"Do you want to see my runaway?"
"Your runaway? I don't understand you."
"Don't you know what a runaway is? Why, of course you do. A runaway negro."
"Ah! a fugitive slave. Yes; I have seen a few."
"But you've never seen my runaway at all. He isn't a negro. He's an Arab. I'll let you see him if you promise never to tell. It's a great secret. I'm so small, and—and so crippled, you know, nobody would ever think I had a runaway?"
"Never fear me. Do you keep him in a box and permit only your best friends to peep at him occasionally?"
"Oh, no," said Little Crotchet, laughing at the idea. "He's a sure-enough runaway. He's been advertised in the newspapers. And they had the funniest picture of him you ever saw. They made him look like all the rest of the runaways that have their pictures in the Milledgeville papers,—a little bit of a man, bare-headed and stooped over, carrying a cane on his shoulder with a bundle hanging on the end of it. Sister cut it out for me. I'll show it to you to-morrow."
Mr. Hudspeth was very much interested in the runaway, and said he would be glad to see him.
"Well, you must do as I tell you. If I could jump up and jump about I wouldn't ask you, you know. Take the candle in your hand, go out on the stair landing, close the door after you, and stand there until you hear me call."
Mr. Hudspeth couldn't understand what all this meant, but he concluded to humor the joke. So he did as he was bid. He carried the candle from the room, closed the door, and stood on the landing until he heard Little Crotchet calling. When he reëntered the room he held the candle above his head and looked about him. He evidently expected to see the runaway.
"This is equal to joining a secret society," he said. "Where is your runaway? Has he escaped?"
"I just wanted to make the window dark a moment and then bright again. That is my signal. If he sees it, he'll come. Don't you think it's cunning?"
"I shall certainly think so if the runaway comes," replied Mr. Hudspeth somewhat doubtfully.
"He has never failed yet," said Little Crotchet. "If he fails now, it will be because Jim Simmons's hounds have caught him, or else he is too tired to come out on the hill and watch for the signal."
"Were the bloodhounds after him?" inquired Mr. Hudspeth, with a frown.
"Bloodhounds!" exclaimed Little Crotchet. "I never saw a bloodhound, and I never heard of one around here. If my runaway is caught, the dog that did it could be put in the pocket of that big overcoat you had strapped on your trunk."
The lad paused and held up his finger. His ear had caught the sound of Aaron's feet on the shingles. There was a faint grating sound, as the window sash was softly raised and lowered, and then the Son of Ben Ali stepped from behind the curtain. He stood still as a statue when his eye fell on the stranger, and his attitude was one of simple dignity when he turned to the Little Master. He saw the lad laughing and he smiled in sympathy.
"He's one of us," said Little Crotchet, "and I wanted him to see you. He's my teacher. Mr. Hudspeth, this is Aaron."
Mr. Hudspeth grasped Aaron's hand and shook it warmly, and they talked for some time, the Son of Ben Ali sitting on the side of Little Crotchet's bed, holding the lad's hand in one of his. Aaron told of his day's experiences, and his description of the affair in the Swamp was so vivid and realistic that Mr. Hudspeth exclaimed:—
"If that were put in print, the world would declare it to be pure fiction."
"Fiction," said Little Crotchet to Aaron, with an air of great solemnity, "fiction is a story put in a book. A story is sometimes called a fib, but when it is printed it is called fiction."
Mr. Hudspeth laughed and so did Aaron, but Aaron's laugh had a good deal of pride in it.
"He's crippled here," remarked Aaron, touching Little Crotchet's legs, "but not here,"—touching the boy's head.
"But all this is not what I called you for," said Little Crotchet after a while. "Timoleon tore his stable door down to-day and came near killing one of the hands. He is out now. Father will be angry when he comes home and hears about it. Can't you put him in his stable?"
"Me? I can lead the grandson of Abdallah all around the plantation by a yarn string," Aaron declared.
HE STOOD AS STILL AS A STATUE
"Well, if you had been here to-day you'd have found out different. You don't know that horse," Little Crotchet insisted.
"He is certainly as vicious a creature as I ever saw," remarked the Teacher, who had been an amazed witness of the horse's performances.
"I'll show you," Aaron declared.
"Oh, no!" protested Little Crotchet. "Don't try any tricks on that horse. He's too mean and cruel. If you can get him in his stable, and fasten him in, I'll be glad. But don't go near him; he'll bite your head off."
Aaron laughed and then he seemed to be considering something. "I wish"—He paused and looked at Little Crotchet.
"You wish what?" asked the lad.
"I wish you might go with me. But it is dark. The moon is a day moon. I could tote you to the fence."
"And then what?" asked Little Crotchet.
"You could see a tame horse—the grandson of Abdallah."
"I'll go to the fence if you'll carry me," said Little Crotchet. "The air is not cold—no wind is blowing."
"Shall I go too?" asked Mr. Hudspeth.
"I'd be glad," said Aaron.
So, although the night was not cold, Aaron took a shawl from the bed and wrapped it about Little Crotchet, lifted the lad in his arms, and went softly down the stairway, Mr. Hudspeth following. The night was not so dark after all. Once away from the light, various familiar objects began to materialize. The oaks ceased to be huge shadows. There was a thin, milk-white haze in the sky that seemed to shed a reflection of light on the earth below.
A negro passed along the beaten way leading to the cabins, whistling a tune. It was Randall. He heard the others and paused.
"It's your turn to tote," said Aaron.
"Who?" exclaimed Randall.
"The Little Master," replied Aaron.
Randall laughed. Who talked of turns where the Little Master was concerned? When it came to carrying that kind of burden, Randall was the man to do it, and it was "Don't le' me hurt you, honey. Ef I squeeze too tight, des say de word;" and then, "Whar we gwine, honey? A'on gwine in dar en put dat ar hoss up? Well, 'fo' he go in dar less all shake han's wid 'im, kaze when we nex' lay eyes on 'im he won't hear us, not ef we stoop down and holler good-by in his year."
But following Aaron, they went toward the lot where the Black Stallion had shown his savage temper during the day.
* * *
VIII.
THE HAPPENINGS OF A NIGHT.
When Aaron and those who were with him reached the lot fence, which had been made high and strong to keep old Jule, the jumping mule, within bounds, not a sound was heard on the other side.
"You er takin' yo' life in yo' han', mon," said Randall in a warning tone, as Aaron placed one foot on the third rail and vaulted over. The warning would have come too late in any event, for by the time the words were off Randall's tongue Aaron was over the fence. Those who were left behind waited in breathless suspense for some sound—some movement—from Timoleon, or some word from the Arab, to guide them. But for a little while (and it seemed to be a long, long while to Little Crotchet) nothing could be heard. Then suddenly there fell on their strained ears the noise that is made by a rushing horse, followed by a sharp exclamation from Aaron.
"What a pity if he is hurt!" exclaimed the Teacher.
Before anything else could be said, there came a whinnying sound from Timoleon, such as horses make when they greet those they are fond of, or when they are hungry and see some one bringing their food. But Timoleon's whinnying was more prolonged, and in the midst of it they could hear Aaron talking.
"Ef horses could talk," remarked Randall, "I'd up 'n' say dey wuz ca'n on a big confab in dar."
Little Crotchet said nothing. He had often heard Aaron say that he knew th
e language of animals, but the matter had never been pressed on the lad's attention as it was years afterwards on the attention of Buster John and Sweetest Susan.
Finally Aaron came to the fence, closely followed by the Black Stallion.
"Man, what you think?" said the Son of Ben Ali to Randall; "no water, no corn, no fodder since night before last."
"De Lord 'a' mercy!" exclaimed Randall. "Is anybody ever hear de beat er dat? No wonder he kotch dat ar nigger an' bit 'im! When de rascal git well I'm gwine ter ax Marster ter le' me take 'im out an' gi' 'im a paddlin'—an' I'll do it right, mon."
Mr. Hudspeth made a mental note of this speech, and resolved to find out if Randall meant what he said, or was merely joking.
"Man, give me the Little Master," said Aaron from the top of the fence, "and run and fetch two buckets of water from the spring."
"Dey's water in de lot dar," Randall explained.
"It is dirty," replied Aaron. "The grandson of Abdallah would die before he would drink it."
He leaned down and took Little Crotchet in his arms. The muzzle of Timoleon was so near that the lad could feel the hot breath from his nostrils. Involuntarily the Little Master shuddered and shrank closer to Aaron.
"He'll not hurt you," said Aaron. He made a queer sound with his lips, and the horse whinnied. "Now you may put your hand on him—so." The Arab took the Little Master's hand and placed it gently on the smooth, sensitive muzzle of the horse. The lad could feel the nervous working of Timoleon's strong upper lip. Then he stroked the horse's head and rubbed the velvety ears, and in less time than it takes to write it down he felt very much at home with the Black Stallion, and had no fear of him then or afterwards.
Randall soon returned with cool, fresh water from the spring. The Black Stallion drank all that was brought and wanted more, but Aaron said no. He had placed the Little Master on Randall's shoulder, and Timoleon, when he finished drinking, was taken to his stable and fed, and the broken door propped in such a manner that it could not be forced open from the inside. This done, Aaron returned to the others, relieved Randall of Little Crotchet, though the frail body was not much of a burden, and the three started back to the big house.
"You are still anxious to punish the poor man who was hurt by the horse?" asked the Teacher, as Randall bade them good-night.
"I is dat, suh. I'm des ez sho ter raise welks on his hide ez de sun is ter shine—leas'ways ef breff stay in his body. Ef I'd 'a' been dat ar hoss an' he'd done me dat away, I'd 'a' trompled de gizzard out 'n 'im. Ef dey's anything dat I do 'spise, suh, it's a low-down, triflin', good-fer-nothin' nigger."
Mr. Hudspeth knew enough about human nature to be able to catch the tone of downright sincerity in the negro's voice, and the fact not only amazed him at the time, but worried him no little when he recalled it afterward; for his memory seized upon it and made it more important than it really was. And he saw and noted other things on that plantation that puzzled him no little, and destroyed in his own mind the efficiency of some of his strongest anti-slavery arguments; but it did not, for it could not, reach the essence of the matter as he had conceived it, that human slavery, let it be national or sectional, or paternal and patriarchal, was an infliction on the master as well as an injustice to the negro.
So far so good. But Mr. Hudspeth could not see then what he saw and acknowledged when American slavery was happily a thing of the past, namely: That in the beginning, the slaves who were brought here were redeemed from a slavery in their own country worse than the bondage of death; that though they came here as savages, they were brought in close and stimulating contact with Christian civilization, and so lifted up that in two centuries they were able to bear the promotion to citizenship which awaited them; and that, although this end was reached in the midst of confusion and doubt, tumult and bloodshed, it was given to human intelligence to perceive in slavery, as well as in the freedom of the slaves, the hand of an All-wise Providence, and to behold in their bondage here the scheme of a vast university in which they were prepared to enjoy the full benefits of all the blessings which have been conferred on them, and which, though they seem to have been long delayed, have come to them earlier than to any other branch of the human race.
The Teacher who played his little part in the adventures of Aaron played a large part in national affairs at a later day. He saw slavery pass away, and he lived long enough after that event to put on record this declaration: "Looking back on the history of the human race, let us hasten to acknowledge, while the acknowledgment may be worth making, that two hundred and odd years of slavery, as it existed in the American republic, is a small price to pay for participation in the inestimable blessings and benefits of American freedom and American citizenship." And as he spoke, the great audience he was addressing seemed to fade before his eyes, and he found himself wandering again on the old plantation with Little Crotchet, or walking under the starlit skies talking to Aaron. And he heard again the genial voice of the gentleman whose guest he was, and lived again through the pleasures and perils of that wonderful year on the Abercrombie place.
But all this was twenty-five years in the future, and Mr. Hudspeth had not even a dream of what that future was to bring forth. Indeed, as he followed Aaron and Little Crotchet from the horse lot to the house he was less interested in what the years might hold for him than he was in one incident that occurred while Aaron was preparing to take the Black Stallion back to his stall. He was puzzled and wanted information. How did Aaron know that the horse had gone without water and food? He observed that neither Little Crotchet nor Randall questioned the statement when it was made, but treated it as a declaration beyond dispute. And yet the runaway had been in the woods, and a part of the time was pursued by hounds. He had no means of knowing whether or not the Black Stallion had been attended to.
The matter weighed on the Teacher's mind to such an extent that when he and his companions were safe in Little Crotchet's room he put a question to Aaron.
"By what means did you know that the horse had been left without food and water?"
Aaron glanced at Little Crotchet and smiled. "Well, sir, to tell you would be not to tell you. You wouldn't believe me."
"Oh, you go too far,—indeed you do. Why should I doubt your word?"
"It don't fit in with things you know."
"Try me."
"The grandson of Abdallah told me," replied Aaron simply.
The Teacher looked from Aaron to Little Crotchet. "You must be joking," he remarked.
"Oh, no, he isn't," protested Little Crotchet. "I know he can talk with the animals. He has promised to teach me, but I always forget it when I go to the Swamp; there are so many other things to think about."
"Would you teach me?" Mr. Hudspeth asked. His face was solemn, and yet there was doubt in the tone of his voice.
Aaron shook his head. "Too old," he explained. "Too old, and know too much."
"It's another case of having a child's faith," suggested the Teacher.
"Most, but not quite," answered Aaron. "It is like this: The why must be very big, or you must be touched."
The Teacher pondered over this reply for some moments, and then said: "There must be some real reason why I should desire to learn the language of animals. Is that it?"
"Most, but not quite," Aaron responded. "You must have the sure-enough feeling."
"I see. But what is it to be touched? What does that mean?"
"You must be touched by the people who live next door to the world."
The Teacher shook his head slowly and stroked his beard thoughtfully. He tried to treat the whole matter with due solemnity, so as to keep his footing, and he succeeded.
"Where is this country that is next door to the world?" he asked, turning to Little Crotchet.
"Under the spring," the lad replied promptly.
"Have you ever visited that country?" the Teacher asked. His tone was serious enough now.
"No," replied Little Crotchet, with a wistful sigh. "I'm crippled, you
know, and walk only on my crutches. It is far to go, and I can't take my pony. But Aaron has told me about it, and I have seen Little Mr. Thimblefinger—once—and he told me about Mrs. Meadows and the rest and brought me a message from old Mr. Rabbit. They all live in the country next door to the world."
For several minutes the Teacher sat and gazed into the pale flame of the candle. The wax or tallow had run down on one side, and formed a figure in the semblance of a wee man hanging to the brass mouth of the candlestick with both hands. Glazing thus, queer thoughts came to the Teacher's mind. He tugged at his beard to see whether he was awake or dreaming. Could it be that by some noiseless shifting of the scenery he was even now in the country next door to the world? He rose suddenly, shook hands with Aaron, and, swayed by some sudden impulse, stooped and pressed his lips to the pale brow of the patient lad. Then he went to his room, threw open the window, and sat for an hour, wondering what influence his strange experiences would have on his life.
And his reflections were not amiss, for years afterwards his experiences of this night were responsible for his intimacy with the greatest American of our time,—Abraham Lincoln. It was in the early part of the war that Mr. Hudspeth, one of a group of congressmen in consultation with the President, let fall some chance remarks about the country next door to the world. Mr. Lincoln had been telling a humorous story, and was on the point of telling another, when Mr. Hudspeth's chance remark struck his ear.
"Whereabouts is that country?" he asked.
"Not far from Georgia," replied Mr. Hudspeth.
"Who lives there?"
"Little Crotchet, Aaron the Arab, Little Mr. Thimblefinger, Mrs. Meadows, and old Mr. Rabbit." Mr. Hudspeth counted them off on his fingers in a humorous manner.
Aaron in the Wildwoods Page 9
