University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I.

It was the afternoon of a bright October day. The old town
clock had just tolled the hour of four, when the Lexington
and Frankfort daily stage was heard rattling over the stony
pavement in the small town of V—, Ky. In a few
moments the four panting steeds were reined up before the
door of the Eagle, the principal hotel in the place. “Mine
host,” a middle-aged, pleasant-looking man, came bustling
out to inspect the new comers, and calculate how many
would do justice to his beefsteaks, strong coffee, sweet potatoes,
and corn cakes, which were being prepared in the
kitchen by Aunt Esther.[1]

This good dame divided her time between squeezing the
steaks, turning the corn cake, kicking the dogs, and administering
various cuffs to sundry little black urchins, who
were on the lookout to snatch a bit of the “hoe cake,”
whenever they could elude the Argus eyes of Aunt Esther.
When the rattling of the stage was heard, there ensued a
general scrambling, to ascertain which should be first to see

who had come. At length, by a series of somersets,
helped on by Aunt Esther's brawny hand, the kitchen was
cleared, and Aunt Esther was “monarch of all she surveyed.”

The passengers this afternoon were few and far between, for
there was but one inside, and one on the box with the driver.
The one inside alighted, and ordered his baggage to be carried
into the hotel. The stranger was a young man, apparently
about twenty-five years of age. He was tall, well
proportioned, and every way prepossessing in his appearance.
At least the set of idlers in the bar-room thought so, for the
moment he entered, they all directed their eyes and tobacco
juice towards him!

By the time he had uttered a dozen words, they had
come to the conclusion that he was a stranger in the place
and was from the East. One of the men, a Mr. Edson, was,
to use his own words, “mighty skeary of Northern folks,”
and as soon as he became convinced that the stranger was
from that way, he got up, thinking to himself, “Some confounded
Abolitionist, I'll warrant. The sooner I go home,
and get my gang together, the better 'twill be.” But upon
second thought, he concluded, “his gang” was safe for the
present, at least; so he'd just sit down, and hear what his
neighbor, Mr. Woodburn, was saying to the new comer.

The Kentuckians are as famous as the Yankees for inquisitiveness,
but if they inquire into your history, they are
equally ready to give theirs to you, and you cannot feel as
much annoyed by the kind, confiding manner, with which
a Kentuckian will draw you out, as by the cool, quizzing way
with which a Yankee will “guess” out your affairs.

On the present occasion, Mr. Woodburn had conjectured
the young man's business, and was anxious to know who he
was, and if possible, to render him assistance. It took but
a short time for the stranger to tell that he was from the
East, from New-York; that his name was Wilmot, and that

he was in quest of a school; and in as short a time Mr.
Woodburn had welcomed young Wilmot to Kentucky, but
expressed his regret that he did not come sooner, for all the
schools were engaged; “But,” added he, “you had better
remain around here awhile, and get acquainted, and then
there will be no doubt of your eventually getting a situation.
Meantime, as you are a stranger here, you are welcome to
make my house your home.”

Such kindness from an entire stranger was unlooked for
by Wilmot. He knew not what to make of it;—it was so
different from the cold, money-making men of the North.
He tried to stammer out his thanks, when Mr. Edson interrupted
him by nudging Mr. Woodburn, and saying, “Don't
you mind old Middleton? He's been tarin' round after a
Yankee teacher this six weeks. I reckon this chap 'll suit.”

Mr. Woodburn hesitated. He did not like to send Mr.
Wilmot to such a place as Mr. Middleton's, for though Mr.
Middleton was a very kind man, he was very rough and uncouth
in his manner, and thought his money much better
applied, when at interest, than when employed to make his
house and family more comfortable.

At length Mr. Woodburn replied, “True, I did not think
of Mr. Middleton, but I hardly like to send a stranger there.
However, Mr. Wilmot, you must not judge all Kentuckians
by him, for although he is very hospitable to strangers, he is
extremely rough.”

Mr. Wilmot thanked them for their information, and said
he thought he would go to Mr. Middleton's that night.

“Lord knows how you'll get there,” said Mr. Edson.

“Why, is it far?” asked Wilmot.

“Not very fur,” said Mr. Edson, “little better than four
miles, but a mighty mean road any time, and a heap worse
since the rains. For a spell you can get on right smart, but
then, again, you'll go in co-slush!”

Mr. Wilmot smiled; but said, “he thought he would
try the road, if Mr. Edson would give him the direction.”

Then followed a host of directions, of which the most
prominent to Wilmot were, that “about two miles from the
house is an old hemp factory, full of niggers, singing like all
fury; then comes a piece of woods, in the middle of which
is a gate on the left hand;—open that gate, and follow the
road straight till you come to the mightiest mean-looking
house you ever seen, I reckon; one chimbley tumbled down,
and t'other trying to. That house is Middleton's.”

Here Mr. Woodburn said, “that as the road was so bad,
and it was getting late, Mr. Wilmot had better stay at his
house that night, and the next day they would send him to
Middleton's.”

Before Mr. Wilmot had time to reply, Mr. Edson called
out, “Halloa! just in luck, Wilmot!” Then rushing to the
door, he screamed, “Ho! Jim Crow, you jackanapes, what
you ridin' Prince full jump down the pike for? Say, you
scapegrace, come up here!”

Mr. Wilmot looked from the window, and saw a fine-looking
black boy, of about sixteen years of age, riding a beautiful
horse at full speed through the street. He readily divined
that the boy was the property of Mr. Edson, and as he had
brought from home a little abolitionism safely packed away,
he expected to see a few cuffs dealt out to the young African.
But when the young hopeful, at the command of his
master, wheeled his horse up to the door, gave a flourish
with his rimless old hat, and a loud whistle with his pouting
lips, Mr. Wilmot observed that his master gave the bystanders
a knowing wink, as much as to say, “Isn't he
smart?” then turning to the boy, he said, “How now, you
Jim, what are you here for, riding Prince to death?”

“I begs marster's pardon berry much,” said the negro,
“but you see how I done toted all the taters you told me,

and missis she 'vise me to ride Prince a leetle, 'case he's gittin'
oneasy like when Miss Carline rides him.”

“Likely story,” said Mr. Edson, “but for once you are in
the way when I want you. You know where Mr. Middleton
lives?”

“Yes, marster, reckon I does.”

“Well, this young man wants to go there. Now jump
down quick and help him on, do you hear?”

“Yes, marster,” said the negro, and in a moment he was
on the ground, holding the stirrup for Mr. Wilmot to mount.

Wilmot hesitated for two causes. The first was, he was
not a good horseman, and did not like to attempt mounting
the spirited animal, before so many pair of eyes. He looked
wistfully at the horse-block, but did not dare propose having
the horse led up to it. The second reason was, he did not
know whether to accept or decline the kindness of Mr. Edson;
but that man reassured him, by saying,

“Come, what you waiting for? jump up. I'd a heap
rather Jim would go with you, than ride Prince to death,
which he surely would.”

“Yes, marster,” said Jim.

Here Mr. Woodburn spoke. He knew that New-York
people were, comparatively speaking, inferior riders, and
he readily conjectured why Mr. Wilmot hesitated; so he
said,

“Here, Jim, lead the horse up to the block for the gentleman;”
then turning to the bystanders said, as if apologizing
for Wilmot, “you know it is so thickly settled in New-York
that they do not ride as much as we do, and probably
the young man has always been at school.”

This was satisfactory to the white portion of the audience,
but not to the group of blacks, who were assembled at the
corner of the house. They thought it a shame not to be a
good rider, and when they saw the awkward manner in which

Mr. Wilmot finally mounted the horse, and the ludicrous
face of Jim Crow, as he sprang up behind him, they were,
as they afterwards told Aunt Esther, “dreffuly tickled, and
would have larfed, sartin, if they hadn't knowed marster
would have slapped their jaws.”

“And sarved you right,” was the rejoinder of Aunt Esther.

But to return to Mr. Edson. As soon as Mr. Wilmot,
Jim, and Prince had disappeared, he felt a return of his
fears concerning the “confounded Abolitionist.” Thought
he, “What a fool I was to let Prince and Jim Crow too, go
off with that ar' chap! Thar's Prince, worth a hundred and
fifty, and Jim, at the least calculation, 'll fetch eight hundred.
Wall, any way, they can't get far on that dirt road,
so if Jim isn't at home by nine, I'll go after 'em, that's so.”
Having settled the matter thus satisfactorily in his own mind,
he called for his horse, and started for home.

Meantime Mr. Wilmot was slowly wending his way towards
Mr. Middleton 's. It took but a short time for him
to ascertain that the road was fully equal to the description
given of it by Mr. Edson. At times he could scarcely keep
his seat, and he felt conscious too, that the black machine
behind him was inwardly convulsed with laughter at his
awkward attempts to guide the horse, in the best part of the
road. At length he ventured a remark.

“Jim, is this animal ugly?”

“Ugly! Lor bless you, marster, is you blind? As handsome
a creetur as thar is in the country!”

Mr. Wilmot understood that he had used the word
`ugly' in its wrong sense, so he said,

“I do not mean to ask if the horse is ill-looking, but is
he skittish?”

“If marster means by that, will he throw him off, I don't
think he will as long as I'm on him, but sometimes he is a

leetle contrary like. Reckon marster ain't much used to
ridin'.”

By this time they had reached the gate spoken of by
Mr. Edson. To Mr. Wilmot's great surprise the horse walked
up to it and tried to open it with his mouth! Mr. Wilmot
was so much amused, that he would not suffer Jim to get
down and open the gate, as he wished to see if the horse
could do it.

“Oh yes, marster, he'll do it easy,” said the negro; and
sure enough, in a moment the well-trained animal lifted the
latch and pushed open the gate! But it was a rickety old
thing, and before Prince had got fairly through, it tumbled
down, hitting his heels, and causing him to jump sideways,
so as to leave Mr. Wilmot riding the gate, and Jim Crow in
quiet possession of the saddle! With a great effort Jim
forced down his desire to scream, and merely showed twenty-eight
very large and very white teeth.

Springing from the horse he offered to assist Mr. Wilmot
to mount again, but he had no inclination to do so. He
preferred walking the rest of the way, he said, and as he
could now easily find the house, Jim could return home.
This was not what Jim wanted. He had anticipated a nice
time in relating his adventures to Mr. Middleton's negroes,
but as Mr. Wilmot slipped a quarter into his hand, he felt
consoled for the loss of his `yarn;' so mounting Prince
again, he gave his old palm-leaf three flourishes round his
head, and with a loud whoop, started the horse at a tremendous
speed down the road, and was soon out of sight,
leaving Mr. Wilmot to find his way alone through the wood.
This he found no difficulty in doing, for he soon came in
sight of a house, which he readily took for Mr. Middleton's.

It was a large, old-fashioned, stone building, with one
chimney fallen down, as Mr. Edson had said, and its companion
looked likely to follow suit at the first high wind.

The windows of the upper story, were two thirds of them
destitute of glass, but its place was supplied by shingles,
which kept the cold out, if they did not let the light in.
Scattered about the yard, which was very large, were corn
cribs, hay racks, pig troughs, carts, wagons, old ploughs,
horses, mules, cows, hens, chickens, turkeys, geese, negroes
and dogs, the latter of which rushed ferociously at Mr. Wilmot,
who was about to beat a retreat from so uninviting
quarters, when one of the negroes called out, “Ho, marster,
don't be feared, 'case I'll hold Tiger.” So Wilmot advanced
with some misgivings toward the negro and dog.

He accosted the negro, and asked if his master were at
home.

“No sar, marster's done gone away, but Miss Nancy,
she's at home. Jist walk right in thar, whar you see the
pile of saddles in the entry.”

Accordingly Mr. Wilmot “walked in where the pile of
saddles were,” and knocked at a side door. It was opened
by a very handsome young girl, who politely asked the
stranger to enter. He did so, and found within a mild-looking,
middle-aged lady, whose dark eyes and hair showed
her at once to be the mother of the young lady who had
opened the door for him.

Mrs. Middleton, for she it was, arose, and offering her
hand to the stranger, asked him to be seated in the large
stuffed chair which stood before the cheerful blazing fire.
In a few moments he had introduced himself, told his business,
and inquired for Mr. Middleton.

“My husband is absent,” said Mrs. Middleton, “but he
will be at home to-night, and we shall be glad to have you
remain with us till to-morrow at least, and as much longer
as you like, for I think Mr. Middleton will be glad to assist
you in getting a school.”

Mr. Wilmot accepted the invitation, and then looked

round the room to see if the interior of the house corresponded
with the exterior. It did not, for the room, though
large, was very comfortable. The floor was covered with a
bright-colored homemade carpet. In one corner stood a
bed, the counterpane of which was as white as snow, and
the curtains of the windows were of the same hue. In
another corner was a small bookcase, well filled with books,
and on a stand near a window, were several house plants.

He concluded that the books and the plants were the
property of the young lady, whom Mrs. Middleton introduced
to him as her eldest daughter, Julia. She was an intelligent
looking girl, and Mr. Wilmot instantly felt interested in her,
but when he attempted to converse with her, she stole quietly
out of the room, leaving her mother to entertain the visitor.

At last supper was brought in by old Aunt Judy, who
curtsied so low to the “young marster,” that she upset the
coffee-pot, the contents of which fell upon a spaniel, which
lay before the fire. The outcries of the dog brought Miss
Julia from the kitchen, and this time she was accompanied
by her younger sister, Fanny, who, together with Julia and
Aunt Judy, lamented over the wounded animal.

“I didn't go to do it, sartin, Miss July,” said Aunt Judy,
“Lor knows I didn't.”

“Who said you did, you black thing, you?” said Julia,
who in her grief for her favorite, and her anger at Aunt
Judy, forgot the stranger, and her bashfulness too. “You
were careless, I know you were,” she continued, “or you
never could have tipped all the coffee over in this manner.”

“Never mind, sister,” said Fanny, “never mind; of course
Aunt Judy didn't mean to do it, for she likes Dido as well
as we do.”

“Lor bless Miss Fanny's sweet face, that I do like Dido,”
said Aunt Judy.

“Yes, that you do,” repeated Julia mockingly, “just as
though you could like any thing.”

Here Mrs. Middleton interposed, and ordered Julia and
Fanny to take their seats at the table, while Judy cleared
away all traces of the disaster. Julia complied with an ill
grace, muttering something about “the hateful negroes,”
while Fanny obeyed readily, and laughingly made some remark
to Mr. Wilmot about their making so much ado over
a dog, “but,” said she, “we are silly girls, and of course do
silly things. Probably we shall do better when we get old,
like you,—no, not like you, like mother, I mean.”

Here she stopped, blushing deeply at having called Mr.
Wilmot old, when in fact she thought him quite young, and
very handsome,—in short, “just the thing.” She thought
to herself, “there, I've done it now! Julia and I have both
introduced ourselves to him in a pretty light, but it's just
like me,—however, I'll not say another word to-night!”

The little incident of the coffee-pot gave Mr. Wilmot
something of an insight into the character and dispositions
of the two girls. And surely nothing could have been more
unlike than their personal appearance, as they sat side by
side at the supper table. Julia was about seventeen years
of age, and was called very handsome, for there was something
peculiarly fascinating in the ever-varying expression
of her large black eyes. She was a brunette, but there was
on her cheek so rich and changeable a color, that one forgot
in looking at her, whether she were dark or light. Her
disposition was something like her complexion,—dark and
variable. Her father was a native of South Carolina, and
from him she inherited a quick, passionate temper. At
times she was gentle as a lamb, but when any thing occurred
to trouble her, all her southern blood boiled up, and she was
as Fanny said, “always ready to fire up at a moment's
warning.” Mr. Middleton called her “Tempest,” while to

Fanny he gave the pet name of “Sunshine,” and truly, compared
with her sister, Fanny's presence in the house was
like a ray of sunshine.

She was two years younger than Julia, and entirely different
from her, both in looks and disposition. Her face
was very pale, and her bright golden hair fell in soft curls
around her neck and shoulders, giving her something the
appearance of a fairy. Her eyes were very large and very
dark blue, and ever mirrored forth the feelings of her soul.

By the servants, Julia was feared and dreaded; but
Fanny was a favorite with all. Not a man, woman, or
child, on the plantation, but was ready to do any thing for
“darling Miss Fanny.” And they thought, too, every one
must love her as well as they did, for they said, “she showed
by her face that she was an angel.” This was the opinion
of the blacks, and it was also the partially formed opinion
of Mr. Wilmot before he finished his supper; and yet he
could not help thinking there was something wondrously attractive
in the glance of Julia's large, dark eyes.

After supper, he tried to engage the two girls in conversation,
in order to ascertain which had the best mind.
He found Fanny most ready to converse. She had forgotten
her resolution not to talk, and before the evening was
half spent, seemed perfectly well acquainted with him. She
had discovered that his name was Richard, that he had a
sister Kate, who called him Dick, that he was as yet possessor
of his own heart, but was in great danger of losing it!
The compliment Fanny very generously gave to her sister
Julia, because she observed that Mr. Wilmot's eyes were
often directed towards the corner where the dark beauty
sat, silent and immovable.

Julia had taken but little part in the conversation, and
Mr. Wilmot's efforts to “draw her out” had proved ineffectual.
She felt piqued that Fanny should engross so much

attention, and resolved on revenge; so she determined to
show Mr. Wilmot that she could talk, but not upon such
silly subjects as pleased Fanny. Accordingly, when books
were mentioned, she seemed suddenly roused into life. She
was really very intelligent, and a very good scholar. She
had a great taste for reading, and what books she could not
prevail on her father to buy, she would borrow, so she had
a tolerably good knowledge of all the standard works. Mr.
Wilmot was surprised and pleased to find her so well informed;
and in the spirited conversation which followed,
poor Fanny was entirely cast into the background.

Fanny, however, attributed it to her sister's superior
knowledge of Latin, and inwardly “thanked her stars” that
she knew nothing of that language, further than the verb
Amo, to love. The practical part of that verb she understood,
even if she did not its conjugation. She sat quietly
listening to Mr. Wilmot and her sister, but her cogitations
were far different from what Julia's had been.

Fanny was building castles, in all of which Mr. Wilmot
and Julia were the hero and heroine. She gazed admiringly
at her sister, whose face grew handsomer each moment,
as she became more animated, and she thought, “What a
nice-looking couple Julia and Mr. Wilmot would make!
And they would be so happy too, that is, if sister didn't get
angry, and I am sure she wouldn't with Mr. Wilmot. Then
they would have a nicer house than this old shell, and perhaps
they would let me live with them!”

Here her reverie was interrupted by Mr. Wilmot, who
asked her if she had ever studied Latin. Fanny hesitated;
she did not wish to confess that she had once studied it six
months, but at the end of that time, she was so heartily
tired of its “long-tailed verbs,” as she called them, that she
had thrown her grammar out of the window, and afterwards
given it to Aunt Judy to light the oven with!

This story, however, was told by Julia, with many embellishments,
for she delighted in making Fanny appear
ridiculous. She was going on swimmingly, when she received
something of a drawback from her mother, who said,

“Julia, what do you want to talk so for? You know
that while Fanny studied Latin, Mr. Miller said she learned
her lessons more readily than you did and recited them better,
and he said too, that she was quite as good a French
scholar as you!”

Julia curled her lip scornfully, and said, “she didn't
know what her mother knew about Fanny's scholarship.”
Meantime Fanny was blushing deeply, and thinking that
she had appeared to great disadvantage in Mr. Wilmot's
eyes; but he very kindly changed the conversation by asking
who Mr. Miller was; and was told that he was a young
man from Albany, New-York, who taught in their neighborhood
the winter before.

The appearance of some nice red apples just then, turned
the attention of the little company in another channel,
and before they were aware of it, the clock struck ten. Mr.
Middleton had not yet returned, and as it was doubtful
whether he came home at all that night, Julia went to the
kitchen for Luce, to show Mr. Wilmot to his room. She
was gone some time, and when she returned, was accompanied
by a bright-looking mulatto girl, who, as soon as
she had conducted Mr. Wilmot into his room, commenced
making excuses about “marster's old house! Things was
drefful all round it, but 'twasn't Miss Julia's fault, for if she
could have her way 'twould all be fixed up, sartin. She
was a born'd lady, any body could see; so different from
Miss Fanny, who cared nothing how things looked if she
could get into the kitchen, and turn hoe cakes for Aunt
Judy, or tend the baby!”

By this time Luce had arranged the room all it wanted

arranging, and as Mr. Wilmot had no further need of her
services, she left him to think of what she had said. He
did not know that the bright red ribbon which appeared on
Luce's neck, next morning, was the gift of Julia, who had
bribed her to say what she did to him. Julia knew that she
had made a favorable impression on Mr. Wilmot, and she
thought to increase that impression by making him think
meanly of Fanny.

What Luce said had its effect upon him too. He was
accustomed to the refinements of the North, and he could
not help respecting a young lady more who showed a taste
for neatness. That night he dreamed that a bright pair of
dark eyes was looking at him from each pane of shingle in
the window, and that a golden-haired fairy was dancing the
Polka in Aunt Judy's hoe-cake batter.