I was seated by the bathing-pond, alone, busied with a book, when I
heard Jake's familiar voice pronouncing my name: "Massr George."
"Well, Jake?" I responded, without withdrawing my eyes from the page.
"Ise wanted all da mornin to git you 'lone by yarself; Ise want to hab a
leetle bit ob a convasayshun, Massr George."
The solemn tone, so unusual in the voice of Jake, awoke my attention.
Mechanically closing the book, I looked up in his face: it was solemn as
his speech.
"A conversation with me, Jake?"
"Ye, massr--dat am if you isn't ingage?"
"Oh, by no means, Jake. Go on: let me hear what you have to say."
"Poor fellow!" thought I--"he has his sorrows too. Some complaint about
Viola. The wicked coquette is torturing him with jealousy; but what can
I do? I cannot _make_ her love him--no. `One man may lead a horse to
the water, but forty can't make him drink.' No; the little jade will
act as she pleases in spite of any remonstrance on my part. Well,
Jake?"
"Wa, Massr George, I doant meself like to intafere in tha 'fairs ob da
family--daat I doant; but ye see, massr, things am a gwine all wrong--
all wrong, by golly!"
"In what respect?"
"Ah, massr, dat young lady--dat young lady."
Polite of Jake to call Viola a young lady.
"You think she is deceiving you?"
"More dan me, Massr George--more dan me."
"What a wicked girl! But perhaps, Jake, you only fancy these things?
Have you had any proofs of her being unfaithful? Is there any one in
particular who is now paying her attentions?"
"Yes, massr; berry partickler--nebber so partickler before--nebber."
"A white man?"
"Gorramighty, Massr George!" exclaimed Jake in a tone of surprise; "you
do talk kewrious: ob coorse it am a white man. No odder dan a white man
dar shew 'tention to tha young lady."
I could not help smiling. Considering Jake's own complexion, he
appeared to hold very exalted views of the unapproachableness of his
charmer by those of her own race. I had once heard him boast that he
was the "only man ob colour dat could shine _thar_." It was a white
man, then, who was making his misery.
"Who is he, Jake?" I inquired.
"Ah, massr, he am dat ar villain debbil, Arens Ringgol!"
"What! Arens Ringgold?--he making love to Viola!"
"Viola! Gorramighty, Massr George!" exclaimed the black, staring till
his eyes shewed only the whites--"Viola! Gorramighty, I nebber say
Viola!--nebber!"
"Of whom, then, are you speaking?"
"O massr, did I not say da young lady? dat am tha young Missa--Missa
Vaginny."
"Oh! my sister you mean. Poh, poh! Jake. That is an old story. Arens
Ringgold has been paying his addresses to my sister for many years; but
with no chance of success. You needn't trouble yourself about that, my
faithful friend; there is no danger of their getting married. She
doesn't like him, Jake--I wonder who does or could--and even if she did,
I would not permit it. But there's no fear, so you may make your mind
easy on that score."
My harangue seemed not to satisfy the black. He stood scratching his
head, as if he had something more to communicate. I waited for him to
speak.
"'Scoose me, Massr George, for da freedom, but dar you make mighty big
mistake. It am true dar war a time when Missa Vaginny she no care for
dat ar snake in da grass. But de times am change: him father--da ole
thief--he am gone to tha udda world? tha young un he now rich--he big
planter--tha biggest on da ribber: ole missa she 'courage him come see
Missa Vaginny--'cause he rich, he good spec."
"I know all that, Jake: my mother always wished it; but that signifies
nothing--my sister is a little self-willed, and will be certain to have
her own way. There is no fear of her giving her consent to marry, Arens
Ringgold."
"'Scoose me, Massr George, scoose me 'gain--I tell you, massr, you make
mistake: she a'most consent now."
"Why, what has put this notion into your head, my good fellow?"
"Viola, massr. Dat ere quadroon tell me all."
"So, you are friends with Viola again?"
"Ye, Massr George, we good friend as ebber. 'Twar only my s'picion--I
wor wrong. She good gal--she true as de rifle. No more s'picion o'
her, on de part ob Jake--no."
"I am glad of that. But pray, what has she told you about Arens
Ringgold and my sister?"
"She tell me all: she see somethin' ebbery day."
"Every day! Why, it is many days since Arens Ringgold has visited
here?"
"No, massr; dar you am mistake 'gain: Mass Arens he come to da house
ebbery day--a'most ebbery day."
"Nonsense; I never saw him here. I never heard of his having been,
since my return from the fort."
"But him hab been, for all dat, massr; I see him meseff. He come when
you gone out. He be here when we goes a huntin'. I see um come
yest'day, when you any Mass Garger wor away to tha volunteers--dat he
war sat'n."
"You astonish me."
"Dat's not all, massr. Viola she say dat Missa Vaginny she 'have
different from what she used to: he talk love; she not angry no more;
she listen to him talk. Oh, Massr George, Viola think she give her
consent to marry him: dat would be dreadful thing--berry, berry
dreadful."
"Jake," said I, "listen to me. You will stay by the house when I am
absent. You will take note of every one who comes and goes; and
whenever Arens Ringgold makes his appearance on a visit to the family,
you will come for me as fast as horse can carry you."
"Gollys! dat I will, Massr George: you nebber fear, I come fass enuff--
like a streak ob de greased lightnin'."
And with this promise the black left me.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
With all my disposition to be incredulous, I could not disregard the
information thus imparted to me. Beyond doubt, there was truth in it.
The black was too faithful to think of deceiving me, and too astute to
be himself deceived. Viola had rare opportunities for observing all
that passed within our family circle; and what motive could she have for
inventing a tale like this?
Besides Jake had himself seen Ringgold on visits--of which _I_ had never
been informed. This confirmed the other--confirmed all.
What was I to make of it? Three who appear as lovers--the chief,
Gallagher, Arens Ringgold! Has she grown wicked, abandoned, and is
coquetting with all the world?
Can she have a thought of Ringgold? No--it is not possible. I could
understand her having an affection for the soldier--a romantic passion
for the brave and certainly handsome chief; but for Arens Ringgold--a
squeaking conceited snob, with nought but riches to recommend him--this
appeared utterly improbable.
Of course, the influence was my mother's; but never before had I
entertained a thought that Virginia would yield. If Viola spoke the
truth, she had yielded, or was yielding.
"Ah, mother, mother! little knowest thou the fiend you would introduce
to your home, and cherish as your child."