CHAPTER NINE
Note—According to Wikipedia, "At the turn of the 20th century, Harriet Tubman, former slave, famous for helping other slaves to escape before the Civil War, donated a parcel of real estate she owned to the church, under the instruction that it be made into a home for "aged and indigent colored people."The home did not open for another five years, and Tubman was dismayed when the church ordered residents to pay a $100 entrance fee. She said: "[T]hey make a rule that nobody should come in without they have a hundred dollars. Now I wanted to make a rule that nobody should come in unless they didn't have no money at all." She was frustrated by the new rule but was the guest of honor nonetheless when the Harriet Tubman Home for the Aged celebrated its opening on June 23, 1908"
This is just a bit of writer's license…what indeed would Harriet Tubman make of Scarlett O'Hara?
Scarlett Goes To Any Lengths
Alistair Trousdale Chigwell peered around the corner of the Peachtree Granary, watching Mrs. Butler dismount from the carriage. Chig was rather enjoying detective work…he'd spent most of his life as a fingersmith, removing wallets and cutting purses…but this seemed to be more in his line than pick pocketing.
Yes, being a private detective, like the Pinkertons. Rhett Butler had had full confidence that Chig could discover whether or not his wife was having any luck raising the needed funds to buy back the shares of the Kennedy Sawmills.
Chig wandered across the street to the Kennedy Mercantile, keeping his walk as a rather bored looking saunter. Never stop, never run. After he'd had some legal difficulty back in Merrie Old England, Chig had found a way to come as an indentured servant to Massachusetts, but had mysteriously disappeared from the ship before meeting up with the candle-and-soap maker he'd agreed to serve in return for his passage…
After escaping the noose for cattle rustling, and impregnating not a few New England housemaids, Chig had drifted to Charlestown where he'd almost had his neck snapped during an attempt on Rhett Butler's pocket watch at the racetrack, but then Butler had discovered other and more profitable uses for Chig,and it had been an interesting and profitable relationship for the past seven years or so…delivering messages, helping Butler "borrow" things…it worked well!
Now Chig stole to the side of the mercantile, and used the key that Butler had given him to enter through the coal cellar—ugh! But finally Chig made it up the steps and into the back room where he peered through a curtain into the store, noting that Mrs. Butler was in curious conversation with what appeared to be an aged Negress.
"Miz But-lah Ise not sho dis is whut Ah wants to do" said the old black woman, who Chig noticed had a bit of a droopy left eye "But ah has dis propitty an' a bit of money whut been gibben me by Mister Frederick Douglass, an' Ah wants a place fo' old niggers who' taken sick."
Chig watched Mrs. Butler closely. Mrs. Butler seemed to be scornful, but kept up an attempt at a teeth gritting smile. Charm had always been Mrs. Butler's long suit when she wanted something.
"Well, Harriet—ah, Miss—Mrs?" Scarlett was sweating bullets.
"Jus' Harriet, an' I neber been mahied." The old darky toothlessly grinned, and then her head lolled for a moment as if she was having an epileptic seizure.
Scarlett wiped her own forehead, looking a bit nauseated. "God's nightgown, is she dead? How will I get her out of here?"
But then Harriet revived. "Ah am so sorry, Miz But-lah. I got hit in de head with de iron butt of a whip when I was young, an' I never quite recovered."
Chig, from his hiding place behind the curtain wondered what on earth was on Mrs. Butler's mind to entertain such a bedraggled, and apparently demented visitor.
"You want me to build a home for elderly darkies, is that correct, Harriet…and you think you can come up with three thousand dollars?"
Three thousand dollars! Chig figured that would pay a construction crew to build five twenty room homes. What a scoundrel the woman was, he thought admiringly.
"Mistuh Douglass gib me fi' thousand dollahs, an' I kin spare—" But Scarlett interrupted.
"You'll want this old-age home responsibly looked after, right, Harriet…I could perhaps arrange that for a little bit more."
"Ah wuz hopin' the churches—"
"No no, Harriet, we must abide by the law of the land, the darkies are free, but your history in repatriating other people's property—"
"Ah hepp'ed niggah's escape—"
"Well, there are always different views, but I wouldn't count on the churches down here being filled with former Abolitionists…but if you give me the five thousand and do a bit more fund raising up North, I could probably have a suitable institution, yes I could."
"Miz But-lah, think of the stahvin' ole niggahs who served y'all fo' so many y'ahs."
"Indeed I remember my mother's health being tested as she nursed them, fed them and gave them a drap of rum on Christmas, and then when the Yankees came, all but four left…three hundred of them deserted…for a so-called better life, leaving my mother and sisters ill with typhoid. Yes, yes I do. And so does every other Southerner in Atlanta remember things like that. But I am willing to forget, if you are able to collect alms for the cause, dear Harriet."
"But ain't you got heart, a conscience—"
"After all the other field hands left, my father's man Pork, and his wife Dilcey remembered Pa's kindness in buying Dilcey and her daughter from our neighbors so the family could be together, and they all stayed to take care of us…as well as my Mammy and Uncle Peter, my cousin's nigger here in Atlanta. Mammy's gone, and the others are no longer able to do much, and my family and I have them nursed and cared for as part of our family. My conscience is clear."
Coo lumme, Chig thought.
But then the door to the mercantile opened, and Chig spotted Wade Hamilton, Mrs. Butler's oldest boy. He greeted his mother and shook hands with Harriet Tubman.
"You can make out the bill of lading to Wade, here…you might as well just give him the five thousand dollars up front."
"Five thousand dollars, Mother? What on earth for?" Wade asked in certain shock, his silence deepening as all was explained.
"Mother, that's nonsense. Mrs. Tubman, give us a cheque for five hundred dollars, and put the rest in your purse."
"What is wrong with you?" Scarlett asked in horror. "Wade Hampton Ham—"
"Not a bit of it." Wade said as he sat on the counter. "As you know, Uncle Rhett brought that ophthalmologist, Dr. Pennington, down here from New York, and Beau's cataracts have been treated…in an amazing operation, one of the first of its kind. Beau jokingly complains that he will have his vain looks disfigured by the spectacles he'll be wearing, but he can see…Mother, you yourself said that it was a gift from God."
"That's fine, Wade, but what does this have to do with a business arrangement between-"
"Everything. Dr. Pennington refused any payment for the operation, but he is a Christian, and asked a group of Beau's grateful young friends to do some work, repairing a bridge over by the shanties or perhaps starting an ambulance service…he and Uncle Rhett and some merchants will even fund such good work. Yes, Mother, lots of interference…but it is better than trying to buy back the mills by robbing Miss Tubman."
"Dis is wonn-erful, Mist' Hamilton. Dis way, I kin use the money to perhaps build another rest home, mebbe in Souf Ca'lina."
Scarlett's voice rose, and Wade's with it, the once timid boy now more than a match for his mother.
As Chig exited the store, he took some snuff meditatively and thought perhaps his old parson father was right—perhaps not about God, but maybe about Satan…Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton Butler was as close to Beezlebub as any Satan Chig had ever seen.
Later, Rhett Butler received a wire
"Dear Captain Butler
Your wife is an awful woman, and attempted, if you can believe it, of cheating Harriet Tubman, the one the negroes called "Moses" for her work freeing slaves, of five thousand dollars in an exploitative effort to buy back the mills and mercantile. Your stepson and his friends came to Miss Tubman's aid, and she was able to save her dollars. I saw her in the street afterwards, giving her a stern lecture on being gullible. After which, I gave Miss Tubman a hug, taking her in my arms, as we Limeys unlike you lot, do not view the Negroes as farm animals. We was both in tears as we departed. Actually, Miss Tubman is cleverer than I thought. She told Mrs. Butler she had five thousand dollars, but she had actually eight thousand, five hundred dollars in gold.
Yours, A. Chigwell
P.S. I know this of course because I seem to have removed the entire amount when I gave Harriet her hug. As I am now in funds, methinks I shall take a bit of a holiday. See you next spring at Saratoga!
Best, Chig. "