Education would be
valuable to the negro, especially in his old age; it would soften
his impulses rather than impair his attachment, unless the master be
a tyrant fearing the results of his own oppression. Marston, a good
master, had deprived the old man of the means of protecting himself
against the avarice of those who would snatch him from freedom, and
while his flesh and blood contained dollars and cents, sell him into
slavery. Freedom, under the best circumstances, could do him little
good in his old age; and yet, a knowledge of the wrong rankled deep
in Marston's feelings: he could relieve it only by giving Daddy Bob
and Harry their freedom if they would accept it.
Relinquishing Daddy's hand, he commanded him to go and bring him
Annette and Nicholas. "Bring them," he says, "without the knowledge
of their mothers." Bob withdrew, hastened to the cabins in the yard
to fulfil the mission. Poor things, thought Marston; they are mine,
how can I disown them? Ah, there's the point to conquer-I cannot! It
is like the mad torrents of hell, stretched out before me to consume
my very soul, to bid me defiance. Misfortune is truly a great
purifier, a great regenerator of our moral being; but how can I make
the wrong right?-how can I live to hope for something beyond the
caprice of this alluring world? My frailties have stamped their
future with shame.
Thus he mused as the children came scampering into the room.
Annette, her flaxen curls dangling about her neck, looking as tidy
and bright as the skill of Clotilda could make her, runs to Marston,
throws herself on his knee, fondles about his bosom, kisses his hand
again and again.
Pages:
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129