clatter. I could hear it flung back at us from the woods on either side.
Once, as we were passing a house by the roadside, a pack of curs came
trooping out at us. This was my chance. The Gray Mare, my sister, shied,
while I ran right through the pack, knocking them right and left. The
White-haired Master touched me again, saying, ‘Good horse!’ and shook the
reins just a little, but it was enough. Before the dog I had crippled
could yelp twice, I had taken the road away from the Gray Mare, my
sister. I could hear her coming behind me. I could hear the Son of Ben
Ali slap her first with his open hand, and then with the slack of the
bridle rein.
“But it did no good. I loved to listen to the clatter of my feet on the
hard clay in the road. I was proud to feel that I was not running at full
speed. I was proud to know that the White-haired Master had grown young
again, and to feel him holding the reins just steady enough to catch
me should I chance to stumble. I was proud to feel him sitting in the
saddle, balancing himself to all my movements so as not to worry me with
his weight.
“Suddenly I felt him turn in the saddle and look back. Then his firm hand
checked me, and I knew that the Gray Mare, my sister, had been more than
matched. As I settled down into a steadier gallop the White-haired Master
said:—
“‘Another racehorse here, boy—the greatest of all.’
“‘Yes, Master,’ replied the Son of Ben Ali, ‘he is the grandson of
Abdallah.’
“It was well that the White-haired Master drew rein when he did, for we
still had two miles to go, and the Gray Mare, my sister, was beginning to
blow a little. But we rested ourselves by going easily. Presently I saw
firelight shining through the trees half a mile ahead.
“‘That’s the place!’ cried the White-haired Master.
“He leaned forward in the saddle, and I took that for a signal to go. It
was a level road, and I stretched myself out for a run that would please
and surprise the White-haired Master. As I ran I wondered what the people
at the fire would think as they heard us thundering down the road.
“Nobody knows to this day what they thought. We were upon them before
they could gather their wits about them. We were upon them before they
could get out of the way. The torches glimmering through the trees
blinded the eyes of the White-haired Master, so that he drew rein a
little too late to stop me near the group of men standing there. One of
them, the son of the man called Old Grizzly, tried to dodge out of the
way, but as he dodged I swerved to one side, and so struck him fairly on
the shoulder. He went down as if a tree had fallen on him. As I turned
again I caught the arm of one of them in my teeth, and carried him with
me, screaming like a woman. From that day to this I have been called the
Man-eater; but as to eating a man—Blibbelibbel—it makes me sick to think
of it!
“I was still jumping, but trying to come to a halt, when the White-haired
Master drove his heels at me, and whirled me around on my hind feet as
on a pivot. As I turned I saw why. The man called the Teacher had been
sitting on a horse, his arms tied, and a rope around his neck, one end
fastened to the limb of a tree. As we came up, some of the men had given
the horse a cut with a hickory, and he had jumped away, leaving the
Teacher swinging by the neck.
“With one stroke of a knife he carried, the White-haired Master cut the
rope, and then he leaped nimbly from my back and lifted the man called
the Teacher to his feet, cutting the rope from his arms and from his neck.
“The man called the Teacher was neither much hurt nor frightened, but he
was weak. So he leaned against me as I stood panting for breath. There
the White-haired Master left him and turned his attention to the men who
were standing around. He called them murderers and assassins and cowards,
but they made little or no reply. The Son of Old Grizzly, who was rubbing
his shoulder, made some kind of excuse. He said he thought anybody had a
right to hang anybody else who was trying to make the negroes rise and
kill their masters.
[Illustration: THE WHITE-HAIRED MASTER CUT THE ROPE]
“But the man called the Teacher hit the saddle he was leaning against
so hard with his fist that it made me jump, and said it was a lie. He
declared that he had told the negroes to be patient, that thousands of
good people were praying for them, and that the time would come when they
would be free.
“‘What do I care what he told the negroes?’ cried the White-haired
Master, turning upon the men. ‘Don’t you know, you cowardly wretches,
that I will protect whoever lives under my roof with my life? Take
yourselves off, and be glad that you have escaped so lightly. I know all
of you, and I’ll have an eye on you hereafter.’ So said the White-haired
Master; and the men, making what excuses they could think of, slunk away
to where they had left their horses tied.
“Seeing the Gray Mare, my sister, standing near, I looked around for the
Son of Ben Ali, but he was nowhere to be seen. I knew he was not far off.
He was waiting till the men should get out of sight. Then he came forth
from the bushes, and in the dark, lifted the man called the Teacher to
the back of the Gray Mare, my sister.
“And so we went back home, going slowly, the man called the Teacher
riding the Gray Mare, my sister, and the Son of Ben Ali walking
alongside to hold him in place should his strength fail.
“That is all. I saw no more of the Son of Ben Ali until after the big
fire.”
“When the house was burned?” asked Buster John.
“The big house—yes,” replied the Black Stallion.
“That was the time you broke down your stable door,” suggested Aaron, who
was working away inside the stable.
“And came near catching the son of Old Grizzly, as he went over the
fence,” said the Black Stallion.
“Mr. George Gossett?” exclaimed Buster John. “Why, he’s an old man.”
“He’s older than he’s good,” remarked Aaron.
“I heard a great noise,” said the Black Stallion—“the cows asking the
mules what the trouble was, the mules asking the horses, and the geese
screaming and flying about—and so I broke down my stable door. Just then
I saw some one running through the field away from the house, and I tried
to catch him. He was too near the fence, but I saw it was the son of Old
Grizzly.”
“Why was he running through the field?” inquired Buster John.
“Well,” said Aaron, “there was a fire burning the house, and there was
this George Gossett running away. You can put the two together, if you
want to, or you can leave them just as the Grandson of Abdallah saw
them—one burning the house and the other running away.”
“Huh! he sot dat house afire!” exclaimed Drusilla; “kaze I hear my mammy
an’ ol’ Aunt Free Polly sesso.”
All this made Sweetest Susan open her eyes in amazement, and they were
very bright and beautiful eyes.
“Oh, how could he be so cruel?” she cried.
“He thought the White-haired Master rode him down that night on purpose,”
said Aaron, “and he had a good many other thoughts.”
The Black Stallion galloped to another part of the field, and Aaron said
it was time for the children to go to the house and fix for dinner. So
they went running along.
XI.
FREE POLLY’S STORY.
It was not long before the children had an appointment to see Free Polly.
She had chosen their father for her guardian, and was in the habit of
visiting the plantation very often, sometimes staying there for weeks at
a time.
Free Polly was sixty years old, but very frisky and fond of fun—always
ready to listen to a joke or tell a story. All her stories were older
than she was, but she never told one without laughing at it just as
heartily as if she had heard it for the first time. She bowed her head
from side to side in jaunty fashion, and laughed loudly. The children
laughed, too, for she made a very comical appearance. She had on a yellow
basque with flowing sleeves, and a blue skirt. On her head she wore a
flaming red bandana, and on top of that a bonnet shaped like a sugar
scoop and stuffed full of faded artificial flowers. At sixty years old
Free Polly still considered herself a belle, and put on a great many
airs. Whenever she met anybody, black or white, she always bowed her
head, first to the left, then to the right, and made a low curtsy. This
she did now when the children called her. She bowed and curtsied, and
then placed her arms akimbo, and waited for the youngsters to come up.
“Oh, I so glad to see you,” she cried, “I can’t tell you how glad I is.
You mos’ done grown. ’Fo’ I know it you’ll be done grown an’ married.
Hey-hey! You nee’n ter laugh. I done see young people ’fo’ I see you. Dey
mos’ all do dat away.”
“Aunt Polly,” said Buster John, “do you remember the night the big house
burned?”
Free Polly ceased laughing and screwed up her mouth and face in pretended
indignation.
“How I gwine ter fergit it? Wa’n’t I right dar in de house? Right un’ de
roofness?”
“Won’t you please tell us about it?” asked Sweetest Susan, with her
pretty, coaxing smile.
Free Polly shook her head solemnly, closed her eyes, and heaved a deep
sigh.
“How kin I tell you stan’in’ up here flat-footed in de sun? Wait. I
comin’ in de house atter supper to see Mistiss. When you see me in dar,
run an’ ax me to come in yo’ room ’fo’ I go. But when I go in dar I
mus’ fin’ sump’n else ’sides a cheer, an’ a table, an’ a bedstid, an’ a
washstan’.”
“What do you want to find?” Buster John inquired.
Again Free Polly closed her eyes and sighed, as she answered:—
“What I want to fin’? Biscuit. Battercakes. Butter. Ham.” At each word
Free Polly smacked her lips and opened her mouth wide. The children
laughed, and promised that they would carry as much food into the nursery
as they could make an excuse for.
At supper their mother saw them buttering more biscuits than they usually
ate. So she suddenly asked:—
“Has any one seen Free Polly to-day?”
“Yes’m,” promptly replied Drusilla, who was waiting on Buster John and
Sweetest Susan.
“Is she coming here to-night?”
“I—I speck so,” Drusilla answered somewhat doubtfully.
At this the mother looked at the children and laughed.
“Mamma, how did you know?” cried Sweetest Susan.
“Because she used to come to see me when I was a little girl, and I
always had to carry biscuits and ham to my room, if I wanted her to tell
me a tale. Drusilla, put those biscuits and three slices of ham on a
plate, and carry it to the nursery.”
Naturally the children were delighted at the way their mother fell
into their innocent little plans, and they waited with a good deal of
impatience for Free Polly to come. She came after what seemed to be a
very long while. She was even more comically polite in the house than
she was out of doors, and pretended to have a good deal to say to the
“Mistiss;” but the lady said she was busy at that moment, and told Free
Polly to go into the nursery and see the children.
Thus it came about that Buster John and Sweetest Susan heard all the
particulars of the burning of the big house, told in a style that was to
them the most graphic and complete that could be imagined.
After eating the supper that had been brought in for her, Free Polly
wiped her mouth with the back of her hands, placed her heels on the top
round of the chair she sat in, and clasped her knees with her long arms.
Then closing her eyes, she began:
“I dunner how come it, but when de sun shine it look like a long time
ago when de house burn. When night come, it look like it done happen
yistiddy. It so come ’bout dat I hatter come see ol’ Marster dat ve’y
night. I start from de place whar I been workin’ time de sun go down, an’
when I come to turn in de big gate up yander, twuz gittin dark. I raise
de latch er de big gate, I did, an’ den I say ter myse’f, ‘No, I won’t go
de front way, kaze dey might be comp’ny in de front peazzer, an’ I’ll go
roun’ de back way an’ come in by de nigger quarter.’ I had my min’ on dat
ar man what dey like ter hang—dat ar Mr. Hudspy”—
“Hudspeth,” said Buster John.
“Kaze he gimme a sev’m-punce one time, an’ I wuz mighty sorry he had
to go back home. I walk ’long, I did, an’ I ’low I mighty sorry dat ar
Mr. Hudspy ain’t here now, kaze he might fergit hissif an’ gimme a n’er
sev’m-punce.’ Des ’bout dat time I look up an’ look ’round, an’ right at
me wuz a man. I could ’a’ put out my han’ an’ totch him. Ef he’d ’a’
said ‘Boo!’ at me, I’d ’a’ drapt right in my tracks. But I bowed, I did,
an’ drapt him a curtsy, an’ ax’d him howdy.
“He say, ‘Ain’t dat Free Polly?’ I say, ‘Yasser.’ I know’d time he open
his mouth dat ’t’wan’t nobody in de roun’ worl’ but dat ar George Gossett.
“He say, ‘I got a crow to pick wid you.’ I say, ‘How come dat, suh?’
“He say, ‘You been harborin’ runaway niggers.’ I say, ‘I don’t see how I
kin do dat, suh, when it’s e’enabout all I kin do fer ter harbor myse’f,
let ’lone runaway niggers.’
“He say, ‘I hear tell you es des han’ in glove wid dat ar nigger A’on
what Pap bought fum de speculator.’ I say, ‘Ef A’on ever is been at my
house, suh, it wuz unbeknownst to me.’
“He say, ‘Nummine. I’ll git you yit; an’ when I does, hit’ll be all night
Isom dar wid you.’ I say, ‘Yasser,’ and den I bowed perlite ez I know
how, an’ come on to de big house.
“I ain’t been here long, ’fo’ dey tell me dat de Little Marster—which dey
call him Little Crotchet—is sorter ailin’, an’ I say ter myse’f dat I’ll
go up sta’rs dar whar he stay at, an’ see him. So, atter while, up I
goes, an’ sho’ nuff, dar wuz de Little Marster layin’ up dar readin’.
“He put down his book, he did, an’ look like he mighty glad ter see me,
an’ he ax me what good fer deze here long-time pains in de legs; an’ I
say I dunno, ’cep’n you have somebody to rub ’em. He ax me ef I won’t rub
’em; an’ I say tooby-shore I will, an’ glad to do it, an’ den I whirled
in an’ rub ’em; an’ whiles I’m a-rubbin’ he ax me de names er all de
presidencies er de Nunitin’ States whar we live at, an’ I say ef I ever
know’d ’em I done fergitted ’em off’en my min’. Desso.
“An’ den, bless yo’ souls, he lay dar flat er his back, an’ call off de
names er all de presidencies er de Nunitin’ States same ez ef he had ’em
right dar in a book, an’ den when he done dat he tol’ me all ’bout John
Henry Bonaparte an’ Mr. Benjamin Arnold, which he traded off his country
fer a pa’r er shiny boots an’ a cocked hat.”
Buster John and Sweetest Susan laughed heartily at this, and Free Polly
laughed in sympathy.
“Yes, honey, he lay dar flat er his back an’ tol’ me all de news. I
dunner how long I sot dar, rubbin’ an’ noddin’, an’ lis’nin’ ter de
Little Marster, tellin’ me all ’bout how de Nunitin’ State of Americus,
Georgy, come up, an’ how he wuz skeer’d she wuz gwine down agin ef de
folks up dar whar dey make laws did’n’ stop scandalizin’ an’ gwine on. I
speck both un us must er drapt off ter sleep, kaze when I waked up, de
candle had done burnted mos’ down. Bimeby de Little Marster say, ‘Polly
Ann’—he call me Polly Ann fer short—‘Polly Ann, I smell smoke. What does
you smell?’
“I say, ‘I smells smoke, too. I speck somebody burnin’ off a new groun’.’
“He say, ‘Polly Ann, dis ain’t de time er de year when dey burns off de
new groun’.’
“I say, ‘Maybe somebody possum huntin’ drapt der torch an’ sot fire to de
woods.’
“He say, ‘Polly Ann, dis ain’t de time er de year when dey hunts possums.’
“I say, ‘I dunner how come it den.’
“He say, ‘All de same, Polly Ann, I smells smoke.’
“I say, ‘Dat what Brer Fox say when Brer Rabbit put fire ter de hay what
he totin’ on his back.’
“De Little Marster say, ‘Polly Ann, maybe somebody done put fire ter de
hay what we got on our backs.’
“I say, ‘I ain’t skeer’d er dat.’
“Dis make him laugh. He say, ‘Polly Ann, folks don’t hafter be skeer’d
ter git burnted up.’”
At this point Free Polly suddenly became very solemn. A heavy frown
appeared on her face. Her voice fell to a tragic whisper. She placed one
hand lightly on Sweetest Susan’s shoulder and held the other to a gesture
of warning, looking all around the room as if expecting to discover the
beginning or the ending of some horrible catastrophe.
“Right dar an den,” she said, “I not only smelt de smoke, I seed it. Seed
it wid my own eyes. Yes, honey! A little streak un it, not much bigger
dan a pipestem, come curlin’ up by de candle an’ went dancin’ up ter
de ceilin’. Den’ way off yander, I hear somebody holler. Den somebody
holler’d mo’ closer. Den de cows ’gun ter low, an’ de hosses ter whicker.
“I say ter myse’f, ‘Nigger ’oman, you better keep yo’ eye peeled, kaze
sump’n n’er gwine on, an’ ’tain’t so mighty fur fum here, needer.’ Den I
hear somebody holler right out in de lot dar.
“De Little Marster say, ‘Polly Ann, I tell you I smells smoke. Hit’s
right off’n de fire.’
“I say, ‘I b’lieve you, honey.’
“By dis time, de fuss outside wuz gittin’ wuss an’ wuss, an’ I could hear
somep’n cracklin’ like somebody walkin’ thoo a patch er ragweed in de
winter time. It look like de little candle got mo’ paler, an’ den it seem
like I could see shadders dancin’ on de wall. Den I happen to look up at
de window, an’, man, suh, de whole place wuz lit up.
“I say, ‘Hey! ef de sun done riz up in de night, she shinin’ mighty red.’
De smoke keep on curlin’ up an’ curlin’ up. It cum thoo de crack er de
flo’.
“De Little Marster say, ‘De smoke smell so bad, I got ter put my head un’
de cover.’
“I say to myse’f, ‘Look a-here, nigger ’oman, you better be up an’ gwine,
kaze when you see de smoke comin’ up thoo de floor you better watch out.’”
“I’d ’a’ gone down dem stairsteps faster’n I come up,” exclaimed Drusilla.
“Ef you had,” said Free Polly, scornfully, “you’d ’a’ never gone down any
yuther steps—an’ dat would ’a’ been des like a nigger fer de worl’. I
ain’t run down no steps. I des sot dar an’ sorter pat de Little Marster
on de leg fer ter keep him comp’ny, an’ de smoke kep’ on comin’ wusser
an’ wusser. I say to myse’f, ‘Watch out, nigger ’oman! Watch out!’
“Den I ’gun to strangle, an’ I went ter de window, an’ des ’bout dat time
I hear mo’ squallin’ an’ fussin’ dan I ever been hear befo’, an’ time I
got ter de window somebody smash it in, an’ I des give one big squeal an’
drapt on de flo’.
“Now, dat ar somebody wuz A’on. He clum de tree, he did, an’ smash in de
window, an’ he wrop de Little Marster in de quilts an’ coverleds what he
had on him, an’ toted him down de tree on one arm, an’ den he come back
an’ toted me.
“When we got down, dar wuz a big crowd stannin’ ’round, an’ ol’ Marster
wuz a-cryin’, an’ A’on put me down an’ went up in de crowd, an’ when he
got dar he fell down like he wuz dead. When he smash in de window, de
glass cut him in de arm an’ in de face an’ he wuz bloodier dan a stuck
pig. So dar he wuz, an’ dar he lay. He des shet his eyes an’ fell back
like he done dead.
[Illustration: AARON TOTED HIM DOWN DE TREE]
“Yes, honey! dar he wuz right in de middle of a big crowd. All de
niggers wuz dar fum five mile ’roun’, an’ mighty nigh all de white folks
wuz dar. Ol’ Mr. Gossett wuz dar wid his eyelids red, an’ lookin’ like
dey been turn wrongsudout’ards. He walk up, he did, an’ ’low—
“‘Aha! If I ain’t mighty much mistaken, dat’s my nigger, A’on. A’on, ’git
up fum’ dar, you gran’ rascal.’
“But A’on ain’t move. He des lay dar like he dead. Ol’ Mr. Gossett knelt
down by ’im, an’ put his han’ on him, an’ felt ’im like de doctors does.
Den he riz up an’ look at A’on long time, an’ den he shuck his head. He
shuck his head, an’ turn roun’ an’ holler to Ol’ Marster:—
“‘Jedge, once ’pon a time I hear you say you want to buy dis nigger.
What’ll you gimme fer ’im des ez he is?’
“‘Twelve hundred dollars!’ Ol’ Marster holler’d back. He talk short an’
sharp, like he talkin’ to a fiel’ han’.
“Ol’ Mr. Gossett holler back, ‘Done!’
“Den Ol’ Marster, bidout movin’ in his tracks, tuck a long book out er
his side pocket, an’ pulled out five bills an’ sont um to Mr. Gossett by
one er de niggers.
“He say, ‘Dat’s a hunderd fer ter make de trade bindin’. Meet me in town
ter-morrer, an’ I’ll pay you de rest.’
“Ol’ Mr. Gossett say, ‘But, Jedge, s’posin’ de nigger is dead now?’
“Ol’ Marster snap ’im short off: ‘A trade’s a trade. You stan’ by yone,
an’ I’ll stan’ by mine.’
“Mr. Gossett say, ‘Oh, I’ll stan’ by mine, Jedge. De nigger is yone,
’live or dead.’
“It look like ter me,” continued Free Polly, shifting her position and
talking in a less solemn tone, “dat A’on must ’a’ been playin’ possum.
Kaze time he hear ol’ Mr. Gossett say dat, he open his eyes an’ riz up
fum whar he wuz layin’ at. He walk sorter weak, but he wa’n’t hurted
much. He got up an’ went whar dey had de Little Marster, an’ fum dat time
on, de two stuck mighty close by one anudder. Whar you’d see one, you’d
be mighty apt to see de udder. It was dat away all de time, fum Monday
mornin’ twell Sat’day night.
“De Little Marster ’gun ter git well an’ strong. Some say he grow’d an’
got fatter. I can’t tell you ’bout dat. He allers look mighty pale an’
puny ter me, but dey ain’t no ’sputin’ dat he got ’roun’ on his crutches
mo’ soopler. He wuz ez nimble on dem crutches ez a game rooster is on his
legs.
[Illustration: DE SQUINCH OWL LIGHTED ON A’ON’S HAND]
“’Twa’n’t long atter dat ’fo’ de niggers on de place wuz all fear’d er
A’on. Dey seed all de creeturs a-follerin’ ’im ’bout, an’ dey got it
spread ’roun’ dat he wuz a cunjer-man, one er deze yer hoodoo folks what
puts spells on you. Den dey got it spread ’roun’ dat he want no nigger,
kaze he don’t do like niggers. I didn’t blame ’em much fer bein’ skeer’d,
kaze one day, des atter sundown, I happen to see A’on lookin’ up in de
big pine out dar in de lot. I hear a squinch owl holler, an’ den I hear
A’on say sump’n. Time he do dat I see de squinch owl drap fum de top er
de pine an’ light right on A’on’s han’. De bird sot dar, he did, an’ pop
his bill like a waggin whip, an’ den he up an’ flew’d away. He come right
by my head, an’ it’s Lord’s trufe, he ain’t make no mo’ fuss dan a fedder
floatin’ on de win’.
“I wuz sorter skeer’d, but I walk right up to A’on an’ say, ‘Man, who is
you, an’ what is you?’
“He turns ’roun’ an’ say, ‘De Son of Ben Ali.’
“I say, ‘Thanky. I know mos’ ez much now ez I did befo’.’
“Den he say, ‘Le’ me show you.’ Wid dat he holler, an’ de black hoss
answer him. He holler agin, an’ de gray mar’ whicker. He holler once mo’,
an’ de pony come a runnin’ an’ a whinnyin’.
“I say, ‘Man, le’ me go ’way fum here. I done hear talk er Ben Ali long
’fo’ I seed you.’”
XII.
THE ARMY MARCHES BY.
It was not long before the children saw another sight on that plantation.
They forgot all about Mr. Thimblefinger and Mrs. Meadows and Mr. Rabbit.
They forgot to talk to the animals. The war had been under way for some
time, and one rainy day in November word came that two soldiers in blue
had been seen riding along the road at a gallop. That was early in the
morning. By noon the plantation fairly swarmed with the foragers in blue.
The Union army was on its way from Atlanta to the sea.
Standing at the window and looking through the mist and rain, Buster
John and Sweetest Susan could see the foraging parties running about
collecting the cows and calves, the horses and the mules, and presently
they saw the same men in blue driving the stock out through the avenue
and into the public road. Sweetest Susan cried when she saw the old Gray
Pony ambling along with the rest, but Buster John never thought about
the Pony at all. He was watching to see the Black Stallion pass by, and
wondering how the men would manage him.
The children also saw many of the negroes following the soldiers off.
They saw Aaron dressed in his Sunday best, and they wondered whether he
was going with the rest. But after awhile they heard Aaron talking to
their grandfather in the next room. They heard him say that he had tried
to hide the horses and mules in the swamp, but some of the negroes had
carried the foragers in blue to the hiding-place. They heard Aaron say
that he had carried Timoleon to another part of the plantation, and that
the old horse was not likely to be found. They heard their grandfather
tell Aaron that he was now free to go where he might—that he was no
longer a slave. To which Aaron replied that if he was free to go or stay,
he would stay.
[Illustration: TWO SOLDIERS RODE ALONG]
A little later the children, still standing at the window, or near it,
heard a great clatter of hoofs in the avenue, mingled with the lowing of
cattle, the neighing of horses, and the shouts and yells of drivers. At
first Buster John and Sweetest Susan, looking through the mist, could
see nothing but a dense and moving mass of animals and men. But in a
few moments they were surprised to see that the foragers in blue were
bringing back the horses and cattle they had driven off. There was the
old pony, ambling back to the lot; there were the carriage horses; and
there were the milk cows and dry cattle. Accompanying the foragers, who
were on foot, were two or three mounted men, and one of these wore a
sword and was giving orders.