we ran to the windows. in an open carriage, with two official attendants, surrounded by a mounted guard and clad in the uniform of a danish general, the aged governor came. on his breast were the insignia of the order of dannebrog. his cavalcade could hardly make its way, and when one of the crowd made bold to seize the horses' reins the equipage, just before our house, stopped. the governor sat still, very pale.
suddenly he rose, uncovered, and with graceful dignity bowed. then he unfolded a paper with large seals attached, and in a trembling but clear voice began to read. in the name and by the authority of his majesty christian viii, king of denmark, he proclaimed freedom to every slave in the danish west indies.
our cries of dismay were drowned in the huzzas of the black mob: "free! free! god bless de gub'nor! obbe is free!"
the retinue moved again; but the crowd, ignoring the command to disperse to their homes, surged after it in transports of rejoicing. at the fort the proclamation, with the order to disperse, was read again. but the mob, suddenly granted all its demands, could not instantly return to quiet toils made odious by slavery. mad with joy and drink, it broke into small companies, some content to stay in town carousing, others roaming out among the island estates to pillage and burn. here the governor, in failing to employ prompt measures of police, proved himself weak.
at evening, leaving our house in care of jack and tom, we went to spend the night at mr. kenyon's, where several neighbors were gathered, under arms. our way led us by the ruined court-house, where for several squares the ground was completely covered with torn records, books, and other documents.
the night wore by in fitful sleep or anxious vigils. near us all was quiet; but the distant sky was in many places red with incendiary fires. at dawn mr. kenyon, gilbert, and others ventured out, and returned with sad tidings brought by courier from christiansted. at the signal on sunday night the negroes had swarmed there by thousands. next day, when the governor had just departed for our town, leaving word to do nothing in his absence, they had attacked the fort as they had ours. but its commander, of a sturdy temper, had opened fire, killing and wounding many. this had only defended the town at the expense of the country, into which thousands scattered to break, pillage, and burn. yet even so no whites had been killed except two or three men who had opposed the blacks single-handed, although the whole island, outside the two towns, was at the mercy of the insurgents.
however, there was better news. a danish man-of-war was near by. a schooner was gone to look her up, and another to ask aid in the island of porto rico, only seventy miles away and heavily garrisoned with spaniards. still it was deemed wise to accept for fredericksted the offer from the ships and send the women and children on board, so that the military might be free to hold the uprising in check until a stronger force could extinguish it.
"tom," mr. kenyon said, "is to have a boat at the beach to take us off to an american schooner. pack no trunks. gather your lightest valuables in small bundles. be quick; if a crowd gets there before you you may be refused."
we hurried home over a carpet of archives and title-deeds, swallowed a sort of breakfast, and began the hard task of choosing the little we could take from the much we must leave, in a dear home that might soon be in ashes.
on the schooner we found a kind welcome, amid a throng of friends and strangers, and a chaos of boxes, bundles, and trunks. children were crying to go home, or viewing with babbling delight the wide roadstead dotted with boats still bringing the fugitives to every anchored vessel. women were calling farewells and cautions to the men in the returning boats, and meeting friends were telling in many tongues the droll or sad distresses of the hour.
a friend, with his wife and little daughter, gave us a thrilling story. except their house-keeper, a young english girl, they three were the only white persons on their beautiful "north end" estate when on sunday night their slaves came to them in force demanding "freedom papers."
"not under compulsion, never!"
"den obbe set eb'ryt'ing on fiah! wen yo' house bu'n up we try t'ink w'at too do wid you and de missie!" they rushed away to the sugar-works, yelling: "git bagasse foo bu'n him out!"
the household loaded all the firearms in the house, filled all vessels with water, and piled blankets here and there to fight fire. then they made merry. the wife played her piano till after midnight. whether moved by this show or not, the blacks failed to return, and next day the family escaped to the schooner.
to grandmamma and the wife of the american consul, the oldest ladies on the vessel, was given, at nightfall, the only sofa on board. the rest dropped asleep on boxes and bundles anywhere. for my couch the boatswain lent me his locker, and for a pillow a bag of something that felt like rope ends, and for three successive mornings i was wakened with:
"sorry to disturb you, little miss, but i must get to my locker."
