The Red Acorn Part 17

"Will ye hev a fresh drink?" she asked Harry, on her return.

He took the gourdful of clear, cool water, which she offered him, and drank heartily.

"Thet hez the name o' bein' the best spring in these parts," she said, pleased with his appreciation.

"An' hit's a never-failin' spring, too. We've plenty o' water the dryest times, when everybody else's goes dry."

"That IS delicious water," said Harry.

"An' now I'll git ye yor breakfast in a minnit. The teakittle's a-bilin', the coffee's ground, the pone's done, an' when I fry a little ham, everything will be ready."

As her culinary methods and utensils differed wholly from anything Harry had ever seen, he studied them with great interest sharpened not a little by a growing appet.i.te for breakfast.

The clumsy iron teakettle swung on a hook at the end of a chain fastened somewhere in the throat of the chimney. On the rough stones forming the hearth were a half-dozen "ovens" and "skillets"--circular, cast-iron vessels standing on legs, high enough to allow a layer of live coals to be placed beneath them. They were covered by a lid with a ledge around it, to retain the ma.s.s of coals heaped on top. The cook's scepter was a wooden hook, with which she moved the kettles and ovens and lifted lids, while the restless fire scorched her amrs and face ruddier than cherry.

It was a primitive way, and so wasteful of wood that it required a tree to furnish fuel enough to prepare breakfast; but under the hands of a skillful woman those ovens and skillets turned out viands with a flavor that no modern appliance can equal.

The joists of the house were thickly hung with the small delicious hams of the country--hams made from young and tender hogs, which had lived and fattened upon the acorns, fragrant hickory-nuts and dainty beechnuts of the abundant "mast" of the forest, until the were saturated with their delicate, nutty flavor. This was farther enriched by a piquancy gained from the smoke of the burning hickory and oak, with which they were cured, and the absorption of odors from the scented herbs in the rooms where they were drying. Many have sung the praises of Kentucky's horses, whiskey and women, but no poet has tuned his lyre to the more fruitful theme of Kentucky's mast-fed, smoke-cured, herb-scented hams.

For such a man waits a crown of enduring bays.

Slices of this savory ham, fried in a skillet--the truth of history forces the reluctant confession that the march of progress had not yet brought the grid-iron and its virtues to the mountains--a hot pone of golden-yellow meal, whose steaming sweetness had not been allowed to distill off, but had been forced back into the loaf by the hot oven-lid; coffee as black and strong as the virile infusions which cheer the hearts of the true believers in the tents of the Turk, and cream from cows that cropped the odorous and juicy gra.s.ses of mountain meadows, made a breakfast that could not have been more appetizing if composed by a French CHEF, and garnished by a polyglot bill-of-fare.

Moved thereto by the hospitable urgings of Aunt Debby, and his own appet.i.te, Harry ate heartily. Under the influence of the comfortable meal, the cheerful suns.h.i.+ne, and the rousing of the energies that follow a change from a rec.u.mbent to an erect posture, his spirits rose to a manlier pitch. As he could not walk without pain he took his seat in a slat-bottomed chair by the side of the hearth, and Aunt Debby, knitting in hand, occupied a low rocker nearly opposite.

"Where's Mr. Fortner?" asked Harry.

"Jim got up, arly, an' arter eatin' a snac said he'd go out an' take a look around--mebbe he mout go ez fur ez the Ford."

As if to accompany Harry's instinctive tremor over the possibilities attending the resumption of Fortner's prowling around the flanks of Zollicoffer's army, the fire shot off a whole volley of sharp little explosions.

Harry sprang two or three inches above his chair, then reddened violently, and essayed to conceal his confusion by a.s.siduous attention with the poker to the wants of the fire.

Aunt Debby regarded him with gentle compa.s.sion.

"Yer all shuck up by the happenin's yesterday," she said with such tactful sympathy that his sensitive mettle was not offended. "'Tis nateral ye should be. Hit's allers so. Folks kin say what they please, but fouten's terrible tryin' to the narves, no matter who does. .h.i.t. My husband wuz in the Mexican War, an' he's offen tole me thet fur weeks arter the battle o' Buner Visty he couldn't heah a twig snap withouten his heart poppin' right up inter his mouth, an' hit wuz so with everybody else, much ez they tried ter play off unconsarned like."

"Ah, really?" said Henry, deeply interested in all the concerned this woman, whose remarkable qualities were impressing themselves upon his recognition. "What part of the army did your husband belong to?"

"He wuz in the Kentucky rigimint commanded by Kunnel Henry Clay, son o'

the great Henry Clay, who wuz killed thar. My husband was promoted to a Leftenant fur his brav'ry in the battle."

"Then this is not your first experience with war?"

"No, indeed," said she, with just a trace of pride swelling in the temple's delicate network of blue veins. "The Fortners an' the Brills air soljer families, an' ther young men hev shouldered ther guns whenever the country needed fouten-men. Great gran'fathers Brill an'

Fortner come inter the State along with Dan'l boone nigh onter a hundred years ago, and sence then them an' ther descendents hev fit Injuns, Brittishers an' Mexikins evr'y time an inimy raised a sword agin the country."

"Many of them lose their lives?"

"Yes, ev'ry war hez cost the families some member. Gran'fathes Brill an'

Fortner war both on 'em killed at the Injun ambush at Blue Licks. I wuz on'y a baby when my father wuz killed at the ma.s.sacre of Winchester's men at the River Raisin. My brother----"

"--father of the man I was with yesterday?"

"No; HIS father wuz my oldest brother. My youngest brother--the 'baby'

o' the family--wuz mortally wounded by a copper ball in the charge on the Bishop's Palace at the takin' o' Monterey."

"And your husband--he went through the war safely, did he?"

The pleasant, mobile lines upon the woman's face congealed into stony hardness. At the moment of Harry's question she was beginning to count the st.i.tches in her work for some feminine mystery of "narrowing" or "turning." She stopped, and hands and knittng dropped into her lap.

"My husband," she said slowly and bitterly, "wuz spared by the Mexikins thet he fit, but not by his own countrymen an' neighbors, amongst whom he wuz brung up. His blood wuz not poured out on the soil he invaded, but wuz drunk by the land his forefathers an' kinsmen hed died fur.

The G.o.dless Greasers on the River Grande war kinder ter him nor the CHRISTIAN gentlemen on the Rocka.s.sel."

The intensity and bitterness of the utterance revealed a long conning of the expression of bitter truths.

"He lost his life, then," said Harry, partially comprehending, "in some of the troubles around here?"

"He wuz killed, bekase he wouldn't help brek down what hit hed cost so much ter build up. He wuz killed, bekase he thot a pore man's life wuth mo'en a rich man's n.i.g.g.e.r. He wuz killed, bekase he b'lieved this whole country belonged ter the men who'd fit fur hit an' made hit what hit is, an' thet hit wuzn't a plantation fur a pa.s.sel o' slave-drivers ter boss an' divide up jess ez hit suited 'em."

"Why, I thought all you Kentuckians were strongly in favor of keeping the negroes in slavery," said Harry in amazement.

"Keepin the n.i.g.g.e.rs ez slaves ain't the question at all. We folks air ez fur from bein' Abolitionists ez ennybody. Hit's a battle now with a lot uv 'ristocrats who'd take our rights away."

"I don't quite understand your position," said Harry.

"Hit's bekase ye don't understand the country. The people down heah air divided into three cla.s.ses. Fust thar's the few very rich fam'lies that hev big farms over in the Blue Gra.s.s with lots o' n.i.g.g.e.rs ter work 'em.

Then thar's the middle cla.s.s--like the Fortners an' the Brills--thet hev small farms in the creek vallies, an' wharever thar's good land on the mounting sides; who hev no n.i.g.g.e.rs, an' who try ter lead G.o.d-fearin', hard-workin' lives, an' support ther fam'lies decently. Lastly thar's the pore white trash, thet lives 'way up in the hollers an' on the wuthless lands about the headwaters. They've little patches o' corn ter make ther breadstuff, an' depend on huntin', fis.h.i.+n', an' stealin' fur the rest o' their vittles. They've half-a-dozen guns in every cabin, but nary a hoe; they've more yaller dogs then the rest o' us hev sheep, an they find hit a good deal handier ter kill other folks's hogs than ter raise ther own pork."

"Hardly desirable neighbors, I should think," ventured Harry.

"Hit's war all the time between our kind o' people, and them other kinds. Both on 'em hates us like pizen, an' on our side--well, we air Christians, but we recken thet when Christ tole us ter love our inimies, an' do good ter them ez despitefully used us, he couldn't hev hed no idee how mean people would git ter be long arter he left the airth."

Harry could not help smiling at this new adaptation of Scriptural mandate.

"The low-down white hates us bekase we ain't mean an' ornery ez they air, an' hold ourselves above 'em. The big-bugs hates us bekase we won't knuckle down ter 'em, ez ther n.i.g.g.e.rs an' the pore whites do. So hit's cat-an'-dog all the time. We don't belong ter the same parties, we don't jine the same churches, an' thar's more or less trouble a-gwine on batween us an' them continnerly."

"Then when the war broke out you took different sides as usual?"

"Of course! of course! The big n.i.g.g.e.r-owners an' the ornery whites who air just ez much ther slaves ez ef they'd been bot an' paid fur with ther own money, became red-hot Secessioners, while our people stuck ter the Union. The very old Satan hisself seemed ter take possession ov 'em, and stir 'em up ter do all manner o' cruelty ter conquer us inter jinin'

in with 'em. The Brills an' Fortners hed allers been leaders agin the other people, an' now the Rebels hissed their white slaves onter our men, ez one sets dogs onter steers in the corn. The chief man among 'em wuz Kunnel Bill Pennington."

Harry looked up with a start.

"Yes, the same one who got his reward yesterd," she continued, interpreting the expression of his eyes. "The Penningtons air the richest family this side o' Danville. They an' the Brills an' Fortners hev allers been mortal enemies. Thar's bin blood shed in ev'ry gineration. Kunnel Bill's father limpt ter his grae on 'count of a bullet in his hip, which wuz lodged thar soon arter I'd flung on the floor a ten dollar gold piece he'd crowded inter my hand at a dance, where he'd come 'ithout ary invite. The bullet wuz from teh rifle ov a young man named David Brill, thet I married the next day, jest ez he wuz startin' fur Mexico. He volunteered a little airlier then he'd intended, fur his father's wheat wuz not nearly all harvested, but hit wuz thot best ter git himself out o' the way o' the Penningtons, who wuz a mouty revengeful family, an' besides they then hed the law on ther side. Ez soon ez he come back from teh war Ole Kunnel Bill, an' Young Kunnel Bill, an' all the rest o' the Pennington clan an' connection begun watchin' fur a chance ter git even with him. The Ole Kunnel used ter vow an' swar thet he'd never leave the airth ontil Dave Brill wuz under the clods o' the valley. But he hed ter go last year, spite o' hisself, an'

leave David Brill 'live an' well an' becomin' more an' more lookt up ter ev'ry day by the people, while the Penningtons war gittin' wuss and wuss hated. We hed a son, too, the very apple of our eyes, who wuz growin' up jest like his father----"

The quaver of an ill-repressed sob blurred her tones. She closed her eyes firmly, as if to choke back the br.i.m.m.i.n.g tears, and then rising from her seat, busied herself brus.h.i.+ng the coals and ashes back into the fire.

"Thet walnut pops so awfully," she said, "thet a body hez to sweep nearly ev'ry minnit ter keep the harth at all clean."