"I ain't henderin' you," replied old Uncle Andy. "Whar yo' huffs?
Walk. I ain't gwine pull you in dis boat. No. I won't pull Rowan Ward
yit, en he know it. I won't pull nobody up stream in his boat less'n
it's Sally Ward" (his mistress), "en she'd do ez much fer me. What
yo' name, honey?"
"Aaron, I'm called."
"Ah-yi!" exclaimed Old Uncle Andy, under his breath. "Dey are atter
you. Oh, yes! En what's mo' dey'll git you. En mo' dan dat, dey
oughter git you! Dem Gossetts is rank pizen, en der niggers is pizen.
A nigger what ain't got no better sense dan ter b'long ter po' white
trash ain't got no business ter git good treatment. Look at me! Dey
ain't nobody dast ter lay de weight er der han' on me. Ef dey do,
dey got ter whip Sally Ward en Rowan Ward. You ain't bad ez dem
yuther Gossett niggers, kaze you been in de woods en you er dar yit.
Kensecontly you got one chance, en it's de onliest chance. Cross
dis river en go up dar ter de house, en wake up Sally Ward en tell
'er dat ole Andy say she mus' buy you. Ef she hum en haw, des put
yo' foot down en tell her dat ole Andy say she des got ter buy you.
She'll do it! She'll know better'n not ter do it. Ah-h-h-h!"
Aaron would have laughed at this display of self-importance, but he
knew that to laugh would be to defeat the object he had in view. So
his reply was very serious.
"She's good!" cried old Uncle Andy. "Dey's er heap er good wimmen, but
dey ain't no 'oman like Sally Ward,--I don't keer ef she is got a
temper. Ef folks is made out'n dus' dey wuz des nuff er de kin' she
wuz made out'n fer ter make her. Dey wuz de greates' plenty fer ter
make her, but dey wan't a pinch lef' over. How come you got ter go up
de river?"
"Wait a little while, and Simmons's dog'll tell you," replied Aaron.
"Jim Simmons? I wish I had Rowan Ward here ter do my cussin'!"
exclaimed old Uncle Andy, striking the edge of the bateau viciously.
"Kin you handle dish yer paddle? Git in dis boat, den! Jim Simmons!
Much he look like ketchin' anybody. Git in dis boat, I tell you! En
take dis paddle en he'p me pull ef you want to go up de river."
Aaron lost no time in getting in the bateau. Instead of sitting down
he remained standing, and braced himself by placing one foot in
advance of the other. In this position he leaned first on one side
and then on the other as he swept the long, wide oar through the
water. A few strokes carried him into the middle of the Oconee and
nearly across. Then, out of the current and in the still water, Aaron
headed the boat up stream. It was a long, heavy, unwieldy affair,
built for carrying the field hands and the fruits of the harvest
across the river, for the Ward plantation lay on both sides of the
Oconee. The bateau was unwieldy, but propelled by Aaron's strong
arms it moved swiftly and steadily up the stream. Old Uncle Andy
had intended to help row the boat, but when he saw how easily Aaron
managed it he made himself comfortable by holding his oar across his
lap and talking.
"I done year tell er you," he said. "Some folks say you er nigger,
en some say you ain't no nigger. I'm wid dem what say you ain't no
nigger, kaze you don't do like a nigger, en dey ain't no nigger in de
roun' worl' what kin stan' up in dis boat an' shove it 'long like you
doin'. Dey all weak-kneed en wobbly when dey git on de water. I wish
Sally Ward could see you now. She'd buy you terreckly. Don't you want
ter b'long ter Sally Ward?"
"No,--Abercrombie," replied Aaron.
"Yo' sho fly high," remarked old Uncle Andy. "Dey er good folks, dem
Abercrombies. Ef dey's anybody anywheres 'roun' dat's mos' ez good
ez Sally Ward en Rowan Ward it's de Abercrombies. I'll say dat much
an' not begrudge it. Speshally dat ar cripple boy. Dey tells me dat
dat chil' don't never git tired er doin' good. En dat's a mighty bad
sign; it's de wust kinder sign. You watch. De Lord done put his han'
on dat chil', en he gwine take 'im back up dar whar he b'longs at.
When folks git good like dey say dat chil' is, dey are done ripe."
To this Aaron made no reply. He had had the same or similar thoughts
for some time. He simply gave the waters of the river a stronger
backward sweep with the oar. The shadows were still heavy on the
water, and the overhanging trees helped to make them heavier, but the
reflection of dawn caught and became entangled in the ripples made
by the boat, and far away in the east the red signal lights of the
morning gave forth a dull glow.
The fact that Aaron made no comment on his remarks had no effect on
Uncle Andy. He continued to talk incessantly, and when he paused for
a moment it was to take breath and not to hear what his companion had
to say.
"Jim Simmons. Huh. I wish Sally Ward could git de chance fer ter lay
de law down ter dat man." (Uncle Andy had his wish later in the day).
"She'd tell 'im de news. She'd make 'im 'shamed er hisse'f--gwine
trollopin' roun' de country huntin' niggers en dem what ain't
niggers, en all b'longin' ter Gossett. How come dey ain't no niggers
but de Gossett niggers in de woods? Tell me dat. You may go all
'roun' here for forty mile, en holler at eve'y plantation gate en ax
'em how many niggers dey got in de woods, en dey'll tell you na'er
one. Dey'll tell you ids twel you holler at de Gossett gate an' dar
dey'll holler back: Forty-'leven in de woods an' spectin' mo' ter
foller. Now, how come dat? When you stoop in de road fer ter git
a drink er water you kin allers tell when dey's sump'n dead up de
creek."
Still Aaron swept the water back with his oar, and still the bateau
went up stream. One mile--two miles--two miles and a half. At last
Aaron headed the boat toward the shore.
"What you gwine ter lan' on the same side wid Jim Simmons fer?" Uncle
Andy inquired indignantly. "Ain't you got no sense? Don't you know he'll
ketch you ef you do dat? You reckon he gwine ter foller you ter
de landin' en den turn right 'roun' in his tracks en go back?"
"I'll hide in the big swamp," replied Aaron.
"Hide!" exclaimed Uncle Andy. "Don't you know dey done foun' out whar
you stays at? A'er one er dem Gossett niggers'll swap der soul's
salvation fer a bellyful er vittles. Ef dey wuz ter ketch you des dry
so, I'd be sorry fer you, but ef you gwine ter run right in de trap,
you'll hatter fin' some un else fer ter cry atter you. You put me in
min' er de rabbit. Man come 'long wid his dogs, en jump de rabbit
out er his warm bed, en he done gone. Dogs take atter him, but dey
ain't nowhar. He done out er sight. Den dey trail 'im en trail 'im,
but dat ain't do no good. Rabbit done gone. De man, he let de dogs
trail. He take his stan' right at de place whar rabbit jump fum. He
prime he gun, en wink he eye. De dogs trail, en trail, en trail, en
it seem like dey gwine out er hearin'. Man stan' right still en wink
de t'er eye. En, bless gracious! 'fo' you know it, _bang_ go de gun
en down drap de rabbit. Stidder gwine on 'bout his business, he done
come back en de man bag 'im. Dat 'zackly de way you gwine do--but go
on, go on! De speckled pullet hollered shoo ter hawk, but what good
did dat do?"
By this time the bateau had floated under a tree that leaned from
the river bank over the water. Aaron laid his oar in the boat and
steadied it by holding to a limb. Then he turned to Uncle Andy.
"Maybe some day I can help you. So long!"
He lifted himself into the tree. As he did so a dog ran down the bank
whining. "Wait!" cried Uncle Andy. "Wait, en look out! I hear a dog
in de bushes dar. Ef it's a Simmons dog drap back in de boat en I'll
take you right straight to Sally Ward."
"It's my dog," said Aaron. "He's been waiting for me." It was Rambler.
"Desso! I wish you mighty well, honey." With that Uncle Andy backed
the boat out into the river, headed it down stream, and aided the
current by an occasional stroke of his oar, which he knew well how to
use.
Standing on the hill above the river, Aaron saw that the red signal
lights in the east had been put out, and it was now broad day. In the
top of a pine a quarter of a mile away a faint shimmer of sunlight
glowed a moment and then disappeared. Again it appeared and this time
to stay. He stood listening, and it seemed to him that he could hear
in the far-off distance the faint musical cry of hounds. Perhaps he
was mistaken; perhaps it was a fox-hunting pack, or, perhaps--
He turned and moved rapidly to the Swamp, which he found wide awake
and ready to receive him. So vigorous was the Swamp, and so jealous
of its possessions, that it rarely permitted the summer sun to
shine upon its secrets. If a stray beam came through, very well,
but the Swamp never had a fair glimpse of the sun except in winter,
when the glare was shorn of its heat, all the shadows pointing to
the north, where the cold winds come from. At midday, in the season
when the Swamp was ready for business, the shade was dense--dense
enough to give the effect of twilight. At sunrise dawn had hardly
made its way to the places where the mysteries wandered back and
forth, led by Jack-o'-the-Lantern. But the Willis-Whistlers knew
when dawn came in the outer world, and they hid their shrill pipes
in the canes and disappeared; but the mysteries still had an hour to
frolic--an hour in which they might dispense with the services of
Jack-o'-the-Lantern. So Aaron found them there--all his old friends
and a new one, the old brindle steer to whom he sometimes gave a
handful of salt. The brindle steer was supposed to be superannuated,
but he was not. He had the hollow horn, as the negroes called it,
and this had made him thin and weak for a time, but he was now in
fair trim, the Swamp proving to be a well-conducted hospital, stocked
with an abundance of pleasant medicine. He was not of the Swamp, but
he had been taken in out of charity, and he was the more welcome on
that account. Moreover, he had introduced himself to the White Pig
in a sugarcane patch, and they got on famously together--one making
luscious cuds of the green blades and the other smacking his mouth
over the sweets to be found in the stalks.
Aaron was glad to see the Brindle Steer, and Brindle was so glad to
see Aaron that he must needs hoist his tail in the air and lower his
horns, which were remarkably long and sharp, and pretend that he was
on the point of charging, pawing the ground and making a noise with
his mouth that was something between a bleat and a bellow. It was
such a queer sound that Aaron laughed, seeing which Brindle shook his
head and capered around the Son of Ben Ali as if trying to find some
vulnerable point in his body that would offer small resistance to the
long horns.
"You are well, Brindle," said Aaron.
"No, Son of Ben Ali, not well--only a great deal better," replied
Brindle.
"That is something, Brindle; be glad, as I am," remarked Aaron. "You
may have work to do to-day--with your horns."
Brindle drew a long breath that sounded like a tremendous sigh. "It
is well you say with my horns, Son of Ben Ali. No cart for me. When
the time comes for the cart I shall have--what do you call it?"
"The hollow horn," suggested Aaron.
"Yes, two hollow horns, Son of Ben Ali. No cart for me. Though there
is nothing the matter with my horns, the people shall believe that
both are hollow. When I was sick, Son of Ben Ali, something was the
matter with all nine of my stomachs."
"Nine! You have but three, Brindle," said Aaron.
"Only three, Son of Ben Ali? Well, when I was sick I thought there
were nine of them. What am I to do to-day?"
"Go not too far, Brindle. When you hear hounds running through the
fields from the river come to the big poplar. There you will find me
and the White Grunter."
"I'm here, Son of Ben Ali, and here I stay. All night I have fed on
the sprouts of the young cane, and once I waded too far in the
quagmire. I'm tired. I'll lie here and chew my cud. But no yoke,
Son of Ben Ali, and no cart." Whereupon old Brindle made himself
comfortable by lying down and chewing his cud between short pauses.
[Illustration: BRINDLE AND AARON]
* * * * *
Meanwhile Mr. Jim Simmons, accompanied only by George Gossett (the
father had turned back in disgust soon after the chase began), was
galloping across the country in a somewhat puzzled frame of mind.
When Mr. Simmons had given one short blast on his horn to warn his
dogs that a hunt was on the programme, the three men rode along the
plantation path toward the Abercrombie place.
"Now, Colonel," remarked Mr. Simmons as they started out, "I want you
to keep your eyes on that red dog. It'll be worth your while."
"Is that Sound?" George Gossett asked.
"Well, sometimes I call him Sound on account of his voice, and
sometimes I call him Sandy on account of his color, but just you
watch his motions." Pride was in the tone of Mr. Simmons's voice.
The dog was trotting in the path ahead of the horse. Suddenly he put
his nose to the ground and seemed to be so delighted at what he found
there that his tail began to wag. He lifted his head, and ran along
the path for fifty yards or more. Then he put his nose to the ground
again, and kept it there as he cantered along the narrow trail. Then
he began to trot, and finally, with something of a snort, turned and
ran back the way he had come. He had not given voice to so much as a
whimper.
"Don't he open on track?" asked George Gossett.
"He'll cry loud enough and long enough when he gets down to
business," Mr. Simmons explained. "Just you keep your eyes on him."
"Fiddlesticks. He's tracking us," exclaimed Mr. Gossett
contemptuously.
"But, Colonel, if he is, I'm willing to take him out and kill him,
and, as he stands, I would take no man's hundred dollars for him.
I'll see what he's up to."
Suiting the action to the word, Mr. Simmons turned his horse's head
and galloped after Sound, who was now moving rapidly, followed by
all the expectant dogs. Nothing was left for the two Gossetts to
do but to follow Mr. Simmons, though the elder plainly showed his
indignation, not only by his actions, but by the use of a few words
that are either too choice or too emphatic to be found in a school
dictionary.
Sound ran to the point where Aaron and the woman had stopped. He
followed the woman's scent to her cabin; but this not proving
satisfactory, he turned and came back to where the two had stood.
There he picked up Aaron's scent, ran around in a small circle, and
then, with a loud, wailing cry, as if he had been hit with a cudgel,
he was off, the rest of the dogs joining in, their cries making a
musical chorus that fell on the ear with a lusty, pleasant twang as
it echoed through the woods.
"Wait," said Mr. Gossett, as Mr. Simmons made a movement to follow
the dogs. "This is a fool's errand you are starting on. The nigger
we're after wouldn't come in a mile of this place. It's one of the
Spivey niggers the dogs are tracking. Or one of the Ward niggers. I'm
too old to go galloping about the country just to see the dogs run.
George, you can go if you want to, but I'd advise you to go in the
house and go to bed. That's what I'll do. Simmons, if you catch the
right nigger, well and good. If I thought the dogs were on his track,
I'd ride behind them the balance of the week. But it's out of reason.
We know where the nigger goes, and the dogs haven't been there."
"I'll risk all that, Colonel. If we don't come up with the nigger,
why, it costs nobody nothing," remarked Mr. Simmons.
"I'll go along and see the fun, pap," said George.
"Well, be back by dinner time. I want you to do something for me."
Mr. Gossett called a negro and had his horse taken, while George and
Mr. Simmons galloped after the hounds, which were now going out of
the woods into the old, worn-out fields beyond. As Mr. Simmons put
it, they were "running pretty smooth." They were not going as swiftly
as the modern hounds go, but they were going rapidly enough to give
the horses as much work as they wanted to do.
The hounds were really after Aaron. Mr. Simmons suspected it, but he
didn't know it. He was simply taking the chances. But his hopes fell
as the dogs struck into the plantation road leading to the river.
"If they were after the runaway, what on earth did he mean by going
in this direction?" Mr. Simmons asked himself. He knew the dogs were
following the scent of a negro, and he knew the negro had been to the
Abercrombie place, but more than this he did not know.
Then it occurred to him that a runaway with some sense and judgment
might be expected to go to the river, steal a bateau, and float
down stream to avoid the hounds. He had heard of such tricks in his
day and time, and his hopes began to rise. But they fell again, for
he suddenly remembered that the negro who left the scent which the
hounds were following could not possibly have known that he was to be
hunted with dogs, consequently he would not be going to the river to
steal a boat. But wait! Another thought struck Mr. Simmons. Didn't
the Colonel send one of his nigger women to the quarters on the
Abercrombie plantation? He surely did. Didn't the woman say she had
seen the runaway? Of course she did. Weren't the chances ten to one
that when she saw him she told him that Simmons would be after him
in the morning? Exactly so! The result of this rapid summing up of
the situation was so satisfactory to Mr. Simmons that he slapped the
pommel of his saddle and cried:--
"By jing, I've got him!"
"Got who?" inquired George Gossett, who was riding close up.
"Wait and see!" replied Mr. Simmons.
"Oh, I'll wait," said young Gossett, "and so will you."
VI.
THE HUNT ENDS.
It will be seen that Mr. Jim Simmons, in his crude way, was a very
shrewd reasoner. He didn't "guess;" he "reckoned," and it cannot
be denied that he came very near the truth. You will remember that
when we children play hide-the-switch the one that hides it guides
those who are hunting for it by making certain remarks. When they
are near where the switch is hid, the hider says, "You burn; you are
afire," but when they get further away from the hiding-place the
word is, "You are cold; you are freezing." In hunting for Aaron, Mr.
Jim Simmons was burning, for he had come very close to solving the
problem that the fugitive had set for him.
Mr. Simmons was so sure he was right in his reasoning that he cheered
his dogs on lustily and touched up his horse. George Gossett did the
same, and dogs, horses, and men went careering along the plantation
road to the river landing. The sun was now above the treetops, and
the chill air of the morning was beginning to surrender to its
influence. The course of the river was marked out in mid-air by a
thin line of white mist that hung wavering above the stream.
The dogs ran crying to the landing, and there they stopped. One of
the younger hounds was for wading across; but Sound, the leader, knew
better than that. He ran down the river bank a hundred yards and then
circled back across the field until he reached a point some distance
above the landing. Then he returned, his keen nose always to the
ground. At the landing he looked across the river and whined eagerly.
Mr. Simmons seemed to be very lucky that morning, for just as he and
George Gossett galloped to the landing a boatload of field hands
started across from the other side, old Uncle Andy coming with it
to row it back. On the other side, too, Mr. Simmons saw a lady
standing,--a trim figure dressed in black,--and near her a negro boy
was holding a horse that she had evidently ridden to the landing.
This was the lady to whom Uncle Andy sometimes referred as Sally
Ward, and for whom he had a sincere affection. The river was not wide
at the landing, and the boatload of field hands, propelled by four
muscular arms, was not long in crossing. As the negroes jumped ashore
Sound went among them and examined each one with his nose, but he
returned to the landing and looked across and whined. They saluted
Mr. Simmons and George Gossett politely, and then went on their way,
whistling, singing, and cracking jokes, and laughing loudly.
"Was a bateau missing from this side this morning?" Mr. Simmons asked
Uncle Andy.
"Suh?" Uncle Andy put his hand to his ear, affecting to be very
anxious to hear what Mr. Simmons had said.
The question was repeated, whereat Uncle Andy laughed loudly.
"You sho is a witch fer guessin', suh! How come you ter know 'bout de
missin' boat?"
Mr. Simmons smiled under this flattery. "I thought maybe a boat would
be missing from this side this morning," he said.
"Dey sho wuz, suh; but I dunner how de name er goodness you come ter
know 'bout it, kaze I wuz on de bank cross dar 'fo' 't wuz light, en
I ain't see you on dis side. Yes, suh! De boat wuz gone. Dey foun'
it 'bout a mile down de river, en on account er de shoals down dar,
dey had ter take it out'n de water en fetch it back yer in de waggin.
Yes, suh! dish yer de very boat."
"Where's the ford?" Mr. Simmons inquired. "I used to know, but I've
forgotten."
"Right below yer, suh!" replied Uncle Andy. "You'll see de paff whar
de stock cross at. B'ar down stream, suh, twel you halfway cross, den
b'ar up. Ef you do dat you won't git yo' stirrup wet."
The ford was easily found, but the crossing was not at all
comfortable. In fact, Uncle Andy had maliciously given Mr. Simmons
the wrong directions. The two men rode into the water, bore down the
stream, and their horses were soon floundering in deep water. They
soon touched bottom again, and in a few moments they were safe on the
opposite bank,--safe, but dripping wet and in no very good humor. Mr.
Simmons's dogs, obedient to his call, followed his horse into the
water and swam across.
Sound clambered out, shook himself, and ran back to the landing
where the lady was waiting for the boat to return. It had been Mr.
Simmons's intention to proceed at once down the river to the point
where the boat had been found, and where he was sure the dogs would
pick up the scent of the runaway; but he found that the way was
impossible for horses. He must needs go to the landing and inquire
the way.
Uncle Andy had just made the middle seat in the bateau more
comfortable for his mistress by placing his coat, neatly folded, on
the hard plank, and Mrs. Ward was preparing to accept the old negro's
invitation to "git aboard, mistiss," when Mr. Simmons and George
Gossett rode up. Both raised their hats as the lady glanced toward
them. They were hardly in a condition to present themselves, Mr.
Simmons explained, and then he inquired, with as much politeness as
he could command, how to reach the place where the missing boat had
been found.
"The missing boat? Why, I never heard of it till now. Was one of the
bateaux missing this morning?" the lady asked Uncle Andy.
"Yessum. When de fishin' good en de niggers put out der set-hooks,
dey ain't many mornin's in de week dat one er de yuther er deze boats
ain't missin'!"
"I never heard of it before."
"No, mistiss; de boys 'low you wouldn't keer nohow. Dey runs um over
de shoals, en dar dey leaves um."
"But both bateaux are here."
"Yessum. We fetches um back 'roun' by de road in de waggin."
"Who carried the bateau over the shoals this morning?"
"Me, ma'am. Nobody ain't know nuttin' 'bout it but de two Elliks, en
when dat ar gemmun dar ax me des now if dey wa'n't a boat missin' fum
'roun' yer dis mornin' hit sorter flung me back on myse'f. I 'low
'Yes, suh,' but he sho flung me back on myse'f."
Uncle Andy began to chuckle so heartily that his mistress asked him
what he was laughing at, though she well knew.
"I hit myse'f on de funny bone, mistiss, en when dat's de case I
bleege ter laugh."
At this the lady laughed, and it was a genial, merry, and musical
laugh. Mr. Simmons smiled, but so grimly that it had the appearance
of a threat.
"And so this is Mr. Simmons, the famous negro hunter?" said Mrs.
Ward. "Well, Mr. Simmons, I'm glad to see you. I've long had
something to say to you. Whenever you are sent for to catch one of my
negroes I want you to come straight to the house on the hill yonder
and set your dogs on me. When one of my negroes goes to the woods,
you may know it's my fault."
"Trufe, too!" remarked Uncle Andy, under his breath, but loud enough
for all to hear.
"That may be so, ma'am," replied Mr. Simmons; "but among a passel of
niggers you'll find some bad ones. What little pleasure I get out of
this business is in seeing and hearing my dogs run. Somebody's got to
catch the runaways, and it might as well be me as anybody."
"Why, certainly, Mr. Simmons. You have become celebrated. Your name
is trumpeted about in all the counties round. You are better known
than a great many of our rising young politicians."