Peculiar: A Tale of the Great Transition

“The Devil is an ass.”—Old Proverb.

Peek’s apprehensions in regard to Ratcliff’s agent, Semmes, were not imaginary. Semmes was of the school in politics and policy of old Mr. Slidell. He did not believe in the vitality and absoluteness of right and goodness. His life maxim was, while bowing and smirking to all the world, to hold all the world as cheats. To his mind, slavery was right, because it was profitable; and inwardly he pooh-poohed at every attempt to vindicate or to condemn it from a moral or religious point of view. He laid it down as an axiom, that slavery must exist just so long as it paid.

“Worthy souls, sir, these philanthropists,—but they want the virile element,—the practical element, sir! Like women and poets, they are led by their emotions. If the world were in the hands of such softs, the old machine would be smashed up in universal anarchy.”

Ah, thou blind guide! These tender souls thou scornest are they who always prevail in the long run. They prevail, because God rules through them, and because he does not withdraw himself utterly from human affairs! They prevail because Christ’s doctrine of self-abnegation, and of justice and love, is the very central principle of progress, whether in the heavens or on the earth; because it is the keystone of the arch by which all things are upheld and saved from chaos. Yes, Divine duty, Charity! “Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong,—and the most ancient heavens, through thee, are fresh and strong!”

Benjamin Constant remarked of conservative Talleyrand, that had he been present at the creation of all things, he would have exclaimed, “Good God! chaos will be destroyed!” Beware of the conservatism that would impede God’s work of justice and of love!

Ratcliff, in his last confidential interview with Semmes, had communicated to the lawyer all the facts which he himself was in possession of in regard to the White Slave. In the quiet of Ratcliff’s library, Semmes now carefully revolved and weighed all these particulars. The fact that Clara might be wrongfully held as a slave made little impression upon him, his proper business being to conform to his client’s wishes and to make his client’s claim as strong as possible, without regard to any other considerations. What puzzled him greatly was Madam Volney’s apparent interest in Clara; and as for Esha, she was a perfect sphinx in her impenetrability. As he pondered the question of her fidelity, the thought occurred to him, Why not learn something of her antecedents from Mrs. Gentry? A good idea!

That very evening he knocked at the door of the “select establishment.” A bright-faced black boy had run up the steps in advance of him, and asked who it was he wanted to see. “Mrs. Gentry.” “Well, sir, she’s in. Just give the bell a good pull.” And the officious boy disappeared. A minute afterwards the lawyer was seated in the lady’s presence in her little parlor.

“And have you heard from poor Mr. Ratcliff?” she asked.

“He is still in confinement, I believe, in Fort Lafayette.”

“Ah! is he, poor man?” returned the lady; and it was on her mind to add: “I knew he would be come up with! I said he would be come up with!” But she repressed the exulting exclamation, and simply added: “Those horrid Yankees! Do you think, Mr. Semmes, we are in any danger from this down-east general, known as Picayune Butler?”

“Don’t be under concern, Madam. He may be a sharp lawyer, but if he ever comes to New Orleans, it will be as a prisoner.”

“And how is Miss Murray?”

“Never better, or handsomer. And by the way, I wish to make some inquiries respecting the colored woman Esha, who, I believe, lived some time in your family.”

“Yes, Esha lived with me fifteen years. A capital cook, and good washer and ironer. I wouldn’t have parted with her if Mr. Ratcliff hadn’t been so set on borrowing her. She was here some days ago about that deposition business.”

“O yes,” said Semmes, thoroughly startled, yet concealing every sign of surprise, and remarking: “By the way, how did you get through with that business?”

“O, very well. Mr. Jasper and the other gentlemen were very polite and considerate.”

Jasper! He was the counsel in the great case of Winslow versus Burrows. Probably he was now Winslow’s confidential agent and adviser. Semmes’s thin, wiry hands closed together, as if grasping a clew that would lead him to hidden treasures.

“I hope,” said he, carefully trying his ground, “you weren’t incommoded by the application.”

“Not at all. I only had to refer to my account-books, which gave me all the necessary dates. And as for the child’s clothes, they were in an old trunk in the garret, where they hadn’t been touched for fifteen years. I had forgotten all about them till Mr. Jasper asked me whether I had any such articles.”

Semmes was still in the dark.

“And was Esha’s testimony taken?”

“Yes, though I don’t see of what use it can be, seeing that she’s a slave, and her deposition is worthless under our laws.”

“To what did Esha depose?”

“Haven’t you seen the depositions?”

“O yes! But not having read them carefully as yet, I should like the benefit of your recollections.”

“O, Esha merely identified the girl’s clothes and the initials marked upon them,—for she knows the alphabet. She also remembered seeing Mr. Ratcliff lift the child out of the barouche the day he first called here. All which was taken down.”

“Could you let me see the clothes and the account-books?”

“I gave them all up to Mr. Jasper. Didn’t he tell you so?”

“Perhaps. I may have forgotten.”

Semmes bade Mrs. Gentry good evening.

“Headed off by all that’s unfortunate!” muttered he, as he walked away. “And by that smooth Churchman, Jasper! Why didn’t I think to hermetically seal up this Mrs. Gentry’s clack, and take away all her traps and books? And Esha,—if she weren’t playing false, she would have reported all this to me at once. But I’ll let the old hag see that, deep as she is, she isn’t beyond the reach of my plummet. That pretended brother of hers, too! He must be looked after. I shouldn’t wonder if he were a spy of Winslow’s. I must venture upon a coup d’état at once, if I would defeat their plottings. How shall I manage it?”

Semmes had on his books heavy charges against Ratcliff for professional services, and did not care to jeopard their payment by any slackness in attending to that gentleman’s parting injunctions. He saw he would be justified in any act of precaution, however extreme, that was undertaken in good faith towards his client. And so he resolved on two steps: one was to arrest Esha’s pretended brother, and the other to withdraw Clara from the surveillance of Esha and Madame Volney.

Peek had not been idle meanwhile. For several weeks he had employed a boy to dog Semmes’s footsteps; and when that enterprising lad brought word of the lawyer’s visit to Mrs. Gentry’s, Peek saw that his own communications with the women at Ratcliff’s were cut off. He immediately sent word of the fact to Esha, and told her to redouble her caution.

Semmes waited three days in the hope that Peek would make his appearance; but at length growing impatient, took occasion to accost the impracticable Esha.

“Esha, can that brother of yours drive a carriage?”

“O yes, massa, he can do eb’ry ting.”

“Well, Jim wants to go up to Baton Rouge to see his wife, and I’ve no objection to hiring your brother awhile in his place.”

“Dar’s noting Jake would like quite so well, massa; but how unfortnit it am!—Jake’s gone to Natchez.”

“Where does Jake live when he’s here?”

“Yah, yah! Dat’s a good joke. Whar does he lib? He lib all ’bout in spots. Jake’s got more wives nor ole Brigham Young.”

Finding he could make nothing out of Esha, Semmes resolved on his second precaution; for he felt that, with two plotting women against him, his charge was likely any moment to be abstracted from under his eyes. He had the letting of several vacant houses, some of them furnished. If he could secretly transfer Clara to one of these, he could guard and hold her there without being in momentary dread of her escape. He thought long and anxiously, and finally nodded his head as if the right scheme had been hit upon at last.

Clara was an early riser. Every morning, in company with Esha, she took a promenade in the little garden in the rear of the house. One morning as they were thus engaged, and Clara was noticing the indications of spring among the early buds and blossoms (though it was yet March), a woman, newly employed as a seamstress in the family, called out from the kitchen window, “O Esha! Come quick! Black Susy is trying to catch Minnie, to kill her for stealing cream.” Minnie was a favorite cat, petted by Madame Volney.

“Don’t let her do it, Esha!” exclaimed Clara. “Run quick, and prevent it!”

Esha ran. But no sooner had she disappeared over the threshold than Clara, who stood admiring an almond-tree in full bloom, felt a hood thrown over her face from behind, while both her hands were seized to prevent resistance. The hood was so strongly saturated with chloroform, that almost before she could utter a cry she was insensible.

When Clara returned to consciousness, she found herself lying on a bed in a large and elegant apartment. The rich Parisian furniture, the Turkish carpet, and the amber-colored silk curtains told of wealth and sumptuous tastes. Her first movement was to feel for the little dagger which she carried in a sheath in a hidden pocket. She found it was safe. The windows were open, and the pleasant morning breeze came in soft and cool.

As she raised herself on her elbow and looked about, a woman wearing the white starched linen bonnet of a Sister of Charity rose from a chair and stood before her. The face of this woman had a tender and serious expression, but the head showed a deficiency in the intellectual regions. Indeed, Sister Agatha was at once a saint and a simpleton; credulous as a child, though pious as Ignatius himself. She was not in truth a recognized member of the intelligent order whose garb she wore. She had been rejected because of those very traits she now revealed; but being regarded as harmless, she was suffered to play the Sister on her own account, procuring alms from the charitable, and often using them discreetly. Having called at Semmes’s office on a begging visit, he had recognized in her a fitting tool, and had secured her confidence by a liberal contribution and an affectation of rare piety.

“How do you feel now, my dear?” asked Agatha.

“What has happened?” said Clara, trying to recall the circumstances which had led to her present position. “Who are you? Where’s Esha? Why is not Josephine here?”

“There! don’t get excited,” said the sister. “Your poor brain has been in a whirl,—that’s all.”

“Please tell me who you are, and why I am here, and what has happened.”

“I am Sister Agatha. I have been engaged by Mr. Semmes to take care of you. What has happened is,—you have had one of your bad turns, that’s all.”

Clara pondered the past silently for a full minute; then, turning to the woman, said: “You would not knowingly do a bad act. I get that assurance from your face. Have they told you I was insane?”

“There, dear, be quiet! Lie down, and don’t distress yourself,” said Sister Agatha. “We’ll have some breakfast for you soon.”

“You speak of my having had a bad turn,” resumed Clara. “What sort of a bad turn? A fit?”

“Yes, dear, a fit.”

“Come nearer to me, Sister Agatha. Don’t you perceive an odor of chloroform on my clothes?”

“Why not? They gave it for your relief.”

“No; they gave it to render me powerless, that they might bring me without a struggle to this place out of the reach of the two friends with whom I have been living. Sister Agatha, don’t let them deceive you. Do I talk or look like an insane person? Do not fear to answer me. I shall not be offended.”

“Yes, child, you both talk and look as if you were not in your right mind. So be a good girl and compose yourself.”

Clara stepped on the floor, walked to the window, and saw that she was in the third story of a spacious house. She tried the doors. They were all locked, with the exception of one which communicated by a little entry, occupied by closets, with a corresponding room which looked out on the street from the front.

“I am a prisoner within these rooms, am I?” asked Clara.

“Yes, there’s no way by which you can get out. But here is everything comfortable, you see. In the front room you will find a piano and a case of pious books. Here is a bathing-room, where you can have hot water or cold. This door on my right leads to a billiard-table, where you can go and play, if you are good. You need not lack for air or exercise.”

“When can I see Mr. Semmes?”

“He promised to be here by ten o’clock.”

“Do not fail to let me see him when he comes. Sister Agatha, is there any way by which I can prove to you I am not insane?”

“No; because the more shrewd and sensible you are, the more I shall think you are out of your head. Insane people are always cunning. You have showed great cunning in all you have said and done.”

“Then if I turn simple, you will think I am recovering, eh?”

“No; I shall think you are feigning. Why, I once passed a whole day with a crazy woman, and never one moment suspected she was crazy till I was told so.”

“Who told you I am crazy?”

“The gentleman who engaged me to attend you,—Mr. Semmes.”

“Am I crazy only on one point or on many?”

“You ought to know best. I believe you are what they call a monomaniac. You are crazy on the subject of freedom. You want to be free.”

“But, Sister Agatha, if you were shut up in a house against your will, wouldn’t you desire to be free?”

“There it is! I knew you would put things cunningly. But I’m prepared for it. You mustn’t think to deceive me, child, Why not be honest, and confess your wits are wandering?”

The door of the communicating room was here unlocked.

“What’s that?” asked Clara.

“They are bringing in your breakfast,” said the sister. “I hope you have an appetite.”

Though faint and sick at heart, Clara resolved to conceal her emotions. So she sat down and made a show of eating.

“I will leave you awhile,” said the sister. “If you want anything, you can ring.”

Left to herself, Clara rose and promenaded the apartment, her thoughts intently turned inward to a survey of her position. Why had she been removed to this new abode? Plainly because Semmes feared she would be aided by her companions in baffling his vigilance and effecting her escape. Clara knelt by the bedside and prayed for light and guidance; and an inward voice seemed to say to her: “You talk of trusting God, and yet you only half trust him.”

What could it mean? Clara meditated upon it long and anxiously. What had been her motive in procuring the dagger! A mixed motive and vague. Perhaps it was to take her own life, perhaps another’s. Had she not reached that point of faith that she could believe God would save her from both these alternatives? Yes; she would doubt no longer. Walking to the back window she drew the dagger from its sheath and threw it far out into a clump of rose-bushes that grew rank in the centre of the area.

The key turned in the door, and Sister Agatha appeared.

“Mr. Semmes is here. Can he come in?”

“Yes. I’ve been waiting for him.”

The sister withdrew and the gentleman entered.

“Sit down,” said Clara. “For what purpose am I confined here?”

“My dear young lady, you desire to be treated with frankness. You are sensible,—you are well educated,—you are altogether charming; but you are a slave.”

“Stop there, sir! How do you know I’m a slave?”

“Of course I am bound to take the testimony of my client, an honorable gentleman, on that point.”

“Have you examined the record! Can Mr. Ratcliff produce any evidence that the child he bought was white? Look at me. Look at this arm. Do you believe my parentage is other than pure Saxon? If that doesn’t shake your belief, let me tell you that I have proofs that I am the only surviving child of that same Mr. and Mrs. Berwick who were lost more than fourteen years ago in a steamboat explosion on the Mississippi.”

“Proofs? You have proofs? Impossible! What are they?”

“That I do not choose to tell you. Only I warn you that the proofs exist, and that you are lending yourself to a fraud in helping your client to hold me as a slave.”

“My dear young lady, don’t encourage such wild, romantic dreams. Some one, for a wicked purpose, has put them into your head. The only child of Mr. and Mrs. Berwick was lost with them, as was clearly proved on the trial that grew out of the disaster, and their large property passed into the possession of a distant connection.”

“But what if the story of the child’s loss was a lie,—what if she was saved,—then kidnapped,—then sold as a slave? What if she now stands before you?”

“As a lawyer I must say, I don’t see it. And even if it were all true, what an incalculable advantage the man who has millions in possession will have over any claimant who can’t offer a respectable fee in advance! Who holds the purse-strings, wins. ’T is an invariable rule, my child.”

“God will defend the right, Mr. Semmes; and I advise you to range yourself on his side forthwith.”

“It wouldn’t do for me to desert my client. That would be grossly unprofessional.”

“Even if satisfied your client was in the wrong?”

“My dear young lady, that’s just the predicament where a lawyer’s services are most needed. What can I do for you?”

“Nothing, for I’m not in the wrong. My cause is that of justice and humanity. You cannot serve it.”

“In that remark you wound my amour propre. Now let me put the case for my client: Accidentally attending an auction he buys an infant slave. He brings her up tenderly and well. He spares no expense in her education. No sooner does she reach a marriageable age, than, discarding all gratitude for his kindness, she runs away. He discovers her, and she is brought to his house. His wife dying, he proposes to marry and emancipate this ungrateful young woman. Instead of being touched by his generosity, she plots to baffle and disappoint him. Who could blame him if he were to put her up at auction to-morrow and sell her to the highest bidder?”

“If you speak in sincerity, sir, then you are, morally considered, blind as an owl; if in raillery, then you are cruel as a wolf.”

“My dear young lady, you show in your every remark that you are a cultivated person; that you are naturally clever, and that education has added its polish. How charming it would be to see one so gifted and accomplished placed in that position of wealth and rank which she would so well adorn! There must never be unpleasant words between me and the future Mrs. Ratcliff,—never!”

“Then, sir, you’re safe, however angrily I may speak.”

“Your pin-money alone, my dear young lady, will be enough to support half a dozen ordinary families.”

Clara made no reply, and Semmes continued: “Think of it! First, the tour of Europe in princely style; then a return to the most splendid establishment in Louisiana!”

“Well, sir, if your eloquence is exhausted, you can do me a favor.”

“What is it, my dear young lady?”

“Leave the room.”

“Certainly. By the way, I expect Mr. Ratcliff any hour now.”

“I thought he was in Fort Lafayette!” replied Clara, trying to steady her voice and conceal her agitation.

“No. He succeeded in escaping. His letter is dated Richmond.”

Clara made no reply, and the old lawyer passed out, muttering: “Poor little simpleton. ’T is only a freak. No woman in her senses could resist such an offer. She’ll thank me one of these days for my anæsthetic practice.”