LANDLESS PAYS THE PIPER
The hut of the mender of nets stood upon a narrow isthmus connecting two
large tracts of marsh. That to the eastward was partially submerged at
high tide; that to the west, being higher ground, waved its long grass
triumphantly above the reaching waters. Upon this side the marsh was
separated from the mainland of forest and field by a creek so narrow
that the great pines upon one margin cast their shadows across to the
other, and one fallen giant quite spanned the sluggish waters.
The grass of this marsh was annually cut for hay; for though the great
herds of cattle belonging to the different plantations roamed at large
through all seasons of the year, seeking their sustenance from forest or
marsh, the more provident of the planters were accustomed to make some
slight provision against the winter, which might prove a severe one with
snow and ice.
It was late afternoon, and the hay was cut. The half dozen mowers threw
themselves down upon the stubble, stretching out tired limbs and
pillowing heated foreheads upon their arms. They had been given until
sunset to do the work. Having no task-master over them, and being hid
from the tobacco-fields by a convenient coppice of pine and cedar, they
had set to work in a fury of diligence, had cut and stacked the grass
in a race with time, and now found themselves possessed of a precious
hour in which to dawdle, and swap opinions and tobacco before the sunset
horn should call them to quarters.
Three were indented servants, lumbering, honest-visaged youths whose
aims in life were simple and well defined. Their creed had but four
articles: "Do as little as you can consistently with keeping out of the
overseer's black books; get your full share of loblolly and bacon, and
some one else's if you are clever enough; embrace every opportunity for
reasonable mischief that is offered you; honor Church and King, or say
you do, and Colonel Verney will overlook most pranks." Of the others,
one was the Muggletonian, one the mulatto, Luiz Sebastian, and one a
convict, not Trail, but the red-haired, pock-marked, sullen wretch who
had come to the plantation with Trail and Landless, and whose name was
Roach.
One of the rustics, who seemed more intelligent than his fellows, and
who had a good-humored deviltry in his young face and big blue eyes,
began an excellent imitation of Dr. Nash's exhortation to submission and
obedience delivered upon the last instruction day for servants, and soon
had his audience of two guffawing with laughter. The mulatto and the
convict edged by imperceptible degrees farther and farther away from the
others, until, within the shadow of a stack of grass, they lay side by
side and commenced a muttered conversation. The countenance of the white
man, atrocious villainy written large in every lineament, became
horribly intent as his amber-hued companion talked in fluent low tones,
emphasizing what he had to say by a restless, peculiar, and sinister
motion of his long, yellow fingers. At a little distance lay the
Muggletonian, his elbows on the ground, his ghastly face in his hands,
and his eyes riveted upon the Geneva Bible which he had drawn from his
bosom.
When he had brought his entertainment to a finish, the blue-eyed youth
rolled himself over and over the stubble to where the Muggletonian lay,
intent upon a chapter of invective. The youth covered the page with one
enormous paw and playfully attempted to insert the little finger of the
other into the hole in Porringer's ear. "What now, old Runaway," he
said, lazily, "hunting up fresh curses to pour on our unfort'net heads?"
"Cursed be he who makes a mock of age," said the Muggletonian, grimly.
"May he be even as the wicked children who cried to the prophet, 'Go up,
thou baldhead!'"
The boy laughed. "Tell me when you see brown bear a-coming," quoth he.
"Losh! a bear steak would taste mighty good after eternal bacon!"
Porringer closed his book and restored it to his bosom. "Tell me," he
said, abruptly, "have you seen aught of the young man called Landless?"
"'The young man called Landless,'" answered the other, petulantly, "has
a d--d easy berth of it! Yesterday evening I carried water from the
spring to the great house to water Mistress Patricia's posies, and every
time I passes the window of the master's room I see that fellow
a-sitting at his ease in a fine chair before a fine table, writing away
as big as all out of doors. And every time I says to him, says I, 'I
reckon you think yourself as fine as the Lord Mayor of London? A pretty
sec'tary you make!'"
"Have you seen him to-day?"
"No, I haven't seen him to-day,--but I see someone else. Mates," he
exclaimed, "Witch Margery's coming down t' other side of creek. I'll call
her over."
Scrambling to his feet he gave a low halloo through his hands, "Margery!
Margery! Come and find the road to Paradise!"
Margery waved her hand to signify that she heard and understood, and
presently stepped upon the fallen tree that spanned the stream. It was a
narrow and a slippery bridge, but she flitted across it with the secure
grace of some woodland thing, and, staff in hand, advanced towards the
men. Between them and the western sun she stood still, a dark figure
against a halo of gold light, and threw an intent and searching glance
over the unbroken green of the marsh and the blue of the waters beyond.
Then with a wild laugh she came up to them and cast her staff wreathed
with dark ivy upon the ground.
"The road is not here," she cried. "Here is all green grass, and beyond
is the weary, weary, weary sea! There is no long, bright, shining road
to Paradise." She sat down beside her staff, and taking her chin into
her hand, stared fixedly at the ground.
The men gathered around her, with the exception of the Muggletonian,
who, after audibly comparing her to the Witch of Endor, turned on his
side and drew his cap over his eyes as if to shut out the hated sight.
The convict took up the staff and began to pull from it the strings of
ivy.
"Put it down!" she said quickly.
The man continued to strip it of its leafy mantle.
"Put it down, can't you?" said the youth. "She never lets any one touch
it. She says an angel gave it to her to help her on her way."
With a snarling laugh the convict threw it from him with all his force.
Whirling through the air it struck the water midway from shore to shore.
Margery sprang to her feet with a loud cry. The boy rose also.
"D--n you!" he said, wrathfully. "I'd like to break it over your
misshapen back! Here, Margery, don't fret. I'll get it for you."
He ran to the bank, dived into the water, and in three minutes was back
with the dripping mass in his arms. He gave it into Margery's hands,
saying kindly while he shook himself like a large spaniel; "There! it
isn't hurt a mite!"
With a cry of delight Margery seized the "angel's gift" and kissed the
hand that restored it. Then she turned upon the convict.
"When I go back to my cabin in the woods," she said, solemnly, and with
her finger up, "I shall whistle all the fairy folk into a ring, all the
elves and the pixies, and the little brown gnomes who burrow in the
leaves and look for all the world like pine cones, and I shall tell them
what you did, and to-night they will come to your cabin, and will pinch
you black and blue, and stick thorns into you, and rub you with the
poison leaf until you are blotched and swelled like the great bull frog
that croaks, croaks, in these marshes."
There was an uneasy ring in the convict's laugh, full of bravado as he
meant it to be. Margery continued with an ominously extended forefinger.
"And then they will fly to the great house where the master lies
sleeping, and they will whisper to him that you took away the angel's
gift from poor, lost Margery, and he will be angry, for he is good to
Margery, and to-morrow he will make Woodson do to you what he did to-day
to the Breaking Heart."
"To the Breaking Heart!" exclaimed her auditors.
Margery nodded. "Yes, the Breaking Heart. You call him Landless."
The Muggletonian sat up. "What dost thou mean, wretched woman! fit
descendant of the mother of all evil?"
Margery, offended by his tone, only pursed up her lips and looked wise.
"What did the master have done to Landless, Margery?" asked the youth.
Margery threw her worn figure into a singular posture. Standing
perfectly straight, she raised her arms from her sides and spread them
stiffly out, the hands turned inward in a peculiar fashion. Then, still
with extended arms, she swayed slightly forward until she appeared to
lean against, or to be fastened to, some support. Next she threw her
head back and to one side, so that her face might be seen in three
quarter over her shoulder. Her mobile features wreathed themselves in an
expression of pain and rage. Her brows drew downward, her thin lips
curled themselves away from the gleaming teeth, and, at intervals of
half a minute or more, her eyelids quivered, she shuddered, and her
whole frame appeared to shrink together.
The pantomime was too expressive to be misunderstood by men each of whom
had probably his own reasons for recognizing some one or all of its
features. The convict broke into a yelling laugh, in which he was
joined, though in a subdued and sinister fashion, by Luiz Sebastian. The
rustics looked at each other with slow grins of comprehension, and the
blue-eyed youth uttered a long shrill whistle. The great letter upon the
cheek of the Muggletonian turned a deeper red, and his eyes burned. The
youth was curious.
"Tell us all about it, Margery," he said, coaxingly, "and when the
millons are ripe, I'll steal you one every night."
Margery was nothing loth. She had attained the reputation of an
accomplished _raconteuse_, and she was proud of it. Her crazed
imagination peopled the forest with weird uncanny things, and fearful
tales she told of fays and bugaboos, of spectres and awful voices
speaking from out the dank stillness of twilight hollows. Often she sent
quaking to their pallets men who would have heard the war-whoop with
scarcely quickened pulses. And she could tell of every-day domestic
happenings as well as of the doings of the powers of darkness.
Her audience listened greedily to the instance of plantation economy
which she proceeded to relate.
"When was this, woman?" demanded the Muggletonian, when she had
finished.
Margery pointed to the declining sun and then upwards to a spot a little
past the zenith.
"Just after the nooning," said the Muggletonian, and began to curse.
Margery stood up, her staff in her hand, and said airily, "Margery must
be going. The sun is growing large and red, and when he has slipped away
behind the woods, the voices will begin to call to Margery from the
hollow where the brook falls into the black pool. She must be there to
answer them." She moved away with a rapid and gliding step, flitted
across the fallen tree, and was lost to sight in the shadow of the pines
beyond.
As the last flutter of her light robe vanished, a figure appeared,
walking rapidly along the opposite margin of the creek. The youth's
sight was keen. He sent a piercing glance across the intervening
distance and broke into an astonished laugh. "Lord in Heaven! it's the
man himself!" he cried in an awed tone. "Ecod! he must be made of iron!"
Landless crossed the bridge and came towards the staring group. His face
was white and set, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes, which
had the wide unseeing stare of a sleep-walker. He walked lightly and
quickly, with a free, lithe swing of his body. The men looked at one
another in rough wonder, knowing what was hidden by the coarse shirt. He
passed them without a word, apparently without knowing that they were
there, and went on towards the hut of the mender of nets. Presently they
saw him enter and shut the door.
The rustics and the convict, after one long stare of amazement at the
distant hut, began to comment freely and with much recondite blasphemy
upon the transaction recorded by Margery. Luiz Sebastian only smiled
amiably, like a lazy and well-disposed catamount, and the boy whistled
long and thoughtfully. But the countenance of Master Win-Grace Porringer
wore an expression of secret satisfaction.