WHAT GODFREY’S VISITOR WANTED.
Godfrey and his visitor had not gone very far into the woods, before
the former told himself that if Clarence had come out there for the
purpose of hunting squirrels, he certainly knew very little of the
nature of the animals of which he was in search. He talked incessantly,
and in a tone of voice loud enough to frighten all the wild animals for
a quarter of a mile around. He did not say “squirrel” once, and neither
did he appear to be anxious to find any, for he was more interested in
studying the face of his companion, than in searching the tree tops
where the game was most likely to be found. So closely did he watch
Godfrey that the latter became uneasy; and when he could no longer
endure his scrutiny he said, suddenly:
“Do ye think ye ever seed me afore, Mr. Clarence, or what’s the matter
of ye? Yer tongue says one thing to me, an’ yer face says another.”
“Well, what does my face say?” asked Clarence.
“I can’t quite seem to make out, an’ that’s why I axed ye. Ye look as
though ye wanted to say something to me and didn’t know how to begin.”
“Mr. Evans, you would soon make yourself rich if you were to turn
fortune-teller,” said Clarence. “You have hit the nail squarely on the
head. Have a weed?”
As he spoke, he thrust his hand into one of the pockets of his
game-bag, and brought it out again filled with cigars. Either by
accident or design he brought something else, too--something that
fell on the ground at Godfrey’s feet, and at which he gazed as if
fascinated. It was the cob-pipe he had lost the night before in General
Gordon’s potato patch. After making sure that it was his own property,
he looked toward Clarence, who could scarcely refrain from laughing
outright, so utterly astounded and bewildered did Godfrey seem to be.
“Whar did ye get it?” he demanded, as soon as he could speak, “an’ how
came ye by it?”
“I found it in the potato patch where you and Dan were digging last
night. You did not find the eighty thousand, did you? Why, what’s the
matter with you?”
Clarence was not a little surprised at the effect of his words.
They seemed to take away all Godfrey’s strength, and to crush him
completely. He wilted before the boy’s eyes like a blade of grass that
had been struck by the frost. He looked around for a place to sit down,
but as he could not find any to suit him, he sat down right where he
was and groaned aloud.
“What’s the matter with you?” repeated Clarence.
“Who told you that was my pipe?” asked Godfrey.
“My intuition.”
“Yer what?”
“My instinct.”
Godfrey looked more bewildered than ever. “Ye mean that the haunt told
ye, don’t ye?” said he.
“The haunt!” repeated Clarence. “What’s that?”
“Why, the sperrit; the--the--ole Jordan’s ghost. He was thar, kase I
seed him. Whar was you, Mr. Clarence?”
“I was in the house, where all honest folks were at that time of the
night. Did you say you saw a ghost?”
“I did say so, an’ I done seed it, too.”
“What did it look like?”
“I didn’t see all of him--only jest the eye; an’ that was a watchin’
us, kase I could see it wink.”
“Where was it?” asked Clarence, elevating his eye-brows.
“Down in the fence corner, clost by that big butternut tree.”
The boy stared, then laid down his rifle and seated himself on the
nearest log. He seemed to be very much impressed by what he had heard.
“I knowed all the time that you didn’t come out here to shoot no
squirrels,” said Godfrey, “kase if they was what ye wanted, ye could a
found a cartload of ’em nigher to the gen’ral’s house. Now, what be ye
a goin’ to do about it? Be ye goin’ to tell yer uncle?”
“That depends entirely upon yourself,” was the reply, which quickly put
all Godfrey’s fears at rest. “I would much rather help you dig up the
barrel and then divide its contents with you--that is, if there is any
barrel there, and we have a chance of finding it.”
As Godfrey had already committed himself he knew that it was too late
to deny anything, so he replied that to the best of his knowledge and
belief the barrel was hidden somewhere in that potato-patch; and at
the boy’s request he went on to tell why he thought so. He told him
the story of the buried treasure just as he had told it before to
the members of his family, and Clarence listened to every word. When
Godfrey ended his tale he questioned him closely; and when he got up
half an hour afterward to stretch his arms and legs, he believed as
firmly as Godfrey did that there was a fortune concealed in his uncle’s
potato-patch. He said so too, and proposed to Godfrey that they should
search for it together, and, when they found it, divide the contents,
whatever they might be.
“There is one thing about it,” continued Clarence; “two are enough to
engage in any such enterprise as this, and I’ll have nothing whatever
to do with it, unless you promise that Dan shall be left in the
background. We don’t want him.”
“No fear about him,” replied Godfrey. “He seed the haunt as well as me,
an’ says he won’t go thar no more.”
“I am glad of it, and I hope he will stick to his resolution,” said
Clarence. “But, in order to make sure of it, you had better tell him
that you are not going near the field again yourself. You can slip away
from him every night, I suppose?”
“I reckon I can; but if ye was in the house last night, whar all honest
folks was, how did ye find out about this bar’l, Mr. Clarence? An’ who
brung ye this pipe an’ told ye it was mine?”
This was the third or fourth time that Godfrey had asked this question
during their interview, which had already lasted more than an hour, and
Clarence replied now as he had done before--
“I can’t tell you just at present. I may tell you some day after you
and I get to be good friends, and I find out that I can trust you. When
you become better acquainted with me, you will see that I have a way of
finding out a good many things.”
The two talked for an hour longer on these matters, and at the end of
that time Godfrey was satisfied that what he had at first believed to
be a dire misfortune, had turned out to be the luckiest thing that
ever happened to him. He knew that Dan could never be induced to go
near that potato-patch again in the dark, for he had been frightened
out of a year’s growth already; but Godfrey needed an assistant all
the same, and here was one worth having. Godfrey was astonished at the
courage the boy exhibited. Clarence scouted the idea of haunts and
ghosts and all other things of like character, and although he did not
pretend to account for the invisible hands that had so often tripped
Godfrey up and knocked his hat from his head, he was sure that there
was nothing supernatural about them, and promised that if any such
pranks were played on Godfrey while he was near, he would find out how
they were done, and who was to blame for them. They came to a perfect
understanding on every point that arose regarding their future actions;
but there were some things connected with the past that remained a
sealed book to Godfrey. The latter would have given every thing he
possessed to know how Clarence came by the pipe that he had dropped
in the potato-patch, and how he had found out who the owner was. He
wanted to know how the boy had learned of the existence of the barrel
with the eighty thousand dollars in it; how he had found out what his
(Godfrey’s) name was; how it came that he could recognise him the
moment he saw him; and why he offered to assist him in looking for the
barrel. If he had been like most nephews, he would have gone straight
to his uncle and told him what was going on in his potato-patch after
dark. Godfrey tried his best to surprise or coax Clarence into giving
him some information on these points, but without the least success;
and he was finally obliged to make up his mind that they were mysteries
that time only could clear away.
Another thing that surprised and delighted Godfrey was the
condescension and familiarity with which the boy treated him. Clarence
was, at the same time, much more respectful to him than Dan was, and
Godfrey already began to feel perfectly at ease in his presence. He
saw the force of one command that Clarence laid upon him, and readily
promised to obey it, namely: that no matter how intimate they might
be while they were by themselves, there was to be none of that sort
of thing should they chance to meet in company. They must meet as
strangers, and never so much as look at each other. They did not want
to arouse anybody’s curiosity or suspicions, and so they could not be
too careful.
When the matter had been thoroughly discussed and they knew just
what they were going to do, they arose and walked slowly towards the
cabin. They stopped on the way to shoot a few squirrels, and Godfrey,
surprised at the accuracy of the little breech-loader, which seemed
as light as a feather beside his long, heavy muzzle-loader, declared
that he would have one exactly like it, just as soon as he received
his share of the contents of the barrel. They held another short
consultation when they reached the clearing, and after each had
promised to be at the general’s barn as soon after dark as he could get
there, Clarence started homeward, while Godfrey filled his pipe, and
sat down to smoke and think. He was in such a fever of suspense that he
never thought of getting himself any dinner, and even when supper time
came, he could scarcely arouse himself from his air-castle building,
long enough to eat his share of the corn-bread and squirrels. When it
began to grow dark he grew more restless than ever, and his impatience
to be at work increased every minute. He was not afraid of old Jordan’s
haunt so long as he was in the presence of the general’s nephew, and
neither was he any longer afraid of the work he might have to do before
the barrel would be brought to light; for Clarence had discoursed in
such glowing language of the comforts and pleasures that could be
purchased for eighty thousand dollars, that Godfrey would have thought
nothing of digging up twenty acres with a single spade, if he could
obtain that amount of money by so doing.
“Dannie,” said Godfrey, who saw that the boy was loitering about as if
waiting for something, “it’s time fur us to be lookin’ fur that bar’l
agin, I reckon.”
“Wal, ye can look then, if ye want to,” was the dutiful reply, “but I
don’t stir one inch. I don’t want to see ole Jordan’s haunt agin, an’ I
don’t b’lieve the bar’l’s thar, nohow.”
“Ye’ve hit centre agin, Dannie, like ye allers do,” replied his father.
“I don’t b’lieve it’s thar nuther; an’ if it is, ten acres is too much
ground fur two fellers to dig up.”
“Then whar be yer goin’?” asked Dan, as Godfrey arose to his feet and
picked up his hat.
“Wal, I ain’t agoin’ nowhars; but I can’t sleep arter losin’ them
eighty thousand, so I am goin’ out to walk about a bit afore goin’ to
bed. Ye go in an’ stay with yer mam, like a good boy, an’ yer poor ole
pop’ll go out an’ think over his hard luck.”
These words, and the way they were spoken, were enough to arouse Dan’s
suspicions at once. His father never called him a good boy or addressed
him in that wheedling tone, unless he had an object to gain. And the
fact that he was going off alone in the dark was another thing that
looked suspicious. He had not done such a thing for long months; and
after a little reflection Dan very naturally arrived at the conclusion
that there was something going on that his father did not want him to
know anything about. He went into the house and stayed a minute or two,
and then came out and hurried down the road towards General Gordon’s
lane.
Meanwhile Godfrey was making the best of his way toward the barn, where
he expected to meet his new friend, Clarence. He walked with noiseless
footsteps, casting anxious glances on all sides of him, and acting
altogether like a man who expected to encounter some terrible danger.
Indeed this was just what he did expect. He opened the creaking gate
that led from the lane into the barn-yard, and was frightened almost
out of his senses when he saw a dark figure rise suddenly into view and
come toward him. His first impulse was to take to his heels; but he
checked it and drew a long breath of relief when he heard a well-known
voice say, in no very amiable tones:
“Have you arrived at last? I began to think you were never coming.”
“Yes, I’ve come,” replied Godfrey, “but I ’most wish I had stayed
to hum. ’Tain’t honest, sich work as this yere hain’t. If thar’s a
bar’l with eighty thousand dollars in gold an’ silver into it, hid in
the gen’ral’s tater-patch, we’d oughter tell him, ’stead of goin’ an’
diggin’ it up ourselves!”
“Hallo! what’s come over you all of a sudden?” demanded Clarence,
angrily. “You didn’t talk this way when I last saw you.”
“I know it; but it was daylight then.”
“Yes; and now that it is dark you have turned coward, have you?”
“Wal--no! but if I should see ole Jordan’s white coat down thar in that
tater-patch, I do think in my soul it would be the last of me.”
“Well, you’ll not see him or his white coat, either. You haven’t heard
of him for long years, and who knows but he is dead?”
“I’m sartin he is,” returned Godfrey, earnestly.
“Then you have nothing to fear from him.”
“Not from him, I know; but his haunt is what bothers me. I’ve seed that
once, an’ nobody can’t make me say I didn’t.”
“I’ll promise you that you shall never see it again,” said Clarence,
impatiently. “Why, man alive, just think of it! Some people would be
willing to work and slave for a whole life time to make forty thousand
dollars, and here we have a chance to dig it up in half an hour--in
less time, too, if we happen to strike the right spot. Doesn’t that
thought put any courage or ambition into you?”
Probably it did, for without another word Godfrey seized the shovel
that Clarence extended toward him, and hurried away in the direction of
the potato-patch.
We need not follow them any farther, for they did not find the hidden
treasure that night. It will be enough to say that, following the
example Clarence set him, Godfrey did something he had not done
before for a number of years--he worked until he raised a copious
perspiration; that he kept a bright look out for the eye of fire
that had so badly frightened him and Dan the night before; that he
and his companion dug a dozen holes in what they supposed to be the
most “likely” spots, in each case shovelling back the earth they had
thrown out, so that their work might not attract the attention of
any of the general’s field hands in the morning; that after three
hours’ hard labor Godfrey handed his shovel to Clarence, who promised
to put it back where he had found it; and that the two separated
with mutual promises to meet again at the same place and hour on the
following evening. Neither of them were disheartened by their failure.
On the contrary, Godfrey was encouraged, for he had learned to his
satisfaction that if old Jordan’s haunt had really come back there to
protect the barrel, he would not appear so long as Clarence Gordon
was on the ground. He went home and slept soundly after his unusual
exercise, and awoke the next morning feeling that he was nearer to
attaining his hopes than he had ever been before.
“Yes, jest a quarter of an acre nearer,” said he, “kase what ground we
dug up last night, won’t never have to be dug up agin. Mr. Clarence is
better to have along in sich work as that nor an army of them lazy Dans
would be, kase he ain’t afeared of nothing, an’ pitches in an’ does his
share. It was jest amazin’ how he did fling the dirt outen them holes.”
Breakfast being over Godfrey’s pipe came into use, and he smoked and
meditated during the best part of the forenoon. His family, as usual,
were all away, and he had the premises to himself. There was no one to
disturb him, and he could build air-castles to his heart’s content. In
this agreeable occupation he passed the time until eleven o’clock, and
was then called back to earth again, by the sound of footsteps coming
rapidly along the road. He looked up, and saw that the one who had so
rudely aroused him was his hopeful son Dan, whose whole appearance
indicated that he had something marvellous to communicate. One look was
enough to satisfy Godfrey of this fact, and his heart fairly came up
into his mouth. He began to imagine all sorts of evil things directly;
and being anxious to know the worst at once, he tried hard to speak to
Dan, but could not utter a sound to save his life.
Dan lost no time in passing over the fifty yards that lay between him
and the cabin. As he threw himself on the bench beside his father, his
rifle slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground, and his head moved
from side to side as if he had lost all control of it.
“Now, then!” exclaimed Godfrey, finding his tongue at last.
“O, pop!” cried Dan, “it’s come. We did see it that night.”
“What’s come, an’ what night did we see it?”
“Why, ole Jordan’s haunt,” gasped Dan. “I seed him jest now in broad
daylight--I did, as sure’s I’m settin’ on this yere bench tellin’
ye--an’ thar was others seed him too; an’ thar was that eye of his’n in
the middle of his head, an’ it kept a flickerin’ an’ a winkin’ jest as
it done that night in the dark. O, my soul!”
Godfrey hardly knew what to do with himself, so terrified and astounded
was he. He took his pipe out of his mouth, jumped up from the bench,
and looked all around as if he were trying to make up his mind which
way to run first.
“O, it ain’t a comin’ here,” said Dan, who could tell by these
movements what his father was thinking about. “It done went into the
gen’ral’s barn. It’s got a hidin’-place in thar.”
These words reassured Godfrey, who being satisfied that the terrible
apparition was at a safe distance, seated himself on the bench again,
and began to question Dan. He hoped that the boy was mistaken, and that
his very lively imagination had converted a stump or some other object
he had seen in the woods, into what he supposed to be old Jordan’s
ghost; but Dan gave his evidence in such a way, and was so very
positive on every point on which his father asked information, that
Godfrey was obliged to believe that he had seen something wonderful.
Perhaps after the reader hears Dan’s story he will believe it too. We
will follow him, but tell it in our way.
Dan said he had had better luck in the woods that morning than he
usually did--the bunch of squirrels he exhibited, and to which he had
held fast during his headlong flight, proved that statement--and having
shot all the game he wanted, he was coming home by way of the general’s
lane. He saw the hostler and two or three other negroes standing
in front of the barn, and when he came up he found that they were
holding an earnest consultation, and that they were all more or less
frightened. Dan at once inquired into the cause of their alarm, and was
informed that something very strange and mysterious had just happened.
The hostler was busy with his usual duties in the barn, and the others
were at work in the field close by, when a queer-looking object
suddenly made its appearance among them. It was dressed in a suit of
white cottonade, and looked and acted like an old, decrepit negro; but
it could not have been that, for if it had been, it would have returned
some of the numerous greetings that were addressed to it. Besides, it
did not seem to hear or see anything.
It was first discovered by the hostler, and where it came from he
couldn’t tell. It walked past him, and out at the door toward the place
where the men were at work in the field. These--there were three of
them--thought they recognised in it an old friend from whom they had
long been separated, and throwing down their hoes they hurried toward
the figure, extending their hands and crying out: “How do, Uncle
Jordan!” But the figure paid no attention to them, and it finally
dawned upon the negroes that it was not Jordan after all, but his
spirit, which had come back to visit the scenes with which the faithful
slave had been familiar while in the flesh. After that the figure
had all the room it wanted. The negroes backed off and watched it as
it walked slowly about the barn-yard, and finally disappeared behind
one of the corn-cribs. They waited for it to appear again, but as it
did not, one of the boldest ventured to draw near and peep around the
corner of the crib. There was no one in sight.
This made it evident that the object they had seen was a spirit, and
nothing else; for if it had been a human being, it could not have
got out from behind the corn-crib without being seen by some of the
watchful negroes. The crib joined the barn, and there was no entrance
to either of the buildings on that side that could be made available,
except the door, and that could be seen through the front doors, which
stood wide open. There was a window which opened into a storeroom in
the barn, but it was securely nailed, and had not been opened for a
number of years.
The negroes told this extraordinary story in low tones, and rolled the
whites of their eyes and trembled and gave other indications that their
minds were in a very unsettled state, and that a very small thing would
get up a first-class panic among them. As Dan listened the cold chills
crept all over him, and his hair seemed to stand on end. What then must
have been his terror when one of the negroes suddenly clapped his hands
and shrieked:
“Good Lord a mussy, look down on us poor, miserable niggers! Dar he is
now!”