Among the Pines Part 35

"Wal, He did, Jim. I'm d----d ef _He_ didn't, fur n.o.body else cud make _ye_!" replied the man, patting the little woolly head with undisguised affection.

"Now, Jim, say th' creed fur 'de gemman.'"

The young darky then repeated the Apostle's Creed and the Ten Commandments.

"Is thet all ye knows?"

"No, ma.s.sa, I knows a heap 'sides dat."

"Wal, say suthin' more--sum on 'em pieces thet jingle."

The little fellow then repeated with entire correctness, and with appropriate gestures, and emphasis, though in the genuine darky dialect--which seems to be inborn with the pure-Southern black--Mrs.

Hemans' poem:

"The boy stood on the burning deck."

"Mrs. Hemans draped in black!" I exclaimed, laughing heartily: "How would the good lady feel, could she look down from where she is, and hear a little darky doing up her poetry in that style?"

"D----d ef I doant b'lieve 'twud make her love th' little nig like I do;" replied the corn-cracker, taking him up on his knee as tenderly as he would have taken up his own child.

"Tell me, my little man," I said: "who taught you all these things?"

"I larned 'em, myseff, sar," was the prompt reply.

"You learned them, yourself! but who taught you to read?"

"I larned 'em myseff, sar!"

"You couldn't have learned _that_ yourself; didn't your 'ma.s.sa' teach you?"

"No, sar."

"Oh! your 'missus' did."

"No, sar."

"No, sar!" I repeated; then suspecting the real state of the case, I looked him sternly in the eye, and said: "My little man, it's wrong to tell lies--you must _always_ speak the truth; now, tell me truly, did not your 'missus' teach you these things?"

"No, sar, I larned 'em myseff."

"Ye can't c.u.m it, Stranger; ye moight roast him over a slow fire, an'

not git nary a thing eout on him but thet," said the corn-cracker, leaning forward, and breaking into a boisterous fit of laughter. "It's agin th' law, an' I'm d----d ef I teached him. Reckon he _did_ larn himself!"

"I must know your wife, my friend. She's a good woman."

"Good! ye kin bet high on thet; she's uv th' stuff th' Lord makes angels eout on."

I had no doubt of it, and was about to say so, when the Colonel's turpentine wagon drove up, and I remembered I had left him too long alone.

The coachman was driving, and Jim sat on the wagon beside him.

"Ma.s.sa K----," said the latter, getting down and coming to me: "Whar am dey?"

"In the spirit-shed."

He was turning to go there, when I called him back, saying: "Jim, you must not see your master now; you'd better keep out of sight for the present."

"No, ma.s.sa; de ma'am say de Cunnel take dis bery hard, and dat I orter tell him I'se sorry for what I'se done."

"Well, wait a while. Let me go in first."

Accompanied by the corn-cracker, I entered the turpentine-shed. A row of spirit-barrels were ranged along each of its sides, and two tiers occupied the centre of the building. On these a number of loose planks were placed, and on the planks lay the bodies of the metif woman and her child. The Colonel was seated on a barrel near them, with his head resting on his hands, and his eyes fixed on the ground. He did not seem to notice our entrance, and, pa.s.sing him without speaking, I stepped to the side of the dead.

The woman's dress, the common linsey gown worn by her cla.s.s, was still wet, and her short, kinky, brown hair fell in matted folds around her face. One arm hung loosely by her side; the other was clasped tightly around her child, which lay as if asleep on her bosom. One of its small hands clung to its mother's breast, and around its little lips played a smile. But how shall I describe the pale, sweet beauty of the face of the drowned girl, as she lay there, her eyes closed, and her lips parted, as in prayer? Never but once have I seen on human features the strange radiance that shone upon it, or the mingled expression of hope, and peace, and resignation that rested there--and that was in the long-gone time, when, standing by her bedside, I watched the pa.s.sing away of one who is now an angel in heaven!

"Come, my dear friend, let us go," I said, turning and gently taking the Colonel by the arm, "the negroes are here, and will take charge of the dead."

"No, no!" he replied, rising, and looking around, as if aroused from a troubled dream; "that is for _me_ to do!" Then he added, after a moment's pause, "Will you help me to get them into the wagon?"

"Yes, I will, certainly."

He made one step toward the body of the dead girl, then sinking down again on the barrel, covered his face with his hands, and cried out: "My G.o.d! this is terrible! Did you ever see such a look as that? It will haunt me forever!"

"Come, my friend, rouse yourself--this is weakness; you are tired with the long ride and excitement of the past few days. Come, go home--I will look after them."

"No, no! I must do it. I will be a man again;" and he rose and walked steadily to the dead bodies. "Is there any one here to help?" he asked.

Jim was standing in the door-way, and I motioned to him to come forward.

The great tears were streaming down his face as he stepped timidly towards his master, and said: "I'll do dis, ma.s.sa, don't you trubble yerself no more."

"It's good of you, Jim. You'll forgive me for being so cruel to you, wont you?" said the Colonel, taking the black by the hand.

"Forgib ye, ma.s.sa! _I_ war all ter blame--but ye'll forgib me, ma.s.sa--ye'll forgib me!" cried the black, with strong emotion.

"Yes, yes; but say no more about it. Come, let us get Julie home."

But the poor girl was already _home_--home where her sufferings and her sorrows were over, and all her tears were wiped away forever!

We four bore away the mother and the child. A number of blankets were in the bottom of the wagon, and we laid the bodies carefully upon them.

When all seemed ready, the Colonel, who was still standing by the side of the dead, turned to my new friend, and said: "Barnes, will you loan me a pillow? I will send it back to-night."

"Sartin, Cunnel;" and the farmer soon brought one from the house.

Lifting tenderly the head of the drowned girl, the Colonel placed it beneath her, and smoothing back her tangled hair, he gently covered her face with his handkerchief, as if she could still feel his kindness, or longer cared for the pity or the love of mortal. Yet, who knows but that her parted soul, from the high realm to which it had soared, may not then have looked down, have seen that act, and have forgiven him!

CHAPTER XVII.