Aaron in the Wildwoods

CHUNKY RILEY SEES A QUEER SIGHT.

There is no doubt that Mr. Gossett was sincere in what he said to Aaron. There is no doubt that he fully intended to carry out the promises he had made in the hope of inducing the runaway to return home with him. Nor can it be doubted that he had some sort of respect for a slave who, although a fugitive with a reward offered for his capture, was willing to go to the rescue of his owner at a very critical moment. Mr. Gossett was indeed a harsh, hard, calculating man, whose whole mind was bent on accumulating "prop'ty," as he called it, to the end that he might be looked up to as Addison Abercrombie and other planters were. But after all, he was a human being, and he admired strength, courage, audacity, and the suggestion of craftiness that he thought he discovered in Aaron.

Moreover, he was not without a lurking fear of the runaway, for, at bottom, Mr. Gossett's was essentially a weak nature. This weakness constantly displayed itself in his hectoring, blustering, overbearing manner toward those over whom he had any authority. It was natural, therefore, that Mr. Gossett should have a secret dread of Aaron, as well as a lively desire to conciliate him up to a certain point. More than this, Mr. Gossett had been impressed by the neighborhood talk about the queer runaway. As long as such talk was confined to the negroes he paid no attention to it; but when such a sage as Mr. Jonathan Gadsby, a man of large experience and likewise a justice of the peace, was ready to agree to some of the most marvelous tales told about the agencies that Aaron was able to call to his aid, the superstitious fears of Mr. Gossett began to give him an uneasy feeling.

The first proposition that Mr. Gadsby laid down was that Aaron was "not by no means a nigger, as anybody with eyes in their head could see." That fact was first to be considered. Admit it, and everything else that was said would follow as a matter of course. Mr. Gadsby's argument, judicially delivered to whomsoever wanted to hear it, was this: It was plain to be seen that the runaway was no more like a nigger than a donkey is like a race-horse. Now, if he wasn't a nigger what was he trying to play nigger for? What was he up to? Why couldn't the track dogs catch him? When some one said Mr. Simmons's dogs hadn't tried, Mr. Gadsby would answer that when Mr. Simmons's dogs did try they'd make a worse muddle of it than ever. Why? Because the runaway had on him the marks of the men that called the elements to help them. Mr. Gadsby knew it, because he had seen their pictures in the books, and the runaway looked just like them. Mr. Gadsby's memory was exact. The pictures he had seen were in a book called the "Arabian Nights."

Mr. Gossett thought of what Mr. Gadsby had said, as he sat with Aaron in the buggy, and cold chills began to creep up his spine. He edged away as far as he could, but Aaron paid no attention to his movement. Once the horse turned its head sidewise and whinnied. Aaron made some sort of reply that was unintelligible to Mr. Gossett. The horse stopped still, Aaron jumped from the buggy, went to the animal's head, and presently came back with a part of the harness in his hand, which he threw on the bottom of the buggy.

"What's that?" Mr. Gossett asked.

"Bridle. Bit hurt horse's mouth." He then coolly pulled the reins in and placed them with the bridle.

"Why, confound it, don't you know this horse is as wild as a buck? Are you fixing to have me killed? What are you doing now?"

Aaron had taken the whip from its thimble, laid the lash gently on the horse's back, and held it there. In response to his chirrup the horse whinnied gratefully and shook its head playfully.

When Mr. Gossett saw that the horse was going easily and that it seemed to be completely under Aaron's control, he remembered again what Mr. Gadsby had said about people who were able to call the elements to their aid, and it caused a big lump to rise in his throat. What was this going on right before his eyes? A runaway sitting by his side and driving a fractious and easily frightened horse without bit or bridle? And then another thought crossed Mr. Gossett's mind—a thought so direful that it caused a cold sweat to stand on his forehead. Was it the runaway's intention to jump suddenly from the buggy and strike the horse with the whip? But Aaron showed no such purpose or desire. Once he leaned forward, peering into the darkness, and said something to the horse.

"What is it?" Mr. Gossett asked nervously.

"Some buggies coming along," replied Aaron.

"Can you pass them here?"

"If they give your wheels one inch to spare," replied Aaron. "Tell 'em to bear to the right."

"Hello, there!" cried Mr. Gossett.

"Hello, yourself!" answered a voice.

"That you, Terrell?"

"Yes, ain't that Gossett?"

"The same. Bear to the right. Where've you been?"

"Been to the lodge at Harmony." The attic of the schoolhouse at Harmony was used as a Masonic lodge.

"Who's behind you?" Mr. Gossett inquired.

"Denham, Aiken, Griffin, and Gatewood."

There were, in fact, four buggies, Mr. Griffin being on horseback, and they were all close together. Mr. Gossett had but to seize Aaron, yell for help, and his neighbors would soon have the runaway tied hard and fast with the reins in the bottom of the buggy. That is, if Aaron couldn't call the elements to his aid—but suppose he could? What then? These thoughts passed through Mr. Gossett's mind, and he was strongly tempted to try the experiment; but he refrained. He said good-night, but Mr. Aiken hailed him.

"You know that new school teacher at Abercrombie's?"

"I haven't seen him," said Mr. Gossett.

"Well, he's there. Keep an eye on him. He's a rank abolitionist."

"Is that so?" exclaimed Mr. Gossett in a tone of amazement.

"So I've heard. He'll bear watching."

"Well, well, well!" Mr. Gossett ejaculated.

"What's that?" Aaron asked in a low tone, as they passed the last of the four buggies.

"What's what?"

"Abolitioner."

"Oh, that's one of these blamed new-fangled parties. You wouldn't know if I were to tell you."

In a little while they began to draw near Mr. Gossett's home, and he renewed his efforts to prevail on Aaron to go to the cabin that had been assigned to him, and to remain as one of the hands. Finally as they came within hailing distance of the house, Mr. Gossett said:—

"If you've made up your mind to stay, you may take the horse and put it up. If you won't stay, don't let the other niggers see you. Stop the horse if you can."

Aaron pressed the whip on the horse's flank, and instantly the buggy came to a standstill. The runaway jumped from the buggy, placed the whip in its thimble, and stood a moment as if reflecting. Then he raised his right arm in the air—a gesture that Mr. Gossett could not see, however—and said good-night.

"Wait!" exclaimed Mr. Gossett. "Where's my pistol?"

"Inside the buggy seat," replied Aaron, and disappeared in the darkness.

Mr. Gossett called a negro to take the horse, and it seemed as if one sprang from the ground to answer the call, with "Yes, Marster!" on the end of his tongue. It was Chunky Riley.

"How long have you been standing here?" asked Mr. Gossett suspiciously.

"No time, Marster. Des come a-runnin' when I hear de buggy wheels scrunchin' on de gravel. I hear you talkin' to de hoss whiles I comin' froo de big gate down yander by de barn."

"You're a mighty swift runner, then," remarked Mr. Gossett doubtfully.

"Yasser, I'm a right peart nigger. I'm short, but soon." Thereupon Chunky Riley pretended to laugh. Then he made a discovery, and became very serious. "Marster, dey ain't no sign er no bridle on dish yer hoss. An' whar de lines? Is anybody ever see de beat er dat? Marster, how in de name er goodness kin you drive dish yer hoss widout bridle er lines?"

"It's easy enough when you know how," replied Mr. Gossett complacently. He was flattered and soothed by the idea that Chunky Riley would believe him to be a greater man than ever. "Give the horse a good feed," commanded Mr. Gossett. "He has traveled far to-night, and he and I have seen some queer sights."

"Well, suh!" exclaimed Chunky Riley, with well-affected amazement. He caught the horse by the forelock and led it carefully through the gate into the lot, thence to the buggy-shelter, where he proceeded to take off the harness.

He shook his head and muttered to himself all the while, for he was wrestling with the most mysterious problem that had ever been presented to his mind. He had seen Aaron in the buggy with his master; he had heard his master begging Aaron not to stay in the woods; he had seen and heard these things with his own eyes and ears, and they were too mysterious for his simple mind to explain. Didn't Aaron belong to Chunky Riley's master? Wasn't he a runaway? Didn't his master try to catch him? Didn't he have the Simmons nigger-dogs after him that very day? Well, then, why didn't his master keep Aaron while he had him in the buggy? Why did he sit still and allow the runaway to go back to the woods?

This was much more mysterious to Chunky Riley than anything he had ever heard of. He could make neither head nor tail of it. He knew that Aaron had some mysterious influence over the animals, both wild and tame. That could be accounted for on grounds that were entirely plausible and satisfactory to the suggestions of Chunky Riley's superstition. But did Aaron have the same power over his own master? It certainly seemed so, for he rode in the buggy with him, and went off into the woods again right before Mr. Gossett's eyes.

But wait a minute! If Aaron really had any influence over his own master, why didn't he stay at home instead of going into the woods? This was a problem too complicated for Chunky Riley to work out. But it worried him so that he whispered it among the other negroes on the place, and so it spread through all that region.

A fortnight afterwards it was nothing uncommon for negroes to come at night from plantations miles away so that they might hear from Chunky Riley's own lips what he had seen.

The tale that Chunky Riley told was beyond belief, but it was all the more impressive on that account. And it was very fortunate for Aaron, too, in one respect. After the story that Chunky Riley told became bruited about, there was not a negro to be found who could be bribed or frightened into spying on Aaron's movements, or who could be induced to say that he had seen him.

It was observed, too, by all the negroes, as well as by many of the white people, that Mr. Gossett seemed to lose interest in his fugitive slave. He made no more efforts to capture Aaron, and, when twitted about it by some of his near neighbors, his invariable remark was, "Oh, the nigger'll come home soon enough when cold weather sets in. A nigger can stand everything except cold weather." Yet Mr. Gossett's neighbors all knew that nothing was easier than for a runaway to make a fire in the woods and keep himself fairly comfortable. They wondered, therefore, why the well-known energy of Mr. Gossett in capturing his runaway negroes—and he had a remarkable experience in the matter of runaways—should suddenly cool down with respect to Aaron.

But it must not be supposed that this made any real difference. On the contrary, as soon as George Gossett found that his father was willing to allow matters to take their course as far as Aaron was concerned, he took upon himself the task of capturing the fugitive, and in this business he was able to enlist the interest of the young men of the neighborhood, who, without asking anybody's advice, constituted themselves the patrol. George Gossett's explanation to his companions, in engaging their assistance, was, "Pap is getting old, and he ain't got time to be setting up late at night and galloping about all day trying to catch a runaway nigger."

These young fellows were quite willing to pledge themselves to George Gossett's plans. They had arrived at the age when the vigor of youth seeks an outlet, and it was merely in the nature of a frolic for them to ride half the night patrolling, and sit out the other half watching for Aaron.

But there was one peculiarity about the vigils that were kept on account of Aaron. They were carried on, for the most part, within tasting distance of the stillhouse run by Mr. Fullalove, which was on a small watercourse not far from the Abercrombie place. Mr. Fullalove was employed simply to superintend the distilling of peach and apple brandy and corn whiskey; and although it was his duty to taste of the low wines as they trickled from the spout of the "worm," he could truthfully boast, as he frequently did, that not a drop of liquor had gone down his throat for "forty year." Being a temperance man, and feeling himself responsible for the "stuff" at the still, he was inclined to resent the freedom with which the young men conducted themselves. Sometimes they paid for what they drank, but more often they didn't, and at such times Mr. Fullalove would limp about attending to his business (he had what he called a "game leg") with tight-shut lips, refusing to respond to the most civil question.

But usually the young men were very good company, and, occasionally, when Mr. Fullalove was suffering from pains in his "game leg," they would keep up his fires for him. And that was no light task, for the still was of large capacity. Take it all in all, however, one night with another, Mr. Fullalove was perfectly willing to dispense with both the services and the presence of the roystering young men.

But one night when they came the old man had something interesting to tell them.

"You fellers ought to 'a' been here awhile ago," he said. "I reckon you'd 'a' seed somethin' that'd 'a' made you open your eyes. I was settin' in my cheer over thar, some'rs betwixt a nod an' a dream, when it seems like I heard a dog a-whinin' in the bushes. Then I heard a stick crack, an' when I opened my eyes who should I see but the biggest, strappin'est buck nigger that ever trod shoe leather. I say 'Nigger,'" Mr. Fullalove explained, "bekaze I dunner what else to say, but ef that man's a nigger I'm mighty much mistaken. He's dark enough for to be a nigger, but he ain't got the right color, an' he ain't got the right countenance, an' he ain't got the right kind of ha'r, an' he ain't got the right king of twang to his tongue."

Mr. Fullalove paused a moment to see what effect this would have on the young men. Then he went on:—

"I heard a dog whinin' out thar in the bushes, but I didn't pay no attention to it. Then I stoops down for to git a splinter for to light my pipe, an' when I look up thar was this big, tall—well, you can call him 'nigger' ef you want to. I come mighty nigh jumpin' out'n my skin. I drapt splinter, pipe, hat, an' eve'ything else you can think of, an' ef the man hadn't 'a' retched down an' picked 'em up I dunno as I'd 'a' found 'em by now. I ain't had sech a turn,—well, not sence that night when the 'worm' got chugged up an' the cap of the still blow'd off.

"'Hello,' says I, 'when did you git in? You might 'a' knocked at the door,' says I. I tried for to make out I wern't skeer'd, but 't wa'n't no go. The man—nigger or ha'nt, whichsomever it might 'a' been—know'd e'en about as well as I did that he 'd skeered me. Says he, 'Will you please, sir, give me as much as a spoonful of low-wines for to rub on my legs?' says he. 'I've been on my feet so long that my limbs are sore,' says he.

"'Why, tooby shore I will,' says I, 'ef you'll make affydavy that you'll not creep up on me an' skeer me out'n two years' growth,' says I. You may not believe me," Mr. Fullalove continued solemnly, "but that man stood up thar an' never cracked a smile. I got one of them half-pint ticklers an' let the low-wines run in it hot from the worm. He taken it an' set right on that log thar an' poured it in his han' an' rubbed it on his legs. Now, ef that'd 'a' been one of you boys, you'd 'a' swaller'd the low-wines an' rubbed your legs wi' the bottle."

George Gossett knew that the man Mr. Fullalove had seen was no other than Aaron, the runaway.

"Which way did he go, Uncle Jake?" George inquired.

"Make inquirements of the wind, child! The wind knows lot more about it than me. The man bowed, raised his right han' in the a'r, taken a couple of steps, an'—fwiff—he was gone! Whether he floated or flew, I'll never tell you, but he done uther one er t' other, maybe both."

"I'd give a twenty-dollar bill if I could have been here!" exclaimed George Gossett.

"On what bank, Gossett?" asked one of his companions.

"On a sandbank," remarked Mr. Fullalove sarcastically.

"And I'll give a five-dollar bill to know which way he went," said young Gossett, paying no attention to gibe or sarcasm.

"Plank down your money!" exclaimed Mr. Fullalove.

The young man pulled a bill from his pocket, unrolled it, and held it in his hand.

"He went the way the wind blow'd! Gi' me the money," said Mr. Fullalove solemnly.

Whereat the young men laughed loudly, but not louder than Mr. Fullalove.

"Some of your low-wines must have slipped down your goozle," remarked George Gossett somewhat resentfully.

Later, when the young men were patrolling the plantations in a vain search for Aaron, their leader remarked:—

"The nigger that old Fullalove saw was pap's runaway."

"But," said one, "the old man says he wasn't a nigger."

"Shucks! Fallalove's so old he couldn't tell a mulatto from a white man at night. You needn't tell me; that nigger hangs around the Abercrombie place, and if we'll hang around there we'll catch him."

So they agreed then and there to lay siege, at it were, to the Abercrombie place every night, until they succeeded either in capturing Aaron or in finding out something definite about his movements. This siege was to go on in all sorts of weather and under all sorts of conditions.

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