Early at morning, Bob and I were summoned by Old Master to go squirrel
hunting, to walk round the trees, and turn the squirrel into range
of his long rifle and the deadly squint of his sharp old eye. It was
spring-time and the squirrels were nipping the hickory buds; it was
sunrise and the bold cock-partridge, his feathers ruffled, strutted up
and down the top rail of the fence. We had not proceeded far before we
came upon a neighbor, 'Squire Boyle, sitting upon a log, picking at
the lock of his gun. He hailed Old Master and bade him wait a moment.
And both men, seated upon the log, fell into an argument that lasted
till the sun was high. We heard the blowing of the breakfast horn, we
saw the smoke rise in the fields, where the women were burning the
old corn-stalks; we saw the men breaking up the tobacco land, but
Old Master and the squire sat there and talked, and sometimes I was
afraid that they were going to fight, so fierce were their gestures
and so loud did they lift their voices. Bob and I were impatient, and
occasionally Bob would say, "Come on, pa." But the old man heeded him
not, until finally he turned about with anger in his eyes, and cried
out as if in pain: "If you don't quit nagging at me, I will box your
jaws. Go on to the house, both of you. 'Zounds, I can't budge but these
boys are dogging my foot-steps. Go on to the house and if I catch you
following me again, I'll whip you both."
We fell back a short distance and hid behind a clump of briars and
sat there watching, fearful that the two men were going to fight. But
their guns were thrown aside and they were walking up and down the
length of the log. "I tell you," Old Master cried, "that this step
will kill him. The people of this State will not put up with it. It
is well enough to talk about justice and human sympathy, but if Henry
Clay openly advocates the freeing of the slaves it will kill him. I
don't understand how he can be so untrue to the principles of his
community, but, 'Squire--" Here he halted in his walk and shook his
fist fiercely--"but, 'Squire, I can understand you, sir. You are not
a Southern man and you have never owned a slave. Ah, but you are an
American. Yes, I grant you that, but the real defender of this country
is the Southern man, sir. What's that you say? Would I break up the
Union rather than lose the slaves? No, sir, I would not; and there
will never be such an issue." Here he looked about and caught sight of
us lurking behind the briars.& "Boys!" he cried, taking up his gun and
pulling out the hickory ram-rod, "if you don't march off home, this
minute, I'll wear you both out." And as we had tasted that hickory and
knew its flavor, we scampered away.
"Do you know what they were talking about?" Bob asked, when we had
reached a safe distance.
"Something about making the black people free," I answered.
"They are free enough already," he replied, looking sharply at me as we
walked along the path.
"I'm not free," I rejoined. "I belong to you."
Then he looked at me proudly. "Yes," he said, "and we will have lots
of fun. When we get big, we'll get some great long guns and go out and
kill Indians, and if anybody tries to shoot you, I'll shoot him. Won't
I?"
"Yes, and I'll shoot anybody that tries to shoot you."
We had crossed the bars where the cows stood at evening waiting to
nourish their calves, and were going toward the stone spring-house,
when we met Old Miss.
"Robert," she said, "run and find your father, quick! Your sister Lou
is sick."
Bob turned to go back, and so did I, but she called me. "Dan, you are
not going. Go over to Aunt Mag's cabin and stay there until you are
sent for."
I sat in the cabin door and watched the old woman spin. She gave me a
bowl of bread and milk, and she told me that whenever I was mistreated
to slip into her house and hide under her bed. "I'm treated all right,"
I remember to have replied. And I recollect also to have declared that
I fought when they did not treat me well. "You'se er monstus brave
little man," she said, pausing at the door to pat me on the head. "Fo'
gracious, whut's de matter up at de house? Look at de folks all runnin'
er roun'? Go up dar an' see."
I was afraid to go in, believing, and not without cause, that Old Miss
would tap me on the head with her big store-room key, and I hung about
the door that opened out upon the long veranda. Everything was quiet
save the mocking-bird in his cage hung in the hall. But a moment later
I heard the well-known feet of Old Master, pacing up and down. I peeped
in and saw Dr. Bates walking toward the door, and I ran away and went
back to Aunt Mag's cabin. Old Silvy, the cook, took down the long horn,
with a snake and a deer's head carved upon it, and blew a blast for
dinner, and then the men and the plow horses came through the big gate,
with trace-chains jangling. I wondered what could have become of Bob.
It was rare, indeed, that we were so long separated. Aunt Mag gave
me another bowl of bread and milk, and I sat there on the doorstep,
watching the sun-mark slowly moving round the house. The men went back
to work. I dozed off to sleep and was aroused with a shake. I looked up
and saw a girl hastening up the path toward the house. Old Aunt Mag was
standing over me. "Dan'l," she said, looking down upon me, "po' Miss
Lou is gone--she died jest now."
The goodness and the sweetness of that fair young woman rushed upon me,
and I could not see for the tears that gushed to my eyes. In a moment
I recounted her kindness and her winsome smile--she had never spoken a
cross word to me. I had lost a protecting friend. Under a tree I lay
with my face buried in the grass, sobbing. An arm stole about my neck.
I looked up. Bob lay beside me.
This was my first grief. And oh, the awful sadness of the funeral.
Everywhere the negro's mellow song was hushed, and the trace-chains no
longer jangled. The sun was bright, the rose was fresh, the stiff-neck
tulip was proud, but the creek which yesterday went laughing through
the pasture was mourning now. The horses stood looking over the fence,
the frisky colts were surprised, and turning from their play, stretched
themselves out upon the clover. Old Aunt Mag dressed me, with the
tears shining on her black face. "Her speret is praisin' de Lawd dis
mornin'," she said. "You kin go ter de house now. All de black folks is
gwine ter look at her."
I stood at the parlor door, with my knees trembling. Old Master came
out to walk up and down the veranda. He saw me looking wistfully at
him, and he halted to speak to me, but his chin shook and he walked on.
Miss May came to me and told me to come with her. I stepped into the
room and my heart leaped into my throat at the sight--Miss Lou lying on
a bed of roses. Slowly our people came in, as silent as the pillow of
white roses holding that beautiful head, and stood there, awe-struck.
From a distant room came the broken lamentations of Old Miss. An old
black man, a giant who preached for the negroes, stood at the head of
the rose-shroud. He gazed with the tears in his eyes, and turning away
he said: "De Lawd neber called home er mo' beautiful speret." Old
Master came in, and the two men put their hands upon each other and
wept.
There was no hearse, no carriages. Through the garden gate they bore
their beautiful burden, and slowly the throng of neighbors followed,
the negroes chanting mournfully. A white man spoke of the resurrection
and the light, and the old negro giant prayed, with his knees in the
clay. Old Master led Old Miss home to the dead hush of the great house;
and at midnight I heard the old man's feet pacing up and down the hall.
It seemed a crime to let him walk out there alone. Once I thought I
heard him stop at my door, and I got up and went to him. "Marster," I
said, "won't you please let me walk with you?"
He said nothing, but he sobbed, and then I knew that he would not drive
me away. And so I walked with him until daylight was come. "Run along
now," he said. "Be a good boy and you will go--go where she has gone."