CHAPTER XVIII.
COL. ?Grangerford was a gentleman, you see. ?He was a gentleman allover; and so was his family. ?He was well born, as the saying is, andthat's worth as much in a man as it is in a horse, so the Widow Douglassaid, and nobody ever denied that she was of the first aristocracyin our town; and pap he always said it, too, though he warn't no morequality than a mudcat himself. ?Col. ?Grangerford was very tall andvery slim, and had a darkish-paly complexion, not a sign of red in itanywheres; he was clean shaved every morning all over his thin face, andhe had the thinnest kind of lips, and the thinnest kind of nostrils, anda high nose, and heavy eyebrows, and the blackest kind of eyes, sunk sodeep back that they seemed like they was looking out of caverns atyou, as you may say. ?His forehead was high, and his hair was black andstraight and hung to his shoulders. His hands was long and thin, andevery day of his life he put on a clean shirt and a full suit from headto foot made out of linen so white it hurt your eyes to look at it;and on Sundays he wore a blue tail-coat with brass buttons on it. ?Hecarried a mahogany cane with a silver head to it. ?There warn't nofrivolishness about him, not a bit, and he warn't ever loud. ?He wasas kind as he could be--you could feel that, you know, and so you hadconfidence. ?Sometimes he smiled, and it was good to see; but when hestraightened himself up like a liberty-pole, and the lightning begun toflicker out from under his eyebrows, you wanted to climb a tree first,and find out what the matter was afterwards. ?He didn't ever have totell anybody to mind their manners--everybody was always good-manneredwhere he was. ?Everybody loved to have him around, too; he was sunshinemost always--I mean he made it seem like good weather. ?When he turnedinto a cloudbank it was awful dark for half a minute, and that wasenough; there wouldn't nothing go wrong again for a week.
When him and the old lady come down in the morning all the family gotup out of their chairs and give them good-day, and didn't set down againtill they had set down. ?Then Tom and Bob went to the sideboard wherethe decanter was, and mixed a glass of bitters and handed it to him, andhe held it in his hand and waited till Tom's and Bob's was mixed, andthen they bowed and said, "Our duty to you, sir, and madam;" and _they_bowed the least bit in the world and said thank you, and so they drank,all three, and Bob and Tom poured a spoonful of water on the sugar andthe mite of whisky or apple brandy in the bottom of their tumblers, andgive it to me and Buck, and we drank to the old people too.
Bob was the oldest and Tom next--tall, beautiful men with very broadshoulders and brown faces, and long black hair and black eyes. ?Theydressed in white linen from head to foot, like the old gentleman, andwore broad Panama hats.
Then there was Miss Charlotte; she was twenty-five, and tall and proudand grand, but as good as she could be when she warn't stirred up; butwhen she was she had a look that would make you wilt in your tracks,like her father. ?She was beautiful.
So was her sister, Miss Sophia, but it was a different kind. ?She wasgentle and sweet like a dove, and she was only twenty.
Each person had their own nigger to wait on them--Buck too. ?My niggerhad a monstrous easy time, because I warn't used to having anybody doanything for me, but Buck's was on the jump most of the time.
This was all there was of the family now, but there used to bemore--three sons; they got killed; and Emmeline that died.
The old gentleman owned a lot of farms and over a hundred niggers.Sometimes a stack of people would come there, horseback, from ten orfifteen mile around, and stay five or six days, and have such junketingsround about and on the river, and dances and picnics in the woodsdaytimes, and balls at the house nights. ?These people was mostlykinfolks of the family. ?The men brought their guns with them. ?It was ahandsome lot of quality, I tell you.
There was another clan of aristocracy around there--five or sixfamilies--mostly of the name of Shepherdson. ?They was as high-tonedand well born and rich and grand as the tribe of Grangerfords. ?TheShepherdsons and Grangerfords used the same steamboat landing, which wasabout two mile above our house; so sometimes when I went up there with alot of our folks I used to see a lot of the Shepherdsons there on theirfine horses.
One day Buck and me was away out in the woods hunting, and heard a horsecoming. ?We was crossing the road. ?Buck says:
"Quick! ?Jump for the woods!"
We done it, and then peeped down the woods through the leaves. ?Prettysoon a splendid young man come galloping down the road, setting hishorse easy and looking like a soldier. ?He had his gun across hispommel. ?I had seen him before. ?It was young Harney Shepherdson. ?Iheard Buck's gun go off at my ear, and Harney's hat tumbled off from hishead. ?He grabbed his gun and rode straight to the place where we washid. ?But we didn't wait. ?We started through the woods on a run. ?Thewoods warn't thick, so I looked over my shoulder to dodge the bullet,and twice I seen Harney cover Buck with his gun; and then he rode awaythe way he come--to get his hat, I reckon, but I couldn't see. ?We neverstopped running till we got home. ?The old gentleman's eyes blazed aminute--'twas pleasure, mainly, I judged--then his face sort of smootheddown, and he says, kind of gentle:
"I don't like that shooting from behind a bush. ?Why didn't you stepinto the road, my boy?"
"The Shepherdsons don't, father. ?They always take advantage."
Miss Charlotte she held her head up like a queen while Buck was tellinghis tale, and her nostrils spread and her eyes snapped. ?The two youngmen looked dark, but never said nothing. ?Miss Sophia she turned pale,but the color come back when she found the man warn't hurt.
Soon as I could get Buck down by the corn-cribs under the trees byourselves, I says:
"Did you want to kill him, Buck?"
"Well, I bet I did."
"What did he do to you?"
"Him? ?He never done nothing to me."
"Well, then, what did you want to kill him for?"
"Why, nothing--only it's on account of the feud."
"What's a feud?"
"Why, where was you raised? ?Don't you know what a feud is?"
"Never heard of it before--tell me about it."
"Well," says Buck, "a feud is this way: ?A man has a quarrel withanother man, and kills him; then that other man's brother kills _him_;then the other brothers, on both sides, goes for one another; then the_cousins_ chip in--and by and by everybody's killed off, and there ain'tno more feud. ?But it's kind of slow, and takes a long time."
"Has this one been going on long, Buck?"
"Well, I should _reckon_! ?It started thirty year ago, or som'ers alongthere. ?There was trouble 'bout something, and then a lawsuit to settleit; and the suit went agin one of the men, and so he up and shot theman that won the suit--which he would naturally do, of course. ?Anybodywould."
"What was the trouble about, Buck?--land?"
"I reckon maybe--I don't know."
"Well, who done the shooting? ?Was it a Grangerford or a Shepherdson?"
"Laws, how do I know? ?It was so long ago."
"Don't anybody know?"
"Oh, yes, pa knows, I reckon, and some of the other old people; but theydon't know now what the row was about in the first place."
"Has there been many killed, Buck?"
"Yes; right smart chance of funerals. ?But they don't always kill. ?Pa'sgot a few buckshot in him; but he don't mind it 'cuz he don't weighmuch, anyway. ?Bob's been carved up some with a bowie, and Tom's beenhurt once or twice."
"Has anybody been killed this year, Buck?"
"Yes; we got one and they got one. ?'Bout three months ago my cousinBud, fourteen year old, was riding through the woods on t'other sideof the river, and didn't have no weapon with him, which was blame'foolishness, and in a lonesome place he hears a horse a-coming behindhim, and sees old Baldy Shepherdson a-linkin' after him with his gun inhis hand and his white hair a-flying in the wind; and 'stead of jumpingoff and taking to the brush, Bud 'lowed he could out-run him; so theyhad it, nip and tuck, for five mile or more, the old man a-gaining allthe time; so at last Bud seen it warn't any use, so he stopped and facedaround so as to have the b
ullet holes in front, you know, and the oldman he rode up and shot him down. ?But he didn't git much chance toenjoy his luck, for inside of a week our folks laid _him_ out."
"I reckon that old man was a coward, Buck."
"I reckon he _warn't_ a coward. ?Not by a blame' sight. ?There ain't acoward amongst them Shepherdsons--not a one. ?And there ain't no cowardsamongst the Grangerfords either. ?Why, that old man kep' up his end in afight one day for half an hour against three Grangerfords, and comeout winner. ?They was all a-horseback; he lit off of his horse and gotbehind a little woodpile, and kep' his horse before him to stop thebullets; but the Grangerfords stayed on their horses and capered aroundthe old man, and peppered away at him, and he peppered away at them.?Him and his horse both went home pretty leaky and crippled, but theGrangerfords had to be _fetched_ home--and one of 'em was dead, andanother died the next day. ?No, sir; if a body's out hunting for cowardshe don't want to fool away any time amongst them Shepherdsons, becuzthey don't breed any of that _kind_."
Next Sunday we all went to church, about three mile, everybodya-horseback. The men took their guns along, so did Buck, and keptthem between their knees or stood them handy against the wall. ?TheShepherdsons done the same. ?It was pretty ornery preaching--all aboutbrotherly love, and such-like tiresomeness; but everybody said it wasa good sermon, and they all talked it over going home, and had sucha powerful lot to say about faith and good works and free grace andpreforeordestination, and I don't know what all, that it did seem to meto be one of the roughest Sundays I had run across yet.
About an hour after dinner everybody was dozing around, some in theirchairs and some in their rooms, and it got to be pretty dull. ?Buck anda dog was stretched out on the grass in the sun sound asleep. ?I went upto our room, and judged I would take a nap myself. ?I found that sweetMiss Sophia standing in her door, which was next to ours, and she tookme in her room and shut the door very soft, and asked me if I liked her,and I said I did; and she asked me if I would do something for her andnot tell anybody, and I said I would. ?Then she said she'd forgot herTestament, and left it in the seat at church between two other books,and would I slip out quiet and go there and fetch it to her, and not saynothing to nobody. ?I said I would. So I slid out and slipped off up theroad, and there warn't anybody at the church, except maybe a hog or two,for there warn't any lock on the door, and hogs likes a puncheon floorin summer-time because it's cool. ?If you notice, most folks don't go tochurch only when they've got to; but a hog is different.
Says I to myself, something's up; it ain't natural for a girl to be insuch a sweat about a Testament. ?So I give it a shake, and out drops alittle piece of paper with "HALF-PAST TWO" wrote on it with a pencil. ?Iransacked it, but couldn't find anything else. ?I couldn't make anythingout of that, so I put the paper in the book again, and when I got homeand upstairs there was Miss Sophia in her door waiting for me. ?Shepulled me in and shut the door; then she looked in the Testament tillshe found the paper, and as soon as she read it she looked glad; andbefore a body could think she grabbed me and give me a squeeze, andsaid I was the best boy in the world, and not to tell anybody. ?She wasmighty red in the face for a minute, and her eyes lighted up, and itmade her powerful pretty. ?I was a good deal astonished, but when I gotmy breath I asked her what the paper was about, and she asked me if Ihad read it, and I said no, and she asked me if I could read writing,and I told her "no, only coarse-hand," and then she said the paperwarn't anything but a book-mark to keep her place, and I might go andplay now.
I went off down to the river, studying over this thing, and pretty soonI noticed that my nigger was following along behind. ?When we was outof sight of the house he looked back and around a second, and then comesa-running, and says:
"Mars Jawge, if you'll come down into de swamp I'll show you a wholestack o' water-moccasins."
Thinks I, that's mighty curious; he said that yesterday. ?He oughterknow a body don't love water-moccasins enough to go around hunting forthem. What is he up to, anyway? ?So I says:
"All right; trot ahead."
I followed a half a mile; then he struck out over the swamp, and wadedankle deep as much as another half-mile. ?We come to a little flat pieceof land which was dry and very thick with trees and bushes and vines,and he says:
"You shove right in dah jist a few steps, Mars Jawge; dah's whah dey is.I's seed 'm befo'; I don't k'yer to see 'em no mo'."
Then he slopped right along and went away, and pretty soon the trees hidhim. ?I poked into the place a-ways and come to a little open patchas big as a bedroom all hung around with vines, and found a man layingthere asleep--and, by jings, it was my old Jim!
I waked him up, and I reckoned it was going to be a grand surprise tohim to see me again, but it warn't. ?He nearly cried he was so glad, buthe warn't surprised. ?Said he swum along behind me that night, and heardme yell every time, but dasn't answer, because he didn't want nobody topick _him_ up and take him into slavery again. ?Says he:
"I got hurt a little, en couldn't swim fas', so I wuz a considable waysbehine you towards de las'; when you landed I reck'ned I could ketchup wid you on de lan' 'dout havin' to shout at you, but when I see dathouse I begin to go slow. ?I 'uz off too fur to hear what dey say toyou--I wuz 'fraid o' de dogs; but when it 'uz all quiet agin I knowedyou's in de house, so I struck out for de woods to wait for day. ?Earlyin de mawnin' some er de niggers come along, gwyne to de fields, en deytuk me en showed me dis place, whah de dogs can't track me on accountso' de water, en dey brings me truck to eat every night, en tells me howyou's a-gitt'n along."
"Why didn't you tell my Jack to fetch me here sooner, Jim?"
"Well, 'twarn't no use to 'sturb you, Huck, tell we could do sumfn--butwe's all right now. ?I ben a-buyin' pots en pans en vittles, as I got achanst, en a-patchin' up de raf' nights when--"
"_What_ raft, Jim?"
"Our ole raf'."
"You mean to say our old raft warn't smashed all to flinders?"
"No, she warn't. ?She was tore up a good deal--one en' of her was; butdey warn't no great harm done, on'y our traps was mos' all los'. ?Ef wehadn' dive' so deep en swum so fur under water, en de night hadn' benso dark, en we warn't so sk'yerd, en ben sich punkin-heads, as de sayin'is, we'd a seed de raf'. ?But it's jis' as well we didn't, 'kase nowshe's all fixed up agin mos' as good as new, en we's got a new lot o'stuff, in de place o' what 'uz los'."
"Why, how did you get hold of the raft again, Jim--did you catch her?"
"How I gwyne to ketch her en I out in de woods? ?No; some er de niggersfoun' her ketched on a snag along heah in de ben', en dey hid her in acrick 'mongst de willows, en dey wuz so much jawin' 'bout which un 'umshe b'long to de mos' dat I come to heah 'bout it pooty soon, so I upsen settles de trouble by tellin' 'um she don't b'long to none uv um, butto you en me; en I ast 'm if dey gwyne to grab a young white genlman'spropaty, en git a hid'n for it? ?Den I gin 'm ten cents apiece, en dey'uz mighty well satisfied, en wisht some mo' raf's 'ud come along enmake 'm rich agin. Dey's mighty good to me, dese niggers is, en whateverI wants 'm to do fur me I doan' have to ast 'm twice, honey. ?Dat Jack'sa good nigger, en pooty smart."
"Yes, he is. ?He ain't ever told me you was here; told me to come, andhe'd show me a lot of water-moccasins. ?If anything happens _he_ ain'tmixed up in it. ?He can say he never seen us together, and it 'll be thetruth."
I don't want to talk much about the next day. ?I reckon I'll cut itpretty short. ?I waked up about dawn, and was a-going to turn over andgo to sleep again when I noticed how still it was--didn't seem to beanybody stirring. ?That warn't usual. ?Next I noticed that Buck wasup and gone. Well, I gets up, a-wondering, and goes down stairs--nobodyaround; everything as still as a mouse. ?Just the same outside. ?ThinksI, what does it mean? ?Down by the wood-pile I comes across my Jack, andsays:
"What's it all about?"
Says he:
"Don't you know, Mars Jawge?"
"No," says I, "I don't."
"Well, den, Miss Sophia's run off! 'deed she has. ?She
run off in denight some time--nobody don't know jis' when; run off to get marriedto dat young Harney Shepherdson, you know--leastways, so dey 'spec. ?Defambly foun' it out 'bout half an hour ago--maybe a little mo'--en' I_tell_ you dey warn't no time los'. ?Sich another hurryin' up gunsen hosses _you_ never see! ?De women folks has gone for to stir up derelations, en ole Mars Saul en de boys tuck dey guns en rode up deriver road for to try to ketch dat young man en kill him 'fo' he kingit acrost de river wid Miss Sophia. ?I reck'n dey's gwyne to be mightyrough times."
"Buck went off 'thout waking me up."
"Well, I reck'n he _did_! ?Dey warn't gwyne to mix you up in it.?Mars Buck he loaded up his gun en 'lowed he's gwyne to fetch home aShepherdson or bust. Well, dey'll be plenty un 'm dah, I reck'n, en youbet you he'll fetch one ef he gits a chanst."
I took up the river road as hard as I could put. ?By and by I begin tohear guns a good ways off. ?When I come in sight of the log store andthe woodpile where the steamboats lands I worked along under the treesand brush till I got to a good place, and then I clumb up into theforks of a cottonwood that was out of reach, and watched. ?There was awood-rank four foot high a little ways in front of the tree, and first Iwas going to hide behind that; but maybe it was luckier I didn't.
There was four or five men cavorting around on their horses in the openplace before the log store, cussing and yelling, and trying to get ata couple of young chaps that was behind the wood-rank alongside of thesteamboat landing; but they couldn't come it. ?Every time one of themshowed himself on the river side of the woodpile he got shot at. ?Thetwo boys was squatting back to back behind the pile, so they could watchboth ways.
By and by the men stopped cavorting around and yelling. ?They startedriding towards the store; then up gets one of the boys, draws a steadybead over the wood-rank, and drops one of them out of his saddle. ?Allthe men jumped off of their horses and grabbed the hurt one and startedto carry him to the store; and that minute the two boys started on therun. ?They got half way to the tree I was in before the men noticed.Then the men see them, and jumped on their horses and took out afterthem. ?They gained on the boys, but it didn't do no good, the boys hadtoo good a start; they got to the woodpile that was in front of my tree,and slipped in behind it, and so they had the bulge on the men again.One of the boys was Buck, and the other was a slim young chap aboutnineteen years old.
The men ripped around awhile, and then rode away. ?As soon as they wasout of sight I sung out to Buck and told him. ?He didn't know whatto make of my voice coming out of the tree at first. ?He was awfulsurprised. ?He told me to watch out sharp and let him know when themen come in sight again; said they was up to some devilment orother--wouldn't be gone long. ?I wished I was out of that tree, but Idasn't come down. ?Buck begun to cry and rip, and 'lowed that him andhis cousin Joe (that was the other young chap) would make up for thisday yet. ?He said his father and his two brothers was killed, and twoor three of the enemy. ?Said the Shepherdsons laid for them inambush. ?Buck said his father and brothers ought to waited for theirrelations--the Shepherdsons was too strong for them. ?I asked him whatwas become of young Harney and Miss Sophia. ?He said they'd got acrossthe river and was safe. ?I was glad of that; but the way Buck did takeon because he didn't manage to kill Harney that day he shot at him--Ihain't ever heard anything like it.
All of a sudden, bang! bang! bang! goes three or four guns--the men hadslipped around through the woods and come in from behind without theirhorses! ?The boys jumped for the river--both of them hurt--and as theyswum down the current the men run along the bank shooting at them andsinging out, "Kill them, kill them!" ?It made me so sick I most fell outof the tree. ?I ain't a-going to tell _all_ that happened--it would makeme sick again if I was to do that. ?I wished I hadn't ever come ashorethat night to see such things. ?I ain't ever going to get shut ofthem--lots of times I dream about them.
I stayed in the tree till it begun to get dark, afraid to come down.Sometimes I heard guns away off in the woods; and twice I seen littlegangs of men gallop past the log store with guns; so I reckoned thetrouble was still a-going on. ?I was mighty downhearted; so I made up mymind I wouldn't ever go anear that house again, because I reckoned Iwas to blame, somehow. I judged that that piece of paper meant that MissSophia was to meet Harney somewheres at half-past two and run off; andI judged I ought to told her father about that paper and the curious wayshe acted, and then maybe he would a locked her up, and this awful messwouldn't ever happened.
When I got down out of the tree I crept along down the river bank apiece, and found the two bodies laying in the edge of the water, andtugged at them till I got them ashore; then I covered up their faces,and got away as quick as I could. ?I cried a little when I was coveringup Buck's face, for he was mighty good to me.
It was just dark now. ?I never went near the house, but struck throughthe woods and made for the swamp. ?Jim warn't on his island, so Itramped off in a hurry for the crick, and crowded through the willows,red-hot to jump aboard and get out of that awful country. ?The raft wasgone! ?My souls, but I was scared! ?I couldn't get my breath for mosta minute. Then I raised a yell. ?A voice not twenty-five foot from mesays:
"Good lan'! is dat you, honey? ?Doan' make no noise."
It was Jim's voice--nothing ever sounded so good before. ?I run along thebank a piece and got aboard, and Jim he grabbed me and hugged me, he wasso glad to see me. ?He says:
"Laws bless you, chile, I 'uz right down sho' you's dead agin. ?Jack'sbeen heah; he say he reck'n you's ben shot, kase you didn' come home nomo'; so I's jes' dis minute a startin' de raf' down towards de mouf erde crick, so's to be all ready for to shove out en leave soon as Jackcomes agin en tells me for certain you _is_ dead. ?Lawsy, I's mightyglad to git you back again, honey."
I says:
"All right--that's mighty good; they won't find me, and they'll thinkI've been killed, and floated down the river--there's something up therethat 'll help them think so--so don't you lose no time, Jim, but justshove off for the big water as fast as ever you can."
I never felt easy till the raft was two mile below there and out inthe middle of the Mississippi. ?Then we hung up our signal lantern, andjudged that we was free and safe once more. ?I hadn't had a bite to eatsince yesterday, so Jim he got out some corn-dodgers and buttermilk,and pork and cabbage and greens--there ain't nothing in the world so goodwhen it's cooked right--and whilst I eat my supper we talked and had agood time. ?I was powerful glad to get away from the feuds, and so wasJim to get away from the swamp. ?We said there warn't no home like araft, after all. ?Other places do seem so cramped up and smothery, but araft don't. ?You feel mighty free and easy and comfortable on a raft.