Читать книгу: «Bobby Blake on a Plantation: or, Lost in the Great Swamp», страница 5
CHAPTER XII
UNDER SUNNY SKIES
It was early one morning that the ship warped into her berth at New Orleans. The three friends were up bright and early, as they knew that the steamer would dock shortly after dawn, and they did not want to miss any of the excitement of the event. The big wharves were swarming with negro stevedores, who joked and sang good-naturedly as they shifted huge bales of cotton and boxes containing all manner of goods. Ships already at their docks, either loading or unloading, sent up puffs of steam as their cargo winches lifted huge nets full of barrels and boxes from the seemingly inexhaustible holds, or consigned them to the same place. Mule teams, horse teams, and big rumbling automobile trucks came and went, getting in each other’s way and giving rise to short but forceful arguments on the part of their drivers. In a word, all the varied bustle and activity of a large and busy port was spread out for the boys to view from their vantage point on the upper deck.
On the dock for which they were heading, a group of negro laborers was waiting for the vessel to be made fast, and suddenly one of them started a spirited “buck and wing” dance, the others singing, whistling, and keeping time by clapping their hands. As the ship crept up to the dock at a snail’s pace, many of the passengers crowded over to the starboard side, where the boys were standing, and when the perspiring dancer finally ended with a double shuffle and a bow, he was rewarded by a shower of coins that rained down from the side of the ship which was now being warped up to the dock and made fast.
“Some pep to that boy,” commented Fred. “You’d think they’d save their energy for the work ahead of them.”
“Oh, a negro always has time and energy for a little fun, no matter how hard he has to work,” replied Lee. “I’ve seen them dancing and cutting up after a long day of cotton picking, and that’s about as hard work as I know anything about.”
But there was no longer much time to spend on the deck, for now the gangplank had been shot out and the passengers were beginning to stream over it. This reminded the boys that they also had some strapping and bundling to do, and they rushed to their stateroom and got to work. In a few minutes all their packing had been done, and with warm good-bys to the officers and many of the passengers, with whom they had become favorites, they left the steamer.
“Seems like an old friend, already,” commented Bobby, as they walked along the pier. “I don’t wonder that sailors fall in love with their ships.”
“I suppose any place begins to seem like home after you’ve been there for a while,” replied Fred. “But as for me give me terra cotta every time.”
“Terra firma I suppose you mean,” laughed Lee.
“Let it go at that,” said Fred carelessly. “What’s one word more or less between friends?”
A stalwart young negro was lying on a bale of cotton, basking like a cat in the hot sun. The leader of a gang of roustabouts came hurrying along looking for men.
“Got a job for you, Sam,” he said. “This steamer’s got to be unloaded in a hurry. Come along now and I’ll put you in a gang.”
“Nothin’ doin, boss,” replied the negro with a yawn.
“Why, what’s the matter with you?” remonstrated his would be employer. “It was only yesterday you were striking me for a job.”
“Ya-as,” replied the other, as he yawned and turned over for another nap, “but dat war yesterday. Ah made two bits dis mornin’, an now Ah got money in mah pocket. Go ’way, man, an’ let me sleep.”
With a gesture of disgust the other hurried away to look for more likely material. The boys looked at each other and laughed.
“You see from that what we’re up against down here,” said Lee. “That’s the way most of them are. As long as they have money enough for their next meal, they’re perfectly satisfied. That man with a few cents in his pockets is as happy as if he were a millionaire.”
They had about two hours before it was time for their train to start, and as it was nearly noon, the first thing they did was to get a hearty meal. Then they spent a little while roaming about the beautiful and busy city, so different in many respects from what Bobby and Fred bad been accustomed to in the North. They were especially interested in viewing the spot where, behind cotton bales, Andrew Jackson and his men had held off the flower of the British Army and won the most notable victory of the war of 1812.
“It was great,” said Bobby, as he looked at his watch. “But hurry up, fellows. We’ll have to get a hustle on, or we’ll miss the train.”
But Lee did not seem especially alarmed.
“I guess we’ll have time enough,” he said. “The train we’re going to take doesn’t bother much about timetables. Still there’s no use in taking chances.”
His conjecture was correct, for although they got to the station on time, it was some time after the scheduled hour when the wheezy old engine pulled out of the depot. And after it got started it rambled on in a careless, happy-go-lucky way, as though it did not care much when it got to its destination.
It was a mixed freight and passenger train. There were perhaps a dozen freight cars, with one passenger coach attached to the end of the train. It ran along a single track, which was little more than “two streaks of rust and a right of way.”
Most of the stations at which the train stopped were small ones, but there were one or two of respectable size. When the train came to a halt at these, there were usually several negro women who walked along the side of the passenger car, offering their wares to the travelers. Their chief stock in trade was fried chicken, and this smelled so good that the boys bought repeatedly, until Fred at last declared that he’d be ashamed after that to look a chicken in the face.
“You want to save room, fellows,” remonstrated Lee. “My mother will have a corking good supper waiting for us, and she’ll want to see you put it away.”
“She needn’t worry a bit about that,” mumbled Fred, with his mouth full. “We may have our faults, but we never go back on grub. Just put us at the table and trust us to do the rest.”
Both Bobby and Fred were impressed by the leisurely way in which life seemed to flow on in the various places through which they passed. Even the soft haze in the atmosphere was suggestive of rest and quiet. In the little towns, dogs lay in the dust in the middle of the road, not at all disturbed by the fear of being run over. Merchants in their shirt sleeves sat in front of their stores, with chairs tilted back, exchanging gossip with farmers, who had come in with their produce and were in no hurry to get back. Even the people coming toward the station to take the train sauntered along with no fear of being left. Some of them stopped to chat with the engineer, who leaned against the side of his cab, chewing a straw and showing in every movement that time was the last thing in the world that could bother him. Then after a while he would get up in his seat, and the train would begin to move, with much wheezing and creaking, as though disgruntled at being disturbed.
“Any mattresses on the train?” queried Fred, as he looked around him. “Looks as if we’d spend the night here, at the rate we’re going.”
“Not quite so bad as that,” laughed Lee, “though I don’t wonder that you think so. But we’ve only two more stations now before we come to Raneleigh. That’s the nearest station to the plantation.”
“Do we have far to walk to get to your place?” asked Fred, as he viewed their collection of suit cases rather apprehensively.
“Oh, we’re about six miles from the station,” rejoined Lee carelessly.
“Six miles,” gasped Fred. “Scubbity-yow! And on a hot day like this. I can see where I melt into a grease spot.”
“Hold your horses,” said Lee. “You won’t have to walk a step. One of the men will be at the station with a buckboard and a pair of mules. Ever ridden in a buckboard?”
“Yes,” replied Fred, “many a time out on the ranch. But I’ve never ridden behind mules. Do they step fast?”
“Not that you could notice,” grinned Lee. “Their strong point is in standing fast. Once in a while we have to build a fire under one of them to get it to budge. You’ll know a good sight more about mules than you do now when you go back to school.”
“School!” groaned Fred. “What’s the use of spoiling a perfectly good day by talking about school. We’ll have to go back soon enough. Let’s forget it while we’re here.”
In less than an hour they were approaching Raneleigh, and Bobby and Fred craned their necks in order to get a glimpse of the town. All they saw however as the train lumbered up to the platform was a general store, that stood opposite the station, and three or four dwellings located irregularly along a dusty street.
“As a matter of fact it isn’t a town at all, only a station,” explained Lee, as he led the way out on the platform. “Ah, there’s Jim!” he exclaimed, as a rather decrepit old negro came hobbling up to meet them. “How are you, Jim?”
“Tol’able, jess tol’able, Marse Lee,” replied Jim. “Ah sho’ am glad to see you-all.”
“These are my friends, Bobby Blake and Fred Martin,” said Lee, as he piled the bags in the back of the buckboard. “They’ve come down to stay awhile with me on the plantation.”
The old man took off his tattered hat and made a sweeping bow.
“I’se proud to meet de young gem’lum,” he said. “Missus tole me dey waz a comin’. We sho’ will try ter give dem er mighty good time.”
CHAPTER XIII
FLYING HEELS
The six dusty miles from the station to the plantation would have been tedious ordinarily, but the boys were too full of high spirits to let little things like dust and heat affect them. The buckboard creaked and jounced along, and the mules seemed to have even more than their share of the general disinclination to hurry. The old negro gave the boys news of all that had been going on at the plantation since Lee’s last time home.
“Ah’m afraid dat Marse Jim Boolus am fixin’ to make you an’ you ma all de trouble dat he kin,” said the old darkey, shaking his head. “Seems like he’s gettin’ meaner and more no-account every year dat passes over his haid.”
“The old rascal!” exclaimed Lee, with flashing eyes. “I’ll make him sorry some day for all the trouble he’s caused my family.”
“Dere’s lots of odder folks feels de same way,” said Jim. “Ev’body in de parish hates him like pisen, but de more people hates him de mo’ he seems to like it.”
On the boat Lee had said quite a little of this Jim Boolus to Bobby and Fred. He was a mean old skinflint, who had thriven on the misery of others, and by many a shady deal had brought ruin on honest people. While everybody knew him to be unscrupulous and dishonest, he was so cunning and crafty that he always managed to keep out of the grip of the law. At present he was trying to prove his ownership to a large part of Mrs. Cartier’s estate, and she was in serious danger of losing it.
The boys were still discussing ways and means to frustrate the wily schemings of the crafty old land shark when the buckboard turned off the dusty road, pursued its leisurely way up a long graveled avenue shaded by stately trees, and drew up before a wide-flung old mansion flanked by wide verandas. Before it had stopped Lee jumped out and ran to meet a pleasant faced lady who was descending the steps. After their first affectionate greeting Lee introduced Bobby and Fred to her.
“These are my two friends, Mother, Bobby Blake and Fred Martin,” he said. “I guess you’ve heard so much about them in my letters to you that you hardly need an introduction.”
“Indeed yes,” she smiled. “And I hope that Lee’s mother will be just as good friends with you as Lee is.”
Mrs. Cartier was so gracious and hospitable that the boys were quickly at their ease and felt as though they had known her a long time.
Lee showed them their room, a beautiful large one with big, comfortable looking beds and dark, cool curtains at the windows.
“When you fellows have gotten some of the dust off you, come on down and I’ll show you around,” said Lee, as he left them.
“Well,” remarked Bobby, when he and Fred were alone, “it looks to me as though we had come to a pretty fine place to spend our vacation. Mrs. Cartier certainly has a way of making a fellow feel welcome.”
“She certainly has,” returned Fred, “I’ve often heard about Southern hospitality, and now I know what it’s like.”
“I wish we could do something to fix that skinflint old neighbor of theirs,” continued Fred, after a pause.
“Well, there’s no telling; maybe we can,” said Bobby.
Shortly afterwards Bobby and Fred went downstairs, and found Lee waiting for them on the veranda.
“I thought you fellows must have been overcome by the excitement of that buckboard ride and dropped asleep,” grinned Lee. “You never used to take as long as that to get spruced up back at school, especially when you happened to get up late and thought you’d be late for breakfast.”
“When in Rome do as the Romans do,” quoted Bobby. “When you hit a place where everybody seems to take things easy, why be in a hurry?”
“Hurray!” shouted Lee. “I can see that you’ve got the making of a Southern gentleman in you, all right. ‘Never be in a hurry’ is one of the first things you learn around here.”
“That’s all right, sometimes,” put in Fred. “But when you’re toting a football down a field with the goal posts looking to be about ten miles away, and eleven fellows doing their best to grab you around the knees and sit on your chest, hurrying is the one thing you’re most anxious to do.”
“Right!” laughed Bobby. “Not to mention the way the coach feels about it.”
“Well, I’ll have to admit that a coach doesn’t believe in taking things easy,” said Lee, “but then, I guess probably most coaches don’t come from the South.”
The others agreed that this was very probable, and then set out on a tour of the plantation. This covered several hundred acres, and in the days “before the war” had evidently been a profitable estate. Besides the big, rambling old mansion, there were numerous barns and outbuildings, including what had formerly been quarters for numerous slaves. Most of these buildings were unused and out of repair now, and, except in the busy planting and picking seasons, there were only five old servants on the place. Aunt Dinah, the cook, deserved first place, because she was past master (or mistress) of the art of cookery, and could turn out dishes that had spread her fame for miles in a country of good cooks.
Uncle Josh, a faithful old darkey, whose wrinkled face was framed in snow white hair, acted as “handy man” and did odd jobs where-ever they were needed, although forever complaining about a mysterious ailment that he invariably referred to as “de misery in mah back.” There were three other more or less lazy but entirely good-natured darkeys, who did whatever else was necessary in a carefree but somewhat inefficient manner.
“They mean well enough, and they think the world of mother and me, but unless somebody’s watching them they’ll never hurt themselves with overwork,” explained Lee. “When I’m through school and college and can take charge of this place, I’m going to get more action or know the reason why.”
He took Bobby and Fred through the big barn, where now only a few horses and mules were stabled, although there was room for a hundred. As they passed one stall, there was a flash of vicious hoofs, which narrowly missed Fred, who was the nearest.
“Wow!” he exclaimed, as he jumped back, “I pretty near stopped something that time. That beast must have a grudge against me, I guess.”
“Oh, it isn’t against you, in particular,” said Lee. “He’s got a grudge against the whole human race. That’s old Baldy, and I really believe he’s the meanest mule that ever lived, and if you know anything about mules, you’ll realize that that’s saying something. I should have warned you about him, but I didn’t think about it.”
“Oh, well it doesn’t matter as long as he missed me,” said Fred. “You can bet I’ll watch out for him in the future.”
“It’s a circus to see the darkeys when they have to harness him,” said Lee. “They’re all afraid of him, and yet they respect him, too, because he’s as strong as two ordinary mules, and when he feels like it can do a hard day’s work. I think they’re going to hitch him up in a little while, and if you like we’ll hang around and watch the fun.”
You can be sure Bobby and Fred had no objection to this, and sure enough, in a little while two husky colored men appeared and took down the necessary harness from pegs on the wall.
“Are you going to hitch up old Baldy?” asked Lee.
“We aim to, Marse Lee,” said one, whose first name was Mose, and whose last name nobody ever seemed to have heard. “But dat mule doan always calculate to do jest whut we wants him to.”
“’Deed he don’t,” agreed the other. “Las’ time Ah come near him, he done took de seat outen my pants, an Ah shore thought Ah was headed straight for Kingdom Come ’fore Ah could get away from him.”
The negro who had spoken first approached the stall cautiously, but the mule heard him coming, and, with ears laid viciously back, lashed out at him with flying heels. But the negro was on his guard, and jumped to one side barely in time to save himself.
“Reckon ole Baldy ain’t feelin’ friendly toward me to-day no-how,” said Mose, with a somewhat nervous grin. “Reckon Ah’d better untie him from de stall nex’ door.”
He went cautiously into the stall adjoining that of old Baldy, and reached over gingerly to untie his halter. But the mule was not to be caught napping, and he made a wicked nip at the negro’s hand. He just missed the hand, but caught the ragged coat sleeve in his white teeth, and tore a long strip from it.
“Mah goodness!” exclaimed the negro, “Ah’d rather monkey wid a load o’ dynamite dan wid dat mule.”
“Try it again, an’ I’ll take his mind offen you,” said the other negro.
He picked up a long rake from a corner, and with this began prodding at the rear end of the mule, while his companion again cautiously approached the halter. This ruse was successful, for the animal was so occupied with trying to kick the rake handle into bits, that he hardly noticed anything else, and Mose had no trouble this time in untying the halter.
“Watch out dare, niggah!” he admonished his assistant. “Everybody git out of de way an’ let this critter sail.”
The boys scattered to places of safety, as the mule, finding his head free, backed out of the stall and made for the open door. There was a fenced-in yard surrounding the stable, and he galloped around this, kicking up his heels and hee-hawing. The two negroes dashed pellmell after him, followed by the laughing boys.
“Now the real fun will begin,” said Lee. “Just watch them try to harness him up.”
CHAPTER XIV
BALDY GIVES IN
The two darkeys had their blood up now, and were resolved to get that mule harnessed or die in the attempt. Mose had the big padded collar, and his companion had the bridle. They crept up warily toward old Baldy, who, with the wisdom born of many such encounters, refused to be cornered, dashing out with surprising speed every time things began to look bad for him. But at last the negroes maneuvered him into a corner from which there was no escape, and then, with a sudden rush, threw themselves at him. Mose caught him round the neck, while the other leaped to his back and clung there with hands and knees. They were wise in the ways of mules, also, and enjoyed a tussle like this, although their enjoyment was tempered by a wholesome respect for the kicking and biting ability of the animal.
But before they could get the collar over his head, Baldy rushed across the yard kicking and rearing, dragging the two negroes after him as though their weight amounted to nothing at all. The negroes held on gamely, though, and at last the mule, despairing of shaking them off, suddenly threw himself down and rolled completely over. The darkeys however had anticipated some such action, and let go just in the nick of time to save themselves.
“That was a narrow escape,” said Bobby, somewhat anxiously. “Aren’t you afraid they’ll get hurt, Lee?”
“I don’t think so,” he answered. “It takes a lot to hurt them, and they’ve done this many times before. Just leave it to them.”
The mule struggled to his feet with his tormentors clinging to him. Suddenly he gave a lightning-like whirl that shook Mose loose in spite of all he could do, and before he could recover himself Baldy had lashed out and caught the darkey fair and square. Fortunately for Mose, he still had hold of the big padded collar, and the mule’s hoofs landed on this with a smart whack. Mose was propelled along several feet, and then, losing his balance, rolled over and over in the dust.
The three boys thought he was badly hurt, and rushed out to his rescue, but before they had gone ten feet the negro had bounded to his feet, just in time to avoid the mule, who was rushing toward him with mouth wide open and wicked teeth gleaming. Temporarily the fight had been knocked out of Mose, and he fled ignominiously for the fence, with old Baldy in hot pursuit. With the other negro clinging desperately around his neck, it was a ludicrous spectacle, and as Mose cleared the fence in a wild scramble with the mule not ten feet behind him, the boys shouted with laughter.
“That was a close shave!” gasped Fred at last. “Old Baldy is out after dark meat to-day, I can see that.”
“Looks to me as though the mule had won the decision,” said Bobby. “How about it, Lee?”
“Oh, they can’t give up now,” said Lee. “That mule would never be worth a cent to us again if they let him win. But I’m going to see if a little strategy won’t help them out.”
“You two wait a minute,” he called to the negroes, who were by now both on the safe side of the fence, mopping at their streaming faces, and started on a run for the barn. He soon emerged, carrying a heaped measure with oats. Baldy was at the other end of the yard, watching proceedings with deep suspicion. Lee emptied the oats on the ground within two feet of the fence, and then rejoined his friends.
“You two wait until he starts to eat the oats, and then jump on him,” he shouted to the negroes.
“Yessah,” responded Mose, with a grin. “’Clare to goodness, Ah’d clean forgot dat you can ketch more flies wid honey dan yuh can wid vinegar.”
When Baldy saw the tempting heap of oats, it occurred to him that a little something to eat wouldn’t be so bad, and he sidled over to them and began eating. The darkeys secured the harness that they had been forced to drop, and crept cautiously up on the mule, who was now thinking only of how delicious oats could taste to a hungry mule. Mose mounted the fence just back of old Baldy, while his companion crept close to the mule’s other side. Suddenly Mose leaped squarely on his back. With a frightened snort the mule jerked his head up, and at that second Mose slipped the heavy collar over his neck. At the same moment the other negro slipped the bridle over his head, forced the bit into his mouth, and before he could flick his tail old Baldy found himself arrayed in harness. The suddenness of the attack seemed to take all the spirit out of the mule, and when he found himself actually harnessed he submitted with only a few feeble kicks and bucks as protest against the trick that had been played on him. He was soon hitched to the wagon, and it rattled out of the yard with the two colored men on the seat laughing and throwing insults at the subdued Baldy.
“That was some inspiration you had, Lee,” said Bobby. “I thought at one time you’d have to call in the police if you wanted to get him harnessed.”
“Oh, that’s an old trick,” said the Southern lad. “I’ve seen those same darkeys do the same thing, but I guess this time they were so rattled they didn’t think of it.”
“Well, I’m glad they didn’t do that at the beginning,” said Fred. “We’d have missed a lot of fun if they had. I don’t think I’ll ever forget how funny Mose looked streaking for the fence with that mule snapping his teeth right behind him.”
“Yes, old Mose was a scared darkey, all right,” laughed Lee. “But now, I don’t know about you fellows, but I for one am beginning to feel as though I could appreciate some of Aunt Dinah’s cooking.”
“Well, suppose you lead us to it and let us show you how we feel about it,” said Bobby. “As they often remind us in school, it’s deeds that count, not words.”
“All right, then, just follow me and I’ll give you a chance to demonstrate,” said Lee.
“Lead on,” said Fred, “and remember that we’re with you to the last doughnut.”
“Oh, I know I can count on you,” returned Lee, as he and his friends headed for the house. “But I know you can’t eat too much to suit Aunt Dinah. The more you pack away, the more she thinks you like her cooking. She is sure an artist when, it comes to performing on a cook stove.”
Arrived at the house, the boys found that Lee’s praise of Aunt Dinah’s abilities had been well founded. Creamy, luscious biscuits, tender, juicy fried chicken, with various tempting side dishes, were topped off by an apple pie that Fred later referred to as “a dream,” and when they finally adjourned to the spacious veranda they felt at peace with all the world.
“Why, I feel so good I think I could even forgive Ap Plunkit for soaking me with a baseball, the way he did last season,” said Fred.
“Well, Lee, if you ever had a grudge against Fred, now’s the time to hit him,” said Bobby. “He wouldn’t even try to hit you back. He’d just shake hands with you and forgive you.”
“I’d advise you to try it,” said Lee, scornfully. “I know it always takes an awful lot to make Fred mad, but still, I’m not going to chance it.”
Mrs. Cartier, who was an interested listener, laughed. “That’s all that boys seem to think of – eating and fighting,” she said. “Sometimes I wonder how they ever get time to study.”
“Well,” said Bobby, “at school, especially, there always seems to be some one who’ll bully everybody else, if he gets the chance, and so once in a while we just have to show him that he can’t.”
“I suppose so,” she said. “The world always seems to have plenty of trouble makers.”
