USA > Pennsylvania > Lehigh County > Bethlehem > Bethlehem and Bethlehem school (history of Moravian Seminary and College for Women (Bethlehem, Pa.)) > Part 8
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This house proved to be the residence of an old lady, who had formerly been a friend of her family, and indeed was Katie's godmother. She found her almost alone and sick, nearly bedridden with the in- flammatory rheumatism. She gave Katie a very kindly welcome, and when she ascertained who she was, expressed herself glad at her coming; invited Katie to stay, and presently pressed her to remain permanently with her, which offer Katie gratefully, gladly accepted.
Hereupon she devoted herself to the old lady, humored her various whims and caprices, and pa- tiently bore all her irritability and peevishness, which her aged friend properly appreciated. She was childless, had no relations, and was quite wealthy. Whether Katie was aware of all these facts I have not been informed, but she made her- self so necessary to her godmother, that she could not do without her.
Presently the invalid required constant atten-
132
THE LEGACY.
tion ; Katie bestowed it, and was unwearied in her devotion. The old lady not only realized this, but often acknowledged it; and one day, after having taxed her patience and forbearance more than usual, she said : "God Almighty bless and reward you, my good girl, for what you are doing to me ; " and then she promised Katie, if she remained with her and closed her eyes, she would bequeath her all her property ; which Katie did, and soon after she had a paper executed to that effect.
The old lady did not long survive this instrument. At her death, Katie found herself quite an heiress ; for besides the residence of her godmother, she came in possession of some valuable property. Her first desire was to share it with her brother-but my informant could not tell me whether she had succeeded in finding him.
The next occurrence I heard concerning her was, that after a space she had sold the homestead of her godmother, and about removing from thence, when she met with a distressed looking old woman, who was famishing, she said, from hunger, and so weary with fatigue, that she could not proceed any farther, and begged Katie for God's sake, to give her some food, and a place of shelter.
Katie, who had realized the painful situation of wanting both, and whose wealth instead of harden- ing her heart against the necessitous, had made her benevolent and kind, caused the houseless and des- titnte stranger to be taken into her dwelling and
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RETRIBUTION.
provided with food and raiment ; besides, with a comfortable apartment. And not content with this hospitality, she went herself to see whether her orders had been properly executed. As she looked at the forlorn, miserable mendicant, she directly recognized her to be no other than her stepmother. I know not by what calamity or misfortune she be- came reduced to this abject condition ; but as the story goes, she had been cheated out of her property, and then driven forth from it. And if such really was the case, it is an instance of retributive justice as remarkable as it is striking.
My informant further stated, that instead of showing any resentment towards her, for her harsh conduct to herself, Katie treated her well, and had her kindly cared for; but the old woman did not long require her kindness, for she shortly died.
The last event of interest in relation to Katie which my informant gave me is, that hearing the schoolmate with whom she had had an irreconcil- able difference at Bethlehem, was become so poor as to render it necessary to support herself; she re- solved to visit her, in order to try to be of service to her. She found her friend had married within a year after her return from school, and to an old man of between sixty and seventy years of age ; a discarded beau of an aunt of hers. He was then wealthy, but had since lost all his property, which had compelled his young wife, still in her teens, to
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RE-UNION.
turn her musical abilities to account, and to give lessons in music and singing.
The meeting between Katie and this friend of her childhood, was preceded by an affectionate note from her, which produced an immediate reply, and the long estranged friends soon after had a cordial re-union ; old differences were forgotten, and directly the severed bond was re-knit in closer intimacy ; but whether Eliza accepted the proffered generous kindness of Katie, of sharing her purse and her home, my informant did not tell me. I am, therefore, not prepared to state any thing upon the subject. And thus I close this to me apocry- phal account of my former schoolmate at Bethle- hem, who appears here under the name of Katie Sullivan.
SISTER MARIA.
AMONG the teachers of Bethlehem School when I first became a pupil in that Institution, was Sis- ter Maria Beaumont. Under this cognomen she was known there, though not the real name of her father. She died within a year or two after. Her whole history as I have heard it, being truly a sad one, and attended with very unhappy consequences to herself, and her death singularly melancholy, the entire circumstances of the case fastened themselves the stronger upon my childish mind; and from the repository of the recollections of this portion of my life, I have gathered out this sketch of her history.
She was the daughter of an English gentleman, a West India planter, and a favorite black slave, by whom he had besides several other children. All inherited, I have been told, more or less the sable skin of their mother, save this daughter, who, though not of fair complexion, was as white as a large por- tion of the European race-indeed considerably lighter than a Brunette ; yet her features generally
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136
THE BLACK AND WHITE SISTERS.
betrayed her African origin, while her hair was rather coarse and very curly.
When Maria was about nine years of age, she and her only sister Betsey were brought to Bethle- hem by their paternal grandmother for the purpose of being educated, the Moravians at that period re- ceiving such children among them in their schools ; and thus quite a number of Indians, some Creoles, Meztistoes, Quadroons, with other mixtures, were admitted into their Seminaries of learning. The object of the Society in allowing this arrangement, was from purely Christian motives originating from their missionary undertakings, which, in making them acquainted with the spiritual wants of their fellow-beings, brought with it the desire in like manner of ameliorating their moral condition, of fitting them for a life of usefulness on earth, as well as preparing them for a blessed eternity. Hence, unless a cogent reason existed to prevent it, such applications were not refused. Here they were very kindly treated, and every pains bestowed upon the culture of their minds.
The contrast in the appearance of Betsey and Maria Beaumont was great; the former being as black, as her sister was fair. In fact, if I have been correctly informed, she gave the impression of her belonging to the African race, possessing with her skin much of the character of that people. If I remember right, she cared neither for study nor books ;-- was rather stupid ; while her sister was
137
THE DIFFERENCE.
bright and intelligent, eager to learn, and really appreciated the advantages offered of acquiring a good education. The former never seemed to have any painful feelings because of her color, neither did she appear to look into the future of her destiny with any unpleasant forebodings.
Maria, on the contrary, was exceedingly sensi- tive upon the subject, and even from her first com- ing suffered considerably from the knowledge of her being the child of a bondwoman ; and that, although much fairer than her sister, the same ig- noble blood coursed alike through the veins of both. It was a marvel too that she felt it so keenly, since allusions were seldom made in her hearing in reference to this misfortune, and she was ever treated with considerate kindness. I know nothing of the disposition of Betsey, nor whether she was fond of her sister ; but I have been informed, that the prom- inent feelings of Maria for her, were a mixture of pity and tenderness; and frequently she would twine her arms about her, and while affectionately caressing her shed torrents of bitter agonizing tears.
The sisters continued together at Bethlehem School, I believe, for the space of nearly five years. At this time, Maria, the eldest, was fourteen ; and Betsey just arrived at the age of twelve. From this date their education was to be considered com- pleted, and they were to be no longer any expense to their friends. But Betsey still continued sadly deficient, though for the fate awaiting her, the mind
138
THE SEPARATION.
of this poor unfortunate, probably, was more ini- proved than necessary ; and she had certainly been entirely too carefully nurtured.
Maria, however, so benefited by her opportuni- ties, that she had become quite a good scholar, but particularly excelled in music. In truth, she was a superior performer, and possessed a remarkably fine voice. Indeed her vocal powers were per- fectly charming.
The old grandmother came for the girls, accom- panied by a gentleman empowered with the right of settling the future condition of the sisters. They were subjected to the scrutiny and strict examination of both these individuals ; then a consultation was held upon the subject with some of the good peo- ple of the place, who were considered competent for the purpose, after which it became settled that Maria was to remain in the settlement, there to sup- port herself, and Betsey to return to their native home in the West Indies.
Almost directly after this decision, the sisters separated; never more to meet again upon this side of eternity. Maria on this occasion wept bit- terly. Added to the pang of thus parting with Bet- sey, she had an undefined anxiety concerning her. Perhaps the fearful shadow of her sister's future fate even then flitted before her. Maria now be- came an inmate of the Sisters' House, where meas- ures were immediately taken to put her in the way of carning her own livelihood. She was employed
139
A PAINFUL RUMOR.
in various ways, in the mean time improving her musical talents. She conducted herself very well -proved very diligent aud amiable, but so sensi- tive regarding herself, so humble and retiring, as to prevent much association with her companions ; yet she was generally respected, while her situation excited much sympathy.
The history of Betsey after she left Bethlehem was for a period involved in uncertainty. No one had really become acquainted with her sad fate, though a painful tale reached the settlement six months subsequent to her departure from thence, and been heard by her wretched sister, that the un- fortunate girl was scarcely returned to her native sea-girt isle, ere she became aware of her real con- dition, of her being a slave; also that the fetters of bondage were thrown around her, and her own fa- ther riveted the chains. He had himself sold her.
This story was deemed too horribly unnatural to be true, and poor Maria, told not to believe it. Nor did she ; but she cheated herself with the vain hope that presently Betsey herself would write a complete contradiction of it. Yet, while still in- dulging this pleasing anticipation, a missionary couple arrived at Bethlehem from one of the neigh- boring islands where her father lived, who not only confirmed this dreadful rumor, but in addition, stated that her mother and brothers were also thus disposed of, and to different purchasers.
This arrangement was made in consequence of
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SAD FACTS.
her father's marriage, which had taken place in England a short time previous to this occurrence. the excuse being, that the sale was deemed expe- dient to prevent unpleasant feelings on the part of his bride. These facts were gently told to the dis- tressed Maria, and when she learnt that her father had indeed thus trafficked with his own flesh and blood, and with the mother of his children, had re- duced them all to this abject and pitiable condition. she became almost broken-hearted, and a long space elapsed after this, ere Maria Beaumont either raised her eyes or smiled ; and from that period, I believe. she ever carried an aching heart.
Time passed on, bringing with it its wondrous changes, and it did so to this unfortunate and grief- stricken one. She had been about three years in the Sisters' House, when she casually heard of the death of her father. It was passing strange how she obtained this information. She learnt the fact from a piece of newspaper, the wrapping round an orange, received by one of the. West India school girls, accidentally thrown on the floor beside her.
A few months after this, she heard quite as sin- gularly of the death of her mother, but it had oc- curred more than two years previous, and was brought about by her changed condition, from be- ing the pampered favorite of her father, to becom- ing a common working slave ; besides being sepa- rated entirely from all her children, and having no domestic ties about her to interest her. She was
141
THE SLAVE-MOTHER'S DEATHI.
rendered miserably unhappy in consequence, and did not long survive; and from a slave of an ad- joining plantation, who came with the family to whom she belonged, on a visit to Bethlehem, her poor daughter obtained these sad particulars of the closing part of her life.
The health of Maria Beaumont, at this period, was very delicate. Besides this, she indulged in a very unhappy state of mind. She had brooded over the sufferings and trials of her unfortunate family ; in imagination had frequently viewed them in their captivity ; seen the sorrows and hardships of their enslaved condition ; witnessed their degradation and hopeless misery, until she had become perfectly melancholy and wretched; while ever and anon, the painful thought would obtrude itself upon her, that, although favored with the complexion of free- dom, as the offspring of bondage, of a poor negro woman, she was in truth, subject to the same gal- ling chains which encircled her, and that in reality, she was nothing but a slave. This preyed like a canker-worm upon her spirits, and seemed to be sapping the very life-blood of her existence.
Afterwards, when the account of her poor mother's death reached her, and she heard all the sad circumstances of the case, it appeared as if the cup of her misery became too full for her any lon- ger to survive. At this period, she was really so feeble, as to require the greatest effort on her part, to attend to her usual occupations. In truth, the
142
MARIA'S AGONY.
sad tidings dreadfully shocked her; she screamed terrifically in her agony, until reason tottered ; she raved in delirium, and became perfectly frantic. Then, by turns, she earnestly begged to dic; en- treated those about her to kill her; or fancied that she was about to be sold, her own father being the salesman; next, she was pleading for her poor mother, her sister, or her brothers, imploring kind- ness for them; and by and by she imagined she saw one or another of these unfortunate kindred of hers under the lash ; that they were sick or suffer- ing, destitute of comforts or attentions ; were part- ing with each other, and wandering away to differ- ent plantations ; then saw her mother die, all alone. without a single friend near to smooth her dying pillow; afterwards, she suddenly came upon poor Betsey, so fearfully altered she could scarcely re- cognize her, and was just about embracing her. when her overseer approached, said something very insulting to the poor girl, then cruelly separated them.
Hereupon she wept bitterly, raved terribly upon slavery, and then, for a space, became silent from perfect exhaustion. She remained quiet for some time. Presently she opened her eyes ; they rested upon the doctor whom she observed with watch in hand, attentively regarding her. At this moment, he took hold of her wrist to feel her pulse. It so happened that to his watch was attached a rather massive steel chain, which he wore around his neck.
143
RAVINGS.
This immediately attracted the attention of Maria, and agitated her greatly; for it somehow became associated in her mind with slavery; for, as soon as she noticed it, she shrieked violently, then shrunk as far as she could in the bed from the doctor, looked at him imploringly, earnestly en- treating him not to take her away and make a slave of her, for she was a white girl; then inquired how he knew she had a black mother, and in slavery ; but that she was free, and neither could be bought or sold.
Upon this, the doctor, with several sisters who were present, all endeavored to calm her. They told her she had nothing to fear; therefore, should not be so alarmed.
"But the chain, I see it; yes, I see it; the chain with which he is going to bind me! But don't-please don't put it around me !"
" It is only the chain of my watch," replied the doctor ; " see, Maria, it is fastened to it," placing them both, as he spoke, near her.
"Take it away !" she exclaimed with increased agitation, "take it away, I say; I cannot bear it near me. Oh, do not fasten it on me! Yes, kill poor Maria Beaumont, rather than make her a slave ! "
And thus she continued to rave frequently for a considerable space of time. But by and by the fearful imaginings subsided, she became more calm, though not as yet rational, except at intervals ; then
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144
SYMPATHY.
some feared that her mind would ultimately settle in a permanent melancholy. The doctor prescribed quiet, and she was left much alone. But this pro- cedure would not answer, for it made her indulge in the fancy, that no one cared for her, because of the black stain upon her birth ; the indelible mark stamped upon the very lineaments of her face which showed her ignoble origin.
There were those who, at this time, gathered about the couch of the sufferer to minister to her relief, and manifest a tender interest in her behalf. The man of God, together with some of the sister- hood. All these breathed forth kind words, while they showed their Christian pity, and genuine phi- lanthropy.
Yet, although these attentions were felt and gratefully acknowledged by the unfortunate girl, her feelings could not be soothed into calmness ; nor did she give heed fully to what they said until assured over and over again, that she might always remain where she was; and, if her father's kindred came to claim her, the Society in Bethlehem would not let them have her.
I believe these good people had an opportunity almost directly after her illness, of entirely, and in the most effective manner, relieving her mind upon this painful subject. I know not to a certainty exactly how they accomplished it, but I am under the impression that, at this very time, the store- keeper of Bethlehem went to Philadelphia to pur-
145
THE PROMISE.
chase a fresh supply of goods; that he was com- missioned to seek her grandmother, and if he suc- ceeded in finding the old lady, to inform her of the lamentable condition of this child of her son's; to confer with her in consequence, and endeavor to obtain some guarantee from her, that poor Maria should be permanently safe in the asylum where she herself had placed her.
He fortunately obtained her address, and with- ont any difficulty whatever, gained access to the old lady, who very willingly furnished him with the paper he solicited, which he bore to Maria in the form of a letter. It contained a written promise on her part in the name of all her father's relatives, that she would never be sought by any of them for the purpose of removing her from her present home. Her grandmother wrote very kindly, gave Maria the advice to remain satisfied where she was; to make herself as happy and useful as possible ; hoped that she would do well; regretted that she had been so very ill, and sent her a small enclosure to pay for the extra expenses of her illness.
As I really do not know, I am unprepared to say, whether at this period Maria Beaumont was a professing member of the Church. Yet, be that as it may, the circumstances attending her illness ; the deplorable state of her mind in consequence, together with the condition of her peculiar situa- tion, were all doubtless made subjects by her spir- itual instructors, to impress upon her heart the
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146
SENSITIVENESS.
necessity of looking to a higher source than her fellow-creatures, for the enjoyments of her temporal existence ; the wisdom of seeking a better portion for herself than earth can afford ; to subdue all her feelings of repining and discontent on her unfortu- nate isolated lot, by raising her thoughts continually upward, setting her affections there ; and to seek her all of earthly bliss in the anticipations of heaven, in the blessedness of its redeemed inhabitants.
It was thus that the good Moravian people of those days would have spoken to one so tempest- tossed in feeling, as the unfortunate Maria Beau- mont ; in this way to assuage the bitterness of her painful position ; at the same time, giving her their assurance, that, as long as she merited it, she would ever experience from them all, a kindly sympa- thizing interest, besides, true sisterly affection.
Maria, after such conversations, became more tranquil in mind ; but she was naturally proud and high-spirited. This added to her exceeding sensi- tiveness, made her more keenly realize the fact of her disgraceful birth, and rendered it the more diť- ficult for her to become resigned to its depressing and degrading influences. But presently she did apparently, in a measure, overcome these feelings. She became more cheerful, and then was so kind and obliging to every one; showed such willing- ness to serve them all in her power; and so hum- bly grateful in return for any kindness shown her, that she became quite a favorite with her sister
147
TALENT DEVELOPED.
maidens. Yet still she formed no intimate compan- ionship or friendship with either of them, much as she craved it, because of the base blood which coursed through her frame.
A period passed thus ; though how long the space, I have not been informed. But in this in- terval, a new life had opened to the unfortunate Maria. I have said that she was fond of music, and had manifested a decided taste for this accom- plishment. She had given much attention to it, not only on account of its being a favorite pursuit, but as the means of her support; and she had so cultivated and improved her talents in this respect, both as regarded her instrumental and vocal pow- ers, that, at the time of which I am writing, she had become a remarkably excellent pianist, while her singing was perfectly delightful and charm- ing.
Indeed, she possessed an uncommon melodious voice, with nothing like the modern studied school of art, but sang in simple strains, in tones of the richest, sweetest melody; besides, a pathos and tenderness pervaded her style, which rendered it irresistibly touching and captivating. She was, in fact, one of nature's most gifted minstrels; the best probably which had ever been in Bethlehem, which is high commendation, as among these Moravians were many excellent performers.
This wonderful gift of Nature proved a great solace to the poor girl, and in a great measure com-
148
MUSIC AND SINGING.
pensated for the injuries she had otherwise sustained from her. Yes, this unfortunate being, as the child of song-the best pianist in the place-at the head of the musical choir of that Moravian Settlement as so distinguished by her talent, felt while the dark blood mounted her cheek, that in one respect, in spite of her ignoble origin, the meanness of her birth, she stood forth amid her sister-band, the acknowl- edged superior of all.
Yet though she felt thus, she was not proud nor vain of her talents ; but it cheered her, while it les- sened, or rather tended to remove the barrier which to her mind had ever been between her, and her as- sociate companions. She now no longer felt soli- tary and friendless. Charmed into a new existence by her own marvellous powers of tuneful melody, she relieved her aching heart of its tumultuous throbbings for sweet fellowship of spirit with a kin- dred congenial mind, and sang herself into a happy, joyous, and sometimes ecstatic state of being. No
wonder then that she revelled in her delightful eu- dowment. It was a perpetual feast to her ; and as she executed her various musical performances so admirably, no marvel that her listeners sometimes thought, especially when pouring forth a rich tide of almost seraphic notes, that she was under the in- spiration of the muse of song.
At this time she had as many pupils as she could possibly attend to, and never, I ween, was there a more enthusiastic teacher-a more faithful, efficient
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149
PAINFUL RECOGNITION.
instructress in the divine art she possessed in such wondrous perfection :- and hard did she strive, and patiently labor, to fill the very souls of her pupils with the same heavenly, musical harmony.
While thus engaged, a gentleman and lady ar- rived at Bethlehem; they visited the School and the Sisters' House: Maria was giving a lesson at the former Institution, when they entered the room where she was : at that moment she happened to bo singing a beautiful but simple little song for the ben- efit of her pupils, and was so absorbed thereby, that she did not immediately notice them. In the mean- while, they stood together a short distance from the piano, attentively observing her. Presently they drew softly nearer, until they stood directly behind her; and in a brief space after, she turned around and saw the visitors.
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