At early dawn the steamboat slowed down, and a scow, manned by two
bare-footed negroes with sweep oars, rounded to. In a few moments the
major, two guns, two valises, Jack, and I were safely landed on its wet
bottom, the major's bag with its precious contents stowed between his
knees.
To the left, a mile or more away, lay Crab Island, the landed estate of
our host,--a delicate, green thread on the horizon line, broken by two
knots, one evidently a large house with chimneys, and the other a clump of
trees. The larger knot proved to be the manor house that sheltered the
belongings of the major, with the wine-cellars of marvelous vintage, the
table that groaned, the folding mahogany doors that swung back for bevies
of beauties, and perhaps, for all I knew, the gray-haired, ebony butler in
the green coat. The smaller knot, Jack said, screened from public view the
little club-house belonging to his friends and himself.
As the sun rose and we neared the shore, there came into view on the near
end of the island the rickety outline of a palsied old dock, clutching
with one arm a group of piles anchored in the marsh grass, and extending
the other as if in welcome to the slow-moving scow. We accepted the
invitation, threw a line over a thumb of a pile, and in five minutes were
seated in a country stage. Ten more, and we backed up to an old-fashioned
colonial porch, with sloping roof and dormer windows supported by high
white columns. Leaning over the broken railing of the porch was a
half-grown negro boy, hatless and bare-footed; inside the door, looking
furtively out, half concealing her face with her apron, stood an old negro
woman, her head bound with a bandana kerchief, while peeping from behind
an outbuilding was a group of children in sun-bonnets and straw
hats,--"the farmer's boys and girls," the major said, waving his hand, as
we drove up, his eyes brightening. Then there was the usual collection of
farm-yard fowl, beside two great hounds, who visited each one of us in
turn, their noses rubbing our knees.
If the major, now that he was on his native heath, realized in his own
mind any difference between the Eldorado which his eloquence had conjured
up in my own mind, the morning before in Jack's room, and the hard, cold
facts before us, he gave no outward sign. To all appearances, judging
from his perfect ease and good temper, the paint-scaled pillars were the
finest of Carrara marble, the bare floors were carpeted with the softest
fabrics of Turkish looms, and the big, sparsely furnished rooms were so
many salons, where princes trod in pride, and fair ladies stepped a
measure.
The only remark he made was in answer to a look of surprise on my face
when I peered curiously into the bare hall and made a cursory mental
inventory of its contents.
"Yes, colonel; you will find, I regret to say, some slight changes since
the old days. Then, too, my home is in slight confusion owin' to the
spring cleanin', and a good many things have been put away."
I looked to Jack for explanation, but if that thoroughbred knew where the
major had permanently put the last batch of his furniture, he, too, gave
no outward sign.
As for the servants, were there not old Rachel and Sam, chef and valet?
What more could one want? The major's voice, too, had lost none of its
persuasive powers.
"Here, Sam, you black imp, carry yo' Marster Jack's gun and things to my
room, and, Rachel, take the colonel's bag to the sea-room, next to the
dinin'-hall. Breakfast in an hour, gentlemen, as Mrs. Slocomb used to
say."
I found only a bed covered with a quilt, an old table with small drawers,
a wash-stand, two chairs, and a desk on three legs. The walls were bare
except for a fly-stained map yellow with age. As I passed through the
sitting-room, Rachel preceding me with my traps, I caught a glimpse of
traces of better times. There was a plain wooden mantelpiece, a wide
fireplace with big brass andirons, a sideboard with and without brass
handles and a limited number of claw feet,--which if brought under the
spell of the scraper and varnish-pot might once more regain its lost
estate,--a corner-cupboard built into the wall, half full of fragments of
old china, and, to do justice to the major's former statement, there was
also a pair of dull old mahogany doors with glass knobs separating the
room from some undiscovered unknown territory of bareness and emptiness
beyond. These, no doubt, were the doors Anthony threw open for the bevies
of beauties so picturesquely described by the major, but where were the
Chippendale furniture, the George III. silver, the Italian marble mantels
with carved lions' heads, the marquetry floors and cabinets?
I determined to end my mental suspense. I would ask Rachel and get at the
facts. The old woman was opening the windows, letting in the fresh breath
of a honeysuckle, and framing a view of the sea beyond.
"How long have you lived here, aunty?"
"'Most fo'ty years, sah. Long 'fo' Massa John Talbot died."
"Where's old Anthony?" I said.
"What Anthony? De fust major's body-servant?"
"Yes."
"Go 'long, honey. He's daid dese twenty years. Daid two years 'fo' Massa
Slocomb married Mis' Talbot."
"And Anthony never waited at all on Major Slocomb?"
"How could he wait on him, honey, when he daid 'fo' he see him?"
I pondered for a moment over the picturesque quality of the major's
mendacity.
Was it, then, only another of the major's tributes to his wife,--this
whole story of Anthony and the madeira of '39? How he must have loved this
dear relict of his military predecessor!
An hour later the major strolled into the sitting-room, his arm through
Jack's.
"Grand old place, is it not?" he said, turning to me. "Full of historic
interest. Of co'se the damnable oligarchy has stripped us, but"--
Here Aunt Rachel flopped in--her slippers, I mean; the sound was
distinctly audible.
"Bre'kfus', major."
"All right, Rachel. Come, gentlemen!"
When we were all seated, the major leaned back in his chair, toyed with
his knife a moment, and said with an air of great deliberation:--
"Gentlemen, when I was in New York I discovered that the fashionable dish
of the day was a po'ter-house steak. So when I knew you were coming, I
wired my agent in Baltimo' to go to Lexington market and to send me down
on ice the best steak he could buy fo' money. It is now befo' you.
"Jack, shall I cut you a piece of the tenderloin?"