TO THE MOUNTAIN FARM
They rose early in the morning, breakfasted and drove down to Cortlandt
Street ferry to take the boat for Jersey City.
They caught the eight-thirty train in good time and without hurry.
Stuart found their baggage all right, waiting for them, checked it to
Washington, and then entered with his companions into the ladies’ car,
and the express train started on its Southern flight. Their journey was
quick, pleasant and uneventful.
Early in the evening of that day they reached Washington.
Leaving their trunks in the baggage room at the depot, and taking only
their hand-bags, they went to one of the best hotels, where they dined
and engaged rooms for the night and the next day.
This was Palma’s first sight of the capital of her country, and Cleve
determined to linger a few hours to show her the public buildings.
The next morning Stuart engaged a hack and took his two companions for a
long, circuitous drive, which should include visits to the White House,
the State, War, Navy and Treasury Departments and the Capitol. But these
visits were necessarily short. There was no time to pay their respects
to the President in the Executive Mansion, or to listen to the debates
in the Senate Chamber or in the House of Representatives, or to the
cases in the Supreme Court. They had to get back to lunch and then to
take the train for West Virginia.
Two o’clock in the afternoon found them again seated in the cars and
flying westward.
Up to this hour the day had been clear and mild, but now the sky began
to cloud over, and when they reached Alexandria the snow began to fall,
and as they left the old town behind them and the short winter afternoon
drew to a close, the storm thickened, if that could be called a storm in
which there was no wind, but a cataclysm of snow falling directly,
silently and continuously upon the earth.
Strange scenes were traced on the window panes without, weird,
beautiful, fantastic scenes—cities, palaces, gardens, trees—all drawn in
frosted silver. They fascinated the imagination of Palma, who was never
tired of gazing and dreaming. Little or nothing could be seen through
the storm of the country over which they were flying.
They reached Oaklands, on the Alleghanies, late at night. They had taken
through tickets to the end of their railway journey, and the train was
going on that night; yet, as the storm continued, they determined to lay
over until the next morning. Leaving their trunks on the baggage car to
go on to their destination, they took their hand-bags and walked through
the thickly falling snow to the hotel, where they were comforted by
clean rooms, glorious hickory wood fires, and a delicious supper of
venison steaks, broiled ham, buckwheat cakes, hot rolls, tea, coffee,
and rich cream, and butter, and honey such as is seldom found anywhere.
It had been a fatiguing day, and as they could see nothing of the
country for the snowstorm, they all went to bed and slept the sleep of
the just.
The next morning they rose to a new life.
The storm had ceased. The sky was clear, and the sun was shining over a
splendid, a magnificent, a dazzling world of mountains, valleys, fields
and forests, all arrayed in white and decked with diamonds.
“Oh! Cleve,” cried Palma, looking out from the upper window of her
bedroom, “does it seem possible that only yesterday we were in a crowded
city, not two hundred miles away, and that now we find ourselves in this
magnificent scene? Why, Cleve, yesterday seems to be a thousand years
behind, and this to be another planet!”
Her rhapsodies were interrupted by the breakfast bell.
And for all answer Cleve smiled, drew her arm within his own and led her
down to the breakfast table.
There were some few other wayfarers present in the room, and these men
were standing around the great, roaring wood fire and talking politics
or crops. But they soon left their position and sat down at the board.
Mrs. Pole was there, too, ready to join her friends.
“Did you ever dream of such a world as this, Poley?” whispered Palma as
the three sat down in a row, Palma being in the middle.
“No, never in all my life! I never even ’magined as there could be such
a place as this! And, oh! ain’t it cold, neither?”
“Cold, but such a fine, pure, healthy cold. And the hot coffee will warm
you, Poley.”
The breakfast was in many respects a repetition of the supper, and in
all respects equal to it.
“Seems to me I eat twice as much at every meal as I ever eat before in
my life, and yet I feel hungry in an hour after I have finished. I do
believe if I was to live up in these regions I should have such an
appetite I should think of nothing but eating and drinking from morning
till night, and dreaming of nothing but eating and drinking from night
till morning!”
“I wonder how long that would last?” queried Palma, but Mrs. Pole did
not answer. She had turned her attention the the venison steaks.
As soon as breakfast was over the three put on their outer garments and
walked through the main street of the mountain town to the railway
station, where they had to wait for nearly half an hour for the Eastern
train to come in. Then they took their seats on board of it, and were
once more flying westward through the magnificent mountain world in its
splendid winter garb of ice and snow.
All day long our travelers reveled in the glorious panorama that flew
past the windows of their car, until night closed in and hid the scene
from their vision.
It was quite dark when they reached the little way station of Wolfswalk,
where they left the train, which stopped half a minute and then sped on
westward.
It was too dark for our party to see anything but the few glimmering
lights at the station and in the stable yard of the village tavern on
the opposite side of the road, and the ghostly forms of the mountains
looming through the obscurity.
“It is now seven o’clock, and we are three miles from Wolfscliff Hall. I
shouldn’t wonder if we have to spend the night at the inn here,” said
Cleve Stuart as he drew the arm of his wife within his own and prepared
to cross the country road, or village street, as you may prefer to call
it.
“If the inn is anything like that of Oaklands I shall not be very sorry.
Come on, Poley. Keep close behind us,” said Palma.
“’Scuse me, marster; is you Marse Cleve Stuart?” inquired a voice from
the darkness at his elbow.
“Yes. Who are you?” demanded Stuart.
“’Sias, sah, old Marse John Clebe’s man f’om Wolfskif; yas, sah, dat’s
me,” replied the invisible.
“And you have been sent to meet us, eh? Come in here. Let us take a look
at one another,” said Cleve with a laugh, as he led the way into the
lighted station.
The negro was a man of middle age, tall, stout, strong and very black,
and clothed in a warm suit of thick, heavy homespun cloth.
“You have been sent to meet us?” again suggested Stuart.
“Yas, sah! along wid de ox cart, to fetch you an’—de ladies, do’ I did’n
know as dere wasn’t no more’n one lady; but, laws! de more de better, I
say, marster, and my name’s ’Sias, old Marse John Clebe’s man f’m
Wolfskif Hall—yas, sah.”
“Did you say you had brought the ox cart for us?” inquired Stuart in
some dismay as he thought of his dainty wife.
“Yas, sah! I has fetched the ox cart, wid Baron an’ Markiss yoked on,
an’ dey is de best beasts on de plantation, kind and gentle as new milk,
’specially Baron, to fetch you an’ de ladies and de luggage, all at de
same time, an’ dere’s a-plenty o’ hay for de ladies to sit on jes’ as
clean an’ as dry n’s sweet as wiolits.”
“But was there no carriage in my uncle’s stables?” inquired Cleve.
“Plenty. But, Lor’, marster, dey was one an’ all so ole an’ rusty, an’
flip-floppy, an’ ramshakelly, dat dey couldn’t be trusted on good roads
in good wedder by daylight, let alone bad roads in bad wedder by night.
An’ wot is true ob de kerridges mought be said ob de hosses, likewise.
Dey wouldn’ be sho-futted on sich roads in sich wedder at night. De ox
cart is de mos’ safes’ an’ de oxes is de mos’ sho-futtedes’. An’ yo’
wouldn’ like to hab de ladies’ necks broke for de sake ob pomps an’
wanities in kerridges! Would yo’ now?”
Cleve laughed, but Palma put in her word:
“Oh, Cleve, I’m delighted! It is so new! such fun! to ride on the hay in
an ox cart! It seems so of a piece with all our strange experiences!
Yes! this is some new planet! Not our old familiar earth!”
“How did you happen to be here to meet us? We are a day and a half
behind time,” inquired Stuart.
“Ole Marse John Clebe, ob Wolfskif Hall—an’ I am his own man ’Sias, wot
nebber would ’mancipate him in de ole ages ob his onnerrubble life fur
all de President an’ Con’gess might say—telled me to come yere to meet
yer an’ stay for de las’ train till you ’rove, an’ dis is de mos’
secondes’ day as I hab been yere to meet yo’! An’ now, young marse, ef
yo’ll listen to me, yo’ll put de ladies in de cart an’ we’ll jog off.”
“All right, ’Sias. Show us the way to the chariot,” laughed Cleve.
The negro set his lantern down in a chair, took from it a bit of candle,
which he lighted by a match and replaced, and said:
“Now I shows the way, young marster,” and walked out of the station,
followed by Stuart, Palma and Poley.
He led them to the lower end of the platform near which the ox cart
stood, with its floor thickly carpeted with layers of hay, and with its
yoke of oxen standing and pawing in the cold night air. Their heads were
turned away from the town, as if all ready for their jog across the
country.
Stuart put Palma upon the cart, and she settled herself in the hay with
childish delight.
Then he helped Mrs. Pole to a seat beside her.
“And now, Marse Glebe, ef yo’ will jes’ git up dar on dat bench, in
front ob de two ladies, yo’ll obleege dis compinny! ’Caze, yo’ see, I’s
got to walk at the head ob de creeturs to keep ’em straight on to de
road.”
“Is that necessary?” inquired Stuart as he climbed to his place and
settled himself comfortably.
“‘N’essary?’” exclaimed ’Sias. “Why, la, bress yer soul, Marse Clebe!
dere’s places ’long dis road w’ere ef dis yere nigh beast was to make a
misstep, we’d all go ober down free fo’ hunderd feet to the rocks below.
No, sah! I’s gwine walk at dis creetur’s head and carry my lantern,
too,” concluded ’Sias as the oxen moved slowly and heavily onward as was
their manner.
The lantern might have been, and probably was, a help to the vision of
’Sias and so to the safety of his party, but it could show only a small
section of the road immediately under the feet of the conductor.
Nothing could be seen of the surrounding country except that it
consisted of densely wooded mountains, whose skeleton trees were faintly
outlined against the ground of snow.
When their eyes grew accustomed to the darkness the travelers in the
cart could see, to their horror, that they were plodding along a rough
and narrow road between a high rise of rocks on their right and a deep
fall on their left; but the cautious negro guide with his lantern walked
by the heads of the oxen between them and the precipice, keeping them
out of the terrible danger. For an hour their way lay along this road,
and then began slowly to descend a gradual slope, and finally turned to
the right and entered a thick wood.
’Sias heaved a deep sigh of relief and said:
“Peoples sez, w’en dey gits out’n dif’culty an’ danger, as dey’s ‘out’n
de woods.’ But, la! I allers feels as if I wasn’t safe until I was offen
dat dar debbil’s shelf, up dar, an’ got down yere in dese woods.”
“How far are we from the house, ’Sias?” inquired Stuart.
“On’y ’bout a mile, young marster. Get dere werry soon now. Dis yere is
all ole Marse John Clebe’s lan’.”
“Oh! is it?”
“Yas, sah. An’ dis woods usen to be called Wolfswalk in de ollen times,
I’s heern says, ‘cause dar was mos’ as many wolfs as trees, an’ de
station ober yonder was just named arter dese yer woods, an’ dats de
trufe for a fac’.”
They jogged through the dark, mysterious-looking woods for some time in
silence, Palma only once murmuring:
“It is like a dream, or a scene in a fairy tale. I feel as if we should
come upon something soon—an ogre’s castle, an enchanted beauty’s palace,
or something. Don’t wake me up, please, anybody.”
What they did come upon very soon was a glimmering light, that seemed to
shoot here and there through the thick, leafless trees like a firefly,
had it been summer instead of winter.
“It’s a lamp in de big hall; it shines right froo de fanlight ober de
front do’, an’ it seems to flit about so ’caze sometimes de trees sho’
it an’ sometimes dey doan’t,” ’Sias explained. And as he spoke the ox
cart slowly and clumsily drew up before a large, oblong building of the
simplest and plainest style of architecture common among the wealthier
class of that region at the time the house was planned.
Though the travelers could not, at that time of night, discern its
features, yet this seems the best time for their historian to describe
it.
The house was built in the rude, strong, plain style of the best old
colonial mansions, of rough-hewn gray rocks of every variegated shade of
red, blue, green, yellow, purple and orange, which gave a mosaic aspect
to the walls. It was an oblong double house, with a broad double door,
having two long windows on each side of the first floor, and five
windows on the second floor, surmounted by a steep roof, with five
dormer windows, and buttressed by four huge chimneys, two at each gable
end. There were many old oak, elm and chestnut trees around the
dwelling, and there were smaller houses, of rude construction, in the
rear.
When the ox cart stopped before the door Stuart got off his seat and
lifted down his wife and her attendant. He tucked Palma’s hand under his
arm and led her up the few steps that went up to the front door. That
door was open and full of light from a large lamp that hung from the
ceiling of the spacious hall, and within the door stood the master of
the house to welcome his coming relatives.
He was a man of middle height—the thinnest, whitest, most shadowy living
man they had ever seen.
“You are welcome to Wolfscliff, my dears,” he said, giving a hand each
to Palma and to Cleve.
“We are very glad to see you, uncle,” said the two in one breath.
“And this lady?” said the old-fashioned gentleman, with native courtesy
as he held out his hand to Mrs. Pole, of whom he had just caught sight.
“Our friend, Mrs. Pole, who never leaves Palma, uncle,” explained Cleve.
“Ah! I am glad to see you, ma’am,” said Mr. Cleve.
“Thank you, sir. I am only Mrs. Cleve Stuart’s housekeeper and
attendant,” said Mrs. Pole, who would not consent to seem a half an inch
above her real social position.
“Ah! And a very trusted and esteemed friend, also, I have no doubt,”
replied the old gentleman.
“She is, indeed, sir, like a mother to my delicate Palma,” assented
Stuart.
“I am very glad she consented to accompany you here,” said Mr. Cleve.
In the moment they stood there talking Palma took in with her eyes the
whole of the spacious hall. It ran from front to back through the middle
of the house, with double doors at each end, four doors on either side
and a broad staircase going up from the midst. A hat rack and half a
dozen heavy oak chairs were the only furniture. There was no carpet on
the polished oak floor, no pictures on the paneled wall.
“Will you come into the parlor, or would you prefer, first, to go to
your rooms?” inquired the old gentleman, opening a door on his right.
“Which would you rather do, Palma?” inquired Cleve.
“Oh, go into the parlor! You see, uncle, we have not come through dust,
but through snow, and we are as clean as when we had washed this
morning,” replied Palma.
The old man led the way into a large, square room, with paneled walls,
polished floor, heavy walnut chairs and tables, and a broad, open
fireplace, with brass andirons, on which was piled about an eighth of a
cord of blazing hickory logs. Around this was a brass fender; above it,
on the wall, a handsome carved oak mantelpiece surmounted by a broad
mirror, and down before it on the floor a rich old Turkey rug. Two large
armchairs stood in each chimney corner.
“Now, my dears, and you, ma’am, make yourselves comfortable and be quite
at home. Supper will be ready in a few minutes,” said Mr. Cleve as he
sank into one of the armchairs.
Then Palma saw how fragile he really was—his transparent face was as
white as ashes, his thin hair and thin whiskers were like floss of
silver, his hands were the longest, thinnest, fairest hands ever seen.
He was clothed in a dark blue dressing-gown which he folded double over
his knees, and the bald spot on the top of his head was covered with a
much worn old blue velvet skullcap. His aspect suggested frost, cobweb,
chrysalis. Only his deep-set, soft brown eyes shone warm and bright with
the fire of life, light and love from the true soul, so slightly held by
the fragile frame and almost ready to fly.