Our Nig

Lonely Mag Smith! See her as she walks with downcast eyes and heavy heart. It was not always thus. She had a loving, trusting heart. Early deprived of parental guardianship, far removed from relatives, she was left to guide her tiny boat over life’s surges alone and inexperienced. As she merged into womanhood, unprotected, uncherished, uncared for, there fell on her ear the music of love, awakening an intensity of emotion long dormant. It whispered of an elevation before unaspired to; of ease and plenty her simple heart had never dreamed of as hers. She knew the voice of her charmer, so ravishing, sounded far above her. It seemed like an angel’s, alluring her upward and onward. She thought she could ascend to him and become an equal. She surrendered to him a priceless gem, which he proudly garnered as a trophy, with those of other victims, and left her to her fate. The world seemed full of hateful deceivers and crushing arrogance. Conscious that the great bond of union to her former companions was severed, that the disdain of others would be insupportable, she determined to leave the few friends she possessed, and seek an asylum among strangers. Her offspring came unwelcomed, and before its nativity numbered weeks, it passed from earth, ascending to a purer and better life.

“God be thanked,” ejaculated Mag, as she saw its breathing cease; “no one can taunt her with my ruin.”

Soon followed scenes familiar and trying.

“It’s no use,” said Seth one day; “we must give the children away, and try to get work in some other place.”

“Who’ll take the black devils?” snarled Mag.

“They’re none of mine,” said Seth; “what you growling about?”

“Nobody will want anything of mine, or yours either,” she replied.

“We’ll make ’em, p’r’aps,” he said. “There’s Frado’s six years old, and pretty, if she is yours, and white folks’ll say so. She’d be a prize somewhere,” he continued, tipping his chair back against the wall, and placing his feet upon the rounds, as if he had much more to say when in the right position.

Frado, as they called one of Mag’s children, was a beautiful mulatto, with long, curly black hair, and handsome, roguish eyes, sparkling with an exuberance of spirit almost beyond restraint.

Hearing her name mentioned, she looked up from her play, to see what Seth had to say of her.

“Wouldn’t the Bellmonts take her?” asked Seth.

“Bellmonts?” shouted Mag. “His wife is a right she-devil! and if⁠—”

“Hadn’t they better be all together?” interrupted Seth, reminding her of a like epithet used in reference to her little ones.

Without seeming to notice him, she continued, “She can’t keep a girl in the house over a week; and Mr. Bellmont wants to hire a boy to work for him, but he can’t find one that will live in the house with her; she’s so ugly, they can’t.”

“Well, we’ve got to make a move soon,” answered Seth; “if you go with me, we shall go right off. Had you rather spare the other one?” asked Seth, after a short pause.

Within sight of the house, Seth seated himself with his bundles and the child he had been leading, while Mag walked onward to the house leading Frado. A knock at the door brought Mrs. Bellmont, and Mag asked if she would be willing to let that child stop there while she went to the Reed’s house to wash, and when she came back she would call and get her. It seemed a novel request, but she consented. Why the impetuous child entered the house, we cannot tell; the door closed, and Mag hastily departed. Frado waited for the close of day, which was to bring back her mother. Alas! it never came. It was the last time she ever saw or heard of her mother.

The morning of the arrival day was a busy one. Frado knew not who would be of so much importance; her feet were speeding hither and thither so unsparingly. Mrs. Bellmont seemed a trifle fatigued, and her shoes which had, early in the morning, a methodic squeak, altered to an irregular, peevish snap.

“Get some little wood to make the fire burn,” said Mrs. Bellmont, in a sharp tone. Frado obeyed, bringing the smallest she could find.

Mrs. Bellmont approached her, and, giving her a box on her ear, reiterated the command.

The first the child brought was the smallest to be found; of course, the second must be a trifle larger. She well knew it was, as she threw it into a box on the hearth. To Mrs. Bellmont it was a greater affront, as well as larger wood, so she “taught her” with the rawhide, and sent her the third time for “little wood.”

Nig, weeping, knew not what to do. She had carried the smallest; none left would suit her mistress; of course further punishment awaited her; so she gathered up whatever came first, and threw it down on the hearth. As she expected, Mrs. Bellmont, enraged, approached her, and kicked her so forcibly as to throw her upon the floor. Before she could rise, another foiled the attempt, and then followed kick after kick in quick succession and power, till she reached the door. Mr. Bellmont and Aunt Abby, hearing the noise, rushed in, just in time to see the last of the performance. Nig jumped up, and rushed from the house, out of sight.

“Are you glad I’ve come home?” asked James.

“Yes; if you won’t let me be whipped tomorrow.”

“You won’t be whipped. You must try to be a good girl,” counselled James.

“If I do, I get whipped,” sobbed the child. “They won’t believe what I say. Oh, I wish I had my mother back; then I should not be kicked and whipped so. Who made me so?”

“God;” answered James.

“Did God make you?”

“Yes.”

“Who made Aunt Abby?”

“God.”

“Who made your mother?”

“God.”

“Did the same God that made her make me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, I don’t like him.”

“Why not?”

“Because he made her white, and me black. Why didn’t he make us both white?”

“I don’t know; try to go to sleep, and you will feel better in the morning,” was all the reply he could make to her knotty queries. It was a long time before she fell asleep; and a number of days before James felt in a mood to visit and entertain old associates and friends.