[2] Begun in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE No. 868.
BY MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL.
CHAPTER VI.
The two days' journey that followed was very much like that of the first
day--an early start, two hours' rest in the middle of the day, and the
night spent at a road-side tavern. On the third day they left
civilization behind them, and their mid-day rest was spent in the woods.
They were then upon a lower spur of the Blue Ridge Mountains. The road
for the first two days had been fairly good, but on the third day the
four roans had all they could do to haul the heavy coach up and down the
rough highway. They stood to their work gallantly, though, and Lord
Fairfax remarked that the coach could go twenty miles farther up the
mountain, where he had a hunting-lodge--a sort of outpost for Greenway
Court, and where the coach was stored. Glorious weather had followed
them. The air was keener and colder than in the low country, and Lance
produced a huge furred mantle, in which he wrapped Lord Fairfax, who sat
and read unconcernedly while the coach rolled and jerked and bumped
along. George was glad to make half his day's travel on horseback, and
the exercise, as a warmer-up, was so much better than the Earl's fur
mantle that he felt sometimes like suggesting a gallop to Lord Fairfax.
But he had the wit to keep his suggestions to himself, knowing that
older men can do their own thinking much better than it can be done for
them by fifteen-year-old boys. George had enjoyed every moment of the
trip so far. His attacks of homesickness were few, and he got over them
by the philosophical reflection that he would have been cruelly
disappointed if his mother had not allowed him to come. He began a
letter to his mother, writing a little every day, so that if he had a
chance to visit the low country it would be all ready to send at a
moment's notice. He was very happy. He had in prospect a new and
delightful experience in travel and association. When that was over he
had the cheerful hospitality and honest gayety of his Christmas at Mount
Vernon to look forward to with his brother and his sister-in-law, whom
he dearly loved, and dear little Betty; and after that a return home,
where he fitted naturally and easily into the position of his mother's
best helper and counsellor.
The singular attraction between the man of the world and the
unsophisticated young provincial gentleman grew each day. George had
never before met any one who had Lord Fairfax's store of experience, as
a soldier, a courtier, a man of affairs, and a member of a great
literary circle. Nothing was lost on the boy, and the Earl was charmed
and interested to find that a chance word dropped here and there would
remain in George's memory, who would recall it at a suitable time to ask
some intelligent question about it. Lord Fairfax sometimes smiled at
himself when he realized how much of his time and thought and
conversation was spent upon this boy, but he also realized that an
intelligent and receptive young mind is in itself one of the most
interesting things in the world, and when combined with the noble
personality and high breeding of Madam Washington's son it was
irresistible. For the first day or two he always spoke to George as "Mr.
Washington," and neither one could tell the exact occasion when he
dropped it for the more familiar "George." But it was done, and it put
them upon a footing of affection at once. George continued to say "my
lord," as that was the proper mode of address, but little by little he
revealed his heart to his new friend, and Lord Fairfax read him as an
open book. This was not at first, however, for George modestly conceived
himself to be a person of no consequence whatever, and was much more
eager to hear the Earl speak of his adventures than to tell all the
ideas and protests and ambitions he cherished himself.
On the evening of the fourth day they came to a log structure at the
foot of the mountains, where the coach was to be left. It was in a
cleared space on an open plateau, and above them towered the great peaks
of the Blue Ridge, which they must cross on horseback.
The night was bright and beautiful, a great vivid moon sailing
majestically in the heavens. There was in the clearing one large cabin,
with two beds in it and a large press, besides a table and some chairs.
In a smaller cabin two or three men lived the year round, while built on
to that was a substantial coach-house, where the great chariot was
stored, except when the Earl went upon his lowland journeys in state.
When the cavalcade stopped in the clearing Lord Fairfax alighted and
walked into the large cabin, followed by George. A fire roared upon the
broad, rude hearth, and in ten minutes Lance had unlocked the press, had
taken from it some bedlinen and blankets, and had made up the beds and
laid the table. Supper had been prepared in advance, and, as Lance was
an excellent cook, it was not to be despised--in particular, a great
saddle of venison, which had been hanging up for a week in anticipation
of the Earl's arrival. George could hardly have told what part of the
day's journey he always enjoyed most, but those suppers, with the Earl's
entertaining conversation, and his own healthy young appetite, and the
delicious sense of well-being when he drew up to the fire afterwards to
listen and ask questions, were perfectly delightful to him.
When they were seated at the table and about half through supper, Lord
Fairfax asked, smiling,
"How do you like the uncivilized wilderness, George?"
"But this is not the uncivilized wilderness yet," answered George,
smiling too. "We have a table and chairs, and knives and forks and
plates, and beds and blankets, and silver candlesticks."
"Still, it is the wilderness, and from now on we must depend upon
ourselves for company. The true meaning of the wilderness is absence
from the haunts of men. We shall be entirely alone at Greenway, except
for a few negroes and Indians. You will probably not see a white face,
except mine and Lance's, until you leave me."
"It will be quite enough, sir," replied George. "I would rather be with
a few people that I like than with a great crowd that I don't like."
"I felt the same in my youth. Afterwards there were circumstances in my
life which inclined me to solitude. I came to Virginia in search of it,
and I found it; and I also found peace. Once a year I go to the low
country--to Belvoir, my cousin William Fairfax's; to your brother's at
Mount Vernon; sometimes to see Colonel Byrd at Westover; but I always
return to my own fastness gladly. I feel more cheerful now than at any
time since we started. My old friends--my books--are waiting for me in
my library; I can only take a dozen with me when I go away. My doves and
pigeons, my dogs and horses, will all be the happier for my return home.
My servants will be glad to have me back--poor souls, they have but a
dull time of it all the year round; and I myself, having lived this life
so long, find that it suits me. I shall have your company for several
weeks; then I shall want you again next year."
"Next year, sir, I shall be sixteen, and perhaps I shall not be my own
master. I may be in his Majesty's service. But if I can come to you
again, you may be sure I will."
When supper was over the Earl drew his chair up to the fire, and, still
wrapped in his fur mantle--for the bitter wind blew through the cracks
and crannies of the cabin--sat in a reverie with his deep eyes fixed on
the blaze. George had meant that night to ask him something about the
siege of Bouchain, but he saw that the Earl was deep in thought, and so
said nothing. He began to wonder what his mother and Betty were doing at
that time. It was after supper at Ferry Farm, too. His mother was
knitting by the table in the parlor, with two candles burning, and Betty
was practising at the harpsichord. In his mother's bedroom--"the
chamber," as it was called in Virginia--a fire was burning, and around
the hearth were gathered the household servants picking the seed from
the cotton, which, when warmed by the fire, came out easily. This they
did while waiting until they were dismissed at nine o'clock. What was
Billy doing? and Rattler? While thinking these thoughts George dropped
asleep, and slept soundly until Lance waked him raking down the ashes
and preparing for the night.
Next morning George wakened early, as he supposed, seeing how dark it
was; but the sound of the rain upon the roof proved that it was not so
early, after all. He glanced through one of the two small windows of the
cabin and saw the water coming down in torrents. A regular mountain
storm was upon them. George sighed as he realized this. It meant
weather-bound for several days, as the roads across the mountains would
be likely to be impassable after such a storm. And so it proved. For
four days there was only an occasional let up in the downpour. Luckily,
no snow fell. And Lord Fairfax observed his young guest narrowly in
these days of being cooped up in a cabin, and found him less impatient
than might have been expected. George, seeing the elaborate preparations
that Lance always made for the Earl's comfort, imagined that he would
ill support the inconveniences of their enforced delay; but it proved
exactly the contrary. Lord Fairfax was not only patient but gay under
such annoyances as a leak in the roof and their rations being reduced to
corn-bread and smoked venison.
"It reminds me of our old days in the Low Countries," he said to Lance
the fourth night they spent at the cabin.
"Yes, my lord; but, saving your honor's presence, we would have thought
this a palace in those days. I don't think I ever was dry all over, and
warm all over, and had as much as I could eat from the time I went to
the Low Countries until after we had taken Bouchain, sir."
"Lance has told me about that adventure, sir," said George, slyly,
hoping to hear something more from Lord Fairfax about it.
"Pshaw!" cried the Earl, smiling; "Lance is in his dotage, and can talk
of nothing but what happened thirty or forty years ago. Our expedition
was a mere prank. I found out nothing, and risked not only my life but
this poor fellow's without warrant."
"The Duke, sir," said Lance, very respectfully, "was of another mind.
And, sir, I have never thought of Madame Geoffroy, and her fits and her
fainting and her furbelows, these thirty-five years without laughing."
At which George went off into such convulsions of laughter that Lord
Fairfax knew Lance had told him the whole story.
After four days of stormy weather it became clear and cold. They were
only twenty miles from Greenway Court, but the Earl sent a man ahead to
find out if the streams were fordable, and whether it were yet worth
while to start. The man came back the next day about sunset, saying it
would be possible for them to get to Greenway Court the next day.
Although George had stood the confinement in the cabin stoically, he was
delighted to be on the move again, and both he and the Earl relished
their last supper there the more for knowing it would be the last. All
the arrangements were made for an early start on horseback next morning,
and at nine o'clock Lord Fairfax and George were about turning in when
they heard a timid knock at the door.
Lance, with a candle in his hand, opened the door, and at first saw
nothing at all; but as his eyes became accustomed to the darkness he saw
a negro boy and a dog.
[Illustration: "IS MARSE GEORGE WASHINGTON HERE, SUH?"]
Lance was so surprised that he did not at first speak, but the boy piped
up very promptly, "Is Marse George Washington here, suh?"
George, on hearing his name called in that voice, jumped from his chair
as if he had been shot, and the next moment was standing face to face
with Billy, while Rattler sprang at him with wild barks of delight.
Billy's greeting was brief and to the point.
"Heah I is, Marse George, wid Rattler."
"Where on earth did you come from?" asked George, breathlessly, dragging
the boy into the cabin. As the light of the fire and the candles fell
upon him he looked as if he might have come three hundred miles instead
of less than a hundred and fifty, he was so thin, so hollow-eyed, and
gaunt. His shoes were quite gone except the uppers, and he was in rags
and tatters; yet nothing could dim the joy shining in his beady black
eyes, while his mouth came open as if it were on hinges. Lord Fairfax,
turning in his chair, was struck by the look of rapturous delight on
poor Billy's face. The boy, still grinning, answered:
"F'um Fredericksburg. I tooken de horse mos' ter de ferry, and den I
tu'n him loose, kase he had sense 'nough fer ter git ter de boat by
hisse'f. So arter I seen him mos' up ter de boat, me an' Rattler, we all
lights out arter de kerriage fo' Black Sam an' Gumbo have time fer ter
hunt fer me, an' we foller de track clean f'um Fredericksburg ter dis
heah place." Billy told this as if it were the commonest thing in the
world for a boy and a dog to follow a coach more than a hundred miles
from home. George was so astonished he could only stare at Billy and
gasp out,
"How did you manage to keep the track?"
"Dun'no', suh," replied Billy, calmly. "Rattler, he know de way better
'n me. When de rains come an' I los' de wheel tracks, I say ter dat ar'
dog, 'Lookee heah, dog, we is follerin' Marse George'--_he_ know dat jes
as well as a human; an' I say, 'You got ter fin' dat trail an' dem
tracks,' an' dat dog he know what I was talkin' 'bout, an' he wag he
tail, an' den he lay he nose to de groun', an' heah we is."
The Earl had laid down his book and was listening intently to Billy's
story. "And what did you live on--what did you have to eat on the
way--let me see--nearly eight days?"
"We didn't have nuttin' much," Billy admitted. "De mornin' we lef home I
tooken a big hoe-cake an' put it in my shut when warn' nobody lookin'.
De fus' day I eat some, an' gin some ter de dog. Arter dat I foun'
chinquapins an' ches'nuts an' some tu'nips 'long de road-side, an' I
could eat dem, but de dog couldn', so I kep' dat hoe-cake fur Rattler,
an' give him de las' piece yistiddy."
"Billy," asked George, with tears in his eyes, "were you _very_ hungry?"
For the first time a distressed look came into the boy's face. He was at
his journey's end, he was with Marse George, he had nothing more on
earth to wish for; but the recollection of the hunger of those eight
days--the cold, the weariness, the agonies of terror that sometimes
attacked him overcame him.
"Yes, suh, I was hungry," he said, with a sob, "dat's Gord's truf; an'
ef it hadn' been fur dis heah dog you neber would ha' seed Billy no mo'.
But dat dog, he go 'long snuffin', an' he were hongry too, I speck,
dough he had some hoe-cake twell yistiddy; an' if de dog coul' hol' out,
dis nigger could."
"I'll never, never forget it, Billy, as long as I live," said George,
half crying.
Then Lord Fairfax spoke. "But how did you escape from being stopped on
the road for a runaway?"
"Dun'no', suh," responded Billy, using his favorite formula. "We didn't
meet many white folks on de road, an' when we see 'em comin' we hide in
de bushes. I 'ain' never spoke ter a human sence we lef Fredericksburg.
In the daytime we hide somewh'yar by de road an' sleep, an' we trabbel
'mos' all night. 'Twas de full o' de moon, an' I see dem tracks jes same
as 'twas in daytime. Den, arter I los' 'em, dis heah dog, he jes keep de
road hisse'f--an' here I is."
"Lance," cried George, suddenly, "please get something for him to
eat--anything--everything you have!"
Billy's eyes glistened as, in a moment, Lance whipped out of the press
some cold meat and bread, and he attacked it ravenously. Meanwhile
George fed the dog, which was evidently the least starved of the two.
When Billy had eaten up everything that could be produced for him, he
quietly curled himself up near the fire, and in half a minute he was
sleeping the sleep of the just.
"What are you going to do with him?" asked Lord Fairfax of George.
"Keep him with me if you will allow me, sir."
"But what will your mother say? He seems to be a strong boy--his journey
proves that--and he no doubt has his work at Ferry Farm."
George smiled at the recollection of Billy's "work."
"I don't think, my lord, that Billy is of the slightest use at Ferry
Farm unless I am there. My mother, who believes in everybody's being
industrious, has done her best to make him work. So have his father and
mother, Uncle Jasper and Aunt Sukey. But except for waiting on me, and
taking care of my horse, Billy will absolutely do nothing. He is not
surly about it--he is always grinning and laughing and singing--but--I
can't explain it exactly--he will work his fingers to the bone for me,
but he won't work for anybody else."
"I should think Billy was not a very useful member of society," remarked
Lord Fairfax.
George said not a word, but he did not like aspersions of any kind on
Billy. Seeing this, Lord Fairfax said, in his usual kind tone:
"If it gives you pleasure, you must, of course, keep him with you--and
indeed there is nothing else to be done that I can see; and as you say
he is no good to your mother when you are not at home, perhaps he is
better off here. He seems a faithful little soul, and I am not surprised
that you are touched at his devotion."
George's face assumed an entirely different expression, but he merely
said, "Thank you, sir," and in a few minutes, after throwing a bear-robe
over Billy, George went to bed himself, with Rattler curled up by him.
Next morning they took the road soon after sunrise. Billy, who had
enough of walking for some time to come, was mounted on one of the
pack-horses. Two saddle-horses had been brought down from Greenway for
the Earl and his young guest; and together they led the procession along
the rough mountain road. The scenery was wildly beautiful. Occasionally
they wound along mighty precipices, where the horses could scarcely pick
their way. Again, they forded mountain streams that could be breasted
only by the most tremendous exertions. They made their way through a
great cleft in the mountains about mid-day, and began to descend towards
the valleys. The distance was but twenty miles, yet so difficult was the
road that it was late in the short autumn afternoon before Lord Fairfax,
pointing to a collection of roofs that lay directly below them in a
sheltered part of the valley, said to George, "There is Greenway Court."
By sunset they were riding up the rough road that led to the house.
It was a large, low building, with stables and offices projecting on
each side. The foundation was of stone, rudely but strongly cemented.
Half-way up the story and a half which constituted the building the
stone ceased, and logs, neatly and even artistically mortised together,
were carried to the roof. The effect was not unpleasing, especially as
many of the original forest trees had been left, and the building
blended well with its surroundings. Broad and shallow stone steps led up
to the main entrance, and two great oak doors studded with nails gave
entrance to it. George noticed that all of the windows were provided
with stout iron-bound shutters, with holes for musketry in them. The
door was also pierced for defence, and a very slight examination showed
that, if well garrisoned, the building could be converted into a
tolerably strong block-house. The Earl, as if reading the thoughts in
George's mind, remarked:
"We have to be provided here for attacks from the Indians, incited by
the French. The French have determined to extend their encroachments
eastward and southward by a chain of forts, and I make no doubt that
they contemplate a line that will extend from Canada to Louisiana. They
use the Indians as secret though powerful allies, and, by encouraging
them to harry and murder the whites in this wild part of the colony of
Virginia, they think that it will be abandoned, and that they can
advance their out-posts this far. Greenway Court has withstood one
siege, and can withstand another. There is a spring directly under the
house, and having some knowledge of mechanics, I have concealed the
source, which is at a distance from the house, and we get the spring
water by merely going down into the cellar. Then I keep constantly on
hand, in this same cellar, stores of provisions and ammunition, so we
are well able to defend ourselves, even against burning--for the Indians
have found out the use of the torch against white men's dwellings.
However, I hope we shall have no bouts with them while you are with us."
George said nothing, but he would have been more or less than a boy if
he had not longed in his heart for a bout with the savages, of which he
had heard much but seen little.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
CLEVER FEATS OF CHIMPANZEES.
BY R. L. GARNER.
Things are often done by monkeys which are very humanlike, but to them
the acts may have no meaning whatever, being purely the result of
imitation.
In all my researches among monkeys my chief aim has been to determine
the innate powers of the mind, and therefore I have not regarded the
tricks which they are often taught to do as being an index to their
mental qualities. I shall relate a few of the most rational acts that I
have known chimpanzees to perform. In these cases the animal was not
actuated by fear, but was prompted by his own desire to accomplish a
certain end to gratify his own wish.
Moses was the name of the young chimpanzee that lived with me in the
jungle. One day as we were taking a stroll through the forest we came to
a small branch of running water. Moses never liked to get his feet wet,
but I thought on this occasion I would let him wade across it. The
stream was not more than four feet wide and two or three inches deep. I
first allowed my boy to pass over, and then I followed him, leaving
Moses to get over by himself. When he reached the edge of the branch he
began to beg for help. I seated myself on a log a few yards away from
him, and he sat down on the bank of the stream. After a short time he
walked along the bank looking for some means of crossing it without
wading; two or three times he walked back and forth, and continued to
beg for help. At last he discovered a clump of tall, slender bushes
growing on the edge of the stream a few yards above the path; he went to
these, took hold of one of them, and stood for a moment holding it; then
he began to climb up it. He climbed up the side next to the water, and
as he did so, the slender stalk began to bend under his weight. He
continued to climb, and the plant continued to bend until the top of it
almost touched the ground on the opposite side of the stream, and bore
Moses safely across to the opposite bank. He released his hold upon the
bush, and ran to me with a grin on his face, which was an evidence that
he was conscious of having done a very clever thing. Whether other
chimpanzees ever applied this means of crossing water or not I cannot
say; but as it is not a constant habit with them, it cannot be called
instinct. It was a piece of genuine engineering. No philosopher could
have found a better solution to the problem.
Aaron was one of the brightest of his kind that I ever saw; he died in
England. On the voyage from Africa to that country I had a cage for him
and his companion constructed from parts of my own cage. On board the
ship was a stowaway, who helped me to look after my pets; the boy was
disposed to play tricks on the chimpanzee, and, whenever he had an
opportunity, would do something to annoy him. Aaron was very fond of
drinking water out of a long-necked bottle; this was very convenient, as
the neck could be thrust through the meshes of the cage, and withdrawn
after he had finished. When the boy gave them water, he would turn the
bottle up and pour the water over them. They did not like this, and for
a time refused to drink at all. At last Aaron found means of escaping;
he climbed up on the side of the cage at a safe distance from the front,
and about on a level with the neck of the bottle; then holding fast with
his feet to the side of the cage, reached across the angle of the
corner, took hold of the wires with his hand above the mouth of the
bottle, and put his lips to it; when the water was spilled it did not
touch him, but fell to the floor. After Elishiba witnessed this a few
times she did the same thing, showing that she perfectly understood why
he did so and what the result was.