came, not even so much as a whisper. The negroes looked at one
another, and shook their heads.
When Mr. Abercrombie went back to the house he put on his slippers
and crept to Little Crotchet's room. Shading the candle he carried,
the father saw that his son was fast asleep.
And on the mantel was the key of the stable.
XIII.
THE APPARITION THE FOX HUNTERS SAW.
As the fall came on, the young men (and some of the older ones, too)
began to indulge in the sport of fox hunting. They used no guns, but
pursued Reynard with horse and hound in the English fashion. The
foxes in that region were mostly gray, but the red ones had begun to
come in, and as they came the grays began to pack up their belongings
(as the saying is) and seek homes elsewhere.
The Turner old fields, not far from the Abercrombie place, and still
closer to the Swamp, were famous for their foxes--first for the grays
and afterward for the reds. There seemed to be some attraction for
them in these old fields. The scrub pines, growing thickly together,
and not higher than a man's waist, and the brier patches scattered
about, afforded a fine covert for Mr. Fox, gray or red, being shady
and cool in summer time, and sheltered from the cold winter winds.
And if it was fine for Mr. Fox, it was finer for the birds; for here
Mrs. Partridge could lead her brood in safety out of sight of Man,
and here the sparrows and smaller birds were safe from the Blue
Falcon, she of the keen eye and swift wing.
And Mr. Fox was as cunning as his nose was sharp. He knew that the
bird that made its home in the Turner old fields must roost low; and
what could be more convenient for Mr. Fox than that--especially at
the dead hours of night when he went creeping around as noiselessly
as a shadow, pretending that he wanted to whisper a secret in
their ears? Indeed, that was the main reason why Mr. Fox lived in
the Turner old fields, or went there at night, for he was no tree
climber. And so it came to pass that when those who were fond of fox
hunting wanted to indulge in that sport, they rose before dawn and
went straight to the Turner old fields.
Now, when George Gossett and his patrolling companions ceased for a
time to go frolicking about the country at night, on the plea that
they were looking after the safety of the plantations, they concluded
that it would be good for their health and spirits to go fox
hunting occasionally. Each had two or three hounds to brag on, so
that when all the dogs were brought together they made a pack of more
than respectable size.
[Illustration: IT WAS FINE FOR MR. FOX]
One Sunday, when the fall was fairly advanced, the air being crisp
and bracing and the mornings frosty, these young men met at a church
and arranged to inaugurate the fox hunting season the next morning.
They were to go home, get their dogs, and meet at Gossett's, his
plantation lying nearest to the Turner old fields. This programme was
duly carried out. The young men stayed all night with George Gossett,
ate breakfast before daybreak, and started for the Turner old fields.
As they set out, a question arose whether they should go through the
Abercrombie place--the nearest way--or whether they should go around
by the road. The darkness of night was still over wood and field, but
there was a suggestion of gray in the east. If the hunting party had
been composed only of those who had been in the habit of patrolling
with George Gossett, prompt choice would have been made of the public
road; but young Gossett had invited an acquaintance from another
settlement to join them--a gentleman who had reached the years of
maturity, but who was vigorous enough to enjoy a cross-country ride
to hounds.
This gentleman had been told of the strange experience of the
patrollers in Mr. Abercrombie's pasture lot. Some of the details had
been suppressed. For one thing, the young men had not confessed to
him how badly they had been frightened. They simply told him enough
to arouse his curiosity. When, therefore, the choice of routes lay
between the public road and the short cut through the Abercrombie
pasture, the gentleman was eager to go by way of the pasture where
his young friends had beheld the wonderful vision that had already
been described. When they displayed some hesitation in the matter, he
rallied them smartly on their lack of nerve, and in this way shamed
them into going the nearest way. George Gossett, who had no lack of
mere physical courage, consented to lead the way if the others would
"keep close behind him." But none of them except the gentleman who
was moved by curiosity, and who attributed the mystery of the affair
to frequent visits to Mr. Fullalove's still house, had any stomach
for the journey through the pasture, for not even George Gossett
desired to invite a repetition of the paralyzing scenes through which
they had passed on that memorable night.
As they came to the double gates, the young man who had insisted
that Timoleon was Beelzebub concluded to leave an avenue by which to
escape if the necessity arose. So he rode forward, dismounted, and
opened the gates. Then he made a great pretense of shutting them, but
allowed them to remain open instead. This operation left him somewhat
behind his companions, as he intended it should, for he had made up
his mind to wheel his horse and run for it if he heard any commotion
ahead of him. In that event the delay he purposely made would leave
him nearest the gates.
Seeing that the young man did not come up as quickly as he should
have done, George Gossett, in whom the spirit of mischief had no long
periods of repose, suggested that they touch up their horses and give
their companion a scare. This suggestion was promptly acted on. The
commotion his companions made caused the young man to pause a moment
before putting spur to his horses to rejoin them. This delay placed
several hundred yards between him and the party with Gossett. He
realized this as he rode after them, but was consoled by the fact
that, in the event of any trouble, he had a better opportunity to
escape than they did.
But he had hardly gone fifty yards from the double gates before he
heard some sort of noise in that direction. He half turned in his
saddle and looked behind him. The vague gray of the morning had
become so inextricably mixed and mingled with the darkness of the
night that such light as there was seemed to blur the vision rather
than aid it. But when the young man turned in his saddle he saw
enough to convince him that he was likely to have company in his ride
after his companions.
He hesitated a moment before urging his horse into a more rapid gait.
He wanted to see what it might be that was now so vaguely outlined.
He strained his eyes, but could see nothing but a black and shapeless
mass, which seemed to be following him. He could see that it was
moving rapidly, whatever it was, but the gray light was so dim, and
gave such shadowy shape even to objects close at hand, that he found
it impossible either to gratify his curiosity or satisfy his
fears. So he settled himself firmly in the saddle, clapped spurs to
his horse, and rode headlong after his companions. He looked around
occasionally, but the black mass was always nearer. The faster his
horse went, the faster came the Thing.
[Illustration: THE PHANTOM HORSEMAN]
Each time he looked back his alarm rose higher, for the Thing was
closer whenever he looked. At last his alarm grew to such proportions
that he ceased to look back, but addressed himself entirely to the
work of urging his horse to higher speed. Presently he heard quick,
fierce snorts on his right, and his eye caught sight of the Thing.
Its course was parallel with his own, and it was not more than twenty
yards away.
He saw enough for his alarm to rise to the height of terror. He
saw something that had the head and feet of a black horse, but the
body was wanting. No! There was a body, and a rider, but the rider
wore a long, pale gray robe, and he was headless! If this was the
Black Demon that the young man had seen in this pasture on a former
occasion, he was now more terrible than ever, for he was guided by a
headless rider!
The young man would have checked his horse, but the effort was in
vain. The horse had eyes. He also had seen the Thing, and had swerved
away from it, but he was too frightened to pay any attention to bit
or rein. The Black Thing was going faster than the frightened horse,
and it soon drew away, the pale gray robe of the rider fluttering
about like a fierce signal of warning. The young man's horse was soon
under control, and in a few minutes he came up with his companions.
He found them huddled together like so many sheep, this manoeuvre
having been instinctively made by the horses. The dogs, too, were
acting queerly.
The men appeared to be somewhat surprised to see their companion come
galloping up to them. After riding away from the young man who had
taken it upon himself to leave the double gates open, the huntsmen
had concluded to wait for him when they came to the bars that opened
on the public road. But the gallop of their horses had subsided into
a walk when they were still some distance from that point. They were
conversing about the merits of their favorite dogs when suddenly they
heard from behind them the sound of a galloping horse. They saw,
as the young man had seen, a dark, moving mass gradually assume
the shape of a black horse, with a headless rider wearing a long,
pale gray robe. The apparition was somewhat farther from them when
it passed than it had been from their companion, whom, in a spirit
of mischief, they had deserted; but the Black Thing threatened to
come closer, for when it had gone beyond them it changed its course,
described a half circle, and vanished from sight on the side of the
pasture opposite to that on which it had first appeared.
"What do you think now?" said George Gossett, speaking in a low tone
to the gentleman who had been inclined to grow merry when the former
experience of the patrollers was mentioned.
"What do I think? Why, I think it's right queer if the chap we left
at the double gates isn't trying to get even with us by riding around
like a wild Indian and waving his saddle blanket," replied the
doubting gentleman.
"Why, man, he's riding a gray horse!" one of the others explained.
This put another face on the matter, and the gentleman made no
further remark. In fact, before anything else could be said, the
young man in question came galloping up.
"Did you fellows see It?" he inquired. But he had no need to inquire.
Their attitude and the uneasy movements of their horses showed
unmistakably that they had seen It. "Which way did It go?" was the
next question. There was no need to make reply. The direction in
which the huntsmen glanced every second showed unmistakably which way
It went.
"Let's get out of here," said the young man in the next breath. And
there was no need to make even this simple proposition, for by common
consent, and as by one impulse, horses and men started for the bars
at a rapid trot. When the bars were taken down they were not left
down. Each one was put carefully back in its proper place, for though
this was but a slight barrier to interpose between themselves and the
terrible Black Thing, yet it was something.
Once in the road they felt more at ease--not because they were safer
there, but because it seemed that the night had suddenly trailed its
dark mantle westward.
"Did you notice," said the young man who was first to see the
apparition, "that the Thing that was riding the Thing had no head?"
"It certainly had that appearance," replied the doubtful gentleman,
"but"--
"No 'buts' nor 'ifs' about it," insisted the young man. "It came
so close to me that I could 'a' put my hand on it, and I noticed
particular that the Thing on the back of the Thing didn't have no
sign of head, no more than my big toe has got a head."
The exaggeration of the young man was unblushing. If the Thing had
come within ten yards of him he would have fallen from his horse in a
fit.
"And what was you doing all that time?" George Gossett inquired. His
tone implied a grave doubt.
"Trying to get away from that part of the country," replied the other
frankly. "It was the same hoss that got after us that night," the
young man continued. "I knowed it by the blaze in his eyes and the
red on the inside of his nose. Why, it looked to me like you could
'a' lit a cigar by holding it close to his eyes."
"I know how skeery you are," said George Gossett disdainfully, "and
I don't believe you took time to notice all these things."
"Skeer'd!" exclaimed the other; "why, that ain't no name for it--no
name at all. But it was my mind that was skeered and not my eyes. You
can't help seeing what's right at you, can you?"
This frankness took the edge off any criticism that George Gossett
might have made, seeing which the young man gave loose reins to
his invention, which was happy enough in this instance to fit the
suggestions that fear had made a place for in the minds of his
companions.
But it was all the simplest thing in the world. The apparition the
fox hunters saw was Aaron and the Black Stallion. The Son of Ben
Ali had decided that the interval between the first faint glimpse
of dawn and daylight was the most convenient time to give Timoleon
his exercise, and to fit him in some sort for the vigorous work he
was expected to do some day on the race track. Aaron had hit upon
that particular morning to begin the training of the Black Stallion,
and had selected the pasture as the training-ground. It was purely
a coincidence that he rode in at the double gates behind the fox
hunters, but it was such a queer one that Little Crotchet laughed
until the tears came into his eyes when he heard about it.
Aaron's version of the incident was so entirely different from that
of the fox hunters that those who heard both would be unable to
recognize in them an account of the same affair from different points
of view. As Aaron saw it and knew it, the incident was as simple as
it could be. As he was riding the horse along the lane leading to the
double gates (having left Rambler behind at the stable), Timoleon
gave a snort and lifted his head higher than usual.
"Son of Ben Ali," he said, "I smell strange men and strange horses.
Their scent is hot on the air. Some of them are the men that went
tumbling about the pasture the night you bade me play with them."
"Not at this hour, Grandson of Abdallah," replied Aaron.
"I am not smelling the hour, Son of Ben Ali, but the men. If we find
them, shall I use my teeth?"
"We'll not see the men, Grandson of Abdallah. This is not their
hour."
"But if we find them, Son of Ben Ali?" persisted the Black Stallion.
"Save your teeth for your corn, Grandson of Abdallah," was the
response.
As they entered the double gates, which Aaron was surprised to find
open, Timoleon gave a series of fierce snorts, which was the same as
saying, "What did I tell you, Son of Ben Ali? Look yonder! There is
one; the others are galloping farther on."
"I am wrong and you are right, Grandson of Abdallah."
As much for the horse's comfort as his own, Aaron had folded a large
blanket he found hanging in the stable, and was using it in place
of a saddle. He lifted himself back toward Timoleon's croup, seized
the blanket with his left hand, and, holding it by one corner, shook
out the folds. He had no intention whatever of frightening any
one, his sole idea being to use the blanket to screen himself from
observation. He would have turned back, but in the event of pursuit
he would be compelled to lead his pursuers into the Abercrombie
place, or along the public road, and either course would have been
embarrassing. If he was to be pursued at all, he preferred to take
the risk of capture in the wide pasture. As a last resort he could
slip from Timoleon's back and give the horse the word to use both
teeth and heels.
[Illustration: AARON AND TIMOLEON]
And this was why the fox hunters saw the apparition of a black horse
and a headless rider.
"Shall I ride him down, Son of Ben Ali?" snorted the Black Stallion.
"Bear to the right, bear to the right, Grandson of Abdallah," was the
reply.
And so the apparition flitted past the young man who had left the
double-gates open, and past his companions who were waiting for him
near the bars that opened on the big road; flitted past them and
disappeared.
Finding that there was no effort made to pursue him, Aaron checked
the Black Stallion and listened. He heard the men let down the
bars and put them up again, and by that sign he knew they were not
patrollers.
Later on in the day, the doubting gentleman, returning from the fox
hunt, called by the Abercrombie place and stopped long enough to tell
the White-Haired Master of the queer sight he saw in the pasture at
dawn.
"The boys were badly scared," he explained to Mr. Abercrombie, "and
I tell you it gave me a strange feeling--a feeling that I can best
describe by saying that if the earth had opened at my feet and a
red flame shot up, it wouldn't have added one whit to my amazement.
That's the honest truth."
Mr. Abercrombie could give him no satisfaction, though he might have
made a shrewd guess, and Little Crotchet, who could have solved the
mystery, had to make an excuse to get out of the way, so that he
might have a hearty laugh.
And Aaron, when he came to see the Little Master that night, knew for
the first time that he had scared the fox hunters nearly out of their
wits.
XIV.
THE LITTLE MASTER SAYS GOOD-NIGHT.
After George Gossett's two experiences in the pasture, he came to the
conclusion that it would not be profitable to do any more patrolling
on the Abercrombie place, but this did not add to his good humor.
He had his father's surly temper, and, with it, a vindictive spirit
that was entirely lacking in the elder Gossett. Moreover, age had not
moderated nor impaired his energies, as it had his father's.
The fact that he had failed to capture Aaron struck him as a personal
affront. He was stung by it. He felt that he and his father had been
wronged by some one, he couldn't say who, but not by the runaway,
for what was a "nigger," anyhow? After a while the idea was borne
in upon him that somehow he and his family had been "insulted" by
the Abercrombies. He arrived at this conclusion by a very circuitous
route. The Abercrombies were harboring a Yankee in their house; and
if they had the stomach to do that, why wasn't it just as easy for
them to harbor "pap's" runaway nigger, especially when they were so
keen to buy him?
Another thing that stung him, though he never mentioned it, was the
sudden and unexplainable attitude of his father toward Aaron. Young
Gossett had observed that his father appeared to lose interest in the
runaway after Mr. Jim Simmons failed to catch him, but the fact was
not impressed upon the young man's mind until the day he told the
elder Gossett about the queer sight he saw in Abercrombie's pasture.
"Were you hunting the runaway?" his father asked, with some
impatience.
"Why, no, pap. We weren't doing a thing in the world, but crossing
the pasture on our way to the Turner old fields."
"Very well, then. Do as I do; let him alone. If you don't you'll get
hurt. I know what I'm talking about."
This fairly took George's breath away. "Why, pap!" he cried; "ain't
he your nigger? Didn't you buy him and pay your money down for him?
Don't you want him out of the woods? And who's going to hurt me, pap?"
"You mind what I tell you," snapped the elder Gossett. "I'm older
than you, and when I know a thing I know it. Let the runaway alone."
"If I'm going to be hurt," responded George doggedly, "I'd like to
know who'll do it."
It would have been better for both if Mr. Gossett had told his son of
his experience with Aaron. As it was, George was in danger of losing
the little respect he had for his father. When he was warned that he
would be hurt if he kept on trying to capture Aaron, he suspected at
once that the warning related to Mr. Abercrombie. Who else would dare
to hurt him, or even threaten to hurt him? Certainly not the runaway.
Who, then, but Abercrombie?
The suggestion was enough. It made George Gossett so furious that
he never thought to reflect that he himself had invented it. Once
invented, however, every circumstance seemed to fit it. His father
had suddenly lost interest in the runaway, though he had paid out
money for him, and had hardly received a week's work in return. Why?
Because Mr. Abercrombie had overawed his father in a crowd, just
as he did the day Aaron was sold from the block. The young man had
not forgotten that episode, and his resentment was rekindled and
grew hotter than ever, for it was now reinforced by inward shame and
disgust at the way his father had allowed himself to be overcome--and
that, too, in regard to his own property.
The first result of George Gossett's resentment was his nearly
successful effort to make the Teacher, Richard Hudspeth, the victim
of the violent and natural prejudice that existed at that time
against abolitionists; an event that has been related in "The Story
of Aaron." The rescue of the Teacher by Mr. Abercrombie, and the
fact that George Gossett was knocked flat by the Black Stallion,
caused his resentment to rise to a white heat. He brooded over the
matter until, at last, a desire to injure Mr. Abercrombie became an
uncontrollable mania, and it went so far that one night, inflamed by
whiskey, he set fire to the dwelling-house of the man he believed to
be his father's enemy.
Then it was that Aaron rescued Little Crotchet and Free Polly, and
fell fainting to the ground. And then it was that Mr. Gossett seized
the first plausible opportunity that had presented itself to sell
Aaron to Mr. Abercrombie. It is true, he drove a sharp bargain,
suspecting that the runaway had seriously injured himself; but he
would have sold Aaron in any event, being anxious to get rid of him.
George Gossett disappeared that night and was seen no more in that
region. Years afterward, a homesick Georgian returning from Texas
brought word that George Gossett had made a name for himself in that
State, being known as a tough and a terror.
It's an ill wind that blows no good to any one. George Gossett little
knew, when he applied the torch to the Abercrombie dwelling, that
the light of it would call Aaron from the wildwoods and show him
the way to a home where he was to live, happy in the love of Little
Crotchet and of children as yet unborn, and happy in the respect and
confidence of those whose interest he served.
Perhaps if George Gossett could have looked into the future, the
blaze that produced these results would never have been kindled, and
in that event the story of Aaron in the Wildwoods could have been
spun out at greater length, but the conclusion would not have been
different.
Richard Hudspeth remained long enough to see Aaron duly installed in
his new home, for the Abercrombie mansion was at once rebuilt on a
larger scale than ever, and to see him serve as the major-domo of the
establishment. But the departure of the Teacher was not delayed for
many months after his experience with the reckless and irresponsible
young men who had placed themselves under the leadership of George
Gossett. Duties more pressing and more important than those he had
assumed in Georgia called him to his Northern home, where a larger
career awaited him--a career that made him famous.
He became the most intimate adviser of Abraham Lincoln, and that
great man found in him what, at the outset, he found in few New
England men, the deepest sympathy and highest appreciation.
It was characteristic of Richard Hudspeth that the treatment he
received at the hands of George Gossett and his night riders bred no
resentment against the Southern people, and the trait of character
that shut the door of his mind against all petty prejudices and
rancorous judgments was precisely the trait that attracted first the
notice and finally the friendship of Mr. Lincoln.
Aaron was as much of a mystery to the negroes on the Abercrombie
place when he came to move about among them as he was when he
roamed in the wildwoods. He was as much of a mystery to them years
afterwards, when Buster John and Sweetest Susan came upon the scene,
as he was when he first made his appearance on the place, but by that
time the mystery he presented was a familiar one. The negroes had not
solved it, but they were used to it.