UNCLE LUSTHAH EXHORTS
The heavy thunder shower which came and passed quickly, combined with a
consciousness of their high-handed performances, so awed Chunk and Zany
and oppressed them with misgivings that they were extremely reticent,
even to Aun' Jinkey. Chunk appeared profoundly ignorant of the ghostly
disturbances, trying to say unconcernedly, "I foun' hit a orful long en
skeery trable ter de Un'on lines en I says ter mysef, 'De Yanks fin' me
down yere quicker ner I fin' dem up Norf. Dey be comin' dis away agin
sho'."
"I des tells you we all git whip nigh ter daith ef you ain' mo'
keerful," said Aun' Jinkey, solemnly. "I kyant stan' de goin's on. I
gwine ter pieces ev'y day en nights git'n wusser'n de days. De gust
ober en you bettah light out. Ef Zany missed dey come yere lookin' fer
her."
They needed no urging to depart, for Zany was now as scared as Chunk
had ever wished her to be, but her terrors were taking a form which
inclined her to cling to the old landmarks rather than risk she knew
not what, in running away. As she and Chunk were stealing toward the
kitchen a flash of lightning from the retiring storm revealed a
startling figure--that of Perkins, drenched and bedraggled, his eyes
almost starting from their sockets as he staggered toward his cottage.
Chunk's courage at last gave way; he turned and fled, leaving Zany in
the lurch. Frightened almost to the point of hysterics, she crept to
her bed and shook till morning, resolving meanwhile to have done with
Chunk and all his doings. The next day Mrs. Baron found her the most
diligent and faithful of servants.
Perkins reached his door and looked into the dark entrance, the gusts
having blown out the light. He shook his head, muttered something
unintelligible, and then bent his uncertain steps to the tavern. The
next morning Mr. Baron suspected where he was and went to see him. The
overseer was found to be a pitiable spectacle, haggard trembling,
nervous in the extreme, yet sullen and reticent and resolute in his
purpose never to set foot on the plantation again. Mr. Baron then
closed all business relations and sent over the man's belongings.
Perkins became a perplexing problem to Mr. Baron and his household and
a terrible tradition to the negroes, who regarded him as a haunted man.
Every day and night passed in quietness after his departure enabled
them to breathe more freely and to become more assured that he "wuz de
on'y one de spooks arter."
Chunk felt that he had disgraced himself by running away and leaving
Zany, and did not venture back till the second night after the
culmination of his schemes. He found Jute and his associates scared,
sullen and inclined to have little to do with him in their present
mood. Then he hooted in vain for Zany. The girl heard him but made no
sign, muttering, "Sence you runned away en lef me I'se done wid runnin'
away. You tootin' lak a squinch-owl en kin kep comp'ny wid
squinch-owls."
Only Aun' Jinkey gave him food and a sort of fearful welcome, and poor
Chunk found himself at last a very unhappy and skulking outlaw.
Mr. Baron gradually rallied under his increased responsibilities and
resolved to be his own overseer. Although an exacting master, the
negroes knew he was not a severe one if they did their work fairly
well. The spook scare had given Uncle Lusthah renewed influence and he
used it in behalf of peace and order. "Our fren Miss Lou, sick," he
urged. "We mek her trouble en we mek oursefs trouble ef we doan go on
peac'ble. What kin we do eny way at dis yer time? De Norf fightin' fer
us en hit all 'pen' on de Norf. We mus' kep a gwine ez we is till de
times en seasons ob de Lawd is 'vealed."
And so for a period, quiet again settled down on the old plantation.
Mrs. Whately and Aun' Jinkey nursed Miss Lou into a slow, languid
convalescence, till at last she was able to sit in an easy-chair on the
piazza. This she would do by the hour, with a sad, apathetic look on
her thin face. She was greatly changed, her old rounded outlines had
shrunken and she looked frail enough for the winds to blow away. The
old, fearless, spirited look in her blue eyes had departed utterly,
leaving only an expression of settled sadness, varied by an anxious,
expectant gaze, suggesting a lingering hope that some one might come or
something happen to break the dreadful silence which began, she felt,
when Scoville fell from his horse in the darkening forest. It remained
unbroken, and her heart sank into more hopeless despondency daily. Aun'
Jinkey and Zany were charged so sternly to say nothing to disturb the
mind of their young mistress that they obeyed. She was merely given the
impression that Perkins had gone away of his own will, and this was a
relief. She supposed Chunk had returned to his Union friends, and this
also became the generally accepted view of all except Aun' Jinkey.
Mrs. Whately came to spend part of the time at The Oaks and part on her
own plantation, where her presence was needed. Her devotion would have
won Miss Lou's whole heart but for the girl's ever-present
consciousness of Mad Whately in the background. The mother now had the
tact to say nothing about him except in a natural and general way,
occasionally trying the experiment of reading extracts from his brief
letters, made up, as they were, chiefly of ardent messages to his
cousin. These Miss Lou received in silence and unfeigned apathy.
The respite and quiet could not last very long in these culminating
months of the war. Without much warning even to the negroes, who
appeared to have a sort of telegraphic communication throughout the
region, a Union column forced its way down the distant railroad and
made it a temporary line of communication. Mr. Baron suddenly woke up
to the fact that the nearest town was occupied by the Federals and that
his human property was in a ferment. A foraging party soon appeared in
the neighborhood and even visited him, but his statement of what he had
suffered and the evident impoverishment of the place led the Union
officer to seek more inviting fields.
Partly to satisfy her own mind as well as that of her niece, Mrs.
Whately asked after Scoville, but could obtain no information. The
troops in the vicinity were of a different organization, the leader of
the party a curt, grizzled veteran, bent only on obtaining supplies.
Miss Lou, sitting helplessly in her room, felt instinctively that she
did not wish even to speak to him.
To Chunk, this Union advance was a godsend. He immediately took his
horse to the railroad town, sold it for a small sum, and found
employment at the station, where his great strength secured him good
wages. He could handle with ease a barrel akin to himself in shape and
size.
Uncle Lusthah suddenly found immense responsibility thrust upon him. In
the opinion of the slaves the time and seasons he had predicted and
asked his flock to wait for had come. Negroes from other and nearer
plantations were thronging to the town, and those at The Oaks were
rapidly forming the purpose to do likewise. They only waited the
sanction of their religious teacher to go almost in a body. The old
preacher was satisfied they would soon go any way, unless inducements
and virtual freedom were offered. He therefore sought Mr. Baron and
stated the case to him.
The old planter would listen to nothing. He was too honorable to
temporize and make false promises. "Bah!" he said, irritably, "the
Yanks will soon be driven off as they were before. I can't say you are
free! I can't give you a share in the crops! It's contrary to the law
of the State and the whole proper order of things. I wouldn't do it if
I could. What would my neighbors think? What would I think of myself?
What a fine condition I'd be in after the Yanks are all driven from the
country! No, I shall stand or fall with the South and maintain the
institutions of my fathers. If you people leave me now and let the
crops go to waste you will soon find yourselves starving. When you come
whining back I'll have nothing to feed you with."
Uncle Lusthah cast an imploring look on Miss Lou where she sat in her
chair, with more interest expressed in her wan face than she had shown
for a long time.
"Uncle Lusthah," she said earnestly, "don't you leave me. As soon as I
am able I'll buy you of uncle and set you free. Then you can always
work for me."
"I doan wanter lebe you, young mistis, I sut'ny doan, ner der ole place
whar I al'ays libed. But freedom sweet, young mistis, en I wanter feel
I free befo' I die."
"You shall, Uncle Lusthah. You have earned YOUR freedom, anyway."
"Tut, tut, Louise, that's no way to talk," said her uncle testily.
The old slave looked from one to the other sorrowfully, shook his head
and slowly retired.
"Remember what I said," Miss Lou called after him, and then sank back
in her chair.
Uncle Lusthah had to relate the result of his conference, and the
consequence was an immediate outbreak of a reckless, alienated spirit.
That afternoon the field hands paid no attention to Mr. Baron's orders,
and he saw that slaves from other plantations were present. Uncle
Lusthah sat at his door with his head bowed on his breast. His people
would listen to him no more, and he himself was so divided in his
feelings that he knew not what to say.
"Hit may be de Lawd's doin's ter set He people free," he muttered, "but
somehow I kyant brung mysef ter lebe dat po' sick chile. Ole mars'r en
ole miss kyant see en woan see, en dat lil chile w'at stan' up fer us
in de 'stremity ob triberlation be lef wid no one ter do fer her. I
berry ole en stiff in my jints en I cud die peaceful ef I know I free;
but hit 'pears that de Lawd say ter me, 'Uncle Lusthah, stay right yere
en look arter dat lil sick lam'. Den I mek you free w'en de right time
come.'"
Uncle Lusthah soon had the peace of the martyr who has chosen his
course. Mr. Baron also sat on his veranda with head bowed upon his
breast. He too had chosen his course, and now in consequence was sunk
in more bitter and morose protest than ever. Events were beyond his
control and he knew it, but he would neither yield nor change. This was
the worst that had yet befallen him. Black ruin stared him in the face,
and he stared back with gloomy yet resolute eyes. "I will go down with
my old colors flying," he resolved, and that was the end of it.
His wife was with him in sympathy, but her indomitable spirit would not
be crushed. She was almost ubiquitous among the house and yard slaves,
awing them into a submission which they scarcely understood and
inwardly chafed at. She even went to the quarters and produced evident
uneasiness by her stern, cutting words. None dared reply to her, but
when the spell of her presence was removed all resumed their confused
and exultant deliberations as to their future course.
Aun' Jinkey, sitting with Miss Lou, scoffed at the idea of going away.
"Long ez my chimly-corner en my pipe dar I dar too," she said. "Dis
freedom business so mux up I kyant smoke hit out nohow."
Zany was in a terribly divided state of mind. Were it not for Miss Lou,
she would have been ready enough to go, especially as she had heard
that Chunk was at the railroad town. Her restless spirit craved
excitement and freedom: a townful of admirers, with Chunk thrown in,
was an exceedingly alluring prospect. With all her faults, she had a
heart, and the sick girl had won her affection unstintedly. When
therefore Miss Lou summoned her and fixed her sad, pleading blue eyes
upon her, the girl threw her apron over her head and began to cry "Doan
say a word, Miss Lou," she sobbed, "doan ax me not ter go kase ef you
does I kyant go."
"Sech foolishness!" ejaculated Aun' Jinkey with a disdainful sniff.
"She lebe you des lak a cat dat snoop off enywhar en arter enybody w'at
got mo' vittles. Wat she keer?"
Down came the apron, revealing black eyes blazing through the tears
which were dashed right and left as Zany cried, "You ole himage, w'at
you keer? You tink a hun'erd times mo' ob yer pipe ner Miss Lou. Long
ez you kin smoke en projeck in dat ar ole cabin hole you woan lebe his
'less you turned out. I des gwine ter stay out'n spite en doan wanter
go a hun'erd mile ob dat gran'boy ob yourn."
"There, Zany," said Miss Lou gently, holding out her hand. "I
understand you and Aun' Jinkey both, and you both are going to stay out
of love for me. I reckon you won't be sorry in the end."
Up went the apron again and Zany admitted, "I kyant lebe you, Miss Lou,
I des kyant," as she rushed away to indulge in the feminine relief of
tears without stint.
Mr. and Mrs. Baron passed a sleepless night, for even the question of
food would be problematical if all the able-bodied men and women on the
place went away. In the early dawn there were ominous sounds at the
quarters, and as the light increased a spectacle which filled the old
planter and his wife with rage was revealed. The quarters were empty
and all were trooping toward the avenue with bundles containing their
belongings. This was to be expected, but the act which excited the
direst indignation was the hitching of the only pair of mules left on
the place that were worth anything to the old family carriage. Aun'
Suke was waddling toward this with the feeling that a "char'ot wuz
waitin' fer her now, sho!"
Mr. and Mrs. Baron looked at each other in quick, comprehensive
sympathy, then hastily and partially dressed. Mr. Baron took his
revolver while "ole miss" snatched a sharp carving-knife from the
dining-room. By the time they reached the scene, Aun' Suke filled the
back seat of the carriage and the rest of the space was being filled
with babies.
"Stop that!" shouted Mr. Baron. "Before I'll let you take my mules I'll
shoot 'em both."
"Ole miss" wasted no time in threats--she simply cut the traces and
there were Aun' Suke and the babies stranded. The negroes drew together
on one side and master and mistress on the other. The faces of the
latter were aglow with anger; on the countenances of the former were
mingled perplexity and sullen defiance, but the old habit of deference
still had its restraining influence.
"Go and starve and leave us to starve, if you will," shouted Mr. Baron,
"but you shall steal none of my property."
Angry mutterings began among the negroes, and it were hard to say how
the scene would have ended if old Uncle Lusthah had not suddenly
appeared between the opposing parties, and held up his hand
impressively.
"I gib up my charnce ter be free," he began with simple dignity. "My
body 'longs ter you yit, mars'r en misus; but not my speret. Out'n dat
I gwine ter speak plain fer de fear ob man clean gone fum me. Mars'r,
w'at I say ter you? Lak ole Pharo, you t'ink yo'sef bigger'n de Lawd.
Ef you'd done spoke ter de hans en say 'des go home en dar de crops en
shar' togeder' dey ud stayed en wucked fer you 'tented like, but you
des talk lak ole Pharo. Now de people gwine en you kyant stop dem. We
knowed 'bout de prokermation ob de gre't Linkum. We know we bin free
dis long time. We al'ays know you no right ter keep us slabes. Dis yer
God's worl'. Hit don't 'long ter you en misus. He ain't stoppin' ter
'suit you 'bout He doin's. Ef you s'mitted ter He will you'd a gwine
'long easy lak de crops grow in spring-time. Now hit des de same ez ef
you plant de crops in de fall en'spect de Lawd ter turn de winter inter
summer ter please you. I berry ole en had 'spearance. I'se prayed all
de long night en de Lawd's gib me ter see inter de futer. Lak Moses I
may never git in de promised lan' ob freedom, but hit dar en you kyant
kep de people out'n hit. Ef you doan bend ter He will, you breaks. Wen
all de han's gone en de fiel's is waste t'ink ober de trufe. De Lawd
did'n mek dis yer worl' ter suit you en misus. P'raps He t'ink ez much
ob dem po' souls dar (pointing at the negroes) ez ob yourn. Didn't I
stan' wid dem w'at die ter mek us free? Der blood wateh dis hull lan'
en I feels hit in my heart dat de Lawd'll brung up a crap dis lan'
neber saw befo'. Please reckermember, mars'r en misus, de gre't wuck ob
de Lawd gwine right along des ez ef you ain' dar."
Then the old man turned to the negroes and in his loud, melodious voice
concluded, "I gibs you one mo' 'zortation. You IS free, but ez I say so
of'un you ain' free ter do foolishness. Tek yo' wibes en chil'un; dey
yourn. Tek yo' clo'es; you arned urn en much mo', but you kyant tek de
mules en de ker'age: dey mars'r's. Go en wuck lak men en wimmin fer
hon'st wages en show you fit ter be free. Reckermember all I tole you
so of'un. De Lawd go wid you en kep you in de way ob life everlas'in'."
The better element among the negroes prevailed, for they felt that they
had had a spokesman who voiced their best and deepest feelings. One
after another came and wrung the hand of the old man and departed. To
"Pharo" and his wife few vouchsafed a glance, for they had cut the cord
of human sympathy. Many messages of affection, however, were left for
Miss Lou. The mothers took the babies from the carriage, Aun' Suke was
helped out and she sulkily waddled down the avenue with the rest. By
the time she reached the main road her powers of locomotion gave out,
causing her to drop, half-hysterical, by the wayside. Some counselled
her to go back, saying they would come for her before long; but pride,
shame and exhaustion made it almost as difficult to go back as to go
forward, and so she was left lamenting. With stern, inflexible faces,
master and mistress watched their property depart, then returned to the
house, while Uncle Lusthah mended the harness temporarily and took the
carriage back to its place. Standing aloof, Zany had watched the scene,
wavering between her intense desire to go and her loyalty to Miss Lou.
The sick girl had conquered, the negress winning an heroic victory over
herself. When she entered the back door of the mansion, her face rigid
from the struggle she had passed through, she was in no lamb-like mood.
Neither was her mistress, who was angrier than she had ever been in her
life.
"Well," she said to Zany in cold, cutting tones, "what are you doing
here? Looking around for something to carry off before you go also?"
Stung to the quick by this implied charge and lack of appreciation of
her great self-sacrifice, Zany replied hotly, "I done wid you, misus. I
tek no mo' orders fum you. I stay fer sump'n you doan know not'n
'bout--lub, but lub fer Miss Lou. Ef she kyant 'tect em 'gin you den I
go."