Christmas eve, while Hogan and Phelan lay slumbering, and Quinn and McCue
walked their rounds, gloating over revenge, Cassius the disreputable sat
in the kitchen of the Jäger barracks counting the advanced payment of
cash received from Hogan, and leering at the black and white tom-cat who
dozed peacefully by the dying fire.
“Pore ole Tom,” muttered Cassius guiltily, “hit’s gwinter ’sprise
dishyere kitty. ’Spec ole Tom gwinter git riled.”
The cat opened its yellow eyes.
“Gwinter ’sprise ole Tom,” repeated Cassius, compassionately pursing up
his lips.
The cat began to purr.
“Pore ole Tom,” sighed the darkey, tremulous with remorse.
The cat rose and began to march around, purring and hoisting an
interrogative tail.
Cassius continued to bemoan Tom’s fate and recount the money until he had
hardened his heart sufficiently. Finally he pocketed the coins, wiped
his eyes, and approached the cat with seductive caution. Tom permitted
caresses, courted further endearments, and suffered himself to be seized
and dropped into a potato sack. But, once imprisoned, he scrambled and
squalled and clawed until Cassius, unable to bear the sight and sound of
Thomas’s distress, deposited the sack in the pantry and fled from the
barracks to the street.
Guilt weighed heavily on the darkey’s soul; he shuffled along, battling
with conscience, trying to think of some compromise to save the cat and
his money at the same time. Moonlight flooded hill and valley; he heard
the sentries calling from post to post, the stir of the horses in the
artillery stables across the square, the creaking of leafless branches
overhead. He went around to the chicken coop; he often went there to
enjoy the thrill of a temptation that he dared not succumb to, also to
keep stray cats from doing murder on their own account. For, though he
dared not steal a single chicken, he could at least have the bitter
pleasure of foiling the feline marauders of Sandy Landing. This he was
accustomed to do with a tin box, placed on its side, a trip-stick, a
string, and a bit of bone for bait. Cat after cat he had trapped and
committed to the depths of Sandy River, highly commended by his colonel
and the rank and file of the Jägers. Now, as he stepped softly around the
corner, his eyes fell on a black and white object, stealing toward the
window where the long tin box stood temptingly baited. The next instant
the trip-stick clicked, the weighted box-lid fell and snapped, and
Cassius seized the box with a chuckle of triumph.
“Cat! Cat!” he repeated, addressing the frantic inmate of the box,
“doan’ yoh count yoh chickens fore dey’s hatched!—”
Cassius stopped short, pulsating with a new idea. Why sacrifice Tom when
here was a victim ready at hand, doubtless provided by Providence in the
nick of time to save a poor darkey from treachery? And it was a kind of
treachery that even Cassius found uncongenial.
“Pit-a-pat! Pit-a-pat!” mocked Cassius derisively listening to the
manœuvres of the imprisoned victim; “Stop dat scratchin’ on de box! He!
He! He! I’se gwineter let ole Tom outen de bag,—pore ole Tom! Dishyere
nigger ain’t no Judas! Lan’s sakes!—dat ole cat smell kinder funny!”
He wrinkled his nose, sniffed, turned a pair of startled eyes on the big
box under his arm, then a sickly smile of intelligence spread over his
face and he placed the box gently on the ground.
“Had mah s’picions ’bout dat black an’ white kitty-cat,” he muttered.
The animal inside scratched and writhed and scrambled.
“Lan’s sake!” chuckled Cassius, grinning from ear to ear, “’spec dat ole
pole-cat gwine twiss he tail off’n ’bout two-free minutes! Yah! yah!—he!
he! yiah—ho!”
And, as he entered the servant’s quarters he smote his knees and shook
his head, and laughed and laughed and laughed.
About midnight he took his banjo from the nail, thumbed it, and began to
croon to himself:
Bob-cat he caynt wag he tail—
Ain got no tail foh to wag!
Brown-bear clam’ de ole fence rail,
Rabbit holler; “Whar yoh tail?”
Bob-cat larf like he gwinter bus’;
Pole-cat stop for to see de fuss,
De bob-cat scoot, de bear turn pale,
An’ de rabbit he skip froo de ole fence rail.
“Ef yoh wanter see a tail,” sez de pole-cat; “see!
Mah tail’s long ’nuff foh mah folks an’ me!”