In which Mr. Winston finds an old Friend.

In the early part of Mr. Winston’s career, when he worked as a boy on the plantation of his father, he had frequently received great kindness at the hands of one Charles Ellis, who was often employed as carpenter about the premises.

On one occasion, as a great favour, he had been permitted to accompany Ellis to his home in Savanah, which was but a few miles distant, where he remained during the Christmas holidays. This kindness he had never forgotten; and on his return to Georgia from New Orleans he sought for his old friend, and found he had removed to the North, but to which particular city he could not ascertain.

As he walked homewards, the strong likeness of little Charlie to his old friend forced itself upon him, and the more he reflected upon it the more likely it appeared that the boy might be his child; and the identity of name and occupation between the father of Charlie and his old friend led to the belief that he was about to make some discovery respecting him.

On his way to his hotel he passed the old State House, the bell of which was just striking ten. “It’s too late to go to-night,” said he, “it shall be the first thing I attend to in the morning;” and after walking on a short distance farther, he found himself at the door of his domicile.

As he passed through the little knot of waiters who were gathered about the doors, one of them turning to another, asked, “Ain’t that man a Southerner, and ain’t he in your rooms, Ben?”

“I think he’s a Southerner,” was the reply of Ben. “But why do you ask, Allen?” he enquired. “Because it’s time he had subscribed something,” replied Mr. Allen. “The funds of the Vigilance Committee are very low indeed; in fact, the four that we helped through last week have completely drained us. We must make a raise from some quarter, and we might as well try it on him.”

Mr. Winston was waiting for a light that he might retire to his room, and was quickly served by the individual who had been so confidentially talking with Mr. Allen.

After giving Mr. Winston the light, Ben followed him into his room and busied himself in doing little nothings about the stove and wash-stand. “Let me unbutton your straps, sir,” said he, stooping down and commencing on the buttons, which he was rather long in unclosing. “I know, sir, dat you Southern gentlemen ain’t used to doing dese yer things for youself. I allus makes it a pint to show Southerners more ’tention dan I does to dese yer Northern folk, ’cause yer see I knows dey’r used to it, and can’t get on widout it.”

“I am not one of that kind,” said Winston, as Ben slowly unbuttoned the last strap. “I have been long accustomed to wait upon myself. I’ll only trouble you to bring me up a glass of fresh water, and then I shall have done with you for the night.”

“Better let me make you up a little fire, the nights is werry cool,” continued Ben. “I know you must feel ’em; I does myself; I’m from the South, too.”

“Are you?” replied Mr. Winston, with some interest; “from what part!”

“From Tuckahoe county, Virginia; nice place dat.”

“Never having been there I can’t say,” rejoined Mr. Winston, smiling; “and how do you like the North? I suppose you are a runaway,” continued he.

“Oh, no sir! no sir!” replied Ben, “I was sot free and I often wish,” he added in a whining tone, “dat I was back agin on the old place hain’t got no kind marster to look after me here, and I has to work drefful hard sometimes. Ah,” he concluded, drawing a long sigh, “if I was only back on de old place!” “I heartily wish you were!” said Mr. Winston, indignantly, “and wish moreover that you were to be tied up and whipped once a day for the rest of your life. Any man that prefers slavery to freedom deserves to be a slave you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Go out of the room, sir, as quick as possible!”

“Phew!” said the astonished and chagrined Ben, as he descended the stairs; “that was certainly a great miss,” continued he, talking as correct English, and with as pure Northern an accent as any one could boast.

“We have made a great mistake this time; a very queer kind of Southerner that is. I’m afraid we took the wrong pig by the ear;” and as he concluded, he betook himself to the group of white-aproned gentlemen before mentioned, to whom he related the incident that had just occurred.

“Quite a severe fall that, I should say,” remarked Mr. Allen. “Perhaps we have made a mistake and he is not a Southerner after all. Well he is registered from New Orleans, and I thought he was a good one to try it on.”

“It’s a clear case we’ve missed it this time,” exclaimed one of the party, “and I hope, Ben, when you found he was on the other side of the fence, you did not say too much.”

“Laws, no!” rejoined Ben, “do you think I’m a fool? As soon as I heard him say what he did, I was glad to get off I felt cheap enough, now mind, I tell you any one could have bought me for a shilling.”

Now it must be here related that most of the waiters employed in this hotel were also connected with the Vigilance Committee of the Under-ground Railroad Company a society formed for the assistance of fugitive slaves; by their efforts, and by the timely information it was often in their power to give, many a poor slave was enabled to escape from the clutches of his pursuers.

The house in which they were employed was the great resort of Southerners, who occasionally brought with them their slippery property; and it frequently happened that these disappeared from the premises to parts unknown, aided in their flight by the very waiters who would afterwards exhibit the most profound ignorance as to their whereabouts. Such of the Southerners as brought no servants with them were made to contribute, unconsciously and most amusingly, to the escape of those of their friends.

When a gentleman presented himself at the bar wearing boots entirely too small for him, with his hat so far down upon his forehead as almost to obscure his eyes, and whose mouth was filled with oaths and tobacco, he was generally looked upon as a favourable specimen to operate upon; and if he cursed the waiters, addressed any old man amongst them as “boy,” and was continually drinking cock-tails and mint-juleps, they were sure of their man; and then would tell him the most astonishing and distressing tales of their destitution, expressing, almost with tears in their eyes, their deep desire to return to their former masters; whilst perhaps the person from whose mouth this tale of woe proceeded had been born in a neighbouring street, and had never been south of Mason and Dixon’s line. This flattering testimony in favour of “the peculiar institution” generally had the effect of extracting a dollar or two from the purse of the sympathetic Southerner; which money went immediately into the coffers of the Vigilance Committee.

It was this course of conduct they were about to pursue with Mr. Winston; not because he exhibited in person or manners any of the before-mentioned peculiarities, but from his being registered from New Orleans.

The following morning, as soon as he had breakfasted, he started in search of Mr. Ellis. The address was 18, Little Green-street; and, by diligently inquiring, he at length discovered the required place.

After climbing up a long flight of stairs on the outside of an old wooden building, he found himself before a door on which was written, “Charles Ellis, carpenter and joiner.” On opening it, he ushered himself into the presence of an elderly coloured man, who was busily engaged in planing off a plank. As soon as Mr. Winston saw his face fully, he recognized him as his old friend. The hair had grown grey, and the form was also a trifle bent, but he would have known him amongst a thousand. Springing forward, he grasped his hand, exclaiming, “My dear old friend, don’t you know me?” Mr. Ellis shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked at him intently for a few moments, but seemed no wiser from his scrutiny. The tears started to Mr. Winston’s eyes as he said, “Many a kind word I’m indebted to you for I am George Winston don’t you remember little George that used to live on the Carter estate?”

“Why, bless me! it can’t be that you are the little fellow that used to go home with me sometimes to Savanah, and that was sold to go to New Orleans?”

“Yes, the same boy; I’ve been through a variety of changes since then.”

“I should think you had,” smilingly replied Mr. Ellis; “and, judging from appearances, very favourable ones! Why, I took you for a white man and you are a white man, as far as complexion is concerned. Laws, child!” he continued, laying his hand familiarly on Winston’s shoulders, “how you have changed I should never have known you! The last time I saw you, you were quite a shaver, running about in a long tow shirt, and regarding a hat and shoes as articles of luxury far beyond your reach. And now,” said Mr. Ellis, gazing at him with admiring eyes, “just to look at you! Why, you are as fine a looking man as one would wish to see in a day’s travel. I’ve often thought of you. It was only the other day I was talking to my wife, and wondering what had become of you. She, although a great deal older than your cousin Emily, used to be a sort of playmate of hers. Poor Emily! we heard she was sold at public sale in Savanah did you ever learn what became of her?” “Oh, yes; I saw her about two months since, when on my way from New Orleans. You remember old Colonel Garie? Well, his son bought her, and is living with her. They have two children she is very happy. I really love him; he is the most kind and affectionate fellow in the world; there is nothing he would not do to make her happy. Emily will be so delighted to know that I have seen your wife but who is Mrs. Ellis? any one that I know?”

“I do not know that you are acquainted with her, but you should remember her mother, old Nanny Tobert, as she was called; she kept a little confectionery almost every one in Savanah knew her.”

“I can’t say I do,” replied Winston, reflectively.

“She came here,” continued Mr. Ellis, “some years ago, and died soon after her arrival. Her daughter went to live with the Thomases, an old Philadelphia family, and it was from their house I married her.”

“Thomases?” repeated Mr. Winston; “that is where I saw your boy he is the image of you.”

“And how came you there?” asked Ellis, with a look of surprise.

“In the most natural manner possible. I was invited there to dinner yesterday the bright face of your boy attracted my attention so I inquired his name, and that led to the discovery of yourself.”

“And do the Thomases know you are a coloured man?” asked Mr. Ellis, almost speechless with astonishment.

“I rather think not,” laughingly rejoined Mr. Winston.

“It is a great risk you run to be passing for white in that way,” said Mr. Ellis, with a grave look. “But how did you manage to get introduced to that set? They are our very first people.”

“It is a long story,” was Winston’s reply; and he then, as briefly as he could, related all that had occurred to himself since they last met. “And now,” continued he, as he finished his recital, “I want to know all about you and your family; and I also want to see something of the coloured people. Since I’ve been in the North I’ve met none but whites. I’m not going to return to New Orleans to remain. I’m here in search of a home. I wish to find some place to settle down in for life, where I shall not labour under as many disadvantages as I must struggle against in the South.”

“One thing I must tell you,” rejoined Mr. Ellis; “if you should settle down here, you’ll have to be either one thing or other white or coloured. Either you must live exclusively amongst coloured people, or go to the whites and remain with them. But to do the latter, you must bear in mind that it must never be known that you have a drop of African blood in your veins, or you would be shunned as if you were a pestilence; no matter how fair in complexion or how white you may be.”

“I have not as yet decided on trying the experiment, and I hardly think it probable I shall,” rejoined Winston. As he said this he took out his watch, and was astonished to find how very long his visit had been. He therefore gave his hand to Mr. Ellis, and promised to return at six o’clock and accompany him home to visit his family.

As he was leaving the shop, Mr. Ellis remarked: “George, you have not said a word respecting your mother.” His face flushed, and the tears started in his eyes, as he replied, in a broken voice, “She’s dead! Only think, Ellis, she died within a stone’s throw of me, and I searching for her all the while. I never speak of it unless compelled; it is too harrowing. It was a great trial to me; it almost broke my heart to think that she perished miserably so near me, whilst I was in the enjoyment of every luxury. Oh, if she could only have lived to see me as I am now!” continued he; “but He ordered it otherwise, and we must bow. ’Twas God’s will it should be so. Good bye till evening. I shall see you again at six.”

Great was the surprise of Mrs. Ellis and her daughters on learning from Mr. Ellis, when he came home to dinner, of the events of the morning; and great was the agitation caused by the announcement of the fact, that his friend was to be their guest in the evening.

Mrs. Ellis proposed inviting some of their acquaintances to meet him; but to this project her husband objected, saying he wanted to have a quiet evening with him, and to talk over old times; and that persons who were entire strangers to him would only be a restraint upon them.

Caddy seemed quite put out by the announcement of the intended visit. She declared that nothing was fit to be seen, that the house was in a state of disorder shocking to behold, and that there was scarce a place in it fit to sit down in; and she forthwith began to prepare for an afternoon’s vigorous scrubbing and cleaning.

“Just let things remain as they are, will you, Caddy dear,” said her father. “Please be quiet until I get out of the house,” he continued, as she began to make unmistakeable demonstrations towards raising a dust. “In a few moments you shall have the house to yourself, only give me time to finish my dinner in peace.”

Esther, her mother, and their sewing were summarily banished to an upstairs room, whilst Caddy took undivided possession of the little parlour, which she soon brought into an astonishing state of cleanliness. The ornaments were arranged at exact distances from the corners of the mantelpiece, the looking-glass was polished, until it appeared to be without spot or blemish, and its gilt frame was newly adorned with cut paper to protect it from the flies. The best china was brought out, carefully dusted, and set upon the waiter, and all things within doors placed in a state of forwardness to receive their expected guest. The door-steps were, however, not as white and clean as they might be, and that circumstance pressed upon Caddy’s mind. She therefore determined to give them a hasty wipe before retiring to dress for the evening.

Having done this, and dressed herself to her satisfaction, she came down stairs to prepare the refreshments for tea. In doing this, she continually found herself exposing her new silk dress to great risks. She therefore donned an old petticoat over her skirt, and tied an old silk handkerchief over her head to protect her hair from flying particles of dust; and thus arrayed she passed the time in a state of great excitement, frequently looking out of the window to see if her father and their guest were approaching.

In one of these excursions, she, to her intense indignation, found a beggar boy endeavouring to draw, with a piece of charcoal, an illustration of a horse-race upon her so recently cleaned door-steps.

“You young villain,” she almost screamed, “go away from there. How dare you make those marks upon the steps? Go off at once, or I’ll give you to a constable.” To these behests the daring young gentleman only returned a contemptuous laugh, and put his thumb to his nose in the most provoking manner. “Ain’t you going?” continued the irate Caddy, almost choked with wrath at the sight of the steps, over which she had so recently toiled, scored in every direction with black marks.

“Just wait till I come down, I’ll give it to you, you audacious villain, you,” she cried, as she closed the window; “I’ll see if I can’t move you!” Caddy hastily seized a broom, and descended the stairs with the intention of inflicting summary vengeance upon the dirty delinquent who had so rashly made himself liable to her wrath. Stealing softly down the alley beside the house, she sprang suddenly forward, and brought the broom with all her energy down upon the head of Mr. Winston, who was standing on the place just left by the beggar. She struck with such force as to completely crush his hat down over his eyes, and was about to repeat the blow, when her father caught her arm, and she became aware of the awful mistake she had made.

“Why, my child!” exclaimed her father, “what on earth, is the matter with you, have you lost your senses?” and as he spoke, he held her at arm’s length from him to get a better look at her. “What are you dressed up in this style for?” he continued, as he surveyed her from head to foot; and then bursting into a loud laugh at her comical appearance, he released her, and she made the quickest possible retreat into the house by the way she came out.

Bushing breathless upstairs, she exclaimed, “Oh, mother, mother, I’ve done it now! They’ve come, and I’ve beat him over the head with a broom!”

“Beat whom over the head with a broom?” asked Mrs. Ellis.

“Oh, mother, I’m so ashamed, I don’t know what to do with myself. I struck Mr. Winston with a broom. Mr. Winston, the gentleman father has brought home.”

“I really believe the child is crazy,” said Mrs. Ellis, surveying the chagrined girl. “Beat Mr. Winston over the head with a broom! how came you to do it?”

“Oh, mother, I made a great mistake; I thought he was a beggar.”

“He must be a very different looking person from what we have been led to expect,” here interrupted Esther. “I understood father to say that he was very gentlemanlike in appearance.”

“So he is,” replied Caddy.

“But you just said you took him for a beggar?” replied her mother.

“Oh, don’t bother me, don’t bother me! my head is all turned upside down. Do, Esther, go down and let them in hear how furiously father is knocking! Oh, go do go!”

Esther quickly descended and opened the door for Winston and her father; and whilst the former was having the dust removed and his hat straightened, Mrs. Ellis came down and was introduced by her husband. She laughingly apologized for the ludicrous mistake Caddy had made, which afforded great amusement to all parties, and divers were the jokes perpetrated at her expense during the remainder of the evening. Her equanimity having been restored by Winston’s assurances that he rather enjoyed the joke than otherwise and an opportunity having been afforded her to obliterate the obnoxious marks from the door-steps she exhibited great activity in forwarding all the arrangements for tea.

They sat a long while round the table much time that, under ordinary circumstances, would have been given to the demolition of the food before them, being occupied by the elders of the party in inquiries after mutual friends, and in relating the many incidents that had occurred since they last met.

Tea being at length finished, and the things cleared away, Mrs. Ellis gave the girls permission to go out. “Where are you going?” asked their father.

“To the library company’s room to-night is their last lecture.”

“I thought,” said Winston, “that coloured persons were excluded from such places. I certainly have been told so several times.”

“It is quite true,” replied Mr. Ellis; “at the lectures of the white library societies a coloured person would no more be permitted to enter than a donkey or a rattle-snake. This association they speak of is entirely composed of people of colour. They have a fine library, a debating club, chemical apparatus, collections of minerals, &c. They have been having a course of lectures delivered before them this winter, and to-night is the last of the course.”

“Wouldn’t you like to go, Mr. Winston?” asked Mrs. Ellis, who had a mother’s desire to secure so fine an escort for her daughters.

“No, no don’t, George,” quickly interposed Mr. Ellis; “I am selfish enough to want you entirely to myself to-night. The girls will find beaux enough, I’ll warrant you.” At this request the girls did not seem greatly pleased, and Miss Caddy, who already, in imagination, had excited the envy of all her female friends by the grand entree she was to make at the Lyceum, leaning on the arm of Winston, gave her father a by no means affectionate look, and tying her bonnet-strings with a hasty jerk, started out in company with her sister.

“You appear to be very comfortable here, Ellis,” said Mr. Winston, looking round the apartment. “If I am not too inquisitive what rent do you pay for this house?”

“It’s mine!” replied Ellis, with an air of satisfaction; “house, ground, and all, bought and paid for since I settled here.”

“Why, you are getting on well! I suppose,” remarked Winston, “that you are much better off than the majority of your coloured friends. From all I can learn, the free coloured people in the Northern cities are very badly off. I’ve been frequently told that they suffer dreadfully from want and privations of various kinds.”

“Oh, I see you have been swallowing the usual dose that is poured down Southern throats by those Northern negro-haters, who seem to think it a duty they owe the South to tell all manner of infamous lies upon us free coloured people. I really get so indignant and provoked sometimes, that I scarcely know what to do with myself. Badly off, and in want, indeed! Why, my dear sir, we not only support our own poor, but assist the whites to support theirs, and enemies are continually filling the public ear with the most distressing tales of our destitution! Only the other day the Colonization Society had the assurance to present a petition to the legislature of this State, asking for an appropriation to assist them in sending us all to Africa, that we might no longer remain a burthen upon the State and they came very near getting it, too; had it not been for the timely assistance of young Denbigh, the son of Judge Denbigh, they would have succeeded, such was the gross ignorance that prevailed respecting our real condition, amongst the members of the legislature. He moved a postponement of the vote until he could have time to bring forward facts to support the ground that he had assumed in opposition to the appropriation being made. It was granted; and, in a speech that does him honour, he brought forward facts that proved us to be in a much superior condition to that in which our imaginative enemies had described us. Ay! he did more he proved us to be in advance of the whites in wealth and general intelligence: for whilst it was one in fifteen amongst the whites unable to read and write, it was but one in eighteen amongst the coloured (I won’t pretend to be correct about the figures, but that was about the relative proportions); and also, that we paid, in the shape of taxes upon our real estate, more than our proportion for the support of paupers, insane, convicts, &c.”

“Well,” said the astonished Winston, “that is turning the tables completely. You must take me to visit amongst the coloured people; I want to see as much of them as possible during my stay.”

“I’ll do what I can for you, George. I am unable to spare you much time just at present, but I’ll put you in the hands of one who has abundance of it at his disposal I will call with you and introduce you to Walters.”

“Who is Walters?” asked Mr. Winston.

“A friend of mine a dealer in real estate.”

“Oh, then he is a white man?”

“Not by any means,” laughingly replied Mr. Ellis. “He is as black as a man can conveniently be. He is very wealthy; some say that he is worth half a million of dollars. He owns, to my certain knowledge, one hundred brick houses. I met him the other day in a towering rage: it appears, that he owns ten thousand dollars’ worth of stock, in a railroad extending from this to a neighbouring city. Having occasion to travel in it for some little distance, he got into the first-class cars; the conductor, seeing him there, ordered him out he refused to go, and stated that he was a shareholder. The conductor replied, that he did not care how much stock he owned, he was a nigger, and that no nigger should ride in those cars; so he called help, and after a great deal of trouble they succeeded in ejecting him.” “And he a stockholder! It was outrageous,” exclaimed Winston. “And was there no redress?”

“No, none, practically. He would have been obliged to institute a suit against the company; and, as public opinion now is, it would be impossible for him to obtain a verdict in his favour.”

The next day Winston was introduced to Mr. Walters, who expressed great pleasure in making his acquaintance, and spent a week in showing him everything of any interest connected with coloured people.

Winston was greatly delighted with the acquaintances he made; and the kindness and hospitality with which he was received made a most agreeable impression upon him.

It was during this period that he wrote the glowing letters to Mr. and Mrs. Garie, the effects of which will be discerned in the next chapter.