The Colonel's Dream

by Charles W. Chesnutt

  _Sixteen_

  Little Phil had grown very fond of old Peter, who seemed to lavishupon the child all of his love and devotion for the dead generationsof the French family. The colonel had taught Phil to call the old man"Uncle Peter," after the kindly Southern fashion of slavery days,which, denying to negroes the forms of address applied to whitepeople, found in the affectionate terms of relationship--Mammy, Auntieand Uncle--designations that recognised the respect due to age, andyet lost, when applied to slaves, their conventional significance.There was a strong, sympathy between the intelligent child and theundeveloped old negro; they were more nearly on a mental level,leaving out, of course, the factor of Peter's experience, than couldhave been the case with one more generously endowed than Peter, who,though by nature faithful, had never been unduly bright. Little Philbecame so attached to his old attendant that, between Peter and theTreadwell ladies, the colonel's housekeeper had to give him verylittle care.

  On Sunday afternoons the colonel and Phil and Peter would sometimeswalk over to the cemetery. The family lot was now kept in perfectorder. The low fence around it had been repaired, and several leaningheadstones straightened up. But, guided by a sense of fitness, andhaving before him the awful example for which Fetters was responsible,the colonel had added no gaudy monument nor made any alterations whichwould disturb the quiet beauty of the spot or its harmony with thesurroundings. In the Northern cemetery where his young wife wasburied, he had erected to her memory a stately mausoleum, in keepingwith similar memorials on every hand. But here, in this quietgraveyard, where his ancestors slept their last sleep under the elmsand the willows, display would have been out of place. He had,however, placed a wrought-iron bench underneath the trees, where hewould sit and read his paper, while little Phil questioned old Peterabout his grandfather and his great-grandfather, their prowess on thehunting field, and the wars they fought in; and the old man woulddelight in detailing, in his rambling and disconnected manner, thepast glories of the French family. It was always a new story to Phil,and never grew stale to the old man. If Peter could be believed, therewere never white folks so brave, so learned, so wise, so handsome, sokind to their servants, so just to all with whom they had dealings.Phil developed a very great fondness for these dead ancestors, whosegraves and histories he soon knew as well as Peter himself. With hislively imagination he found pleasure, as children often do, in lookinginto the future. The unoccupied space in the large cemetery lotfurnished him food for much speculation.

  "Papa," he said, upon one of these peaceful afternoons, "there's roomenough here for all of us, isn't there--you, and me and Uncle Peter?"

  "Yes, Phil," said his father, "there's room for several generations ofFrenches yet to sleep with their fathers."

  Little Phil then proceeded to greater detail. "Here," he said, "nextto grandfather, will be your place, and here next to that, will bemine, and here, next to me will be--but no," he said, pausingreflectively, "that ought to be saved for my little boy when he growsup and dies, that is, when I grow up and have a little boy and hegrows up and grows old and dies and leaves a little boy and--but wherewill Uncle Peter be?"

  "Nem mine me, honey," said the old man, "dey can put me somewhar e'se.Hit doan' mattuh 'bout me."

  "No, Uncle Peter, you must be here with the rest of us. For you know,Uncle Peter, I'm so used to you now, that I should want you to be nearme then."

  Old Peter thought to humour the lad. "Put me down hyuh at de foot erde lot, little Mars' Phil, unner dis ellum tree."

  "Oh, papa," exclaimed Phil, demanding the colonel's attention, "UnclePeter and I have arranged everything. You know Uncle Peter is to staywith me as long as I live, and when he dies, he is to be buried hereat the foot of the lot, under the elm tree, where he'll be near me allthe time, and near the folks that he knows and that know him."

  "All right, Phil. You see to it; you'll live longer."

  "But, papa, if I should die first, and then Uncle Peter, and you lastof all, you'll put Uncle Peter near me, won't you, papa?"

  "Why, bless your little heart, Phil, of course your daddy will dowhatever you want, if he's here to do it. But you'll live, Phil,please God, until I am old and bent and white-haired, and you are agrown man, with a beard, and a little boy of your own."

  "Yas, suh," echoed the old servant, "an' till ole Peter's bones islong sence crumble' inter dus'. None er de Frenches' ain' never diedtill dey was done growed up."

  On the afternoon following the colonel's visit to Mink Run, old Peter,when he came for Phil, was obliged to stay long enough to see theantics of the mechanical mule; and had not that artificial animalsuddenly refused to kick, and lapsed into a characteristic balkinessfor which there was no apparent remedy, it might have proved difficultto get Phil away.

  "There, Philip dear, never mind," said Miss Laura, "we'll have Benmend it for you when he comes, next time, and then you can play withit again."

  Peter had brought with him some hooks and lines, and, he and Phil,after leaving the house, followed the bank of the creek, climbing afence now and then, until they reached the old mill site, upon whichwork had not yet begun. They found a shady spot, and seatingthemselves upon the bank, baited their lines, and dropped them into aquiet pool. For quite a while their patience was unrewarded byanything more than a nibble. By and by a black cat came down from theruined mill, and sat down upon the bank at a short distance from them.

  "I reckon we'll haf ter move, honey," said the old man. "We ain'tgwine ter have no luck fishin' 'g'ins' no ole black cat."

  "But cats don't fish, Uncle Peter, do they?"

  "Law', chile, you'll never know w'at dem critters _kin_ do, 'tel you'swatched 'em long ez I has! Keep yo' eye on dat one now."

  The cat stood by the stream, in a watchful attitude. Suddenly shedarted her paw into the shallow water and with a lightning-likemovement drew out a small fish, which she took in her mouth, andretired with it a few yards up the bank.

  "Jes' look at dat ole devil," said Peter, "playin' wid dat fish jes'lack it wuz a mouse! She'll be comin' down heah terreckly tellin' uster go 'way fum her fishin' groun's."

  "Why, Uncle Peter," said Phil incredulously, "cats can't talk!"

  "Can't dey? Hoo said dey couldn'? Ain't Miss Grac'ella an' me be'ntellin' you right along 'bout Bre'r Rabbit and Bre'r Fox an de yuthercreturs talkin' an' gwine on jes' lak folks?"

  "Yes, Uncle Peter, but those were just stories; they didn't reallytalk, did they?"

  "Law', honey," said the old man, with a sly twinkle in his rheumy eye,"you is de sma'tes' little white boy I ever knowed, but you is got amonst'us heap ter l'arn yit, chile. Nobody ain' done tol' you 'bout deBlack Cat an' de Ha'nted House, is dey?"

  "No, Uncle Peter--you tell me."

  "I didn' knowed but Miss Grac'ella mought a tole you--she knows mos'all de tales."

  "No, she hasn't. You tell me about it, Uncle Peter."

  "Well," said Peter, "does you 'member dat coal-black man dat drives delumber wagon?"

  "Yes, he goes by our house every day, on the way to the sawmill."

  "Well, it all happen' 'long er him. He 'uz gwine long de street oneday, w'en he heared two gent'emen--one of 'em was ole Mars' TomSellers an' I fuhgot de yuther--but dey 'uz talkin' 'bout dat oleha'nted house down by de creek, 'bout a mile from hyuh, on de yutherside er town, whar we went fishin' las' week. Does you 'member deplace?"

  "Yes, I remember the house."

  "Well, as dis yer Jeff--dat's de lumber-wagon driver's name--as disyer Jeff come up ter dese yer two gentlemen, one of 'em was sayin,'I'll bet five dollahs dey ain' narry a man in his town would stay indat ha'nted house all night.' Dis yer Jeff, he up 'n sez, sezee,'Scuse me, suh, but ef you'll 'low me ter speak, suh, I knows a manwat'll stay in dat ole ha'nted house all night.'"

  "What is a ha'nted house, Uncle Peter?" asked Phil.

  "W'y. Law,' chile, a ha'nted house is a house whar dey's ha'nts!"

  "And what are ha'nts, Uncle Peter?"

  "Ha'nts, honey, is sperrits er dea
d folks, dat comes back an' hangsroun' whar dey use' ter lib."

  "Do all spirits come back, Uncle Peter?"

  "No, chile, bress de Lawd, no. Only de bad ones, w'at has be'n sowicked dey can't rest in dey graves. Folks lack yo' gran'daddy and yo'gran'mammy--an' all de Frenches--dey don' none er _dem_ come back, ferdey wuz all good people an' is all gone ter hebben. But I'm fergittin'de tale.

  "'Well, hoo's de man--hoo's de man?' ax Mistah Sellers, w'en Jeff tol''im dey wuz somebody wat 'ud stay in de ole ha'nted house all night.

  "'I'm de man,' sez Jeff. 'I ain't skeered er no ha'nt dat evuh walked,an' I sleeps in graveya'ds by pref'ence; fac', I jes nach'ly lacks tertalk ter ha'nts. You pay me de five dollahs, an' I'll 'gree ter stayin de ole house f'm nine er clock 'tel daybreak.'

  "Dey talk' ter Jeff a w'ile, an' dey made a bahgin wid 'im; dey give'im one dollah down, an' promus' 'im fo' mo' in de mawnin' ef hestayed 'tel den.

  "So w'en he got de dollah he went uptown an' spent it, an' 'long 'boutnine er clock he tuk a lamp, an' went down ter de ole house, an' wentinside an' shet de do'.

  "Dey wuz a rickety ole table settin' in de middle er de flo'. He sotde lamp on de table. Den he look 'roun' de room, in all de cawners an'up de chimbly, ter see dat dey wan't nobody ner nuthin' hid in deroom. Den he tried all de winders an' fastened de do', so dey couldn'nobody ner nuthin' git in. Den he fotch a' ole rickety chair f'm onecawner, and set it by de table, and sot down. He wuz settin' dere,noddin' his head, studyin' 'bout dem other fo' dollahs, an' w'at hewuz gwine buy wid 'em, w'en bimeby he kinder dozed off, an' befo' heknowed it he wuz settin' dere fast asleep."

  "W'en he woke up, 'long 'bout 'leven erclock, de lamp had bu'n' downkinder low. He heared a little noise behind him an' look 'roun', an'dere settin' in de middle er de flo' wuz a big black tomcat, wid histail quirled up over his back, lookin' up at Jeff wid bofe his two bigyaller eyes.

  "Jeff rub' 'is eyes, ter see ef he wuz 'wake, an w'iles he sot derewond'rin' whar de hole wuz dat dat ole cat come in at, fus' thing heknowed, de ole cat wuz settin' right up 'side of 'im, on de table, widhis tail quirled up roun' de lamp chimbly.

  "Jeff look' at de black cat, an' de black cat look' at Jeff. Den deblack cat open his mouf an' showed 'is teef, an' sezee----"

  "'Good evenin'!'

  "'Good evenin' suh,' 'spon' Jeff, trimblin' in de knees, an' kind'eredgin' 'way fum de table.

  "'Dey ain' nobody hyuh but you an' me, is dey?' sez de black cat,winkin' one eye.

  "'No, suh,' sez Jeff, as he made fer de do', _'an' quick ez I kin gitout er hyuh, dey ain' gwine ter be nobody hyuh but you!_'"

  "Is that all, Uncle Peter?" asked Phil, when the old man came to ahalt with a prolonged chuckle.

  "Huh?"

  "Is that all?"

  "No, dey's mo' er de tale, but dat's ernuff ter prove dat black catskin do mo' dan little w'ite boys 'low dey kin."

  "Did Jeff go away?"

  "Did he go 'way! Why, chile, he jes' flew away! Befo' he got ter dedo', howsomevuh, he 'membered he had locked it, so he didn' stop tertry ter open it, but went straight out'n a winder, quicker'nlightnin', an' kyared de sash 'long wid 'im. An' he'd be'n in sechpow'ful has'e dat he knock' de lamp over an' lack ter sot de houseafire. He nevuh got de yuther fo' dollahs of co'se, 'ca'se he didn'tstay in de ole ha'nted house all night, but he 'lowed he'd sho'ly'arned de one dollah he'd had a'ready."

  "Why didn't he want to talk to the black cat, Uncle Peter?"

  "Why didn' he wan' ter talk ter de black cat? Whoever heared er sich aqueshtun! He didn' wan' ter talk wid no black cat, 'ca'se he wuzskeered. Black cats brings 'nuff bad luck w'en dey doan' talk, let'lone w'en dey does."

  "I should like," said Phil, reflectively, "to talk to a black cat. Ithink it would be great fun."

  "Keep away f'm 'em, chile, keep away f'm 'em. Dey is some things toodeep fer little boys ter projec' wid, an' black cats is one of 'em."

  They moved down the stream and were soon having better luck.

  "Uncle Peter," said Phil, while they were on their way home, "therecouldn't be any ha'nts at all in the graveyard where my grandfather isburied, could there? Graciella read a lot of the tombstones to me oneday, and they all said that all the people were good, and were restingin peace, and had gone to heaven. Tombstones always tell the truth,don't they, Uncle Peter?"

  "Happen so, honey, happen so! De French tombstones does; an' as ter deres', I ain' gwine to 'spute 'em, nohow, fer ef I did, de folks under'em mought come back an' ha'nt me, jes' fer spite."