The heart of happy hollow Part 12

"Well, they named the white child Robert Vaughan, and they began calling the little darky Ben, until an incident in later life gave him the name that clung to him till the last, and which the Fairfaxes have had chiseled on his tomb-stone.

"The incident occurred when the two boys were about five years old. They were as thick as thieves, and two greater scamps and greater cronies never tramped together over a Virginia plantation. In the matter of deviltry they were remarkably precocious, and it was really wonderful what an amount of mischief those two could do. As was natural, the white boy planned the deeds, and the black one was his willing coadjutor in carrying them out.

"Meanwhile, the proud father was smilingly indulgent to their pranks, but even with him the climax was reached when one of his fine young hounds was nearly driven into fits by the clatter of a tin can tied to its tail. Then the two culprits were summoned to appear before the paternal court of inquiry.

"They came hand in hand, and with no great show of fear or embarra.s.sment. They had gotten off so many times before that they were perfectly confident of their power in this case to cajole the judge. But to their surprise he was all sternness and severity.

"'Now look here,' he said, after expatiating on the cruel treatment which the dog had received. 'I want to know which one of you tied the can to Spot's tail?'

"Robert Vaughan looked at Ben, and Ben looked back at him. Silence there, and nothing more.

"'Do you hear my question?' old Fairfax asked with rising voice.

"Robert Vaughan looked straight ahead of him, and Ben dug his big toe into the sand at the foot of the veranda, but neither answered.

"'Robert Vaughan Fairfax,' said his father, 'who played that trick on Spot? Answer me, do you hear?'

"The Fairfax heir seemed suddenly to have grown deaf and dumb, and the father turned to the black boy. His voice took on the tone of command which he had hardly used to his son. 'Who played that trick on Spot?

Answer me, Ben.'

"The little darky dug harder and harder into the sand, and flashed a furtive glance from under his brows at his fellow-conspirator. Then he drawled out, 'I done it.'

"'You didn't,' came back the instant retort from his young master, 'I did it myself.'

"'I done it,' repeated Ben, and 'You didn't,' reiterated his young master.

"The father sat and looked on at the dispute, and his mouth twitched suspiciously, but he spoke up sternly. 'Well, if I can't get the truth out of you this way, I'll try some other plan. Mandy,' he hailed a servant, 'put these boys on a diet of bread and water until they are ready to answer my questions truthfully.'

"The culprits were led away to their punishment. Of course it would have just been meat to Mandy to have stolen something to the youngsters, but her master kept such a close eye upon her that she couldn't, and when brought back at the end of three hours, their fare had left the prisoners rather hungry. But they had evidently disputed the matter between themselves, and from the cloud on their faces when they reappeared before their stern judge, it was still unsettled.

"To the repet.i.tion of the question, Vaughan answered again, 'I did it,'

and then his father tried Ben again.

"After several efforts, and an imploring glance at his boy master, the little black stammered out:

"'Well, I reckon--I reckon, Mas,' me an' Mas' Vaughan, we done it in cahoots.'

"Old Fairfax Fairfax had a keen sense of humour, and as he looked down on the strangely old young darky and took in his answer, the circ.u.mstance became too much for his gravity, and his relaxing laugh sent the culprits rolling and tumbling in the sand in an ectasy of relief from the strained situation.

"'Cahoots--I reckon it was "Cahoots,"' the judge said. 'You ought to be named that, you little black rascal!' Well, the story got around, and so it was, and from that day forth the black boy was 'Cahoots.' Cahoots, whether on the plantation, at home, in the halls of the Northern College, where he accompanied his young master, or in the tragic moments of the great war-drama played out on the field of Malvern.

"As they were in childhood, so, inseparable through youth and young manhood, Robert Fairfax and Cahoots grew up. They were together in everything, and when the call came that summoned the young Virginian from his college to fight for the banner of his State, Cahoots was the one who changed from the ease of a gentleman's valet to the hardship of a soldier's body-servant.

"The last words Fairfax Fairfax said as his son cantered away in his gray suit were addressed to Cahoots: 'Take good care of your Mas'

Vaughan, Cahoots, and don't come back without him.'

"'I won't, Mastah,' Cahoots flung back and galloped after his lifelong companion.

"Well, the war brought hard times both for master and man, and there were no flowery beds of ease even for the officers who wore the gray.

Robert Fairfax took the fortunes of the conflict like a man and a Virginia gentleman, and with him Cahoots.

"It was at Malvern Hill that the young Confederate led his troops into battle, and all day long the booming of the cannon and the crash of musketry rising above the cries of the wounded and dying came to the ears of the slave waiting in his tent for his master's return. Then in the afternoon a scattered fragment came straggling back into the camp.

Cahoots went out to meet them. The firing still went on.

"'Whah's Mas' Bob?' his voice pierced through the cannon's thunder.

"'He fell at the front, early in the battle.'

"'Whah's his body den, ef he fell?'

"'We didn't have time to look for dead bodies in that murderous fire. It was all we could do to get our living bodies away.'

"'But I promised not to go back without him.' It was a wail of anguish from the slave.

"'Well, you'll have to.'

"'I won't. Whah did he fall?'

"Someone sketched briefly the approximate locality of Robert Fairfax's resting place, and on the final word Cahoots tore away.

"The merciless shot of the Federals was still raking the field. But amid it all an old prairie schooner, gotten from G.o.d knows where, started out from the dismantled camp across the field. 'Some fool going to his death,' said one of the gray soldiers.

"A ragged, tattered remnant of the wagon came back. The horses were bleeding and staggering in their steps. The very harness was cut by the b.a.l.l.s that had grazed it. But with a light in his eyes and the look of a hero, Cahoots leaped from the tattered vehicle and began dragging out the body of his master.

"He had found him far to the front in an abandoned position and brought him back over the field of the dead.

"'How did you do it?' They asked him.

"'I jes' had to do it,' he said. 'I promised not to go home widout him, and I didn't keer ef I did git killed. I wanted to die ef I couldn't find Mas' Bob's body.'

"He carried the body home, and mourned at the burial, and a year later came back to the regiment with the son who had come after Robert, and was now just of fighting age. He went all through this campaign, and when the war was over, the two struck away into the mountains. They came back after a while, neither one having taken the oath of allegiance, and if there were any rebels Cahoots was as great a one to the day of his death as his master. That tomb-stone, you see it looks old, was placed there at the old master's request when his dead son came home from Malvern Hill, for he said when Cahoots went to the other side they must not be separated; that accounts for its look of age, but it was not until last year that we laid Cahoots--Cahoots still though an old man--beside his master. And many a man that had owned his people, and many another that had fought to continue that ownership, dropped a tear on his grave."

_Nine_

THE PROMOTER

Even as early as September, in the year of 1870, the newly emanc.i.p.ated had awakened to the perception of the commercial advantages of freedom, and had begun to lay snares to catch the fleet and elusive dollar. Those controversialists who say that the Negro's only idea of freedom was to live without work are either wrong, malicious, or they did not know Little Africa when the boom was on; when every little African, fresh from the fields and cabins, dreamed only of untold wealth and of mansions in which he would have been thoroughly uncomfortable. These were the devil's sunny days, and early and late his mowers were in the field. These were the days of benefit societies that only benefited the shrewdest man; of mutual insurance a.s.sociations, of wild building companies, and of gilt-edged land schemes wherein the unwary became bogged. This also was the day of Mr. Jason Buford, who, having been free before the war, knew a thing or two, and now had set himself up as a promoter. Truly he had profited by the example of the white men for whom he had so long acted as messenger and factotum.

As he frequently remarked when for purposes of business he wished to air his Biblical knowledge, "I jest takes the Scripter fur my motter an'

foller that ol' pa.s.sage where it says, 'Make hay while the sun shines, fur the night cometh when no man kin work.'"

It is related that one of Mr. Buford's customers was an old plantation exhorter. At the first suggestion of a Biblical quotation the old gentleman closed his eyes and got ready with his best amen. But as the import of the words dawned on him he opened his eyes in surprise, and the amen died a-borning. "But do hit say dat?" he asked earnestly.

"It certainly does read that way," said the promoter glibly.