English
INaboutaminutesomebodyspokeoutofawindowwithoutputtinghisheadout,andsays:
“Bedone,boys!Who’sthere?”
Isays:
“It’sme.”
“Who’sme?”
“GeorgeJackson,sir.”
“Whatdoyouwant?”
“Idon’twantnothing,sir.Ionlywanttogoalongby,butthedogswon’tletme.”
“Whatareyouprowlingaroundherethistimeofnightfor–hey?”
“Iwarn’tprowlingaround,sir,Ifelloverboardoffofthesteamboat.”
“Oh,youdid,didyou?Strikealightthere,somebody.Whatdidyousayyournamewas?”
“GeorgeJackson,sir.I’monlyaboy.”
“Lookhere,ifyou’retellingthetruthyouneedn’tbeafraid–nobody’llhurtyou.
Butdon’ttrytobudge;standrightwhereyouare.
RouseoutBobandTom,someofyou,andfetchtheguns.
GeorgeJackson,isthereanybodywithyou?”
“No,sir,nobody.”
Iheardthepeoplestirringaroundinthehousenow,andseealight.Themansungout:
“Snatchthatlightaway,Betsy,youoldfool–ain’tyougotanysense?Putitonthefloorbehindthefrontdoor.Bob,ifyouandTomareready,takeyourplaces.”
“Allready.”
“Now,GeorgeJackson,doyouknowtheShepherdsons?”
“No,sir;Ineverheardofthem.”
“Well,thatmaybeso,anditmayn’t.Now,allready.Stepforward,GeorgeJackson.
Andmind,don’tyouhurry–comemightyslow.
Ifthere’sanybodywithyou,lethimkeepback–ifheshowshimselfhe’llbeshot.Comealongnow.
Comeslow;pushthedooropenyourself–justenoughtosqueezein,d’youhear?”
Ididn’thurry;Icouldn’tifI’dawantedto.
Itookoneslowstepatatimeandtherewarn’tasound,onlyIthoughtIcouldhearmyheart.
Thedogswereasstillasthehumans,buttheyfollowedalittlebehindme.
WhenIgottothethreelogdoorstepsIheardthemunlockingandunbarringandunbolting.
Iputmyhandonthedoorandpusheditalittleandalittlemoretillsomebodysaid,“There,that’senough–putyourheadin.”
Idoneit,butIjudgedtheywouldtakeitoff.
Thecandlewasonthefloor,andtheretheyallwas,lookingatme,andmeatthem,foraboutaquarterofaminute:Threebigmenwithgunspointedatme,whichmademewince,Itellyou;theoldest,grayandaboutsixty,theothertwothirtyormore–allofthemfineandhandsome–andthesweetestoldgray-headedlady,andbackofhertwoyoungwomenwhichIcouldn’tseerightwell.Theoldgentlemansays:
“There;Ireckonit’sallright.Comein.”
AssoonasIwasintheoldgentlemanhelockedthedoorandbarreditandboltedit,andtoldtheyoungmentocomeinwiththeirguns,andtheyallwentinabigparlorthathadanewragcarpetonthefloor,andgottogetherinacornerthatwasoutoftherangeofthefrontwindows–therewarn’tnoneontheside.
Theyheldthecandle,andtookagoodlookatme,andallsaid,“Why,HEain’taShepherdson–no,thereain’tanyShepherdsonabouthim.”
ThentheoldmansaidhehopedIwouldn’tmindbeingsearchedforarms,becausehedidn’tmeannoharmbyit–itwasonlytomakesure.
Sohedidn’tpryintomypockets,butonlyfeltoutsidewithhishands,andsaiditwasallright.
Hetoldmetomakemyselfeasyandathome,andtellallaboutmyself;buttheoldladysays:
“Why,blessyou,Saul,thepoorthing’saswetashecanbe;anddon’tyoureckonitmaybehe’shungry?”
“Trueforyou,Rachel–Iforgot.”
Sotheoldladysays:
“Betsy”(thiswasaniggerwoman),youflyaroundandgethimsomethingtoeatasquickasyoucan,poorthing;andoneofyougirlsgoandwakeupBuckandtellhim–oh,hereheishimself.
Buck,takethislittlestrangerandgetthewetclothesofffromhimanddresshimupinsomeofyoursthat’sdry.”
Bucklookedaboutasoldasme–thirteenorfourteenoralongthere,thoughhewasalittlebiggerthanme.
Hehadn’tonanythingbutashirt,andhewasveryfrowzy-headed.
Hecameingapinganddiggingonefistintohiseyes,andhewasdraggingagunalongwiththeotherone.Hesays:
“Ain’ttheynoShepherdsonsaround?”
Theysaid,no,‘twasafalsealarm.
“Well,”hesays,“ifthey’dabensome,IreckonI’dagotone.”
Theyalllaughed,andBobsays:
“Why,Buck,theymighthavescalpedusall,you’vebeensoslowincoming.”
“Well,nobodycomeafterme,anditain’trightI’malwayskeptdown;Idon’tgetnoshow.”
“Nevermind,Buck,myboy,”saystheoldman,“you’llhaveshowenough,allingoodtime,don’tyoufretaboutthat.Go‘longwithyounow,anddoasyourmothertoldyou.”
Whenwegotup-stairstohisroomhegotmeacoarseshirtandaroundaboutandpantsofhis,andIputthemon.
WhileIwasatitheaskedmewhatmynamewas,butbeforeIcouldtellhimhestartedtotellmeaboutabluejayandayoungrabbithehadcatchedinthewoodsdaybeforeyesterday,andheaskedmewhereMoseswaswhenthecandlewentout.
IsaidIdidn’tknow;Ihadn’theardaboutitbefore,noway.
“Well,guess,”hesays.
“How’mIgoingtoguess,”saysI,“whenIneverheardtellofitbefore?”
“Butyoucanguess,can’tyou?It’sjustaseasy.”
“WHICHcandle?”Isays.
“Why,anycandle,”hesays.
“Idon’tknowwherehewas,”saysI;“wherewashe?”
“Why,hewasintheDARK!That’swherehewas!”
“Well,ifyouknowedwherehewas,whatdidyouaskmefor?”
“Why,blameit,it’sariddle,don’tyousee?
Say,howlongareyougoingtostayhere?Yougottostayalways.
Wecanjusthaveboomingtimes–theydon’thavenoschoolnow.Doyouownadog?
I’vegotadog–andhe’llgointheriverandbringoutchipsthatyouthrowin.
DoyouliketocombupSundays,andallthatkindoffoolishness?YoubetIdon’t,butmashemakesme.Confoundtheseolebritches!
IreckonI’dbetterput‘emon,butI’druthernot,it’ssowarm.Areyouallready?Allright.Comealong,oldhoss.”
Coldcorn-pone,coldcorn-beef,butterandbuttermilk–thatiswhattheyhadformedownthere,andthereain’tnothingbetterthateverI’vecomeacrossyet.
Buckandhismaandallofthemsmokedcobpipes,excepttheniggerwoman,whichwasgone,andthetwoyoungwomen.
Theyallsmokedandtalked,andIeatandtalked.
Theyoungwomenhadquiltsaroundthem,andtheirhairdowntheirbacks.
Theyallaskedmequestions,andItoldthemhowpapandmeandallthefamilywaslivingonalittlefarmdownatthebottomofArkansaw,andmysisterMaryAnnrunoffandgotmarriedandneverwasheardofnomore,andBillwenttohuntthemandhewarn’theardofnomore,andTomandMortdied,andthentherewarn’tnobodybutjustmeandpapleft,andhewasjusttrimmeddowntonothing,onaccountofhistroubles;sowhenhediedItookwhattherewasleft,becausethefarmdidn’tbelongtous,andstarteduptheriver,deckpassage,andfelloverboard;andthatwashowIcometobehere.
SotheysaidIcouldhaveahomethereaslongasIwantedit.
Thenitwasmostdaylightandeverybodywenttobed,andIwenttobedwithBuck,andwhenIwakedupinthemorning,dratitall,Ihadforgotwhatmynamewas.
SoIlaidthereaboutanhourtryingtothink,andwhenBuckwakedupIsays:
“Canyouspell,Buck?”
“Yes,”hesays.
“Ibetyoucan’tspellmyname,”saysI.
“IbetyouwhatyoudareIcan,”sayshe.
“Allright,”saysI,“goahead.”
“G-e-o-r-g-eJ-a-x-o-n–therenow,”hesays.
“Well,”saysI,“youdoneit,butIdidn’tthinkyoucould.Itain’tnoslouchofanametospell–rightoffwithoutstudying.”
Isetitdown,private,becausesomebodymightwantMEtospellitnext,andsoIwantedtobehandywithitandrattleitofflikeIwasusedtoit.
Itwasamightynicefamily,andamightynicehouse,too.
Ihadn’tseennohouseoutinthecountrybeforethatwassoniceandhadsomuchstyle.
Itdidn’thaveanironlatchonthefrontdoor,norawoodenonewithabuckskinstring,butabrassknobtoturn,thesameashousesintown.
Therewarn’tnobedintheparlor,norasignofabed;butheapsofparlorsintownshasbedsinthem.
Therewasabigfireplacethatwasbrickedonthebottom,andthebrickswaskeptcleanandredbypouringwateronthemandscrubbingthemwithanotherbrick;sometimestheywashthemoverwithredwater-paintthattheycallSpanish-brown,sameastheydointown.
Theyhadbigbrassdog-ironsthatcouldholdupasawlog.
Therewasaclockonthemiddleofthemantelpiece,withapictureofatownpaintedonthebottomhalfoftheglassfront,andaroundplaceinthemiddleofitforthesun,andyoucouldseethependulumswingingbehindit.
Itwasbeautifultohearthatclocktick;andsometimeswhenoneofthesepeddlershadbeenalongandscouredherupandgotheringoodshape,shewouldstartinandstrikeahundredandfiftybeforeshegottuckeredout.Theywouldn’ttookanymoneyforher.
Well,therewasabigoutlandishparrotoneachsideoftheclock,madeoutofsomethinglikechalk,andpaintedupgaudy.
Byoneoftheparrotswasacatmadeofcrockery,andacrockerydogbytheother;andwhenyoupresseddownonthemtheysqueaked,butdidn’topentheirmouthsnorlookdifferentnorinterested.Theysqueakedthroughunderneath.
Therewasacoupleofbigwild-turkey-wingfansspreadoutbehindthosethings.
Onthetableinthemiddleoftheroomwasakindofalovelycrockerybasketthatbadapplesandorangesandpeachesandgrapespiledupinit,whichwasmuchredderandyellowerandprettierthanrealonesis,buttheywarn’trealbecauseyoucouldseewherepieceshadgotchippedoffandshowedthewhitechalk,orwhateveritwas,underneath.
Thistablehadacovermadeoutofbeautifuloilcloth,witharedandbluespread-eaglepaintedonit,andapaintedborderallaround.
ItcomeallthewayfromPhiladelphia,theysaid.
Therewassomebooks,too,piledupperfectlyexact,oneachcornerofthetable.
OnewasabigfamilyBiblefullofpictures.
OnewasPilgrim’sProgress,aboutamanthatlefthisfamily,itdidn’tsaywhy.Ireadconsiderableinitnowandthen.
Thestatementswasinteresting,buttough.
AnotherwasFriendship’sOffering,fullofbeautifulstuffandpoetry;butIdidn’treadthepoetry.
AnotherwasHenryClay’sSpeeches,andanotherwasDr.Gunn’sFamilyMedicine,whichtoldyouallaboutwhattodoifabodywassickordead.
Therewasahymnbook,andalotofotherbooks.
Andtherewasnicesplit-bottomchairs,andperfectlysound,too–notbaggeddowninthemiddleandbusted,likeanoldbasket.
Theyhadpictureshungonthewalls–mainlyWashingtonsandLafayettes,andbattles,andHighlandMarys,andonecalled“SigningtheDeclaration.”
Therewassomethattheycalledcrayons,whichoneofthedaughterswhichwasdeadmadeherownselfwhenshewasonlyfifteenyearsold.
TheywasdifferentfromanypicturesIeverseebefore–blacker,mostly,thaniscommon.
Onewasawomaninaslimblackdress,beltedsmallunderthearmpits,withbulgeslikeacabbageinthemiddleofthesleeves,andalargeblackscoop-shovelbonnetwithablackveil,andwhiteslimanklescrossedaboutwithblacktape,andveryweeblackslippers,likeachisel,andshewasleaningpensiveonatombstoneonherrightelbow,underaweepingwillow,andherotherhandhangingdownhersideholdingawhitehandkerchiefandareticule,andunderneaththepictureitsaid“ShallINeverSeeTheeMoreAlas.”
Anotheronewasayoungladywithherhairallcombedupstraighttothetopofherhead,andknottedthereinfrontofacomblikeachair-back,andshewascryingintoahandkerchiefandhadadeadbirdlayingonitsbackinherotherhandwithitsheelsup,andunderneaththepictureitsaid“IShallNeverHearThySweetChirrupMoreAlas.”
Therewasonewhereayoungladywasatawindowlookingupatthemoon,andtearsrunningdownhercheeks;andshehadanopenletterinonehandwithblacksealingwaxshowingononeedgeofit,andshewasmashingalocketwithachaintoitagainsthermouth,andunderneaththepictureitsaid“AndArtThouGoneYesThouArtGoneAlas.”
Thesewasallnicepictures,Ireckon,butIdidn’tsomehowseemtotaketothem,becauseifeverIwasdownalittletheyalwaysgivemethefan-tods.
Everybodywassorryshedied,becauseshehadlaidoutalotmoreofthesepicturestodo,andabodycouldseebywhatshehaddonewhattheyhadlost.
ButIreckonedthatwithherdispositionshewashavingabettertimeinthegraveyard.
Shewasatworkonwhattheysaidwashergreatestpicturewhenshetooksick,andeverydayandeverynightitwasherprayertobeallowedtolivetillshegotitdone,butshenevergotthechance.
Itwasapictureofayoungwomaninalongwhitegown,standingontherailofabridgeallreadytojumpoff,withherhairalldownherback,andlookinguptothemoon,withthetearsrunningdownherface,andshehadtwoarmsfoldedacrossherbreast,andtwoarmsstretchedoutinfront,andtwomorereachinguptowardsthemoon–andtheideawastoseewhichpairwouldlookbest,andthenscratchoutalltheotherarms;but,asIwassaying,shediedbeforeshegothermindmadeup,andnowtheykeptthispictureovertheheadofthebedinherroom,andeverytimeherbirthdaycometheyhungflowersonit.
Othertimesitwashidwithalittlecurtain.
Theyoungwomaninthepicturehadakindofanicesweetface,buttherewassomanyarmsitmadeherlooktoospidery,seemedtome.
Thisyounggirlkeptascrap-bookwhenshewasalive,andusedtopasteobituariesandaccidentsandcasesofpatientsufferinginitoutofthePresbyterianObserver,andwritepoetryafterthemoutofherownhead.Itwasverygoodpoetry.
ThisiswhatshewroteaboutaboybythenameofStephenDowlingBotsthatfelldownawellandwasdrownded:
ODETOSTEPHENDOWLINGBOTS,DEC’D
AnddidyoungStephensicken,AnddidyoungStephendie?Anddidthesadheartsthicken,Anddidthemournerscry?
No;suchwasnotthefateofYoungStephenDowlingBots;Thoughsadheartsroundhimthickened,‘Twasnotfromsickness’shots.
Nowhooping-coughdidrackhisframe,Normeaslesdrearwithspots;NottheseimpairedthesacrednameOfStephenDowlingBots.
DespisedlovestrucknotwithwoeThatheadofcurlyknots,Norstomachtroubleslaidhimlow,YoungStephenDowlingBots.
Ono.Thenlistwithtearfuleye,WhilstIhisfatedotell.HissouldidfromthiscoldworldflyByfallingdownawell.
Theygothimoutandemptiedhim;Alasitwastoolate;HisspiritwasgonefortosportaloftIntherealmsofthegoodandgreat.
IfEmmelineGrangerfordcouldmakepoetrylikethatbeforeshewasfourteen,thereain’tnotellingwhatshecouldadonebyandby.
Bucksaidshecouldrattleoffpoetrylikenothing.Shedidn’teverhavetostoptothink.
Hesaidshewouldslapdownaline,andifshecouldn’tfindanythingtorhymewithitwouldjustscratchitoutandslapdownanotherone,andgoahead.
Shewarn’tparticular;shecouldwriteaboutanythingyouchoosetogivehertowriteaboutjustsoitwassadful.
Everytimeamandied,orawomandied,orachilddied,shewouldbeonhandwithher“tribute”beforehewascold.Shecalledthemtributes.
Theneighborssaiditwasthedoctorfirst,thenEmmeline,thentheundertaker–theundertakernevergotinaheadofEmmelinebutonce,andthenshehungfireonarhymeforthedeadperson’sname,whichwasWhistler.
Shewarn’teverthesameafterthat;shenevercomplained,butshekinderpinedawayanddidnotlivelong.
Poorthing,many’sthetimeImademyselfgouptothelittleroomthatusedtobehersandgetoutherpooroldscrap-bookandreadinitwhenherpictureshadbeenaggravatingmeandIhadsouredonheralittle.
Ilikedallthatfamily,deadonesandall,andwarn’tgoingtoletanythingcomebetweenus.
PoorEmmelinemadepoetryaboutallthedeadpeoplewhenshewasalive,anditdidn’tseemrightthattherewarn’tnobodytomakesomeabouthernowshewasgone;soItriedtosweatoutaverseortwomyself,butIcouldn’tseemtomakeitgosomehow.
TheykeptEmmeline’sroomtrimandnice,andallthethingsfixedinitjustthewayshelikedtohavethemwhenshewasalive,andnobodyeversleptthere.
Theoldladytookcareoftheroomherself,thoughtherewasplentyofniggers,andshesewedthereagooddealandreadherBibletheremostly.
Well,asIwassayingabouttheparlor,therewasbeautifulcurtainsonthewindows:white,withpicturespaintedonthemofcastleswithvinesalldownthewalls,andcattlecomingdowntodrink.
Therewasalittleoldpiano,too,thathadtinpansinit,Ireckon,andnothingwaseversolovelyastoheartheyoungladiessing“TheLastLinkisBroken”andplay“TheBattleofPrague”onit.
Thewallsofalltheroomswasplastered,andmosthadcarpetsonthefloors,andthewholehousewaswhitewashedontheoutside.
Itwasadoublehouse,andthebigopenplacebetwixtthemwasroofedandfloored,andsometimesthetablewassetthereinthemiddleoftheday,anditwasacool,comfortableplace.Nothingcouldn’tbebetter.
Andwarn’tthecookinggood,andjustbushelsofittoo!
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