macon (Vineyille), Ga. Geo. G. Smirn. nese cemiaon nse Jew 5 £ f 4 4 CONTENTS. = CHAPTER I. PAGE The Family.........-..- ee bette ste AO OTe tb CwHaprTer II. A Great Question Settled........... as bien pralceios 14 Cuapter III. Making Ready for the Journey.........+s+++e+e 21 CHAPTER IV. They Make the Journey...........- See eats 28 CHAPTER V. Col. Alston and His Home........... SP eos 36 CuapTer VI. The New Home....... Vi apa aare tamale tater es teens 40 Cuaprer VII. ~ Daddy Jack and the Storm.........-+-- SHEEN ONE 51 CuaptTer VIII. Removal to the Up Country..........-+ pe wars 61 ~ Cuaprer IX. Life in Savannah......--..+6+, Felaviales eee es ore PS CHARTER x 82 Susie in Trouble... .....6ee. ever crescent sec eee es CHAPTER XI. “Dat Boy William”......-- Lira! CR Cer ee 87 i 6 oe ee ee : CHAPTER Susie Joins the Church aon PAGE Cuarrer XII They Move to Charleston eetieceeriers sitzele Ste facet gece ver ai Ms 99 ; CHAPTER X Miss Judith and Susie... ..; a | meee sere tee 104 ae : CHAPTER XY, usie’s Friends and Pleasures, DEL Aety i eNbleve aj ook SSE IIo ; Cuarrer XVI Patrick O'Flaherty, Bridget, and Teddy se wer 115 CuHaprer XV Mr. O’Flaherty’s Troubles. y slutsiersvetfelometecteehen Pent ay 21 126 ; ; CHAPTER XVIIT ; ‘A Little Child Shall Lead Them » Bayan ate anette ona Ropar maee prea 131 : CHAPTER XIX ‘Dat Boy William” Again., ote o:eyavs UIT ge 137 CHAPTE On Sullivan’s Island, ., ak wisidis olerpreriy eel ses Cra ta 144 - CHAPTER XXJI. ommy’s First Voyage. .., Diotgistere lee eisitnnts cn Ceuta I51 CHap dies Pevery = sean ae SACO OAM Marae 155 CHAPTR eee CHAE TER XXII : suace: rs fessdarote at soe) ate seteecige ey ah 164 CHAPTER More About Susie..,, ae COSUONEONANA AT Sa ee ere 174 Leet cat ee pad eee reba bayeeS rs t } i i WR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. GHAPTER 4. THE FAMILY. ILMINGTON, N. C., in 1817, was not large, but was a sprightly city, located on the Cape Fear River not many miles from its mouth. Vessels of a few hundred tons came easily to its wharves. The war with England had not long ended, and Wilming- ton was now full of work, for it was her part to supply the European ships with tur- pentine, pitch, resin, and tar, which were in great demand since the war had prevent- ed the East from getting its usual supply. Among the shipping merchants who had their warehouses on the wharves was the house of Mr. Henry Hall. He was the head of the house, and his younger broth- er, John, was his bookkeeper. @) MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. Mr. Henry Hall was some fifteen years older than his brother, and was a differ- ent man in every respect. He was a man of large wealth, busy, bustling, brusque; his brother was quiet, decided, and steady. The older brother was an avowed unbe- liever in Christianity, the younger a very positive and devoted Christian. He had, when a boy, been genuinely converted, and had joined the Society of Methodists, which at that time was the only organized Church in the city of Wilmington. This was much to his brother’s displeasure, but the boy whom he had largely brought up was very dear to him, and his religion did not seem to do him any harm, and so John became his bookkeeper and confidential clerk in spite of his connection with the ‘‘African Meetinghouse,’’ as the Methodist _ church in Wilmington was called. On the day this story opens, Mr. John Hall had finished his day’s work, and leav- ing the river bank had made his way up the hill on which his simple home was built. It was a neat little cottage, surrounded with live oaks. A yellow jasmine and a white ee THE FAMILY. 9 ‘rose clambered over the veranda, and a row of rosebushes bordered the walk. Two little girls were standing at the gate this bright April afternoon watching for their father’s coming: one, a black-eyed brunette of six; the other, a thoughtful, pale-faced little maid of four. ‘“‘Dere he is,’’ said Lizette, the elder. ‘¢T wonder what he brung me?”’ Susie was tripping toward him, and was soon in his strong arms, with her arms around his neck. ; ‘¢ What you bring me?”’ said Lizette. ‘©O Lizette! Lizette! always ‘What you bring me?’ even before you kiss me.”” ‘¢ Well, you’s bringed me somethin’; he loves you all the same, and [ll kiss you now.” And shekissed him; but not before she had fished an orange from his pocket, in which she found one for Susie too. ‘¢ Well, Kitten,’’ said the father to Susie, ‘‘ where have you been to-day? Did you P) 22 want to see papa! ‘«* Me always want to see papa. Me had radder see papa dan anybody but’’ — any here the little chit paused. 10 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. aera aeaeeicina mierda ‘Than who, pet?”’ ‘“‘“Anybody but God; me’d radder see God than anybody.”’ “‘ Well, that’s right; love God best of all. Did you go and see grandma?” **Yes,’’ said Lizette; « yes, we did; and she gived us ever so much cake.” ' §* What did she give you, Susie? ”’ ‘¢ She give me a heap of kisses, and some cake too, and some love for you.’’ ** Where is mamma, darling? ”’ ‘“‘She has gone to see Aunt Kennedy, ‘cause Aunt Kennedy’s so sick. Dere she is, tomin’ now.’’ A curly-headed little boy of two and a half years of age was trotting beside a fair woman as she came toward them. Mrs. Hall was about twenty-six, with rich black hair, deep blue eyes, and ruddy cheeks. She was more beautiful now than even in her girlhood. A happy home, abundant means, and a loving, cheerful heart made her, she said, one of the hap- piest of earth. Her husband had gone to meet her, and with the warmth of a school- girl she had kissed him, and now with his ne ea ee ST THE FAMILY. II hand in hers they were going into the house. ‘‘And how is sister Kennedy?” “Well, she’s a little better. I met sister Julia over there, and what do you think she said to me?’”’ ‘* Well, what?”’ .** Why, that I must keep the family from © being disgraced by your being a circuit rid- er. And wasn’t that funny? as if you had any such notion.’’ ‘‘ Well, suppose I had, what then?”’ ‘What then? Why, darling, you are joking! It is all right for us to belong to the Society, and to go to the ‘African Meetinghouse,’ I reckon. I did not like it at first, and ma don’t like it yet. But as to your going on a circuit, you have no no- tion of that, have you?”’ . ‘* Well, not now,’’ he said with a smile, and they went into the veranda and then to supper. It was not long after the supper when a colored woman came to the door. Her head was turbaned with a rich red handkerchief, and she had over her dress a clean, checked apron. 12 Mk. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. She walked in and courtesied. ‘* Good ebenin’, massa.’ ‘Good evening, Aggie. Are you going out?’’ ce Yes, massa, it’s de class, and I must be dar; and will you please gib me a pass; "cause dem patrollers don’t like us Metho- dist niggers any too good, and de Lord knows I don’t want to git in de sugarhouse for nuttin’ but sarvin’ de Lord.”’ ‘* Certainly I will give you one. Here it As: ‘* Massa, I wants to ax you somethin’.’’ ‘Well, what?’ ‘* Well, you know St. Paul he say: ‘ Spar’ de rod and de chile will be spiled.” Now der’s my William, he been run down to de crick on Sunday wid dem triflin’ Peden niggers, and I been watchin’ for him wid de cow-skin, but Joe say dat Moses say, ‘ Wives, mine your husbands,’ and he say I must no whoop William. Now, massa, how is dat?’ ‘* Well, I reckon I shall have to help you, ard I will give William the whipping for you.” eee ohne rrr rene cnreneonn nineteen rion nstenges aang g er seen a 5 THE FAMILY. ‘ bByieed «T’ank ye, massa. ‘Good ebenin And Aunt Aggie went to class. Mr. Hall ieoked thoughtful, and Susie, who sat in his lap, was rubbing his brow. ‘What are you doing, dear?”’ said the father. . ‘‘[’m ironin’ you out; you’s wrinkled. Prayer was had and the family slept sweetly. in aia tit = lah CHAPTER II. A GREAT QUESTION SETTLED. M*: HALL was.a local preacher. A local’ preacher among the Methodists is one who preaches whenever he can, but has no pastoral charge. He held his membershi at the ‘‘African Meetinghouse.”? This ne the name given to the Methodist Church by the people, because for many years it had ly Church to care for the black people, who were in great numbers near b When the mother of Mr. Hall was ‘ young lady in Virginia, she had become : Methodist; and though she had not for »she had not forse: gotten the lessons she had learned. Henry, her oldest son was like his father, strong-headed and will. ful, and Julia, her only daughter i John, her young- est boy, was always gentle and mare He was so young when she was left a widow (14) i } } i A GREAT QUESTION SETTLED. 15 that she was able to teach him what she be- - lieved to be true. He grew up a thought- ful, good boy. One day, while clerking™ for his brother, he saw a crowd gathered under the shade of a live oak. He drew near and found a colored man preaching. This man was Henry Evans. He was full of earnestness and devotion, and what he said touched the boy’s heart, and he gave that heart to God. He came to his good — mother and told her the story, and said he wished to join the Society at the ‘‘African Meetinghouse.’’ She said to him through her tears, ‘‘Go, my boy, and I will go with you;’’ and to the consternation of Miss Julia, and with the decided displeas- ure of Mr. Henry, the mother and son be- came members of the Society at the meet- inghouse. There were not many white members, but those who were there were deeply devoted. Young Hall soon became a class leader, and then was an exhorter, and now was a local preacher. Seven years before this story opens Su- san Paythness came from the blue banks of the Cape Fear to Wilmington to go to 16 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. school, and met the handsome young clerk of Mr. Henry Hall; and when she finished her school and he reached his majority, they were wedded. She brought her hus- band a little property, and his mother had saved from his income enough for the pur- chase of a neat home, and now they were quietly living as we have seen them. Wilmington had a stationed preacher, and had had one for a few years. The beer er stationed there at this time was James O. Andrew. He was a great friend of Mr. Hall, and from his little two-room parson- age he often came to the cottage to see his friend. ** John,”’ he said to him, « you are very nicely fixedhere. Suppose your Master was to say, ‘Sell all that thou hast, give to the poor, take up the cross and follow Mes. what then? It seems to me that men fe: you ought not to sit at a desk. ‘The har- vest 1s great and the laborers are few.’ ‘* When God needs me, he knows where to find me, James,”’ said his friend. ‘“ Till © then T must bide in my lot.’’ One day, however, not long after this, Se Sopa iain ety pict aaics lec ey esenatrone ie ag pe etn, ae £ % 4 3 A GREAT QUESTION SETTLED. 17 Mr. Hall received a letter from George- town, S. C., which read thus: Brother Hall: 1 must have a preacher for this place, or God’s cause must suffer. I think you are the man. Can you come? The call is urgent; the King’s busi- ness requires haste. I will be in Wilmington next week, and see you and get your answer. Your brother, What should he do? Did God ask this at his hands? Could he give up his home, his salary, his family, against the wish of all except his mother, and go out to preach, and at once? Leaving the office, he sought Brother Andrew. He laid the case before him. «* Must I, can I go?’’ he asked. ‘‘Tf this is God’s call, he will open the way,”’ said his friend. ~When the dear wife heard of the call, she said she could not’consent to his going. She never would; she never could. The husband had a great conflict, and the light went out from his life for a little while. Lizette could not see what papa was angry about, and little Susie tried in vain to iron the wrinkles away. She seemed to feel that something was the matter, but what it 2 Jor Travis. 18 : MR. HALL AND 175 FAMILY. was she could not tell. wee Papa darling,’’ she Why don’t you smile! ‘**De wrinkles do Said one evening. Is de smiles all her heart. husband,” she said. go with you, Bes 8) ‘We will go. I will : never to complai ce Plain, never to oe and may God be with us!” oe a ouds were gone now; the angels out the home that night; and there w as the fullness of peace in both hearts When Br other Travis Cc ready: “* We will go.” ame, the answer was The battle was not yet won. On th ; e A GREAT QUESTION SETTLED. 19 morning after the decision was made, Mr. John Hall called his brother Henry into his countingroom, and said: ‘ Brother, you will have to get a new bookkeeper. I must resign.” ‘‘ Hoity, toity! what’s up now?”’ ‘*T am' going into the traveling connec- tion.” ‘«‘ John! have you lost all your senses?” «‘No; I have just found them.”’ ‘¢ John, you have the hardest head and the least sense in it of any man in Wilming- ton, and if you are determined to play the fool, I don’t see what right you’ve got to doom that wife and those poor babies to — poverty and trial; but let a man get among those Methodists, and his sense is gone. Well, when are you going?”’ ‘‘In two weeks. Mr. Cassell is a good bookkeeper, and knows our business, and he ‘will take my place.” «‘T am not thinking about my business, nor myself, but about Susan Hall and those babies. Just like a fool Hall when his head is set. Go your way, hard head.”? And with a flushed cheek he left the room. s gwine ter be , : ee - Now what you t’ink of dat?” ; e (73 Joseph, I tink CHAPTER Til. dat is all ri right.’’ Don’t David ;| MAKING READY FOR THE JOURNEY. 4 i a Co mother,’’ said Henry Hall, ‘I = suppose you have heard of John’s last freak. First he joined that band of crazy fools—beg your pardon—at the ‘Af- rican Meetinghouse,’. and took you with him, then began to preach to the crowd of poor white folks and niggers; but now the lunatic actually intends to sell everything, 1 give up his place in the store, and go into ae 4 the ‘traveling connection,’ as he calls it. Oor sister Tuli = Unless you stop him, he is as sure to do it had ena cup was full. John as a gun is iron.” Susan had gone cr oe ‘«‘ Well, my son,” said the gray-headed mother, ‘‘I cannot stop him, and I would not if I could. If you could see things as John sees them, you would encourage him ; but, my poor boy, you see nothing but this poor, fleeting world.”’ ‘¢ Pshaw, nonsense! He is crazy, that is what’s the matter with him,-and you nev- (21) 22 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. BS ee IM URG PRES ee ROE er can see anything wrong in what he does, Well, I must go. Good-bye.”? And he mounted his gray horse and rode out to his rice plantation. he true state of the case. Brother McLean had been forced to give up his charge at Georgetown. Georgetown was a small city in South Car- olina surrounded by large rice plantations. There were a few white peo Many negroes in the charge. _ Parsonage, a small house sufficiently com- fortable for the preacher’s family, and he might rely on a moderate salary paid him by a few planters, helped out by the gifts of the plantation negroes. It was a somewhat dreary ride to reach the place, but it was better to travel the three da ys through .Swamp and pine woods than to go by boat to Charleston, and thence back to George- town by sea 3 so the land route was de- ple and a great _ There was a cided on. The cozy little cottage was to be vacated, the heavy furniture sold, and the famil y to take the carriage for George- It was no easy task to break up town. 2 MAKING READY FOR THE FOURNEY. 23 thus, and but for the call of Providence Mee Hall must have yielded to his brother S wish. There were strong reasons which he might have pleaded for this course, for but few of the Methodist preachers in es days were married, and when they pees they generally located; but he said his « to go was to him, and he could only stop when the same Providence said so. ‘Uncle Joe had been porter at the store, and cared for the horse which had been used to carry the packages, and which was now to draw the wagon in which Aggie and William and Lias and their things were to carried. ae heavy goods were to be shipped by packet. Joe was in no good humor ue he vented his displeasure on ‘* Ball,’’ who, innocent of all intentions to do wrong, was quietly nipping the Bermuda ae in the yard, until his driver came near wi his bridle, when, kicking his heels high up in the air and snorting, he dashed away. ‘¢- You, Ball, whoa dar. You feel mighty ; 4 a circus hoss, ‘gran’ now, but when you's and got ter go whar dem lazy African nig- your Way. de 5 Oomy. brother, i good book which and lose his Own soul?’’? “Well ’ then, Berase When do Se quana als ce you want to start?’? ee e On Monday.” Well, 'll tell Jack to bring round the MAKING READY FOR THE JOURNEY. 25 carriage and wagon, and if you will go, ll see you safely there.” The children did not know what was the matter. On Friday Lizette came in with her cheeks burning with anger. ‘* Mam- ma,’’ she said, ‘‘ Mamie Anderson says papa is going to quit the store and be a cir- cus rider. Now is he, mamma? Is papa goin’ to ride the circus, like Uncle Trav- igre “Yes, darling; papa is going to be a preacher.”’ Sa “¢T don’t want him to be a preacher; I wants to stay here. I ain’t goin’; I am goin’ to Aunt Julia.”’ ‘And leave us, darling?” “No, you leave me; I ain’t a goin’ to be a preacher’s little girl, I ain’t.”’ ‘¢O yes, I reckon you will.”’ ‘‘Papa,’’ said Susie, ‘¢ is you doin’, to hebben tause hebben is prettier dan here? And you’s doin’ away.’’ ‘¢ Yes, dear, papa’s going to heaven, bu not now.” It was no easy task to break up, but it was decided on, and as cheerfully as they The Sherrod Library EAST TENNESSEE STATE: UNIVERSITY Johnson City, Tennessee » 18 Swine to demove to I hope you will all pray iam like him, I’s feared Pray And now r humble Servant in prayer for "em ee MAKING READY FOR THE JOURNEY. 27 en his seat up near the pulpit, and said that he meant to try to do better, as he was ‘‘owine away from dem mean Wilmington niggers,’ but ‘‘old Caesar Anderson dun dribe all de goodness out ob his he’d.”’ ‘‘Joe, you know Brudder Cesar dun speak de truth, and nuddin’ but de truth, © and ye had better depent now, ye had bet- ter depent.”’ “But I t'ink Brudder Cesar go too fur when he speak of my William. My Will- iam des as good as his Pompey, ever’ bit and grain, dat he is.”’ . Hl Gry Monday morning and the two-horse Hall were at the door. os el) Riding in th He had belon - fallen to his 5 e i Carriage was Uncle Peter. ged to Mr. Hall’s father, had r other Henry’s Care, and now, » lived in his Own cab- in at *‘ Belvidere,” Mr. Henry Hall’ nae s home dona lon 4 g staff when eee My young massa,’’ he said os peiete when ye one lillie baby; me mek Wwagin; me mek Y i pa €X ye whis’le; me rid ye 3 me lub ole missus; me but ole Peter no Iub Jesus; Jesus, an’ he tell ole Peter; lub Mas Henry, lillie massa fine (28) THEY MAKE THE FOURNEY. 29 old Peter find em too; me lub King Jesus; me feelie good all de time; lillie massa go preach King Jesus, and me see he no more. Eber night King Jesus say: ‘ Peter, is ye ready?’ ‘Yes, Lord, me ready.’ De an- gel is comin’ soon. Las’ night King Jesus say: ‘Peter, is ye ready?’’ ‘Yes, Lord, me ready.’ ‘Is de robe white?’ ‘Yes, Lord, de robe is white.’ ‘Is de lamp bright?’ ‘Yes, Lord, de lamp is bright.’ Will de angels come soon? Good-bye, young massa, me pray for he all de time; de angels come soon.’’ The kind neighbors came, and, last of all, Mr. Hall’s sister Julia. She had a large hamper full of good things to eat. ‘* Well, John, you never did have any family pride; but if you will go, leave me Lizette.”’ ‘‘No, sister, I ought to have no pride, family or other kind, but I have enough. The Lord take it out of my heart. I can’t give you my girl, but I’ll try not to dishonor our name.”’ It was a weary way through sands and sloughs till the night fell, and the travelers found themselves at the quarters of Mr. ae 30 MR. 1A LL AND FAIS FAMIL Yas Henry Hall’s lower place, comfortable here, but the n were about to leave, Mr Seer, said: «‘ Well, p hard pull to-day, Nee next day as they Jenkins, the over- d ee you’ll have a and there hain’t es to stop at unless you can aoe Iston’s; but I r get to Col. eckon yo ; such stir you. can get lodgj en as theyis Just this side a de ee wher’ i re ide Tivers come together.’’ Sure § it was a hard pull. There had b a great deal of ra; ee se the banks of of the G ete ae was no place to stop at = an’s oe cabin They asked for ger,” he said, “eT reckix I can’t leave the They were very THEY MAKE THE FOURNEY. 31 nary amiteis I got. The fresh done washed it all away, and we can’t give you nothing to eat but some corn bread and fat meat. Our cows is on the high lands, and I wish to goodness we war thar too.”’ ‘Well, give us a bed and we will make out; we have enough to eat.” ‘* Well, stranger, you’ll find the skeeters powerful bad, but we are trying to smoke ’em out. Ef you stay outen the house, you'll get wet; ef you go in, the smoke will mighty nigh put out your eyes. Here, old ’oman, ‘take care of this ?oman and the children.’’ They went into the cabin. It had one room. The logs were wide apart and open. The rain came trickling through the roof. In the corner were two beds on stakes. The cat-tail of the swamps made the pillows, and oak leaves made the bedding. The mosquitoes buzzed about right vigorously, contending with the smoke which poured from a pan of burning chips. The mistress of the mansion was about the age of Mrs. ' Hall. She was pale and thin, and evidently in frail health. A little babe was lying ina large cotton basket, and two other children rg 3 MR. HALL AND HIS LAMILY, were on the bed slee Innocent. There w made by a pine knot ** Whar is you’uns hostess. Ping the sleep of the as no light save that in the fireplace. a gwine?’’ said the 6é = ae are going to Georgetown.”’ ou-uns is mighty rich, hain’t yer” 6« No : » hot much; indeed, not at all.’? Livin’ down here Cup by Mosquitoes, is pow- then |’ ° two year. I’ve tuck s had de chills these in de swamp, ea : must stir round and Sit you somethin’ to eat.’’ =O no, we hav a coffee pot?’’ e plenty. Have you got THEY MAKE THE FOURNEY. 33 ‘¢ Well, you must be rich, if you have good sweetened coffee ever’ day. That’sas much as the Colonel does.’’ It was dreary rain outside, smoke within. Lizette ate her supper and cried herself to sleep, and little Susie said: ‘‘Mamma, is we ’most to hebben yet?”’ After supper Mr. Hall and his host, hav- ing seen everything cared for, came in, and Mr. Hall said: ‘‘I am going to sing for you, and we will have prayer.”’ ‘* Well, I wish you would; I hain’t heerd no singin’ sence I was up on Little Pedee and heer Elder Mayberry sing the ‘ Romish Lady.’ Say, kin you sing that?”’ ‘*No, I can’t sing that, but I can sing you something better.”’ And in a round, sonorous voice he sung: “ Alas, and did my Saviour bleed? And did my Sovereign die? Would he devote that sacred head For such a worm as I?” He had finished the song, when he noticed that the woman’s eyes were filled with tears. ‘‘T say, mister, do you believe he died for you?’”’ 3 34 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY Se ie ee ‘*O yes, I know he did.” ‘* Well, I wish I could think he died for oe Parson Mayberry says as how maybe e did and maybe he didn’t. If I’m elect, he died for me; if I hain’t, he didn’t, andl reckon Thain’t. It makes me feel pow’ful bad, but I can’t help it.’’ t : Yes, he died for you as he diedfor me. _ Now listen.” And he sung: ita j Arise, my soul, arise, Shake off thy guilty fears; The bleeding Sacrifice In my behalf appears; Before the throne my Surety stands, My name is written on his hands.” “Tam going to pray, and you must pray oe and ask him to save you now, and he will.’’ They knelt. The poor woman and her poor husband wept, and when Mr. Hall rose from hjs knees there was a smile on her face. “Stranger, you’ve told the truth. Hei died for me! he died for me!’’ The husband said: pray for me! ”’ that night. ‘‘Pray for me, too! 1 And they were both saved What mattered smoke and THEY MAKE THE F$OURNEY. 35 mosquitoes and poverty, now that Jesus had come? Early next morning it was still raining. The ferryman put them over the Great Pe- dee, and told them that in two miles they would be out of the swamp, and in six more they would reach Col. Alston’s, where they would be well cared for. They bade the honest, now happy, people good-by, and went on their way through mud and slush and water till, at nine o’clock, they drew up at the White House. CHAPTER V. COL. ALSTON AND HIS HOME. .°l- ALSTON had large plantations on the » Where he raised rice. He Lower Pedee had an elegant home in the hills, where he resided. With broad verandas, with wide windows, with roomy halls, the house was large, and furnished with the best English 4 furniture. provided. The Colonel was warmly hospitable, and when his servant came into the dining room and said there was a gentleman with his wife and children at the door, ** Bless my soul! ”’ he said, «« women and children out in such a storm !. All that elegance could ask was such a day, much less a gentleman.’? And putting on his greatcoat and hoisting his large, green umbrella he went out to meet the travelers. Carriage door: (36) He said as he opened the a ‘““Come in, madam; come, i COL. ALSTON AND HIS HOME. 37 sir; bring the children. Let us get out of this storm. Stay? of course you can stay; when did James Alston ever shut his door on a woman? Come, come in. Bless my soul, come in! Here, Jim, take them nig- gers to the kitchen, and put up this stock. Come in, come in. Bless my soul! ” The hospitable roof soon sheltered the strangers, and before the Colonel asked who they were they were hurried in to breakfast.” ‘© Well, but, Colonel, you have not asked who I am.”’ Us? What “do: Lcare? = Vouare not a Fed- eralist and not a Tory, and everybody else is welcome to ‘ Summerfield.’ ”’ ** Well, sir, I am Mr. Hall.-Do you re- member Henry Hall?”’ ‘** Do Iremember Henry Hall? Bless my soul, do I remember Henry Hall? Why, I roomed with him at Chapel Hill. Do you know my old friend? ”’ ‘* He is my brother.”’ . ‘‘Heis? Bless mysoul! And, Colonel, where are you going?”’ ‘‘ITam no colonel; and I am going to Georgetown.”’ a 38 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. oe ee ee ‘You are? Bless my soul! You area merchant? ’’ “No, lama Methodi 6 What? you? ry Hall’s brother, st preacher.”’ Beg pardon. You, Hen- a Methodist? Bless my soul! Well, is Henry a Methodist? They look like they are going to take the coun- try.” ** No, sir; not yet.?? ** Well, eat your breakfast. You have got to stay here til] this northeaster is over, Methodist or no Methodist. Anything but a Tory—bless my soul!—and a Federalist. I expect you had rough fare last night. Why did you not come here?’’ “* Well, Henry insisted I should, and I would have done so if night and the rain had not come. The people did their best, and I am glad we stopped.”’ “Well, I ain’t,’’ said Lizette. want to see that place no more.” “Papa,” said Susie, when they were alone, ‘* was that big river the river Jordan, and is this hebben? ” ** Not quite, The rain fell ‘*T never my darling.” and fell, and then the winds penininisindits “* sian 4 Res Te penta ons ai rs Sig acai ptr gin a oe aah ei tiie As a a ea a See 1 COL. ALSTON AND HIS HOME. 4 39 j blew, and although fire in April is not com- } mon in Eastern South Carolina, a blazing ia fire was on the hearth. The Colonel’s wife was as gentle as he was brusque. They had no children. Two dear ones had died, and the shadows hung over the childless wife, but everything ten- derness could do was done to make the Strangers’ stay a pleasant one. The next day was bright and balmy. It was only twenty-five mil and as the Colonel Mordequi, his factor, out, and they made t woods road (all the Georgetown, o’ clock. Neb eerennt omic eee! es to Georgetown, Was going to see Mr. he had his gig brought heir way over the piny better for the rain) to which they reached by 4 y CHAPTER Vil, THE NEW HOME. - vores you reach Georgetown, go to Brother Wayne’s. He will be look- ing for you,’’ said Brother Travis. So as they rode into the outskirts of the little city, Mr. Hall asked the Colonel if he knew Mr. Wayne. ‘** Know Tom Wayne, ‘ Mad’ Anthony’s’ brother? Certainly I do; and I don’t know any harm of him, except that he is too easy on Tories and Federalists. I-will ° go by and send him up from the store. Now, Parson, I reckon you’ve found out that I am not mich of a Methodist, but Henry Hall’s brother is always welcome to ‘ Sum- merfield.’” I would have been glad to see you for his sake. I’ll be glad now to see you for your own. Well, there’s Tom Wayne’s house. Every Methodist horse in this country can find his stable without a bridle to guide him.’’ (40) ales adler \ Said inlets aniaie THE NEW HOME. 41 The carriage stopped, and good Sister Wayne and Sister Horry came out and welcomed the travelers. ‘‘ You will stay with us,’’ they said, ‘‘till Monday, and then we’ll fix the parsonage for you.” The tired travelers found a welcome and a happy home.’ Uncle Joe and Aggie and William and Lias took charge of the par- sonage kitchen, and went to fixing up things at once. Georgetown was not so large as Wilming- ton, but, like it, was hidden among the live oaks. The church was a plain, barnlike building, with galleries all around it. Every Sunday morning these galleries were full of negroes from the plantations, who came in to hear the sermon and attend the class meeting. The most of the negroes were Africans, or those who had lately descend- ed from them. When Mr. Hall rose in the pulpit, he had before him a little handful: - of intelligent whites, but a gallery full of negroes. , f Service was over, and the negroes crowd- ed around the preacher. ‘This,’ said Brother Wayne, ‘‘is. your class leader, 42 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. — Jack. We could not get along without Jack. He is the king, and they all obey him.”’ ‘*T’ank ye, massa. Me try to keep ’em straight, but dey no keep straight lack me wants ’em. But dey know old Jack gib ’em de strap ef dey no mind de preacher. Massa Hall, me bring ye somet’in’ for cook, some tetter, some egg, and two, t’ree leetle chicken.”’ ‘* You may Count’on Jack bringing you something from the plantation every Sun- day,’’ said Brother Wayne. ‘** Well, Jack,’’ said Mr. Hall, ‘* come and see me when I get home, and we will talk matters over.’’ : The next day the family left Brother Wayne’s and went to their own home. It was quite a change from the neat cot- tage in Wilmington to the humble house in Georgetown, and from the comfortable furnishing of their own home to the very plain and scanty supply of the parsonage. In those days most of the Methodists were quite poor, and even when they were able to do better they were so afraid of being THE NEW HOME. 43 proud and worldly that they were content with bare necessaries, and left all luxury to the world. But the little house was home, and it was comfortable. It had four rooms, two large ones and two shed rooms. It was unpainted and very plain. There was a two-roomed kitchen, a stable, and a chicken house. Two beautiful live oaks were in the front yard, and twice as many in the back yard. The beautiful bay was in full view, and a broad veranda, front and rear, gave them a pleasant place to enjoy the delightful April days. The family was not large. Mr. Hall was grave, thoughtful, and somewhat stern; Mrs. Hall, beautiful, impulsive, generous, -and hasty. Lizette was her mother’s pride. She was now six years old; was very beau- — tiful, and very smart. I am sorry to say she was very willful and very selfish. She was very tender-hearted and very generous when she had her own way. I have often seen very selfish children very ready to give freely when they had all they wanted first. Susie was four. “She was a queer child: - very sensitive, very timid, very affectionate, 44 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. very thoughtful. She loved everybody, but her father was dearer to her than anybody onearth. She was not pretty, and she was not bright. Lizette was so sprightly, quick, attractive; but Susie was very slow and quiet, and little likely to attract any one’s attention to her. Her mother was very del: icate when she was born, and Lizette was herself a babe then, so Susie was turned over to mammy, as Aunt Agnes was called, and this faithful servant watched over her as she had not watched over her own children. - peer Susie loved to hear mammy sing and pray and talk, and often left everybody to find mammy, who was never too busy to stop and nurse her child. ‘** You love Susie better dan you do me, or anybody, mammy, you know you do,”’ said jealous Lizette. ** Well, sposen I does lub my chile? — Don’t eberybody lub you and pet you and gib you eberyt’ing? Say, now, don’t dey? *Cept massa, he knows my chile’s de best chile in de worl’; but I lub you good enough. Don’t I gib you gingercake and oe THE NEW HOME. 45 groun’nuts, and make you lillie biscuit? Now tell me dat.” «©Yes, you does; but I know you love Susie best.”’ oo a ‘‘ Well, ain’t you shame o’ ’grudgin your lillie sisah, what nearly die when Le lillie baby, what her mareray gib her: Miss Lizette, I shame for you. Susie seemed to see at once that ‘ sis- ter,’’ as she called Lizette, was to be chief, and never did little princess rule with a- more regal sway than the little beauty. Mr. Hall was a popular preacher, and all the Georgetown people went to hear him; and though he was very plain, and often oe vere, and they grew angry sometimes, ay came again. He had only eighty white members, but he had one thousand three hundred and eighty colored people belong- ing to his charge, and to see after them was no little task. Jack was the main class leader, but he had a corps of fifty helpers, who watched - over the black flock on the large planta- tions, and on Sunday morning they ee him in the church to give an account 0 46 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. their work. He spent the week in visiting the plantations. The owners of the planta- tions rarely lived on them during all the year. The overseer had his house in the pine wood at the edge of the swamp, and the home of the planter, often very hand- some and comfortable, was near by. Long rows of little cabins, each with a garden at- tached, formed the home of each negro family. Work was done by tasks, and the industrious and quick worker had often his ~ half a day for his own patch, which was as large as he chose to have it. When the preacher came, which he generally did in a leisure time, to hold a meeting and exam- ine into the class and catechise the chil- dren, the hands would gather in their board tabernacle, when they would havea service. Some of Mr. Hall’s members were large planters, and always gave the preacher all the help they could in doing his work. The poor negroes were very ignorant. Many of them had African heathens for their parents, and there was oftentimes great discouragement in the work; but the faithful preacher found his efforts were not THE NEW HOME. 47 be ial re Se ge invain. Old Jack Horry was the driver on. Sister Horry’s place, and was the leader of the leaders. «‘You can trust old Jack through and through,”’ said Brother Wayne. ‘‘1I have known him a long time, and since he was converted I have never known a man more trusty.’’ So to see Jack, Mr. Hall rode out to the. quarters. It was a leisure time. The rice had been flooded, and the hands had lit- tle to do but to attend to their own crops, and the driver was at leisure. The driver was the under overseer. The overseer on a large rice plantation was a very impor- tant person. He had to direct and control, but his head driver came and received his orders and gave them to the gangs, which - were each under care of a subdriver. Jack had a comfortable cabin, which had two rooms, and which Dinah, his wife, kept ex- ceedingly clean. He was a man of proper- tye ore had several cows, a marsh pony, a sow and pigs; and Aunt Dinah had a yard full of turkeys, ducks, and chickens. Jack always expected his preacher to eat at his 48 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. cabin, and Aunt Dinah always had a good meal for him. He was looking for Mr. Hall, and when he rode up in the gig, bring- - ing Lizette and Susie, the old man warmly greeted them: ‘* Come in, massa; come in to poor old Jack’s house. He no hab much, but he hab what his Massa Jesus no hab; and what he hab he glad to gib to de Lord. Dinah, here de little gals I been tell you *bout. Git ’em some sugar cane and peel “em for ’em, and gib’em some. groun’- nuts.”’ ; Ob Well, Jack, you have a large class Neters : ** Yes, massa, me hab one big class. Dey is more dan dey is good.’’ **You have been having some trouble with ’em?”’ ‘¢Yes, massa, dem young niggahs been gib me heap trouble; heap. Dey been dancin’, feeshin’ on Sunday, and no go to class. I been tuck to ’em, I pray wid ’em, I tell em what I do, dey no do better. I gib some ob ’em one good strappin’, ’cause you know, massa, de good book say: ‘ No spare de rod.’ I t’ink dey do better nex’ time.”’ THE NEW HOME. 49 OG Well, Jack, how long have you been in the Society ?”’ ‘J bin in S’ciety dis twenty yeah. You see, massa, I be one bad niggah. My mas- sa, Maj. Horry, he hab me in de wah, and Mars Frank Marion and my massa hide out - in de swamp and fight de Tory and de British, and den de wah ober, Mars Major he make me driber. Me quick like fire, and me beat de lazy niggah, and me beat Dinah dar, and me ’fraid nuddin’ but Mars Major. Well, one day jis “bout night, a little man, berry pale and tired, ride up to de front gate and say he want to stay a night. Mars Peter tell him for to stay; an de nex’ day he say he must go to. Charles- ?on, and Massa Peter he say me go wid ’em and show’emde way. Well, massa, dat lit- tle man was Massa Asbury; and when we ride along he tell me all about Massa Jesus, and he tell me to go to town to hear Massa Blanton preach. I ’fraid ob de debil, I *fraid he come and tek me, I t’ink God no care for poor niggah, but when I hear de preacher I say, ‘ Jack, dar is your massa.’ and bless de Lord I done tookee Massa 4 50 Mk. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. Jesus for my Massa, and I be try to sarb him dese twenty yeah.”’ ; The little negroes were called up and cat- echised, and then there was a short service for the older ones, and Mr. Hall and the little folks went back to the town. CHAPTER VII. DADDY JACK AND THE STORM. ACK was a frequent visitor at the parson- 4 age, and ‘Lillie Blue Eye,”’ as he called Susie, was a great favorite with him. He always brought her something from the plantation, and always asked for her when he came tothe parsonage. ‘‘Daddy Jack,”’ as Susie called him, was a great favorite of hers, and she sat upon his knee and looked up in his black, rugged face with real affec- tion. . ‘Daddy Jack,’’ she said to him, ‘‘ was you éver a little boy?”’ ‘© Why, yes, lillie missie, me be a little boy not so high. But dat be long time far away.” «© Did you have a father and mother like me?e; «Yes, lillie missie, but poor Jack left em when he lillie boy, and neber see “em till to-day. Let me tell you about "em: 61) 52 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. My fadder and mudder lib ’long way ober de sea. Dey lib near de sea where de sheeps come. One big sheep come one day, and de white man see J. He say: ‘Lillie boy, would you like to ride in de boat an’ see big sheep?’ I say: ‘Yes, 2? sir.”’ I go on de big sheep, and white man gib me cake and candy, and den he tek me in de boat back to me fadder. Den I go nudder time; and one night me sleep on de sheep. Den I go home; and one nudder night me sleep on de sheep, and in de mornin’ sheep ’way out to sea, and I neber see fadder nor mudder till to-day.”’ ‘*Daddy Jack, did your father love God?”’ ‘*O lillie missie, my poor fadder neber hear *bout God. My fadder pray to de debbil.”’ ‘* Daddy Jack, what.makes your father pray to the devil? ”’ ‘«‘ My poor fadder not know God, and he pray debbil not hurt ’em.”’ ““* Daddy Jack, is you going to heben?”’ ** Yes, lillie missie, Daddy Jack is bound for dat place.” DADDY FACK AND THE STORM. 53 ‘‘ You won’t be black then, will you?”’ ‘¢ Bless de Lord, lillie missie, Jack hab white eee white robe, and be white all ober.’ ‘Well, wee Jack, I am go heben too. I want to go so bad. You’s close to heben, ain’t you?”’ ‘* Yes, lillie missie, me so close me can hear de angels sing: ‘Glory!’ ”’ ‘‘ Well, good-bye, Daddy Jack. When you get to heben and I come, you must meet me.”’ } : “¢ Yes, yes, Lillie Blue Eye; Daddy Jack look for you.”’ The months rolled away and the summer was gone, when Aunt Horry came to the parsonage on a'special mission. ‘* Broth- er Hall, it won’t do for you to spend September in the town. You and all the family will have the fever. You must shut up the house and go with me to the island. There is no use to say no. I know what is best, and you mustobey. So to-morrow Daddy Jack, with the big boat, will be at the wharf, and you must all be there and go over and spend a month with 54 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. me at my summer place. You can come to town and preach, but the wife and children must stay there.”’ Mr. Hall could not refuse so generous an invitation, and they were at the wharf, and dashed over the smooth, green waves of the bay to Pine Island, where Sister Horry had her summer home. To my readers who have not seen the sea there would haye been an unceasing joy in the first few days on the ocean shore. Stretching far away on the east was the blue sea, while the bay on the other side, and the little city, and the long line of land shore told how near they were to their home. The tides came in with their laugh- ing waves, and went out again, leaving the sandy beach bare and hard. The busy lit- tle fiddlers, the quick-moving crabs, the long-billed curlew, the puffing porpoise, the white-sailed ships, the white sea gull, the ' great eagles, and the sea shells along the beach, all gave the children unceasing amusement and pleasure. Mr. Hall returned to Georgetown on Sat- urday to preach on Sunday. When he had ——————— age ‘ DADDY ¥ACK AND THE STORM. 55 made ready to go on Saturday, Daddy Jack said to him: ‘‘ Massa Hall, me no like dem scurry clouds. Me t’ink dere be a storm. Me tink you better stay on de island. Maybe you no get back in two, tree day.”’ ‘“*No, Daddy, I must go. Some of my people are sick, and I must go. You must take care of my folks. I leave them in your care.”’ ‘‘T watch ’em, massa. I pray; but I no know de wedder if der is no storm.”’ Daddy Jack, with Tom and Bill, pulled back from town to the island, and every few moments he looked at the angry sky. The wind rose, and the rain began to fall, and from a brisk breeze it began to blow a gale. Jack came anxiously to the big house, and calling his mistress, said: ‘‘Missus, we’s gwine to hab a storm, and you better not go to bed. I's got de boat anchor strong, and if de wave rise high, i come for you. You need not be scare. I no sleep. Let de lillie ones go bed, and you and missie watch and pray, for we are goin’ to hab an ugly night.”’ And an ugly night it was. Soon the 56 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. angsty waves came rushing in upon the shore, getting nearer and nearer the big house. Now they rose over the steps; now they swept the lower floor. Daday Jack had been watching the rising vee and coming up to the side of the fone against which the waves did not break, he leaped in at the window and held the boat while Tom and Bill took the women and children in their arms, and soon the waves as they came rushing in from the sea and the strong arms of the brave boatmeak bore the boat to the higher ground, where, if not well sheltered, the family were at ica safe Daddy Jack had thoughtfully Browdea some dry pine, and as the rain had ceased to fall the howling winds only.aided it in - blazing high, and around it the shelterless ones stood until Jack felt it safe to take them into his cabin, which was on the high- est point in the island. : : Poor Mr. Hall! All night long he paced 1s room floor, praying for that protection for his family which only God could ex- tend, and in the early dawn he turned his eee toward the big house on the island DADDY FACK AND THE STORM. 57 only to see how the angry waves were sweeping through and around it. Where were they? Were they safe? He swept his glass over the island, and from the top of a dead pine on the dry land he saw a red flag floating. He knew his wife had a red shawl, and rightly judged that Daddy Jack had placed the ensign there. The storm was over, but the waves were rolling high - when Daddy Jack, with his two strong oarsmen, struck out from the island, and riding the angry waves reached the wharf to tell that all were safe. The waves had calmed somewhat, but were still high when Mr. Hall went again to the island. The upper story of the house had not been reached by the water, and as the furniture had been moved into the up- _ per rooms, and as the waves subsided al- most as. rapidly as they came in, the family were in a few hours home again in their old quarters. After an earnest prayer of thanksgiving to God, Mrs. Horry gave Mr. Hall the story of their danger and escape. ‘* The island,” she said, ‘is likely to be swept by severe * 58 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMIL Yr storms, and so the house has been built, as you see, of very strong timbers and high from the ground. thing for the storms to drive the waves un- der the house, but it is not often that the water rises to the first story. Daddy Jack, who knows as much about storms as any- body, and who has been on the island dur- ing some very wild ones, saw that a fierce blow was coming, and we spent all day Saturday in moving lighter furniture to the upper Story. Daddy Jack had the large boat-in readiness if it should be as he feared, and gave us danger, but told us not t The storm did come wit first wind and rain, and th waves. 0 be frightened. h terrible fury; en only wind and Though comparatively safe, as we were in the upper story, we could not escape. At last we could hear the water sweeping through the lower rooms, and then Daddy Jack, with Tom and William, rowed the boat to the window, which you know reaches the floor, and, leaping in, fastened it to the chimney so as to hold it se- cure; and then, wading through the waves, It is not an uncommon ————— / DADDY ¥ACK AND THE STORM. 59° é they came to us. Taking Agnes, es Hall, and myself in their arms, they P a us securely in the boat, which, being s i tered by the house, was resting ee e | waves; and then they brought the children. It was still blowing furiously, and as — swept from the shelter of the house, t a wind and the waves drove us high on t : island. The men leaped to the dry oe and drew us ashore. Jack had thoughtful- ly made a large log fire, and we steered to that; and though the wind still blew es ly, we were moderately comfortable. a : dy was very anxious about you, and seeing Sister Hall’s red shawl, he proposed to. climb the dead pine, and put up the fey as a flag, rightly judging that you es be on the lookout for a signal. Your little wife acted like a heroine. She was ht! much frightened at first, but she Ws i. came calm and was as thoughtful as if she had been as used as I am to these dangers Seas : a is net Lizette, what did you do? <¢T screamed and screamed and screamed, but de win’ blowed so dat I spect nobody 60 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. heard me, an’ I wants to go back to Wilming- ton, where we don’t have no storms, I do.’’ “Well, Susie, my little girl, were you scared ?’’ ““O yes, I was mighty scared, but I *membered dat God made de storm, and Jesus made de storm stop; so I tole God I was his little girl an’ please to také care of me an’ mamma an’ Lizette an’ you an’ Aunt Horry an’ mammy, an’ I knowed he would, an’ den I was not scared - an’ den Daddy Jack come.’’ The storm was over, and there were weeks of pleasant weather, and the family remained on the island till the frost fell, and then went back to Georgetown. The Conference year was nearly over; no mo’; and as the Conference was to meet in Wil- _ mington, Mr. Hall found a packet going from Georgetown to Wilmington, and the whole family took that, and were, in a few days, safely at grandma’s in Wilmington. They were here until Conference closed and Mr. Hall was read out to Sandy Creek Cir- cuit. It was in South Carolina, and was two hundred and fifty miles from Wilmington. — Amgen CHAPTER VIii. THE REMOVAL TO THE UP COUNTRY. R. HALL was what the Methodists call a supply. He had not yet joined the traveling preachers, but he did so this win- ter, and was sent on a circuit. My little readers have already found out that thisis a Methodist story. I make it so on purpose. And indeed how could I tell the story of a Methodist preacher’s family if I did not tell a Methodist story? Most of my readers are Methodists, and while I do not want them to think Methodists are better than other ~ people, I want them to know all about their Church, and never to be ashamed of it. The Methodist preachers, who belong to the Conference, are expected to go anywhere they are sent, and they go often uae strangers. Sometimes they have right har ‘times. It is so now, but in the times of which I am writing it was a great deal worse, Sometimes a Methodist preacher was on a (61) 62 MR, HALL AND HIS FAMILY. large circuit and had to go a long way from home, and leave his wife and children for two or three weeks, and when he came back home he could stay only a very few days. When Mr. Hall came from Conference, he said he must go on a large circuit away in the upper part of South Carolina. Mrs. Hall could not keep back her tears when she knew she would have to go so far, and that Mr. Hall would be away from her so much of the time. But she remembered her promise that night under the live oak,. and brushing away her tears, she made ready for her long journey. They were not going to keep house, and so they left Joe and Aggie and Aggie’s children, and took only a servant girl. Mr. Hall bought a neat Jersey wagon, and old Ball was to pull it to their circuit. ‘We are going, darling,’’ he said to his wife, ‘‘to a very different country from that we have been used to, and I expect. you will find many things as you would not like to have them; but we are working for the Lord, and he will take care of us.”’ It was a long way and a weary one, REMOVAL TO THE UP COUNTRY. 63 *‘You will find a good home at Brother Dupre’s, about the middle of your circuit,’’ said the elder; ‘* but you will reach Brother Snodgrass’s as you enter on your charge, and you had better go there first. Brother Snodgrass is pretty rough, but his bark is worse than his bite; and Sister Snodgrass is one of the salt of the earth.’’ It was de- cided to leave Lizette with her grandmother, and Mr. Hall, his wife, little Susie and Tom, with the nurse, began the journey. A two days’ journey brought them to Camden, where they were to spend the Sabbath. Mr. Hall drove at once to Father Smith’s. His neighbors said he kept the Methodist tavern in Camden, but he said he was the Lord’s housekeeper, and was only a tenant, and that it was his business to take care of all the Lord’s servants as they passed through the city. He came out to meet the stranger. ‘‘ Brother Hall! God bless you, my young brother! Get out and come in, and bring in the wife and little ones out of this cold. Ann!’’ he said to his wife, “¢ Ann! come and meet Sister Hall.” A bustling, fat, motherly-looking old lady 64. MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. came to the door and to the carriage. “*Come, dear;.come in, come in. You must be almost chilled through. Here, Jimmy, take your Aunt Hall’s things in. Give me the baby! Bless his little heart! ”’ ‘‘And give me the blue-eyed girl,’’ said the old preacher. ‘*Come to grandpa,’’ said the fatherly old man. They were soon comfortably sitting at the fireside, and a hot and plenteous sup- per was spread on the table. It was always thus. No stranger was turned | ‘away, no want was ever known. How it was nobody could tell, but old Sandy came as near to it as any one when he said: ‘‘Massa Jesus, he know Fadder Smith, what preach to we, and what gib to eb’ry- body, and Massa Jesus he send he ravens just lack he do to Lijah. You no see ’em, he no see ’’em; but dem ravens dey come’ sho. Massa Jesus he know.”’ The supper table was removed, and the Bible and hymn book were put on the stand. A fervent prayer was offered by the guest. The tired children were placed in the bed, and the old man said: ‘* You begin now, ion) REMOVAL TO THE UP COUNTRY. 65 - my son, a life I began over thirty years ago. From Virginia to Georgia I have preached the glad tidings. I have only this to say: trust God and do your duty; follow his guidance, and you will never want any good thing. But you are tired now; go to bed, for you have to preach three times to-mor- row.”’ _ On Monday the travelers left the hospita- ble home, and on Wednesday they drove up to the door of Brother. Snodgrass. It was a double log cabin, with two large rooms and two shed rooms. It sat a little way from the roadside. Brother Snodgrass was at the corn crib when the travelers drew up. He was in no good humor, for he had learned that day that the bishop had sent them a married preacher with three chil- dren, one who had never traveled a circuit, ° and of whom he had never heard. It was late in the day, and the day was very cold. Brother Snodgrass was feeding his hogs | when the travelers came up. ‘* Does Brother Snodgrass live here?’’ ‘‘Snodgrass is my name. What mout yourn be?”’ 5 66 Mk. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. “« My name is Hall.’’ ‘*Emph! I suppose you is our preach- Chr. ‘© Yes, that’s who I am.’’ ** Well, get out and take your critter out. We haven’t got no niggers to wait on any- body. Here, Betsy; here’s the preacher with his whole family.” Aunt Betsy Snodgrass put down her knit- ting and came running out to the wagon. ‘*Get out, my poor dear; I speck you’s most friz. Here, give me the baby. Bring in the things, gal. Come in; come in to the fire. Iam powerful glad to see ye.”’ The ride had been long and cold, and the warm greeting of the old lady was in strange contrast with the cold manner of her husband. After supper the latter said: “‘So they’ve sent you to our circuit. I sent word to Brother Asbury to send us a single man of age and experience, and now the Conference is sent us two right young men, and one of ’em with a big family to boot. Well, you'll find the circuit awfully let down. Brother Christopher was a pow- erful man to take folks into Society, but REMOVAL TO THE UP COUNTRY. 67 what we want is somebody what'll turn ’em out. How large a family is you got?’”’ ‘‘A wife and four children.”’ ‘¢Sakes alive! And how’s you gwine to keep from starvin’? I spose you'll board ’round, and I reckon I’ll have to board you the height o’ the time.’’ ‘* No; I don’t expect to board around.”’ ‘©You don’t? Well, how in the world do you expect to live? We hain’t got no house, nor no furniture, and the last scrap of quarterage we got last year wer’n’t but $150 for two men, all told. I tell you beg- gars can’t be choosers; you'll jest have to board round.”’ “Well, I will just not do it. Now, Brother Snodgrass, I have come to this: circuit to stay. I have brought my wife. She shall have a good home, and I expect the circuit to pay for it. It can do it, and it must do it.”’ ‘¢Can do it! Why it ca-a-an’t. Thar’s *Squire Larkin, who has twenty niggers, and I could not git but one quarter for quarterage last year, and I gave myself two dollars in quarterage, twice as much as the a tei ck nent ae inane rat etiam latati ata 68 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. a ROS TEN SERS PMU RC run of ’em, and we did not git but $150, I tell you. You’ll have to eat it out on 7em, or you won't git it.”’ ‘* Well, there’s no use talking. I dun’t look like a man who is used to starving, for I weigh 180 pounds solid, and T am not go- ing to board around, nor starve.’’ ‘**That’s right,. Brother Hall,’’ broke in the good wife, ‘talk up to William Snod-: grass. It’s just what he has been wanting somebody to do this long time. The Lord knows Betsy Snodgrass keeps the key of the smokehouse, and you is welcome to stay here long as you please, but I wouldn’t board round if I was you.” Brother Snodgrass’ looked first amazed and then amused, and at last a broad smile changed to a merry chuckle. << Well, bless my soul, the women and the preachers are both agin me. Well, have your own way, and if Billy Snodgrass don’t stand by his preacher, he’ll change powerful.”’ Little Susie said gently, when they went _ into their room: ‘* Papa, does Uncle Snod- grass love God? If he does, what makes him so cross?’ REMOVAL TO THE UP COUNTRY. 69 ‘¢ Yes, dear; I am sure he does.’’ «¢ Will Uncle Snodgrass go to hebben?’’ «‘T hope so.”’ ae *¢ Well, papa, will I have to lib wid him? *cause I’ll be scared all de time.”” — ‘The stay at Brother Snodgrass’s was pleasant enough after this little encounter, and on Monday Mr. Hall went twenty miles farther to ’Squire Dupre’s. The *Squire lived on a large cotton plantation, in a very commodious and comfortable but plain dwelling. He was not at home. He had gone to Newberry on business. The good wife received them with great warmth, and in the late afternoon the ’Squire returned. He was a man of portly person and florid face. His greeting was warmth itself. After supper, as he sat in the corner smoking his pipe, he said: ‘*I saw Broth- er Snodgrass at Newberry, and he told me what you told him about boarding round. He laughed at your independence, and I said to him that you were right, and that you ought not to yield to any such demand. Now if you can put up with what we have, - you can stay here all the time, and we will A ll tt ee 7° MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. settle the board bill in good time.’’ So the homeless family was housed. Hills and mountains were new sights to little Susie. She had listened to her father reading at family prayers, and everything was associated in her mind with heaven and the Bible. ‘Is dat de mountain round Je- rusalem?’’ she said as she saw one in the distance; and as she saw the hill on which Bethel church stood, she said: ‘Dat must be de Holy Hill papa read about.”’ The year was a_ peaceful one, and though Mr. Hall was away a great deal of the time, yet the little family was so kindly cared for at Squire Dupre’s that there was no real discomfort. Susie grew stronger in the bracing air of the hills, and when Mr. Hall turned his face toward Wilmington again, her cheeks were blooming as they had not bloomed before. Mr. Hall was now appointed to Savannah. To reach Savannah it was easier to go to Wilmington and take the packet boat than to go by private conveyance; and as Mr. Hall wished to see his mother and get Li- zette, who had been the year at school, he "REMOVAL LODE GPCOUN DR tee fe decided to go that way to his appointment. The journey was made safely, and the little family in good time were on the Savannah packet boat and on their way to their new home. There was a rough sea, and they were all sick, but in a week’s time the packet entered the mouth of the Savannah at Tybee, and on Saturday morning they were in Savannah. ee eee ewe PE Seen oe RY NSIT ee Oe ae eRe nT ENG CHAPTER IX. LIFE IN SAVANNAH. 1g the packet came up to the wharf, the strangers were met by Brother Stone, who was the chief steward of the charge. His greeting was very hearty. “We've been looking for you, and while we are not many, we are anxious to do all we can for you. We have your home ready, and the carriage is here to take you to it.”’ The little white cottage with its four rooms was a humble home, but it was home; and good Sister Stone and Sister Carpenter and Sister Snider were waiting, and received the new pastor and his family with real warmth. The table was spread with a nicely prepared breakfast, and in the larder were supplies for several days. Sa- vannah was then a little city of about five thousand people. There were only three Churches for white people in its boundaries, and the Methodist Society was the weakest (72) LIFE IN SAVANNAH. 73 among them; but on Sunday a houseful of strangers came to hear the new preacher. There was quite a contrast between the large crowds of colored people who filled the gal-. © leries and back seats in Wilmington and_ Georgetown and the few who sat in the gal- leries in Savannah, but among them were Uncle Tom and Aunt Peggy, who had been the first members of the Savannah class. Mr. Capers, who had been in Savannah the year before, was a very popular preacher, and on every Sunday night Presbyterians and Episcopalians came in crowds to hear him. They came now to hear the new preacher, and found him so fervent and eloquent that they continued to fill the seats - every Sunday night. There were but few over fifty white members in the Church, but they were very devoted and earnest, and Mr. Hall soon found he had his hands full of work, among a very appreciative and lov- ing people. Uncle Tom and Aunt Peggy were among the first of his black flock to come and see him. They had come already Methodists. from Georgetown to Savannah twenty years 74 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. before; and when Samuel Dunwody formed the first class, they joined it. ‘Dey ain’t many niggers what belong to ’Ciety here, Massa Hall. Dat Baptist, - Andrew, he ’witch ’em all, and dey t’ink dey nebber go heben lessen Brudder An- drew done put ’em in de ribber fust; but Peggy and me say we Met’odist, for we hear of Brudder Andrew, and Scriptur’ say w’en you ’gin to plow stick it out, and we bin stick’n yet. But as I am not writing the life of Mr. Hall in detail, so I need not tell how pop- ular and useful the new preacher was, and ~ how blessed he was in his work. Susie was now six years old, and she did not even know her letters. I have said she was not bright. She did not learn readily ; and while Lizette learned her letters in a day and was able to read very well before’ she was five, Susie had not yet been able to get beyond the first page of the spelling book. She thought a great deal and said very strange things, and talked to her dolls and her kitten and herself, and lived among the flowers; but somehow she could not LIFE IN SAVANNAH. 75 understand what the letters were for. Her mother was very anxious, and sometimes a little impatient, but her father had said she would learn after awhile, she could wait; but now she must go to school. Susie loved home and was afraid of ‘strangers, and while she was a very good aE aes little girl, she was a hard-headed one; and when her mother told her she must go to school, she began to cry. © $< lg atraid: to do. I’s afraid de cows will run after me, and I’s ’fraid dat big black dog at de torner will bite me, and I’s ’fraid de teacher will whip me; and den who’d take care of Popsy Wopsy when her mammy done Cone? ae Popsy Wopsy was Susie’s big doll. grandma gave it to her Christmas. Popsy Wopsy was made of cotton. She was dressed in a red calico dress with a red ribbon about her neck. She had two eyes painted with black ink, and a nose and a chin painted with ink too. She slept in Susie’s bed, and Susie used to talk to her a great deal. Popsy Wopsy never answered back. She was never saucy, end she Her EEE TE re ee NEE NEMO er ee RE NCEA SERS OME an SNCS ROE ar F UCN 76 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. = SSS never cried even when she fell down, as she often did. When Susie put her in a chair she sat there very quietly, and when she laid her down and said, « Now, Pop- sy Wopsy, you must go to sleep, your ‘mammy is doin’ visitin’,’? Popsy Wopsy was as quiet as she could be. Some people would have called Popsy Wopsy a rag doll, but then old people don’t see things like children do. ** My little girl, you mustn’t cry, and you must go to school, but mammy will go with you, and come after you, and you can car- ry Popsy Wopsy with you, and let her sit with you.’’ So Susie was quieted, and next day she went to school. Miss Nora Ryan loved little children, and she had near twenty in her school; and when Lizette and Susie came, she kissed them both, and said: ‘Well, your name is Lizette. Can you read?’’ “* Why, yes,ma’am. Ikinread good. I kin read all about the little boy in the apple tree, and not spell a word.’’ ‘Well, Susie, can you read?’”’ ‘* Can Susie read? Why, no, ma’am, she LIFE IN SAVANNAH. 77 don’t know'nothing. She don’t know big ‘“M’ from little ‘m,’ and mamma can’t learn her.’’ «‘ Well, Susie, I think you will learn, but _ you need not try to-day. What’s that you have in your arms?”’ ‘‘ Why, dis is Popsy Wopsy. You see I neber have left her by herself, and I was ’fraid she might be lonesome, so mam- ma said I might bring her to school.’’ “Well, that’s all right. Now you and Alice Wright can go out and play with Popsy Wopsy, and to-morrow I'll bring you a little book with pretty pictures in it.’’ School was not so bad a place after all, and Susie and Popsy Wopsy and Alice had a good time. ) It was not an easy thing for Susie to learn, but in a week she knew all the big letters, and in another she knew all the little ones, and before the school closed Susie could read pretty well. Popsy Wopsy, I must say, did not learn much, and Susie never could teach her how to read at all. Miss Nora used to tell the little girls and boys some beautiful stories, some from the 78 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. Bible and some from—well, I don’t know where. One that touched Susie very much was the story of the babes in the wood. The story was of a cruel uncle who wanted the property which belonged to his two little kinsmen. He hired a forester to take the little ones to a wood and kill them; but when the forester and his companion reached the wood, they quarreled and killed each other, and the little babes were left there by themselves; and they wandered and wandered, and at last laid down and died; and the robins came and gathered leaves and covered them; and because the robins were so kind-hearted, God gave them pretty red breasts. Poor little Susie, how sad it made her feel; and then when she heard of Red Rid- ing Hood she felt like she could not be glad. enough because the woodman came just in time to save little Red Riding Hood from the wolf. One day Susie said: ‘* Miss Nora, may I tell you a story I thinks up myself? ”’ s¢ Yes, dear.’’ «¢ Well, well, dere was a little girl, bery . LIFE IN SAVANNAH. 49 little girl, and she went into de woods, and de big bears eat her up, and when her mud- der come to hunt for her she found her safe and sound.”’ ‘s Well,’’ said Miss Nora, ‘‘ she was safe and sound, was she? I am glad.’’ «And so is I,’’ said Susie. Really, school was not so bad after all. The big red cow simply went on nipping the grass as the little girls went by, and did not even so much as look at them with her great eyes. The black dog came up wagging his tail; and when mammy told Susie to give him a biscuit, he gulped it down and came up with almost a smile and let Susie pat him on his big shaggy head. Every morning as she came, the dog would run to meet her, so,they might have a race. And then Miss Nora was so good. The old folks shook their heads and said Miss Nora was not strict enough; but somehow her little girls and boys learned faster than any little ones in the town. Even Dr. McWhir, who was as straight as an arrow and never smiled, and whose awful cane came down with fear- ful regularity on the shoulders of all alike, 80 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. never had such scholars as Miss Nora Ryan. Susie went thr ough the primer and could read in the first feader before the summer came, and then her papa bought her a book. She and Lizette each had one. Susie’s was ‘‘Mother Goose’s Melodies.’’ Who Mother ' Goose wasI don’t know. I don’t think she came from Boston, and I don’t think she was born very lately, and I don’t think she was one body at all; but her jingle was all music to Susie. Her mamma read it to her: Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, The cow jumped over the moon, ; The little dog laughed to see such sport, And the dish ran away with the spoon, ‘Mamma, did, not that cow jump mighty high? i don’t wonder the little dog laughed at her.’ Brother Myers looked a little solemn when he saw Susie with Mother Goose and Popsy Wopsy, and said something about Mr. Wesley on the training of children, but Mr. Hall said: ‘* Wait, my brother, till you are married and have children of your own, and then you'll see. Mr. Wesley never had any children but those at Kingswood, and LIFE IN SAVANNAH. 81 a pretty kettle of fish he made of them with his rules.”’ “* Well, Bendder Hall, dat’s wat all de fadders and mudders say; but if I should ever marry, you'll see ?’?— . ** Yes, I'll see.” 6 CHAPTER X. SUSIE IN TROUBLE. ° ZoPsy wopsy was not a rag doll to Susie. I She was her own darling, the dearest, sweetest, and best of all the doll family. Now, I am not going to try to explain how Popsy Wopsy, which to other people seemed only a rather homely bundle of Tags, made in the rather ugly form of an ill-shaped girl, was to Susie what she was, only to say I have seen mothers who saw in their children what no one else saw, and who loved with all ardor and almost wor- shiped in them traits no one else could see but that mother. A word to the disparage- ment of Popsy Wopsy aroused Susie as nothing else did. But few ever spoke that word. They had too much respect for her feelings. With ‘*Mother Goose’? and Popsy Wopsy, Susie had an unceasing source of enjoyment. ‘The old woman who lived in a shoe’’ she was a little afraid (82) SUSIE IN TROUBLE. CaS 83 of, and Jack, who «fell down and broke his crown, when Gill came tumbling after,”’ excited her deep sympathy. One Saturday afternoon little Alice Wright came over to see Susie. How close was their friendship for each other, with what warm sympathy they cared for Popsy Wop- sy, and how they delighted in ‘* Mother Goose,’’? we have not told, nor. need we tell. : Alice had received a beautiful gift from her aunt in New York. It was a genuine wax doll, with golden hair and deep blue eyes and the rosiest cheeks, and, wonderful to tell, the doll could—or rather she could be made to—open and shut her blue eyes. O, she was a beauty! and Popsy Wopsy looked very plain and common _ beside her. Now I am sorry to say that Susie was in- clined to be jealous, and when this won- derful doll was put beside Popsy Wopsy, Susie’s darling looked sadly common, and Susie could not hide that unpleasant fact from her eyes. Alice was delighted with her baby. It had such a fine dress, too; a 84 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. dress of real red silk, with a blue ribbon sash and a string of red beads around her charming neck. ‘Now, Susie, ain’t she a beauty? She is the prettiest and the sweetest doll dat 199 ever was! Susie looked grave. Should she, could she be so unfaithful to Popsy Wopsy as to admit such claims for the new doll? Pop- sy Wopsy, who was so dear to her, and who had been such a favorite with Alice? Her motherly affection rose, and she said: ‘* She is right pretty, but she ain’t as sweet as Popsy Wopsy.”’ ‘*Yes she is; she’s just the sweetest dar- ling baby anywhere.” ‘*No she ain’t,’”’ said Susie. ‘*She is proud, too, and she thinks she’s mighty fine.”’ : **T don’t care if she does. She is fine and pretty too, and is a heap sweeter than Popsy Wopsy.”’ ‘* Popsy Wopsy is a heap gooder.”’ *¢ She ain’t.”’ &¢ She is.”” ‘*Popsy Wopsy ain’t got no blue eyes SUSIE. IN TROUBLE. ° 85 nor rosy cheeks. She ain’t nobody but a rag doll, nohow.”’ This was too much, and Susie began to cry, and said through her sobs: ‘* Alice _ Wright, you’s real mean, and I don’t love you, and I wish you’d go home.” «‘And I don’t lub you needer, and I’m a goin’ home, and T’ll never, never come here no more.’’ And indignant Alice with flushed face went home. BE ‘©OQ mamma,’’ said Lizette, ‘* Susie’s done drove Alice home, and she says she’s never comin’ here no more.”’ Poor Susie was thoroughly miserable, and told her good mamma how deeply she had been wounded, and yet how sorry she was that she was so unkind to Alice. Her mother told her it was wrong to get angry, and added: ‘* Now, Susie, go to the kitchen and get mammy to give you some of those nice tea cakes, and take them to Alice, and tell her you are sorry, and make friends.”’ Susie was not reluctant to go, for she was very sorry because of her temper. So she put on a nice white apron and was \ 86 MR:HALL AND HIS FAMILY. soon at Alice’s home. her. ‘Alice, I’s brought you some cakes, and I’s come to tell you I am sorry I got mad.”’ ‘‘And I’m sorry I called Popsy W y Wopsy a rag doll,’’ said Alice. ae And so the trouble ended. Alice came to meet CHAPTER XI. ‘DAT BOY WILLIAM.” | REGRET to say that Uncle Cesar Ander- son made a true prediction about ‘dat boy William;” for despite Mam Aggie’s careful instructions, and not infrequent ap- plications of the ‘*cow-skin,’’ William con- tinued to be the most mischievous, vexa- tious, and unmanageable black urchin in the neighborhood. To get up a dog fight, to set the dogs on the inoffensive cats, to pit Aunt Aggie’s ‘‘domineck’’ rooster against Bill Wright’s game rooster; indeed, to do everything forbidden and to neglect to do all that was commanded were strik- ing features of William’s character. He was quick and smart, could wait on the ta- ble, black the shoes, go on errands, and _ was truly fond of Mars Tommy, whose special attendant he was, and really loved his folks and his mammy; but William was a hard case. / (87) 8& MR, HALL AND HIS FAMILY. William had, however, taken quite a re- ligious turn; and when the big meeting was going on at the Baptist Church of Dr. An- drew Marshall, William was a faithful at- tendant. His mammy began to have some hopes of his reformation; and though ‘she did not take much to the Yamacraw breth- ren of the deep water persuasion, yet she was glad of anything that would help Wil- liam. She had concluded her Friday after- noon work and was sitting in her clean kitchen when she heard a knock at the door. She went to it and found Dr. Marshall. He was a venerable black man, dressed . in black clothes, with a broad-brimmed hat and a great white cravat. His hair was almost snowy white, and was carded with scrupulous neatness. His manners were very dignified, an almost exact copy of the manners of the courtly Dr. Holcombe, who had been pastor of the Baptist Church of the whites years before, and who was Dr. Marshall’s ideal of a preacher. **Good evening, Missus Hall. I’s_ not been requainted wid you, but I am Dr. An- drew Marshall, of the Fust Baptist Church. " «DAT BOY WILLIAM.” 89 I’s called to see you on some berry ’portant bisness.”’ ‘<]’s glad to see you, Dr. Marshall. I’s hear you preach, and do’ we don’t ’long to de same ’nomination, yet we’s boun’ for de same place. I’s ooo fa say we’s not goin’ _to quar’! ’bout t’ings.’ «« No, Sis’er Hall, we Baptis’folks is putty sure we’s right, kase sence de day ob John de Baptis’ we’s been here, but we’s boun’ to let udder folks tek der own way. But I’s sorry to say ’'s come on some berry displeasant matters. I’s come to see you -*bout dat boy William ob yourn.”’ ‘‘O Brudder Marshall, dat boy been de worry ob my life. What is he bin doin’ now?’ é ‘¢ Well, ma’am, we bin hab some meet- in’ round at de church, an’ some boy dey make a fuss at de doo’, an’ Deacon Jones he berry quick in he temper an’ he go ‘out fur to stop ’em, an’ he ketch your boy Wil- liam an’ he, pull his ear an’ he shake ’im good, an’ den he turn “im loose.’’ «¢ Well, dat was right, only Deacon Jones -should spank ’im bad.’’ 90 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. ‘¢ Well, dat boy he come to church two, t’ree, four night, an’ he “have hese’f lack he had real ’ligion.”’ ** Done ’im good?”’ ‘¢ Well, ma’am, Idon’tknow dat. Heset in de gal’ry right ober whar Deacon Jones set. Now Deacon Jones, ef I mus’ say so, he will go to sleep, an’ one night he be asleep while I preach, an’ he mouf open, an’ he hab a big mouf, when kerchug down fum de gal’ry come a green apple, an’ hit fell smack in Deacon Jones’s mouf; an’ de way dat man jump an’ cough was a sight. Well, nobody know who did ’em, but your boy William he sot dar so good an’ quiet dat I t’ink he de boy. Well, t’ree night ago Deacon Jones be standin’ up an’ sing- in’ wid all his might, when pat on de crown | ob his bald head come fall a June bug, an’ he claw his b’ar head, an’ de bug he git caught in his wool, an’ de way dat man claw an’ jump, an’ eb’rybody laugh, an’ den one man behin’ your boy William he ketch at de collar an’ say, ‘ You de boy,’ but he jump loose an’ run under de bench an’ got away. Den Deacon Jones say he “DAT BOY WILLIAM.” gt tell Mr. Stone, de marshal, an’ Deacon Stevens say he ketch ’im an’ whip ’im, an’ I say, ‘No bruddern, I go see Sis’er Hall, an’ I turn ’im ober to her.’ ”’ «¢'T’ankee, Brudder Marshall, I’s got a good cow-skin ober dar, an’ I teach dat boy how to degrace he fambly an’ bring mis- honoron he par’nts. T’ankee fur tell me.”’ When William came home his mammy got quietly up and buttoned the door, and, taking her cow-skin from the shelf on which it lay, said: ‘* Now, William, tell me de truf an’ nuffin but de truf. What you drap dat apple down Deacon Jones’s t’roat fur? 2 <<] ’clar, mammy, I ’clar I neber drap no apple in Deacon Jones’s mouf, I ’clar il didn’t! ”” ‘You tell a story, you knows you do, an’ I’s gwine ter whip yer fur tellin’ a story.” ; «‘T ’clar, mammy, I neber tell no story. I hope I may die dis minute ef I tell any story. Ineber drap no apple.’’ ‘* Well, what you drap?”’ ‘J jes’ drap a permatters.”’ 92 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. “Well, what ’bout de June bug?”’ ‘ ae last William reached home with his oysters. He had been gone ie aes Aggie had been waiting impatiently 4 Oe 3 and when he came she said: z, Mallon: y triflin’ bagabon’, whar you bin? Fase <<] gin’t bin nowhar, mammy. cla : ain’t, ’cepin’ to de boat, but de boat warn t ’ ~ 29 dar, an’ I had to wait. «‘ William, you is a lyin’, you know you 140 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY: is. Sam Mood bin by heah a nour ago, an’ he hab he oysters. Whar is Mars Tom- Ty Hea ane “¢T ain’t seed Mars Tommy.”’ ‘s You ain’t seed Mars Tommy? you say dat? Laws a massy! whar is dat chile? William, you dun bin lose dat chile. O whar is he?”’ ‘s William,’’ said Mrs. Hall, ‘*‘ where is Tommy? ”’ ) William was by this time getting fright- ened. ‘*I ’clar, Miss Susan, I neber see Mars Tommy sence I lef’ here, I ’clar I — ain’t. O missté, let me go fin’ *im.”’ ‘¢My child is lost!) My poor child! My precious Tommy! ”’ ; “«Tommy is lost!’’ screamed Lizette. ‘¢ Tommy is lost! ”” Ries ‘Mamma,’ said Susie, ‘‘don’t Jesus know where Tommy is? Ill ask him to find him.’’ And she. fell on her little knees. ‘‘O Jesus, find Tommy, please.”’ Mr. Hall came in just then, to find the , trouble at its height. He calmly said: ‘*Don’t be so frightened. Unless the boy is run over, and I have no idea he is, we “DAT BOY WILLIAM” AGAIN. 141 will find him safe and sound. I will send the bellmen round, and then go down to the bay; and, Aggie, you and William go on Hayne and Meeting streets and we will find him before long.”’ In the meantime Tommy was having a° right good time. The organ and monkey had come his way, and he had followed the wonderful attraction. At last he began to grow tired, and he looked for William, but he could not find him. “Please, sir,”’ he said to a pleasant-faced old gentleman, «does you know where William is?”” «William? my little boy. Who is Wil- Tam? 27 «Why, William is just William, dat’s all. Where is he?”’ ««T am sure, my dear, I don’t know. What is your name?”’ «¢ Tommy.” <¢' Tommy, who is your father _ «Why, he is papa.”’ ‘* Where is he?”’ «At home.” «¢ Where is your home?’ ‘¢ Why, it is at home.” po? 142 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. “¢My, my! what am I to do?” said the good-natured old gentleman. ‘* Come, Tommy, come, and we’ll try to find Wil- liam.”’ The old man led the little boy toward the marshal’s office, and Tommy seemed con- tent enough, when a drayman passed and Tommy cried out: ‘ Hello, Patrick!”’ Patrick stopped his dray. ‘* Why, Mas- ter Tommy, what are ye doin’ here, me boy?.”’ ‘¢T am huntin’ William.’’ ‘* Do you know this little boy?”’ said the old man. 5, s< Sure, an’ I do, sir.” ‘¢ Whose child is he? ’’ ‘¢ Mr. Hall’s, sir, who lives by the Bethel chapel.”’ ; ‘¢ Well, he is lost.”’ «‘ Sure, he’s found, sir. Put him on me dray, sir, an’ I'll take him home. Now, Master Tom, ye hould on like a man, an’ Tiddy an’ me will take ye to yer papa in a little while.’ ‘Tommy thought it fine fun to ride behind ‘*Teddy’’ on the dray, and it was not long “DAT BOY WILLIAM” AGAIN. 143 before the distressed mother had the boy in her arms. : As Patrick drove down Cumberland he found Mr. Hall and gave him the good news. And Aggie heard it, and later Wil- iam came in to meet a somewhat insufficient _ punishment for his mischievous prank. CHAPTER XxX. ON SULLIVAN’S ISLAND. HE summer had come with all of its se- tf} vere heat. The season was unusually trying, and the little parsonage at Bethel was not built for comfort, and the heat was stifling. During a part of the day not a breath of wind stirred the delicate leaves of the China trees, and day and night the ener- getic mosquito kept busy. Susie had not - recovered from her winter attack, and her cheeks grew paler day by day. She lost appetite, and languidly lay on the front porch or back piazza. Her father became alarmed, and called in Dr. Mood to see her. » ‘‘ Brother Hall, you must get away from here. You must either go to the mountains or to the island, or you will be down with fever in a month.’’ : <¢ But, doctor, how am I to go? I can- not leave my flock, and Susie will not leave me.”’ (144) ON SULLIVAN'S ISLAND. 145 «‘ Well, I can’t tell you how, but go you must.”” The next day the good doctor came again. ‘I have fixed it all. Brother Muckenfus has a cottage already furnished on Sullivan’s Island. He is going to Con- necticut for three months, and he says that you may walk in and take possession.” And so it was arranged. Sullivan’s Island was a bank of sand washed out of the sea at the mouth of Charleston harbor. It is covered, or was before any cottages were built, with small palmettoes and with a few scrubby oaks. The cottages were all along the beach, and the bathing was in the surf. The bright blue sea stretched far away on one side, and the city was on the other, across the bay. The little family went over in the steam ferryboat, and found a nice home ready for them. Aunt Aggie found the kitchen well equipped; and although it was mid- summer, oysters came fresh from their beds, and the fisherman brought in fish still alive from the waters. Joe came with the 10 146 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. family. The parsonage was placed in charge of Patrick and Bridget for the three months the family were to be absent. It was a delightful change, and the children were almost wild with delight at the tran- sition from the pent-up parsonage, and the royal freedom of the island. The cottage was a very open, comforta- ble house, with broad verandas front and rear. It was on the highest part of the is- land, and commanded a view of the wide sea, which stretched far, far away. There was aconstant and gentle breeze to cool the July heat. The tides were coming in and the tides were going out; now covering the long stretch of sand along the beach, now leaving its miles of white sand bare and tenantless, except where in the shallow pools the crabs went sliding away, or on the sand the sandfleas were skipping, and the busy little fiddlers were scurrying to their holes. A long row of bath houses, little cribs where the bathers changed their cloth- ing, and down whose steps they went into the strengthening waves. It was only afew ~ days before there was brightness in the elite th ON SULLIVAN'S ISLAND. 147 - languid eyes of the children, and color in their pale cheeks. William was in his element. Our first introduction to him was when he went down to the creek with those ‘* Peden niggers”? in Wilmington. At Savannah he had many a dip in the river, and not a few times when * William was waiting for the oysters in Charleston his dusky form might have been found floating like a cork in some safe spot in the bay, and now William had free license to swim as much as he pleased; and then there was the fishing and crabbing, and Tom and William had a great time on the beach and fishing off the wharf for the crackers and yellowtails which abounded there. Crabbing was William’s favorite sport, and as there are few more toothsome rel- ~ ishes than well-prepared crabs, William was encouraged in his sport. My little friends in the interior never saw a crab, and if they could see the great spider-looking shell "fish as he goes speeding toward the water, moving backward, and especially if they could see the savage look with which, 148 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. when hard pressed, he opens wide his- claws, they would give him a wide berth; and if one of them should draw up his line and see a crab holding to it, he would drop his fishing pole, I am afraid, and run away. And I am sure if the crab should but clamp his curious claw upon one of their toes or fingers, there would be no* little commotion. But William was pretty well acquainted with the art of crabbing. With his short pole and line, to the end of which was attached a piece of beef, and with his net, he went to the wharf with Tommy to catch some crabs for supper. Several had already been caught and were thrown into the bucket, and Tommy was busy inspecting the catch. ‘«¢ Now,.Mars Tommy, you better let dem crab alone. He git his claw on you, you tink somet’ing got you, an’ he ketch you so_ quick you know nuthin’.”’ <“T ain’t afraid of no crab! My! my! Why, what a teeny, weeny one! He can’t bite.’’ And Tommy incautiously seized the little crab, and at once there was a wild ON SULLIVAN’S ISLAND. 149. wail: ‘“*O William! William! Run here; de crab done got me! O! O!” ‘‘Dar, now; I tole you dat,”’ said Wil- liam. But he caught the crab which had hold of Tommy’s hand and bit savagely at the biter, if one can be said to bite with a claw. Crabbie let go. <¢ Now, Mars Tommy, you let dem crab alone. Little crab, big crab, all crab bite de same; but ef he bite you, you bite him, den he let go.’’ Tommy was much subdued, but at a safe distance from the basket he inspected Wil- liam at his work. William was elated at his good luck, and became himself some- what careless. He had just caught a large crab and threw him at the basket, but missed his aim. The crab was scampering ata lively rate to the water. William ran to arrest him, and as he seized him by one claw the crab seized him with the other. Stung by the pain, he raised him to his — mouth to adopt his favorite method, when the crab with the other claw fastened, alas! on William’s fat nose. It was now William’s time to wail, and wail he 150 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. did. ‘“‘O mammy, mammy! Run here, mammy!”’ Aunt Aggie heard the scream, and ran, to find William in captivity. She speedily re- leased him. ‘‘ Now, William, my son, don’t~ be sech a fool nevermore to bite a crab when he is got he claw loose. He always get you, William.”’ William found the advice good, and I think it good myself.- I think that more than once if I had been more careful about the loose claw I might have had a happier escape.. s CHAPTER XXII. TOMMY’S FIRST VOYAGE. iu1AM and Tommy were inseparable. William was a good fisherman, and as the tide came in he used to go to the wharf to catch fish for the family. Uncle Joe had a boat, and he used to go out to the deep water to catch trout, or to where the whiting fed. William went with him fre- quently, and once he had taken Tommy along. Tommy felt as if he was quite a water man. William had gone to the wharf one morning, and was busy catching yellow- tails andcrabs. His father’s boat was care- lessly fastened to one of the piles. The tide was on its ebb, and the boat was just afloat. Tommy had waded in and was in the boat. Joe had thrown a link in the chain over a hook nailed to the pile. Tommy had seen him loose the boat when he went with him fishing, and mischievously, while William was not looking, he did-as he had (451) 152 Mk. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. seen Uncle Joe do, and the boat began to float with the tide. Fearlessly, and utterly unmindful of any danger, the little voyager stood up in the boat and, holding to the chain, called out to the now horrified Wil- liam: ‘* Look! Look, William, look! I -am sailing.’’ He was already several rods out from the wharf, and the boat was movy- ing rapidly as the tide ebbed away. ‘‘Marcy on me! Look dere!’’ said William. But the quick-witted boy had no time for debate.. He threw down his pole and leaped into the sea, and struck out man- fully for the boat. He had little need to divest himself of any clothing, for the thin cotton jacket and trousers were all he had on, and were as light as a bathing suit. He could swim like a fish, and in a little while he was at the boat andinit. He looked for the oars, but they were not there. William would, have turned pale, but his color was a — fixed one, and he could only express with his eyes the dread his cheek would not be- tray. . Why, William, what’s de matter wid you? You look real scared.” : marcy ! TOMMY’S FIRST VOYAGE. 153 ‘© You neber min’ ’bout me now, Mars Tommy; you jist sit still in dis boat. We git out all right.”’ as But how, he could not tell. William was not very correct in his life, but he was strong in his faith, and he began to pray. They were going at a lively rate out to sea, when Joe came back to look for his boat. He was to go to the whiting bank and catch some whiting at full tide; and when he saw the boat was missing, he at once suspected that his hopeful son had gone off with it. ‘‘ William,”’ he cried, ‘‘ bring back dat _ boat, you black rascal! ” «1 cain’t,” said William from the dis- tance. Joe saw the oars. The truth flashed on him: the children were adrift. ‘Lordy Dem chilluns! dem‘chilluns! ut As good providence would have it, Bill . Mood had that moment rowed his boat to the shore. Joe ran to him like a madman. Bill Mood, git in dat boat!”’ ‘«‘ What’s de matter?” ‘Matter ’nough! Dem teeny, weeny 154 Mk. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. chilluns is out yonder in dat boat wid no oar, no paddle! Jump in, man! Jump, an’ pull for your life! ”’ It required no’second word. Into the boat the brawny fellow leaped, and with | sturdy stroke they bounded over the waves. They had hard work, but they caught the runaways. Tom was laughing merrily at the way Uncle Joe was pulling, but William was too glad to laugh; and when Joe caught the boat and stepped in, William began to cry for very joy. ‘‘ Yes, you young rascal, I make you cry sure when I git you back. I tan you good one time for runnin’ away wid my boat.” ‘¢Why, Uncle Joe,”’ said Tommy, ‘‘ Wil- liam never runned away at all. I got in de boat, and de boat runned away wid me, and William cotched me.”’ I am sorry to say Master Tom’s grammar and pronunciation were sadly flavored by the kitchen, much to his mother’s annoy- ance; but his words were plain enough to Joe, who soon rowed them back to shore with the oars he had been thoughtful enough to throw into Bill Mood’s boat. CHAPTER XXII. THE FEVER. told was not known at the cottage until all danger was over. Master Tom received a severe reprimand, and while William was right sharply berated by his mother for his carelessness, his mistress was so glad that ie exciting event of which we have just Tommy was safe that he really reaped a re- ward for that almost calamity which had . been caused by his devotion to the rod and line. ss Mr. Hall went over every morning to visit his parishioners. There was much sickness. A kind of bilious fever, called dengue fever, prostrated many people, and he had his hands full. One day Patrick said to him: ‘* Will yer Riverence plase call at noomber siventy-six Coomberland an’ say me ould frind, Dennis O’Ruly? I can’t go this mornin’, an’ I’m anxious to hear.”’ Mr. Hall called. Mary O’Ruly, the wife, (155) 156 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. was sick, Dennis was delirious, and one of the children was also burning with fever. ‘*Dennis was working till day before yes- terday unloading a ship from the West Indies,”’ said Mary. ‘‘ He came in witha chill and an awful pain in his head and back, and he has been getting worse till he is now awful bad.”’ ‘¢Have you had a doctor?”’ ‘* No, sir; not yet. I have been too sick to go after one, and Dennis was taken so suddent.”’ <¢ Well, I’ll send you one.” Dr. Mood met Mr. Hall as he went up the street; and when told of the distress of the laborer’s family, he went at once, taking Mr. Hall with him in his gig. He examined the patient, and an expression of real anxiety came over his face. Prescrib- ing for the sick one, and leaving the reme- dies, he came out to his gig. ‘* Well, Brother Hall, it has come at last, as I feared.”’ Wihatrd ‘*The fever—the yellow fever. Dennis has a well-developed case, and we will have THE FEVER. 157 a thousand more in a week. . I am so glad your family and mine are on the island. I wish you were away too.” : <‘T would come back if I was,’’ said Mr. Hall. ‘To leave one’s people in these times would be the basest desertion.” Dr. Mood was right. The fever in a week had covered the city from the neck to the bay. Physicians were busy from morn- ing till night. Everybody who could get into the country or to the island fled; but there were no railroads in those days, and ' many were forced to stay. ‘¢ Brother Hall,’’ said Dr. Mood, ‘* we must get Dennis to the hospital, and you had better see Father Barry, his priest, about it ~ at once.”’ Father Barry had taken the place of Father Rooney. He was a very different man from his predecessor, and while just as devoted a Catholic, he was as liberal as his creed would allow him to be. He was unquestionably devout and self-sacrificing, and was now constantly at work among the poor. He had turned his parsonage into a hospital, and when Mr. Hall came and re- it a 158 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. ported the case of his sick parishioner, he said: ‘*I will send for him at once, and I am obliged to you for telling me of him. There is a poor woman here who belongs to your people, and whom I would be glad for you to see.”’ The Catholic priest and the Methodist preacher were thus brought together, and day by day they walked the almost deserted ' streets ministering to the sick and dying. In the Catholic parsonage there were some _ Sisters of Charity who were acting as nurses for the suffering patients. They soon learned to know the Methodist preacher, and always greeted him kindly. Father Barry and the good Sisters knew no dis- tinction in creeds then. They ministered to all, and the Protestant pastors visited all alike as they went on their daily ministra- tions. Mr. Hall came over early every morning and went back at night. There was no fever on the island, and the family were all quite well, but there was a look about the eyes of the wife that told of deep anxiety. - 29 ‘‘Mamma,’’ said Susie, ‘*what makes THE FEVER. 159 papa stay away all the time ? and what makes you so bothered?” ‘‘My darling, there are so many sick folks in the city, and papa has to be with them; but I hope it will all be well.’’ ‘* Mamma, is God gone away? Can’t he take care of papa?”’ oe «¢ Yes, my dear, and God will do it 1f you pray to him.”’ «¢ Well, mamma, I’s done asked God to take care of papa, and I know he will do it; but I is mighty fraid he will get sick.”’ Mr. Hall never faltered. Day by day the pestilence moved on with its stealthy step. The great wholesale houses on Hayne and Meeting streets were closed from morn- ing till night. The weeds and grass sprang up where the busy crowds were accustomed to walk. The physicians’ carriages and the hearses that bore the dead were almost the only vehicles seen. The pastors of both the Presbyterian and Episcopal Churches were ill, and Mr. Hall’s only helper was the Bap- tist preacher and the Catholic priest. He - came one morning to the Catholic parson- age to see Mrs. Evans, one of his members, 160 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. who was very ill. Sister Marie, a French immigrant, was her nurse. . Mr. Hall asked for her. ‘*O Meester Hall, Meestress Evans be nearly gone. De doctaire say she no live to-day; but O seer, she be von booteeful woman in heart. She so sweet, so patient, so happee. She vant to see you so bad.” Mrs. Evans had had a sad life. Born in wealth, well educated, thoroughly refined, she had married a bright young man from an adjoining estate; but dissipation, extrav- agance, and gambling had cost him the whole property, and at last he lost his life in a duel. His poor wife, robbed of all, came to the only thing she had, a little cottage which her father had owned as a home for a favor- ite servant, and here by teaching a few’ small children she had. managed to supply her simple wants. Her old nurse, Aunt Sukey, came to her, and together they strug- gled on. Aunt Sukey belonged to Bethel, and through Aunt Sukey’s influence she was led to attend the services there; and years before this she had given her heart to God and joined in Society, as they called | THE FEVER. 161 joining the. Church in those days. Aunt Sukey was taken with a’ severe sickness, and her mistress nursed her to the last, and buried her; and when the fever came, she sunk under it. A good Catholic neighbor had her taken to the hospital, and now she was dying. ; She was not yet fifty, but her hair was like snow, and her dark eyes were in strange contrast with the marble whiteness of brow and cheek. She loved her pastor, and extended her wasted hand as he came in, and a sweet smile covered her face. ‘‘ O, I am so glad to see you! I am so near home, so near home, and Jesus is so near me! I wanted to tell you how happy I ‘am. Sister Marie has been so good, and you have been so good, and Father Barry has been so good, and God is so good. Sister Marie, you sung for me ‘ O mother dear, Jerusalem,’ and I want you to sing it onée more; and then, Brother Hall, pray for - me and rejoice with me.’’ And the good Sister sung the dear old song which for fif- teen centuries and more had gladdened sad hearts, and then the Methodist preacher ig 162 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. knelt at the bedside of the dying saint, nae fervently prayed. Sister Marie was in tears when he rose. She said: ‘«*O Meester Hall, me poor leetle head can’t make it out, but me heart tell me dot woman gone to Him she love; but she no was like me. She no know like me de catechism my mudder teach me. She no confess. She no ebsolve. She no ‘unction. But she safe, I know she safe.”’ «‘O Sister Marie,’’ said the good Pro- testant, ‘‘our hearts speak better than our heads.” ‘< Well, I be glad to die like her.”’ ‘*T am sure you will; don’t fear.” Mr. Hall at last went too far and too long, and one day he came to his home with a severe chill, and then the fever followed. He grew worse and worse. Dr. Mood said to Father Barry: ‘* Mr. Hall is very ill, and he must have a skilled nurse, or he will die.”’ «¢Mr. Hall shall not die if nursing can save him,’’ said the good father. «¢ Vat you say ?’’ said Sister Marie. “* You vant somebody to nurse Meester Hall? Vell, ace ere ect Iam dat von; I vill go dees ver hour.’ And so the gentle Sister, with her prayer book and crucifix and rosary; robes to the island to nurse the Protestant preacher pack to life. The. fight for life was a hard one, but Sister Marie was skillful, and the doctor was wise, and God was merciful, and the tide of life did not go out. Little Susie and merry Lizette and Tom were all quiet during the days when death was so near. Sister Marie, when the cloud was over, said: ‘‘ 1 mus’ go avay- Godsogood. You vill leev.”’ «*God bless you, my good Sister; you have done much for me.’’ : «No! no! Pray ven he, come I vill be readee. Good-bye.” e went in her Sister’s: CHAPTER XXiIil. ‘‘ BELVIDERE.” R. HALL was out of danger, but was far from being well. The terrible fe- ver had left him almost as feeble as a little child. Dr. Mood, who had been very as- siduous in his attentions, said to him: ‘* You must get away from here. You can do no more work for this season, and to remain here is to needlessly risk your life. You must go northward, and not return till after a white frost.”’ <«¢ But I cannot leave Susan and the chil- dren.’’ : : ‘¢ Well, take them with you. But go.” The next day Mr. Hall received a letter from his brother Henry. It read thus: «“ BELVIDERE,” August 20, 1825. My Dear Brother: 1 have learned that the fever is in Charleston. Comeaway at once. Ihave room enough in “Belvidere” for you all, and mother is there. Come by the first boat, Your brother, HENRY. (164) “BELVIDERE.” 165 Ean eee SE «¢ Susan,”’ said Mr. Hall, ‘* see how the Lord opens the way. Get the children ready, and as soon as I can travel I will go to North Carolina.”’ Patrick was to take care of the parsonage, and Joe was to go with his. sick master. Patrick had been incessantly at work dur- ing the pestilence. He had once had the fever, and he and Bridget had become for- tified against it. His warm Irish heart was full of sympathy for the suffering, and day and night he was at work. When ‘his Riverence’’ was taken sick, Patrick did not fail to come to see him every day, and now that Mr. Hall was out of danger, his devoted friend was happy beyond measure. ‘An’ sure, yer Riverence, it’s mesilf that’s glad the docthurs ordered ye away. Vl take keer of iv’rything, an’ ye must be off an’ away soon. Capt. Jinks, ov the ‘ Mary Ann,’ from Nooberne, has jist coome down wi’ a load o’ corn an’ ba- con, an’ is goin’ back impty; Ill say him an’ ax if he will noot take ye all to Noorth Car’lina.”’ The matter was easily arranged. The 166 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. little sloop of one hundred tons burden had a good cabin and no passengers. The cap- tain was a kind man and a good sailor. The little family were all embarked in a day after the decision was made, and with the tide the ‘* Mary Ann” floated out to sea. There was a good wind from the south, and the little sloop made quick time over the quiet waters and soon was safely in sight of the wharf at ‘‘ Belvidere.’’ Mr. Henry Hall was a rice planter as well as a merchant, and his summer home in‘ which he spent most of his time was called ‘‘Belvidere.’’ It was located on the sound in a grand grove of live oaks. The heuse was one of those comfortable, unpretentious mansions which were common on the old plantations: wide verandas went all around the house, large windows came down to the floor, and great halls, through which the breeze could always find passage, divided the house into two sets of apartments. He had no little children with him at the time, his wife and mother constituting his family. He had been looking fer his brother, and when the ‘* Mary Ann’”’ rounded the point “BELVIDERE.” 167 he rightly supposed she was making for the wharf, and when the skipper brought her to it, he was there to meet his brother. He had hardly yet become reconciled to his brother’s decision to bea traveling preacher, but had determined to make the best of it and not allow it to affect his relations to him. The greeting was very warm and ten-. der, and the dear old mother, who had not seen her son and his family for three years, almost overlooked the emaciated appear- ance of Mr. Hall in her joy of seeing him once again. There were few more delightful places: than the home of a planter like Mr. Hall, and Susie and Lizette and Tom were in some danger of being badly spoiled by the fond kinsfolk. Wilmington was not far away, and Aunt Isabella came, and Mrs. Hall’s mother, and a crowd of relatives. There were well-trained and numerous serv- ants, abundant supplies for the table, pure air, and delightful company. , Everything was favorable to Mr. Hall’s recovery. Though there were few white children, 168 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. there was a yardful of little negroes who, with William in the lead, were ever in search of new pleasures. It was now to the cow pen—or, as they called it, the ‘* cup- pen ’’—to see the cows and the little calves, and then to see the colts in the stable yard, and then on a hunt for the hens’ nests, and to see the great droves of ducks and geese swimming on the sound. And then such plays as they had at night when the lightwood blazed on the hearth! and what stories by Dilsy, who never tired of ‘* Br’er Rabbit’’ and his trials; and of ‘‘ ha’nts’’ and ‘‘ghosties’? and giants ‘* wat eated up bad chilluns;’? and then mammy’s sweet old songs. ‘These were some of the things that made the stay at ‘* Belvidere ”’ so pleasant. They had been there but a little while before an old gray-headed man, moy- ing slowly, leaning on a long staff, came hobbling to the house. It was old Peter. ‘‘ My lillie massa come; ole Peter see "im once mo’; ole Peter t’ink he in glory, for my lillie massa come agin, but so now me come see my lillie massa.”’ «‘ Come in, Daddy Peter, come in and see SE > — Si \ “BELVIDERE.” 169 him. He has been very sick, but is nearly well now.” ‘‘ Bless de Lord; howdy do, my lillie massa. Ole Peter been look for de an- gels dis long time, put dey no come yit. Dey comin’ soon.” ‘Daddy Peter, here are the children: Lizette and Susie, you remember, daddy, don’t you?” “Yes, daddy give me heap of ground- nuts and hickory nuts; didn’t you, daddy?”’ « Sure, lillie missus, I gib’em to you when you wid ole miss.” ; «¢ Well,”’ said the father, ‘‘ you all must go down to see daddy.”’ «Yes, come heap time. Daddy always glad to see you; daddy no’ stay long here; de angels come soon. Good - bye; lillie massa, good-bye.”’ And old Peter hobbled back to his cabin. Mr. Henry Hall was very busy, but he was very kind. He had increased his estate and his cares. He treated his brother with great respect, but one day said to him: «‘ Now, John, I don’t want to interfere with you; | believe in free thought, and am 170 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. willing to give you all I ask; let me alone, and I willletyou alone. Have prayers with the family, but don’t expect me to be present. My carriage and driver are always at your service, and your friends are always welcome to ‘Belvidere,’ but you need not trouble yourself about my religion.” His brother knew him too well, and was, withal, too wise to disregard this request. The days sped on, and recovery of strength came slowly. The children often went to the quarters where Daddy Peter had his snug and comfortable cabin. The old man. was up early every morning, winter or sum- mer, always had a fire ‘in the fireplace, and he was always delighted to see his ‘‘ lillie missuses,’’ as he called Susie and Lizette. They generally took him his breakfast from the family table. This morning as they went to the cabin Lizette said: ‘‘-Look, Susie, there ain’t no smoke in the chimney, and the door is shut.”’ ‘‘ Well, Daddy Peter he no lock he doo’. He in dar waitin’ for he breakfus,’’ said William. They tapped, but daddy made no reply. They went into the cabin, but Dad- fo ne RRR RE = PC i “BELVIDERE.” 171 dy Peter was in bed. William went closer and said softly: ‘‘ Daddy, daddy; we brung your breakfus.’’ But the old man never -opened his eyes. ‘‘ Daddy, daddy!” he said in a louder voice. But there was no re- sponse. William started back in fright. ‘«* Somet’in’ de matter wid Daddy Peter. I’s goin’ to tell mammy.” The little girls came running to the house. Uncle Henry was still in the dining room with their father. ‘‘Uncle Henry,’’ said Lizette, ‘‘ Daddy Peter is asleep, and we can’t wake him.”’ - <¢ Dear me, dear me!”’ said their uncle, ‘¢ the good old man is gone at last.” And he hurried to the cabin. His brother and the whole family followed. Sure enough, the angels had come. Old Peter had gone home. Tears rolled down every cheek. The faithful slave had been their true friend all their lives. No one now knows how the white people used to love their negro slaves, and few would credit the true story if it was told. A ‘‘Dear old daddy,’’ said Uncle Henry, ‘«¢you have gone home. The angels have 172 MR. HALL AND HIS FAMILY. ? come.”’ It was a strange speech for the master to make, but it came involuntarily from his heart. Aggie and Joe and Dilsy and others came, and old Peter was pre- pared for his burial. The white shroud was made under the direction of ladies at the ‘‘big house.’? The negro carpenter made a neat coffin, and the servants on the plantation were given a recess to attend the funeral. Mr. Hall was not too feeble to talk to the plantation slaves and to read the funeral service, and under the weeping wil- low Daddy Peter was laid to sleep. They returned sadly home. It was the first time Susie had seen one dear to them all laid away in the grave. She did not think of Daddy Peter as dead. There was no death to her; Daddy Peter had gone to heaven. That night Uncle Henry held the little girl on his lap, when she said to him: ‘* Uncle Henry, Daddy Jack is gone to heaven, ain’t he??? “Yes, my darling; if there is any heaven, Daddy Jack is there.”’ «Why, Uncle Henry, there is a heaven. Ain’t you going to heaven? Grandma is “BELVIDERE.” 173 Bs Nace a hee RR SL SE going, and papa and mamma and wee and aunty and us all. I know you1s too. The tears came into his eyes, and the arrow went through his heart. He began to read his Bible, he began to pray, he took Jesus as his Saviour, and he could say to his little niece: ‘* Yes, dear, Uncle Henry is going too.” CHAPTER XXIV. ; MORE ABOUT SUSIE. y book is getting so large that we must take leave of Mr. Hall and his family. But I told you on the title page that my story would be mostly about Susie, and so we will devote a few more words to our little - favorite before we part. Did our darling little girl have no faults? Well, yes; but I have not looked for them, and have not told about them, and after all they were not so many. She was very sensitive. She could not bear to be scolded at all, or teased, or dis- appointed. Lizette was not so. She laughed when they teased her, and teased them back. She did not go off and sulk, but sometimes Susie did. If her mamma did not kiss her and notice her, Susie thought her mamma was angry, and tears would come in her _ blue eyes, and she would go and lie down -in the trundle-bed and cry, and mammy would find her and take her in her lap, and kiss her and calm her. And then she was so careless. She never knew where her. apron was, nor her handkerchief, and she (174) MORE ABOUT SUSIE. 175 FR asl seen a It BAR SE ete eee lost her playthings and left them scattered about; and when her mamma scolded her - © ever so little, she cried like her heart would. break. I have seen some other little girls just like her, and a great many little boys much more careless—only they didn’t cry. She did not like to study. She loved to play and to hear stories told and to dream, but she did not love her books. Her mamma said Susie was dull, but I agree with her papa, that she was merely slow; though she did not like to study hard lessons, and did not learn as fast as she might have done. And I am afraid Susie was a little selfish. She was not stingy at all. She was willing to give away almost anything she had, but then she wished to be noticed and to be loved. If her papa took Lizette on one knee, she wanted to sit on the other; and if Lizette had a storybook, she wanted one too; and if she gave anybody anything, she wanted them to know that she gave it, and for them to thank her. But Susie had a great many good traits, and [ really think she got rid of all her faults after awhile. She loved her God very much —he is her dear Father in heaven; she loved to read his book, and to go to his church, to sing his praises, and to pray to him. Jesus was to Susie the dearest being that - ever wore our form in this world. She knew x and thought nobody was so sweet as Tom. She was good to all the servants. She never hurt their feelings, but spoke respect- fully to them. She called them mammy and daddy if they were old, and uncle and aunt if they were younger, and never called them “‘ niggers,’’ because mammy said the bad man Wasa Snigger,”’“and it nurt the col- ored people’s feelings to call them niggers. She was always kind to poor people, and was always ready to give to them. She was just such a little girl as every little girl could be, if she would do as Susie did, if she would pray to God to make her bettep every day, and if she would ask the Good Spirit to live in her heart. But I have not time to go back to Charles- ton with Mr. Hall, nor to tell the story of Susie further at this time, so I will leave them all in the pleasant home of Uncle Henry at ‘* Belvidere,”’ in the beautiful month of October, 1825, TARE, UNIVERSITY Johnson City, Tefinessee * 3 s = &. 4 <= v2) = - wn uy a ra & = 3