The Entailed Hat; Or, Patty Cannon's Times

by George Alfred Townsend

  CHAPTER XVII.

  SABBATH AND CANOE.

  They now approached an island with low bluffs, on which appeared aconsiderable village, shining whitely amid the straight brown trunks ofa grove of pine-trees; but no people seemed moving about it, and theysaw but a single vessel at anchor in the thoroughfare or strait theysteered into--a canoe, which revealed on her bow, as they rounded tobeside her, a word neither Levin nor Jack could read, except by hearsay:_The Methodist_.

  "Jack," said Levin, "that was a big pine-tree the parson hewed his canoeouten. She fell like cannon, going off inter the swamp. She's a'mostfive fathom long, an' a man can lie down acrost her. She's to carry theMethodis' preachers out to the islands."

  "Hadn't we better wake _him_ up now?" said Jack Wonnell; "I 'spect youwant a drink, Levin?"

  "Yes; I got a thirst on me like fire," Levin exclaimed. "I could dosomethin' wicked now, I 'spect, for a drink of that brandy."

  Mooring against the shore, Levin went to his passenger, who was still indeep sleep stretched upon the bare floor of the hold or cabin--a brawny,wiry man, with strong chin and long jaws, and his reddish, dark beardmatted with the blood that had spilled from his disfigured eye, and nowdisguised nearly one half his face, and gave him a wild, bandit look.

  "Cap'n! mister! boss! wake up! We have come to Deil's Island."

  The long man, lying on his back, seemed unable to turn over upon hisside, though he muttered in his stirred sleep such words as Levin couldnot understand:

  "The darbies, Patty! Make haste with them darbies! Put the nippers onher wrists an' twist 'em. Ha! the mort is dying. Well, to the gardenwith her!"

  At this he awoke, and turned his cold, light eyes on Levin, and leapedto his feet.

  "Did you hear me?" he cried. "It was only nums, kid, and jabber of anazy man. Some day this sleep-talk will grow my neck-weed. Don't mindme, Levin! Come, lush and cock an organ with me, my bene cove!"

  "If you mean brandy," Levin said, "I must have some or I'll jump out ofmy skin. I feel like the man with the poker was a-comin'."

  Joe Johnson gave him the jug and held it up, and the boy drank like onedesperate.

  "How the young jagger lushes his jockey," the tall man muttered. "He'sin Job's dock to-day. I'll take no more. A bloody fool I was allyesterday, an' oaring with my picture-frame. What place is this?"

  "Deil's Island, sir."

  "Ha! so it is. 'Twas Devil's Island once, till the Methodies changed itfur politeness. This is the camp-meetin', then? Yer, Wonnell, take thispiece of money, an' go to some house an' fetch us a bite of dinner.We'll wait fur you."

  The tall man led the way to the heart of the grove of pines, where theseeming town was found--a deserted religious encampment of durablewooden shells, or huts, in concentric circles of horseshoe shape, and atthe open end of the circle was the preaching-stand, a shed elevatedabove the empty benches and pegs of removed benches, and which had awide shelf running across the whole front for the preacher's Bible, andto receive his thwacks as he walked up and down his platform.

  It looked a little mysterious now, with the many evidences of a largehuman occupation in the recent summer, to see this naked town and hollowpulpit lying so suggestively under the long moan of the pine-trees,conferring together like dread angels in council, and expressing atevery rising breeze their impatience with the sins of men.

  At times the great branches paused awhile, scarcely murmuring, as ifthey were brooding on some question propounded in their council, orlistening to human witnesses below; and then they would gravelyconverse, as the regular zephyrs moved in and out among them, and pauseagain, as if their decision was almost dreaded by themselves. Atintervals, a stern spirit in the pines would rise and thunder and shakethe shafts of the trees, and others would answer him, and patience wouldhave a season again. And so, with scarcely ever a silence that remainedmore than a moment, this council went on all day, continued all night,was resumed as the sun arose to comfort the world again, ceased not whenthe rainbow hung out its perennial assurance upon the storm, andtypified to trembling worshippers the great synod of the Creator, ineverlasting session, ready to smite the world with fire, but suspendingsentence in the evergreen pity of God.

  In one of the deserted shells, or "tents," of pine, with neatly shingledroof, facing the preaching-booth, Joe Johnson and Levin Dennis foundbenches, and, at the tall man's example, Levin also lighted a pipe, andlooked out between the escapes of smoke at Tangier Sound, deserted asthis camp-ground on the Sabbath, since the worshippers had reached homefrom church in their canoes. He thought of his lonely mother in the townof Princess Anne, wondering where he was, and of the Sundays fastspeeding by and bringing him to manhood, with no change in theircondition for the better, but penury and disappointment, a vagueexpectation of the dead to return, and deeper intemperance of the deadman's son and widow's only hope. He would have cried out with a sense ofmisery contagious from the music of those pines above him, perhaps, ifthe brandy had not begun to creep along his veins and shine bold in hislarge, girlish eyes.

  "Levin," said Joe Johnson, "don't you like me?"

  "Yes, Mr. Johnson, I think I does, 'cept when you use them quare words Ican't understan'."

  "I'm dead struck with you, Levin," Joe Johnson said. "I want to fix youan' your mother comfortable. You're blood stock, an' ought to be stabledon gold oats."

  He drew the canvas bag of eagles and half-eagles out of his trousers,and held its mouth open for Levin to feast his eyes.

  "Thar," said he, "I told you, Levin, I was a-goin' to give you one ofthem purties. I've changed my mind; I'm a-goin' to give you five of'em!"

  "My Lord!" exclaimed Levin; "that's twenty-five dollars, ain't it, sir?"

  "Oll korrect, Levin. Five of them finniffs makes a quarter of a hundreddollars--more posh, Levin, I 'spect, than ever you see."

  "I never had but ten, sir, at a time, an' that I put in this boat, andJimmy Phoebus put ten to it, an' that paid for her."

  "What a stingy pam he was to give you only ten!" Joe Johnson exclaimed,with disgust. "Ain't I a better friend to ye? Yer, take the money_now_!"

  He pressed the gold pieces ostentatiously upon the boy, who looked atthem with fear, yet fascination.

  "What am I to do to earn all this, Mr. Johnson?"

  "You comes with me fur a week,--you an' yer boat. I charters you at thatfigger!"

  "But--mother?"

  "Well, when we discharge pigwidgeon, your friend with the bellshape--Jack Sheep yer--all you got to do, Levin, is to send the hardcole to your mother by him, sayin', 'Bless you, marm; my wages willexcoos my face!'"

  "Oh, yes, that will do. Mother will know by the money that I have got along job, and not be a 'spectin' of me. When do we sail, cap'n?"

  "How fur is it to Prencess Anne? What time to-night kin you make it?"

  Levin stepped out of the shanty and looked at the wind and water, hispulses all a-flutter between the strong brandy and the wonderful gold inhis pocket; and as he watched the veering of the pine-boughs to seewhich way they moved, their moaning seemed to be the voice of hiswidowed mother by her kitchen fire that day, saying, "He is in trouble.Where is my son? Why stays he, O my Levin?"

  "The tide is on the stand, cap'n, an' will turn in half an hour. It willtake us up the Manokin with this wind by dark, ef we can get waterenough in the thoroughfare without going around by Little Deil's."

  Johnson came out and made the same observations on wind and flood.

  "I reckon it's eighteen miles to the head of deep water on Manokin,Levin?"

  "Not quite, sir, through the thoroughfare; it's nigh eighteen. We've gotfour hours and a half of daylight yet."

  "Then stand for the head of Manokin an' obey all my orders like a'listed man, an' I'll git ye and yer mother a plantation, an' stock itwith niggers for you. Come, brace up again!"

  He offered the brandy-jug, and encouraged the boy to drink heartily, andaffected to do the same himself, though it was but a feint.

  While they stood in the
shelter of the camp cottage going through thispastime, a voice from near at hand resounded through the woods, and madetheir blood stop to circulate for an instant on the arrested heart.

  It was a voice making a prayer at a high pitch, as if intended to coverall the camp-ground and be heard to the outermost bounds. The sincerityof the sound made Levin Dennis feel that the camp might still beinhabited by some spiritual congregation which the eyes of profanevisitors could not see--the remainder of the saints, the souls of theconverted, or an ethereal host from above the solemn organ of the pines.

  The idea had scarcely seized upon him when a fluttering of wings washeard, and on the old camp-ground alighted a flock of white wild-geese.

  They balanced their large deacon and elder-like bodies upon the emptyseats, and there set up as grave a squawking as if they were singing ahymn, with that indifferent knowledge of harmony possessed bycamp-meeting choristers.

  The accident of their coming--no unusual thing on these exposedislands--might have made untroubled people only laugh, but it producedthe contrary effect on both our visitors. Levin felt a superstitiousfear seize upon him, and, turning to Joe Johnson, he saw that personwith a face so pale that it showed his blood-gathered eye yet darker andmore hideous, like a brand upon his countenance, gazing upon the lateempty preaching-booth.

  There Levin, turning his eyes, observed a solitary man kneeling, of aplain appearance and dress, and with locks of womanly hair fallingcarelessly upon a large and almost noble forehead, his arms raised toheaven and his voice flowing out in a mellow stream of supplication, inthe intervals of which the geese could be heard quacking aloud andpaddling their wings as they balanced and hopped over the camp-meetingarena.

  "Who's he a prayin' to?" Levin asked of Joe Johnson.

  "Quemar!" muttered Johnson, as if he were terrified at something; "hispotato-trap is swallerin' ghosts! Curse on the swaddler? The kid willwhindle directly. Come, boy, come!"

  At this, seizing Levin's hand, partly in persuasion, partly as if hewanted the lad's protection, Johnson, fairly trembling, ran for theboat.

  Levin was frightened too; the more that he saw the stronger man's fear.As they dashed across the camp-ground the wild-geese took alarm, and,some running, some flying, scudded towards the Sound. A voice from thepulpit cried after the retreating men, but only to increase their fears,and when they leaped on board the _Ellenora_, Joe Johnson was livid withterror. He ran partly down the companion-way and stopped to look back:the wild-geese were now spreading their wings like a fleet of fleecysails, and fluttering down the sound in gallant convoy.

  "What did you run for?" Levin said; "the jug of brandy is left. It wasonly Parson Thomas!"

  "You run first," the man replied, gasping for breath, and a littleashamed. "What did he preach at me fur?"

  "That's the parson of the islands," Levin said; "he started Deil'sIsland camp-meetin' last year, an' his favo-rite preacher dyin' jess ashe got it done, ole Pap Thomas, who lives yer, comes out to thepreachin'-stand sometimes alone, an' has a cry and a prayer. The geesescared _me_, cap'n."

  "Push off!" ordered Joe Johnson; "my teeth are most a-chatterin' withthe chill that mace cove give me."

  He pulled up the anchor, hoisted the jib, and showed such nervousapprehension that Levin subsided to managing the helm, and steered downthe thoroughfare, or strait, which, for some distance, wound around thecamp-meeting grove.

  "Yer's Jack Wonnell comin' with the jug and the dinner. Sha'n't we waitfur him?"

  "He's got the kingdom-come cove with him! No; stop for nothing."

  But the boat had to stop, as her keel scraped the mud in the almost drythoroughfare, and a plain island man of benevolent, nearly credulous,face, hailed them, saying, stutteringly:

  "Ne-ne-neighbors, do-don't be sc-scared that a-way. We ain'the-eee-thens yer. Br-br-brother Wonnell's bringin' your taters andpone."

  "Come on, an' be damned to you?" Johnson cried to Wonnell. "What do wewant with this tolabon sauce?"

  "Sw-w-wear not a-a-at all!" cried the parson of the islands. "'Twon'tl-l-lift ye over l-l-low tide, brother. Stay an' eat, an' t-t-talk alittle with us. Why, I have seen that f-f-face before!"

  "Never in a gospel-ken before," the slave-dealer muttered, with an oath.

  "B-but it can't be him," spoke the island parson, with solemnity. "OleEbenezer Johnson died s-s-several year ago."

  "Who was he?" cried the slave-dealer, with a little respectful interest.

  "Ebenez-z-zer Johnson," Parson Thomas replied, with a mild and credulouscountenance, "was the wickedest man on the Eastern Sho' for twenty year.P-pardon me, brother, fur a likin' ye to him, but somethin' in yey-y-yur," passing his hand upon his skull, "p-puts me in mind of him. Itwas hyur he was shot"--still keeping his hand upon the skull--"throughan' through, an' died the death of the sinner. I have p-p-put myf-finger through the two holes where the b-bullet come an' went, an' ridthis w-world of a d-d-demon!"

  The story appeared to have a fascination for the slave-buyer, LevinDennis thought, and Johnson exclaimed:

  "Well, hod, did he ever run afoul of _you_?"

  "O y-y-yes," answered the genial island exhorter, with obligingloquacity; "it was tw-w-enty-s-seven year ago that I see ole Eben-nezerJohnson come on the camp-ground of P-p-pungoteague with a mob ofp-p-pirates to break up the f-f-fust Methodies camp-meetin' ever heldabout these sounds. He was en-c-couraged by ole King Custis, f-f-fatherof our Daniel Custis, of Prencess Anne, who was a b-b-big man fur theEstablish Church an' d-dispised the Methodies. It was a cowardly thingto do, but while King C-C-Custis laughed and talked a' durin' of thep-p-preachin', Eb-b-b-benezer Johnson started a fight. The preacherc-c-cut his eye and saw who was a w-w-winkin' at the interference. Hewas a l-l-lion of the L-l-lord, and bore the c-c-commission of Immanuel.He knowed he was outen the s-s-state of Maryland and over in theV-v-vergeenia county of Ac-c-comack, an' that if the l-l-aws was alittle more t-t-tolerant sence the Revolutionary war the ar-r-ristocracythere was b-bitter as ever towards the people of the Lord. He t-t-urnedfrom his preachin' at last, right on King Custis, an' he pinted hisf-finger at him straight. The p-preacher was L-l-lorenzo Dow."

  "Wheoo!" Jack Wonnell exclaimed, with a coinciding grin; "I've hearn ofhim: a Yankee-faced feller, like a woman, with long braids an' curls ofhair fallin' around of his breast an' back, and a ole straw hat, rain orshine."

  "That was L-l-lorenzo Dow," the parson of the islands said. "He turnedon K-k-king Custis and screamed, 'W-who art thou? The L-lord shall smitethee, w-whited sepulchre, and m-mock thee in thy ch-h-hildren'schildren, thou A-a-a-hab and thy J-j-jezebel!' It was King Custis's wifehe pinted at, too, the greatest lady and heiress in V-v-virgeenia.Sh-h-e f-f-ainted in f-fear or r-rage to hear the prophecy and insult ofher. Then, turning on Eb-b-benezer Johnson, Lorenzo Dow cried out, 'Thedogs shall lie buried safer than his bones. Lay hold of him, brethren!'And s-something in Lorenzo Dow's t-trumpet-blast made every M-methodis'a giant. They s-swept on Ebenezer Johnson, the bully of thr-ree states,an' beat him to the ground, an' raced his band to their boats, an' thenthey th-hrew him into a little j-j-jail they had on the camp-ground,f-for safe keeping."

  "What did King Custis do then, Pappy Thomas?" asked Levin.

  "Why, brethren, what did he do but use his f-f-family influence to g-gitout a warrant for the preacher and his m-managers, on the ground off-false imprisonment and s-slander! Lorenzo Dow got over into Marylands-safe from the warrant, but our p-presiding elder was p-put in jailtill he could p-pay two thousand dollars fine. It almost beggared thepoor Methodies of that day to raise so much money, but g-glory be toG-god! we can raise it now any day in the year, and in the nextg-generation we can buy our p-persecutors."

  "So Ebenezer Johnson, accordin' to the autum bawler's patter, gotpopped in the mazzard, my brother of the surplice? But he didn't climbno ladder, did he?"

  The stuttering host seemed not to comprehend this sneering exclamation,and Levin Dennis said:

  "King Custis wasn't killed, was he, Pappy Thomas?"<
br />
  "It was his children's children his p-p-punishment was promised to," theisland parson said, "and to the Lord a thousand y-years are but asd-days."

  "The tide is fuller, Levin," Joe Johnson cried, "your keel is clear. Nowpint her for Manokin. So bingavast, my benen cove, and may you chant allby yourself when I am gone!"

  "God bless the boys!" the islander cried, "an' k-keep them from thef-fire everlasting that is burning in your jug. And s-s-stranger,remember the end of Eb-b-benezer Johnson, an' repent!"

  The old man, barefooted, stoop-shouldered, stuttering, yet with a chordof natural rhetoric in his high fiddle-string of a windpipe, stoodlooking after them till they passed down the thoroughfare under thejib-sail, and Joe Johnson did not say a word till some marsh brushintervened between them, he being apparently under a remnant of thatpanic which had seized him on the camp-ground.

  "That's a good man," Levin Dennis said, giving the tiller to JackWonnell and raising the sail; "he preached to the Britishers when theysailed from Tangiers Islands to take Baltimore, and told 'em they wouldbe beat an' their gineral killed. He's made the oystermen all round yerjine the island churches an' keep Sunday. That stutterin' leaves himwhen he preaches, and when he leads the shout in meetin' it's piercin'as a horn."

  "He's a bloody Romany rogue," Joe Johnson muttered, "to tell me such atale! But, kirjalis! he cursed not me!"

  "What language is that, Mr. Johnson? Is it Dutch or Porteygee?"

  "It's what we call the gypsy; some calls it the Quaker. It's convenient,Levin, when you go to Philadelfey, or Washinton, or New York, or some o'them big cities, an' wants to talk to men of enterprise without thequails a-pipin' of you. Some day I'll larn it to you if you're a goodboy."

  They now sailed out of the thoroughfare into the broad mouth of theManokin, where a calm fell upon air and water for a little while, andthey could hear smothered music, as of drum-fish beneath the water,beating, "thum! thum!" and crabs and alewives rose to the surface aroundthem, chased by the tailor-fish. The cat-boat drifted into the mouth ofa creek where rock and perch were running on the top of the water, andwith the tongs Jack Wonnell raised half a bushel of oysters in a fewdips, and opened them for the party. Along the shores wild haws and wildplums still adhered to the bushes, and the stiff-branchedpersimmon-trees bore thousands of their tomato-like fruit. Thepartridges were chirping in the corn, the crow blackbirds held a funeralfeast around the fodder, some old-time bayside mansions stretched theirlong sides and speckled negro quarters along the inlets, half hidden bythe nut-trees, and in the air soared the turkey-buzzard, like avoluptuary politician, taking beauty from nothing but his lofty station.

  "The ole Eastern Sho'," Jack Wonnell said, with his animated vacancy,"is jess stuffed with good things, Cap'n Johnsin. You kin fall ovaboardmost anywhair an' git a full meal. You kin catch a bucket of crabs witha piece of a candle befo' breakfast, an' shoot a wild-duck mos' withyour eyes shet."

  "This country's good for nothin'," Joe Johnson said. "Floredey is theland! Wot kin a nigger earn for yer? Corn, taters, melons: faugh!Tobacco is a givin' out, cotton won't live yer. But Floredey is thehell-dorader of the yearth."

  "What's the hell-dorader?" asked Levin.

  "That's Spanish or Porteygee for cheap niggers an' cotton," cried thetrader. "Cotton's the bird!"

  "I thought cotton was a wool," Levin said.

  "No, boy, cotton is a plant, growin' like a raspberry on a bush, havin'pushed the blossoms off an' burst the pods below 'em, an' thar it is furniggers to pick it. Thar's a Yankee in Georgey made a cotton-gin to ginit clean, an' now all the world wants some of it."

  "Some of the gin?" asked the irrelevant Wonnell.

  "No, some of the cotton, Doctor Green! They can't git enough of it.Eurip is crazy about it, but there ain't niggers enough to pick it all.So I'm in the nigger trade an' tryin' to be useful to my country, an'wot does I git fur it? I git looked down on, an' a nigger's pertectedfur a-topperin' of me! But never mind, I'll be a big skull yet, an' keepmy kerrige--in Floredey."

  "What's Floredey good fur?" Levin asked.

  "It's full of nigger Injins, Simminoles, every one of 'em goin' to becaught an' branded, an' put at cotton an' tobakker plantin', an' hog an'cow herdin'. More niggers will be run in from Cubey, an' all the freeniggers in Delaware and up North will be sold, an' you an' me, Levin, isgwyn to own a drove of 'em an' have a orchard of oranges an' a thousandacres of cotton in bloom. We'll hold our heads up. Your mother shall beswitched to a nabob. My wife will be a shakester in diamonds. We'lldispise Cambridge an' Princess Anne, an' there sha'n't be a free niggerleft on the face of the earth. We'll swig to it!"

  The sick-headed yet fancy-ridden Levin drank again, and listened to thedealer's marvellous tales of golden fruit on coasts of indigo, and palmsthat sheltered parrots calling to the wild deer. Jack Wonnell took thehelm when Levin lay down to sleep in the little cabin, still lulled bytales of wealth and lawless daring, and there he slept the deep sleepof the castaway, when the vessel grounded at dusk, in the sound ofevening church-bells, at Princess Anne.

  "Let him sleep," Joe Johnson spoke; "yer, Wonnell, I give you tray ofhis strangers to take to his mommy," handing out three gold pieces."Don't you forgit it! Yer's a syebuck fur you," giving Jack a sixpence."You an' me will part company at Prencess Anne."