The months passed; and, as recorded in Chapter VI., our Fool had returned to his home. One day he received a brief letter, under date of Sept. 1, 1865, which was as follows: —
DEAR COLONEL, — The 'Warrington Place' is for sale, cheap as dirt. Five thousand dollars cash will take the whole place (six hundred acres); that is, five thousand dollars gold. Our folks haven't got to understand greenbacks much as yet. We have had paper money enough for four years. This is a grand chance for a gentleman of your stamp. We need just such. Northern men are crowding in here every day. One man is putting up a factory, and three have opened stores. Shall I tell Griswold, who has the property in charge, that you will take Warrington? I am very anxious you should have it. I know it will suit you so well. If you don't conclude to take it, let me know at once, as some other parties are offering.
"Yours truly,
"COLONEL EZEKIEL VAUGHN.
"P.S. — I can get it on better terms than anybody else, because of my relations with Griswold.
"E. V."
1 The questionable taste of this anecdote must be admitted; but the story is genuine and true, and is here given because so thoroughly characteristic of the time, place, and people.
CHAPTER VIII
"THEIR EXITS AND THEIR ENTRANCES"
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WARRINGTON had been the seat of an old family whose ancestor, many years before the Revolution, had erected the usual double log-house (or "two-decks-and-a-passage," as it is still called in that country), in the midst of a charming oak-grove, upon a gently sloping hill, which rose in the bend of as fair a stream as ever babbled over the rocks in foolish haste towards the far-away sea. This log-house had in time given way to a more pretentious structure of brick; the grove had been thinned and trimmed, and avenues laid out in it; and the years which had made the house old and damp, worn the mortar from the bricks, and covered the cypress roof with a carpet of moss, had added glory to the forest monarchs which stood around it, and stretched, year by year, their great arms closer and closer about it, as if to hide its imperfections, and screen its decrepitude from the beholder.
The Warringtons themselves were akin to some of the highest families in the State, and so prided themselves upon their opulence and position that they became chary of alliances with others. They intermarried until the vigor which had amassed great estates became weakened, and imbecility and vice succeeded. The estates were squandered, the revenues lessened, and one plantation after another absorbed, until finally Warrington itself, the family-seat, went to satisfy the demands of importunate creditors half a score of years before our story. Fortunately (or unfortunately, rather, for our Fool) the plantation fell into the hands of an eccentric Frenchman, a bachelor with an abundant fortune, and a taste for horticulture and pomology. He was struck with the beauty of the situation, and the quality of the fruits produced there; and building a neat lodge on one side of the grounds, almost overhanging a little waterfall, which he had improved until it became one of the chief attractions of the place, he shut up the great house, and devoted himself to the culture of fruits and flowers with a contented zeal which yielded marvelous results. All about the central grove of oak and hickory were orchards and vineyards of the rarest and most luscious fruits. Evergreens had been interspersed with deciduous varieties in the grove, and trees of quaint habit and striking foliage were grouped here and there through the grounds.
Of the plantation beyond the immediate surroundings of the house — the six hundred acres of alternate hill and bottom, with woodland and old field interspersed — he had been less careful, having left it in the hands of an overseer to be cultivated or left idle as the fancy or inclination of that worthy might dictate. All he wanted from that portion of his property was, that it should pay the expense of its own cultivation, and furnish enough corn, meat, and forage to subsist himself and the two "boys" (slaves) whom he kept to help him in his horticultural operations, together with the horses and mules employed on the plantation. This was easy, without cultivating more than one-half the arable land. The overseer consequently reduced his cares, and accomplished all his employer required, by "turning out" from year to year portions of the plantation, and failing to "take in" any new ground. The consequence was that when Mr. Noyotte died, in the second year of the war, the bulk of the farming-lands had grown up into pine and sassafras, with rank sedge-grass waving thickly between, and great red gullies stretching across towards every ravine and water-course. The lands which had been under actual cultivation had become very much worn and depreciated by slothful management, until the hillsides were washed, and the bottoms filled with the detritus, to the great detriment not only of the slopes above, but also of the rich alluvium beneath.
The eccentric owner had died, so far as was known, without heirs. He had never been a favorite in the neighborhood, and very little was known of his affairs. His housekeeper, a quadroon woman, claimed his estate under a will duly executed; but as it was suggested that she was a slave and incapable of "taking" under it, and as she was unable to prove the contrary, the will was set aside, and an administrator appointed. It was found that the deceased had become indebted to an extent which his personal estate was insufficient to discharge, especially considering the very low prices which it brought at the sale which the administrator made for that purpose.
Nearly every thing was bought by Colonel Vaughn at figures which would have amazed one who knew nothing of how such matters may be arranged. It was given out and believed that Colonel Vaughn had been authorized, by a letter which had passed the blockade, to represent the heirs of the deceased, — nephews and nieces who lived in France, — and that he was buying in the property just to hold for them. Therefore, when likely negro slaves were bid off by Colonel Vaughn for fifty dollars apiece in Confederate money, every one said it was all right, and there was no counter-bidding. The administrator made his report of sales, and, there being a deficiency of assets, obtained an order to sell the lands, which he was authorized to do either at public or private sale.
Less than ten dollars an acre for such a plantation seemed to the Fool, who was accustomed to the high prices of land at the North, extravagantly cheap, — as perhaps it was in the abstract. He did not know that in its palmiest days the plantation would never have brought that price at a cash sale; while its condition had so deteriorated, that, by the same scale of prices, it would now hardly have been worth more than half that sum: besides which, the deleterious effects of the war upon the value of all property in that region were hardly to be estimated. Of all this he took no account. He answered at once that Colonel Vaughn might take the property at the price named, if he could get a good title. Of that he wished to be sure. Then there came an abstract of title from an attorney of the highest repute, as he well knew, and with it this note: —
"Griswold was anxious to sell: so I bought, knowing that you would be sure to take the place when satisfied of the title, as you will be when you read this. I got it a trifle below the price I named to you; and you can have it for what I paid, any time within two months.
"COLONEL EZEKIEL VAUGHN."
So the Fool sold his pretty home, packed up his household idols, took his wife and little daughter, and went to seek health, happiness, and fortune in Dixie. The trade which had been initiated by the persistent Vaughn was duly consummated, and Comfort Servosse became the owner in fee of the family-seat of the Warringtons. It took almost all of his little fortune to pay for it; but, when he had done so, he felt that he had accomplished a good work. He had made a fair bargain, and had now a basis for future happiness and prosperity; and for this he felt himself under some obligation to Colonel Vaughn, and came to the conclusion, that, if that worthy was not gifted with a stomach for fight, he was at all events a good-hearted, obliging fellow. It was not till afterwards that he found out how many prices he had paid; for, when the heirs of Mr. Noyotte — the nephews and nieces in France — sent over to reclaim the residue of the property in the hands of the administra
tor, it appeared from the record that the land had been sold privately to Colonel Vaughn in 1863, and that there had been received in payment thereof a certain amount of Confederate money, which was duly filed by the administrator, and reported by him as having been lost by the events of the war.
But these things were unknown to the Fool for several years; and Warrington came into his hands a new toy, unsmutched by any suspicion that he had paid too much for his whistle.
CHAPTER IX
THE NEW KINGDOM
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WHY attempt to paint the delights of that first winter at Warrington?
Upon examining the place, it was found that the Frenchman's lodge had been used for purposes which prevented its present occupation as a dwelling, and they were forced to go into the old brick mansion. It needed much repairing, and at the best was worth more to look at than to occupy. Yet there was a certain charm about the great rooms, with their yawning fireplaces and dingy ceilings. Transportation was yet defective; and it was long before their furniture could arrive over railroads, worn and old, which had been the object of attack by both armies at different periods of the war.
It was the middle of October when they entered upon their new possession; and all was so new and so lovely to Metta and the little Lily, that no lack of creature-comforts could have checked their enthusiasm. The balmy air, the unfamiliar landscape, the strange sense of isolation which always marks the Southern plantation life, and, above all, the presence of the husband and father who had been absent so long, all united to make them superlatively happy.
Metta rode with her husband all over the country, whose strange irregularity became every day more pleasing to them, — through the thick woods along the bridle-path, where the ground was covered with autumn foliage which had fallen from ripeness rather than from the effects of frost; past the little country farm-houses and the seats of wealthy planters; fording rivers, and crossing rude ferries; every one whom they met, whether of high or low degree or of whatever race, having something about him which was new and strange to one of Northern birth and education.
A letter which Metta wrote to her sister shortly after they arrived will show the feelings of the young wife: —
"MY DEAR JULIA, — I do not know how I can better employ a few hours of Thanksgiving Day than in writing you the promised letter of our new home and our journey here. While you are shivering with cold, perhaps looking out upon ice and snow, I am sitting upon a little veranda, over which clambers a rose-vine still wreathed with buds and blossoms. There has been a slight frost; and those on the outside are withered, but those within are yet as fresh as if it were but June. The sun shines warmly in, and every thing without is touched with that delicious haziness which characterizes the few peculiar autumn days of the North that we call Indian summer. There is the same soft, dreamy languor, and the same sense of infinite distance around us.
"Every body and every thing is new to us; that is, to Lily and me. Comfort's four years of soldier life made him very familiar with similar scenes; and, I doubt not, a large part of our enjoyment comes from having him to explain all these wonders to us.
"It did seem terribly lonely and desolate when we first arrived. You know Comfort had come before, and completed the purchase and made some preparations for our reception; that is, he had engaged somebody to make the preparations, and then returned for us. We had a fearful journey, — rough seas and rickety boats, a rough country, and railroads which seemed to lack all that we have considered the essentials of such structures. The rails were worn and broken, the cross-ties sunken and decayed; while every now and then we would see where some raiding party had heated the rails, and twisted them around trees, and their places had been supplied with old rusty pieces taken from some less important track. Comfort said he believed they would run the train on the 'right of way' alone pretty soon. All through the country were the marks of war, — forts and earthworks and stockades. Army-wagons, ambulances, and mules are scattered everywhere, and seem to be about all the means of transportation that are left. The poor Confederacy must have been on its last legs when it gave up.
"The last twelve hours of the trip it rained, — rained as you never saw it, as I think it never can rain except in this climate. To say that it poured, would give you but a faint idea of it. It did not beat or blow: there was not a particle of storm, or any thing like excitement or exertion about it. It only fell — steadily, quietly, and uninterruptedly. It seemed as if the dull, heavy atmosphere were shut in by an impenetrable canopy of clouds, and laden with an exhaustless amount of water, just sufficiently condensed to fall. There was no patter, but one ceaseless sound of falling water, almost like the sheet of a cascade in its weight and monotony, on the roof of the old leaky car. In the midst of this rain, at midnight, we reached the station nearest to Warrington. It is, in fact, a pretty little town two thousand or so inhabitants; but it was as dark as the catacombs, and as quiet, save for the rain falling, falling everywhere, without intermission. The conductor said there was a good hotel, if we could get to it; but there was no vehicle of any kind, and no light at the station except the conductor's lantern, and a tallow candle flickering in the little station-house.
"Comfort got our baggage off, and stored in the station-house, after a deal of trouble; and with bags and boxes on our arms, and muffled up to the chin to keep out the rain (which seemed to come through an umbrella as if it scorned such an attempt to divert it from its course), we started for the hotel under the pilotage of the conductor with his lantern. Such a walk! As Comfort helped me out of the car, he said,"It's fearfully muddy."He need not have said it. Already I was sinking, sinking, into the soft, tenacious mass. Rubbers were of no avail, nor yet the high shoes I had put on in order to be expressly prepared for whatever might await me. I began to fear quicksand; and, if you had seen my clothing the next morning, you would not have wondered. Luckily it was dark, and no one can ever more than guess what a drabbled procession we made that night.
"And then the hotel; but I spare you that! Lily cried herself to sleep, and I came very near it.
"The next morning the earth was as bright and smiling as if a deluge had not passed over it a few hours before. Comfort was all impatience to get out to Warrington, and we were as anxious to leave that horrible hotel. So he got an ambulance, and we started. He said he had no doubt our goods were already there, as they had been sent on three weeks before, and he had arranged with a party to take them out to the plantation. At least, he said, we could not be worse off than we were at that wretched hotel, in which I fully agreed with him; but he did not know what was in store for us!
"Warrington is only six miles from the station; but we were two mortal hours in getting there with our trunks and the boxes we had brought with us. Think of riding through mud almost as red as blood, as sticky as pitch, and "deeper than plummet ever told," for two hours, after an almost sleepless night and a weary journey of seven days, and you may faintly guess with what feelings I came to Warrington. As we drove up the avenue under the grand old oaks, just ripening into a staid and sober brown, interspersed with hickories which were one blaze of gold from the lowest to the topmost branch, and saw the gray squirrels (which the former owner would not allow to be killed, and no one had had time to kill since) playing about, and the great brick house standing in silent grandeur amid this mimic forest, I could have kissed the trees, the squirrels, the weather-beaten porch, the muddy earth itself, with joy. It was home, — rest. Comfort saw the tears in my eyes, the first which I had shed in it all, and said tenderly, —
"'There, there! It's almost over!' as if I had been a tired baby.
"Lily was in rapture over the beauties of the old place, as indeed she had good right to be; but I was tired. I wanted rest. We drove to the house, and found it empty, — desolate. The doors were open; the water had run across the hall: and every thing was so barren, that I could only sit down and cry. After some trouble Comfort found the man who was to have made the repairs, a
nd brought out the goods. He said the goods had not come, and he 'llowed there wa'n't no use fixin' things till they come.
"Comfort sent the ambulance which brought us out to go back and get some provisions, a few cooking utensils, and some other absolute necessities. A colored woman was found, who came in, and, with the many willing hands which she soon summoned to her aid, made the old house (or one room of it) quite cozy. Our things have been coming by piecemeal ever since, and we are now quite comfortable.
"Comfort has bought me a riding-horse, — a beautiful blooded bay mare; and he has his old war-horse, Lollard, which he had left in this vicinity with an old man named Jehu Brown, — who, by the way, is a character, — having an impression that we might come here. So we ride a great deal. The roads are so rough that it is difficult to get about in any other way; and it is just delightful riding through the wood-paths, and the curious crooked country roads, by day or at night.
"The people here seem very kind and attentive. A good many gentlemen have called to see Comfort. They are all colonels or squires, and very agreeable, pleasant men. A few ladies have called on me, — always with their husbands though; and I think they are inclined to be less gracious in their manner, and not so cordial in their welcome, as the gentlemen. I notice that none of them have been very pressing in their invitations for us to return their courtesy. Comfort says it is not at all to be wondered at, but that we ought rather to be surprised and pleased that they came at all; and I do not know but he is right.
A Fool's Errand & Bricks without Straw Page 4
