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[Illustration: _Abner gently checked his mare, and sat watching her._]
CRESTLANDS
_A Centennial Story of Cane Ridge_
BY
MARY ADDAMS BAYNE
_Illustrated by O. A. Stemler_
THE STANDARD PUBLISHING COMPANY
CINCINNATI, OHIO
COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY
THE STANDARD PUBLISHING CO.
CINCINNATI, O.
DEDICATION
_To my husband, J. C. Bayne, who in this, as in all else I have
attempted, has given loving, loyal, unstinted support and
encouragement._
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
THE COMING OF THE SCHOOLMASTER 1
CHAPTER II.
GETTING TO WORK 19
CHAPTER III.
CANE RIDGE MEETING-HOUSE 27
CHAPTER IV.
WINTER SCHOOL-DAYS 38
CHAPTER V.
"SETTIN' TILL BEDTIME" 42
CHAPTER VI.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO 59
CHAPTER VII.
THE "HOUSE-RAISIN'" 69
CHAPTER VIII.
LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM 75
CHAPTER IX.
THE GREAT REVIVAL 78
CHAPTER X.
AFTERNOON IN THE GROVE 82
CHAPTER XI.
LIGHT DAWNS 91
CHAPTER XII.
COMMENT AND CRITICISM 96
CHAPTER XIII.
COURT DAY 103
CHAPTER XIV.
BETSY SAYS "WAIT" 107
CHAPTER XV.
THE WAITING-TIME 113
CHAPTER XVI.
A SINGULAR WILL 120
CHAPTER XVII.
AT CANE RIDGE AGAIN 130
CHAPTER XVIII.
DRAKE PRACTICES PENMANSHIP 135
CHAPTER XIX.
THE BETROTHAL 141
CHAPTER XX.
THE LONE GRAVE IN THE MOUNTAINS 151
CHAPTER XXI.
GILCREST'S ATTITUDE 159
CHAPTER XXII.
BANISHMENT 169
CHAPTER XXIII.
MASON ROGERS' DIPLOMACY 173
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE BAR SINISTER 181
CHAPTER XXV.
THE PACKAGE OF OLD LETTERS 190
CHAPTER XXVI.
SPRINGFIELD PRESBYTERY 199
CHAPTER XXVII.
BETSY DECLINES THE HONOR 203
CHAPTER XXVIII.
AT THE BLUE HERON 213
CHAPTER XXIX.
AUNT DILSEY TO THE RESCUE 221
CHAPTER XXX.
YOUNG LOCHINVAR 228
CHAPTER XXXI.
A NOVEL BRIDAL TOUR 232
CHAPTER XXXII.
EXIT JAMES ANSON DRANE 241
CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE STRANGER PREACHER 252
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE CUP OF COLD WATER 258
CHAPTER XXXV.
CONCLUSION 263
APPENDIX 269
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
1. Abner gently checked his mare, and sat
watching her _Frontispiece_
2. Cane Ridge Meeting-house 27
3. Portrait of Barton Warren Stone 113
4. "I have come for my answer, Betty" 143
5. At this juncture the door was flung open by old Dilsey 225
6. The bridal equipage comes to grief 236
PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS.
Abner Dudley (Logan,) a young schoolmaster from Virginia.
Major Gilcrest, ex-Revolutionary soldier and prominent churchman.
Mason Rogers, pioneer settler and warm advocate of Barton Stone.
Barton Warren Stone, preacher at Cane Ridge meeting-house.
James Anson Drane, young lawyer and land agent.
Betsy Gilcrest, only daughter of Major and Mrs. Gilcrest.
Abby Patterson, niece of Major Gilcrest.
Sarah Jane Gilcrest, wife of Major Gilcrest.
Cynthia Ann Rogers, bustling wife of Mason Rogers.
Aunt Dilsey, negro nurse and under-house keeper at Oaklands.
MINOR CHARACTERS.
David Purviance, Simon Lucky, Matthew Houston, Wm. Trabue, Shadrac
Landrum, Thomas Hinkson, members of Cane Ridge Church.
Richard McNemar, tried by synod for heresy.
General Wilkinson, Judge Innes, Judge Murray, Judge Sebastian, supposed
Spanish intriguants.
Graham, detective in employ of Federal Government.
Henry Clay and Joseph Hamilton Daviess, opposing counsel in the Burr
trial.
Polly Hinkson and Molly Trabue, rustic belles.
Richard Dudley, of Virginia, foster-father of Abner Dudley (Logan.)
John Calvin, Martin Luther, Silas, Philip, Matthew, sons of Major and
Mrs. Gilcrest.
Henry, Susan, Lucindy, Lucy, Tommy, Barton, the six children of Mason
and Cynthia Ann Rogers.
Uncle Tony, Rube, Tom, Rache, Aunt Dink, slaves belonging to the
Rogerses.
CRESTLANDS
_A Story of Early Kentucky_
MARY ADDAMS BAYNE
CHAPTER I.
THE COMING OF THE SCHOOLMASTER
The spirit of Indian Summer, enveloped in a delicate bluish haze,
pervaded the Kentucky forest. Through the treetops sounded a sighing
minor melody as now and then a leaf bade adieu to the companions of its
summer revels, and sought its winter's rest on the ground beneath. On a
fallen log a redbird sang with jubilant note. What cared he for the
lament of the leaves? True, he must soon depart from this summer home;
but only to wing his way to brighter skies, and then return when
mating-time should come again. Near a group of hickory-trees a colony
of squirrels gathered their winter store of nuts; and a flock of wild
turkeys led by a pompous, bearded gobbler picked through the
underbrush. At a wayside puddle a deer bent his head to slake his
thirst, but scarcely had his lips touched the water when his head was
reared again. For an instant he listened, limbs quivering, nostrils
dilating, a startled light in his soft eyes; then with a bound he was
away into the depths of the forest. The turkeys, heeding the tocsin of
alarm from their leader, sought the shelter of the deeper undergrowth;
the squirrels dropped their nuts and found refuge in the topmost
branches of the tree which they had just pilfered; but the redbird,
undisturbed, went on with his caroling, too confident in his own beauty
and the charm of his song to fear any intruder.
The cause of alarm was a horseman whose approach had been proclaimed by
the crackling of dried twigs in the bridle-path he was traversing. He
was an erect, broad-shouldered, dark-eyed young man with ruddy
complexion, clear-cut features, and a well-formed chin. A rifle lay
across his saddle-bow, and behind him was a pair of bulky saddle-bags.
He wore neither the uncouth garb of the hunter nor the plain homespun
of the settler, but rather the dress of the Virginian cavalier of the
period, although his hair, instead of being tied in a queue, was short,
and curled loosely about his finely shaped head. The broad brim of his
black hat was cocked in front by a silver boss; the gray traveler's
cape, thrown back, revealed a coat of dark blue, a waistcoat ornamented
with brass buttons, and breeches of the same color as the coat,
reaching to the knees, and terminating in a black cloth band with
silver buckles.
He rode rapidly along the well-defined bridle-way, and soon emerged
into a broader thoroughfare. Presently he heard the high-pitched,
quavering notes of a negro melody, faint at first and seeming as much a
part of nature as the russet glint of the setting sun through the
trees. The song grew louder as he advanced, until, emerging into an
open space, he came upon the singer, a gray-haired negro trudging
sturdily along with a stout hickory stick in his hand. The negro doffed
his cap and bowed humbly.
"Marstah, hez you seed anythin' ob a spotted heifer wid one horn broke
off, anywhars on de road? She's pushed down de bars an' jes' skipped
off somewhars."
"No, uncle, I've met no stray cows; but can you tell me how far it is
to Major Hiram Gilcrest's? I'm a stranger in this region."
"Major Gilcrest's!" exclaimed the darkey. "You'se done pass de turnin'
whut leads dar. Didn' you see a lane forkin' off 'bout a mile back by
de crick, close to de big 'simmon-tree? Dat's de lane whut leads to
Marstah Gilcrest's, suh."
"Ah, I see! but perhaps you can direct me to Mister Mason Rogers'
house? My business is with him as well as with Major Gilcrest."
"I shorely kin," answered the negro, with a grin. "I b'longs to Marse
Mason; I'se his ole uncle Tony. We libs two mile fuddah down dis heah
same road, an' ef you wants to see my marstah an' Marstah Gilcrest
bofe, you might ez well see Marse Mason fust, anyways; kaze whutevah he
say, Marse Hiram's boun' to say, too. Dey's mos' mighty thick."
The stranger turned his head to hide a momentary smile.
"You jes' ride straight on," continued Uncle Tony, pointing northward
with his stick; "fus' you comes to a big log house wid de shettahs all
barred up, settin' by itse'f a leetle back frum de road, wid a woods
all roun' it--dat's Cane Redge meetin'-house. Soon's you pass it, you
comes to de big spring, den to a dirty leetle cabin whar dem pore white
trash, de Simminses, libs. Den you strikes a cawnfiel', den a orchid.
Den you'se dar. De dawgs an' chickens will sot up a tur'ble rumpus, but
you jes' ride up to de stile an' holler, 'Hello!' an' some dem
no-'count niggahs'll tek yo' nag an' construct you inter Miss Cynthy
Ann's presence. I'd show you de way myse'f, on'y Is'e bountah fin' dat
heifer; but you carn't miss de way."
With this he hobbled off down the road in search of the errant heifer.
Meanwhile our traveler rode steadily forward until, in another
half-hour, he came in sight of a more prosperous-looking clearing than
any he had seen since leaving Bourbonton. To the right of the road some
long-horned cattle and a mare and colt were grazing in a woodland
pasture; to the left, in a field, several negroes were gathering the
yellow corn from the shock and heaping it into piles. In an orchard
adjoining the cornfield a barefooted, freckled-faced little girl was
standing under an apple-tree with her apron held out to catch the fruit
which another barefooted, freckled-faced little girl in the branches
overhead was tossing down to her. In the center of a tree-shaded yard
stood the house, a spacious, two-story log structure, with a huge rock
chimney at each end.
As the stranger drew rein at the stile, he was greeted by a chorus of
dogs, followed instantly by the cries of a number of half-clad,
grinning little darkeys who came running forward from the negro
quarters in the rear.
"Doan be skeered o' Ketchum, Mistah; he shan't tech you," called the
largest of them, a bright-skinned mulatto, quieting the snarling dog
with a kick.
"Reckon Marse Mason's somewhars 'roun' de place, suh," added the darkey
in answer to the traveler's inquiry. "Miss Cynthy Ann she's in de
settin'-room. Jes' walk in dar tru de passage-way, an' knock at de fust
door you comes to. I'll tek yo' hoss, suh."
The stranger crossed the low, clapboard-covered porch and entered a
wide, dusky hall running through the entire length of the house. The
hum of a spinning-wheel guided him to a side door, at which he knocked.
In answer to a loud "Come in," he stepped into a large room made
cheerful by a gay rag carpet on the floor. A comely, middle-aged woman
sat at a side window, at work with her needle on some coarse homespun
material. Near her a bright-faced, rosy-cheeked girl, clad in short,
linsey dress and homespun apron, had charge of the spinning-wheel in
the center of the room. In one corner a negro girl was carding wool;
and on the wide rock hearth two little boys were parching corn in a
skillet.
"Glad to see you, suh," exclaimed Mrs. Rogers heartily, hastening
toward the stranger with outstretched hand. "Susan," she said to the
spinner, who came forward with a modest courtesy and a shy "Good
evenin'," "set a cheer an' tek the gentleman's hat. Rache"--to the
negro--"put by yer cardin' an' tek thet spinnin'-wheel out to the
loom-room. Tommy an' Buddy, stop litt'rin' up the h'arth, an' run wash
yer faces. Heah, tek this skillet with you, an' then see ef you kin
find yer pap. He's down whar they're geth'rin' cawn, I reckon."
Seizing a split broom as she spoke, she brushed the hearth, then gave a
tap with her foot to the smouldering logs, which broke into a blaze and
sent a shower of sparks up the wide chimney.
"The days is gittin' cooler, 'spesh'ly ez night comes on. Draw up to
the fire, suh--an', heah, tek this cheer; it's comf'tabler then
that'n'," she said hospitably, ejecting a big tortoise-shell cat from
the depths of a cushioned rocker which she pulled forward.
"My name is Dudley, madam; Abner Dudley," said the guest as he
exchanged the straight, split-bottom chair for the rocker. "I learned
from Squire Osborne, of Bourbonton, that a teacher was wanted in this
neighborhood. I had intended going to Major Gilcrest's to-night, but
made the wrong turning, and then met your old servant, who directed me
here."
"You're welcome, I'm shore, 'spesh'ly ef you're a schoolmastah. We'd
begun to think we warn't to hev no school a'tall this wintah. Folks
'roun' heah air beginnin' to tek big stock in schoolin'," she went on
as she resumed her seat and began to sew.
"So Squire Osborne told me," answered Dudley. "I'm glad the people are
interested in educational matters."
"Yes; Mr. Rogers, Hirum Gilcrest an' John Trabue air plum daft about
it. Preachah Stone said last time he preached fur us thet we sartainly
air progressin', an' I'm glad on it, too, though I never hed edvantiges
myse'f. When I wuz a little gal down in Car'liny, I went to school long
'nough to l'arn my a-b-c's. Then the redskins broke up the school, an'
we didn't hev no more tell I wuz a big gal an' 'shamed to go an' l'arn
my a-b abs 'long with the little shavers. When I wuz 'bout sixteen,
'long comes Mr. Rogers, an' I didn't keer nothin' more 'bout school.
You know, when a gal gits marryin' in her haid, thar ain't no room left
in it fur book-l'arnin'. Mason he wuz a sprightly, well-sot-up young
fellah, an' soon's I laid eyes on him (it wuz at a house-raisin'
party), I wuz ready to say 'snip' ez soon ez he'd say 'snap.' Folks
them days didn't fool 'way much time a-courtin'. A man'd see a likely
gal, an' soon's he'd got a piece o' ground cl'ared an' a cabin raised,
they'd be ready to splice. So Mason an' me wuz married, an' moved up to
Kaintuck. Thet fust wintah, while we wuz a-livin' in the fort, Mason he
broke his laig out huntin', an' while he wuz laid up a spaill, he
l'arned me to read an' write an' ciphah some. I reckon ef it hadn't 'a'
been fur thet crippled laig o' his'n, I'd nevah l'arned even thet
much." She dropped her work for a moment as she reviewed this incident
of her early married life.
"Doubtless, madam, you underrate your stock of learning. I dare say you
made rapid progress," said Dudley, politely.
"Oh, I l'arned the readin' an' writin' all right, but, la! I nevah hed
no haid fur figgahs. I jogged 'long purty brisk with the addin' an'
subtractin', but them multiplyin' tables floored me. To this day I
allus staggers at the nines, an' ef you wuz to ax me how much wuz seven
times nine, I'd haf to count on my fingahs before I could tell whuthah
it made forty-eight or fifty-seven--though I know it's one or tuthah.
But times is changed, an' I want my childurn edicated in all the
accompaniments."
"How many children have you?"
"Six livin'. We lost our fust two. Henry is goin' on seventeen, an' he
jes' natch'ally teks to books--knows more'n his pap now, I reckon. Why,
he kin figgah ez fast ez I kin ravel out a piece o' knittin', an' I
nevah in my borned days heard nobody, 'cept mayby Preachah Stone, whut
could read lak him. He kin run 'long ovah them big names in the papah
an' them generalgies in the Bible lak a racin' pony. Susan, our eldest
gal, is a little the rise o' fourteen, an' wuz counted the best spellah
in the school last wintah. The twins, Lucindy an' Lucy, air real peart,
too, fur ther age, jes' turned intah ther ninth year. Tommy, he's only
five, but his pap'll sign him, too; fur we want him brung 'long fast in
his books befoh he's big 'nough to holp with the wuck."
"That leaves only your youngest, I believe," said Dudley. "What is his
name?"
"His real name is Barton Warren Stone, aftah our preachah. Mason he
sets a big store by Preachah Stone--says he's the godliest man to be so
smart an' the smartest man to be so godly he evah seen; an' you know
them two things don't allus jump togethah."
"No, indeed," acknowledged Dudley; "they're not so often found in
company as one might wish."
"Jes' so," assented Mrs. Rogers. "Well, ez I was a-sayin', Brothah
Stone hed been preachin' fur us onct a month at Cane Redge
meetin'-house 'bout a year when our youngest wuz borned; an' nothin'
would do Mason but he must be called fur the preachah. It's a
well-soundin' name, I think myse'f. So we writ it down in the big
Bible, but, la! he might ez well be called aftah Ebenezer or Be'lzebub
or any the rest o' them Ole Testament prophets. 'Bart,' or 'Barty,' is
all he evah gits o' his big name, an' most times it's jes' 'Sonny' or
'Buddy.' But I reckon you're nigh 'bout starved, aftah ridin' so fur,"
she added, folding her sewing and rising briskly. "Heah, you kin look
ovah last week's paper tell the men folks gits in. We air mighty proud
o' that paper. It's the fust evah printed in Kaintuck. Mason an' Henry
sets up tell nigh onto nine o'clock readin' it, the fust night aftah it
comes. It's printed at Lexin'ton by John Bradford. He usetah live out
heah, but, ten or twelve year ago, he moved intah Lexin'ton an' started
up the 'Gazette,' an' I reckon it's 'bout the fines' paper whut evah
wuz; leastways, it makes mighty fine trimmin's fur the cup'od shelves."
When his garrulous hostess had departed, Dudley, instead of reading the
paper, looked about him. The chinked log walls of the room and the
stout beams overhead were whitewashed, and the four tiny windows were
curtained with spotless dimity. The high-posted bedstead was furnished
with a plump feather bed, a bright patchwork quilt, and fat pillows in
coarse but well-bleached slips. Underneath the four-poster was a
trundle-bed with a blue and white checked coverlet. In an angle by the
fireplace was a three-cornered cupboard, and between the front windows
stood a chest of drawers with glass knobs. On the chest lay a big
Bible, a hymn-book, and several more well-thumbed volumes. A large deal
table with hinged leaves, a rude stand covered with a towel, several
rush-bottomed chairs, and the rocker constituted the chief items of
furniture. On the tall mantel, beside a loud-ticking clock, shone
several brass candlesticks, flanked by a china vase, a turkey wing, and
a pile of papers. Suspended from a row of pegs near the bed were
various garments, and over the back doorway a pair of buck horns
supported a rifle, near which hung a powder-horn.
Presently a heavy step was heard on the loose boards of a back porch.
"Lucy," called a loud voice from without, "fotch some hot watah and the
noggin o' soap. Lucindy, find me a towel." Further commands were lost
in a loud splashing and spluttering; and in a few minutes Mason Rogers,
red-faced, red-haired, and huge of frame, entered the room, pulling
down the sleeves of his coarse shirt as he came.
"Howdy? howdy? Glad to see you, suh," he exclaimed, extending his hand.
"My wife says you're a schoolmarster; and you air ez welcome ez rain to
a parched cawnfield. Whar'd you say you hailed frum?" He seated himself
as he spoke, tilting his chair against the mantel.
"From Virginia, sir."
"From Virginny! Then you're twict ez welcome. I wuz borned an' raised
in the old State myse'f; and I'll allus hev a sneakin' fondness fur
her, though she wouldn't loose her holt on us ez soon ez she oughter,
an' she hain't treated us egzactly fair 'bout thet Transylvany College
bus'ness, nuther."
"Oh," Dudley said pleasantly, "Virginia's the mother State, you know,
and Kentucky a favorite child whom she grieved to have leave the
parental roof."
"Well, hev it your own way, suh," answered Rogers, genially, drawing
from the pocket of his butternut jeans trousers a twist of tobacco and
helping himself to a generous chew. "'Pears to me, though, she acted
more lak a stepmother--couldn't manidge us herse'f, but wuz jealous uv
us settin' up fur ourse'ves. Still, that's all past an' gone. We got
our freedom ez soon ez it wuz good fur us, I reckon; so I shan't hold
no gredge agin her--'spesh'ly ez it won't mek a mite o' diffruns to her
ef I do. Whut part o' Virginny air you frum, suh?"
"Culpeper County, near----"
"Culpeper County!" ejaculated Rogers, bringing his chair to a level
with a bang and planting a hand on each knee. "Why, thet's my county,
an' thar ain't another lak it on the livin' airth. Cynthy Ann," he
called, striding to the back door, "you an' Dink skeer up somethin'
extry fur suppah, can't you? This young feller's frum Culpeper
County.--Hi, thar, Eph, give the gentleman's hoss a rubbin' down an' a
extry good feed, an' let him have the best stall--Whut you say? Dandy
an' Roan in the best stalls? Turn 'em out, then. Don't stand thar
scratchin' yer haid an' grinnin' lak a 'possum, but stir yer stumps
'bout thet hoss!" Returning to his chair and resuming his former
attitude, he said in a milder tone: "I 'low you b'long to the
lawyer-makin' class o' schoolmarsters; all the teachers we've had yit
b'longed to one o' two kinds. Either they wuz jes' school-keepers, kaze
they wuz too 'tarnal lazy to do anythin' else, or they wuz ambitious
young fellers whut aimed to mek the schoolmarster's desk a
steppin'-stone to the jedge's bench. Now, you don't look lak one o' the
lazy kind; so I reckon you air a sproutin' lawyer, hey?"
"No, sir, I've no ambition of that kind. My intention is to look about,
while teaching, for a good tract of land. I want to settle in Kentucky,
not as a lawyer, but as a farmer."
"Now you're talkin' sense! Lawyers an' perfessionals air gittin' ez
thick in Bourbon an' Fayette ez lice in a niggah's haid. Ev'ry othah
young fellah you see, ef he hez any book-l'arnin', thinks he's a second
Patrick Henry or John Hancock. But whut we need hain't more lawyers an'
sich lak, but more farmahs an' carpentahs an' shoemakahs. An', ez fur
land, thar's a track uv 'bout three hundurd acres back thar on Hinkson
Crick whut ole man Lucky, I heah, will sell fur one dollah an' two bits
a acre--lays well, is well watered an' well timbered, an' the sile
fairly stinks with richness. All it needs is cl'arin' up. I've been
castin' longin' eyes on it myse'f, but I couldn't manidge no more land
jes' now, I reckon. So my advice fur you is to buy uv Lucky right away.
An', I tell you whut, ef you hain't got money 'nough by you jes' now,
I'll lend it to you, an' tek a morgitch on the land. I tell you this is
the fines' country in the univarse--healthy climit, sile thet'll grow
anything, an', to cap all, the fines' grazin' in the world. Nevah seed
nothin' lak it! Talk 'bout yer roses an' honeysuckles! they can't hold
a candle to the grass 'roun' heah. It has a sortah glisten to it an' a
bluish look when it heads out thet beats any flower thet blows fur
purty. I hain't no Solomon, nor yit among the prophets; but, mark my
word, in twenty year from now, this'll be the gairden spot o' creation.
A clock-tinkah frum Connecticut, whut wuz heah last spring, got sortah
riled at us, an' said we Kaintucks wuz ez full o' brag ez ef we wuz
fust cousins to the king of England; but, Lawd! hain't we got reason to
brag? Hain't ourn a reasonabler conceit then thet uv them ole
'ristercrats 'roun' Lexin'ton an' Bourbonton, allus talkin' o' ther
pedergrees, an' ez proud ez though they wuz ascended frum the Sultan o'
Asia Minor or the Holy Virgus hisse'f?"
"Indeed, you have reason to be proud," agreed Dudley, warmly; "in only
a few years you have made a howling wilderness to blossom as the rose."
"You may well say this wuz a howlin' wilderness. Why, suh, jes' twenty
year ago, in the spring o' 1780, when Dan'l Boone come to Kaintuck frum
Car'liny, 'bout fifty uv us frum thet State come with him, through
Cumberlan' Gap by the ole Wilderness road, an' we fit Injuns an'
painters an' copperhaids all 'long the way."
"Did you settle at Boonesborough first?"
"Some did; but me an' Cynthy Ann (we wuz jes' married then) an' the
Houstons an' Luckys an' Finleys an' Trabues pushed on up to whar
Bourbonton is now. We built a fort near a big spring, an' called it an'
the crick near by aftah ole Matt Houston. Thar wuzn't anothah house in
this region, 'cep' at Bryant Station; and look at us now! Lexin'ton,
nearly two thousand population--the biggest town in the State--an'
Bourbonton a-treadin' right 'long on her heels--ovah four hundurd
people now, an' a-growin' lak a ironweed. But in them ole days the only
road wuz a big buffalo trail whut hez sence been widened an' wucked up
inter 'Smith's wagon road,' runnin' 'long nigh Fort Houston; an' we
settlers would kill buffalo an' sich like, an' tan the hides. Then
'long in 1784 some uv us concluded, ez the Injun varmints hed 'bout all
been kilt or skeered away, that we'd open up farms. Boone come 'long
agin, an' we axed him whar to settle--you know, he'd roamed all ovah
these parts, an' knowed all the best places. He told us to come out to
this redge whut sep'rates the waters o' Hinkson an' Stoner Cricks; an'
he named it Cane Redge, fur, ez he said, the biggest cane an' the
biggest sugar-trees in Kaintuck growed on it. So we come; an' a
rough-an'-tumble life it wuz at fust." He crossed the room and drew
back the curtain from one of the windows. "Thet ole smoke-house out
thar undah the buckeye-tree wuz my fust home heah, suh. Until aftah the
fust craps wuz in, none o' the settlers' cabins hed anythin' but dirt
floors.
"Cissy," he said to Susan, who had just entered, "tell yer ma to git
out the boughten table-cloth an' them blue chaney dishes--an' say,
honey, you must set the table in heah. I hain't gwineter sot Mr. Dudley
down to eat in the kitchen the fust night he breaks bread with us.
"Welt, ez I wuz a-sayin'," he continued to Dudley, resuming his seat,
"our cabins hed dirt floors, an' the walls warn't chinked; an' ez fur
winder glass, why, bless yer soul, we hardly knowed thar wuz sich a
thing. The only cheers we had wuz stools made o' slabs sot on three
laigs. Our table wuz made the same, an' our bed wuz laid on slabs whut
rested on poles at the outsides, with the othah eends o' them let in
between the logs o' the hut. Henry wuz a baby then, an' he wuz rocked
in a sugar-trough cradle. But, pshaw! heah my tongue's a-runnin' lak a
bell clappah; I reckon these ole 'membrances don't intrust you much,
an'----"
"Indeed they do. It is more interesting than a romance. But tell me,
how did you acquire so many negroes? You surely didn't bring them with
you?"
"Lawd, no! Why, we wuz pore ez Job's turkey, an' hardly owned a shut to
our backs, let 'lone niggahs. Aftah the country wuz more cl'ared up,
folks moved in frum Virginny an' even Pennsylvany, an' brought slaves
with 'em. Then the Yankee dealers begun to fotch 'em in an' sell 'em at
Lexin'ton an' Louisville an' Limestone. Rube an' Dink wuz the fust I
owned--bought 'em o' ole Jake Bledsoe in the spring o' '87. Now I own
nigh on to twenty darkeys, big an' little. The place is fairly runnin'
ovah with the lazy imps, an' it keeps me an' Cynthy Ann on the tight
jump frum sun-up tell dark lookin' aftah 'em."
"How long have you owned Uncle Tony? He talks like a Virginia darkey."
"So he is. He's not only frum my own State, but frum my county an'
town--ole Lawsonville. Cynthy Ann 'lows Tony's done got the measure o'
my foot, an' thet I spile him dreadful. I reckon I hev got a sneakin'
likin' fur his ole black hide; but whut could you expaict when he's the
only pusson, black or white, I've laid eyes on frum Lawsonville sence I
run away to Car'liny nigh thirty year ago? I'll tell you sometime how I
happened on Tony; hain't time now, fur I smell the bacon a-fryin', an'
I reckon suppah'll be dished up in no time now."
"Did I understand you to say Uncle Tony was from Lawsonville?"
"Egzactly! Do you know the place?"
"Why, it's my native town," said Dudley.
"Whut!" exclaimed Rogers. "Shake agin, suh," striding over to Dudley,
who also had risen. "Then you're jes' lak my own kin frum this time on.
Frum Lawsonville!" he repeated, a tear on each swarthy cheek as he
grasped the young man's hand.
"Say," he continued eagerly, after a moment's silence, "is the ole
forge whut stood at the crossroads, jes' on the aidge o' the town,
still thar? And the little brown house jes' behind it with the big
mulberry-tree in the yard? That's whar I wuz borned, an' many's the
hoss I've shod at the ole forge.--Tommy." addressing the little boy who
was passing the door of the room, "run to the spring-house branch an'
fotch some mint, an' then a gourd o' watah. We'll celebrate with a
toddy, I reckon, suh," he said to Dudley, as he went to the cupboard
for a glass, sugar, and a demijohn of whiskey. "Tell me, is ole Jeems
Little still livin'? He usetah keep the red tavern in the middle uv the
town. An' say, whut's become o' Si Johnson an' Mack Truman? We wuz boys
together, an' many's the game we've--Good Lawd!" he broke off joyfully
as he mixed the toddy, "I hain't been so happy sence the day I wuz
convarted an' chased the devil outen the persimmon-tree!"
Presently the family and their guest were seated at the supper table
bedecked in all the splendor of the "boughten cloth" and "blue chaney"
dishes, and loaded with corn dodgers, roasted potatoes, bacon, hominy,
pickled cabbage leaves and honey. Just as the others were taking their
places, Henry Rogers entered, and, after bashfully greeting the
stranger, took his place at the table. He was a tall, raw-boned,
sandy-haired lad of seventeen, with stooping shoulders, slouching
figure, big feet and toilworn hands. His large-featured, freckled face
was kept from commonplaceness by its frank gray eyes, broad brow, firm
chin and refined mouth.
"Try an' mek out yer suppah, suh," Mrs. Rogers urged as she handed
Dudley a cup of steaming coffee. "I'm feared thar ain't much fittin' to
eat. Ef we'd knowed in time, we might hev killed a shoat."
"Try some o' this middlin'," chimed in Rogers on the other side,
passing the dish. "Tilt up the plattah an' git some gravy; it's
better'n the meat. Wish 'twuz time fur 'possum. My mouth fa'rly watahs
fur a taste o' possum meat. 'Tain't jes' a fashionable dish now, I
reckon," he continued, reaching out for a potato; "Susan heah kindah
turns up her nose et 'possum, an' I reckon Mar'm Gilcrest would die
away et the sight uv 'possum meat on her table, but----"
The mention of Mrs. Gilcrest acted as a challenge to Mrs. Rogers. "Jane
Gilcrest's a fine somebody to turn up her nose et 'possum! A purty mess
her table'd be, fur all its silver spoons an' fine chaney, ef she hed
the settin' uv it.--Tommy, don't spill thet gravy on the tablechoth.
I'll send you'n' Buddy to the kitchen ef you can't eat lak white
folks!--She puffs herse'f on bein' a Temple, an' claims they wuz uv the
bluest blood in Virginny. Frum the way she spouts 'bout her
generalgies, her fambly tree must be ez fine an' big ez thet ole elm
down thah by the spring-house; but be thet ez it may, she's a pore limb
offen any fambly tree, with her sheftless ways.--Rache, fotch in some
moah hom'ny.--Gilcrest's got the finest house in these parts, and----"
"Yes," interrupted her husband, "the logs is weathahboa'ded an' the
walls plarstahed, an' thah's big porches with pillahs an' lots o' fine
fixin's 'roun' the cornish. The weathahboa'din' an' shingles an' door
an' windah frames wuz brung frum Pittsburg to Limestone on flatboats,
an' wagoned through frum thah. Sam Carr did the wag'nin'! 'Twuz a big
undahtakin', but he made money on it."
"The furnicher's ez fine ez the house," went on Mrs. Rogers. "Thar is a
boughten cairpit in the parlor, an' mahog'ny sofy an' cheers.--Lucindy,
wipe yer knife on yer bread befoh he'pin' yo'se'f to buttah. Can't I
nevah l'arn you no mannahs?"
"They have a big music-piece with ivory keys, and Miss Abby's teaching
Betsy to play on it," said Susan, forgetting her shyness, and her blue
eyes shining at the recollection of this wonder.
"Yes, it's all mighty fine, an' I'm shore I don't begrudge any uv it:
an' now thet Miss Abby hez come to live thar an' Betsy's gittin' to be
a big gal, things is bettah looked aftah," Mrs. Rogers conceded. "The
heft o' manidgment falls on Betsy an' Miss Abby, fur Jane hain't no
more faculty then a grasshopper.--Lucy, don't eat with yer fingers lak
a niggah. Whut's yer knife fur, ef it ain't to eat with?--I wuz ovah
there last spring, 'long in April or May, an' axed Jane ef she'd got
her soap grease made up. She looked et me onconsarned lak, an' says she
really didn't know; ole Dilsey allus looked aftah sich things. Think on
it! a wife an' mothah an' housekeepah not knowin' ef the year's soap
grease wuz wucked up--an' it late on in spring, too. Jane she knits
some, an' she kin do a lot o' fine herrin'-bonin' an' tattin' an'
tambour wuck; but spinnin' an' weavin' an' mekin' candles an' soap, an'
sich useful emplements, she don't consarn about no more'n my Lucindy
an' Lucy.--Henry, ef you eat any more o' thet bacon, you'll be
squealin' lak a pig, befoh mawnin'. Hev some more honey, Mistah
Dudley."
After supper was over, the table cleared, and the two little boys
stowed away in the trundle-bed, the rest of the family gathered about
the broad hearth.
"Heah." Mrs. Rogers said to the twins, "you don't go to the kitchen to
play. You fooled 'way so much time out in the orcha'd this evenin' thet
yer stent hain't nigh done. Set right down on them stools, an' don't
let me heah a word outen you tell them socks is ready to hev the heel
sot. Ha'f a finger length more you've both got to knit." She measured
the unfinished socks, and then handed each little girl her task.
"Henry, you'll put yer eyes out readin' by thet fire, an' me an' Susan
needs all the candle-light fur our wuck. 'Pears lak you ain't nevah
happy 'less you've got yer nose in some book. Heah, Cissy, them
britches' laigs is ready to seam up. Mek yer stitches good an' tight,
else you'll haf to rip it all out an' do it ovah. Snuff the candle,
fust, an' hand me thet hank o' thread an' the shears, befoh you set
down."
"Le's see," said Rogers to his guest, taking a corncob pipe from the
mantel and lighting it with a fire coal. "This is Friday, an' school
oughtah begin Monday. Bettah draw up a subscription paper to-night, an'
ride 'roun' with it airly to-morrow. I'll send Henry 'long to show you
the way. Set right down heah by the table an' draw up yer writin's.
Henry, light anothah candle." As he spoke, he went to the tall chest of
drawers and took out paper, a bottle of pokeberry ink, and a bunch of
quills.
"I see you kin mek a pen," he continued, as Dudley took out his knife,
selected a quill, and proceeded in a businesslike way to point it.
"Now, whut kind uv a fist do you write? Hope you kin mek all the
flourishes; ha'f the folks in Bourbon County jedge a man's book
l'arnin' by the way he writes. That's hunkey-dorey!" he exclaimed,
looking over the writer's shoulder. "Thet'll fetch 'em!"
When the clock pointed to half-past eight, Mrs. Rogers rolled up her
work, declaring it time for all honest folks to be abed. "Thar's lots
o' wuck to be did to-morrow, an' the only way to git it did, is to tek
a good holt on the day at the start, an' set it squarely on its laigs."