THE sky was just reddening when I came down next morning and commenced
to get my gun and accoutrements, to try my hand at hunting. Father
called me as I was about to leave the house, and told me to come to the
back door. There I found a negro boy, thirteen or fourteen years of
age, in his shirt sleeves, a clean white shirt, and copperas checked
pants, held up by suspenders of the same cloth, fastened on them by
little sticks; one hand resting up against the house, and one bare foot
scratching the top of the other.
“John,” said father, as I came out in the porch, gun in hand, “this is
Reuben, one of Hannah’s children. You may take him for your valet. He
knows all the best hunting and fishing places around here. When you go
to Goldsboro’ you can get him some more suitable livery.”
“Thank you, sir; he will suit me exactly. How do you like it, Reuben?”
Reuben could only snicker and rub his hand on the weather boarding, as
an acknowledgment of his favor.
“I am about to start hunting now; can you carry me to a place where I
can kill some squirrels?”
“Yes, sir; ef I c’n git Unker Jack’s Trip, and go over ‘gin the big
spring field, you kin find a sight on ’em.”
“Well, run and get Trip, and come on.”
He ran down to the quarters, and soon came back with a little
blue-spotted, curl-tailed dog, which he declared could “find ’em eben
ef dey wan’t dere!”
After getting over fences, jumping ditches, tramping through dewy
grass, and breaking through wet corn till my feet were drenched and my
clothes saturated, we at last struck the woods. What splendid woods
they were for hunting. Dignified, patriarchal oaks, matronly cedars,
young dandy hickories, love-sick maiden-pines, that sighed in the
breeze, and families of saplings! Reuben here thought we would find the
game, and told Trip to “look about.” The little canine obeyed, and was
soon out of sight.
We moved cautiously about, listening; nor did we have to wait very
long before Reuben recognized his short, quick bark, and, with the
ejaculation, “dat’s him,” ran rapidly towards the place. I followed
as fast as the nature of the undergrowth would permit, and we soon
found Trip sitting on his tail, under a large oak, whose thick leaves
concealed all but the lowest branches. I looked long and vainly towards
the top; nothing could I see but the deep green leaves. Reuben,
however, got off some distance from the tree, and, walking backwards,
and looking with hand-shaded eyes, soon cried out, “Yon he is; cum
year, marse John; you c’n see ‘im.” I ran eagerly to him, and gazed
intently to where he pointed, and by his continued indications of the
exact limb and fork, I was at last persuaded that I did see a small
gray knot near the body of the tree. I levelled my gun and fired; all
was still for awhile, and then the shot came pattering back on the
trees a little way off. Another shot, and the gray knot ran out to the
end of the limb.
“Dat’s him; I know’d it was,” shouted Reuben, while I was so much
excited I could hardly load. Before I could get the shot down the
squirrel sprang from the tree to another, the slender twigs bending
under him, and the wet leaves showering down the dew. But Reuben and
Trip were watching, and soon found him in a fairer place. I now aim
more carefully, and fire; he falls several feet, then catches and
recovers himself; another barrel, and he turns under limb, holding on
by his feet. Before I can load again he slowly releases, foot by foot,
his hold upon the limb, and comes tumbling headlong down, striking the
ground with a heavy sound. Reuben and Trip are in great glee over it,
while I look on with assumed indifference, for it is my first squirrel,
though I had played great destruction among the rice birds near town.
I was just putting the caps on my gun when I was startled by the report
of another gun close at hand. I soon heard the thumping of the ramrod,
and a little while after the bushes parted, and the long figure of Ben
Bemby emerged, his gray eyes gleaming under a broad wool hat without
any band, and his scarred lip drawn into a smile. A large bunch of
squirrels hung in his hand, and a long single-barrel gun rested on his
shoulder.
“Mornin’. What luck?” he said, resting his gun on the ground, and
throwing back his hat to wipe the perspiration from his forehead with
his forefinger.
“One fine fellow,” I said, holding my trophy up.
Ben chuckled a little, and said:
“Four shots to one; that’s sorter bad. I got seven outer nine. That ere
little pop-stick of yourn won’t reach these trees.”
I did not fancy any slur on the shooting qualities of my gun, which
was a very handsome Wesley Richards, a present from father the winter
before, and I offered to prove that it would shoot as far as his.
“Jumerlacky! Why, I can fetch a squrl when he is outer sight with this
old gun.”
“How do you aim at him?” I inquired, smiling at his earnestness.
“I just git me a hicker nut hull, with the print where a squrl’s been a
cuttin’, and rub it in the shot, and when I fire, don’t keer which way
I takes sight, the shot goes right arter the squrl what cut the nut,
and all I got to do is to look roun’ and see what tree he’s a gwine to
fall from.”
I expressed a great desire to see his gun perform, and asked if he had
killed any that morning without seeing them.
“Not ‘zactly,” he replied, changing his squirrels from one hand to the
other; “but one run up such a high tree he got t’other side of a cloud.”
“How did you get at him?”
“Jus’ shot wher he went thew; when he drapped he was right smarten wet,
an’ it rained purtty peart thew the shot holes in the cloud.”
“Which one of those was it?” I asked, pointing to the bunch in his hand.
“This here biggest un,” he said, holding him up by the tail.
“Why, he doesn’t seem to be wet now?”
“Nor; he dried, like, comin’ thew the air.”
I was uncertain whether he was a little flighty or was trying to quiz
me, thinking I was city-green, and a look into his laughing grey eye
rather confirming this last supposition, I was about to change the
conversation, when Trip’s bark a little way off in the woods called our
attention to him. We found the squirrel in the very top of a tree that
did almost seem in the clouds.
“Lemme see you knock him out wi’ your little double-bar’l toot-a-poo.”
With the steadiest aim I could command, I gave him both barrels, one
after the other, with no result whatever, my piece being a short bird
gun, and the tree top an immense distance from the ground.
Ben said, “Now, let the old gal speak,” and sighting the old brown
barrel a second, he fired. The squirrel made a frantic leap into
the air, and fell right into Trip’s mouth. Reuben was in a dance of
excitement, but felt that he must take my gun’s part.
“Marse John’s gun’s new; ‘taint got used to shootin’ yet.”
“What d’you know ‘bout guns, you little devil’s ink ball?” said Ben,
turning to Reuben; “why d’nt you open your mouth when Satan was a
paintin’ you, and git some black on your teeth. Well, Mr. Smith, less
knock along todes home; its mos’ your breakfus time.”
“Won’t you go and take breakfast with me?”
“Nor, siree. Th’ old man said I was fool ‘nough last night to last
a seas’n; but I’ll come in short to see them ladies agin, for sho’
they’re fine ‘uns.”
“You must be sure to come. You think they are pretty, do you?”
“Well, I do exactly that thing. I’ve got a gal nigh here I thought was
some on purtty, but she ain’t a pint cup to these here.”
“Which do you think is the best looking?”
“That’s ‘bout as hard to tell as buyin’ knives. That ere curly head un
is five mules and a bunch er bells, and ef ‘twant for t’other would
beat the world; but that black-eyed un, wh’sh! She c’n jus’ look at
you, and make you set still forever. Why, you c’n run er fishin’ pole
in her eyes up to the hand’l and never tech bott’m.”
“Polyphemus would be a mole to her, if her eyes were as deep as that,”
I replied, laughing at his extravagance.
“I never heerd of Polly Whatchoucallem, but ef she looked like this ere
wun, I’d trade Viney Dodge for her, and giv ’em boot.”
“I expect Miss Viney will soon have cause for jealousy?”
“Nor, siree. Miss Kerlotter, I think the old lady sed her name was,
is a darned sight too fine for me. You can’t sew silk truck on to
homespun; and Viney suits my cloth the bes’, for she’s three treddle
sarge, and a thread to spare.”
There was a fork here in the path, and we separated. I reached home
just as the family were sitting down to breakfast. I exhibited my game,
and was complimented for my skill.
After breakfast I went to the library, while the girls busied
themselves aiding mother in her domestic arrangements. Before leaving
the table they made me promise to take them fishing in the evening, or
rather Lulie did, for Carlotta expressed her preference for remaining
at home with mother, and I saw in her face that her intuitive tact had
taught her that I preferred to be alone with Lulie. She was tenderly
devoted to mother, and would often leave gay, frolicsome Lulie to sit
by her, and talk on “grown up” subjects, as Lulie would call them. With
father she was reserved, though respectful and grateful, and studied to
please him in every way. Toward me she was gentle and kind, but shy, as
if she was afraid of being teased about me.
I cannot describe my feelings for her. There was a thrill every time I
met those great black eyes that I had never felt before, but I could
not call it love, for Lulie engrossed all there was of that in my
nature.
There was a magnetism about her that affected me strongly, and made
me feel that, were we at all intimate, she would possess an unbounded
influence over me, and that its exercise would constitute my supreme
happiness.
The tender pity and brotherly love I had expected to feel were all
gone, for she did not need them; the vast resources of her own deep
soul, and the sympathy and love of mother, seemed to be enough for her.
In all my thoughts I could only long for her friendship, and I felt
that if I could awaken in her an interest in me as a friend, so that
I could go to her ear and tell my troubles or joys, I would be the
happier. In the common converse of our family circle I always looked
to her first after my remarks, and her smile was a far greater reward
to me than Lulie’s, perhaps because it meant more. And if I had done
wrong I would rather ten times Lulie should know it than Carlotta; yet,
with all these feelings, resembling so much indices of love, there was
no spark of it in my heart. Her very beauty seemed to fix a great gulf
between us, and down in my soul I felt that she would never love me,
except as a member of the same family. With these thoughts came the
image of Lulie—bright, laughing Lulie—whose heart I could get so near
to, if I could not call it mine; who was something human, like myself,
and whom I loved so tenderly without the slightest shade of awe. And I
longed for the time when I could tell her of it.