 | CHAPTER VI. The wigwam and the cabin |  |
6. CHAPTER VI.
“Dem 'ere Indians,” he said the next morning to his master—
“dem 'ere Indians—der's only two ob 'em come yet, sir—I
aint altogether sure about 'em—I has'n't any exspecial 'spicion,
sir, from what I seed yesterday, that they's very honest
in particklar, and then agen, I see no reasons that they aint honest.
It mout be, they might steal a hen, sir, if she was reasonable
to come at—it mout be, they mout eben go deeper into a
hog;—but then agen, it mout'n't be after all, and it wouldn't be
right justice to say, tell a body knows for certain. There's no
telling yet, sir. An Indian, as I may say, naterally, is honest or
he aint honest;—and there's no telling which, sir, 'tell he steals
something, or tell he goes off without stealing;—and so all that
kin be done, sir, is to find out if he's a thief, or if he's not a thief;
and I think, sir, I'm in a good way to git at the rights of the matter
before worse comes to worser. As you say, Mossa, it's my business
to see that you ain't worsened by 'em.”
Without insisting that Col. Gillison entirely understood the ingenious
speech of his driver, we can at least assert, with some
confidence, that he was satisfied with it. Of an indolent disposition,
the young master was not unwilling to be relieved from the
trouble of seeing himself after the intruders; and though he dismissed
the amorous Mingo with an assurance, that he would take
an early opportunity to look into their camp, the cunning driver,
who perhaps guessed very correctly on the subject of his master's
temperament, was fully persuaded that his own movements would
suffer no interruption from the command or supervision of the
other. Accordingly, sallying forth immediately after breakfast,
he took his way to the encampment, where he arrived in time to
perceive some fragments of a Catawba dejeûné, which, while it
awakened his suspicions, did not in any measure provoke his appetite.
There were numerous small well-picked bones, which
might have been those of a squirrel, as Richard Knuckles somewhat
of his master's brood-hens, as Mingo Gillison half suspected. But,
though he set forth with a declared resolve not to suffer his master's
interests to be “worsened,” our driver did not seem to think
it essential to this resolution to utter his suspicions, or to search
more narrowly into the matter. He seemed to take for granted
that Richard Knuckles had spoken nothing but the truth, and he
himself showed nothing but civility. He had not made his visit
without bringing with him a goodly portion of whiskey in his flask,
well knowing that no better medium could be found for procuring
the confidence and blinding the jealous eyes of the Indian. But
he soon discovered that this was not his true policy, however
much he had fancied in the first instance that it might subserve
it. He soothed the incivilities of the Catawba, and
warmed his indifference by the liquor, but he, at the same time,
and from the same cause, made him stationary in the camp. So
long as the whiskey lasted, the Indian would cling to the spot,
and when it was exhausted he was unable to depart. The prospect
was a bad one for the Driver that day in the camp of the squatters,
since, though the woman went to her tasks without delay,
and clung to them with the perseverance of the most devoted industry,
the Hunter was neither able nor willing to set forth upon his.
The bow was unbent and unslung, lying across his lap, and he,
himself, leaning back against his tree, seemed to have no wish beyond
the continued possession of the genial sunshine in which
he basked. In vain did Mingo, sitting beside him, cast his
wistful eyes towards the woman who worked at a little distance,
and whom, while her husband was wakeful, he did
not venture to approach. Something, he thought, might be
done by signs, but the inflexible wife never once looked up
from the clay vessel which her hands were employed to round
—an inflexibility which the conceited negro ascribed not so
much to her indifference to his claims, as to her fears of her
savage husband. We must not forget to say that the tongue of
the Driver was seldom silent, however much his thoughts might be
confused and his objects baffled. He had a faith in his own eloquence,
not unlike that of the greater number of our young and promising
statesmen; and did not doubt, though he could not speak
reach her senses, and make the desired impression. With this idea,
it may be readily supposed that he said a great many things
which were much better calculated to please her, than to meet the
assent of her husband.
“Now,” for example, continuing a long dissertation on the
physiological and psychological differences between his own and
the Indian race, in which he strove to prove to the satisfaction of
the Catawba, the infinite natural and acquired superiorities of the
former,—“Now,” said he, stretching his hand forth towards the
toiling woman, and establishing his case, as he thought conclusively,
by a resort to the argumentum ad hominem—“now, you
see, if that 'ere gal was my wife instead of your'n, Knuckles, do
you think I'd let her extricate herself here in a br'iling sun, working
her fingers off, and I lying down here in the grass a-doing nothing,
and only looking on? No! I'd turn in and give her good resistance;
'cause why, Knuckles? 'Cause, you see, it's not, I may say, a
'spectable sight to see the woman doing all the work what's a
needcessity, and the man a-doing nothing. The woman warn't
made for hard work at all. My women I redulges—I never pushes
'em—I favours them all that I kin, and it goes agin me mightily,
I tell you, when it's a needcessity to give 'em the lash. But
I scores the men like old Harry. I gives them their desarbings;
and if so be the task ain't done, let them look out for thick jackets.
'Twont be a common homespun that'll keep off my cuts. I
do not say that I overwork my people. That's not the idee. My
tasks is a'most too easy, and there's not a nigger among 'em that
can't get through, if he's exposed that way, by tree o'clock in de
day. The women has their task, but they're twice as easy, and
then I don't open both eyes when I'm looking to see if they've got
through 'em. 'Tain't often you hear my women in trivilation; and,
I know, it stands to reason what I'm telling you, that a black Gentlemen
is always more 'spectable to a woman than an Indian.
Dere's your wife now, and dere's you. She ain't leff her business
since I bin here, and you haint gone to your'n, nor you ain't
gin her a drop of the whiskey. Not to say that a gal so young
as that ought to drink whiskey and chaw tobacco—but for the sake
of compliment now, 'twas only right that you should ha' ax her
her; you ain't done a stroke since breakfast. Ef you was
under me, Knuckles, I'd a laid this green twig over your red jacket
in a way that would ha' made a 'possum laugh.”
“Eh!” was the only exclamation of the half drunken Indian,
at this characteristic conclusion of the negro's speech; but, though
Knuckles said nothing that could denote his indignation at the irreverent
threat, which, though contingent only, was excessively
annoying to the amour propre of the Catawba, there was a gleam
of angry intelligence which flashed out for a moment from his
eyes and his thin lips parted to a grin that showed his white teeth
with an expression not unlike that of a wolf hard pressed by one
more daring cur than the rest. Either Mingo did not see this, or
he thought too lightly of the prowess of his companion to heed it.
He continued in the same strain and with increasing boldness.
“Now I say, Knuckles, all that's onbecoming. A woman's a
woman, and a man's a man. A woman has her sort of work,
and it's easy. And a man has his sort of work, and that's hard.
Now, here you make this poor gal do your work and her own too.
That's not fair, it's a despisable principle, and I may say, no man's
a gempleman that believes it. Ha'n't I seed, time upon time, Indian
men going along, stiff and straight as a pine tree, carrying
nothing but a bow and arrow, and mout be, a gun; and, same
time, the squaws walking a most double under the load. That's
a common ex-servation. Iv'e seed it a hundred times. Is that
'spectful or decent to the fair seck? I say no, and I'll stand by, and
leave it to any tree gentlemen of any complexion, ef I ain't right.”
It was well, perhaps, for the maintenance of peace between the
parties, that Knuckles was too drunk and too ignorant to comprehend
all that was spoken by the Driver. The leading idea, however,
was sufficiently clear for his comprehension, and to this he
answered with sufficient brevity and phlegm.
“Indian woman is good for work—Indian man for hunt; woman
is good for hab children; man for shoot—man for fight. The
Catawba man is very good for fight;” and as the poor, miserable
creature spoke, the fire of a former and a better day, seemed to
kindle his cheeks and give lustre to his eye. Probably, the
memory of that traditional valour which distinguished the people
with the neighbouring nations, came over his thoughts, and
warned him with something like a kindred sentiment with those
which had been so long forgotten by his race.
“Oh, go 'long!” said the negro. “How you talk, Knuckles!
wha make you better for fight more dan me? Ki, man! Once
you stan' afore Mingo, you tumble. Ef I was to take you in my
arms and give you one good hug, Lor' ha' massy 'pon you!
You'd neber feel yourself after that, and nothing would be lef' of
you for you wife to see, but a long greasy mark, most like a little
old man, yer, 'pon my breast and thighs. I never seed the Indian
yet that I could'nt lick, fair up and down, hitch cross, or big
cross, hand over, hand under, arm lock and leg lock, in seventeen
and nine minutes, by the sun. You don't know, Knuckles,
else you would'nt talk so foolish. Neber Indian kin stan' agen
black man, whedder for fight or work. That's the thing I'm
talking 'bout. You can't fight fair and you can't work. You
aint got strengt' for it. All your fighting is bush fighting and
behind tree, and you' woman does the work. Now, wha' make
you lie down here, and not go 'pon you' hunting? That's 'cause
you're lazy. You come look at my hands, see 'em plough, see
'em hoe, see 'em mak' ditch, cut tree, split rail, buil' house—
when you see dem, you'll see wha' I call man. I would'nt give
tree snap of a finger for any pusson that's so redolent as an Indian.
They're good for nothing but eat.”
“Catawba man is good for fight!” sullenly responded the Indian
to a speech which the negro soon found to have been imprudently
concerted and rashly spoken, in more respects than one.
“Nigger man and squaw is good for work!” continued the other
disdainfully, his thin lips curling into an expression of scorn
which did not escape the eyes of Mingo, obtuse as his vanity
necessarily made him. “Catawba man is a free man, he can
sleep or he can hunt,” pursued the savage, retorting decidedly
upon the condition of the slave, but without annoying the sleek,
well fed and self-complacent driver. “Nigger man ain't free
man—he must work, same like Indian squaw.”
“Oh, skion! Oh! skion! wha's all dat, Knuckles? You don't
know wha' you say. Who make you free? wha' make you
'pon poor woman for work your pot, and half de time you got
not'ing to put in 'em. Now, I is free man! Cause, you see my
pot is always full, and when I does my work like a gempleman,—
who cares? I laughs at mossa jist the same as I laughs at you.
You free eh?—you! Whay you hab coat like mine? Whay, you
hab breeches? Why, Knuckles, you aint decent for stan' 'fore
you wife. Dat's trut' I'm telling you. How you can be free
when you aint decent? How you can be free when you no
work? How you can be free when you half-starbing all de time?
When you aint got blanket to you' back—when you aint got fat
'pon you rib. When here, you expen' 'pon my land to get the
mud-stuff for you' pots and pans! Psho, psho, Knuckles, you
don't know wha' you talk 'bout. You aint hab sensible notion of
dem tings wha make free pusson. Nebber man is freeman, ef
he own arm can't fill he stomach. Nebber man is freeman if he
own work can't put clothes 'pon he back. Nebber man is freeman—no,
nor gempleman neider, when he make he purty young
wife do all de work, him lying same time, wid he leg cross and
he eye half shut, in de long grass smelling ob de sunshine. No,
no, Knuckles, you must go to you' work, same as I goes to mine,
ef you wants people to desider you a freeman. Now you' work
is hunting—my work is for obersee my plantation. It's a trut',
your work aint obermuch—'taint wha' gempleman kin call work
altogedder, but nebber mind, it's someting. Now, wha for you no
go to you' work? Come, I gwine to mine. You strike off now
'pon your business. I reckon you' wife can make he pots, same
as ef we bin' stan' look 'pon 'em. Woman don't like to be
obershee, and when I tink 'pon de seck, I don't see any needcessity
for it.”
The Indian darted a fierce glance at the authoritative negro,
and simply exclaiming, “Eh! Eh!” rose from his position, and
tottering towards the spot where the woman was at work, uttered
a few brief words in her ear which had the immediate effect of
sending her out of sight, and into the hovel. He then returned
quietly to his nest beneath the tree. Mingo was somewhat annoyed
by the conviction that he had overshot his object, and had
provoked the always eager suspicions of the savage. Knuckles
fierce glances, even if he had no words to declare his feelings,
sufficiently betrayed to the negro the jealousies that were awakened
in his mind. The latter felt troubled. He fancied that, in the
pursuit of his desires, were the woman alone concerned, he should
have no difficulty, but he knew not what to do with the man. To
scare him off was impossible—to beguile him from his treasure
seemed equally difficult, and, in his impatience, the dogmatical
driver, accustomed to have his will instantly obeyed, could scarcely
restrain himself from a second resort to the whip. A moment's
reflection brought a more prudent resolution to his mind, and seeing
that the squatters were likely to go without food that day, he
determined to try the effect which the presentation of a flitch of
his master's bacon would have, upon the jealousy of the husband,
and the affections of the wife. With this resolution, he retired from
the ground, though without declaring his new and gracious purpose
to either of the parties whom it was intended especially to
benefit.
| CHAPTER VI. The wigwam and the cabin | |