Mou-Setsé: A Negro Hero; The Orphans' Pilgimage: A Story of Trust in God

He was by no means, however, wanting in bravery, as a little incident once showed. A great hulking white fellow had been abusing him, taunting him with cowardice, and daring him to fight. The sailors belonging to his ship looked on amused, and (as he was a blacky) not caring to interfere.

“You ain’t nothing but a coward,” said the white man; “a coward, and the son of a slave.”

At these words Mou-Setsé, who had been sitting very still and apparently unheeding, rose to the full length of his great height. The words “son of a slave” had brought a certain flash into his eye.

With a stride, he was at the real coward’s side.

“I not fight,” he said; “you not make me fight, when de Book say no. No; I not fight, but I knock you down.”

In a moment, without the least apparent effort, the hulking white fellow lay at his feet.

“I specs you not like to lie dere,” continued Mou-Setsé. “Well, you beg de black man’s pardon; den you get up and go away.”

After this little scene, no one cared: again to molest Mou-Setsé.

He remained a sailor until he was two-and-twenty; then he took his leave of the captain and his crew, and left their ship. He had become a sailor for the furtherance of his hidden and unspoken purpose. Now, having made and saved money, he went away. His purpose was calling him to America – then, indeed, the land of slaves.

Story 1 – Chapter VI.

Mou – Setsé Seeks to Fulfil his Purpose

I have said that Mou-Setsé had a fixed purpose. This purpose led him to America. He settled in a certain town in one of the States, and with the money he had saved opened a small shop or store. He dealt in the kind of goods that his black brothers and sisters most needed, and many of them frequented his little shop.

At this period of his life some people considered him miserly. His shop did well and his money stores increased, but he himself lived in the most parsimonious style; he scarcely allowed himself the necessaries of life, and never thought of marrying or giving himself the comforts of a home. All day long he attended his shop, but in the evening he went about a great deal, and gradually became known to all his black brothers and sisters in the town. Most of these were in slavery, and many had most bitter tales to tell. A few, however, were free; these were the slaves who had worked for long years to obtain sufficient money to buy this precious boon from their masters. With these free slaves Mou-Setsé held much intercourse, asking them of their past life, and always inquiring most particularly from what part of Africa they or their parents had come. By degrees, as he collected money, he helped these free slaves to emigrate to Canada, where they could enjoy and make a good use of the freedom they had so dearly won. But he never helped any one to go away with his money without first exacting a promise from him or her. This promise was made in secrecy, and was, I believe, faithfully kept by each and all.

As he helped each poor freed slave to get away (and as his gains increased he helped many) – as he helped them off, and knew that he had gained a certain promise from them, his heart grew lighter, and he felt that he was nearer to the realisation of some dearly cherished dream. On these occasions he often repaired to a certain church and prayed. Kneeling in the quiet church, the black man poured out a very full heart to his loving Father in heaven. “God, de good God,” he would say, “let me not cry in vain; let me see my fader and moder and my broders and sister again. Give me more of de money, good God, and more, much more of de faith; so dat I may send more and more of de poor blackies to look for dose as I lobs!”

But his great anxiety about his own people by no means closed the heart of Mou-Setsé to those whose troubles he daily witnessed. For reasons of his own, he was always down on the quay to watch the faces of any new slaves that might come. He knew before any one else of a fresh slave who was brought into the town, and he always attended the slave market. But he did more; he helped his brethren whose groans went daily – indeed, night and day – up to heaven. Many a poor mother, when she was torn from her child, went to Mou-Setsé’s store, and poured out her great trouble into his kind heart; and somehow or other, he managed to get tidings of the lost child, or the lost parent or husband. By degrees he made an immense connection for himself all over America, and no one knew more about the ways and doings of the black people than he did.

Story 1 – Chapter VII.

Mou – Setsé Waits and Watches

Years went by, bringing changes, bringing to Mou-Setsé grey hairs, taking from him his fresh youth, and adding to his face some anxious lines. But the years brought greater changes than the light hands they lay upon head and brow, to his black brothers and sisters in America. The brave souls who had fought through thick and thin for the freedom of the slaves, who had gone through danger and hardship almost at the peril of their lives in this great cause, had won a noble victory. America, by setting free her black brethren, had also removed from herself a most grievous curse.

The black men were free, and Mou-Setsé had removed from the little town where he had first settled to the larger and more flourishing one of St. Louis. He had succeeded as a merchant, and was now a rich man. His love for his brethren had also increased with years. He did much to help them. He was reverenced and loved by all who knew him, and that was saying no little, for there was scarcely a black man in the States who did not know Mou-Setsé. But the dearly-longed-for and unfulfilled purpose was still discernible on his face, and oftener than ever would he repair to the church to pray.

“I specs de dere Lord will be good to me,” he would say; “de dere Lord hab patience wid me. I told de Lord dat I would have great patience wid Him. I will wait His good leisure. I believe as I will see my people again.”

Mou-Setsé had for long years now added work to his prayers, leaving no stone unturned to find or obtain some tidings of the father and mother and brothers and sister from whom he had been so cruelly torn. But all his efforts had been as yet in vain, no description even resembling them had ever reached his ears.

His black friends told him that his father and mother had either never reached America or had long been dead. But Mou-Setsé would never believe these evil reports, his strong faith that at least some of his own would be restored to him, that the work and labour of his life would not be in vain, never deserted him.

“I tole de Lord dat I would have great patience,” he would reply to those who begged of him to give up so hopeless a search, and doubtless patience was doing its perfect work, for the end for which he so longed was at hand.

Story 1 – Chapter VIII.

Fruit of Faith and Patience

One very bitter day in March there was great commotion among the black people of St. Louis. The snow was falling thickly, the wind was blowing. Inclement as the whole winter had been, this day seemed the worst of all; but it did not deter the freed blacks from braving its hardships, from hurrying in crowds from place to place, and above all from repairing in vast crowds to their own churches. Every coloured church in St. Louis was full of anxious blacks, but they had not assembled for any purposes of worship. Unless, indeed, we except that heart worship which takes in the ever-present Christ, even when he comes hungry, naked, and in the guise of a stranger. The black people of St. Louis made beds in the church pews and kindled fires in the basements.

Having made all preparations, they went, headed by their preachers, to the quays; there to meet some six hundred famished and shivering emigrants, who had come up the river all the way from the States of the Mississippi Valley and Louisiana.

In extreme poverty and in wretched plight whole families had come, leaving the plantations where they were born, and severing all those local ties for which the negro has so strong an attachment. All of these poor people, including the very young and the very aged, were bound for Kansas.

This was the beginning of a great exodus of the negroes from the Southern to the Northern States.

The cause did not seem at first very manifest; but it must be something unusual, something more than mere fancy, which would induce women and children, old and young, with common consent to leave their old homes and natural climate, and face storms and unknown dangers in Northern Kansas.

Mou-Setsé, with his eyes, ears, and heart ever open, had heard something of the dissatisfaction of the negroes in the South.

They were suffering, not, indeed, now from actual slavery, but from wicked rulers who would give the coloured man no justice. Outrages, murders, and wrongs of all descriptions were driving these fugitives from their homes. They said little of hope in the future; it was all of fear in the past. They were not drawn by the attractions of Kansas; they were driven by the terrors of Louisiana. Happen what would, they all resolved to fly, never to return. Death rather than return was their invariable resolution.

Mou-Setsé, as I have said, had heard of this exodus. Profound secret as the negroes had kept it, yet it had reached his ears. He consulted his black brothers and sisters in St. Louis, and it was resolved that the strangers should be well received – hence the preparations in the churches, and hence the assemblage on the quays.

Mou-Setsé was one of the last to leave the church where he had been most busy. Just as he was about to turn away to help to fetch into warmth and shelter the famished emigrants he turned round. Some voice seemed to sound in his ears; some very strong impelling influence caused him to pause. He entered one of the pews, sat down and buried his head in his hands.

Something seemed to tell the black man that the desire of his eyes was coming to him; that his life-work was bearing at last its fruit. So sure was he of this that he forgot to pray. He only said several times, “Tank de Lord; tank de Lord berry much.”

Then he followed his companions to the quays. How often had he gone there in vain! How often had he gazed at face after face, looking and longing for the forms of those he loved! They had never greeted him.

Now his step was elastic, his face bright.

Two hours after he had left the church he entered it again, leading by the hand a very old man and a bowed and aged woman.

“My fader and moder,” he explained very simply to the bystanders. He put the old couple in the most comfortable pew, and sat down by them. They both seemed half dead. The woman lay nearly lifeless. Mou-Setsé took her limp and withered hand and began to rub it softly.

“How do you know them?” asked some interested bystanders who knew Mou-Setsé’s story.

“De ole woman hab de smile,” he said; “I neber forgot my moder’s smile. She looked at me on de quay, and she smiled, and my heart leaped, and I said, ‘Tank de Lord, glory be to God.’ I tole ye de Lord would help me.”

Just then the man stretched himself, opened his eyes, fixed them on Mou-Setsé, and began to mutter.

Mou-Setsé bent his head to listen.

Suddenly he sprang to his feet. “Oh praise the Lord!” he exclaimed again. “I said as de Lord would help me. Listen to de ole man, he is talking in de tongue of the Akus, in the country of Yarriba. He was de brave warrior, my fader was.”

Yes, Mou-Setsé was right. The fruit of long patience was at last yielding to him its precious store, and the old warrior of the beautiful African valley had come back through nobody knew what hardships, with his aged wife, to be nursed, cherished, and cared for by a long-lost son.

As soon as they were sufficiently revived Mou-Setsé took them to the comfortable home he had been so long getting ready for them. Here they told him of their slavery, of the terrors they had undergone, of the bitterness of knowing nothing of his fate, of the lonely days when they had belonged to different masters; then of their release from slavery, and how, as free man and woman, they had met again. But their hardships had been great, for though they had so-called liberty, every privilege belonging to a white man seemed to be denied them.

They resolved to fly with their brethren. Selling all they had, they managed to scrape together enough money to pay for their passage in the river steamer.

Penniless, famished, half dead, they arrived at St. Louis.

“It is a good land you hab come to,” said Mou-Setsé when his mother had finished her narrative, “a land flowing wid milk and honey. Yes, it is a good land; and I am like Joseph, only better dan Joseph was, for I hab got back my fader and moder too, praise de Lord.”

“I am Jacob,” said the old warrior slowly, “and you are, indeed, my son Joseph. It is enough. Praise de Lord.”

“De Lord is berry good. I tole ye so,” exclaimed the aged wife and mother.

Story 2- Chapter I.

The Orphans’ Pilgrimage – A Story of Trust in God

In one of the small towns in the north of Austria there once lived a humble pair, as far as earthly goods and position go, but who were rich in what was far better – love to God and simple trust in His Fatherly care.

The woman was a Tyrolese, the daughter of an old harper, who still resided in one of the small villages among the mountains. As a motherless girl she had been his only companion, and many a time her sweet pure voice would be heard accompanying her father in the simple melodies of her native land, as he wandered from place to place to earn a livelihood.

The time came when the harper’s daughter left her hills for a home in town, but was more than repaid by the tender love of her husband, who, though he could earn but a scanty subsistence, was good and kind to her. Their fare was frugal, but, happy in each other’s affection, they were content and thankful, and, contrasting their lot with that of the Saviour, would say, “Can we, the servants, expect to fare better than our Lord and Master?”

As years passed by, three little children were sent to them by their Father in heaven, to whom they gave the names of Toni, Hans, and Nanny; very precious gifts, and they showed their gratitude by training them early in the right way, teaching them from His word to know the good God, to love and trust Him, to try to please Him, and to love their neighbour as themselves. They were unselfish little children, and would at any time share their scanty meals with others in distress. “Little children, love one another,” was a text often repeated, and also practised, by them.

The two boys were very fond of each other, and both were united in love for the little sister whom they felt bound to protect. Great was their delight when she first tottered alone across the room, where they stood, one at each end, with outstretched arms to receive her; and when her little voice was heard crying for the first time “Father,” “Mother,” they shouted for joy.

On the opposite side of the street lived an artist, who took great pleasure in this little family, and painted a picture in which he introduced the children, not intending it for sale, but as a gift to their parents, in token of the esteem he felt for them. A very pretty picture it was – little Nanny, lightly draped, showing her fat dimpled shoulders and bare feet, her golden hair floating in the wind, was in a meadow chasing a butterfly; while her brothers stood by, as guardian angels, with hands extended ready to catch her if she stumbled. It might have fetched a high price, but the man was not in needy circumstances, and would not sell it.

When Nanny was about four years old it happened that the cholera – that fearful scourge which has from time to time been so fatal in many parts – broke out in this town, and both father and mother were smitten and lay ill with it at the same time. I need not say how, in the midst of pain and weakness, many an anxious thought was turned to the future of their little ones; but, as faith had been strong in the time of health and prosperity, it did not fail them in their hour of need, and they trusted simply to the promise, “Leave thy fatherless children; I will preserve them alive.”

In a very short time the children were left; orphans, and (the eldest not being more than eight years old) quite unable to do anything for their own support. What was to be done? The neighbours were kind and good to them, but, having families of their own, had enough to do without adding to their cares. It was at length arranged that a letter should be written to an uncle who lived in Vienna, and was doing well as manager of a small theatrical company in that town. Not a very good school, you will say, for these children who had been trained so carefully.

No sooner did the man receive the sad news than he set off, arriving just after the funeral was over. He lost no time in selling his brother’s small possessions, and, pocketing the money, started for his home, taking the little ones with him. I should say that, at the special request of their friend the artist, the picture was reserved and taken with them. This, then, together with the large Bible from which their father used to read to them morning and evening, and the box containing their clothes, was all that they could call their own.

Poor children! they had certainly found a home, but what a contrast to that to which they had been accustomed! Sorely did they miss the tender, watchful love which had surrounded them all their lives, and the peace and calm which dwelt in that household. Their uncle was a hard, money-loving man, and determined to make the best for himself out of this seeming act of kindness. Therefore, instead of giving them a good education and fitting them to make their way in the world respectably, he merely taught them what would be profitable to himself in his own line, viz, dancing and gymnastics. Their whole time was spent in practising to appear in public on the stage, and many a weary hour did they pass, being punished if they dared to complain, and never by any chance being encouraged by a word of approval.

Such a life as this soon began to tell upon little Nanny, who had never been a strong child; but not the most earnest entreaties from her brothers would induce the hard-hearted man to allow her to exert herself less. It was a weary life for them all, and many a time when wreaths and bouquets were showered upon them by the applauding audience would they retire and burst into tears for very fatigue and sorrow.

Toni and Hans at last became seriously alarmed about their little sister. She got gradually paler and thinner, and when, one day, after dancing for some time, with flushed cheek and shortened breath, she fell to the ground in a faint, they could endure it no longer, but ran to their uncle, beseeching him to have pity on her.

I am sorry to tell you, the poor boys were only answered by blows, and making nothing of their grief, he walked carelessly away, saying she would be better after her dinner. This was too much for Hans; he jumped up from the floor where he had been sitting, and stamping his foot, his face glowing with anger, cried out, “I shall not allow her to dance any more!” to which he, of course, received only a scornful laugh in reply.

Nanny had by this time revived, and was sitting between her brothers wiping away her tears.

“Oh! if father and mother knew of this,” said Hans, “I think it would make them weep even in heaven; but perhaps then they would send an angel to help us.”

“We do not know whether they can see us or not,” answered Toni; “but we are sure the good God can. I have been asking Him to put into our minds what we shall do for Nanny. Sometimes I am afraid she will leave us like father and mother did. And do you know I feel as solemn as little Samuel must have done when God called him, for a thought has come into my mind which I am sure must have been put there by our Father in heaven.”

“And what is it?” asked Hans, in a whisper, folding his little hands, as if inspired by the devotion of his brother.

“Why, that we must save our sister, and not let her die,” answered Toni.

“That would be glorious; but how shall we manage it?”

“We must run away from this place with her and take her to our grandfather, in the mountains.”

“But that is so far away, and we have no money: and then, how should we know the way?” asked Hans anxiously.

“The little birds fly away in the winter to Africa – God shows them the way, and gives them strength and food; and shall not we trust Him to help us his children?”

It was all clear to Hans now, and the bold resolve was made.

From that time the two boys thought of little else than the intended escape. The sight of their little darling pining away before their eyes nerved them to plan and to work. Preparations were carried on in secret: no one having any idea of what was going on. A little playfellow lived close by whose father was a carpenter, and being often in the man’s workshop, he came to have a liking for the orphans; and many a spare piece of wood he gave them to play with, which, by watching him at work, they learned in their rude way to fashion into shape. They now began to put the small knowledge they had thus acquired to some account; and after many attempts and failures, at last succeeded in making a rough sort of little cart. The cover of a box with a rail round it formed the seat, the pole was a cast-off measuring-rule which had been thrown away as useless; but when they came to the wheels, they had need of all the patience they possessed; however, perseverance in due time was rewarded, when, after devoting every spare moment they could secure, the little carriage which was to effect their escape was finished. How happy they felt when the finishing touch was put, when it was drawn away to a corner of the yard behind the workshop, and hidden among a heap of sawdust and shavings! A heavy burden seemed lifted off their hearts: they dreamt not of any future difficulties, and only looked forward with eagerness to the moment when they should be free, and when the roses would come back again to their little sister’s cheeks.

All was now in readiness: that very evening they were to start on their pilgrimage, leaving the shelter of their uncle’s house, together with his tyranny, behind them. It was time for Nanny to be let into the secret; and, having done this, the two boys, kneeling down, drew her between them and prayed, “O Lord, send a good angel to help us, and keep uncle from waking when we go away.”

They had fixed on an evening when they had not to appear in public. All had retired to rest early, and they waited only till they thought it would be safe. The boys then arose, and, dressing themselves quickly, made up a small bundle of clothes, and having lifted the precious picture from the wall, and their father’s Bible from the box, they proceeded to summon Nanny. This was of all the most anxious part, for she had from the first slept in her aunt’s room. Her little ears, however, were on the alert, and a gentle tap as signal made her leap lightly out of bed, and with shoes in hand and her clothes on her arm, she was in a moment at the door. It was bolted: and how could she reach it? Standing on tiptoe did not help her. So, quickened by fear, no time was lost in getting a chair and mounting on it, the bolt was quickly drawn, and in a moment’s time the child was at her brothers’ side, pale and trembling. And now came a new dilemma, the house door was locked, and the key in their uncle’s room. Here, however, their gymnastic training stood them in good stead, and their bedroom window being not far from the ground, they jumped out of it, and alighted safely on the pavement.

The little cart was next brought from its place of concealment. Nanny, wrapped in her cloak, took her seat in it, and the book and picture being laid at her feet, and the bundle serving as a cushion at her back, the children set out on their unknown way. It was quite dark. They had not gone very far when they encountered the watchman with his horn and lantern. Throwing the light full on the strange group, he cried —

“Halt! who goes there?”

“Good friends,” promptly answered the elder of the boys; when the man, with a kindly smile, let them pass without further inquiry.

Story 2 – Chapter II

In due time they had got clear of the town, and were trotting along a straight country road as fast as their feet would carry them. Whether the Tyrolese mountains lay to the right or left, before or behind them, they knew not nor seemed to care. They had left their cruel uncle, and the mere thought of this made them happy. They were but little children, and did not reflect on any dangers they might have to encounter.