Heart of the Blue Ridge Part 3

"Those n.i.g.g.e.rs of mine skedaddled 'cause they're lazy and worthless.

But the stoke-hole is h.e.l.l, all right. It ain't no place for a youngster like you. I'll hustle round to the gin-mills an' get hold of a pair of tough guys. But there's something else," he went on, as Zeke's face fell. "If you can make sorghum mola.s.ses and moons.h.i.+ne without scorchin' 'em, you'll fill the bill, I reckon. We cruise off the coast for menhaddin--fat backs--for the oil in 'em. We carry steam-jacket kettles. I've got a green man now who's no good. I'll fire him and take you on. Thirty a month and your board--more by-and-by, if you suit."

Zeke, elated at this opportunity, felt, nevertheless, that honesty required of him some further explanation. But the engineer dismissed consideration of the future.

"A month will give you enough for your fare to New York. If you ain't pressed for time, a voyage will do you good. But don't let the captain get a sight of that black bag, or it'll go overboard. Sailors are afeared of 'em," he chuckled. "_The Neuse_, my old s.h.i.+p, ran into _The Blanche_ off Creek Beacon, in a fog, and sunk her. We rescued officers and crew, but the captain--Smith, his name was--couldn't stop cussin'

'cause he'd allowed a n.i.g.g.e.r mammy to go aboard as a pa.s.senger along with her old black bag, which was the why of the wreck, 'cording to his way of thinking. Took his friends nigh onto a year, to convince him that _The Neuse_ was to blame for the collision. I suspect he'll always have it on his conscience that he did finally collect damages off our owners." The engineer chuckled again. "Stow your bag under your bunk in the fore peak before the captain comes aboard."

_The Bonita_ was a stanchly built and seaworthy craft with a draft of less than twelve feet under full cargo, which made possible her use of the shorter and smoother inland water-way from Norfolk to Beaufort, North Carolina, where was the factory. Zeke, who would remain idle until the first catch of fish, went early to his bunk the first evening aboard, wearied by the long and exciting day. He had, indeed, scarce time to contemplate a guardian vision of Plutina ere his senses were locked in slumber, and his next consciousness was of a dim morning light struggling into the gloom of the stuffy peak, and the jolting rhythm of the engine, which announced that the voyage was begun. When he hurried on deck, he was at first disappointed to learn that the boat was still some distance from the open sea, for which he longed with all an inlander's curiosity over the mystery of endless waters. _The Bonita_ was now working forward slowly through the old Dismal Swamp Ca.n.a.l, to reach the Pasquotank River and Albemarle Sound.

Zeke's astonished eyes perceived in every direction only the level, melancholy expanse of the swamp. His sensitive soul found, nevertheless, a strange charm and beauty in the scene. There was s.p.a.ce here, even as in the mountains. Yet this calm was not of strength, he felt vaguely, like that he had known, but the tranquillity of nature in another, a weaker, less-wholesome mood, apathetic, futile. The thickly dotting cypresses and junipers, bedecked with streaming draperies of Spanish moss, touched the vistas with a funereal aspect.

The languid movement of the festoons under the breeze was like the sighings of desolation made visible. The dense tangle of the undergrowth stretched everywhere, repellent, unrelieved by the vivid color flashes of the mountain blossoms. Stagnant wastes of amber-hued water emphasized the dreariness.

Zeke's spirits were too exultant to suffer more than a fleeting depression from this first survey of the waste. He realized how unjust his impressions might be when he learned that this seemingly filthy water was highly esteemed. The deck-hand, filling the water barrel from a pail let over the s.h.i.+p's side, explained the swamp water's virtues.

"All the capens fill their barrels with it. Juniper water cures chills an' fever, an' keeps 'em off if ye hain't got 'em. Some says it's better 'n gin for the kidneys." But the deck-hand looked doubtful.

Zeke, still suspicious because of the unlikeness of this liquid to the crystal-clear element of the mountains, essayed an experimental swallow, then spat disgustedly.

"Hit may be all right fer med'cine, or yarb tea," was his verdict, "but it needs real water to wash it down."

The progress was tediously slow, for a strong southwest wind had come on, which lowered the water in the ca.n.a.l, so that _The Bonita_ often went sc.r.a.ping along the bottom, and betimes stuck fast in the mud.

When they were come to the Lake Drummond region, Captain Lee decided to tie up until a change or falling of the wind, with its consequent rise of water in the channel. At the point where they finally made fast to the bank, there was an old trail, a woods road long abandoned, running off into the jungle. Zeke promptly set off to explore this, and almost at once espied a wild turkey; a plump gobbler, feeding in the path before him. There could be no doubt as to the acceptability of such food aboard and Zeke hastened back to _The Bonita_, where the captain gladly loaned him a rifle. Thus equipped, Zeke returned to the wilderness trail. He was not surprised to find that the turkey had vanished, nor disheartened, for he was sure that a little patience would bring him in sight of game, and there was leisure a plenty since an interval must elapse after a change in the wind before the deepening of the water. Within a half-hour, he shot a turkey from its perch in a cypress. With much satisfaction, Zeke swung the gobbler, which was big and fat, over his shoulder, and set out to return.

Almost at once, however, his steps were arrested by the faint baying of a hound. As he listened, the sound grew louder, as if the dog drove its quarry toward him. The instinct of the chase dominated the mountaineer. He cast down the turkey, and waited, hopeful that a deer or bear might cross the path within range.

Soon, he heard a noisy crackling of underbrush a little to his right, but near at hand. With the rifle in readiness Zeke peered from the concealment of a cypress trunk. But it was neither the lithe leaping form of a deer, nor the uncouth shambling bulk of swamp bear that broke from the cover a moment later. Instead, there lurched into view a huge negro. The fugitive's clothing hung in shreds, witness of the cat's-briar claws; his face, from the same cause, was torn and bleeding. The breath wheezed loudly through the open mouth; the sweat ran in streams from the face; the eyes rolled whitely. There was terror in his expression. He carried a thick club. Now, as he came to a halt, it was plain to the watcher that the runner's fear had at last driven him to make a stand, when he could flee no further. Zeke had no difficulty in understanding the situation sufficiently well. The negro was undoubtedly a criminal who had fled in the hope of refuge from the law in the swamp's secret lurking places. Now trailed by the dog, he was brought to bay. Zeke determined, as a measure of prudence, to remain inactive until the issue between man and dog should be adjusted. Otherwise, he might find himself engaged against both man and beast with only a single bullet to his aid.

The querulous cries of the dog here and there showed that the scent had been lost where the negro had splashed through some pool. Then, abruptly, a sharp volley announced recovery of the track. A minute later a huge black-and-tan body catapulted from the thicket into the open s.p.a.ce of the trail. From his cover, Zeke watched excitedly. The negro, who had stood with club swung back ready for the blow, was caught at disadvantage by the pursuer's emergence at an unexpected point. The branches of the thicket projected to prevent a blow. The dog, silent now, hurled itself straight at the man's throat. But the negro, alert to the peril, avoided the charge by a swift spring to the side. Zeke heard the great jaws of the beast click shut as it shot harmlessly past its foe; he heard the savage growl with which it whirled to renew the attack. As it leaped a second time the negro's club fell true in a mighty stroke--caught the creature fair on the skull, stopped it in midair, dropped it dead to the ground.

Zeke's turn in the action was come, at last. Even as the negro stood gloating over his victory, the mountaineer, with leveled rifle, stepped from the concealment of the cypress, and cried a sharp command:

"Drop thet-thar club, an' stand still whar ye be, if ye don't want to be kilt!"

The effect on the exultant negro was almost pitiful. Where had been the a.s.surance of final escape was now the certainty of capture. The shock of contrasting emotions was too much for the fellow's strength, coa.r.s.e-fibered and hardened as he was. He stared at Zeke with protruding eyes, his face grown gray. His thrilling joy in the slaying of the dog was lost in the black despair of defeat. The club fell from the trembling fingers, and in the next moment the man himself sagged to the ground and crouched whimpering, whining, in a child-like abandon to fatigue and grief. Then, presently, while the captor watched in some perplexity, the moaning ceased. In its stead came a raucous rhythm--the sleep of utter exhaustion.

A sound of footsteps on the path caught Zeke's ear. He turned, and saw close at hand a short, stockily built, swarthy-complexioned man of middle age, who came swinging forward at a lope. The newcomer halted at sight of the mountaineer.

"Seen anything of a big n.i.g.g.e.r or a hound pa.s.sing this way?" he demanded.

Zeke nodded, gravely.

"Ye'll find the two of 'em right thar." He raised the rifle, which the other man now observed for the first time, and with it pointed to where, beyond the cypress-tree, the negro huddled, breathing stertorously, beside the dead body of the dog.

CHAPTER V

Dun clouds of tragedy, crimson-streaked with sinister romance, shadow the chronicles of the forty-mile square that makes the Dismal Swamp.

Thither, aforetime, even as to-day, men fled into the labyrinthine recesses to escape the justice--or the injustice--of their fellows.

Runaway slaves sought asylum within its impenetrable and uncharted mazes of thicket and quaking earth, of fetid pool and slithering quicksands. Such fugitives came no more after the emanc.i.p.ation.

Instead of slaves, there were black men who had outraged the law, who fled into the steaming, noxious waste in order to evade the penalty for crime. For a time, these evil-doers were hunted through the tortuous trails in the canebrakes with blood-hounds, even as their predecessors had been. But the kennels of the man-hunting dogs were ravaged by the black tongue, soon after the ending of the Civil War.

Poisoners, too, took toll of the too intelligent brutes. The strain rapidly grew less--became extinct. Whereat, the criminals of Dismal Swamp rejoiced in unholy glee. Their numbers waxed. Soon, they came to be a serious menace to the peace and safety of the communities that bordered on the infested region.

One sufferer from these conditions so resented the depredations of marauders that he bought in England two splendid stag-hounds, keen of scent, intelligent, faithful to their task, strong enough to throttle their quarry, be it deer or man. By the aid of these creatures, many criminals were captured. Their owner, by the intrepidity of his pursuit, was given a nickname, "Cyclone" Brant. The speed and force and resistlessness of him justified the designation. Together with his dogs, Jack and Bruno, he won local fame for daring and successful exploits against the lurking swamp devils. It was this man who now, canvas-clad, with rifle in hand, looked in the direction indicated by Zeke. He was dripping wet, plastered with slime of the bogs. For a few seconds, he stood staring in silence. Then a little, gasping cry broke from his lips. He strode forward, and fell to his knees beside the body of the dog. He lifted the face of the hound gently in his two hands, and looked down at it for a long time.

There was a film of tears in Brant's eyes when, at last, he put the head of the dog softly back on the earth, and stood up, and turned toward the mountaineer. He made explanation with simple directness.

The negro was a notorious outlaw, for whose capture the authorities of Elizabeth City offered a reward of five hundred dollars. Half of this sum would be duly paid to Zeke.

This news stirred the young man to the deeps. To his poverty-stricken experience, the amount was princely. The mere mention of it made privations to vanish away, luxuries to flourish. He had roseate visions of lavish expenditures: a warm coat for the old mother, furbelows for Plutina, "straighteners" even, if she would have them.

The dreamer blushed at the intimacy of his thought. It did not occur to his frugal soul that now he need not continue on _The Bonita_, but might instead go easily to New York by train. He was navely happy in this influx of good fortune, and showed his emotion in the deepened color under the tan of his cheeks and in the dancing lights of the steady eyes.

"I'm sh.o.r.e plumb glad I kotched him," he said eagerly, "if thar's a right smart o' money in hit. If he's as right-down bad as ye says he is, I'm powerfully sorry I didn't wing 'im 'fore he got yer dawg."

Brant shook his head regretfully.

"It's my fault," he confessed. "I oughtn't to have taken the chance with Bruno alone. I should have had Jack along, too. With more than one dog, a man won't stand against 'em. He'll take to a tree." He shook off the depression that descended as he glanced down at the stiffening body of the beast. There was a forced cheerfulness in his tones when he continued: "But how did you get into the swamp? I take you to be from the mountains."

Zeke's manner suddenly indicated no small pride.

"I'm a sailor, suh," he explained, with great dignity. "I'm the cookin' chief on the fis.h.i.+n' steamer, _Bonita_."

Brant surveyed the mountaineer with quizzically appraising eyes.

"Been a sailor long?" he questioned, innocently.

"Wall, no, I hain't," Zeke conceded. His voice was reluctant. "I was only tuk on las' night. I hain't rightly begun sailorin' yit. Thet's how I c'd come arter thet gobbler." He pointed to the bird lying at the foot of the cypress. Abruptly, his thoughts veered again to the reward. "Oh, cracky! Jest think of all thet money earned in two minutes! Hit's what I come down out o' the mountains fer, an' hit 'pears like I done right. I'd sh.o.r.e be tickled to see all thet-thar money in dimes an' nickels, n' mebby a few quarters thrown in!"

"You're tied up near here?" Brant inquired.

"'Bout a mile over," was the answer. "Will ye take yer n.i.g.g.e.r thar first?"

"Yes, I know Captain Lee. He'll give me a chance at your gobbler, and then pa.s.sage to Elizabeth City."

That same afternoon, _The Bonita_ continued her voyage. The captain obligingly made a landing at Elizabeth City, where Brant lodged his prisoner, and where the gratified Zeke stowed in his wallet ten times as much money as he had ever before possessed at one time. Naturally, he was in a mood of much self-complacency, for, in addition to the money gain, his adventure had notably increased his prestige aboard s.h.i.+p, where Brant's praise for his prompt and efficient action was respectfully accepted. Yet, despite his contentment, the mountaineer found himself strangely troubled as he lay in his bunk, after the s.h.i.+p had got under way. It may be that his perturbation had a physical cause, at least in part, for there was more movement now as the vessel slid through the waves of Pamlico Sound. It was while he tossed restlessly, troubled over this unaccustomed inability to sleep, that there came a memory of the black bag:

"I plumb fergot the dum hoodoo!" Zeke muttered, in huge disgust. "An'

the chief said I must git another the first chance." Then he grinned vaingloriously into the darkness of the fore-peak. "But I reckon hit hain't put no cuss on me yit--seein' as how I got a job an' a peck o'

money right smack off." Presently, however, his nervous mood suggested a sinister possibility. "P'rhaps, it don't work on land--only jest on the sea, or mebby jest whar it happens to be at. Hit wa'n't 'long with me when I ketched the n.i.g.g.e.r. I 'low I ought to 'a' got rid o'

the pesky thing like the chief said."

Zeke realized that sleep was not for him. If he had had any hope otherwise, it was ended when the fog-horn of _The Bonita_ wound its melancholy blasts, and other trumpetings began to sound over the waste from near and far. Already, by dint of many inquiries, Zeke had acquired enough information to know that the mournful noise was the accompaniment of a fog. Curious to see, he rose, and felt his way to the small port-hole, through which he sought to peer out into the night. His vision compa.s.sed no more than a few fathom's distance; beyond, all was blackness. The port was open, and the cold mist stealing in chilled him. Zeke s.h.i.+vered, but an inexplicable disturbance of spirit kept him from the warmth of the blankets. He chose rather to slip on his trousers, and then again to gaze blindly out into the mysterious dark of this new world. He found himself hearkening intently for the varied calls of warning that went wailing hither and yon. The mellow, softly booming, yet penetrant notes of the conch-sh.e.l.ls blown by the skippers of smaller craft, came almost soothingly to his ears. All the others, harsher, seemed tocsins of terror.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Clara Kimball Young under the direction of Lewis J. Selznick._ THE LOVERS ON STONE MOUNTAIN.]

Standing there at the port, with the floating drops of mist drenching his face, Zeke fell into a waking dream. He was again clambering over the scarped cliffs of Stone Mountain; beside him Plutina. His arm was about her waist, and their hands were clasped, as they crept with cautious, feeling steps amid the perils of the path. For over the lofty, barren summit, the mist had shut down in impenetrable veils.

Yet, through that murk of vapor, the two, though they moved so carefully, went in pulsing gladness, their hearts singing the old, old, new, new mating song. A mist not born of the sea nor of the mountain, but of the heart, was in the lad's eyes while he remembered and lived again those golden moments in the mountain gloom. It seemed to him for a blessed minute that Plutina was actually there beside him in the tiny, rocking s.p.a.ce of the fore-peak; that the warmth of her hand-clasp thrilled into the beating of his pulses. Though the illusion vanished swiftly, the radiance of it remained, for he knew that then, and always, the spirit of the girl dwelt with him.

The mountaineer's interval of peace was rudely ended. A wild volley of blasts from _The Bonita's_ whistle made alarum. Bells clanged frantically in the engine-room close at hand. A raucous fog-horn clamored out of the dark. To Zeke, still dazedly held to thought of the mountains, the next sound was like the cras.h.i.+ng down of a giant tree, which falls with the tearing, splitting din of branches beating through underbrush. An evil tremor shook the boat. Of a sudden, _The Bonita_ heeled over to starboard, almost on her beams' ends. Zeke saved himself from falling only by a quick clutch on the open port.