SIEGE AND DEFENSE
Calling all self-controlling powers to her aid, Miss Fronde started up,
ran down to the lawn, took the children each by a hand, hurried them
into the house, and shut and locked the door, and without a word of
explanation to the astonished little ones, who stood staring at her, she
dropped into a chair, and thought rapidly, as strong-minded women do
think in emergencies.
Where did Hanson come from? What had brought him here? During the five
months she had stayed in Washington she had neither seen nor heard from
him. He had given no sign of his existence to her nor to any of her
friends. He had not responded to her suit for the setting aside of the
fraudulent marriage ceremony, and since the decision of the court, which
declared that ceremony null and void, and set her free, he had seemed as
much lost to the world as if he had been dead.
But had he been keeping her in view all this time, while she remained in
Washington, and had he only waited until she came home to her remote and
secluded old country house, where he might suppose her to be
unprotected, and at his mercy, that he had hunted her so quickly to her
retreat? She was only five days from Washington, and he had found her.
The next moment she heard his step upon the porch and his knock at the
door.
She started then.
He must not be allowed to come in, she decided at once, and to keep him
out the door must be kept shut; for though he would not be rude unless
he had been drinking wine, yet he was very suavely insolent, and quite
capable, if refused admittance, of politely pushing past old Pompous and
gracefully forcing himself into her presence.
This must be prevented.
The knocking was repeated with emphasis.
Roma went and withdrew the key from the lock and put it into her pocket.
Old Pompous now came strutting through the back door, and along the
hall, to “make the entrance free.”
The knocking was reiterated with impatience.
“Loramity! Dey can’t wait a minute, whoeber dey is, an’ I comin’ as fas’
as I can.”
“Pontius! Stop!” said Miss Fronde.
“Yas, youn’ mist’ess. Des lemmy open de do’ fuss. Dey’s comp’ny out
dere,” said the man, hurrying on.
“Do nothing of the sort! Stop! I command you! Follow me into the parlor,
and listen to what I have to say. Come, children,” said Miss Fronde; and
pushing the little ones gently before her, she entered the sitting-room,
closely attended by the huge negro.
The knocking grew loud and peremptory.
Pompous started impulsively to open the door, but recollecting his
mistress’ prohibition, he hesitated.
“Never mind the noise. Listen to me,” said Miss Fronde severely. “The
person who is knocking out there is Mr. William Hanson, who came here
one summer with his stepsister, Miss Rebecca Bushe. You remember him?”
“Lor’, yes, youn’ mist’ess. I ’members ob him good—a werry nice-spoken
gemman, an’ werry libbal, too. Gimmy fibe dollars w’en he went ’way,”
exclaimed Pompous, making another start to answer the knocking, which
was repeated at intervals.
“Stay where you are and attend to me.”
Pompous stopped and stared.
“That man is not to be admitted on any account. Do you hear?”
“A—a—a—we-dem not to leabe him come inter de house?” doubtfully inquired
the stout negro, with eyes and mouth wide open with astonishment that
any visitor should be denied admittance within the hospitable doors of
Goblin Hall, and especially that an old friend should be turned
ignominiously away.
The knocking was resumed, much more loudly than before. Pompous looked
distressed.
“Lemme do somefin’ or yudder, youn’ mist’ess. ’Deed an’ ’deed it do
makes me nerbous to year all dat knockin’ at de do’, an’ me stan’in’
yere doin’ nuffin w’en I’s so used to open de do’,” said the elephant,
trembling.
“I will tell you what to do, and first, why you are to do it. The man
has disgraced himself. He is not fit for the company of decent people.
He should be in the penitentiary.”
“De Lor’!” ejaculated Pompous.
“Therefore, do not open the front door, for the villain is quite capable
of pushing past you and forcing himself into my presence.”
“Youn’ mist’ess,” said Pompous, slowly drawing himself up, “ef yo’
’nounce de word as he is not to be ’mitted inter dis house, he better
not try dat yacket on me. Ef he do, he’ll jes’ fink a ton o’ bricks has
fell on him, he will.”
“Very likely; but I wish to avoid a scene. Go, therefore, out of the
back kitchen door, around the house, and meet him on the outside.”
“Yes, youn’ mist’ess; an’ wot mus’ I tell him?”
“Nothing from me. Just order him to leave the premises.”
“But ef he ax arter yo’?”
“Refuse to answer any questions.”
“Ef he gimme his keerd?”
“Refuse to take it. Tell him to go.”
“But s’pose he ’clines to go, ef he is sich a gran’ willyun?”
“Unchain Tiger.”
“Oh, Loramity, youn’ mist’ess! Tige would kill he!”
“Keep the chain firmly in your hand. I do not wish to have the wretch
torn to pieces.”
“Oh! I mus’ on’y t’reaten ’im, to sca’ ’im, like? But den ef he ain’t
sca’ one bit, an’ ’fuse fo’ to go?”
“Then loose the dog on him.”
“Loramity, youn’ mist’ess! Dat dog yeat her dinner offen him!”
“Then I hope it won’t give her a fit of indigestion.”
“Youn’ mist’ess, ’taine no joke. ’Deed, Tige is a wusser sabbidge debbil
now she’s a-nussin’ ob her pups, dan ebber she was ’fo’. She’ll mucilage
dat po’ sinner!”
“The man takes his life in his own hands when he trespasses on these
premises. The dog is here to guard them. If Hanson does not go when he
is told to go, he must take the consequences,” said the young lady
impatiently. “But there is not the slightest danger,” she added; “the
man has an excellent pair of heels, and will use them. He is a champion
runner. Go, now, and send him away—peaceably, if you can, with the dog
at his heels, if you must,” Roma concluded, as she sank down in her
easy-chair, watched by the two children, who stood, hand in hand, before
her, awed into unusual stillness by the strange excitement of their
“lady.”
Roma took no notice of them. She was too deeply absorbed in her own
profound indignation to do so.
Pompous strutted solemnly out of the room, and out of the back door of
the kitchen, which he carefully closed behind him. He was in great
trouble. The agonizing question with him was this—if he should have to
loose that beast on that man, and she should kill him, should he,
Pompous Pirate, be hanged for it? He feared he should. He had only
obeyed his mistress’ orders, but the law was very “onsartin,” he
reflected, gloomily shaking his head. This brought him around to the
front of the house.
Hanson was standing on the porch, looking about him while waiting for
his knock to be answered.
The two men recognized each other instantly, simultaneously.
“Oh! you are there, are you?” exclaimed Hanson. “I have been knocking
here for the last ten minutes. It began to look as if there was nobody
at home. How do you do, Pontius?” and Hanson held out his hand in a
friendly manner.
Pompous took it as a matter of policy, but was immediately instigated by
the evil one to tell a falsehood. He never felt the least conscientious
scruple about lying, especially in the cause of “peace and quietness,”
when he deemed mendacity a merit. Now he thought if he could persuade
this unwelcome visitor that Miss Fronde was neither in the house nor in
the neighborhood he would leave both without giving any trouble. So he
answered:
“So dere aine nobody at home, sah. De famberly all gone ’way, an’ de
house shet up.”
“Oh, I know the Grays and Eldes are in Europe, but your mistress—where
is she?”
Pompous drew himself up portentiously and rubbed his forehead. He was
not ready with the details of his falsehood. He was huge and slow.
“Why don’t you answer me?” impatiently demanded Hanson. “Where is your
mistress?”
“Yes, sah. To be sho. Dat’s so, sah. De youn’ mist’ess, sah. Yas, sah.
De youn’ mist’ess hab gone to Wash’town, sah. Yas, sah,” Pompous finally
replied, with a grin of satisfaction.
He had got his story all right now.
“Your mistress gone to Washington?” demanded Hanson with a slight smile.
“Yas—yas, sah, to Washin’town city, sah. Yas, sah. It’s de sollum trufe,
fo’ a fac’.”
“Oh, Pontius!” exclaimed Hanson, with a laugh. “Where do you expect to
go to when you die, if you tell such stories?”
“Stories, sah!” exclaimed the negro, drawing himself up and pushing
himself out. “I ’clar’ ’fo’ de Lor’——”
“Now don’t ruin your soul by swearing to a falsehood. You know it is a
story, and I know it is a story. As I came up the avenue toward the
house I saw your mistress standing on the front porch, with two children
on the lawn below. When she saw me she ran down, took the children, led
them into the house, and locked the door after her, just as I reached
the steps.”
Pompous rubbed his head in sore perplexity.
“Yo’ say yo’ seed de youn’ mist’ess on de poach, sah?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Mus’ be ’staken, sah. Mus’ ’a’ been Sister Sarious you seed dere.”
“What! The colored housemaid?” demanded Hanson, half amused, half
indignant at the impudence of the negro.
“Yas, sah. Dat’s so, sah. Yo’s puffeckly yight, sah. It were Sarious as
yo’ seed dere wid dem chilluns, jes’ as yo’ say, sah.”
“Why, you dreadful old humbug!” exclaimed Hanson with a laugh, “I said
nothing of the sort. I said it was your mistress whom I saw on the
porch. Do you hope to persuade me that I mistook a negro woman, as black
as the ace of spades, for the fair lady of the house? The devil fly away
with you and your impudence. It was your mistress whom I saw plainly on
the porch when I was close to the house. Now, what do you mean by
telling me that she has gone to Washington?” he demanded.
Pompous rubbed his forehead in dire perplexity. Then, with
characteristic facility, he immediately “tacked,” and, putting his hands
together with persuasive earnestness, he said:
“Yes, sah. Dat’s berry true, sah. But I finks as yo’ didn’ pay ’tention
to w’at I were sayin’, sah. No, sah, I sho yo’ didn’ year wot I were
sayin’.”
“Well, what in the deuce were you saying?” demanded Hanson, provoked and
impatient, yet amused.
“I was a-sayin’, sah, as de youn’ mist’ess hab been to Washin’town, sah.
Yas, sah, been, sah, not gone, but been, sah. Yas, sah; been to de city
dis long time pas’.”
“And has just got home?” quickly added Hanson.
Pompous cocked up his head sideways, like some huge bird, and answered,
dubiously, in a noncommittal manner:
“Ef yo’ say so, sah, it aine no manners to conterdick yo’.”
“Then, since the lady is at home, go around and let me in, and take my
card to her,” said Hanson, producing a little slip of pasteboard from
his breast pocket.
“I darsen’t do it, sah. I darsen’t, ’deed. W’ich my o’ders is strict,
sah.”
“Your orders?”
“Yas, sah. To ’quest yo’ to ’part peaceable, sah. Yas, sah.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Hanson, flushing red to his forehead. “Are these your
mistress’ orders?”
“W’ich dey is, sah.”
“Did she send me any message?”
“W’ich she did not, sah,” replied Pompous with dignity, “but des to sen’
yo’ ’way. Sich is my o’ders, sah.”
“Ah! But suppose I decline to go?”
“No ge’man, sah, as is a ge’man, would ’cline to leabe a lady’s house
w’en he is onwelcome an’ ’quested so fo’ to do.”
“But if I have the right to stay and demand admittance?”
“Dat yo’ can’t hab, sah. An’ ef so be yo’ ’fuses to leabe de place quiet
an’ ’spec’ful, my o’ders is werry sewere. Yes, sah, dey is.”
“And what may they be, pray?”
“To loose Tige on yo’, sah,” solemnly replied the negro.
“Tige? Who’s Tige?”
“Her aine a ‘who’; her is a what.”
“What is Tige, then?” demanded Hanson with a laugh.
“Her is a doag, an’ de werry fiershisht an’ wishusest beas’ as ebber yo’
see, sah. A pu’ mung’el her is.”
“A pure mongrel?”
“Yas, sah; a werry pu’ mung’el.”
“I do not think I ever heard of that peculiar breed of dogs.”
“Likely not, sah. Dey is werry yare; werry yare, indeed. An’ dis Tige is
one ob de yarest. Yas, sah, her is. Her’s got mastiff an’ bulldog an’
Wushun bloodhoun’ an’—an’—an’—less see, now,—some yudder sort ob sabbage
b’ute wishuser nor all de res’. Yas, sah, I sho yo’. An’ all dat go to
make Tige de mos’ tore down debbil as ebber libbed. She wouldn’ min’
killin’ a man mo’n she would killin’ ob a yat.”
“And you have orders to loose dat brute on me?”
“W’ich I has, sah.”
“What a savage that sweet love of mine is!” muttered Hanson to himself.
Then aloud he said: “I have the right to enter this house. Go around and
open the door for me.”
“Couldn’ do it, sah. No, not at no yate in dis yere worl’,” repeated
Pompous, solemnly shaking his head.
“I tell you, you idiot, that I have the right to enter this house and
insist upon an interview with its mistress. Yes, and the right to remain
here as its master. The lady is my wife. You are my servant. Go, and
obey my commands, or neglect them at your peril.” Hanson changed his
tone from light jesting to grave authority.
But the huge Pompous, though deeply impressed by his words and manner,
was not influenced in the direction Hanson wished. On the contrary,
Pompous drew himself up and pushed himself out with solemn dignity, and
answered with contemptuous indignation:
“Yo-o-o? Now, sah, yo’ is offen yo’ head.”
“Go, and open the door for me!” exclaimed Hanson, losing temper and
self-control at the same moment.
“Now yo’s offen yo’ head fo’ sho; ’f’aid yo’s been jinkin’ too f’ee,
sah. Now, I ’wises ob yo’ to ’part peaceable, ’fo’ I hab to onchain dat
dere wil’ beas’ wot aine got no ’spec’ fo’ nobody, an’ ’ould chaw a
ge’man soon as she would a beef bone, an’ ’joy one as much as tudder.”
“To the devil with you and your dog. Go open this door, or it will be
the worse for you!”
“Couldn’ do it at no price wotsomever. Now, take my ’wice, sah, an’ go
w’ere yo’ got yo’ likker, an’ sleep it off.”
“You impudent fool! What do you mean?” angrily demanded Hanson.
“Now, sah, yo’s c’azy junk! Dere’s no use mincin’ ob de matter; yo’s mad
junk. De wil’ way yo’ hab been talkin’ ’bout de youn’ mist’ess bein’ ob
yo’ husban’—leastways, I mean yo’ bein’ ob her wife, proobes it. No,
sah, take good ’wice, an’ go w’ere yo’ got de likker, an’ s’eep off de
’fec’s ob it.”
“You confounded donkey! Understand that I shall stay here until I shall
be admitted into the house I have the right to enter as its master and
yours,” said Hanson angrily.
“He’s awful junk,” muttered Pompous to himself, “junker dan I fus’
f’ought. I’ll hab to gib him one good scare ’long o’ Tige!”
Then aloud he said:
“Oh! Yo’ll stay here tell yo’ get ’mitted into de house, will yo’, sah?
Den I shall hab to loose de doag, ’cordin’ to o’ders.”
“Loose all the bloodhounds on the place, you insolent villain! I shall
not stir from this spot!” savagely exclaimed Hanson.
“All yight, sah. Ef yo’ wants ’em. Des as yo’ say. Dough I do fink as
Tige will be much as yo’ can stan’,” said Pompous loftily as he strutted
off to the kennels muttering to himself:
“I’ll des gib him one good scare, anyway. Dough I doane mean to loose
Tige on him, sho ’nuff, Lor’, no. I doane want to kill dat po’
intoxified creetur, nor likewise be hung fo’ de likes ob he. No, ’deed.
But I’ll gib him one good scare,” he concluded as he reached the kennels
and unchained the brute and brought her around to the front of the
house.
She was a terrible-looking creature, a huge black beast, with a bull
head, fiery eyes, heavy jaws, strong fangs, great shoulders, thick limbs
and sharp claws. She glared at the stranger with burning eyes and showed
all her teeth with a deep, thunderous growl.
Pompous held her chain with all his strength, and it took all his
strength to do it.
Hanson was no coward, and he gazed at the monster with the interest
aroused by a strange specimen of cross breeds in fierce canines. Nor did
he for one moment believe that the negro would dare to loose the brute,
that would be sure to fly at the stranger’s throat, throttle him down,
and finish him. He smiled in derision of the man who held the dog.
The beast crouched, sprang, and nearly pulled the heavy negro down.
“Now, sah,” said Pompous, “will you leabe here like a ge’man, or will I
let de doag loose?”
“Will you open the door for me?” inquired Hanson coolly.
“No, sah; couldn’t, not at no yate.”
“Then I will stay here until you do.”
“Den I’ll hab to let Tige loose, sah, an’ her wouldn’ min’ killin’ yo’
mo’ ’an ef yo’ was a yat.”
The brute growled like subterranean thunder.
“You insolent idiot! Do you dare to suppose I am afraid of your dog! Let
her loose!” scornfully exclaimed Hanson.
The monster reared and plunged, and nearly pitched his keeper
headforemost.
“Now, de Lor’ ’a’ messy on my po’ soul! Wot shall I do? My orders was to
let her loose on to yo’, sah, ef so be yo’ didn’ go peaceable w’en yo’
was tol’ so to do,” said Pompous, in an agony of doubt.
“Well, you zany, why don’t you obey your orders?” demanded Hanson with a
scornful laugh at the negro’s distress.
There are limits to human endurance of insult.
That laugh settled the question; the aggravating irony of Hanson’s
expression sealed it.
Pompous drew himself up and swelled himself out with solemn dignity as
he inquired, in a tone of gloomy reproach:
“An’ do yo’ s’pose, sah, as I’m gwine to be hung fo’ de likes ob a
’toxified sinner like yo’ is?”
Hanson laughed.
“No, sah, I hol’s de doag offen yo’, sah; I spares yo’ libe, sah; I gibs
yo’ time fo’ ’pentance, sah; an’ I hopes yo’ll make good use ob de time
I gibs yo’, sah; it’s de trufe, fo’ a sollum fac’; an’ so I takes my
doag, an’ leabes yo’, sah—leabes yo’ to yo’ own ’wices, sah.” And
Pompous strutted solemnly away.
“Hold on!” Hanson called after him.
Pompous turned around.
“Who were those children I saw with your mistress?”
“De yittle brack gal were Hera Hutter’s chile.”
“Never mind her. The little white one?”
“De yittle w’ite gal were a pet orphin, wot de youn’ mist’ess ’dopted to
fetch up; yes, sah.”
“Your mistress is very fond of that child?”
“She is, sah,” Pompous replied with curt dignity.
“That will do. Give my respects to your mistress, and tell her that she
shall hear from me again, and in another way.”
“Couldn’ do dat, neider, sah, no mo’ ’an I could take in yo’ keerd. My
o’ders is to fetch no messidge.”
“No matter. She shall hear from me all the sooner, and all the more to
the purpose,” muttered Hanson as he turned away from the house, walked
down the avenue, and got into the railway hack that was waiting for him
on the outside of the gate.
Pompous led his dog back to the kennels, saying to her in an apologetic
tone:
“I knows yo’s disapp’inted, po’ doag. I knows yo’ wanted to chaw dat
willian. But I darsen’ lef’ yo’, Tige. De law is so onsartin. Ef I had
lef’ yo’ chaw him it might ’a’ hung me.”
He put the beast in with her pups and turned and walked leisurely toward
the house. Pompous seldom compromised his dignity by hurrying; perhaps
he could not, on account of his immense weight.
“Now I gwine tell my youn’ mist’ess how I sca’ dat ’truder ’way,” he
said to himself as he entered the presence of the lady, and bowed.
“Well?” inquired Miss Fronde.
“He done gone, miss.”
“Very well.”
“I done sca’ him ’way.”
“Quite right. That will do. You may go.”
“He—he lef’ a messidge fo’ yo’, miss.”
“You need not deliver it.”
“Yes, miss, but——”
“You must not deliver it. I will hear no message from that person; and
if he ever should dare to present himself here again you are to treat
him just as you have to-day.”
“Yes, miss, sartinly, des as yo’ say. Doag an all?”
“Yes.”
“Any mo’ o’ders, miss?”
“None. You may go.”
Pompous bowed stiffly and went out, somewhat disappointed at not having
had an opportunity to tell his bragging story in detail.
“And now what is it all about?” inquired Owlet as soon as the man had
left the room.
“Only, dear, that a very disagreeable person, whom I did not wish to
see, tried to push himself into the house,” Roma replied.
“Then if the person wanted to come where he was not welcome, he was not
possessed of common sense! And, oh, dear me! How many people are not
possessed of common sense! And they make most of the trouble in this
world, too, that they do!” said Owlet in a tone of despair.
Ducky Darling came up to her, put her arm around her neck, and kissed
her, in silent sympathy with a complaint she could not understand.