SOMETHING HAPPENS
It was a moody little stream which Miss Lou was following. She did not
go far before she sat down on a rock and watched the murmuring waters
glide past, conscious meantime of a vague desire to go with them into
the unknown. She was not chafing so much at the monotony of her life as
at its restrictions, its negation of all pleasing realities, and the
persistent pressure upon her attention of a formal round of duties and
more formal and antiquated circle of thoughts. Only as she stole away
into solitudes like the one in which she now sat dreaming could she
escape from the hard materialism of routine, and chiding for idleness
usually followed. Her aunt, with an abundance of slaves at her command,
could have enjoyed much leisure, yet she was fussily and constantly
busy, and the young girl could not help feeling that much which she was
expected to do was a mere waste of time.
The serene beauty of the evening, the songs of the mocking and other
birds, were not without their effect, however, and she said aloud: "I
might be very happy even here if, like the birds, I had the heart to
sing--and I would sing if I truly lived and had something to live for."
The sun was approaching the horizon, and she was rising wearily and
reluctantly to return when she heard the report of firearms, followed
by the sound of swiftly galloping horses. Beyond the brook, on the
margin of which she stood, rose a precipitous bank overhung with vines
and bushes, and a few rods further back was a plantation road
descending toward a wide belt of forest. A thick copse and growth of
young trees ran from the top of the bank toward the road, hiding from
her vision that portion of the lane from which the sounds were
approaching. Suddenly half a dozen cavalrymen, whom she knew to be
Federals from their blue uniforms, galloped into view and passed on in
the direction of the forest. One of the group turned his horse sharply
behind the concealing copse and spurred directly toward her. She had
only time to throw up her hands and utter an involuntary cry of warning
about the steep bank, when the horse sprang through the treacherous
shrubbery and fell headlong into the stream. The rider saw his peril,
withdrew his feet from the stirrups, and in an instinctive effort for
self-preservation, threw himself forward, falling upon the sand almost
at the young girl's feet. He uttered a groan, shivered, and became
insensible. A moment or two later a band in gray galloped by wholly
intent upon the Federals, who had disappeared spurring for the woods,
and she recognized her cousin, Madison Whately, leading the pursuit.
Neither he nor any of his party looked her way, and it was evident that
the Union soldier who had so abruptly diverged from the road behind the
screening copse had not been discovered. The sounds died away as
speedily as they had approached, and all became still again. The
startled birds resumed their songs; the injured horse moved feebly, and
the girl saw that it was bleeding from a wound, but the man at her feet
did not stir. Truly something had happened. What should she do?
Breaking the paralysis of her fear and astonishment, she stepped to the
brook, gathered up water in her hands, and dashed it into the face of
the unconscious man. It had no effect. "Can he be dead?" she asked
herself in horror. He was as pale as his bronzed features could become,
and her woman's soul was touched that one who looked so strong, who had
been so vital a moment before, should now lie there in pathetic and
appealing helplessness. Was that fine, manly face the visage of one of
the terrible, bloodthirsty, unscrupulous Yankees? Even as she ran to
Aun' Jinkey's cottage for help the thought crossed her mind that the
world was not what it had been represented to her, and that she must
learn to think and act for herself.
As she approached, Chunk, Aun' Jinkey's grandson, appeared coming from
the mansion house. He was nicknamed "Chunk" from his dwarfed stature
and his stout, powerful build. Miss Lou put her finger to her lips,
glanced hastily around, and led the way into the cabin. She hushed
their startled exclamations as she told her story, and then said, "Aun'
Jinkey, if he's alive, you must hide him in your loft there where Chunk
sleeps. Come with me."
In a few moments all three were beside the unconscious form. Chunk
instantly slipped his hand inside the soldier's vest over his heart.
"Hit done beats," he said, quickly, and without further hesitation he
lifted the man as if he had been a child, bore him safely to the cabin,
and laid him on Aun' Jinkey's bed. "Hi, granny, whar dat hot stuff you
gib me fer de belly misery?"
Aun' Jinkey had already found a bottle containing a decoction of the
wild ginger root, and with pewter spoon forced some of the liquid into
the man's mouth. He struggled slightly and began to revive. At last he
opened his eyes and looked with an awed expression at the young girl
who stood at the foot of the bed.
"I hope you feel better now," she said, kindly.
"Are you--am I alive?" he asked.
"Dar now, mars'r, you isn't in heb'n yet, dough Miss Lou, standin' dar,
mout favor de notion. Des you took anoder swaller ob dis ginger-tea, en
den you see me'n Chunk ain' angels."
Chunk grinned and chuckled. "Neber was took fer one in my bawn days."
The young man did as he was bidden, then turned his eyes wistfully and
questioningly from the two dark visages back to the girl's sympathetic
face.
"You remember," she said, "you were being chased, and turned your horse
toward a steep bank, which you didn't see, and fell."
"Ah, yes--it's all growing clear. You were the woman I caught glimpse
of."
She nodded and said: "I must go now, or some one will come looking for
me. I won't speak--tell about this. I'm not on your side, but I'm not
going to get a helpless man into more trouble. You may trust Aun'
Jinkey and her grandson."
"Dat you kin, mars'r," Chunk ejaculated with peculiar emphasis.
"God bless you, then, for a woman who has a heart. I'm quite content
that you're not an angel," and a smile so lighted up the soldier's
features that she thought she had never seen a pleasanter looking man.
Worried indeed that she was returning so much later than usual, she
hastened homeward. Half-way up the path to the house she met a tall,
slender negro girl, who exclaimed, "Hi, Miss Lou, ole miss des gettin'
'stracted 'bout you, en mars'r sez ef you ain' at supper in five minits
he's gwine down to Aun' Jinkey en know what she mean, meckin' sech'
sturbence in de fambly."
"How absurd!" thought the girl. "Being a little late is a disturbance
in the family." But she hastened on, followed by the girl, who was
employed in the capacity of waitress. This girl, Zany by name, resented
in accordance with her own ideas and character the principle of
repression which dominated the household. She threw a kiss toward the
cabin under the trees and shook with silent laughter as she muttered,
"Dat fer you, Chunk. You de beat'nst nigger I eber see. You mos' ez
bro'd ez I is high, yit you'se reachin' arter me. I des like ter kill
mysef lafin' wen we dance tergeder," and she indulged in a jig-step and
antics behind Miss Lou's back until she came in sight of the windows,
then appeared as if following a hearse.
Miss Lou entered the rear door of the long, two-story house, surrounded
on three sides by a wide piazza. Mr. Baron, a stout, bald-headed old
gentleman, was fuming up and down the dining-room while his wife sat in
grim silence at the foot of the table. It was evident that they had
made stiff, old-fashioned toilets, and both looked askance at the
flushed face of the almost breathless girl, still in her simple morning
costume. Before she could speak her uncle said, severely, "Since we
have waited so long, we will still wait till you can dress."
The girl was glad to escape to her room in order that she might have
time to frame some excuse before she faced the inquisition in store for
her.
Constitutional traits often assert themselves in a manner contrary to
the prevailing characteristics of a region. Instead of the easy-going
habits of life common to so many of his neighbors, Mr. Baron was a
martinet by nature, and the absence of large, engrossing duties
permitted his mind to dwell on little things and to exaggerate them out
of all proportion. Indeed, it was this utter lack of perspective in his
views and judgments which created for Miss Lou half her trouble. The
sin of tardiness which she had just committed was treated like a great
moral transgression, or rather it was so frowned upon that it were hard
to say he could show his displeasure at a more heinous offence. The one
thought now in Mr. Baron's mind was that the sacred routine of the day
had been broken. Often there are no greater devotees to routine than
those who are virtually idlers. Endowed with the gift of persistence
rather than with a resolute will, it had become second nature to
maintain the daily order of action and thought which he believed to be
his right to enforce upon his household. Every one chafed under his
inexorable system except his wife. She had married when young, had
grown up into it, and supplemented it with a system of her own which
took the form of a scrupulous and periodical attention to all little
details of housekeeping. There was a constant friction, therefore,
between the careless, indolent natures of the slaves and the precise,
exacting requirements of both master and mistress. Miss Lou, as she was
generally called on the plantation, had grown up into this routine as a
flower blooms in a stiff old garden, and no amount of repression,
admonition and exhortation, not even in her younger days of punishment,
could quench her spirit or benumb her mind. She submitted, she yielded,
with varying degrees of grace or reluctance. As she increased in years,
her thoughts, as we have seen, were verging more and more on the border
of rebellion. But the habit of obedience and submission still had its
influence. Moreover, there had been no strong motive and little
opportunity for independent action. Hoping not even for tolerance, much
less for sympathy, she kept her thoughts to herself, except as she
occasionally relieved her mind to her old mammy, Aun' Jinkey.
She came into the dining-room hastily at last, but the expression of
her face was impassive and inscrutable. She was received in solemn
silence, broken at first only by the long formal grace which Mr. Baron
never omitted and never varied. In her rebellious mood the girl
thought, "What a queer God it would be if he were pleased with this old
cut-and-dried form of words! All the time uncle's saying them he is
thinking how he'll show me his displeasure."
Mr. Baron evidently concluded that his best method at first would be an
expression of offended dignity, and the meal began in depressing
silence, which Mrs. Baron was naturally the first to break. "It must be
evident to you, Louise," she said in a thin, monotonous voice, "that
the time has come for you to consider and revise your conduct. The fact
that your uncle has been kept waiting for his supper is only one result
of an unhappy change which I have observed, but have forborne to speak
of in the hope that your own conscience and the influence of your past
training would lead you to consider and conform. Think of the precious
moments, indeed I may say hours, that you have wasted this afternoon in
idle converse with an old negress who is no fit companion for you! You
are becoming too old--"
"Too old, aunt? Do you at last recognize the fact that I am growing
older?"
With a faint expression of surprise dawning in her impassive face Mrs.
Baron continued: "Yes, old enough to remember yourself and not to be
compelled to recognize the duties of approaching womanhood. I truly
begin to feel that I must forbid these visits to an old, ignorant and
foolish creature whose ideas are totally at variance with all that is
proper and right."
"Uncle thinks I have approached womanhood sufficiently near to know
something of my business affairs, and even went so far as to suggest
his project of marrying me to my cousin in order to unite in sacred--I
mean legal bonds the two plantations."
The two old people looked at each other, then stared at their niece,
who, with hot face, maintained the pretence of eating her supper.
"Truly, Louise," began Mr. Baron, solemnly, "you are indulging in
strange and unbecoming language. I have revealed to you your pecuniary
affairs, and I have more than once suggested an alliance which is in
accordance with our wishes and your interests, in order to prove to you
how scrupulous we are in promoting your welfare. We look for grateful
recognition and a wise, persistent effort on your part to further our
efforts in your behalf."
"It doesn't seem to me wise to talk to a mere child about property and
marriage," said the girl, breathing quickly in the consciousness of her
temerity and her rising spirit of rebellion.
"You are ceasing to be a mere child," resumed her uncle, severely.
"That cannot be," Miss Lou interrupted. "You and aunt speak to me as
you did years ago when I was a child. Can you expect me to have a
woman's form and not a woman's mind? Are women told exactly what they
must think and do, like little children? Aunt threatens to forbid
visits to my old mammy. If I were but five years old she couldn't do
more. You speak of marrying me to my cousin as if I had merely the form
and appearance of a woman, and no mind or wishes of my own. I have
never said I wanted to marry him or any one."
"Why, Louise, you are verging toward flat rebellion," gasped her uncle,
laying down his knife and fork.
"Oh, no, uncle! I'm merely growing up. You should have kept the library
locked; you should never have had me taught to read, if you expected me
to become the mere shell of a woman, having no ideas of my own."
"We wish you to have ideas, and have tried to inculcate right ideas."
"Which means only your ideas, uncle."
"Louise, are you losing your mind?"
"No, uncle, I am beginning to find it, and that I have a right to use
it. I am willing to pay all due respect and deference to you and to
aunt, but I protest against being treated as a child on one hand and as
a wax figure which can be stood up and married to anybody on the other.
I have patiently borne this treatment as long as I can, and I now
reckon the time has come to end it."
Mr. Baron was thunderstruck and his wife was feeling for her
smelling-bottle. Catching a glimpse of Zany, where she stood
open-mouthed in her astonishment, her master said, sternly, "Leave the
room!" Then he added to his niece, "Think of your uttering such wild
talk before one of our people! Don't you know that my will must be law
on this plantation?"
"I'm not one of your people," responded the girl, haughtily. "I'm your
niece, and a Southern girl who will call no man master."
At this moment there was a knock at the door. Without waiting for it to
be opened, a tall, lank man entered and said, hastily, "Mr. Baron, I
reckon there's news which yer orter hear toreckly." He was the overseer
of the plantation.