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John Lothrop Motley - "The Life of John of Barneveld, 1609"

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Books: Miss Lou

E >> E. P. Roe >> Miss Lou




Mrs. Whately departed. Mrs. Baron put her thin lips together in a
way which meant volumes, and went out on her housekeeping round,
giving orders to Zany in sharper, more metallic tones than usual.
The delinquent herself had overheard enough of the conversation to
learn that the evil day had at least been put off and to get some
clew as to the future.




CHAPTER XXXIV

CHUNK PLAYS SPOOK


Since Mr. Baron had yielded for the present, Mrs. Whately was glad
nothing need be said to the physician concerning their affairs. His
positive injunction of quiet was sufficient, and now that Mr. Baron
was impressed with its need and had had time for sober second
thought, he concluded that he had trouble enough on hand as it was.
He felt that every quiet day gained was so much toward securing the
absolutely essential crops. Perkins was therefore summoned and the
situation in part explained.

The overseer was in unusual good-humor over the death of Scoville,
and if Chunk had escaped finally, there was compensation in the
thought of having no more disturbance from that source. So,
fortunately for poor Zany, avarice came to the fore and Perkins
agreed that the best thing to do was to bend every energy to "making
the crops," using severity only in the furtherance of this end.

"Beg pardon, Mr. Baron, but I must have sump'n up and down clar.
There's been so many bosses of late en my orders been knocked
eendwise so of'en that I don't know, en the hands don't know whether
I've got any po'r or no. Ef this thing 'bout Chunk gits out, en
nobody punished, the fiel'-hans natchelly think we darsn't punish.
Mought es well give up then."

"Punish as much as you think necessary to keep the quarter-hands at
work. Then it is plain," replied Mr. Baron.

Very seldom had Perkins been in so complacent and exultant a mood as
when he left the presence of Mr. Baron that morning. But his
troubles began speedily. Jute had slept little the night before and
was stupid and indifferent to his work in the afternoon. Finding
threats had little effect, the overseer struck a blow with his cane.
The negro turned fiercely but was confronted with a revolver. He
resumed work doggedly, his sullen look spreading like the shadow of
a cloud to the faces of the others. So many began to grow
indifferent and reckless that to punish all was out of the question.
Perkins stormed and threatened, striking some here and there, almost
beside himself from increasing anxiety and rage. Whichever way he
turned a dark vindictive face met his eyes. The slaves had enjoyed a
brief sense and sweet hope of freedom; he was seeking to refasten
the yoke with brutal hands and it galled as never before. Even his
narrow arbitrary nature was impressed with the truth that a great
change was taking place; that a proclamation issued hundreds of
miles away was more potent than his heavy hand. He was as incapable
of any policy other than force as was his employer of abandoning the
grooves in which his thoughts had always run.

The worrisome afternoon finally ended, leaving the harassed man free
to seek consolation from his jug. Mr. Baron relapsed into his quiet
yet bitter mental protest. "Ole miss" maintained inexorable
discipline over the yard and house slaves, keeping all busy in
removing every stain and trace of the hospital. She governed by fear
also, but it was the fear which a resolute, indomitable will
produces in weaker natures.

Mrs. Waldo already felt uncomfortable. There was no lack of outward
courtesy, but the two women had so little in common that there was
almost a total absence of sympathy between them. The guests through
the fortune of war resolved therefore to depart in a day or two,
making the journey home by easy stages. Mrs. Whately was both polite
and cordial, but she also felt that the family should be alone as
soon as possible, that they were facing problems which could better
be solved without witnesses. It was her hope now to nurse her charge
back to health, and, by the utmost exercise of tact, gain such an
ascendency over the girl as to win her completely. Granting that the
matron's effort was part of a scheme, it was one prompted by deep
affection, a yearning to call her niece daughter and to provide for
the idolized son just the kind of wife believed to be essential to
his welfare. Much pondering on the matter led her to believe that
even if the tidings of Scoville's death had been the cause of the
final prostrating shock, it was but the slight blow required to
strike down one already feeble and tottering to her fall. "He
probably made a strong, but necessarily a passing impression on the
dear child's mind," she reasoned. "When she gets well she will think
of him only as she does of the other Union soldiers who so
interested her."

The object of this solicitude was docile and quiet, taking what was
given her, but evidently exhausted beyond the power of thought or
voluntary action.

The night passed apparently without incident, but it was a busy one
for Chunk. He again summoned Jute and his other confederates to a
tryst in the grove to impress them with his plans. It was part of
his scheme to permit a few nights to pass quietly so that
disturbances would not be associated with him, he being supposed far
away. In the depths of the adjacent forest he had found safe shelter
for himself and horse, and here, like a beast in its lair, he slept
by day. The darkness was as light to him about the familiar
plantation, and he prowled around at night unmolested.

During this second meeting he attempted little more than to argue
his dusky associates out of their innate fear of spooks and to urge
upon them patience in submitting to Perkins's rule a little longer.
"I des tells you," he declared, "dey ain' no spooks fer us! Dere's
spooks on'y fer dem w'at kills folks on de sly-like. If ole Perkins
come rarin' en tarin' wid his gun en dawg, I des kill 'im ez I wud a
rattler en he kyant bodder me no mo'; but ef I steal on 'im now en
kill 'im in he sleep he ghos pester me ter daith. Dat de
conslomeration ob de hull business. I doan ax you ter do any ting
but he'p me skeer' im mos' ter daith. He watchin' lak a ole fox ter
ke'p you en Zany yere. Ef you puts out, he riz de kentry en put de
houn's arter you. We des got ter skeer 'im off fust. I'm studyin'
how ter git dat dawg out'n de way. Des go on quiet few mo' days en
ef you year quar noises up on de hill whar de sogers bur'ed you know
hit me. Look skeered lak de oders but doan be fear'd en keep mum."

The next few days and nights passed in quiet and all began to
breathe more freely. Even Aun' Jinkey rallied under the soothing
influence of her pipe and the privilege of watching part of each day
with Miss Lou. Slowly the girl began to grow better. Hoping not even
for tolerance of her feelings in regard to Scoville, it was her
instinct to conceal them from her relatives. She knew Mrs. Waldo
would not reveal what Aun' Jinkey had told her, and understood the
peculiar tenderness with which that lady often kissed her. She also
guessed that while the stanch Southern friend had deep sympathy for
her there was not very strong regret that the affair had ended in a
way to preclude further complications.

"Remember, my dear," said Mrs. Waldo, in her affectionate parting,
"that God never utterly impoverishes our lives. Only we ourselves
can do that. You will get well and become happy in making others
happy."

On the evening of that day, even Mr. Baron's routine was completely
restored. His larder was meagre compared with the past, but with the
exception that Mrs. Whately occupied the place of his niece at the
table, and viands were fewer, all was as it had been. Zany's fears
had subsided, leaving her inwardly chafing at the prospect of
monotonous and indefinite years of work under "ole miss," with
little chance of Chunk's return. Aun' Suke's taste of freedom had
not been to her mind, so she was rather complacent than otherwise,
and especially over the fact that there was so little to cook. The
garden and Mr. Baron's good credit would insure enough plain food
till the crops matured and the impoverishment caused by the raid was
repaired. It certainly seemed when the sun set that evening that the
present aspect of affairs might be maintained indefinitely in the
little community.

Only one was not exactly at rest. Perkins felt as if something was
in the air. There was a brooding, sullen quiet among the negroes
which led him to suspect that they were waiting and hoping for
something unknown to him. This was true of Uncle Lusthah and the
majority. The crack of Union rifles was the "soun' f'um far away"
they were listening for. By secret channels of communication tidings
of distant battles were conveyed from plantation to plantation, and
the slaves were often better informed that their masters. As for
Perkins, he knew next to nothing of what was taking place, nor did
he dream that he was daily addressing harsh words to conspirators
against his peace.

The time had come when Chunk was ready to act. On the night in
question a hot wind arose which blew from the little burial-place on
the hill toward the house. "Hi! now's de charnce ter fix dat ar
bizness!" and he made his preparations. Shortly before midnight he
crept like a cat under the overseer's window. The heavy snoring rose
and fell reassuringly, sweet as music to Chunk's ears. Not so the
angry, restless growling of the savage bloodhound chained within.
"But you doan kotch me dis yere time fer all yer fuss, Marse Grip,"
the negro muttered. "I done hab yer brekfus' ready fer yer! Dat'll
settle yer hash,' and with deft hand a piece of poisoned meat was
tossed close to the brute's feet as Chunk hastened away. Jute was
next wakened and put on the watch. An hour later there came from the
soldiers' cemetery the most doleful, unearthly sounds imaginable. No
need for Jute and his confederates to arouse the other negroes in
the quarters. A huddled frightened gang soon collected, Aun' Jinkey
among them so scared she could not speak.

"Marse Perkins ought to know 'bout dis," cried Jute.

The suggestion was enough. The whole terror-stricken throng rushed
in a body to the overseer's cottage and began calling and shrieking,
"Come out yere! come out yere!" Confused in his sudden waking and
thinking he was mobbed, he shouted through the window, "I'll shoot a
dozen of yer ef yer don't clar out."

"Marse Perkins, des you lis'n," rose in chorus from those far beyond
the fear of mortal weapons.

In the silence that followed the rushing wind bore down to them a
weird, dismal howl that in Perkins's ears met every ghostly
requirement. His teeth began to chatter like castanets, and
snatching his jug of corn whiskey he swallowed great draughts.

"We des tink you orter know 'bout dis," said Jute.

"Cert'ny," cried Perkins in his sudden flame of false courage. "I'll
light a lantern and take twenty o' you hands round that place. Ef
thar's a cuss yonder makin' this 'sturbance we'll roast 'im alive."

In a moment or two he dressed and came out with a light and his gun.
Two revolvers were also stuck in his belt. As he appeared on the
threshold there was a prolonged yell which curdled even his inflamed
blood and sent some of the negro women into hysterics.

"Come on," shouted the overseer hoarsely, "thirty of yer ef yer
afraid."

The crowd fell back. "We ain' gwine ter dat ar spook place, no
mattah w'at you do to us."

"Perkins, what IS the matter?" Mr. Baron was heard shouting from the
house.

"Reckon you better come out yere, sir."

"Are the hands making trouble?"

"No sir, sump'n quar's gwine on, what we kyant mek out yit."

Mr. Baron, wrapped in his dressing-gown, soon appeared on the scene,
while Aun' Suke's domain contributed its quota also of agitated,
half-dressed forms. Chunk could not resist the temptation to be a
witness to the scene and in a copse near by was grinning with silent
laughter at his success.

After learning what had occurred, Mr. Baron scoffed at their
superstitions, sternly bidding all to go to their places and keep
quiet. "Perkins, you've been drinking beyond reason," he warned his
overseer in a low voice. "Get back to your room quick or you will be
the laughing-stock of everybody! See here, you people, you have
simply got into a panic over the howling of the wind, which happens
to blow down from the graveyard to-night."

"Neber yeared de win' howl dataway befo'," the negroes answered, as
in a mass they drifted back to the quarters.

Perkins was not only aware of his condition but was only too glad to
have so good an excuse for not searching the cemetery. Scarcely had
he been left alone, however, before he followed the negroes,
resolved upon companionship of even those in whom he denied a
humanity like his own. In the darkness Chunk found an opportunity to
summon Jute aside and say, "Free er fo' ob you offer ter stay wid
ole Perkins. Thet he'p me out."

Perkins accepted the offer gladly, and they agreed to watch at his
door and in the little hallway.

"You mus' des tie up dat ar dawg ob yourn," first stipulated Jute.

"Why, whar in--is the dog? Hain't yeared a sound from 'im sence the
'sturbance begun."

"Dwags kyant stan' spooks nohow," remarked Jute.

"I've yeared that," admitted Perkins, looking around for the animal.

"Thar he is, un'er yo' baid," said Jute, peeking through the
doorway.

The miserable man's hair fairly stood up when the brute was
discovered stark and dead without a scratch upon him. Recourse was
again had to the jug, and oblivion soon followed.




CHAPTER XXXV

A VISITATION


There was no more sleep at the quarters that night, and never was
the dawn more welcome. It only brought a respite, however, for the
impression was fixed that the place was haunted. There was a settled
aspect of gloom and anxiety on every dusky face in the morning. Mr.
Baron found his overseer incapacitated for duty, but the hands were
rather anxious to go to work and readily obeyed his orders to do so.
They clung to all that was familiar and every-day-like, while their
fears and troubled consciences spurred them to tasks which they felt
might be a sort of propitiation to the mysterious powers abroad.
Zany was now sorry indeed that she had not gone with Chunk, and poor
Aun' Jinkey so shook and trembled all day that Mrs. Whately would
not let her watch by Miss Lou. Knowing much of negro superstitions
she believed, with her brother and Mrs. Baron, that the graves on
the place, together with some natural, yet unusual sounds, had
started a panic which would soon die out.

When at last Perkins, shaky and nervous, reported the mysterious
death of his dog, Mr. Baron was perplexed, but nothing more. "You
were in no condition to give a sane account of anything that
happened last night," he said curtly. "Be careful in the future. If
you will only be sensible about it, this ridiculous scare will be to
our advantage, for the hands are subdued enough now and frightened
into their duty."

Perkins remained silent. In truth, he was more frightened than any
one else, for the death of his dog appeared to single him out as a
special object of ghostly hostility. He got through the day as well
as he could, but dreaded the coming night all the more as he saw
eyes directed toward him, as if he, in some way, were the cause of
the supernatural visitation. This belief was due to the fact that
Aun' Jinkey in her terror had spoken of Scoville's death, although
she would not tell how she knew about it. "Perkins shoot at en try
ter kill Marse Scoville," she had whispered to her cronies, "en now
he daid he spook comin' yere ter hant de oberseer. We neber hab no
quiet nights till dat ar Perkins go way fer good."

This rational explanation passed from lip to lip and was generally
accepted. The coming night was looked forward to in deep
apprehension, and by none more than by Perkins. Indeed, his fears so
got the better of him that when the hands quit work he started for
the nearest tavern and there remained till morning. Chunk was made
aware of this fact, and the night passed in absolute quiet. All the
negroes not in the secret now hoped that the overseer was the sole
prey of the spook, and that if they remained quietly in their places
they would be unmolested. Chunk and a few of the boldest of his
fellow conspirators had full scope therefore to perfect their final
arrangements. In a disused room of one of the outbuildings the most
ragged and blood-stained uniforms of the Union soldiers had been
cast and forgotten. These were carried to a point near the burying-
ground, tried on and concealed. Chunk found it was no easy task to
keep even the reckless fellows he had picked up to the sticking
point of courage in the grewsome tasks he had in view, but his
scoff, together with their mutual aid and comfort, carried them
through, while the hope of speedy freedom inspired them to what was
felt to be great risks.

On this occasion he dismissed them some little time before midnight,
for he wished them to get rested and in good condition for what he
hoped would be the final effort the following night. As he lingered
in the still, starlit darkness he could not resist making an effort
to see Zany, and so began hooting like an owl down by the run,
gradually approaching nearer till he reached the garden. Zany,
wakeful and shivering with nameless dread, was startled by the
sound. Listening intently, she soon believed she detected a note
that was Chunk's and not a bird's. Her first impression was that her
lover had discovered that he could not go finally away without her
and so had returned. Her fear of spooks was so great that her
impulse was to run away with Chunk as far from that haunted
plantation as he would take her. Trembling like a wind-shaken leaf,
she stole into the garden shrubbery and whispered, "Chunk?"

"Hi! yere I is."

There was no tantalizing coquetry in Zany's manner now. In a moment
she was in Chunk's arms sobbing, "Tek me way off fum dis place. I go
wid you now, dis berry minute, en I neber breve easy till we way,
way off enywhar, I doan keer whar. Oh, Chunk, you doan know w'at
been gwine on en I darsn't tell you twel we gits way off."

"I isn't feared," replied Chunk easily.

"Dat's kaze you doan know. I des been tremblin' stiddy sence las'
night en I'se feared hit begin eny minute now."

"Hit woan begin dis yere night," replied Chunk, soothingly and
incautiously.

"How you know?" she asked quickly, a sudden suspicion entering her
mind.

"Wat's ter begin?" answered Chunk, now on his guard. "De night am
still, nobody roun'. I hang roun' a few nights twel I study out de
bes' plan ter git away."

"Has you been hangin' roun' nights, Chunk?" Zany asked solemnly.

"How you talks, Zany! Does you s'pects I dar stay roun' whar Perkins
am? He kill me. He done gone way to-night."

"How you know dat?"

"One de fiel'-hans tole me."

"Chunk, ef you up ter shines en doan tole me I done wid you. Hasn't
I hep you out'n in eberyting so fur? Ef I fin' out you been skeerin
me so wid eny doin's I des done wid you. I des feel hit in my bones
you de spook. You kyant bamboozle me. I kin hep you--hab done hit
afo'--en I kin hinder you, so be keerful. Dere's some dif'unce in
bein' a spook yosef en bein' skeered ter death by a rale spook. Ef
you tryin' ter skeer en fool me I be wuss on you ner eny Voodoo
woman dat eber kunjurd folks."

The interview ended in Chunk's making a clean breast of it and in
securing Zany as an ally with mental reservations. The thought that
he had fooled her rankled.

Mr. Baron's expostulation and his own pressing interests induced
Perkins to remain at home the following night. As Jute had seemed
forgiving and friendly, the overseer asked him to bring two others
and stay with him, offering some of the contents of the replenished
jug as a reward. They sat respectfully near the door while Perkins
threw himself on his bed with the intention of getting to sleep as
soon as possible. "Are you shore ther wuz no 'sturbances last
night?" he asked.

"Well, Marse Perkins," replied Jute, "you didn't s'pect we out
lookin'. We wuz po'ful sleepy en roll we haids en er blankets en den
'fo' we knowed, hit sun-up. Folks say en de quarters dat ar spook
ain' arter us."

"Who the devil is hit arter then?" was the angry response.

"How we know, mars'r? We neber try ter kill enybody."

"But I tell you I didn't kill him," expostulated their nervous
victim.

"Didn't name no names, Marse Perkins. I on'y knows w'at I yeared
folks tell 'bout spooks. Dey's mighty cur'us, spooks is. Dey des
'pear to git a spite agin some folks en dey ain' bodderin oder folks
long ez dey ain' 'feered wid. I 'spect a spook dat wuz 'feered wid,
get he dander up en slam roun' permiscus. I des tek a ole bull by de
horns 'fo' I 'fere wid a spook," and Jute's companions grunted
assent.

"W'at's the good o' yer bein' yere then?" Perkins asked, taking a
deep draught.

"Well, now, Marse Perkins, you mus'n be onreasonbul. Wat cud we do?
We des riskin' de wool on we haids stayin' yere fer comp'ny. Ef de
spook come, 'spose he tink we no business yere en des lay we out lak
he kunjer yo' dawg? We des tank you, Marse Perkins, fer anoder lil
drap ter kep we sperets out'n we shoon," and Jute shuddered
portentously.

"Well," said Perkins, with attempted bravado, "I rammed a piece o'
silver down on the bullat in my gun. 'Twix 'em both--"

"Dar now, Marse Perkins, you des been 'posed on 'bout dat silber
business. Ole Unc' Sampson w'at libed on de Simcoe place nigh on er
hun'erd yeahs, dey say, tole me lots 'bout a spook dat boddered um
w'en he a boy. Way back ole Marse Simcoe shot at de man dat hanker
fer he darter. De man put out en get drownded, but dat doan make no
dif'rence, Unc' Sampson say, kaze ole Marse Simcoe do he bes' ter
kill der man. He sorter hab kill in he heart en Unc' Sampson low a
spook know w'at gwine on in er man's in'erds, en dey des goes fer de
man dat wanter kill um on de sly, en not dose dat kill in fa'r
fight. Ole Unc' Sampson po'ful on spooks. He libed so long he get
ter be sorter spook hesef, en dey say he talk ter um haf de time
'fo' he kiner des snuf out'n lak a can'l."

"He wuz a silly old fool," growled Perkins, with a perceptible
tremor in his voice.

"Spect he wuz 'bout some tings," resumed Jute, "but know spooks, he
sut'ny did. He say ole Marse Simcoe useter plug lead en silver right
froo dat man dat want he darter, en dar was de hole en de light
shin'in' froo hit. But de spook ain' min'in' a lil ting lak dat, he
des come on all de same snoopin' roun' arter de ole man's darter.
Den one mawnin' de ole man lay stiff en daid in he baid, he eyes
starin' open ez ef he see sump'n he cudn't stan' no how. Dat wuz de
las' ob dat ar spook, Unc' Sampson say, en he say spook's cur'us dat
away. Wen dey sats'fy dere grudge dey lets up en dey doan foller de
man dey down on kaze dey on'y po'r in de place whar de man 'lowed
ter kill um."

Perkins took a mental note of this very important limitation of
ghostly persecution, and resolved that if he had any more trouble
all the crops in the State would not keep him within the haunted
limit.

He whiled away the time by aid of his jug and Job-like comforters
till it began to grow late and he drowsy.

Suddenly Jute exclaimed, "Hi! Marse Perkins, w'at dat light dancin'
up yon'er by de grabeyard?"

The overseer rose with a start, his hair rising also as he saw a
fitful jack-o'-lantern gleam, appearing and disappearing on the
cemetery hill. As had been expected, he obeyed his impulse, pouring
down whiskey until he speedily rendered himself utterly helpless;
but while his intoxication disabled him physically, it produced for
a time an excited and disordered condition of mind in which he was
easily imposed upon. Jute shook him and adjured him to get up,
saying, "I years quar soun's comin' dis way."

When satisfied that their victim could make no resistance, Jute and
companions pretended to start away in terror. Perkins tried to
implore them to remain, but his lips seemed paralyzed. A few moments
later a strange group entered the cottage--five figures dressed in
Federal uniforms, hands and faces white and ghastly, and two
carrying white cavalry sabres. Each one had its finger on its lips,
but Perkins was beyond speech. In unspeakable horror he stared
vacantly before him and remained silent and motionless. The ghostly
shapes looked at him fixedly for a brief time, then at one another,
and solemnly nodded. Next, four took him up and bore him out, the
fifth following with the jug. At the door stood an immovably tall
form, surmounted by a cavalry hat and wrapped in a long army
overcoat.

"Leftenant Scoville!" gasped Perkins.

The figure, as if the joints of its back were near the ground, made
a portentous inclination of assent and then pointed with another
white sabre to the hill, leading the way. Perkins tried to shout for
help, but his tongue seemed powerless, as in fact it was, from
terror and liquor combined. He felt himself carried swiftly and, as
he thought, surely, to some terrible doom.