University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

Picter, detailed by his mistress as a scout, went about
the duty somewhat unwillingly. He would have preferred
to lurk in the farther end of the great kitchen, and feast
his eyes and ears with the presence of the federal soldier,
whom he looked upon as in a large degree his own property
by right of discovery.

He found reason, however, to congratulate himself
upon his prompt obedience, when, in limping across the
yard toward the barn, he met a lank, ill-looking fellow,
by name Joe Sykes, coming out of it.

This Sykes was one of Mr. Darley's nearest neighbors,
and one of the bitterest rebels in the whole South. He
was also, as Picter well knew, a hard and cruel master to
his negroes and his family, and was consequently hated
by all the colored people within the circle of his reputation.
Although intimate with her husband, this man
was so displeasing to Mrs. Darley, that she had plainly
intimated to him that his presence was disagreeable, and
he now very rarely entered the house.

“Hallo, Pic,” growled this worthy gentleman, as the
negro approached. “Who've you got to your house?”

“Got, Mas'r Sykes?” inquired Picter, with an air of
intense innocence. “We've got all de folks.”

“Is your master in?”

“Mas'r? Well, no, mas'r ain't in; but mist's and Missy
Dora dere. Mist's ain't bery well dis yer mornin', an'
she layin' abed. Got any arrand for her, Mas'r Sykes?”

“No,” snarled Sykes. “Who was that went across
from the barn to the house with you about ten minutes
ago, you black cuss?”

“'Bout ten minute ago,” repeated Picter, leaning on
the hoe he had been handling, and appearing to consider
the question very gravely. “Well, now, Mas'r Sykes,
you go agin larnin' niggers any sort o' ting, dey say.
Now, dat all right I s'pose, else Mas'r Sykes 'ouldn't go
fer it. But now jes see here, mas'r. Ef a nigger ain't
neber been taught nuffin', how's he gwine to tell nuffin'?”

“What do you mean, you old fool?”

“W'y, mas'r axes me who went crost dis yer yard 'bout
ten minute ago. Now, niggers hain't got no call to know
what's o'clock, yer den say; den how's dis nigger gwine
to know how much is ten minute?”

Mr. Sykes looked at the sable logician with a curious
expression of bewildered anger, but found no better reply
to make than an oath, which, being neither pleasing in
itself nor appropriate to the subject, we will omit.

“Who's in your house now, then?” asked Sykes,
angrily, after he had thus relieved his mind.

“Well, dere's mist's. Now, Mas'r Sykes, I feel
worried 'bout mist's. She's mighty porely dese times.
'Pears like some days she gwine to drop right off de
hooks, an'—”

“Never mind your mistress, you blockhead; who's she
got with her?”

“Wid her. W'y, she got Missy Dora. Dat chile ain't
neber fur off from her mammy. Spee's dere ain't no
more sich gals 'bout here, any way. — What, is yer
gwine, Mas'r Sykes? Won't yer step in an' ax for mist's?
Missy Dora gib you all de 'tic'lars 'bout her healf.—
Gosh! now dat feller gone off powerful mad wid dis yer
pore ignorant critter. Wish't I know'd how ter talk to
a gen'l'man better. Ho, ho, ho!”

Picter indulged for a few moments in a congratulatory
chuckle, but then became suddenly grave.

“Yer ole fool,” said he severely to himself. “Can't
yer do nuffin' but stan' cacklin' here like de rooster w'en
de ole hen lay a egg? Dat feller won't neber rest till
he's got some one ter come an' help him peek inter all our
cubboards an' tater kittles arter dat Yankee. Pore feller,
he's got to trot. Won't git dat nice all-day sleep mist's
tole for. Wish't ole Pic could get wounded an' go ter
bed up sta'rs all day.”

Shambling across the yard in a purposeless sort of way,
Picter stopped to gather an armful of wood, in case he
should be watched, and carried it in a leisurely manner
into the kitchen.

No sooner, however, was the door safely closed behind
him, and the wooden bar dropped, than the old negro
flung down his wood upon the hearth, and inquired, —

“Mas'r cap'n, how yer like to hab a call from de
neighbors roun' here?”

Captain Karl started to his feet, and carried his hand
to his empty scabbard.

“What do you mean, Picter?” asked Mrs. Darley,
hurriedly. “Is there danger?”

“Dat old Sykes ben trailin' roun' here, an' want fer
know who come cross from de barn to de house long
o' me jes now.”

“You did not tell him, Picter!”

“Dis nigger ain't quite a fool yit, mist's. But I
couldn' pull de wool ober he eyes so fur but what he
t'ought he seed de leetle end ob de rat's tail, an' he smell
him powerful strong. So he went off to git seben oder
debils wusser dan hisself, I spec.”

“I must go at once,” exclaimed Captain Karl. “But
whither?” added he, bitterly.

Mrs. Darley, Dora, and Picter looked at each other and
at him. The mother was the first to speak.

“Picter, you know the place where that poor fellow
was hid last summer so long.”

“Yes, mist's,” said the negro, gloomily.

“You will not be afraid to trust this gentleman with
the secret of it?”

“Not ef you say so, mist's.”

“You need not be afraid. I pledge you my honor that
your secret shall be safely kept,” exclaimed Captain Karl.

“Dunno wot you'll see an' hear dar,” said Picter, while
his face lost a shade or two of its rich coffee color.

“Why?” asked the officer, anxiously.

“A pore boy dat dis ole Sykes licked mos' to def got
away an' hid dere, an' arter a w'ile he died,” said the
negro, in a hard, savage voice.

“Shocking. But no one knew where he was hid?”

“No one but dem as helped him.”

“Negroes?”

“Yes, mas'r.”

“I will trust them,” cried the captain, joyously. “I
should not be afraid to let every negro in the South know
my hiding-place, and that's more than I would say for the
white men even of my own Massachusetts.”

“Mas'r, I's proud to sarve ye,” said Picter, straightening
his poor back to the utmost.

“Dora, put up as much food as they can carry; and
you had better take a blanket or comforter, Captain Karl.
You may have to stay a day or two in the mountains,”
said Mrs. Darley, anxiously.

“A small blanket, if you will be so kind, would indeed
be a luxury,” said the soldier, smiling; “and I will leave
it behind me for Picter to bring back. But will not you
get into trouble yourself, if it is known that you have
helped a Union officer in this manner?”

“Perhaps. But that is a matter we cannot control.

No one will hurt me or this little girl, however, and Mr.
Darley is too well known as a secessionist to suffer in
his property. A few hard words will be all, so far as we
are concerned. But Picter—”

She paused and looked troubled.

“Yes, they will try to force the truth from him if
possible. Will your husband allow him to be ill used?”

Mrs. Darley shook her head.

“The faithful fellow must not be exposed to such a
risk. What can be done?”

“I will go alone,” said Captain Karl, firmly. “Picter
will give me directions, and I dare say I can find the spot
you mention. If not, I will hide somewhere among the
mountains until I can go forward upon my journey.”

“No; you would be found, or you would die of hunger
and exposure. Picter shall go with you, and he shall not
come back, — that is, if there is any danger. Before
night I shall know if Sykes has suspected enough to
bring the Vigilance Committee upon us. If they come,
they would think nothing of torturing a negro to death on
the chance of catching a federal officer.

“After dark, Picter, come carefully back until you can
see this house. If all is safe there shall be a light in Miss
Dora's room, up stairs. You know which it is?”

“Yes, mist's.”

“But if I think any one means to harm you for what
we have done to-day, there will be no light up stairs, and
you will go back to Captain Karl.”

“An' whar 'll I go arter dat, mist's?” asked the negro,
in a voice husky with emotion, and the sudden hope that
the words of his mistress had aroused in his heart.

“To the North, to freedom, Picter,” said Mrs. Darley,
solemnly. “I have been thinking of you for a good
while, Picter. I am going fast to another home than
this. There would be no one to protect you from — many
things. Your master is going to join the rebel army,
and, I suppose, would either sell you or take you with
him. You deserve better than that, Picter, and you shall
have it. If you come back this time I will contrive your
escape before I die; but perhaps if you go now, Captain
Karl can help you after you reach the Union army.”

“I can, and will,” said the captain, eagerly. “Let
him come with me, if you have really made up your mind
to send him away, and I will charge myself with his welfare.”

“Let it be so then,” said Mrs. Darley, faintly; “and
I thank the Lord, that has opened a way for him, and for
you, too, for he will help you in your escape in a great
many ways.”

At this moment Picter, who had stood rolling his great
eyes from the face of one speaker to the other in a sort
of bewildered ecstasy, suddenly limped forward, and fell
upon his knees beside his mistress.

Seizing her pale and trembling hand, he pressed his
great lips reverently upon it, and sobbed out, —

“De Lord bress you, mist's. De Lord bress you an'

keep you. An' ef you's r'ally a gwine, it's cause de
angels is lonesome fer ye. I didn' spect it, mist's; I
nebber spected fer ter be free till I got to heben.”

“But I have tried to be kind to you here, Picter, and
so have the children,” said Mrs. Darley, a little hurt,
after all, that her servant should be so entirely overjoyed
at leaving her forever.

“Yes, mist's, yu's ben raal good alluz, and missy, too.
Nobbuddy couldn' be better off ef dey'd got to be a slave
dan I's ben long o' yer, mist's; but mist's dear, 'tain't de
same ting, no how. De bestest off slave 's wusser off den
de mis'ablest free man.”

“Don't come back, at any rate, Picter. I never knew
you cared so much, or you should have gone long ago.
Remember, you are not to come back, on any account.
Dora, bring my purse, and give it to Uncle Picter. I'm
sorry it's so little, but it's all I have. And now you must
really go as fast as you can, captain. I have done very
wrong to keep you so long. Here are the basket and the
blanket. Good by, sir, and take care of Picter for me.”

“You may depend upon me for that, Mrs. Darley. I
shall never forget your kindness. Good by, madam.
Good by, Miss Dora.”

He shook hands with the mother, hurriedly kissed the
child's forehead, and was gone, followed by Picter, who
laughed and cried by turns in such a manner as to make
his farewell speeches rather unintelligible.