CHAPTER IIIMAMMY DICEY'S STORYNatalia stood on the front veranda after dinner, leaving the others gathered about the table, the men sipping their Madeira, and discussing the admission of the Lone Star State to the Union, and the wonderful new invention of the magnetic telegraph; while the ladies pulled their rocking chairs close together and went into the minutest details of the wedding.Morgan had risen with Natalia, following her out of the room, but she had sent him back, pleading as an excuse that she wished to be alone to live over once more in memory the incidents of her childhood. So many things had lain dormant through the years almost forgotten in the rush and interest of the life about her, that she felt dazed into a mood of introspection when she found herself once more in the surroundings of the long ago.She sighed aloud when Morgan had gone back into the house, and leaning against one of the massive columns of the porch, felt a sensation of relief stealing over her at finding herself alone. In the flood of re-awakened memories there had come to her a feeling that Morgan was not a part of them, could never be, and with this realization she knew that in some way the bond of sympathy between them had, for the moment, widened. He could never feel with her all the place represented; even with years and years in the narration of little incidents, he would still not see it as she did, know what it meant to her, nor find in each surrounding the stories that cried aloud to her. It was the moment in her love when she realized for the first time that two people can never bewhollyone—that a vast gulf of early years and childhood and dreams would always separate them, no matter how great became the love of their maturer years.So sensitive was she to his moods and preferences, that she had understood as they lingered before the gate and looked into the grove of magnolias, that the charm of the spot and the happiness of a honeymoon spent in it would be hers so much more fully than his. For a little while this realization had brought her unhappiness, and a wish to be alone; after her dreams she knew that she would go back to her lover more contented than ever before.She strolled away from the house, and passing on into the cool shadows of the grove, came at last to the brow of the hill. Here she sat down and leaned against a tree, letting herself drift back across the bridge of years.In a moment of restlessness she let down her hair and unconsciously began braiding it in the two long plaits of her childhood. Suddenly she found herself laughing with the care-free merriment of a little girl. It was the same old world, after all; seven years had made no difference, everything was exactly as she had left it.Resting her hands back of her head, her fingers touching the cool bark of the tree with a luxurious sensation, she gazed out through half closed lashes upon the broad, golden river and the misty lowlands beyond, floating in the haze of the languid June day.Everything now was as yesterday. She was feeling it all over again, going over every little incident. The little log school-house recalled so vividly a dreadful example in fractions, and as she worried over it again, she found herself listening for the low, beautiful voice making it plain to her. On and on she drifted until she felt once more the presence of the schoolmaster and her old adoration of him.Suddenly in the swirling of her memories she halted. That love of the little girl made her open her eyes wide. It had been ideal, beautiful, innocent. Would there be anything in her life like it again? Was that which had taken its place, equal? Could anything take its place? Again the utter devotion of it came back to her; the beginning of it in her self-anger for wounding him the day she had called him the cripple. Ah! now she could understand how she had hurt him! Their first long talk together where she sat now; his kind, deep, hazel eyes, changing Protean-like, as he listened to her while she recounted stories Dicey had told her of her mother; his patience and kindness through the long school hours; the night she waited for his return, and the fear that Phelps had waylaid him; that first case when his voice had thundered in her ears and made her shudder; and at last,—the pain of parting with him!She sat up quickly and stared about her. Why had she forgotten all this? Why had it not been in her thoughts for so many years? And he—had he forgotten also? Gradually she rose to her feet with the childish impulse of seeking Dicey, who would answer so satisfactorily all her questions. Then came the clashing of reality against dreams, and unconsciously the tears rushed into her eyes for what had gone from her for ever.But the old yearning for her nurse remained, and with a sudden determination, she walked quickly through the grove, skirting the house and garden so as not to be interrupted, and made her way to the slaves' quarters.The door of Dicey's room stood open. On the steps before it sat two negro women shelling beans into large pans. Natalia passed on quickly, a sharp pain in her heart for the empty room which used to be so crowded with happy moments.When she came to the barn she smiled again, for there was old Zebediah, washing the carriage that had brought them from the boat, as familiar and complacent as if there were no such thing as seven years to pass by."Why didn't you tell me, Zebby?" she exclaimed, without explanation. "Why didn't you tell me at the boat?"The old negro lifted his head in dismay."Wha' yer talkin' 'bout, lil Miss?""About Mammy, Zebby. They tell me she belongs to Mr. Everett now.""Yas'm, she sho' do. I done seen her day befo' yistiddy.""Did she know I was coming?""Not tell I done tole her.""What did she say, Zebby?"Zebediah's hand went up to his head, scratching thoughtfully."She didn said nuthin', lil Miss. She jest th'od her apron ober her face and went ter moanin'."Natalia's lips suddenly trembled."Take me there, Zebby—now! I want to see her. I can't wait. Saddle the horse and go with me."But Zebediah did not respond to her enthusiasm. He stood staring at her as if he had not comprehended her words."Yer cyant go ter dat house, lil Miss. Dar ain' nobody libs dar 'ceptin' Marse Everett. Dar ain' no lady fo'ks in de house.""I don't care, Zebby," Natalia laughed. "I'm not going to see him. I'm going to see Mammy Dicey. I'll be back in a minute, so hurry and get the horses ready."She ran up the steps on the back porch, and to her room, scattering the mass of clothes which had just been unpacked, until she found the riding habit she was looking for. Very quietly, without meeting any one, she went back to the barn where Zebediah stood holding the horses, and showing his row of fine white teeth in a smile of admiration and pleasure."Yer ain't er bit lak grown up fo'ks, lil Miss. Yer jest de lil gal dat went 'way frum heah long time ergo.""I'm just the same little girl, Zebby," Natalia smiled back at him, putting her foot into his broad palm, "until you help me to mount—and then," as she settled herself in the saddle, "you'll find I've gained a pound or two."The afternoon had advanced until the rays of sun were slanting through the trees, and as they rode along the old road, Natalia gave the horse the reins, while she drank in the beauty of the woods and open fields, and looked for landmarks that brought back with them incidents and stories. Once, she stopped before the place where the Puckett house formerly stood—now only a crumbling chimney remaining, surrounded by a grove of China trees: and again, along the brow of a hill, where there was another view of the river as it swept into a broad bend and disappeared in the fertile delta. Finally the town lay before them in its setting of beautiful trees."I don't know where he lives, Zebby," Natalia said, drawing in the reins, and looking back to Zebediah. "You see, I am a stranger, after all.""Dar's de house," Zebediah answered, pointing towards a dwelling which stood close to the road, in the suburbs of the town."That house!" Natalia exclaimed. "I passed it this morning, and Mammy did not even wave to me.""I seen her, dough. She wuz down on de landin' an' lookin' at yer. I knowed she be fer seein' yer somehow.""Why didn't you tell me, Zebby?"The old negro again went silent."I tell yer, lil Miss,—Dicey she so perculiar. I dunno ef she wants me ter tell yer or not; den agin I never knows if yer wuz feelin' like Ole Miss did or no. I jest keep mah mouf shet for dem reasons.""Shame on you, Zebby! Do you think that I would ever forget any one who was as good to me as you and Mammy were? Now, hold my horse. I want to go in by myself."Natalia paused before the gate, and stood a moment irresolutely before entering. The thought that she might be doing something a little rash, never came to her until that moment; then in her great desire to see her old nurse, all considerations left her, and she went up the walk and rang the bell. The reverberation echoed down the hall as she waited, and it was not until she had rung several times that she heard some one coming. Then the door opened, and Dicey stood facing her.Zebediah, watching intently from the road, saw Natalia suddenly enveloped in the old negro woman's arms, and drawn into the house and the door closed after them.Dicey had not uttered a sound when she found Natalia at the door; only her arms opened and she pressed the girl to her bosom, their tears mingling as the old slave covered her face and hands with kisses."Honey-chile, honey-chile, honey-chile!"Natalia's head rested on the old familiar bosom, with the comforting feeling of dependence and trust which she had not known since she had last nestled there. When she looked up again she found herself sitting on the stair steps, her head leaning against Dicey's knee and the well known voice ringing in her ears."Yer hasn't fergotten me, has yer, honey-chile? I knowed yer hadn't."Natalia's eyes answered for her eloquently."Your hair has turned white, Mammy," she said, when she had dried her tears; "and you are so—so fat, Mammy—and Mammy, you don't belong to me any longer," the last with a look of reproach."She didn' want me no longer when yer went away," Dicey answered, her dark eyes glistening suddenly with an expression of malignant anger. Natalia saw the wrinkling of the brows that she had dreaded when a child, for it never came except when Dicey's deep anger was kindled; and even now she felt a reflection of her childish dread at the familiar signal."She put me up fer sale lak as ef I wuz any udder nigger! She put me up in de slabe-market fer anybody—fer anybody to buy! Dar wuz'n no use fer her doin' me dat way. She could ha' sold me at home. But she wouldn'. She hated me—she wanted ter make me out cheap—dat wuz it. She didn' want me and she didn' ker who it wuz got me!"Natalia put her hand gently over the old woman's lips."Sh-h! Don't say that about her, Mammy. It could not have been that bad.""But it wuz, I tell yer! Now I kin hate her 'cause I don' berlong ter her no longer. No good'll cum ter her!"The words rang out in the deserted hall forebodingly. A ray of sunlight penetrated the coloured fan light above the door, dwelling for a moment with a strange significance, illumining the old negro's snow-white hair, her heavily lined features, her reddish brown skin and weird eyes."I did not know all this, Mammy," Natalia answered in a low voice. "I did not know. If I had it would have been different.""Cose yer didn' know—yer done jes' fergit all 'bout Dicey—nebber think 'bout things down heah a bit, did yer, honey? I knowed dat wuz hit—hit wuz nateral enough. Yer wuzn't nuthin' but er lil gal when yer lef me.""But you never sent me a letter, Mammy. You never got any one to answer mine for you."Again the old woman's features contracted."She nebber gib me no letters frum yer. I nebber knowed whar yer wuz.""You never got my letters?"Dicey shook her head violently. Natalia looked at her a long time during the silence that followed, still holding her hand tight in her own."And to think that Sargent Everett should have bought you, Mammy," she said finally. "If it had to be—I'm glad he was the one.""De Lawd'll sho' bless him fer hit," the old slave answered. "Ef hit hadn' been fer him I'd 'a' kilt mase'f. Hit would 'a' been easy enough."Natalia pressed the long-coarsened fingers as they clung to hers."Tell me about it, Mammy; tell me everything. Let's make up for those long years of separation. How long was it after I left you, that it happened?""Jes' 'bout six months, honey. I'se mos' fergit now—hit seem so long ago; and I wuz feelin' so down-in-de-mouf and glum when you done gone, I didn't take no notice ob de time. Hit wuz one day in de summer time dat Ole Miss cum out ter mah room, an' say she want ter speak ter me. I knows hit wuz goin' powerful ha'd wid me cause I could tell by de looks in her eyes. She say she wouldn' hab no mo' use fer me sence yer gone away, and de boys would be goin' soon—and dat she done made up her min' ter sell me. 'But yer cayn't, Ole Miss,' says I, 'yer cyant sell me 'cause I doan belong ter yer—I belongs ter lil Miss. Marse Brandon say so fo' he died.' Den she turn red an' white, all in a sudden, and says dat he mont 'a' say dat, but he done made no sich statemen' in his will, and dat she wuz goin' ter sell me neberdeless. 'Yer knows he said dat,' says I to her, 'an' ef lil Miss wuz heah yer wouldn' dar do hit.' Den she get powerful mad and tole me ter git mah things togedder and be reddy ter go ter de Co't house de nex' mawnin'. Den I jes' gib way an' cry, cause I neber b'liebe I'd be put up wid all dem udder niggers an' sole lak dem. But she didn' listen ter me no mo', and went away.... Zebby drive me ter town de nex' mawnin' an' Ole Miss han' me ober ter de trader-man, and didn' say no wo'd ter me when she leabe. Dar wuz a big crowd ob people dar ter see de slabes—two hundred ter be sole dat day and a lot ob plantation fo'ks done cum ter town ter buy."Suddenly Dicey stopped, and stared before her silently, her hands clasping Natalia's until she winced from the pain."Den mah time cum," she resumed, her voice lowered, and long pauses between the sentences. "De trader-man read out a whole lot ob things she done writ bout me, sayin' I wuz er fust class cook an' could sew and a whole lot ob things I could do—I done seen em sell slabes befo' dis, but I nebber 'spected ter be one ob dem dat wuz sole—nebber! Nebber! I wouldn' look up when dey read all 'bout me 'til I heerd somebody say five hundred dollars fer me. Seem lak ter me I knowed de voice—hit wuz Jedge Houston. Den anudder one bid seben hundred dollars an' anudder one say er thousan'.... Sumthin' tell me ter look up when dey call out er thousan', an' I see Marse Everett a-standin' under er tree 'cross de street, an' I look at him so ha'd dat he finerlly see me and start ter runnin' whar I wuz. 'Dicey, what do dis mean?' says he ter me. 'Yer cyant be sole. Yer belongs ter Miss Natalia.' 'I knows I does,' says I, and begin ter cry out loud. I couldn' he'p it when he done look at me so kin' and gentle-lak.... Den I heerd him tell de trader-man dar wuz some mistake, but de man said Missus Brandon owned me and wuz sellin' me. I cried all de mo' when I seen him turn away hopeless lak, 'cause I think he wuz goin' away an' leabe me ter dem people. Den de trader-man begin callin' out louder and louder—'One thousan' dollars—one thousan' dollars' tell I feel like hollerin' myself, fer I wuz nigh crazy, an' den when he wuz 'bout ter turn me ober ter er stranger man Marse Everett come up an' says sumthin' ter him and he yell out 'Twelve hundred.' Den de udder man say 'Thirteen hundred!' Den Marse Everett fourteen hundred, den fourteen hundred fifty an' den dar wuz er long silence.... Den I heerd Marse Everett say in er easy low voice—'Fifteen hundred' jes' easy and quiet, lak he kin, and den, Bless de Lawd! I seen de udder man go away.... De trader-man and Marse Everett talk er long time after dat and den Marse Everett cum ter me and say, 'Cum with me, Dicey, everything's all right now. Hit's done took de las' cent I had ter buy yer, Dicey, but she lubbed yer, and I'm goin' ter keep yer fer her tell she cum back.' Den I jes' went down on mah knees and kiss his hands and say, 'Yer won't hab no regrets, Marse Sargent, I'll serbe yer tell I die, and she'll make it up ter yer—one ob dese days.'"The hall was filling with shadows. The sunshine through the fan light had died away, yet the two did not move."And then, Mammy," Natalia whispered."Den he tuk me ter Jedge Houston's house and lef me dar wid dem an' I done stay dar two years tell he begin ter look up in de worl'. Yer know him and de Jedge done win er suit for er heap ob property an' dat's whar he fust got his money. After dat he built dis house and he been libin' heah eber sence. I keeps de house fer him and does de cookin'—an' all de time we's both been bidin' our time an' waitin' fer yer ter cum back.""Waiting for me!" Natalia exclaimed, drawing away quickly.Dicey bowed her head in answer."He done tole me once dat when yer tole him good-bye dat night, yer tole him he mus'n' lub no oder woman tell yer cum back—all grown up. So yer sees, he's been keepin' his wo'd all de time, an' once, he showed me de picture you sent him. De same lil picture de artis'-man tuk so long ter paint ob yer, fo' yer pa died. An' when I seen hit, I jes' cry and cry and cry, cause hit set me a thinkin' 'bout ole times when yer ma and me wuz lil gals togedder—cause de picture's jes' lak her.""But, Mammy, he doesn't still think I meant what I said then, does he? I was only a child when I said that. Surely he has forgotten by this time.""Fergit! Lawd bless yer, honey, he don' fergit nuthin' 'bout yer. He used ter talk ebery day 'bout yer tell lately—"Natalia waited silently for the old woman to continue, her hands clasping and unclasping in her lap."Tell lately when we heerd yer wuz a-comm' home ter git married. Sence den he hain't sed nothin' much. I tole him hit wuzn't so, dat yer sho' wouldn' marry nobody but him."Natalia winced under the last words; then broke abruptly into a laugh."But I am going to be married, Mammy. I'm going to be married next week, and then I'm going away again for good, and you are going with me. I'm going to buy you back from Mr. Everett, and take you with me."Dicey looked at her hard, moving her head from side to side."No, honey-chile." she said slowly. "I cyant leabe him now—even fer yer.""Yes, you can, Mammy, dear," and Natalia leaned her head on the old woman's bosom. "That is one of the principal things I came back for—to get you. I want to be a little girl again and get you to tell me stories about mamma, and go to sleep at night holding your hand—just like I used to do, Mammy. Oh, if we could only staylittlealways," she sighed wistfully. "If the world would only stop moving and let us stay just the same all the time—we could be so—sohappy. But here I am—a woman now, and you, Mammy, you are an old woman, with your white hair and your wrinkles—but I love you, all the same—more than any one in the world except—""'Cept who?""Except my sweetheart."Dicey's eyes flashed."Dat curly-headed, pretty man in de green coat, dat was settin' in frunt ob yer in de ca'iage?""Yes, that was he. But 'pretty' is not the word that describes him, Mammy. 'Handsome' suits him better."For a second Dicey deigned no answer."Wait tell yer sees Marse Sargent—den yer'll see whut er han'some gemman is, sho' 'nough.""You are entirely too faithful to him, Mammy Dicey," Natalia laughed. "He has stolen your love from me.""An' wait tell yer hears him speak in public. De people goes wild ober him. Las' week dey fired off cannons when he cum home frum Jackson, and dat night dey built bon-fires all ober de town ter do him honour, an' when he begin ter speak in de Co't-house squar' and eberybody went ter heah him, yer could er heerd er pin drap, eberything wuz so quiet. An' when de words cum dey soun' so beautiful an' sweet dey set me ter stedyin' 'bout mos' ebery thing in jineral.""I heard him speak once, don't you remember?" Natalia's eyes narrowed as if she were again reviewing that time. "It was wonderful, too. I can remember it now just as if it were yesterday.""Dat wuzn't nothin'. He done been all ober de State now and he's cellibrated ebery whar he goes. Honey-chile, yer jes' wait tell yer heah him agin.""It's no use, Mammy." Natalia sighed leniently. "You see I'm interested in only one man now, and as I'm going to be married next week, I don't believe it's proper for me to listen to the praises of another as you are singing them."Rising, with her arm still about Dicey, she walked slowly to the door."You see how dark it is getting. You have almost made me forget that Morgan will be waiting for me and wondering where I am. Tell him, though, Mammy—your Marse Sargent—that he must come out to see me to-morrow, and be sure to make him promise to let me have you. I am not going away without you.""He's away on er speakin' trip now. He won't be back fer er week.""So he will not be here for my wedding!" Natalia frowned with evident disappointment. "Then I must write him about you at once."Dicey stared at Natalia a moment, and then drawing her face down until it rested on her bosom, she kissed her as she used to do, on the top of her head, in the wide part."Listen, honey-chile," she whispered, halting at the door, with the old strange look of visions in her eyes. "Does yer 'member de night yer axed Mammy to fin' picters in de fire fer yer?""Of course I remember, Mammy," Natalia answered from the steps. "You always were finding them for me. Do you do it still?""I'se speakin' 'bout one time in perticula'," Dicey answered gravely.Natalia halted, drawing her brows together thoughtfully."No, I don't remember particularly, Mammy," she cried gaily, blowing a kiss back to the old woman. "Come out to-morrow and tell me about it. Good-bye!"Dicey turned back into the hall and locked the door after her. It was almost dark now, and as she stood alone among the grey shadows of the twilight the old look of visions burned wildly in her eyes.Suddenly she went to the back door and out into the yard. Stopping at last before the wood house, she called to a negro man inside."Jonas! Jonas! Does yer know whar Marser is?""He mighty nigh two days' good ridin' way from heah. Whut yer wants ter know fer?""Nebber yer min', nigger. Yer go ter Jedge Houston's ter-night an' fin' out fer certin whar Marse Sargent am ter be found. We'se goin' ter be needin' him in er mighty few days."CHAPTER IVSLAVES FOR STAKESThe Mansion House was still the gathering place of all the prominent citizens, as it had been when Sargent Everett had landed there; only now the little tavern had grown into a famous hostelry. Its façade had been dignified with the addition of a third story; its front pavement had been widened into a spacious terrace, where tables and chairs were placed invitingly beneath the trees; and along its front was an extensive row of large rocking chairs, gay and hospitable with bright red paint, and always occupied at the hours the coaches were expected. But the real glory of the tavern was its bar and so-called club room, decorated with trophies brought there by its wealthy patrons—Indian relics, muskets from some pioneer campaign, skins and furs belonging to celebrated hunters, and most prominent of all, a huge pair of antlers, silver tipped and engraved with the name of Captain Mentdrop, which he had won in a boat race from St. Louis to New Orleans.Almost any hour of the day and late into the night, wealthy planters of the surrounding country and prominent men of the town were to be found there, discussing politics, consummating large land deals, gambling, with bales of cotton, slaves, and some times whole plantations as stakes. "We call it 'flush' times," Jervais said, as he drove into the town with Morgan and Joel Talbot. "With State banks issuing bills by the sheet, and no showing of credit asked except for a fellow to prove that he needs money, there is no better name for it. Why, man, there don't seem to be anybody about here that isn't flush; property has gone beyond reach, and the whole Southwest is wide open. Only last month I was talking to a fellow that used to be my overseer. He had just been to New York, and with a letter avouching his citizenship, and a clean shirt, he had gotten all the money he wanted. No wonder everybody's flocking this way.""It can't last. It's fictitious. Wait until the Specie Circular begins to take effect," Morgan replied."Ah, there you have it. But while all this fun is going on, I say a fellow's a fool not to enjoy it and make all he can out of it. I, for one," and Jervais blew a cloud of cigar smoke luxuriously about him, "I, for one, am not asleep. It's the time in a century for a lawyer!""So it seems. See how my old friend is rising on the wave," Talbot commented."Your old friend?""Yes—Sargent Everett. You know he came down here through me."Jervais leaned back in his seat with assumed indifference. "Why d'ye know, that surprises me," he said, viewing Talbot with the lazy hauteur of his younger days. "What can you possibly find to interest you in a fellow like Everett?"Morgan did not answer at once. Sitting beside Jervais, he had been observing him closely during the drive. He had already felt a growing dislike for the man, seeing beneath the suave manners a certain cold insolence; but thinking that this was perhaps a reflection of Natalia's attitude towards him, Morgan had attempted to overcome it. Now, with the sneering words about his old friend, he felt this dislike deepening."He is going to Congress, I hear," Joel put in during the moment of silence."That's not certain, by a long shot. Wait until you see the ballot, and then, from what I know, Sargent Everett will realize that he never did stand a show. But here's the tavern." Jervais spoke with evident relief. "Now, I'll have a chance to introduce you to some of my friends. This fellow coming toward us," he continued, as they stepped from the carriage, "is a good example of what the flush times are doing. A few years ago he was a poor, down-in-the-mouth land agent; now kindly observe him—he has ambitions towards the Governor's mansion if you please! Come over, Mr. Suggs, and shake hands with Mr. Talbot and his brother—from Boston."Mr. Suggs advanced with his usual appreciation of an important occasion. A chimney pot hat and a tight frock coat, closely buttoned across his narrow chest, accentuated his gaunt figure, and increased the air of prosperity which his recent admission to the bar demanded."Mighty glad to meet you, gentlemen. From Boston—did I understand?""Of course, Suggs, the original members of the Tea Party," Jervais put in with a wink towards Morgan. "Mr. Suggs wants to give you the impression that he never heard of you before, Talbot. And I'll bet you the juleps he knows more about you now than you do about yourself. But come, let's sit down. What's your last case, Suggs?"In a moment Jervais had drawn a crowd about them, every one coming up to extend a cordial welcome to the Northerners. There was Colonel Andrews, a gentleman of flowing beard and manners, who told of his exploits in the Battle of New Orleans, with all the enthusiasm of the original moment; there was another just back from the Florida campaign; another on his way to New Orleans to purchase half a hundred slaves for his plantations—and many men of the town, young and old, each evidently glad of an opportunity to meet and converse with men from the far distant North.Jervais was at his best as host of the occasion, doing the honours with the elegance of manner which had made him so successful with a certain class. Reports of Talbot's wealth and position had preceded him, and nothing was more to Jervais' pleasure than to introduce such a personage to the town."It's certainly a great pleasure to meet you gentlemen," Mr. Suggs was saying to Joel, having placed his chair confidentially near him. "I was only wishing to-day that I could have had some one from a distance to hear me argue a case. Now, you would have appreciated it, I know. A long toddy," to the waiter. "I was defending a boy who had stolen his neighbour's calf. It was a mighty ticklish case, too, I'd let you know—because all the neighbourhood was against the poor devil." Suggs stopped a moment impressively."Of course you cleared him," some one called out, who had been listening."But tell me how," Joel laughed. "It seems an impossible feat.""Well, sir, you would think so," Mr. Suggs continued seriously, "though when I looked into the matter, I found the poor fellow was starving, and you know yourself, Mr. Talbot, a man that's starving ain't responsible for his acts—ain't I right?""And if he's dying of thirst, Suggs—what then?" some one broke in."Of course the jury saw it that way. I made it so plain to them theyhadto. Now, I've a theory—""Joel, I want you to meet Mr. Morancy. He's our national hero in this part of the world. D'you ever hear of him in Boston—the fellow who won fifty thousand dollars in one poker game!"Joel found himself shaking hands with a florid faced man with iron grey hair. Beneath the shade of a broad brimmed felt hat, the calm features gave no clue to such an extravagant reputation."But it occurred on a Mississippi River steamboat, Mr. Talbot." Mr. Morancy laughed, as he shook hands."He wants to give you the impression that it was an accident," Colonel Andrews put in, "but it was as premeditated as the fellow who had waited for a Royal Flush.""Tell us, Colonel! Sh'h! The Colonel's on for a story!" came from the crowd.The old fellow threw back his shoulders and swelled portentously."Gentlemen," he said, in his rolling, grandiloquent style, "I never tell that story except when there is a chance for me to hold what that fellow had waited for."It was a signal for the crowd to move to the club room just back of the bar. There, three cloth-covered tables were placed in the centre of the room. About one, several men were already hard at it, the sound of the chips, the boisterous laughter and oaths telling that the game was at its height.Jervais was the first to sit down, his eyes surveying the crowd with the glitter of a devotee of the game. "Sit down, Talbot," he cried to Morgan. "I want you to have a little taste of how we play poker down here. Come on, Colonel Andrews, and you, Morancy, although I don't want you to look forward to fifty thousand on this game. We'll go it easy in consideration for the strangers," he ended, with a glance towards Morgan that brought a rush of blood to his face."I beg you gentlemen will not let my presence dampen your game in the least," Morgan said quietly taking his seat next Colonel Andrews. "I shall be delighted to play your game as you play it, and I shall not object even to a table stake, if that is your custom." He looked at Jervais with this last thrust, and smiled broadly."We usually start," Colonel Andrews hastened to explain, clearing his throat and glancing about the crowd, "on a modest limit, and sometimes end up on table stakes. But we might begin there to-day, if you gentlemen are agreeable. I think it will be swift enough for any of you if we make it all jacks with a dollar ante. Shall we each buy a thousand for Stakes? ... Very well, then."The Colonel, acting as banker, dealt out to each player a thousand dollars' worth of chips, and each gave him his I.O.U. for the amount. "Let's see who deals." he continued, dealing a card to each player. "Ah! a king: I deal. Well," the deck of cards falling together between his long fingers, "well, gentlemen, everybody come in and look pleasant!" Another moment and each chipped in his ante, and the cards began flying around."Now I can continue my story," Colonel Andrews went on, draining a tall tumbler of champagne, and looking at Morgan with a glance of approbation. He was keen enough to have caught the stranger's refutation of Jervais' remark, and liked his bold stroke."Yes—I'm anxious to hear it. You said it was a Royal Flush?""That is what it is about. Ever hold one?""No, I've never been so lucky as that," Morgan answered, picking up his cards. "It's worth living for, though, I expect.""Well—I reckon. Yes, sir, he believed it would come to him some day, and..." The Colonel became silent suddenly, as he looked at his cards. All hands passed, and the deal went to Jervais."Yes, as I was saying, he knew it would come to him one of these days. He got it at last, too, and as luck would have it, the game was the biggest he had ever got mixed up in." The Colonel paused again when the cards had been dealt, and when Morancy opened with but Jervais staying, he continued: "And, bless your soul, when he actually did see that Royal family staring up at him, he had to tie his handkerchief around his neck to keep from yelling."Jervais opened the next pot for twenty-five dollars, saying to the Colonel, "Go on, I'm listening. You said the fellow got at last what he was looking for."But the Colonel was too much occupied then to notice. In the pause Morgan glanced about the room. The third table had been taken now, and the room was gradually filling with a crowd of onlookers. In those days it was not a crime to stand behind a man and watch his game, for such was the common feeling of good-fellowship, that each man trusted the one behind him and accepted him as a gentleman of honour. Besides, the Mansion House was only open to gentlemen.The sound of clinking chips, the dense clouds of smoke, and the endless hubbub of voices in many keys, were steadily making the room stifling. Waiters were rushing around to supply every want at the same time.With the rapid succession of pots and the unusually brisk plays, the Colonel had evidently forgot to proceed with his story—or at least had deferred concluding until the present absorbing interest of the game had subsided. Jervais was losing steadily; his hands were just large enough to keep him in nearly every play—and almost invariably small enough to lose the pots. In the meantime he had bought another thousand chips, and that now was nearly gone. Morgan's luck was unprecedented; it seemed he could draw to anything and win.The last pot—opened by Jervais—had gone to Morgan, and the deal was now his. Jervais had ordered a bowl of punch for the crowd, and was just testing the first glass. Measuring the pile of chips before Morgan, he suddenly asked the Colonel for four thousand more, with the apparent purpose of matching Morgan's money in anticipation of an opportunity for favourable encounter."Here's to bridegroom's luck," he called to Morgan. Talbot smiled and drained his glass."As I was saying," the Colonel began again, "he was in a big game and they'd gotten the pot up to ten thousand dollars—yes, sir,—there was ten thousand in the pot and that fellow bet ten thousand, naturally. The crowd wouldn't stand for it though: wanted to give him only a show down; they said the fellow didn't have ten thousand dollars to his name. Did he? Well, to tell the truth—no, he didn't."The cards had been dealt again, and the table went silent. Morancy opened, the Colonel raised, Jervais doubled, and Morgan stayed. Morancy, too raised, and the Colonel, Jervais, and Morgan called.After the draw the betting became lively once more,—confined, though, to Jervais and Talbot. Morancy and the Colonel having but relatively small amounts before them, came in for a show down. Finally Morgan "tapped" Jervais, the former laying down four Aces, the latter four Queens. Both had drawn the fourth card."There's something in bridegroom's luck, after all," commented Morancy, smiling good-humouredly at Jervais, who had not won a hand, and was begin to show it."Pretty good for you," commented the Colonel, as the deal flew again from his fingers. "Take my advice, and don't keep your host in this game much longer," he added in an aside to Morgan. "He's always hard up, the darned fool, and never was known to have sense enough to quit. You see, he's getting pretty far gone, already." Then aloud, "but you couldn't bluff that fellow, even if he didn't have the ten thousand. He wrote out a check on the best bank in the town and threw it on the table. What did the others do? Why, they gave him the laugh. They didn't want checks—they wanted hard cash.""Five cards," called Jervais irritably.Morancy's caught the Colonel's eye and his own closed eloquently. "Give me two," he said.Morgan took two. As the hands went down, Morgan got the pile again."Well—I suppose your man was bluffing with his ten thousand?"When they wouldn't take his check, he called for paper and ink, and wrote to the President of the bank. I've got what I've been looking for all my life. Am I good for ten thousand dollars?""For God's sake shut up, Colonel," cried Jervais. "We're playing poker."The next deal was Morgan's. Candles were being brought in as the room gradually darkened, and with the soft light the surroundings took on a new aspect. lire newcomers were growing numerous with the approaching evening, until a double circle of men was around the tables. A general interest was being displayed in the Northerner's luck, accounts of which had reached to the outside of the tavern.Morgan stopped before dealing and looked at his watch. Then he looked at Jervais. "They expect us back at seven o'clock," he said. "Shall we stop now?""No," Jervais cried, his voice shaking slightly, his face flushing from the effects of too much liquor. "Your luck's too good for me to quit."Morgan looked up quickly, then glanced at the others. "Well, one more hand around then—but the last," he said deliberately. "We are expected at home at seven," he continued in explanation to the others. "Possibly Mr. Jervais does not understand my impatience.""Nor your luck." suggested the Colonel."Go on—go on," Jervais muttered. "If you're in a hurry, let's get through. I'll show you something this time.""Better walk around your chair," Morancy laughed.Jervais wheeled towards him. "Is it your money I'm losing?"Jervais now replaced his depleted pile by a further purchase of chips, and announced that, as it was the last hand around, he would not limit his stake to the money in front of him, but would, so far as he was concerned, allow or make any bet.The cards were dealt in silence."Three for me," cried Jervais, his hand falling heavily upon the table.The Colonel looked around the table, his face elaborately expressionless."I stand pat," said Morgan. After the others had drawn he bet fifty dollars."I raise you two hundred," added Jervais, who had filled."That let's me out," came from Morancy, with the resignation of an old fighter. He was followed by the three other men."One thousand more," said Morgan, facing Jervais squarely."Gentlemen, you will have to excuse me," and the Colonel laid down his hand."Fifteen hundred more.""Two thousand better," from Morgan."Twenty-five hundred better than you."Morgan studied his hand intently for a few seconds. "Well, we'll make it three thousand more. Colonel, I'm very anxious to hear the end of that story."Jervais' face was livid now."Four thousand—d'you hear? I say four! You can't bluffme!"Morgan met his look with a sudden realization that the affair had gone too far, although a glance around the room told him that he could not afford to end the game; that must be done by Jervais."I make it five thousand." Morgan's voice trembled a little."By God, I'll call you!" Jervais answered. "And pay you in slaves if I lose."Morgan was on his feet in a moment. "I'm not gambling for slaves," he cried angrily, throwing four deuces on the table. "You know, Mr. Jervais, how I feel on that subject."Jervais had risen also, steadying himself against the back of his chair."Easy, gentlemen, easy," cried the Colonel, leaning across the table between the two men. "Call the game off for this evening. You're both a little excited now.""Jervais can call the game off or not as he chooses," Morgan said sharply, turning away. "But he can't pay me in slaves."Jervais steadied himself with an effort. "Well, I won't then, since you're so particular. You and I can settle this affair ourselves. Let's go home now—only—you've got to come back here again and show these gentlemen how long that luck of yours can keep up." As he turned sullenly toward the door Morancy and several others quietly surrounded him, without saying a word."Oh, I'll come back," Morgan smiled easily at the prospect of getting away with so little trouble. "I'm here for two weeks, gentlemen," and bowing to the crowd, he left the club-room, followed by Joel."It's a great failing of his," the Colonel explained, as he walked with Morgan to the carriage. "Getting worse and worse all the time. Sorry it happened this evening, but you forget all about it—Lem won't remember a thing by morning."They were nearly at the carriage now, where Jervais had been safely landed on the back seat."Oh, I almost forgot to finish that story," said the Colonel, his hand holding Morgan's in a tight clasp. "The fellow had talked so much about that hand he was living for that the banker knew what he meant. So he said it was all right, and on the strength of that the crowd accepted the fellow's ten-thousand-dollar bet, and every one dropped out. But if it had come to a show-down, by jingo, there wasn't a damn thing in his hand but a pair of deuces. Good night, my boy,—see you to-morrow." And he went off laughing.
CHAPTER III
MAMMY DICEY'S STORY
Natalia stood on the front veranda after dinner, leaving the others gathered about the table, the men sipping their Madeira, and discussing the admission of the Lone Star State to the Union, and the wonderful new invention of the magnetic telegraph; while the ladies pulled their rocking chairs close together and went into the minutest details of the wedding.
Morgan had risen with Natalia, following her out of the room, but she had sent him back, pleading as an excuse that she wished to be alone to live over once more in memory the incidents of her childhood. So many things had lain dormant through the years almost forgotten in the rush and interest of the life about her, that she felt dazed into a mood of introspection when she found herself once more in the surroundings of the long ago.
She sighed aloud when Morgan had gone back into the house, and leaning against one of the massive columns of the porch, felt a sensation of relief stealing over her at finding herself alone. In the flood of re-awakened memories there had come to her a feeling that Morgan was not a part of them, could never be, and with this realization she knew that in some way the bond of sympathy between them had, for the moment, widened. He could never feel with her all the place represented; even with years and years in the narration of little incidents, he would still not see it as she did, know what it meant to her, nor find in each surrounding the stories that cried aloud to her. It was the moment in her love when she realized for the first time that two people can never bewhollyone—that a vast gulf of early years and childhood and dreams would always separate them, no matter how great became the love of their maturer years.
So sensitive was she to his moods and preferences, that she had understood as they lingered before the gate and looked into the grove of magnolias, that the charm of the spot and the happiness of a honeymoon spent in it would be hers so much more fully than his. For a little while this realization had brought her unhappiness, and a wish to be alone; after her dreams she knew that she would go back to her lover more contented than ever before.
She strolled away from the house, and passing on into the cool shadows of the grove, came at last to the brow of the hill. Here she sat down and leaned against a tree, letting herself drift back across the bridge of years.
In a moment of restlessness she let down her hair and unconsciously began braiding it in the two long plaits of her childhood. Suddenly she found herself laughing with the care-free merriment of a little girl. It was the same old world, after all; seven years had made no difference, everything was exactly as she had left it.
Resting her hands back of her head, her fingers touching the cool bark of the tree with a luxurious sensation, she gazed out through half closed lashes upon the broad, golden river and the misty lowlands beyond, floating in the haze of the languid June day.
Everything now was as yesterday. She was feeling it all over again, going over every little incident. The little log school-house recalled so vividly a dreadful example in fractions, and as she worried over it again, she found herself listening for the low, beautiful voice making it plain to her. On and on she drifted until she felt once more the presence of the schoolmaster and her old adoration of him.
Suddenly in the swirling of her memories she halted. That love of the little girl made her open her eyes wide. It had been ideal, beautiful, innocent. Would there be anything in her life like it again? Was that which had taken its place, equal? Could anything take its place? Again the utter devotion of it came back to her; the beginning of it in her self-anger for wounding him the day she had called him the cripple. Ah! now she could understand how she had hurt him! Their first long talk together where she sat now; his kind, deep, hazel eyes, changing Protean-like, as he listened to her while she recounted stories Dicey had told her of her mother; his patience and kindness through the long school hours; the night she waited for his return, and the fear that Phelps had waylaid him; that first case when his voice had thundered in her ears and made her shudder; and at last,—the pain of parting with him!
She sat up quickly and stared about her. Why had she forgotten all this? Why had it not been in her thoughts for so many years? And he—had he forgotten also? Gradually she rose to her feet with the childish impulse of seeking Dicey, who would answer so satisfactorily all her questions. Then came the clashing of reality against dreams, and unconsciously the tears rushed into her eyes for what had gone from her for ever.
But the old yearning for her nurse remained, and with a sudden determination, she walked quickly through the grove, skirting the house and garden so as not to be interrupted, and made her way to the slaves' quarters.
The door of Dicey's room stood open. On the steps before it sat two negro women shelling beans into large pans. Natalia passed on quickly, a sharp pain in her heart for the empty room which used to be so crowded with happy moments.
When she came to the barn she smiled again, for there was old Zebediah, washing the carriage that had brought them from the boat, as familiar and complacent as if there were no such thing as seven years to pass by.
"Why didn't you tell me, Zebby?" she exclaimed, without explanation. "Why didn't you tell me at the boat?"
The old negro lifted his head in dismay.
"Wha' yer talkin' 'bout, lil Miss?"
"About Mammy, Zebby. They tell me she belongs to Mr. Everett now."
"Yas'm, she sho' do. I done seen her day befo' yistiddy."
"Did she know I was coming?"
"Not tell I done tole her."
"What did she say, Zebby?"
Zebediah's hand went up to his head, scratching thoughtfully.
"She didn said nuthin', lil Miss. She jest th'od her apron ober her face and went ter moanin'."
Natalia's lips suddenly trembled.
"Take me there, Zebby—now! I want to see her. I can't wait. Saddle the horse and go with me."
But Zebediah did not respond to her enthusiasm. He stood staring at her as if he had not comprehended her words.
"Yer cyant go ter dat house, lil Miss. Dar ain' nobody libs dar 'ceptin' Marse Everett. Dar ain' no lady fo'ks in de house."
"I don't care, Zebby," Natalia laughed. "I'm not going to see him. I'm going to see Mammy Dicey. I'll be back in a minute, so hurry and get the horses ready."
She ran up the steps on the back porch, and to her room, scattering the mass of clothes which had just been unpacked, until she found the riding habit she was looking for. Very quietly, without meeting any one, she went back to the barn where Zebediah stood holding the horses, and showing his row of fine white teeth in a smile of admiration and pleasure.
"Yer ain't er bit lak grown up fo'ks, lil Miss. Yer jest de lil gal dat went 'way frum heah long time ergo."
"I'm just the same little girl, Zebby," Natalia smiled back at him, putting her foot into his broad palm, "until you help me to mount—and then," as she settled herself in the saddle, "you'll find I've gained a pound or two."
The afternoon had advanced until the rays of sun were slanting through the trees, and as they rode along the old road, Natalia gave the horse the reins, while she drank in the beauty of the woods and open fields, and looked for landmarks that brought back with them incidents and stories. Once, she stopped before the place where the Puckett house formerly stood—now only a crumbling chimney remaining, surrounded by a grove of China trees: and again, along the brow of a hill, where there was another view of the river as it swept into a broad bend and disappeared in the fertile delta. Finally the town lay before them in its setting of beautiful trees.
"I don't know where he lives, Zebby," Natalia said, drawing in the reins, and looking back to Zebediah. "You see, I am a stranger, after all."
"Dar's de house," Zebediah answered, pointing towards a dwelling which stood close to the road, in the suburbs of the town.
"That house!" Natalia exclaimed. "I passed it this morning, and Mammy did not even wave to me."
"I seen her, dough. She wuz down on de landin' an' lookin' at yer. I knowed she be fer seein' yer somehow."
"Why didn't you tell me, Zebby?"
The old negro again went silent.
"I tell yer, lil Miss,—Dicey she so perculiar. I dunno ef she wants me ter tell yer or not; den agin I never knows if yer wuz feelin' like Ole Miss did or no. I jest keep mah mouf shet for dem reasons."
"Shame on you, Zebby! Do you think that I would ever forget any one who was as good to me as you and Mammy were? Now, hold my horse. I want to go in by myself."
Natalia paused before the gate, and stood a moment irresolutely before entering. The thought that she might be doing something a little rash, never came to her until that moment; then in her great desire to see her old nurse, all considerations left her, and she went up the walk and rang the bell. The reverberation echoed down the hall as she waited, and it was not until she had rung several times that she heard some one coming. Then the door opened, and Dicey stood facing her.
Zebediah, watching intently from the road, saw Natalia suddenly enveloped in the old negro woman's arms, and drawn into the house and the door closed after them.
Dicey had not uttered a sound when she found Natalia at the door; only her arms opened and she pressed the girl to her bosom, their tears mingling as the old slave covered her face and hands with kisses.
"Honey-chile, honey-chile, honey-chile!"
Natalia's head rested on the old familiar bosom, with the comforting feeling of dependence and trust which she had not known since she had last nestled there. When she looked up again she found herself sitting on the stair steps, her head leaning against Dicey's knee and the well known voice ringing in her ears.
"Yer hasn't fergotten me, has yer, honey-chile? I knowed yer hadn't."
Natalia's eyes answered for her eloquently.
"Your hair has turned white, Mammy," she said, when she had dried her tears; "and you are so—so fat, Mammy—and Mammy, you don't belong to me any longer," the last with a look of reproach.
"She didn' want me no longer when yer went away," Dicey answered, her dark eyes glistening suddenly with an expression of malignant anger. Natalia saw the wrinkling of the brows that she had dreaded when a child, for it never came except when Dicey's deep anger was kindled; and even now she felt a reflection of her childish dread at the familiar signal.
"She put me up fer sale lak as ef I wuz any udder nigger! She put me up in de slabe-market fer anybody—fer anybody to buy! Dar wuz'n no use fer her doin' me dat way. She could ha' sold me at home. But she wouldn'. She hated me—she wanted ter make me out cheap—dat wuz it. She didn' want me and she didn' ker who it wuz got me!"
Natalia put her hand gently over the old woman's lips.
"Sh-h! Don't say that about her, Mammy. It could not have been that bad."
"But it wuz, I tell yer! Now I kin hate her 'cause I don' berlong ter her no longer. No good'll cum ter her!"
The words rang out in the deserted hall forebodingly. A ray of sunlight penetrated the coloured fan light above the door, dwelling for a moment with a strange significance, illumining the old negro's snow-white hair, her heavily lined features, her reddish brown skin and weird eyes.
"I did not know all this, Mammy," Natalia answered in a low voice. "I did not know. If I had it would have been different."
"Cose yer didn' know—yer done jes' fergit all 'bout Dicey—nebber think 'bout things down heah a bit, did yer, honey? I knowed dat wuz hit—hit wuz nateral enough. Yer wuzn't nuthin' but er lil gal when yer lef me."
"But you never sent me a letter, Mammy. You never got any one to answer mine for you."
Again the old woman's features contracted.
"She nebber gib me no letters frum yer. I nebber knowed whar yer wuz."
"You never got my letters?"
Dicey shook her head violently. Natalia looked at her a long time during the silence that followed, still holding her hand tight in her own.
"And to think that Sargent Everett should have bought you, Mammy," she said finally. "If it had to be—I'm glad he was the one."
"De Lawd'll sho' bless him fer hit," the old slave answered. "Ef hit hadn' been fer him I'd 'a' kilt mase'f. Hit would 'a' been easy enough."
Natalia pressed the long-coarsened fingers as they clung to hers.
"Tell me about it, Mammy; tell me everything. Let's make up for those long years of separation. How long was it after I left you, that it happened?"
"Jes' 'bout six months, honey. I'se mos' fergit now—hit seem so long ago; and I wuz feelin' so down-in-de-mouf and glum when you done gone, I didn't take no notice ob de time. Hit wuz one day in de summer time dat Ole Miss cum out ter mah room, an' say she want ter speak ter me. I knows hit wuz goin' powerful ha'd wid me cause I could tell by de looks in her eyes. She say she wouldn' hab no mo' use fer me sence yer gone away, and de boys would be goin' soon—and dat she done made up her min' ter sell me. 'But yer cayn't, Ole Miss,' says I, 'yer cyant sell me 'cause I doan belong ter yer—I belongs ter lil Miss. Marse Brandon say so fo' he died.' Den she turn red an' white, all in a sudden, and says dat he mont 'a' say dat, but he done made no sich statemen' in his will, and dat she wuz goin' ter sell me neberdeless. 'Yer knows he said dat,' says I to her, 'an' ef lil Miss wuz heah yer wouldn' dar do hit.' Den she get powerful mad and tole me ter git mah things togedder and be reddy ter go ter de Co't house de nex' mawnin'. Den I jes' gib way an' cry, cause I neber b'liebe I'd be put up wid all dem udder niggers an' sole lak dem. But she didn' listen ter me no mo', and went away.... Zebby drive me ter town de nex' mawnin' an' Ole Miss han' me ober ter de trader-man, and didn' say no wo'd ter me when she leabe. Dar wuz a big crowd ob people dar ter see de slabes—two hundred ter be sole dat day and a lot ob plantation fo'ks done cum ter town ter buy."
Suddenly Dicey stopped, and stared before her silently, her hands clasping Natalia's until she winced from the pain.
"Den mah time cum," she resumed, her voice lowered, and long pauses between the sentences. "De trader-man read out a whole lot ob things she done writ bout me, sayin' I wuz er fust class cook an' could sew and a whole lot ob things I could do—I done seen em sell slabes befo' dis, but I nebber 'spected ter be one ob dem dat wuz sole—nebber! Nebber! I wouldn' look up when dey read all 'bout me 'til I heerd somebody say five hundred dollars fer me. Seem lak ter me I knowed de voice—hit wuz Jedge Houston. Den anudder one bid seben hundred dollars an' anudder one say er thousan'.... Sumthin' tell me ter look up when dey call out er thousan', an' I see Marse Everett a-standin' under er tree 'cross de street, an' I look at him so ha'd dat he finerlly see me and start ter runnin' whar I wuz. 'Dicey, what do dis mean?' says he ter me. 'Yer cyant be sole. Yer belongs ter Miss Natalia.' 'I knows I does,' says I, and begin ter cry out loud. I couldn' he'p it when he done look at me so kin' and gentle-lak.... Den I heerd him tell de trader-man dar wuz some mistake, but de man said Missus Brandon owned me and wuz sellin' me. I cried all de mo' when I seen him turn away hopeless lak, 'cause I think he wuz goin' away an' leabe me ter dem people. Den de trader-man begin callin' out louder and louder—'One thousan' dollars—one thousan' dollars' tell I feel like hollerin' myself, fer I wuz nigh crazy, an' den when he wuz 'bout ter turn me ober ter er stranger man Marse Everett come up an' says sumthin' ter him and he yell out 'Twelve hundred.' Den de udder man say 'Thirteen hundred!' Den Marse Everett fourteen hundred, den fourteen hundred fifty an' den dar wuz er long silence.... Den I heerd Marse Everett say in er easy low voice—'Fifteen hundred' jes' easy and quiet, lak he kin, and den, Bless de Lawd! I seen de udder man go away.... De trader-man and Marse Everett talk er long time after dat and den Marse Everett cum ter me and say, 'Cum with me, Dicey, everything's all right now. Hit's done took de las' cent I had ter buy yer, Dicey, but she lubbed yer, and I'm goin' ter keep yer fer her tell she cum back.' Den I jes' went down on mah knees and kiss his hands and say, 'Yer won't hab no regrets, Marse Sargent, I'll serbe yer tell I die, and she'll make it up ter yer—one ob dese days.'"
The hall was filling with shadows. The sunshine through the fan light had died away, yet the two did not move.
"And then, Mammy," Natalia whispered.
"Den he tuk me ter Jedge Houston's house and lef me dar wid dem an' I done stay dar two years tell he begin ter look up in de worl'. Yer know him and de Jedge done win er suit for er heap ob property an' dat's whar he fust got his money. After dat he built dis house and he been libin' heah eber sence. I keeps de house fer him and does de cookin'—an' all de time we's both been bidin' our time an' waitin' fer yer ter cum back."
"Waiting for me!" Natalia exclaimed, drawing away quickly.
Dicey bowed her head in answer.
"He done tole me once dat when yer tole him good-bye dat night, yer tole him he mus'n' lub no oder woman tell yer cum back—all grown up. So yer sees, he's been keepin' his wo'd all de time, an' once, he showed me de picture you sent him. De same lil picture de artis'-man tuk so long ter paint ob yer, fo' yer pa died. An' when I seen hit, I jes' cry and cry and cry, cause hit set me a thinkin' 'bout ole times when yer ma and me wuz lil gals togedder—cause de picture's jes' lak her."
"But, Mammy, he doesn't still think I meant what I said then, does he? I was only a child when I said that. Surely he has forgotten by this time."
"Fergit! Lawd bless yer, honey, he don' fergit nuthin' 'bout yer. He used ter talk ebery day 'bout yer tell lately—"
Natalia waited silently for the old woman to continue, her hands clasping and unclasping in her lap.
"Tell lately when we heerd yer wuz a-comm' home ter git married. Sence den he hain't sed nothin' much. I tole him hit wuzn't so, dat yer sho' wouldn' marry nobody but him."
Natalia winced under the last words; then broke abruptly into a laugh.
"But I am going to be married, Mammy. I'm going to be married next week, and then I'm going away again for good, and you are going with me. I'm going to buy you back from Mr. Everett, and take you with me."
Dicey looked at her hard, moving her head from side to side.
"No, honey-chile." she said slowly. "I cyant leabe him now—even fer yer."
"Yes, you can, Mammy, dear," and Natalia leaned her head on the old woman's bosom. "That is one of the principal things I came back for—to get you. I want to be a little girl again and get you to tell me stories about mamma, and go to sleep at night holding your hand—just like I used to do, Mammy. Oh, if we could only staylittlealways," she sighed wistfully. "If the world would only stop moving and let us stay just the same all the time—we could be so—sohappy. But here I am—a woman now, and you, Mammy, you are an old woman, with your white hair and your wrinkles—but I love you, all the same—more than any one in the world except—"
"'Cept who?"
"Except my sweetheart."
Dicey's eyes flashed.
"Dat curly-headed, pretty man in de green coat, dat was settin' in frunt ob yer in de ca'iage?"
"Yes, that was he. But 'pretty' is not the word that describes him, Mammy. 'Handsome' suits him better."
For a second Dicey deigned no answer.
"Wait tell yer sees Marse Sargent—den yer'll see whut er han'some gemman is, sho' 'nough."
"You are entirely too faithful to him, Mammy Dicey," Natalia laughed. "He has stolen your love from me."
"An' wait tell yer hears him speak in public. De people goes wild ober him. Las' week dey fired off cannons when he cum home frum Jackson, and dat night dey built bon-fires all ober de town ter do him honour, an' when he begin ter speak in de Co't-house squar' and eberybody went ter heah him, yer could er heerd er pin drap, eberything wuz so quiet. An' when de words cum dey soun' so beautiful an' sweet dey set me ter stedyin' 'bout mos' ebery thing in jineral."
"I heard him speak once, don't you remember?" Natalia's eyes narrowed as if she were again reviewing that time. "It was wonderful, too. I can remember it now just as if it were yesterday."
"Dat wuzn't nothin'. He done been all ober de State now and he's cellibrated ebery whar he goes. Honey-chile, yer jes' wait tell yer heah him agin."
"It's no use, Mammy." Natalia sighed leniently. "You see I'm interested in only one man now, and as I'm going to be married next week, I don't believe it's proper for me to listen to the praises of another as you are singing them."
Rising, with her arm still about Dicey, she walked slowly to the door.
"You see how dark it is getting. You have almost made me forget that Morgan will be waiting for me and wondering where I am. Tell him, though, Mammy—your Marse Sargent—that he must come out to see me to-morrow, and be sure to make him promise to let me have you. I am not going away without you."
"He's away on er speakin' trip now. He won't be back fer er week."
"So he will not be here for my wedding!" Natalia frowned with evident disappointment. "Then I must write him about you at once."
Dicey stared at Natalia a moment, and then drawing her face down until it rested on her bosom, she kissed her as she used to do, on the top of her head, in the wide part.
"Listen, honey-chile," she whispered, halting at the door, with the old strange look of visions in her eyes. "Does yer 'member de night yer axed Mammy to fin' picters in de fire fer yer?"
"Of course I remember, Mammy," Natalia answered from the steps. "You always were finding them for me. Do you do it still?"
"I'se speakin' 'bout one time in perticula'," Dicey answered gravely.
Natalia halted, drawing her brows together thoughtfully.
"No, I don't remember particularly, Mammy," she cried gaily, blowing a kiss back to the old woman. "Come out to-morrow and tell me about it. Good-bye!"
Dicey turned back into the hall and locked the door after her. It was almost dark now, and as she stood alone among the grey shadows of the twilight the old look of visions burned wildly in her eyes.
Suddenly she went to the back door and out into the yard. Stopping at last before the wood house, she called to a negro man inside.
"Jonas! Jonas! Does yer know whar Marser is?"
"He mighty nigh two days' good ridin' way from heah. Whut yer wants ter know fer?"
"Nebber yer min', nigger. Yer go ter Jedge Houston's ter-night an' fin' out fer certin whar Marse Sargent am ter be found. We'se goin' ter be needin' him in er mighty few days."
CHAPTER IV
SLAVES FOR STAKES
The Mansion House was still the gathering place of all the prominent citizens, as it had been when Sargent Everett had landed there; only now the little tavern had grown into a famous hostelry. Its façade had been dignified with the addition of a third story; its front pavement had been widened into a spacious terrace, where tables and chairs were placed invitingly beneath the trees; and along its front was an extensive row of large rocking chairs, gay and hospitable with bright red paint, and always occupied at the hours the coaches were expected. But the real glory of the tavern was its bar and so-called club room, decorated with trophies brought there by its wealthy patrons—Indian relics, muskets from some pioneer campaign, skins and furs belonging to celebrated hunters, and most prominent of all, a huge pair of antlers, silver tipped and engraved with the name of Captain Mentdrop, which he had won in a boat race from St. Louis to New Orleans.
Almost any hour of the day and late into the night, wealthy planters of the surrounding country and prominent men of the town were to be found there, discussing politics, consummating large land deals, gambling, with bales of cotton, slaves, and some times whole plantations as stakes. "We call it 'flush' times," Jervais said, as he drove into the town with Morgan and Joel Talbot. "With State banks issuing bills by the sheet, and no showing of credit asked except for a fellow to prove that he needs money, there is no better name for it. Why, man, there don't seem to be anybody about here that isn't flush; property has gone beyond reach, and the whole Southwest is wide open. Only last month I was talking to a fellow that used to be my overseer. He had just been to New York, and with a letter avouching his citizenship, and a clean shirt, he had gotten all the money he wanted. No wonder everybody's flocking this way."
"It can't last. It's fictitious. Wait until the Specie Circular begins to take effect," Morgan replied.
"Ah, there you have it. But while all this fun is going on, I say a fellow's a fool not to enjoy it and make all he can out of it. I, for one," and Jervais blew a cloud of cigar smoke luxuriously about him, "I, for one, am not asleep. It's the time in a century for a lawyer!"
"So it seems. See how my old friend is rising on the wave," Talbot commented.
"Your old friend?"
"Yes—Sargent Everett. You know he came down here through me."
Jervais leaned back in his seat with assumed indifference. "Why d'ye know, that surprises me," he said, viewing Talbot with the lazy hauteur of his younger days. "What can you possibly find to interest you in a fellow like Everett?"
Morgan did not answer at once. Sitting beside Jervais, he had been observing him closely during the drive. He had already felt a growing dislike for the man, seeing beneath the suave manners a certain cold insolence; but thinking that this was perhaps a reflection of Natalia's attitude towards him, Morgan had attempted to overcome it. Now, with the sneering words about his old friend, he felt this dislike deepening.
"He is going to Congress, I hear," Joel put in during the moment of silence.
"That's not certain, by a long shot. Wait until you see the ballot, and then, from what I know, Sargent Everett will realize that he never did stand a show. But here's the tavern." Jervais spoke with evident relief. "Now, I'll have a chance to introduce you to some of my friends. This fellow coming toward us," he continued, as they stepped from the carriage, "is a good example of what the flush times are doing. A few years ago he was a poor, down-in-the-mouth land agent; now kindly observe him—he has ambitions towards the Governor's mansion if you please! Come over, Mr. Suggs, and shake hands with Mr. Talbot and his brother—from Boston."
Mr. Suggs advanced with his usual appreciation of an important occasion. A chimney pot hat and a tight frock coat, closely buttoned across his narrow chest, accentuated his gaunt figure, and increased the air of prosperity which his recent admission to the bar demanded.
"Mighty glad to meet you, gentlemen. From Boston—did I understand?"
"Of course, Suggs, the original members of the Tea Party," Jervais put in with a wink towards Morgan. "Mr. Suggs wants to give you the impression that he never heard of you before, Talbot. And I'll bet you the juleps he knows more about you now than you do about yourself. But come, let's sit down. What's your last case, Suggs?"
In a moment Jervais had drawn a crowd about them, every one coming up to extend a cordial welcome to the Northerners. There was Colonel Andrews, a gentleman of flowing beard and manners, who told of his exploits in the Battle of New Orleans, with all the enthusiasm of the original moment; there was another just back from the Florida campaign; another on his way to New Orleans to purchase half a hundred slaves for his plantations—and many men of the town, young and old, each evidently glad of an opportunity to meet and converse with men from the far distant North.
Jervais was at his best as host of the occasion, doing the honours with the elegance of manner which had made him so successful with a certain class. Reports of Talbot's wealth and position had preceded him, and nothing was more to Jervais' pleasure than to introduce such a personage to the town.
"It's certainly a great pleasure to meet you gentlemen," Mr. Suggs was saying to Joel, having placed his chair confidentially near him. "I was only wishing to-day that I could have had some one from a distance to hear me argue a case. Now, you would have appreciated it, I know. A long toddy," to the waiter. "I was defending a boy who had stolen his neighbour's calf. It was a mighty ticklish case, too, I'd let you know—because all the neighbourhood was against the poor devil." Suggs stopped a moment impressively.
"Of course you cleared him," some one called out, who had been listening.
"But tell me how," Joel laughed. "It seems an impossible feat."
"Well, sir, you would think so," Mr. Suggs continued seriously, "though when I looked into the matter, I found the poor fellow was starving, and you know yourself, Mr. Talbot, a man that's starving ain't responsible for his acts—ain't I right?"
"And if he's dying of thirst, Suggs—what then?" some one broke in.
"Of course the jury saw it that way. I made it so plain to them theyhadto. Now, I've a theory—"
"Joel, I want you to meet Mr. Morancy. He's our national hero in this part of the world. D'you ever hear of him in Boston—the fellow who won fifty thousand dollars in one poker game!"
Joel found himself shaking hands with a florid faced man with iron grey hair. Beneath the shade of a broad brimmed felt hat, the calm features gave no clue to such an extravagant reputation.
"But it occurred on a Mississippi River steamboat, Mr. Talbot." Mr. Morancy laughed, as he shook hands.
"He wants to give you the impression that it was an accident," Colonel Andrews put in, "but it was as premeditated as the fellow who had waited for a Royal Flush."
"Tell us, Colonel! Sh'h! The Colonel's on for a story!" came from the crowd.
The old fellow threw back his shoulders and swelled portentously.
"Gentlemen," he said, in his rolling, grandiloquent style, "I never tell that story except when there is a chance for me to hold what that fellow had waited for."
It was a signal for the crowd to move to the club room just back of the bar. There, three cloth-covered tables were placed in the centre of the room. About one, several men were already hard at it, the sound of the chips, the boisterous laughter and oaths telling that the game was at its height.
Jervais was the first to sit down, his eyes surveying the crowd with the glitter of a devotee of the game. "Sit down, Talbot," he cried to Morgan. "I want you to have a little taste of how we play poker down here. Come on, Colonel Andrews, and you, Morancy, although I don't want you to look forward to fifty thousand on this game. We'll go it easy in consideration for the strangers," he ended, with a glance towards Morgan that brought a rush of blood to his face.
"I beg you gentlemen will not let my presence dampen your game in the least," Morgan said quietly taking his seat next Colonel Andrews. "I shall be delighted to play your game as you play it, and I shall not object even to a table stake, if that is your custom." He looked at Jervais with this last thrust, and smiled broadly.
"We usually start," Colonel Andrews hastened to explain, clearing his throat and glancing about the crowd, "on a modest limit, and sometimes end up on table stakes. But we might begin there to-day, if you gentlemen are agreeable. I think it will be swift enough for any of you if we make it all jacks with a dollar ante. Shall we each buy a thousand for Stakes? ... Very well, then."
The Colonel, acting as banker, dealt out to each player a thousand dollars' worth of chips, and each gave him his I.O.U. for the amount. "Let's see who deals." he continued, dealing a card to each player. "Ah! a king: I deal. Well," the deck of cards falling together between his long fingers, "well, gentlemen, everybody come in and look pleasant!" Another moment and each chipped in his ante, and the cards began flying around.
"Now I can continue my story," Colonel Andrews went on, draining a tall tumbler of champagne, and looking at Morgan with a glance of approbation. He was keen enough to have caught the stranger's refutation of Jervais' remark, and liked his bold stroke.
"Yes—I'm anxious to hear it. You said it was a Royal Flush?"
"That is what it is about. Ever hold one?"
"No, I've never been so lucky as that," Morgan answered, picking up his cards. "It's worth living for, though, I expect."
"Well—I reckon. Yes, sir, he believed it would come to him some day, and..." The Colonel became silent suddenly, as he looked at his cards. All hands passed, and the deal went to Jervais.
"Yes, as I was saying, he knew it would come to him one of these days. He got it at last, too, and as luck would have it, the game was the biggest he had ever got mixed up in." The Colonel paused again when the cards had been dealt, and when Morancy opened with but Jervais staying, he continued: "And, bless your soul, when he actually did see that Royal family staring up at him, he had to tie his handkerchief around his neck to keep from yelling."
Jervais opened the next pot for twenty-five dollars, saying to the Colonel, "Go on, I'm listening. You said the fellow got at last what he was looking for."
But the Colonel was too much occupied then to notice. In the pause Morgan glanced about the room. The third table had been taken now, and the room was gradually filling with a crowd of onlookers. In those days it was not a crime to stand behind a man and watch his game, for such was the common feeling of good-fellowship, that each man trusted the one behind him and accepted him as a gentleman of honour. Besides, the Mansion House was only open to gentlemen.
The sound of clinking chips, the dense clouds of smoke, and the endless hubbub of voices in many keys, were steadily making the room stifling. Waiters were rushing around to supply every want at the same time.
With the rapid succession of pots and the unusually brisk plays, the Colonel had evidently forgot to proceed with his story—or at least had deferred concluding until the present absorbing interest of the game had subsided. Jervais was losing steadily; his hands were just large enough to keep him in nearly every play—and almost invariably small enough to lose the pots. In the meantime he had bought another thousand chips, and that now was nearly gone. Morgan's luck was unprecedented; it seemed he could draw to anything and win.
The last pot—opened by Jervais—had gone to Morgan, and the deal was now his. Jervais had ordered a bowl of punch for the crowd, and was just testing the first glass. Measuring the pile of chips before Morgan, he suddenly asked the Colonel for four thousand more, with the apparent purpose of matching Morgan's money in anticipation of an opportunity for favourable encounter.
"Here's to bridegroom's luck," he called to Morgan. Talbot smiled and drained his glass.
"As I was saying," the Colonel began again, "he was in a big game and they'd gotten the pot up to ten thousand dollars—yes, sir,—there was ten thousand in the pot and that fellow bet ten thousand, naturally. The crowd wouldn't stand for it though: wanted to give him only a show down; they said the fellow didn't have ten thousand dollars to his name. Did he? Well, to tell the truth—no, he didn't."
The cards had been dealt again, and the table went silent. Morancy opened, the Colonel raised, Jervais doubled, and Morgan stayed. Morancy, too raised, and the Colonel, Jervais, and Morgan called.
After the draw the betting became lively once more,—confined, though, to Jervais and Talbot. Morancy and the Colonel having but relatively small amounts before them, came in for a show down. Finally Morgan "tapped" Jervais, the former laying down four Aces, the latter four Queens. Both had drawn the fourth card.
"There's something in bridegroom's luck, after all," commented Morancy, smiling good-humouredly at Jervais, who had not won a hand, and was begin to show it.
"Pretty good for you," commented the Colonel, as the deal flew again from his fingers. "Take my advice, and don't keep your host in this game much longer," he added in an aside to Morgan. "He's always hard up, the darned fool, and never was known to have sense enough to quit. You see, he's getting pretty far gone, already." Then aloud, "but you couldn't bluff that fellow, even if he didn't have the ten thousand. He wrote out a check on the best bank in the town and threw it on the table. What did the others do? Why, they gave him the laugh. They didn't want checks—they wanted hard cash."
"Five cards," called Jervais irritably.
Morancy's caught the Colonel's eye and his own closed eloquently. "Give me two," he said.
Morgan took two. As the hands went down, Morgan got the pile again.
"Well—I suppose your man was bluffing with his ten thousand?
"When they wouldn't take his check, he called for paper and ink, and wrote to the President of the bank. I've got what I've been looking for all my life. Am I good for ten thousand dollars?"
"For God's sake shut up, Colonel," cried Jervais. "We're playing poker."
The next deal was Morgan's. Candles were being brought in as the room gradually darkened, and with the soft light the surroundings took on a new aspect. lire newcomers were growing numerous with the approaching evening, until a double circle of men was around the tables. A general interest was being displayed in the Northerner's luck, accounts of which had reached to the outside of the tavern.
Morgan stopped before dealing and looked at his watch. Then he looked at Jervais. "They expect us back at seven o'clock," he said. "Shall we stop now?"
"No," Jervais cried, his voice shaking slightly, his face flushing from the effects of too much liquor. "Your luck's too good for me to quit."
Morgan looked up quickly, then glanced at the others. "Well, one more hand around then—but the last," he said deliberately. "We are expected at home at seven," he continued in explanation to the others. "Possibly Mr. Jervais does not understand my impatience."
"Nor your luck." suggested the Colonel.
"Go on—go on," Jervais muttered. "If you're in a hurry, let's get through. I'll show you something this time."
"Better walk around your chair," Morancy laughed.
Jervais wheeled towards him. "Is it your money I'm losing?"
Jervais now replaced his depleted pile by a further purchase of chips, and announced that, as it was the last hand around, he would not limit his stake to the money in front of him, but would, so far as he was concerned, allow or make any bet.
The cards were dealt in silence.
"Three for me," cried Jervais, his hand falling heavily upon the table.
The Colonel looked around the table, his face elaborately expressionless.
"I stand pat," said Morgan. After the others had drawn he bet fifty dollars.
"I raise you two hundred," added Jervais, who had filled.
"That let's me out," came from Morancy, with the resignation of an old fighter. He was followed by the three other men.
"One thousand more," said Morgan, facing Jervais squarely.
"Gentlemen, you will have to excuse me," and the Colonel laid down his hand.
"Fifteen hundred more."
"Two thousand better," from Morgan.
"Twenty-five hundred better than you."
Morgan studied his hand intently for a few seconds. "Well, we'll make it three thousand more. Colonel, I'm very anxious to hear the end of that story."
Jervais' face was livid now.
"Four thousand—d'you hear? I say four! You can't bluffme!"
Morgan met his look with a sudden realization that the affair had gone too far, although a glance around the room told him that he could not afford to end the game; that must be done by Jervais.
"I make it five thousand." Morgan's voice trembled a little.
"By God, I'll call you!" Jervais answered. "And pay you in slaves if I lose."
Morgan was on his feet in a moment. "I'm not gambling for slaves," he cried angrily, throwing four deuces on the table. "You know, Mr. Jervais, how I feel on that subject."
Jervais had risen also, steadying himself against the back of his chair.
"Easy, gentlemen, easy," cried the Colonel, leaning across the table between the two men. "Call the game off for this evening. You're both a little excited now."
"Jervais can call the game off or not as he chooses," Morgan said sharply, turning away. "But he can't pay me in slaves."
Jervais steadied himself with an effort. "Well, I won't then, since you're so particular. You and I can settle this affair ourselves. Let's go home now—only—you've got to come back here again and show these gentlemen how long that luck of yours can keep up." As he turned sullenly toward the door Morancy and several others quietly surrounded him, without saying a word.
"Oh, I'll come back," Morgan smiled easily at the prospect of getting away with so little trouble. "I'm here for two weeks, gentlemen," and bowing to the crowd, he left the club-room, followed by Joel.
"It's a great failing of his," the Colonel explained, as he walked with Morgan to the carriage. "Getting worse and worse all the time. Sorry it happened this evening, but you forget all about it—Lem won't remember a thing by morning."
They were nearly at the carriage now, where Jervais had been safely landed on the back seat.
"Oh, I almost forgot to finish that story," said the Colonel, his hand holding Morgan's in a tight clasp. "The fellow had talked so much about that hand he was living for that the banker knew what he meant. So he said it was all right, and on the strength of that the crowd accepted the fellow's ten-thousand-dollar bet, and every one dropped out. But if it had come to a show-down, by jingo, there wasn't a damn thing in his hand but a pair of deuces. Good night, my boy,—see you to-morrow." And he went off laughing.