 | CHAPTER V. Dukesborough tales |  |
5. CHAPTER V.
“Are we not one? are we not joined by Heaven?”
Fair Penitent.
Georgiana was married, and her father was glad of it. It was
what he had wanted long to see. The danger of going distracted
was over. He was happy; indeed, jubilant. For the truth is, he had
made the match. He and Mr. Slack had persuaded and begged, and
made such fair promises, that she had been won rather against her
judgment. Uncle Ben at one time would have preferred a Southern
man; but all of that class had shown such a want of sense to appreciate
his Georgy that he persuaded himself that she had made a narrow escape
in not marrying one of them. Then Mr. Slack had come from such
an immense distance, and knew so much, and talked so much, that
Uncle Ben, as he admitted, was actually proud of him. He maintained
upon the day of the marriage that Mas-sa-chu-setts was the biggest
word in the English language. But Georgiana, who was as honest and
as truthful a woman as was in the world, insisted that her “Pap” went
too far, or rather that he did not go far enough, and that Con-stan-tí-no-ple
was a bigger. Uncle Ben didn't like to have to give it up; but when he
found out from Mr. Slack that the place bearing that name was not in
this country, and not even in America, he and Mr. Slack together got
Georgy so badly, and wound her up so completely that — oh, how they
all did laugh and go on! The truth is that Uncle Ben was rapidly
lapsing into a state where he could scarcely be considered faithful to
his native section.
Yet in spite of all this, his son-in-law had some ways of doing and
talking that he did not quite understand; but he trusted that they
would wear off. Georgy now had a husband to take care of her when
his head got cold; by which he meant to signify the time when he
should be a dead man. She did not seem to be perfectly happy, but,
on the contrary, somewhat ill at ease. But then she wasn't any young
thing to let getting married run her raving distracted. He liked Mr.
Slack upon the whole; he suited him well enough, and that is what
parents generally care most for. He was a business man, that's what
he was. He talked upon business even on the afternoon of his marriage,
and renewed the subject after supper and the next morning.
honeymoon had shone out and gone down long ago. It did not look
exactly right; but now that Mr. Slack was a married man, he was for
making something. If he owned the farm, he should do this thing and that
thing; sell this piece of property and convert it into cash; in short, he
should sell out the whole concern and go where land was cheaper and
better. If it were left to him, he should turn it over so that in twelve
months it should be worth at least twice as much as it was now. It was
very clear to Uncle Ben that his son-in-law was a business man. Still
he did not make out the title-deeds. Notwithstanding his hints to that
effect heretofore, he had never entertained the slightest notion of such
a thing. When Mr. Slack persisted in saying what he should do if he
were the owner, the old gentleman took occasion to say, but in a somewhat
jocose way, that he and Georgy would have to wait for that until
his head got cold; which, he said by way of consoling for the disappointment,
wouldn't be much longer. Mr. Slack seemed to be somewhat
hurt, but he merely remarked that he had a plenty to live on, and
that all he wanted with property was for Georgiana to enjoy it. He
had money enough to buy a tract of land adjoining Mr. Pea's, and two
or three “fellows.” If Georgiana had a good house-woman it would save
her from a good deal of work which now, since she was his wife, he
would rather she didn't have to do; but — ah — he supposed he should
have to wait for that.
Yes, but he needn't do any such thing, Mr. Pea stoutly maintained.
Those being Mr. Slack's intentions, the 'oman should be bought. The
money was there in that side-board drawer whenever they found one
to suit them. He should buy the 'oman himself. The son-in-law's
countenance brightened a little. He might have to go to Augusta in
a few days; the likeliest gangs were there generally; and it might suit
just as well to take the money along with him and buy the woman
there. Georgiana didn't say anything; but, La me! what did she know
about business?
Mr. Slack sent into the village every day for the mail, for Dukesborough
being immediately on the great line of travel, had its daily
mail. He had been married just two days, when one morning a letter
was brought to him which made him turn a little pale. Upon his
father-in-law's inquiry from whence it came, he answered after a
moment's hesitation that it was from a man who owed him some
money, and who had written to say that if he would meet him the next
note. A hundred dollars, indeed! The rascal had promised to pay
half the note, and now as he was about settling himself he was to be
put off with a hundred dollars! He had a good mind not to go, and
would not but for the importance of having the note renewed. But
could he get there in time? How was that, Mr. Pea? Why, it was
easy enough; the stage would pass in a couple of hours, and as it
travelled all night, he could reach Augusta by nine o'clock the next
morning. Mr. Slack hesitated. He was loth to go so soon after being
married; but as he had expected to go in a few days anyhow, he
guessed he had as well go on at once, especially as negroes seemed
to be rising in price, and it was important to get the woman as soon as
possible. Certainly; business was business, if people were married.
Mr. Slack ought to go at once; he should, if it was him.
Uncle Ben took out the money, and Georgiana ordered lunch. Mr.
Slack had so often complained of the old gentleman's time-piece that
the latter, upon his entreaties to be allowed to take it with him for
repairs (at no expense to the owner, of course), consented. The man
of business then went to packing his trunk and satchel. Although he
was to stay but three days at furthest, yet, not knowing but that he
might need them, he packed in all his clothes, looking about all over
the house to be sure that he had not mislaid anything.
It was a nice lunch. It ought to have been, for it took a long time
in getting ready. Mr. Slack was not sure that he was going to get his
supper, and he therefore determined to put away enough to last him to
the end of his journey. He had barely finished when the servant, who
had been stationed to watch for the stage, announced that it was
coming. He bade both an affectionate adieu, looked into the stage to
see if there was any person in it whom he knew, didn't seem to be
disappointed that there was not, hopped in, and off he went.
Far from pining on account of the absence of her mate, Georgiana,
sensible woman that she was, went about her work as cheerfully as if
nothing had happened. She had been so taken up with Mr. Slack that
several small domestic matters needed to be put to rights again, and
she seemed to be even glad of the opportunity to look after them.
She actually sang at her work; she was a good singer, too. The
Peas always had been: I knew the family well. Georgiana wasn't
going to fret herself to death; so she resumed her old tasks and
habits, moved things back to their old places, and in every respect
did as if she had forgotten that she had ever been married.
Uncle Ben was glad to see her in such gay spirits. He knew what
it was all for, and he laughed inwardly and became gay himself. It
was that nigger 'oman. The old man counted the days and nights.
As much as he wanted to see Mr. Slack, he wanted yet more to see
his watch; without it he felt like a man without a newly-amputated
leg; but he would not allow it to trouble him very much. He
talked a great deal, especially at meal times, about his Georgy's prospects,
joked her about many things, talked of the prospects again, and
what he and Mr. Slack were going to do to make her the happiest
woman in the world. Georgiana never suggested any change of
their plans, and looked as if she intended to be but clay in their
hands.
Three days passed. Mr. Slack's very longest time was out. The
stage hove in view; Mr. Pea was at his gate; his hat was in his hand.
“Good mornin, Uncle Ben,” said the driver, and was passing on.
“Hello! hello, Thompson!” shouted the old man. Thompson drew
up.
“Haint you got Mr. Slack aboard?”
“No, Sir!”
“Haint you got a nigger 'oman?”
“No, Sir.”
“Whar's Mr. Slack?”
“I don't know.”
“Haint you seed him?”
“No, Sir.”
“Haint you heern of him?”
“No, Sir.”
“Why, what upon yearth does it mean?”
“Mr. Slack didn't go to nary tavern, but got off at a privit 'ouse way
up town. I haint seed him nor heern from his sence. Was he to get
back to-night?”
“Why, yes, certain and shore, without fail.”
“Well, he aint here, certin. Good evenin.”
“He haint come, Georgy,” said Uncle Ben as he went into the
house.
“Hasn't he?”
“Why, no, he haint.”
“Well, we must try and wait till he does come.”
Uncle Ben was too much occupied with his own disappointment to
bed-time; the daughter went to her room: the father sat up at least
half an hour longer than usual. He was disappointed, certain and
sure. When people told people they were coming at a certain time,
people wanted 'em to come; especially when they had people's watches.
Oh, how he had missed it! If he had missed it by day, he had missed
it as much by night. It used to hang by a nail over his bed, and he
longed for the gentle lullaby of its tickings. He had to go to bed, of
course, but he lay awake another half hour. A dreadful thought came:
What if Mr. Slack, after all, was an IMPOSTERER! Oh, he couldn't
bear it! So he turned over and went to sleep; but it wouldn't stay
behind, it crawled over and came close to him in his sleep, and he
dreamed that he was the owner of a jeweller's shop, and that while he
had no power to move, thieves were breaking through and stealing.
The next morning, immediately after breakfast, Uncle Ben stood at
his gate. He had a notion that Mr. Slack was coming in a private
conveyance. Sure enough, yonder came a gig with a man in it, and a
horse behind with something on the horse. Uncle Ben's eyes were
dim, and he couldn't make it out; but he hoped and believed that it was
a nigger 'oman. Vain hope and vain belief! The gig carried Mr.
Triplet, the sheriff, and the horse bore Mr. Pucket, a young lawyer
from town. Uncle Ben had no business with them; so he bade
them a good-morning as they came up, and again turned his eyes
up the road. But the gentlemen stopped and inquired if Mr. Slack
was at home. No, but Mr. Pea looked for him every instant. He
had been gone to Augusty three days, and was to a been back last
night, but he didn't.
Mr. Triplet looked upon Mr. Pucket and smiled. We must observe
that a new election had come on, and Mr. Triplet had beaten Mr.
Sanks. Mr. Pucket looked upon Mr. Triplet, but did not smile.
“You must follow him.”
“Them must some foller him that kin run faster than I kin,”
answered Mr. Triplet.
“Foller who?” asked Mr. Pea.
“Mr. Slack.”
“Why, he'll be here to-night. Or I'll be bound he's in a private
conveyance, and'll be here this mornin. In cose he's comin back,
becase he's got four hundred dollars of my money to buy a nigger
oman with, and my watch besides. In cose he's coming back.”
Mr. Triplet looked upon Mr. Pea and smiled compassionately. Mr.
Pea looked upon Mr. Triplet and frowned threateningly.
“What's the matter, Jim Triplet?”
“The matter ar, that you won't see your four hundred dollars agin,
nor your watch, nor the gentleman what carried 'em off.”
“Why, what upon yearth is you talkin about?”
“I ar talkin about the business of my office; which ar to arress Mr.
Adiel Slack, or Mr. Elishay Lovejoy, or Mr. Ephraim Hamlin, or
what mout be the name of the gentleman that carried off your four
hundred dollars and your watch.”
“Don't kick before you're spurred, Triplet; becase nobody aint
accused him of takin the money and watch — leastways of stealin it.
Mr. Slack is a honest man and my son-in-law; and I tell you he'll be
back to-night, and I look for him every minnit of the day.”
“So much the better for us if he do come. I has not come to arress
him for taking of the money and the watch, which is misdemeanors
that I didn't know tell now. But he is charge of obtainin credit by
false pretensions, of stealin divers money, of tradin with niggers, and
finually, with marryin three wimming, and not waitin for nary one of
'em to die fust.”
“Oh, Lordy!” exclaimed Mr. Pea. He then approached the sheriff,
and in a tone which invited candor and confidence, and even hinted
at gratitude, said, “Jeems Triplet, I voted for you: you know I did;
I always has. Ar what you say a fac?”
“I know you did, Uncle Ben, and I tell you the plain truth — it ar a
fac. Thay aint no doubt about it. Mr. Pucket here can tell you all
about it.”
Mr. Pea, without waiting to hear further, turned and got into the
house as fast as he could. He went into a shed-room with uncommon
desperation for a man of his years, and raised his hands in order to
take down a shot-gun from two forks on which it used to hang. The
forks were there, but the gun was gone. He looked at the forks with
the most resentful astonishment, and with a voice towering with passion
asked them what in the name of thunder had become of his gun? Not
receiving any answer, he put the same interrogatory to the corner
behind the door, to the space under the bed, and even to two small
glass drawers, after opening and shutting them with great violence.
He then ran back to the front door and questioned the whole universe
on the subject.
“Robbed! robbed!!” roared the old man. “Gen-tul-men, ef I
aint robbed —” Mr. Pea had not “cussed” before (as he afterwards
declared upon his word and honor) “in twenty year.”
“Georgy! Where's Georgy?” It just now occurred to him that it
was possible Georgy might not like the state of things herself.
Georgiana had been at the diary, superintending her butter. She
had seen the men as they came, had gone into the house as quietly as
she could, and was peeping and listening through the window of her
own room.
“Pap,” she said, not loudly, but earnestly, “do come here, if you
please.”
He went into her room.
“I reckon now you're satisfied. He's got what he came here for;
he's stole from you, and he's stole from me; I haint got a pocket-handkerchief
to my name. But do, for goodness' sake, go and send
them men away.”
“Oh, Lordy!” reiterated Mr. Pea, retiring. “Gen-tul-men, it's no
use: we are cotcht; Georgy and me has both been cotcht — I acknowledge
the corn; and what is worser, it seem that I am the cause of it
all. He have took my money; he have took my watch; he have took
my gun; he have took my rumberiller; and da-ing his low-life skin, he
have even took Georgy's pocket-handkerchers. It seem like he jest
picked me and Georgy out for all his rascalities. And to think that I
should be 'cused of it all. I did want her to marry. It look like a
pity for her not to git married. And now she is married, and what
have she married? A nasty, dad-blasted, thievious Yankee; and aint
even married at that! She is married, and she aint married; and
she's a orphlin; and she's a widder; and nobody can't tell what she
ar and what she aint; and I don't understand it; and Georgy's name
will go down to posterity, and the Peas wont be nobody any more;
and — oh, Lordy!”
“Pap, do for goodness gracious' sake hush and come in the house!”
said Georgiana, advancing to the front door. “The Lord knows, I'm
glad I aint married; and if them other women don't grieve after him
any more than I grieve after him, they've done forgot him, that's all.
Pap, do come in the house.”
Mr. Pea subsided, and the men rode away. Mr. Pucket begged
Mr. Triplet to hasten; but the latter, who was too old to be running
for nothing, declared in round terms that he'd be dinged ef he did.
“I wouldn't a made myself ridicerlous, Pap, before company, if I'd
a been in your place. That was pretty talk to have before men, and I
in the house hearin every word.”
Mr. Pea, hearing himself accused of a new crime, couldn't stand it.
“I do believe that if old Saton was to come, it would be me
that fotch him; or leastways sent for him; and I'd leave he had a
come as that d-adblasted Yankee. Yes, it's me: in cose it's me. Anything
wrong, I done it; oh yes, in cose: certing. Whar's my hat?”
And the good man sallied forth to his field, where he remained until
dinner-time. There were so many contending emotions in his breast
that he ate in silence. Georgiana had a good appetite; she ate away
with a gusto and eyed her father amusedly.
“Pap, if I'll tell you something will you swear you'll keep it?”
Uncle Ben laid down his knife and fork and gazed at her in amazement.
“Wipe your mouth, Pap, and tell me if you'll swear.”
“What is it?” he demanded authoritatively.
“Will you swear, I asked you?”
“That's a mighty pooty question for a child to ask its parrent.”
“Oh, very well.” And she helped herself again from her favorite
dish. “Won't you have some more, Pap?”
“Georgy, what does you mean?”
“Will you swear?”
“No, I won't.”
“Oh, very well then.” And she peppered and salted.
“Well, I never 'spected to come to this while my head was hot. My
own child: that I've raised: and raised respectable: to be setting thar,
at my own table: a axin her own parrent to swar: jest the same as ef
I was gwine into a Free Mason's lodge: which she knows I don't hold
with no sich.”
“Pap, I've heard you often talking against the Free Masons. I never
thought they were so mighty bad. What do they do that is so awful
bad?”
“You don't, do you? No, I suppose you don't; in cose you don't:
takin arter them as you do: in cose you don't. I sposen you'll be a
jinin 'em yourself befo long. For they tells me they takes in wimming
too; and swars them; and they rips and rears round jest like the men,
and car's on ginnilly. Oh no: in cose you don't: takin arter 'em as
you do.”
“I don't know what I might do after what I've done already. But
how do I take after 'em?”
“In havin o' secrets that's a sin to keep; and in trying to make
peoples swar that they won't tell 'em; and not even to their own parrents.
That's how you are takin arter 'em.”
“Oh, yes, I see now,” she said, appearing to muse. “Still, this is
something that I couldn't tell without your swearing not to mention to
a blessed soul. It's worth swearin for, Pap.”
The old man was silent for a moment.
“Ar it anything concernin that mean runaway Yankee?”
“If it is, will you swear?”
“Yes, I will, and cuss too, if you want me. I've been a cussin to
myself all day anyhow.”
“You've cursed to other people besides yourself; but I only want
you to swear.”
She brought the family Bible.
“La, Georgy! is you in yearnest, sure enough? Why, what do you
mean? You aint no Jestice.”
It made no difference; she made him place his hand on the book
and swear that he would never reveal what she was going to tell him
without her consent. Uncle Ben was very solemn while the oath was
being administered. It required several minutes to impart the secret.
When it was over the old man's joy was boundless. He jumped up and
ran into his own room, where he cut up more capers than any one
could have believed that he could cut up; he ran back again, made
Georgiana rise from the table, hugged her, and made her sit down
again; he rushed to the front door and huzzaed to the other world;
he rushed back again and hugged Georgy as she sat. Then he took
his seat again and looked upon her with ineffable admiration. Suddenly
he grew serious.
“Oh, Georgy, now if I only had —”
Before he could speak further she had taken something from her
bosom, and handed it to him. He seized it with both hands, gazed
at it, held it at arm's length and gazed at it, opened and looked into
it, shut it up again, held it for a moment to his ear, patted it gently,
laid it on the table, then lifted up his voice and wept.
| CHAPTER V. Dukesborough tales | |