Ath-mun Character Analysis

At-mun, the young prince, was tall and powerfully built, though he had seen no more than fifteen summers. He carried his head high and his eyes flashed. Ath-mun, the twelve year old princess, smiled shyly at her tribespeople, then turned to whisper in her father’s ear. She leaned against him, hoping to hide the deformed leg that—but for her father’s love—would have caused her to have been drowned as an infant. Only the sacrifice of the imperfect to the God of Life could assure protection for the perfect. But the chief had gone against his tribal code and sacrificed his favorite dog to keep his infant daughter and thus far the God of Life had wreaked no vengeance on him. The At-mun-shi were as pagan as all the tribes in Africa, but they were peaceable and they were, as well, intense in their love of freedom.

“Perhaps he thought he was white until he looked in the mirror.”

Mrs. Richardson shook her head. “Perhaps, but it’s more than that. There’s a yearning in him that has its roots in the land from which he came. Oh, it’ s a terrible thing we’ve done, Mr. Richardson, to bring these black people to our land and treat them as we do.”

“Their lot’s not too hard,” he remonstrated.

“Ah, but until they’re given their freedom they count no more than cattle.”

Ichabod Richardson sighed deeply. “They’re not the only ones to be thinking about freedom. Before many more years have passed we’ll be thinking about it too, and not as people but as a nation.”

“What do you mean, Mr. Richardson?”

“I mean that we’ve made others slaves readily enough but we’ll be slaves ourselves if we don’t keep watch.”

From the day Amos had begun to live in freedom, his life had been a series of curious accomplishments known in their richness and wonder only to him. Lily, Lydia, Violet, Celyndia—they stood like milestones along his way and behind them all was Ath-mun. Amos held her always in the tender loveliness of her twelve years, and because of her need to be cared for and his longing for her to be cherished, he had dedicated himself to helpless folk. It was Ath-mun who had been the fount of freedom to those others, Amos thought, as he reached back into memory for the beloved sister; he had acted for her and so he would account to her even when they met together at the Jordan.

At-mun, the young prince, was tall and powerfully built, though he had seen no more than fifteen summers. He carried his head high and his eyes flashed. Ath-mun, the twelve year old princess, smiled shyly at her tribespeople, then turned to whisper in her father’s ear. She leaned against him, hoping to hide the deformed leg that—but for her father’s love—would have caused her to have been drowned as an infant. Only the sacrifice of the imperfect to the God of Life could assure protection for the perfect. But the chief had gone against his tribal code and sacrificed his favorite dog to keep his infant daughter and thus far the God of Life had wreaked no vengeance on him. The At-mun-shi were as pagan as all the tribes in Africa, but they were peaceable and they were, as well, intense in their love of freedom.

“Perhaps he thought he was white until he looked in the mirror.”

Mrs. Richardson shook her head. “Perhaps, but it’s more than that. There’s a yearning in him that has its roots in the land from which he came. Oh, it’ s a terrible thing we’ve done, Mr. Richardson, to bring these black people to our land and treat them as we do.”

“Their lot’s not too hard,” he remonstrated.

“Ah, but until they’re given their freedom they count no more than cattle.”

Ichabod Richardson sighed deeply. “They’re not the only ones to be thinking about freedom. Before many more years have passed we’ll be thinking about it too, and not as people but as a nation.”

“What do you mean, Mr. Richardson?”

“I mean that we’ve made others slaves readily enough but we’ll be slaves ourselves if we don’t keep watch.”

From the day Amos had begun to live in freedom, his life had been a series of curious accomplishments known in their richness and wonder only to him. Lily, Lydia, Violet, Celyndia—they stood like milestones along his way and behind them all was Ath-mun. Amos held her always in the tender loveliness of her twelve years, and because of her need to be cared for and his longing for her to be cherished, he had dedicated himself to helpless folk. It was Ath-mun who had been the fount of freedom to those others, Amos thought, as he reached back into memory for the beloved sister; he had acted for her and so he would account to her even when they met together at the Jordan.