Aaron in the Wildwoods

by Joel Chandler Harris

  Aaron's version of the incident was so entirely different from that of the fox hunters that those who heard both would be unable to recognize in them an account of the same affair from different points of view. As Aaron saw it and knew it, the incident was as simple as it could be. As he was riding the horse along the lane leading to the double gates (having left Rambler behind at the stable), Timoleon gave a snort and lifted his head higher than usual.

  "Son of Ben Ali," he said, "I smell strange men and strange horses. Their scent is hot on the air. Some of them are the men that went tumbling about the pasture the night you bade me play with them."

  "Not at this hour, Grandson of Abdallah," replied Aaron.

  "I am not smelling the hour, Son of Ben Ali, but the men. If we find them, shall I use my teeth?"

  "We'll not see the men, Grandson of Abdallah. This is not their hour."

  "But if we find them, Son of Ben Ali?" persisted the Black Stallion.

  "Save your teeth for your corn, Grandson of Abdallah," was the response.

  As they entered the double gates, which Aaron was surprised to find open, Timoleon gave a series of fierce snorts, which was the same as saying, "What did I tell you, Son of Ben Ali? Look yonder! There is one; the others are galloping farther on."

  "I am wrong and you are right, Grandson of Abdallah."

  As much for the horse's comfort as his own, Aaron had folded a large blanket he found hanging in the stable, and was using it in place of a saddle. He lifted himself back toward Timoleon's croup, seized the blanket with his left hand, and, holding it by one corner, shook out the folds. He had no intention whatever of frightening any one, his sole idea being to use the blanket to screen himself from observation. He would have turned back, but in the event of pursuit he would be compelled to lead his pursuers into the Abercrombie place, or along the public road, and either course would have been embarrassing. If he was to be pursued at all, he preferred to take the risk of capture in the wide pasture. As a last resort he could slip from Timoleon's back and give the horse the word to use both teeth and heels.

  AARON AND TIMOLEON

  And this was why the fox hunters saw the apparition of a black horse and a headless rider.

  "Shall I ride him down, Son of Ben Ali?" snorted the Black Stallion.

  "Bear to the right, bear to the right, Grandson of Abdallah," was the reply.

  And so the apparition flitted past the young man who had left the double-gates open, and past his companions who were waiting for him near the bars that opened on the big road; flitted past them and disappeared.

  Finding that there was no effort made to pursue him, Aaron checked the Black Stallion and listened. He heard the men let down the bars and put them up again, and by that sign he knew they were not patrollers.

  Later on in the day, the doubting gentleman, returning from the fox hunt, called by the Abercrombie place and stopped long enough to tell the White-Haired Master of the queer sight he saw in the pasture at dawn.

  "The boys were badly scared," he explained to Mr. Abercrombie, "and I tell you it gave me a strange feeling—a feeling that I can best describe by saying that if the earth had opened at my feet and a red flame shot up, it wouldn't have added one whit to my amazement. That's the honest truth."

  Mr. Abercrombie could give him no satisfaction, though he might have made a shrewd guess, and Little Crotchet, who could have solved the mystery, had to make an excuse to get out of the way, so that he might have a hearty laugh.

  And Aaron, when he came to see the Little Master that night, knew for the first time that he had scared the fox hunters nearly out of their wits.

  * * *

  XIV.

  THE LITTLE MASTER SAYS GOOD-NIGHT.

  After George Gossett's two experiences in the pasture, he came to the conclusion that it would not be profitable to do any more patrolling on the Abercrombie place, but this did not add to his good humor. He had his father's surly temper, and, with it, a vindictive spirit that was entirely lacking in the elder Gossett. Moreover, age had not moderated nor impaired his energies, as it had his father's.

  The fact that he had failed to capture Aaron struck him as a personal affront. He was stung by it. He felt that he and his father had been wronged by some one, he couldn't say who, but not by the runaway, for what was a "nigger," anyhow? After a while the idea was borne in upon him that somehow he and his family had been "insulted" by the Abercrombies. He arrived at this conclusion by a very circuitous route. The Abercrombies were harboring a Yankee in their house; and if they had the stomach to do that, why wasn't it just as easy for them to harbor "pap's" runaway nigger, especially when they were so keen to buy him?

  Another thing that stung him, though he never mentioned it, was the sudden and unexplainable attitude of his father toward Aaron. Young Gossett had observed that his father appeared to lose interest in the runaway after Mr. Jim Simmons failed to catch him, but the fact was not impressed upon the young man's mind until the day he told the elder Gossett about the queer sight he saw in Abercrombie's pasture.

  "Were you hunting the runaway?" his father asked, with some impatience.

  "Why, no, pap. We weren't doing a thing in the world, but crossing the pasture on our way to the Turner old fields."

  "Very well, then. Do as I do; let him alone. If you don't you'll get hurt. I know what I'm talking about."

  This fairly took George's breath away. "Why, pap!" he cried; "ain't he your nigger? Didn't you buy him and pay your money down for him? Don't you want him out of the woods? And who's going to hurt me, pap?"

  "You mind what I tell you," snapped the elder Gossett. "I'm older than you, and when I know a thing I know it. Let the runaway alone."

  "If I'm going to be hurt," responded George doggedly, "I'd like to know who'll do it."

  It would have been better for both if Mr. Gossett had told his son of his experience with Aaron. As it was, George was in danger of losing the little respect he had for his father. When he was warned that he would be hurt if he kept on trying to capture Aaron, he suspected at once that the warning related to Mr. Abercrombie. Who else would dare to hurt him, or even threaten to hurt him? Certainly not the runaway. Who, then, but Abercrombie?

  The suggestion was enough. It made George Gossett so furious that he never thought to reflect that he himself had invented it. Once invented, however, every circumstance seemed to fit it. His father had suddenly lost interest in the runaway, though he had paid out money for him, and had hardly received a week's work in return. Why? Because Mr. Abercrombie had overawed his father in a crowd, just as he did the day Aaron was sold from the block. The young man had not forgotten that episode, and his resentment was rekindled and grew hotter than ever, for it was now reinforced by inward shame and disgust at the way his father had allowed himself to be overcome—and that, too, in regard to his own property.

  The first result of George Gossett's resentment was his nearly successful effort to make the Teacher, Richard Hudspeth, the victim of the violent and natural prejudice that existed at that time against abolitionists; an event that has been related in "The Story of Aaron." The rescue of the Teacher by Mr. Abercrombie, and the fact that George Gossett was knocked flat by the Black Stallion, caused his resentment to rise to a white heat. He brooded over the matter until, at last, a desire to injure Mr. Abercrombie became an uncontrollable mania, and it went so far that one night, inflamed by whiskey, he set fire to the dwelling-house of the man he believed to be his father's enemy.

  Then it was that Aaron rescued Little Crotchet and Free Polly, and fell fainting to the ground. And then it was that Mr. Gossett seized the first plausible opportunity that had presented itself to sell Aaron to Mr. Abercrombie. It is true, he drove a sharp bargain, suspecting that the runaway had seriously injured himself; but he would have sold Aaron in any event, being anxious to get rid of him.

  George Gossett disappeared that night and was seen no more in that region. Years afterward, a homesick Georgian returning from Texas b
rought word that George Gossett had made a name for himself in that State, being known as a tough and a terror.

  It's an ill wind that blows no good to any one. George Gossett little knew, when he applied the torch to the Abercrombie dwelling, that the light of it would call Aaron from the wildwoods and show him the way to a home where he was to live, happy in the love of Little Crotchet and of children as yet unborn, and happy in the respect and confidence of those whose interest he served.

  Perhaps if George Gossett could have looked into the future, the blaze that produced these results would never have been kindled, and in that event the story of Aaron in the Wildwoods could have been spun out at greater length, but the conclusion would not have been different.

  Richard Hudspeth remained long enough to see Aaron duly installed in his new home, for the Abercrombie mansion was at once rebuilt on a larger scale than ever, and to see him serve as the major-domo of the establishment. But the departure of the Teacher was not delayed for many months after his experience with the reckless and irresponsible young men who had placed themselves under the leadership of George Gossett. Duties more pressing and more important than those he had assumed in Georgia called him to his Northern home, where a larger career awaited him—a career that made him famous.

  He became the most intimate adviser of Abraham Lincoln, and that great man found in him what, at the outset, he found in few New England men, the deepest sympathy and highest appreciation.

  It was characteristic of Richard Hudspeth that the treatment he received at the hands of George Gossett and his night riders bred no resentment against the Southern people, and the trait of character that shut the door of his mind against all petty prejudices and rancorous judgments was precisely the trait that attracted first the notice and finally the friendship of Mr. Lincoln.

  Aaron was as much of a mystery to the negroes on the Abercrombie place when he came to move about among them as he was when he roamed in the wildwoods. He was as much of a mystery to them years afterwards, when Buster John and Sweetest Susan came upon the scene, as he was when he first made his appearance on the place, but by that time the mystery he presented was a familiar one. The negroes had not solved it, but they were used to it.

  At first it seemed that they would never cease to wonder. They watched his every movement, and always with increasing awe and respect. He went about among them freely, but not familiarly. He was not of them, and they knew it. He was kind and considerate, especially where the women and children were concerned, but always reserved, always dignified, always serious. Yet he never lost his temper, never frowned, and was never known to utter an angry word or make a gesture of irritation. He had the remarkable gift of patience, that seemed to be so highly developed in some animals. It was Uncle Fountain who drew the parallel between the patience displayed by Aaron and that of the animals, and added this, after turning the matter over in his mind: "Mo' speshually de creeturs what kin see in de dark."

  On rare occasions Aaron would go into one of the cabins where the negroes were enjoying themselves, and there would be a mighty hustling around in that cabin until he had the most comfortable chair, or stool, or bench, or tub turned bottom-side up. At such times he would say, "Sing!" And then, after some display of shyness, Randall or Turin would strike into a quaint plantation melody, and carry it along; and as their voices died away the powerful and thrilling tenor of Susy's Sam, and Jemimy's quavering soprano would take up the refrain, all the singers joining in at the close. No matter what melody was sung, or what words were employed, the instinct and emotions of the negroes gave to their performance the form and essence of true balladry,—the burden, the refrain, the culmination, and the farewell; or, as the writers of pretty verse now call it, the envoi.

  Often on such occasions Aaron would enter the negro cabin bearing the Little Master in his arms. And then the negroes were better pleased, for the Little Master somehow seemed to stand between them and the awesome being they knew as Aaron. At such times the arms of Big Sal ached to hold Little Crotchet, the lad seemed to be so pale and frail. Once she made bold to say to Aaron:—

  "I kin hol' 'im some ef you tired."

  "I won't be tired of that till I'm dead," responded Aaron.

  "I know mighty well how dat is," responded Big Sal humbly. "I des wanted ter hol' 'im. I has helt him."

  "She wants to hold you," said Aaron to the Little Master.

  And the reply was, "Well, why not?"

  Whereupon Big Sal took the lad in her arms, and when the rest began to sing she swayed her strong body back and forth, and joined in the song with a voice so low and soft and sweet that it seemed to be the undertone of melody itself; and the effect of it was so soothing that when the song was ended the Little Master was fast asleep and smiling, and Big Sal leaned over him with such a yearning at her heart that only a word or a look would have been necessary to set her to weeping. Neither then nor ever afterwards did she know the reason why or seek to discover it. Enough for her that it was so.

  Something in her attitude told the rest of the negroes that the Little Master was asleep, and so when they sang another song they pitched their voices low,—so low that the melody seemed to come drifting through the air and in at the door from far away. When it was ended nothing would do but each negro must come forward on tiptoe and take a look at the Little Master, who was still asleep and smiling.

  When Aaron rose to go Big Sal was somewhat embarrassed. She didn't want the Little Master awakened, and yet she didn't know how he could be transferred to Aaron's arms without arousing him. But the Son of Ben Ali solved that problem. He nodded to Big Sal and motioned toward the door, and she, carrying the Little Master in her strong arms, went out into the dark. Aaron paused at the threshold, raised his right hand above his head, and followed Big Sal. This gesture he always made by way of salutation and farewell on the threshold of every door he entered or went out of, whether the room was full of people or empty. Whether it was the door of his master's house or of Timoleon's stable, he paused and raised his right hand.

  BIG SAL HOLDS THE LITTLE MASTER

  The negroes noted it, and, simple as it was, it served to deepen the mystery in which Aaron seemed to be enveloped; and among themselves they shook their heads and whispered that he must be a "cunjur" man.

  But Aaron was not troubled by whisperings that never reached his ears, nor by the strange imaginings of the negroes. He had other things to think of—one thing in particular that seemed to him to be most serious. He could see that Little Crotchet was gradually growing weaker and weaker. It was some time before he discovered this. We know that the trunks of trees slowly expand, but we do not see the process going on.

  Little Crotchet seemed to be growing weaker day by day, and yet the process was so gradual that only the most careful observation could detect it. The burning of the house was something of a shock to him. He was not frightened by that event, and never for a moment lost his self-possession; but the spectacle of the fierce red flames mounting high in the air, their red tongues darting out and lapping about in space, and then, having found nothing to feed on, curling back and devouring the house, roaring and growling, and snapping and hissing,—this spectacle was so unexpected and so impossible in that place that the energy Little Crotchet lost in trying to fit the awful affair to his experience never came back to him. He never lost the feeling of numbness that came over him as he saw the house disappear in smoke and flame.

  But it was weeks—months—after that before Aaron made his discovery, a discovery that could only be confirmed by the keenest and most patient watchfulness. For Little Crotchet was never more cheerful. And he was restless, too; always eager to be going. But Aaron soon saw that if the lad went galloping about on the Gray Pony as often as before, he did not go so far. Nor did he use his crutches so freely,—the crutches on which he had displayed such marvelous nimbleness.

  And so from day to day Aaron saw that the Little Master was slowly failing. The lad found the nights longer, and Aaron
had great trouble to drive away the red goblin, Pain. Thus the days slipped by, and the weeks ran into months, and the months counted up a year lacking a fortnight. This fortnight found the Little Master in bed both day and night, still happy and cheerful, but weak and pale. Always at night Aaron was sitting by the bed, and sometimes the lad would send for Big Sal. He was so cheerful that he deceived everybody except the doctor and Aaron as to his condition.

  But one day the doctor came and sat by the Little Master's bedside longer than usual. The lad was cheerful as ever, but the doctor knew. As he was going away he gave some information to the father and mother that caused them to turn pale. The mother, indeed, would have rushed weeping to her son. Was it for this,—for this,—her darling child had been born? The doctor stayed her. It was indeed for this her darling child had been born. Would she hasten it? Why not let the mystery come to him as a friend and comforter,—as the friend of friends,—as a messenger from our dear Lord, the Prince of Peace and Joy?

  And so the poor mother dried her eyes as best she could and took her place by the Little Master's bedside. The lad was cheerful and his eyes were as bright as a bird's. Doctors do not know everything, the mother thought, and, taking heart of hope, smiled as Little Crotchet prattled away.