The next moment saw the back-woodsman and his guest tête-à-tête, and each with a cup of whisky before him. The conference lasted nearly an hour, and appeared to have been amicable and satisfactory; for when they walked forth together from the shanty, the banished family, who were sitting together at very discreet distance upon one of the cords of wood, observed that the aspect and manner of both were cheerful and well-satisfied; and as Whitlaw civilly held the stirrup of his guest as he mounted, they heard him say in his gentlest accents, “Well, Major, next Wednesday then—”
“Next Wednesday then?” what a world of conjecture was created by those three words.
“Come along in,” said Whitlaw to his family, as he turned from the farewell nod of his visitor and re-entered the shanty.
Jonathan junior looked into the face of Clio. She answered the appeal by giving him a wink, and laying her finger on her lips, to enforce his silence; this being, as she well knew, the only chance of their learning what was going forward from the free-born citizen. The boy understood her, and nodded in return.
“Well, now!” said the blue-lipped Porchy, who was trembling in every limb, not from cold indeed, but from the demon ague, “well, now! I thought he meant to bide for ever. Clio, do give me a drop of something warm.”
They all entered the hut together, and Clio was not sorry to have something with which to make herself busy, that she might not even look as if she were curious; so that it was with even more than her usual alacrity that she prepared hot toddy to comfort her shaking sister-in-law.
But the hour was come, and Whitlaw was now as impatient to be heard as he had previously been at the idea of being questioned.
“What in the devil’s name are you niggling about there, Cli?” he exclaimed, as he testily watched her operations near the fire. “I guess I want to be listened to a spell, and not have you fiddling up the chimney in that fashion.”
“I’ll only give this hot drop to poor Porchy, Bub, who’s shaking like a rag in a hurricane; and then I’ll sit down and listen to you, jam.”
“What the devil do you cook water to give her for? If she shakes, give her a real drop at once, and that will give her a chance if anything will.”
“I take it neat!” exclaimed the poor woman, with unaffected distaste. “Oh, Jonathan! what would become of my poor head if I took it neat every time I began shaking?”
“I don’t think your head would be a bit the worser, woman. Howsomever, you have got it now after your own fancy; so be still. And you Cli, sit down for a minute, without jumping up again, if you can, and I’ll give you a notion of me. You need not be after hiding yourself, J. J.; for I’m minded that you shall hear me too this time, and no sly work neither.”
Had not the boy known that this epithet of J. J. was a signal of especial good-humour, he might have felt somewhat uneasy at this palpable allusion to one of his peculiarities, of which he himself was thoroughly aware; but he saw that at present at least he had nothing to fear, and accordingly sat down as near to his aunt as might be, with the very agreeable expectation of having a curiosity gratified which really for the last hour had almost kept him on the rack.
“Well, now, I expect you have all of ye forgot every word I said about college, and Natchez, and learning, and all that?” began the consequential orator. “It is really suprising what shortsighted creatures God almighty has seen fit to make women! As for this young chap, I’d bet a keg to a quid, that he’d have been thinking of nothing else, from that day to this, if he’d dared; but I calculate he knows pretty considerable well that ’tis safest not to let his notions progress, when I bids ’em to stand still. So I find no fault on that score. But now, listen to me a spell, as I bid you, and you’ll be able to comprehend a little what sort of a man you have got for your head.”
He paused for a moment, and looked in the anxious faces before him; and a smile of indescribable self-admiration wrinkled his tough skin.
“I expect you don’t any of ye exactly guess what for that chap was here but now? — I calculate that there is not one of the whole kit that comprehends that I have sold my improvements, store, pig-sty, and all, for — no matter how much, Jonathan junior, I shan’t name that, for all you look so sharp. It is enough for you to know, one and all, that the dollars is to be told out next Wednesday, and that the day after I shall take a spell aboard the first steamer as passes down, to look at an elegant store that I knows, of seven miles this side of Natchez, not on the river neither, but on a pretty lot, well improved, without a tree to be seen on it, and no more in the bush than New Orlines: and then this smart youngster here may take his schooling at Natchez and keep a spell at home every Sunday into the bargain. Now, then, what d’ye say to me? — am I the man to manage the world, or am I not?”
“Then I’ll not run away after nobody!” exclaimed the boy, too much delighted with the news to be perfectly discreet; “only tell me, father, the name of the new place?”
“The lot’s called Mount Etna; but it an’t much of a mount either, seeing that it’s jest on the water level, or near it. Howsomever, it’s dreadful fine land. What shall you say, Cli, to having a nigger of our own to slave it for us?”
“My — !” exclaimed both the women at once; for the glory of possessing a negro inspired even the languid Portia. “Well, now, Jonathan, that will be jam!” added Clio, rubbing her hands with delight. “Will it be a he or a she, Jonathan?”
“A he, Cli, — a he, to begin with. Who knows what we may come to? If things goes well, I may buy a gal or two; and in time, if we progress, we may breed some young ones. Nothing pays better— ‘specially so near upon the canes.”
“Well now, that beats all nature, for we to have a gang of niggers of our own! Oh, Jonathan! Jonathan! how I wish that Washington Buckskin could see us then!”
“Ay, maybe he’d sing another tune, Cli. Howsomever, you’re an old maid now, sis, and ’tis all the better for both of us.”
There was no tendency to repining in the temper of Clio, so that she did not give above half a sigh to the memory of the too prudent lover of her youth, and the next moment was looking forward as cheerfully as if she had never known disappointment. She listened to her brother’s detail of cows, and hogs, and poultry innumerable, all to be under her especial care, without thinking it possible that she could ever work too hard, and abandoned her imagination wholly to the delightful occupation of painting the joy of her eyes and the darling of her heart, her own beautiful Jonathan Jefferson, progressing with rapid strides towards the exalted rank she had ever predicted he would hold.
CHAPTER IV.
At three o’clock in the afternoon on the following Wednesday, the sound of an approaching gentle trot was again heard among the bushes behind the shanty; and immediately afterwards the same horseman appeared in sight, and the same ceremony of evacuating the premises was performed by the three inferior members of the family, its chief receiving his guest, as before, to a private audience; the only difference being, that in addition to the demijohn and drinking-cups, a stout canvass bag was laid on the table between them.
The period of the interview, however, was now passed in a manner infinitely less tedious by those who were banished from it than the last. The spirits of all were elevated by the belief that in that very hour, while they stood and sat idly looking at each other, a goodly store of dollars were passing into the possession of their race.
“Well, now, Porchy,” said the happy and triumphant Clio, “isn’t our Jonathan first-rate? To think of our living so elegant and belly-full for ten years, and then, ‘stead of finding that we had come to the end of everything, as so many do, to see him haul in — it don’t matter how much, but such a capital lot of hard money, and that not copper neither!”
“And how much is it, Aunt Cli?” said the boy, throwing his arm coaxingly round the neck of his aunt. “I know you can tell if you’d speak. Come, now, aunty, I won’t be after no mischief for a week if you’ll jest tell me how many dollars father’s having
gived to him this minute?”
But Clio, if she knew the secret, proved herself a trustworthy confidant, for not even the cajoleries of young Jonathan could induce her to betray it.
“I wonder if I shall shake as much in the new lot?” said poor Portia, looking almost hopefully as she added, “Do you know, Cli, I do believe it be this unaccountable big river, and the bushes and the bogs, that make me so sick everlasting, ‘cause I never was so afore I comed here.”
The kind-hearted Clio encouraged her hopes, and recounted sundry histories which she had heard from their forest customers, of the betterfying effects of the handsome locations round Natchez.
“’Tis the most splendid bluff on the river,” she continued, “that’s a fact; and though our lot bean’t on the very tip-top of it, maybe, yet we’ll have the benefit of it, sis, that’s past doubting.”
“And do the folks live fine there, Aunt Cli?” inquired the boy eagerly: “have they got cabins to sit in?”
“To be sure they have, my darling, as fine as New Orlines; and thee shall be the finest of ’em all, my glory, — mark my words if thee shan’t.”
So numerous were the questions and so agreeable the answers which arose during this conversation on the wood-stacks, that when the door of the shanty opened and the two men appeared at it, Portia’s observation was, “My” — ! if they haven’t done finished already!”
Short as the time appeared, however, the business of the meeting had been fully completed to the entire satisfaction of both parties; a fact of which Whitlaw’s family had not the slightest doubt, though on this occasion, as on many others, his greatness showed itself by not uttering a single word, after the departure of his guest, on the subject on which he knew that his humble dependants were longing to hear him speak. But these dignified fits of silence never occurred, excepting when the Western potentate (of whom there are nearly as many as there are families in the New World) felt himself particularly well pleased with the facts he could, but would not, communicate. When it was otherwise — when some bargain had gone against him, or some enterprise had proved more difficult or less profitable than he expected, then each and every one belonging to him was sure to hear of it. Yet Whitlaw was by no means a particularly ill-tempered man: he was only a free-born tyrant.
This negative assurance, therefore, that all was right, perfectly satisfied the reasonable Clio; sent the acute heir to his’ maple-tree to enjoy a delightful half-hour in counting over his own hoard, and guessing that somehow or other he would soon find a way to double it; and cheered the languid heart of Portia, as she sought a log wherewith to boil her coffee, by suggesting that her own nigger should do that job for her before long.
At an early hour on the following morning, the gallant “Lady Washington” steamer appeared in sight, coming down the river “like a queen” (a simile, by the way, much oftener made use of in the republic of America than in all the kingdoms and queendoms of Europe); and Jonathan Whitlaw, with the alacrity of a man intent on a scheme at once ambitious and prudent, sprang on board as soon as he had pocketed the price of the wood which Clio and the boy had measured out for her.
In less than three hours after, another steam-boat stopped at Whitlaw’s station; and just as young Jonathan was preparing to enjoy once more an unchecked visit on board, the stranger who had distinguished him on the day he fell into the river made him a sign to return, and immediately after joined him on the bank.
The boy knew there was no time to lose, as the boat was not of large dimensions, and the quantity of wood she would require must be proportionably small; yet he would not take his visitor into the shanty, lest such allusion might be made to their former interview as would lead to inquiries and chidings, which it would be better to avoid. His mother was, as usual, hovering over the fire; and his aunt too busily engaged in measuring the wood, to do more than give him a wondering glance in passing, as he led the well-dressed stranger beyond the little clearing, and up the narrow path which traversed the forest.
“Where are you taking me, boy?” said the gentleman, stopping short, after he had taken two steps into the bush: “I don’t want to explore the forest, my lad, and the boat will be off in no time. Have you asked your father about going with me? I am ready to take you, if you’re ready to come, and promise to be steady and faithful, and learn smart, and do all I bid you.”
“I would do all that, and more,” answered the boy, “if father was going to bide here; for I don’t choose to live like a bear and an alligator any longer, — and that’s what they say I do, aboard the boats. But father is going to take us to a right-down elegant store above Natchez; and I’m to be larnt to read, and we’re to have a black nigger of our own; and so I don’t want to run away now.”
“Run away! — I never asked you to run away, child. What put that frolic into your head? However, if you are going to school, that is all right; and if you are the fine boy I take you for, we may be better acquainted yet. What’s the name of your father’s lot, boy? — d’ye know?”
“Mount Etna,” answered young Jonathan.
“Mount Etna, is it? I know that bit well; ’tis a thriving job, — your father’s up to a thing or two, I take it. There’s the bell: — remember, boy, my name’s Colonel Dart; and if you take your learning well, I’ll make a gentleman of you.”
“Father will make a gentleman of me,” said the young republican stoutly; “and Aunt Cli will send me up to Congress.”
“Will she?” said the stranger, laughing: “that’s well; but I may be a useful friend, nevertheless. If you are at school at Natchez, I shall see you. Do not forget Colonel Dart.”
So saying, the stranger walked off, and immediately re-embarked, leaving our hero rather puzzled as to why he “seemed so dreadful fond of him.”
Of Colonel Dart we shall hear more hereafter; but for the present the reader must share young Whitlaw’s doubts concerning him.
Before the circumstance of his visiting Mohana be dismissed, however, a trait of Jonathan Jefferson’s ingenuity must be recorded, as it may assist in the development of his interesting character.
To any other boy of his age, the close inquiries of Clio would probably have proved exceedingly embarrassing; but he baffled them completely, and that almost by a single word.
“That’s altogether new, Jonathan,” said his puzzled aunt, “for you to go and take the fine folks out of the boats, and bring ’em to walk about in the bush, just to keep you company. What for did that man come to you; tell me, Jonathan, will you?”
“He came on shore, aunt, to look for some dreadful fine moss that he says grows hereabouts, to give to his mocking-bird that was sick.”
“And did he find it, Jonathan?”
“No, Aunt Cli, ‘cause the bell rung, and he was obliged to run back before he had done looked for it.”
What the secret motive might be which led this very intelligent young citizen to conceal the visit of Colonel Dart from his indulgent aunt, who, as he very well knew, unfailingly approved of everything he did, I have never been able to ascertain. Perhaps it was the result of having watched those dignified concealments of his father, one instance of which has been recently mentioned; or it might originate solely in that instinctive fear of “getting into trouble,” with which the inhabitants of the United States so often appear to be haunted. If this be so, it may unquestionably be classed as one of the kind provisions of nature, which is often found to furnish those creatures with the power of defence who are peculiarly exposed to danger: and in a country where one half of the intercourse between man and man consists in asking questions, the faculty which teaches to evade them may well be classed as a blessing.
On this occasion young Jonathan’s little invention was perfectly successful; Aunt Cli asked no more questions, and the visit of Colonel Dart was entirely forgotten, except by the object of it.
Meanwhile the labours of the indefatigable Clio seemed involuntarily and almost unconsciously to relax. She felt that she was no longer at home�
�� “It arn’t our own now,” was a frequent phrase, and a more frequent thought; and excepting that she continued to tend the store, and milk the cow, and cook a spell, and wash a little, Clio would have been positively idle. All the leisure, however, which this change in her habits left her, was fully occupied by listening to and answering all the questions of Portia and the boy respecting what they should find at Mount Etna. Though Clio, in truth, knew no more about the place than themselves, the habit of resorting to her at all times and seasons, whether for aid, advice, or instruction, was so strong, that had a person born and bred on the spot they were to inhabit been present with them, it is probable that every inquiry concerning it would still have been addressed to Clio.
For some days after the departure of Whitlaw the time passed pleasantly enough. They had plenty to eat, and to talk about, and not too much to do. But by degrees they began to find themselves embarrassed. Some of their articles of sale in the store were exhausted, and the steamboats passed on without stopping, for the last cord of wood was sold. Just at this critical juncture, when they began to feel themselves almost desolate with their liberty and their idleness, the great man returned, and in a moment everything was again in a state of activity.
Two men landed with him. One of these, a young fellow under twenty, the future proprietor of Mohana Creek and all Mr. Whitlaw’s improvements, was the son of the “Major” who had made the bargain; and who thought he had nobly provided for him, and a penniless girl of sixteen whom he had just married, by placing them, as he observed, “at a capital station and store, where they would be sure to take dollars, if the fever did not chance to take them:” but, at any rate, “sons what married that fashion must be provided for one way or another.”
The other companion of Whitlaw appeared to await his orders, which were promptly given; and while the young bridegroom, with an air melancholy enough, stood gazing around upon the improved, but still most wretched-looking abode, they went together into the store, to which Clio was summoned to follow them, and began their business without delay.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 4