There was an ancient enmity between Jupiter and Bacchus. While the former
was always quiet when Phillis came to see his mistress during her life,
Bacchus never went near him without his displaying symptoms of the greatest
irritation; his back was invariably raised, and his claws spread out ready
for an attack on the slightest provocation. Phillis found it impossible to
induce the cat to remain away from Aunt Peggy's house; he would stand on
the door-step, and make the most appalling noises, fly into the windows,
scratch against the panes, and if any children approached him to try and
coax him away, he would fly at them, sending them off in a disabled
condition. Phillis was obliged to go backward and forward putting him into
the house and letting him out again. This was a good deal of trouble, and
his savage mood continuing, the servants were unwilling to pass him,
declaring he was a good deal worse than Aunt Peggy had ever been. Finally,
a superstitious feeling got among them, that he was connected in some way
with his dead mistress, and a thousand absurd stories were raised in
consequence. Mr. Weston told Bacchus that he was so fierce that he might do
some real mischief, so that he had better be caught and drowned. The
catching was a matter of some moment, but Phillis seduced him into a bag by
putting a piece of meat inside and then dexterously catching up the bag and
drawing the string. It was impossible to hold him in, so Bacchus fastened
the bag to the wheelbarrow, and after a good deal of difficulty, he got him
down to the river under the bridge, and threw him in. He told Phillis when
he got home, that he felt now for the first time as if Aunt Peggy was
really dead, and they all might hope for a little comfort. Twenty-four
hours after, however, just as the moon was rising, Bacchus was taken
completely by surprise, for Jupiter passed him with his back raised, and
proceeded to the door of his old residence, commencing immediately a most
vociferous demand to be admitted.
Bacchus was speechless for some moments, but at last made out to call
Phillis, who came to the door to see what was the trouble. "Look thar,"
said he, "you want to make me b'lieve that aint ole Aunt Peggy's
wraith--ground can't hold her, water can't hold him--why I drowned him
deep--how you 'spose he got out of that bag?"
Phillis could not help laughing. "Well, I never did see the like--the cat
has scratched through the bag and swam ashore."
"I b'lieves you," said Bacchus, "and if you had throw'd him into the fire,
he wouldn't a got burned; but I tell you, no cat's a gwine to get the
better of me--I'll kill Jupiter, yet."
Phillis, not wanting the people aroused, got the key, and unlocked the
door, Jupiter sprang in, and took up his old quarters on the hearth, where
he was quiet for the night. In the morning she carried some bread and milk
to him, and told Bacchus not to say any thing about his coming back to any
one, and that after she came home from town, where she was going on
business for Mrs. Weston, they would determine what they would do. But
Bacchus secretly resolved to have the affair settled before Phillis should
return, that the whole glory of having conquered an enemy should belong to
him.
Phillis was going on a number of errands to L----, and she expected to be
detained all day, for she understood shopping to perfection, and she went
charged with all sorts of commissions; besides, she had to stop to see one
or two sick old colored ladies of her acquaintance, and she told Mrs.
Weston she might as well make a day of it. Thus it was quite evening when
she got home--found every thing had been well attended to, children in bed,
but Bacchus among the missing, though he had promised her he would not
leave the premises until her return.
Now, if there is a severe trial on this earth, it is for a wife (of any
color) who rarely leaves home,--to return after a day of business and
pleasure, having spent all the money she could lay her hands on, having
dined with one friend and taken a dish of tea and gossiped with another--to
return, hoping to see every thing as she expected, and to experience the
bitter disappointment of finding her husband gone out in spite of the most
solemn asseverations to the contrary. Who could expect a woman to preserve
her composure under such circumstances?
Poor Phillis! she was in such spirits as she came home. How pretty the
flowers look! She thought, after all, if I am a slave, the Lord is mighty
good to me. I have a comfortable home, and a good set of children, and my
old man has done so much better of late--Phillis felt really happy; and
when she went in, and delivered all her parcels to the ladies, and was
congratulated on her success in getting precisely the desired articles, her
heart was as light as a feather. She thought she would go and see how all
went on at home, and then come back to the kitchen and drink a cup of good
tea, for the family had just got through with theirs.
What a disappointment, then, to find any thing going wrong. It was not that
Bacchus's society was so entirely necessary to her, but the idea of his
having started on another spree. The fear of his being brought home
sometime to her dead, came over her with unusual force, and she actually
burst into tears. She had been so very happy a few minutes before, that she
could not, with her usual calmness, make the best of every thing. She
forgot all about the pleasant day she had passed; lost her wish for a cup
of tea; and passing even her pipe by, with a full heart she took her seat
to rest at the door. For some time every thing seemed to go wrong with her.
All at once she found out how tired she was. Her limbs ached, and her arm
hurt her, where she had carried the basket. She had a great many troubles.
She had to work hard. She had more children than anybody else to bother
her; and when she thought of Bacchus she felt very angry. He might as well
kill himself drinking, at once, for he was nothing but a care and disgrace
to her--had always been so, and most likely would be so until they were
both under the ground.
But this state of mind could not last long. A little quiet, rest, and
thought had a good effect. She soon began again to look at the bright side
of things, and to be ashamed of her murmuring spirit. "Sure enough he has
kept very sober of late, and I can't expect him to give it up entirely, all
of a sudden. I must be patient, and go on praying for him." She thought
with great pity of him, and her heart being thus subdued, her mind
gradually turned to other things.
She looked at Aunt Peggy's house, and wondered if the old woman was better
off in another world than she was in this; but she checked the forbidden
speculation. And next she thought of Jupiter, and with this recollection
came another remembrance of Bacchus and his antipathy both to the mistress
and her cat. All at once she recalled Bacchus's determination to kill
Jupiter, and the strange ferocity the animal evinced whenever Bacchus went
near him; and she got up to take the key and survey the state of things at
the deserted house. There was no key to be found; and concluding some one
had been after Jupiter, she no longer delayed her intention of finding out
what had occurred in that direction. She found the key in the door, but
every thing was silent. With some caution she opened it, remembering
Jupiter's last unexpected onset; when, looking round by the dim light, she
perceived him seated opposite Aunt Peggy's big chest, evidently watching
it. On hearing the door open, though, he got up and raised his back, on the
defensive.
Phillis, having an indefinable feeling that Bacchus was somehow or other
connected with the said elevation, looked carefully round the room, but saw
nothing. Gradually the chest lid opened a little way, and a sepulchral
voice, issuing from it, uttered in a low tone these words:
"Phillis, gal, is that you?"
The cat looked ready to spring, and the chest lid suddenly closed again.
But while Phillis was recovering herself the lid was cautiously opened, and
Bacchus's eyes glaring through the aperture. The words were repeated.
"Why, what on earth?" said the astonished woman: "Surely, is that you,
Bacchus?"
"It is, surely," said Bacchus; "but put that devil of a tiger out of de
room, if you don't want me to die dis minute."
Phillis's presence always had an imposing effect upon Jupiter; and as she
opened the door to the other room, and called him in, he followed her
without any hesitation.
She shut him in, and then hurried back to lift up the chest lid, to release
her better half.
"Why, how," said she, as Bacchus, in a most cramped condition endeavored to
raise himself, "did the lid fall on you?"
"No," groaned Bacchus. "Are you sure de middle door's shut. Let me git out
o' dis place quick as possible, for since ole Peggy left, de ole boy
hisself has taken up his abode here. 'Pears as if I never should git
straight agin."
"Why, look at your face, Bacchus," said his wife. "Did Jupiter scratch you
up that way."
"Didn't he though? Wait till I gits out of reach of his claws, and I'll
tell you about it;" and they both went out, Phillis locking the door to
keep Jupiter quiet, that night at least. After having washed the blood off
his face and hands, and surveyed himself with a dismal countenance in the
looking-glass, Bacchus proceeded to give an account of his adventure.
After dinner he thought he would secure Jupiter, and have him effectually
done for before Phillis came back. He mustered up all his courage, and
unlocking the house, determined to catch and tie him, then decide on a mode
of death that would be effectual. He had heard some officer from Mexico
describe the use of the lasso, and it occurred to him to entrap Jupiter in
this scientific manner. But Jupiter was an old bird; he was not to be
caught with chaff. Bacchus's lasso failed altogether, and very soon the cat
became so enraged that Bacchus was obliged to take a three-legged stool,
and act on the defensive. He held the stool before his face, and when
Jupiter made a spring at him, he dodged against him with it. Two or three
blows excited Jupiter's anger to frenzy, and after several efforts he
succeeded in clawing Bacchus's face in the most dreadful manner, so that it
was with the greatest difficulty he could clear himself. Desperate with
pain and fright, he looked for some way of escape. The door was shut, and
Jupiter, who seemed to be preparing for another attack, was between him and
it. He had but one resource, and that was to spring into Aunt Peggy's great
chest, and close the lid to protect himself from another assault.
Occasionally, when nearly suffocated, he would raise the lid to breathe,
but Jupiter immediately flew at him in such a furious manner, that he saw
it would be at the risk of his life to attempt to escape, and he was
obliged to bide his time. What his meditations were upon while in the
chest, would be hard to decide; but when once more protected by the shadow
of his own roof, he vowed Jupiter should die, and be cut in pieces before
he was done with him.
Phillis went to Miss Janet, and gave her an account of the whole affair,
with Bacchus's permission, and the kind old lady came to him with some
healing ointment of her own manufacture, and anointed his wounds.
William was sent for; and the result of the discussion was, that he and his
father should, early next morning, shoot the much dreaded cat effectually.
This resolution was carried into effect in the following manner. Phillis
went a little in advance with a large bowl of bread and milk, and enticed
Jupiter to the hearth. As he was very hungry, he did not perceive William
entering with a very long gun in his hand, nor even Bacchus, his ancient
enemy, with a piece of sticking-plaster down his nose and across his
forehead.
William was quite a sportsman. He went through all the necessary
formalities. Bacchus gave the word of command in a low voice: Make ready,
take aim, fire--bang, and William discharged a shower of shot into
Jupiter's back and sides. He gave one spring, and all was over, Bacchus
looking on with intense delight.
As in the case of Aunt Peggy, now that his enemy was no more, Bacchus
became very magnanimous. He said Jupiter had been a faithful old animal,
though mighty queer sometimes, and he believed the death of Aunt Peggy had
set him crazy, therefore he forgave him for the condition in which he had
put his face, and should lay him by his mistress at the burial-ground.
Lydia begged an old candle-box of Miss Janet, for a coffin, and assisted
her father in the other funeral arrangements. With a secret satisfaction
and a solemn air, Bacchus carried off the box, followed by a number of
black children, that Lydia had invited to the funeral. They watched Bacchus
with great attention while he completed his work, and the whole party
returned under the impression that Aunt Peggy and Jupiter were perfectly
satisfied with the morning's transactions.