Contending Forces

a foreign land, many friends gathered about him and advised him to reconsider his determination. Montfort laughingly invited them to join him in his new venture, and then earnestly pointed out to them the dangers which threatened their fortunes. He painted his plans in glowing colors, and ended by promising them that in less than twenty-five years he would land in England, a retired planter, his former slaves free and happy, and he himself rich and honored.

Having an immense amount of property to transport, it happened that Mr. Montfort was compelled to make two trips to New Bern before he removed his family to their new home; but after much energetic work and many difficulties, the little family looked through blinding tears at the receding shores of what had been a happy home. A week later a noble ship stood off the shores of North Carolina. On the deck was Charles Montfort; his wife hung upon his arm; beside the devoted couple were Charles, Jr., named for his father, and Jesse, the young darling of his mother’s heart. Silently they gazed upon the fair scene before them, each longing for the land so recently left behind them, though no word of regret was spoken.

II

The Days “Before the War”

O Freedom! thou art not as poets dream,
A fair young girl with light and delicate limbs,
⋮
Thy birthright was not given by human hands:
Thou wert twinborn with man.

The shores of Pamlico Sound presented a motley crowd of slaves, overseers, owners of vessels, and a phantasmagoric landscape very charming to eyes unaccustomed to such scenes. It was near the noon siesta. In the harbor lay three or four vessels ready to be loaded with their freight of rice, tobacco or cotton. The sun poured its level rays straight down upon the heads of all. A band of slaves sang in a musical monotone, and kept time to the music of their song as they unloaded a barge that had just arrived:

Turn dat han’ spike roun’ an’ roun’,
Hol’ hard, honey; hol’ hard, honey.
Brack man tote de buckra’s load,
Hol’ hard, honey; hol’ hard, honey

Neber ’fo’ seed a nigger like you,
Hol’ hard, honey; hol’ hard, honey.
Allers tinkin’ ’bout yer ol’ brack Sue,
Hol’ hard, honey; hol’ hard, honey.

Ef I was an alligater what’d I do?
Hol’ hard, honey; hol’ hard, honey.
Run ’way wid ol’ brack Sue,
Hol’ hard, honey; hol’ hard, honey.

Massa ketch yer, what’d he do?
Hi, hi, honey; hi, hi, honey.
Cut yer back an’ ol’ brack Sue’s,
He, he, honey; he, he, honey.

I cuss massa ’hin’ de fence,
Hol’ hard, honey; hol’ hard, honey.
Massa don’ hyar make no differyence,
Hol’ hard, honey; hol’ hard, honey.

Turn dat han’ spike roun’ an’ roun’,
Hol’ hard, honey; hol’ hard, honey.
Brack man tote de buckra’s load,
Hol’ hard, honey; hol’ hard, honey.

As the refrain died away the bell for the noon rest sounded faintly in the distance, gradually drawing nearer, and again their rich and plaintive voices blended together in sweet cadences as they finished placing the heavy load to the satisfaction of their drivers:

Hark, dat merry, purty bell go
Jing-a-lingle, jing-a-lingle, jingle bell,
Jing-a-lingle, jing-a-lingle, jing-a-lingle bell,
Jingle bell, jingle bell.

Even so sang the children of Israel in their captivity, as they sat by the rivers of Babylon awaiting deliverance.

Just now a ship, which had some time since appeared as a dark spot on the horizon, turned her majestic prow and steered for the entrance to the sound. Immediately the pilot boat in the harbor put out to her. Everyone on the shore became eagerly intent upon the strange ship, and they watched the pilot climb aboard with all the interest which usually attends the slightest cause for excitement in a small community.

The ship came on very slowly, for there was little wind, under topsail, jib and foresail, the British flag at the peak and the American flag at the fore. The people on shore could see the captain standing by the pilot, the anchor ready to be dropped, and the bowsprit shrouds loose. But now their interest was divided with a new arrival. A man on horseback rode down to the shaky wooden platform which served as a landing place for passengers; behind him, at a respectful distance, rode a white-haired Mulatto. The man leaped from his horse and threw his reins to the slave, signaled a couple of Negroes in a boat, jumped into it as they, obedient to his sign, pulled alongside the wharf, and was rowed swiftly out to the advancing ship, which was now making considerable headway toward the shore.

Among the idlers on the wharf was one whom everyone addressed as Bill. He was large, or rather burly, carried a rawhide in his hand, and from his air of authority toward them, was evidently the overseer of the gang of slaves who were loading the tobacco barge. From out the crowd a man who had been sitting idly on a bale of cotton moved toward him.

“Holloa, Bill,” he said, addressing the owner of the rawhide.

“Howdy, Hank”; returned Bill, surveying the other curiously, “whar in time did you drap from?”

Hank did not reply directly. He shifted the tobacco quid in his mouth from one cheek to the other, then with a nod of the head toward the approaching vessel, asked: “Whar’s she from?”

“Hain’t been in town lately, I reckon, or you’d know all about the Island Queen from Bermudy. Planter named Montfort on her. He’s movin’ his niggers here to Caroliny; gittin’ too hot fer him back thar,” replied Bill, with a backward jerk of his thumb in the supposed direction of Bermuda. “How’s things up yer way?”

“Fair, fair to middlin’, Bill; thar’s been some talk ’bout a risin’ among the niggers, and so we jes tuk a few o’ them an’ strun ’em up fer a eggsample to the res’. I tell you, Bill, we jes don’t spec’ to hav’ no foolin’ ’bout this yer question of