drift of it. What he remembered of it was that some of his fellow
servants were ready to tell all they knew for an extra "rasher" of
meat, and that the hunt for Aaron would begin the next morning,--and
it was now getting along toward dawn. He wanted to warn Aaron again.
He wanted especially to tell Aaron that three men were sitting on
the fence waiting for him. But this was impossible. The hour was
approaching when Chunky Riley must be in his cabin on the Gossett
plantation ready to go to work with the rest of the hands. He had
slept soundly the first half of the night, and he would be as fresh
in the field when the sun rose as those who had slept the night
through. As he turned away from the fence a dog in the path leading
from the spring to the stile suddenly began to bay. The men tried to
drive him away, and one of them threw a stick at him, but the dog
refused to be intimidated. He bayed them more fiercely, but finally
retreated toward the spring, stopping occasionally to bark at the men
on the fence.
"If I'm not mistaken," remarked Mr. Gossett, "that's my dog Rambler.
I know his voice, and he's been missing ever since that nigger went
to the woods. I wonder if he's taken up over here? George, I wish
you'd make it convenient to come over here as soon as you can, and
find out whether Rambler is here. Now, there's a dog, Simmons, that's
away ahead of anything you've got in the shape of a nigger dog,--nose
as cold as ice, and as much sense as the common run of folks."
"He ain't doing you much good," responded Mr. Simmons.
"That's a fact," said Mr. Gossett. "Till I heard that dog barking I
thought Rambler had been killed by that nigger."
Chunky Riley struck into the plantation path leading to Gossett's,
at the point where the three men had tied their horses. They had
ridden as far as they thought prudent, considering the errand they
were on, and then they dismounted and made their horses fast to
the overhanging limbs of a clump of oaks, which, for some reason
or other, had been left standing in the field. One of the horses
whinnied when Chunky Riley came near, and the negro paused. Aaron
would have known that the horse said, "Please take me home, and be
quick about it; I'm hungry;" but Chunky Riley could only guess. And
as he guessed a thought struck him--a thought that made him scratch
his head and chuckle. He turned in his tracks, went back along the
path a little way, and listened. Then he returned, and the horse
whinnied again. The creature was growing impatient.
Once more Chunky Riley indulged in a hearty laugh, slapping himself
softly on the leg. Then he went to the horses one by one, pulled down
the swinging limbs to which their bridle reins were fastened, and
untied them. This done, he proceeded to make himself "mighty skace,"
as he expressed it. He started toward home at a rapid trot, without
pausing to listen. But even without listening, he could hear the
horses coming after him, Mr. Simmons's horse with the others.
The faster he trotted the faster the horses trotted; and when
Chunky Riley began to run the horses broke into a gallop, and came
clattering along the path after him, their stirrups flying wildly
about and making a clamor that Chunky Riley had not bargained for.
The faster he ran the faster the horses galloped, until at last it
seemed to him that the creatures were trying to run him down. This
idea took possession of his mind, and at once his fears magnified the
situation. He imagined the horses were right at his heels. He could
feel the hot breath of one of them on the back of his neck.
Fortunately for Chunky Riley there was a fence at the point where the
path developed into a lane. Over this he climbed and fell exhausted,
fully expecting the horses to climb over or break through and trample
him under their feet. But his expectations were not realized; the
horses galloped along the lane, and presently he could hear them
clattering along the big road toward Gossett's.
Chunky Riley was exhausted as well as terror-stricken. The
perspiration rolled from his face, and he could hear his heart beat.
He lay in the soft grass in the fence corner until he had recovered
somewhat from his exertions and his fright. Finally he rose, looked
back along the way he had come, then toward the big road, and shook
his head.
[Illustration: THE HORSES WERE RIGHT AT HIS HEELS]
"Is anybody ever see de beat er dat?" he exclaimed.
Whereupon he went through the woods instead of going by the road, and
was soon in his cabin frying his ration of bacon.
IV.
BETWEEN MIDNIGHT AND DAWN.
When Aaron parted from Chunky Riley on the hill after they had come
from the Swamp, he went along the path to the spring, stooped on his
hands and knees and took a long draught of the cool water. Then he
went to the rear of the negro quarters, crossed the orchard fence,
and passed thence to the flower garden in front of the great house.
At one corner of the house a large oak reared its head above the
second story. Some of its limbs when swayed by the wind swept the
dormer window that jutted out from Little Crotchet's room. Behind the
red curtain of this dormer window a light shone, although it was now
past midnight. It shone there at night whenever Little Crotchet was
restless and sleepless and wanted to see Aaron. And this was often,
for the youngster, with all his activity, rarely knew what it was to
be free from pain. But for his journeys hither and yonder on the
Gray Pony he would have been very unhappy indeed. All day long he
could make some excuse for putting his aches aside; he could even
forget them. But at night when everything was quiet, Pain would rap
at the door and insist on coming in and getting in bed with him.
Little Crotchet had many quaint thoughts and queer imaginings, and
one of these was that Pain was a sure-enough something or other
that could come in at the door and go out when it chose--a little
goblin dressed in red flannel, with a green hat running to a sharp
peak at the top, and a yellow tassel dangling from the peak--a red
flannel goblin always smelling of camphor and spirits of turpentine.
Sometimes--and those were rare nights--the red goblin remained away,
and then Little Crotchet could sleep and dream the most beautiful
dreams.
But usually, as soon as night had fallen on the plantation and
there was no longer any noise in the house, the little red goblin,
with his peaked green hat, would open the door gently and peep in
to see whether the lad was asleep--and he knew at a glance whether
Little Crotchet was sleeping or only feigning sleep. Sometimes the
youngster would shut his eyes ever so tight, and lie as still as a
mouse, hoping that the red goblin would go away. But the trick never
succeeded. The red goblin was too smart for that. If there was a
blaze in the fireplace he would wink at it very solemnly; if not,
he'd wink at the candle. And he never was in any hurry. He'd sit
squat on the floor for many long moments. Sometimes he'd run and jump
in the bed with Little Crotchet and then jump out again. Sometimes
he'd pretend he was going to jump in the bed, when suddenly another
notion would strike him, and he'd turn and run out at the door, and
not come back again for days.
But this was unusual. Night in and night out, the year round, the
red goblin rarely failed to show himself in little Crotchet's room,
and crawl under the cover with the lad. There was but one person
in all that region whom the red goblin was afraid of, and that was
Aaron. But he was an obstinate goblin. Frequently he'd stay after
Aaron came, and try his best to fight it out with the Son of Ben
Ali; but in the end he would have to go. There were times, however,
when Aaron could not respond to Little Crotchet's signal of
distress,--the light in the dormer window,--and at such times the
red goblin would have everything his own way. He would stay till all
the world was awake, and then sneak off to his hiding-place, leaving
Little Crotchet weak and exhausted.
[Illustration: THE GOBLIN PAIN]
Thus it happened that, while Chunky Riley was taking an unexpected
ride on the White Pig, and afterward while the three men were sitting
on the pasture fence beyond the spring, the red goblin was giving
Little Crotchet a good deal of trouble. No matter which way he turned
in bed, the red goblin was there. He was there when Aaron came into
the flower garden. He was there when Aaron stood at the foot of the
great oak at the corner of the house. He was there when Aaron put
forth his hand, felt for and found one of the iron spikes that had
been driven into the body of the oak. The red goblin was in bed with
Little Crotchet and tugging at his back and legs when Aaron pulled
himself upward by means of the iron spike; when he found another iron
spike; when, standing on and holding to these spikes, he walked up
the trunk of the tree as if it were a ladder; and when he went into
Little Crotchet's room by way of the dormer window. The real name of
the red goblin with the green hat was Pain, as we know, and he was
very busy with Little Crotchet this night; and though the lad had
fallen into a doze, he was moving restlessly about when Aaron entered
the room. The Son of Ben Ali stepped to the low bed, and knelt by it,
placing his hand that the night winds had cooled on Little Crotchet's
brow, touching it with firm but gentle strokes. The lad awoke with a
start, saw that Aaron was near, and then closed his eyes again.
"It's a long way for you to come," he said. "There's a lot of things
for you in the basket there."
"If twice as long, it would be short for me," replied Aaron. Then,
still stroking Little Crotchet's brow with one hand, and gently
rubbing his body with the other, the Son of Ben Ali told of Chunky
Riley's ride on the White Pig. With his eyes closed, the lad could
see the whole performance, and he laughed with so much heartiness
that Aaron laughed in sympathy. This was such a rare event that
Little Crotchet opened his eyes to see it, but soon closed them
again, for now he felt that the red goblin was preparing to go.
"I sent Chunky Riley," said Little Crotchet, after a while. "They're
after you to-morrow--Jim Simmons and his hounds. And he has his
catch-dog with him. I saw the dog to-day. He's named Pluto. He's big
and black, and bob-tailed, and his ears have been cropped. Oh, I'm
afraid they'll get you this time, Aaron. Why not stay here with me
to-morrow, and the next day?"
"Here?" There was a note of surprise in Aaron's voice.
"Yes. What's to hinder you? I can keep everybody out of the room,
except"--
"Except somebody," said Aaron, smiling. "No, no! The White-Haired
Master is a good man. Good to all. He'd shake his head and say,
'Runaway hiding in my house! That's bad, bad!' No, Little Master,
they'll not get Aaron. You sleep. To-morrow night I'll come. My
clothes will be ripped and snagged. Have me a big needle and some
coarse thread. I'll mend 'em here and while I'm mending I may tell a
tale. I don't know. Maybe. You sleep."
Aaron was no mesmerist, but somehow, the red goblin being gone,
Little Crotchet was soon in the land of dreams. Aaron remained by the
bed to make sure the sleep was sound, then he rose, tucked the cover
about the lad's shoulders (for the morning air was cool), blew out
the candle, went out on the roof, closing the window sash after him,
and in a moment was standing in the flower garden. There he found
Rambler, the track dog, awaiting him, and together they passed out
into the lot and went by the spring, where Aaron stooped and took
another draught of the cool, refreshing water.
All this time the three men had been sitting on the pasture fence
at the point where it intersected the path leading from the spring,
and they were sitting there still. As Aaron started along this path,
after leaving the spring, Rambler trotted on before, and his keen
nose soon detected the presence of strangers. With a whine that was
more than half a whistle, Rambler gave Aaron the signal to stop, and
then went toward the fence. The situation became clear to him at
once, and it was then that Chunky Riley and the three men had heard
him bark. They called it barking, but it was a message to Aaron
saying:--
"Lookout! lookout! Son of Ben Ali, look sharp! I see three--Grizzlies
two, and another."
[Illustration: THE SPRING OF COOL REFRESHING WATER]
There was nothing alarming in the situation. In fact, Aaron might
have gone within hailing distance of the three men without discovery,
for the spring lot was well wooded. If Mr. Addison Abercrombie
had any peculiarity it was his fondness for trees. He could find
something to admire in the crookedest scrub oak and in the scraggiest
elm. He not only allowed the trees in the spring lot to stand, but
planted others. Where Aaron stood a clump of black-jacks, covering a
quarter of an acre, had sprung up some years before. They were now
well-grown saplings and stood as close together, according to the
saying of the negroes, as hairs on a hog's back. Through these Aaron
slowly edged his way, moving very carefully, until he reached a point
close enough to the three men to see and hear what was going on.
Standing in the black shadow of these saplings he made an important
discovery. Chunky Riley, it will be remembered, suspected that the
two Gossetts and Mr. Simmons were intent on capturing Aaron; but this
was far from their purpose. They had no such idea. While Aaron stood
listening, watching, he saw a tall shadow steal along the path. He
heard the swish of a dress and knew it was a woman. The shadow stole
along the path until it came to the three men on the fence and then
it stopped.
"Well?" said Mr. Gossett sharply. "What did you see? Where did the
nigger go? Don't stand there like you are deaf and dumb. Talk out!"
"I seed him come fum de spring, Marster, an' go up by de nigger
cabins. But atter dat I ain't lay eyes on 'im."
"Did he go into the cabins?"
"I lis'n at eve'y one, Marster, an' I ain't hear no talkin' in but
one."
"Was he in that one?"
"Ef he wuz, Marster, he wa'n't sayin' nothin'. Big Sal was talkin'
wid Randall, suh."
"What were they talking about?"
"All de words I hear um say wuz 'bout der Little Marster--how good he
is an' how he all de time thinkin' mo' 'bout yuther folks dan he do
'bout his own se'f."
"Humph!" snorted Mr. Gossett. Mr. Simmons moved about uneasily.
"Whyn't you go in an' see whether Aaron was in there?" asked George
Gossett.
"Bekaze, Marse George, dey'd 'a' know'd right pine-blank what I come
fer. 'Sides dat, Big Sal is a mighty bad nigger 'oman when she git
mad."
"You're as big as she is," suggested Mr. Gossett.
"Yes, suh; but I ain't got de ambition what Big Sal got," replied the
woman humbly.
"I'll tell you, Simmons, that runaway nigger is the imp of Satan,"
remarked Mr. Gossett.
"But, Colonel, if he's that, what do you want him caught for?"
inquired Mr. Simmons humorously.
"Why, so much the more need for catching him. I want to get my hands
on him. If I don't convert him, why, then you may go about among your
friends and say that Gossett is a poor missionary. You may say that
and welcome."
"I believe you!" echoed George.
"You may go home now," said Mr. Gossett to the woman.
"Thanky, Marster." She paused a moment to wipe her face with her
apron, and then climbed over the fence and went toward the Gossett
plantation.
Aaron slipped away from the neighborhood of the three men, crossed
the fence near where Chunky Riley had been standing, went swiftly
through the pasture for half a mile, struck into the plantation
path some distance ahead of the woman, and then came back along the
path to meet her. When he saw her coming he stopped, turned his
back to her and stood motionless in the path. The woman was talking
to herself as she came up; but when she saw Aaron she hesitated,
advanced a step, and then stood still, breathing hard. All her
superstitious fears were aroused.
"Who is you? Who is dat? Name er de Lord! Can't you talk? Don't be
foolin' wid me! Man, who is you?"
"One!" replied Aaron. The sound of a human voice reassured her
somewhat, but her knees shook so she could hardly stand.
"What yo' name?" she asked again.
"Too long a name to tell you."
"What you doin'?"
"Watching a child--looking hard at it."
"Wuz you, sho nuff?" She came a step nearer. "How come any chil' out
dis time er night?"
"A black child," Aaron went on. "Its dress was afire. It went
up and down the path here. It went across the hill. Crying and
calling--calling and crying, 'Aaron! Aaron! Mammy's hunting for you!
Aaron! Aaron! Mammy's telling on you.'"
"My Lord fum heaven!" moaned the woman; "dat wuz my chil'--de one
what got burnt up kaze I wuz off in de fiel'." She threw her apron
over her head, fell on her knees, and moaned and shuddered.
"Well, I'm Aaron. You hunted for me in the nigger cabins; you slipped
to the fence yonder; you told three men you couldn't find me."
"O Lord! I wuz bleege ter do it. It wuz dat er take ter de woods, an'
dey ain't no place fer me in de woods. What'd I do out dar by myse'f
at night? I know'd dey couldn't ketch you. Oh, dat wuz my chil'!"
"Stand up!" Aaron commanded.
"What you gwine ter do?" the woman asked, slowly rising to her feet,
and holding herself ready to dodge an expected blow--for, as she
herself said, she was not at all "ambitious."
"Your breakfast is ready, and I've been waiting here to give it to
you. Hold your apron."
The woman did as she was told, and Aaron took from the basket which
Little Crotchet had given him four biscuits and as many slices of ham.
"I'll take um, an' thanky, too," said the woman; "but hongry as I is,
I don't b'lieve I kin eat a mou'ful un um atter what I done. I'm too
mean to live!"
"Get home! get home and forget it," Aaron replied.
"Oh, I can't go thoo dem woods atter what you tol' me!" cried the
woman.
"I'll go with you," said Aaron. "Come!"
"You!" The woman lifted her voice until it sounded shrill on the
moist air of the morning. "You gwine dar to Gossett's? Don't you
know dey er gwine ter hunt you in de mornin'? Don't you know dey got
de dogs dar? Don't you know some er de niggers'll see you--an' maybe
de overseer? Don't you know you can't git away fum dem dogs fer ter
save yo' life?"
"Come!" said Aaron sharply. "It's late."
"Min', now! ef dey ketch you, 't ain't me dat done it," the woman
insisted.
"Come!--I must be getting along," was Aaron's reply.
He went forward along the path, and though he seemed to be walking
easily, the woman had as much as she could do to keep near him.
Though his body swayed slightly from side to side, he seemed to be
gliding along rather than walking. Ahead of him, sometimes near,
sometimes far, and frequently out of sight, a dark shadow moved and
flitted. It was Rambler going in a canter. A hare jumped from behind
a tussock and went skipping away. It was a tempting challenge. But
Rambler hardly glanced at him. "Good-by, Mr. Rabbit! I'll see you
another day!"
Thus Aaron, the woman, and Rambler went to Gossett's.
"Man, ain't you tired?" the woman asked when they came in sight of
the negro quarters.
"Me? I'll go twenty miles before sun-up," replied Aaron.
"I'll never tell on you no mo'," said the woman; "not ef dey kills
me." She turned to go to her cabin, when Aaron touched her on the
shoulder.
"Wait!" he whispered. "If it brings more meat for your young ones,
tell! Fetch the men here; show 'em where I stood,--if it brings you
more meat for your babies."
"Sho nuff?" asked the woman, amazed. Aaron nodded his head. "What
kind er folks is you?" she cried. "You ain't no nigger. Dey ain't no
nigger on top er de groun' dat'd stan' up dar an' talk dat away.
Will dey ketch you ef I tell?" The woman was thinking about the meat.
Aaron lifted his right hand in the air, turned, and disappeared in
the darkness, which was now changing to the gray of dawn. The woman
remained where she was standing for some moments as if considering
some serious problem. Then she shook her head.
"I'd git de meat--but dey mout ketch 'im, an' den what'd I look like?"
This remark seemed to please her, for she repeated it more than once
before moving out of her tracks. When she did move, she went to her
cabin, kindled a fire, cooked something for her children,--she had
three,--placed a biscuit and a piece of ham for each, and, although
she had not slept a wink, prepared to go to the field. It was almost
time, too, for she heard the hog feeder in the horse lot talking
angrily to the mules, as he parceled out their corn and forage.
Presently she heard him calling the hogs to get a bite of corn,--the
fattening hogs that were running about in the horse lot.
Soon, too, she heard the sharp voice of Mr. Gossett, her master,
calling to the hog feeder. And you may be sure the man went as fast
as his legs could carry him. Get out of the way, dogs, chickens,
wheelbarrows, woodpile, everything, and let the negro run to his
master! Had he seen the horses? Oh, yes, Marster, that he had! They
were standing at the lot gate, and they whickered and whinnied so
that he was obliged to go and see what the trouble was. And there
were the horses, Mr. Simmons's among the rest. Yes, Marster, and
the hog feeder was just on the point of alarming the neighborhood,
thinking something serious had happened, when the thought came to
his mind that the horses had grown tired of waiting and had broken
loose from their fastenings. Oh, yes, Marster, they would do that way
sometimes, because horses have a heap of sense, especially Marster's
horses. When one broke loose the others wanted to follow him, and
then they broke loose too. And they were fed,--eating right now, and
all fixed up. Saddle 'em by sun-up? Yes, Marster, and before that if
you want 'em, for they've already had a right smart snack of corn and
good clean fodder.
As for Aaron, he had far to go. He had no fear of Mr. Gossett's
hounds, but he knew that he would have some difficulty in getting
away from those that Mr. Simmons had trained. If he could
outmanoeuvre them, that would be the best plan. If not,--well, he
would make a stand in the swamp. But there was the crop-eared,
bob-tailed cur--the catch dog--that was the trouble. Aaron knew,
too, that Mr. Simmons was a professional negro hunter, and that he
naturally took some degree of pride in it. Being a professional, with
a keen desire to be regarded as an expert, it was to be supposed that
Mr. Simmons had made a study of the tactics of fugitive negroes.
As a matter of fact, Mr. Simmons was a very shrewd man; he was also,
in spite of his calling, a very kind-hearted man. In his soul he
despised Mr. Gossett, whose negroes were constantly in the woods, and
loved and admired Addison Abercrombie, whose negroes never ran away,
and who, if every slave on his plantation were a fugitive, would
never call on Mr. Simmons to catch them.
Aaron was far afield when, as the sun rose, Mr. Gossett's hog feeder
called the house girl and asked her to tell Mr. Gossett that the
horses were saddled and ready at the front gate. Then Mr. Simmons's
dogs, which had been shut up in the carriage house, were turned out
and fed. The hounds were given half-cooked corn meal, but the catch
dog, Pluto, must needs have a piece of raw meat, which he swallowed
at one gulp. This done, Mr. Simmons blew one short, sharp note on his
horn, and the hunt for Aaron began.
V.
THE HUNT BEGINS.
When Aaron left the negro woman at Gossett's he went rapidly through
the woods until he came to the old fields that had once been
cultivated, but were now neglected for newer and better soil. These
deserted fields had been dismally naked of vegetation for years, and
where they undulated into hills the storms had cut deep red gashes.
But these wounds were now gradually healing. A few years before
a company of travelers had camped out one night at Curtwright's
factory, not many miles away, and where they fed their horses a
grass new to that region--new, in fact, to this country--made its
appearance. It grew and spread for miles around and covered the red
hills with the most beautiful mantle that the southern summers had
ever seen. It refused to wither and parch under the hot sun, but
flourished instead.
It had crept from Curtwright's factory, and had already begun to
carpet the discarded lands through which Aaron was now passing, and
the turf felt as soft as velvet under his feet. The touch of it
seemed to inspire his movements, for he began to trot; and he trotted
until, at the end of half an hour, he struck into the plantation
road leading to the Oconee. Aaron was making for the river. Having
received fair warning, and guessing something of the character of Mr.
Simmons, he had made up his mind that the best plan would be to get
away from the dogs if possible.
He hoped to find one of the Ward negroes at the river landing, and in
this he was not disappointed. Old Uncle Andy, who was almost on the
retired list, on account of his age and faithfulness, although he was
still strong and vigorous, was just preparing to visit his set-hooks
which were down the river. He was about to shove the boat into deep
water and jump in when Aaron called him.
"Ah-yi," he answered in a tone almost gay, for he had a good master,
and he had no troubles except the few that old age had brought on
him.
"Up or down?" inquired Aaron.
"Down, honey; down. All de time down. Den I'll lef' um down dar
an' let Rowan Ward" (this was his master whom he talked about so
familiarly) "sen' one er his triflin' no 'count nigners atter um wid
de waggin'."