CATO AND DILLAH.
Everything was in readiness except the little waggon which was to convey
the best looking-glass, the stuffed rocking-chair, Mrs. Wilder, and
Charlie. On an old stump near the gate sat Aunt Dillah, industriously
wiping the tears from her dusky cheeks, and ever and anon exclaiming,
“’Pears like I could bar it better if I was gwine with them.”
This remark was overheard by her master, Capt. Wilder. He had frequently
heard Cato express the same wish, and thought it quite natural too,
inasmuch as Jake, their only child, was to accompany the deacon. For a
moment the captain stood irresolute. We will not say what thoughts
passed through his mind, but after a time he went away and in quest of
his brother. There was a short consultation, and then Capt. Wilder,
returning to Dillah, laid his hand on her shoulder, and said, “Aunt
Dillah, would it please you and Cato to go to Kentucky, and be killed
with the Indians along with Jake?”
“Lor bless you, marster, that it would,” said Dillah, rolling up her
eyes till only the whites were visible.
“Very well, you can go,” was Capt. Wilder’s reply.
By this time old Cato and Jake had gathered near, and the “Lord bless
you’s” which they poured in upon the captain sent him into the house,
out of sight and hearing. But Dillah had no time to lose. Her goods and
chattels must be picked up, and old Cato’s Sunday shirt must be wrung
out of the rinsing water, Dillah declaring “she could kind o’ shake it
out and dry it on the road!” While putting up her things, the old
creature frequently lamented the unfortunate fact that the new gown
given her last Christmas by “old Miss,” was not made, “for,” said she,
“I shall want to look toppin’ and smart-like amongst the folks in
Kentuck.”
“Ain’t no folks thar,” said Jake; but as often as he repeated this
assertion, Aunt Dillah answered, “Now and then one, I reckon, ’less why
should marster tote the whole on us out thar?”
“For the Injuns to eat, I s’pose,” answered Jake, and then he went
through with a short rehearsal of what his mother would say, and how she
would yell, when one of the natives got her in his grip. Little Ella
wept passionately when she learned that Dillah, too, was going, but when
Charlie, stealing up to her, said “she will take care of me,” her tears
were dried, and her last words to Dillah were, “Be kind to Charlie till
he dies.”
Sweet Ella, it would seem that a foreshadowing of the future had fallen
around her, for when at last Charlie’s farewell kiss was warm upon her
cheek, her voice was cheerful as she said, “You will send for me and I
shall surely come.” Could she have known how long and wearisome were the
miles, how dark and lonely was the wood, and how full of danger was the
road which lay between her and Charlie’s future home, she might not have
been so sure that they would meet again.
One after another the waggons belonging to Deacon Wilder passed down the
narrow road, and were lost to view in the deep forest which stretched
away to the west as far as the eye could reach. Here for a short time we
will leave them, while we introduce to our readers another family, whose
fortunes are closely interwoven with our first party.