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Ah! the toil gone through!
And the long delays and the heartaches, too,
And self-denials that they had known!
But the pride and glory that was theirs
When they first hitched up their shackly cart
For the long, long journey South.–The start
In the first drear light of the chilly dawn,
With no friends gathered in grieving throng,–
With no farewells and favoring prayers;
But, as they creaked and jolted on,
Their chiming voices broke in song–

 

 "'Hail, all hail! don't you see the stars a-fallin'?
 

 Hail, all hail! I'm on my way.
 

 Gideon am
 

 A healin' ba'm--
 

 I belong to the blood-washed army.
 

 Gideon am
 

 A healin' ba'm--
 

 On my way!'"
 

 

And their return!–with their oldest boy
Along with them! Why, their happiness
Spread abroad till it grew a joy
Universal–It even reached
And thrilled the town till the Church was stirred
Into suspecting that wrong was wrong!–
And it stayed awake as the preacher preached
A Real “Love”-text that he had not long
To ransack for in the Holy Word.

And the son, restored, and welcomed so,
Found service readily in the town;
And, with the parents, sure and slow,
He went “saltin’ de cole cash down.”

So with the next boy–and each one
In turn, till four of the five at last
Had been bought back; and, in each case,
With steady work and good homes not
Far from the parents, they chipped in
To the family fund, with an equal grace.
Thus they managed and planned and wrought,
And the old folks throve–Till the night before
They were to start for the lone last son
In the rainy dawn–their money fast
Hid away in the house,–two mean,
Murderous robbers burst the door.
…Then, in the dark, was a scuffle–a fall–
An old man’s gasping cry–and then
A woman’s fife-like shriek.

…Three men
Splashing by on horseback heard
The summons: And in an instant all
Sprung to their duty, with scarce a word.
And they were in time–not only to save
The lives of the old folks, but to bag
Both the robbers, and buck-and-gag
And land them safe in the county-jail–
Or, as Aunty said, with a blended awe
And subtlety,–“Safe in de calaboose whah
De dawgs caint bite ’em!”

–So prevail
The faithful!–So had the Lord upheld
His servants of both deed and prayer,–
HIS the glory unparalleled–
Theirs the reward,–their every son
Free, at last, as the parents were!
And, as the driver ended there
In front of the little house, I said,
All fervently, “Well done! well done!”
At which he smiled, and turned his head
And pulled on the leaders’ lines and–“See!”
He said,–“‘you can read old Aunty’s sign?”
And, peering down through these specs of mine
On a little, square board-sign, I read:

 

 "Stop, traveler, if you think it fit,
 

 And quench your thirst for a-fip-and-a-bit.
 

 The rocky spring is very clear,
 

 And soon converted into beer."
 

 

And, though I read aloud, I could
Scarce hear myself for laugh and shout
Of children–a glad multitude
Of little people, swarming out
Of the picnic-grounds I spoke about.–
And in their rapturous midst, I see
Again–through mists of memory–
A black old Negress laughing up
At the driver, with her broad lips rolled
Back from her teeth, chalk-white, and gums
Redder than reddest red-ripe plums.
He took from her hand the lifted cup
Of clear spring-water, pure and cold,
And passed it to me: And I raised my hat
And drank to her with a reverence that
My conscience knew was justly due
The old black face, and the old eyes, too–
The old black head, with its mossy mat
Of hair, set under its cap and frills
White as the snows on Alpine hills;
Drank to the old black smile, but yet
Bright as the sun on the violet,–
Drank to the gnarled and knuckled old
Black hands whose palms had ached and bled
And pitilessly been worn pale
And white almost as the palms that hold
Slavery’s lash while the victim’s wail
Fails as a crippled prayer might fail.–
Aye, with a reverence infinite,
I drank to the old black face and head–
The old black breast with its life of light–
The old black hide with its heart of gold.