Iola Leroy - Frances Ellen Watkins Harper (suggested reading txt) 📗

“Oh, I do hope that you will succeed. I expect to stop over there a few days, and I shall be so glad if, before I leave, I hear your search has been crowned with success, or, a least, that you have been put on the right track. Although I was born and raised in the midst of slavery, I had not the least idea of its barbarous selfishness till I was forced to pass through it. But we lived so much alone I had no opportunity to study it, except on our own plantation. My father and mother were very kind to their slaves. But it was slavery, all the same, and I hate it, root and branch.”

Just then the conductor called out the station.

“We stop here,” said Robert. “I am going to see Mrs. Johnson, and hunt up some of my old acquaintances. Where do you stop?”

“I don’t know,” replied Iola. “I expect that friends will be here to meet us. Bishop B⁠⸺, permit me to introduce you to Mr. Robert Johnson, whom I have every reason to believe is my mother’s brother. Like myself, he is engaged in hunting up his lost relatives.”

“And I,” said Robert, “am very much pleased to know that we are not without favorable clues.”

“Bishop,” said Iola, “Mr. Johnson wishes to know where I am to stop. He is going on an exploring expedition, and wishes to let me know the result.”

“We stop at Mrs. Allston’s, 313 New Street,” said the bishop. “If I can be of any use to you, I am at your service.”

“Thank you,” said Robert, lifting his hat, as he left them to pursue his inquiries about his long-lost mother.

Quickly he trod the old familiar streets which led to his former home. He found Mrs. Johnson, but she had aged very fast since the war. She was no longer the lithe, active woman, with her proud manner and resolute bearing. Her eye had lost its brightness, her step its elasticity, and her whole appearance indicated that she was slowly sinking beneath a weight of sorrow which was heavier far than her weight of years. When she heard that Robert had called to see her she was going to receive him in the hall, as she would have done any of her former slaves, but her mind immediately changed when she saw him. He was not the lighthearted, careless, mischief-loving Robby of former days, but a handsome man, with heavy moustache, dark, earnest eyes, and proud military bearing. He smiled, and reached out his hand to her. She hardly knew how to address him. To her colored people were either boys and girls, or “aunties and uncles.” She had never in her life addressed a colored person as “Mr. or Mrs.” To do so now was to violate the social customs of the place. It would be like learning a new language in her old age. Robert immediately set her at ease by addressing her under the old familiar name of “Miss Nancy.” This immediately relieved her of all embarrassment. She invited him into the sitting-room, and gave him a warm welcome.

“Well, Robby,” she said, “I once thought that you would have been the last one to leave me. You know I never ill-treated you, and I gave you everything you needed. People said that I was spoiling you. I thought you were as happy as the days were long. When I heard of other people’s servants leaving them I used to say to myself, ‘I can trust my Bobby; he will stick to me to the last.’ But I fooled myself that time. Soon as the Yankee soldiers got in sight you left me without saying a word. That morning I came down into the kitchen and asked Linda, ‘Where’s Robert? Why hasn’t he set the table?’ She said ‘she hadn’t seen you since the night before.’ I thought maybe you were sick, and I went to see, but you were not in your room. I couldn’t believe at first that you were gone. Wasn’t I always good to you?”

“Oh, Miss Nancy,” replied Robert; “you were good, but freedom was better.”

“Yes,” she said, musingly, “I suppose I would have done the same. But, Robby, it did go hard with me at first. However, I soon found out that my neighbors had been going through the same thing. But its all over now. Let bygones be bygones. What are you doing now, and where are you living?”

“I am living in the city of P⁠⸺. I have opened a hardware store there. But just now I am in search of my mother and sister.”

“I hope that you may find them.”

“How long,” asked Robert, “do you think it has been since they left here?”

“Let me see; it must have been nearly thirty years. You got my letter?”

“Yes, ma’am; thank you.”

“There have been great changes since you left here,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Gundover died, and a number of colored men have banded together, bought his plantation, and divided it among themselves. And I hear they have a very nice settlement out there. I hope, since the Government has set them free, that they will succeed.”

After Robert’s interview with Mrs. Johnson he thought he would visit the settlement and hunt up his old friends. He easily found the place. It was on a clearing in Gundover’s woods, where Robert and Uncle Daniel had held their last prayer-meeting. Now the gloomy silence of those woods was broken by the hum of industry, the murmur of cheerful voices, and the merry laughter of happy children. Where they had trodden with fear and misgiving, freedmen walked with light and bounding hearts. The schoolhouse had taken the place of the slave-pen and auction-block. “How is yer, ole boy?” asked one laborer of another.

“Everything is lobly,” replied the other. The blue sky arching overhead and the beauty of the scenery justified the expression.

Gundover had died soon after the surrender. Frank Anderson had grown reckless and drank himself to death. His brother Tom had been killed in battle.