In the Wrong Paradise, and Other Stories Page 12

  II.

  As we rode slowly homeward, behind the trap which conveyed thedear-bought slave, Moore was extremely moody and disinclined forconversation.

  "Is your purchase not rather an expensive one?" I ventured to ask, towhich Moore replied shortly--

  "No; think he is perhaps the cheapest nigger that was ever bought."

  To put any more questions would have been impertinent, and I possessed mycuriosity in silence till we reached the plantation.

  Here Moore's conduct became decidedly eccentric. He had the black manconveyed at once into a cool, dark, strong room with a heavy iron door,where the new acquisition was locked up in company with a sufficientmeal. Moore and I dined hastily, and then he summoned all his negroestogether into the court of the house. "Look here, boys," he cried: "allthese trees"--and he pointed to several clumps "must come downimmediately, and all the shrubs on the lawn and in the garden. Fall toat once, those of you that have axes, and let the rest take hoes andknives and make a clean sweep of the shrubs." The idea of wholesaledestruction seemed not disagreeable to the slaves, who went at their workwith eagerness, though it made my heart ache to see the fine old oaksbeginning to fall and to watch the green garden becoming a desert. Moorefirst busied himself with directing the women, who, under his orders,piled up mattresses and bags of cotton against the parapets of theverandahs. The house stood on the summit of a gradually sloping height,and before the moon began to set (for we worked without intermissionthrough the evening and far into the night) there was nothing but a bareslope of grass all round the place, while smoke and flame went up fromthe piles of fallen timber. The plantation, in fact, was ready to standa short siege.

  Moore now produced a number of rifles, which he put, with ammunition,into the hands of some of the more stalwart negroes. These he sent totheir cabins, which lay at a distance of about a furlong and a half onvarious sides of the house. The men had orders to fire on any advancingenemy, and then to fall back at once on the main building, which was nowbarricaded and fortified. One lad was told to lurk in a thicket belowthe slope of the hill and invisible from the house.

  "If Wild Bill's men come on, and you give them the slip, cry thrice likethe 'Bob White,'" said Moore; "if they take you, cry once. If you getoff, run straight to Clayville, and give this note to the officercommanding the cavalry."

  The hour was now about one in the morning; by three the dawn would begin.In spite of his fatigues, Moore had no idea of snatching an hour's rest.He called up Peter (who had been sleeping, coiled up like a black cat, inthe smoking-room), and bade him take a bath and hot water into the roomwhere Gumbo, the newly purchased black, had all this time been left tohis own reflections. "Soap him and lather him well, Peter," said Moore;"wash him white, if you can, and let me know when he's fit to come near."

  Peter withdrew with his stereotyped grin to make his preparations.

  Presently, through the open door of the smoking-room, we heard the soundsof energetic splashings, mingled with the inarticulate groans of themiserable Gumbo. Moore could not sit still, but kept pacing the room,smoking fiercely. Presently Peter came to the door--

  "Nigger's clean now, massa."

  "Bring me a razor, then," said Moore, "and leave me alone with him."

  * * * * *

  When Moore had retired, with the razor, into the chamber where hispurchase lay, I had time to reflect on the singularity of the situation.In every room loaded rifles were ready; all the windows were cunninglybarricaded, and had sufficient loopholes. The peaceful planter's househad become a castle; a dreadful quiet had succeeded to the hubbub ofpreparation, and my host, yesterday so pleasant, was now locked up alonewith a dumb negro and a razor! I had long ago given up the hypothesisthat Gumbo had been purchased out of pure philanthropy. Thedisappointment of baffled cruelty in Moore's brother would not aloneaccount for the necessity of such defensive preparations as had just beenmade. Clearly Gumbo was not a mere fancy article, but a negro of realvalue, whose person it was desirable to obtain possession of at any riskor cost. The ghastly idea occurred to me (suggested, I fancy, by Moore'sdemand for a razor) that Gumbo, at some period of his career, must haveswallowed a priceless diamond. This gem must still be concealed abouthis person, and Moore must have determined by foul means, as no fairmeans were available, to become its owner. When this fancy struck me Ibegan to feel that it was my duty to interfere. I could not sit bywithin call (had poor Gumbo been capable of calling) and allow my friendto commit such a deed of cruelty. As I thus parleyed with myself, theheavy iron door of the store-room opened, and Moore came out, with therazor (bloodless, thank Heaven!) in his hand. Anxiety had given place toa more joyous excitement.

  "Well?" I said interrogatively.

  "Well, all's well. That man has, as I felt sure, the Secret of thePyramid."

  I now became quite certain that Moore, in spite of all his apparentmethod, had gone out of his mind. It seemed best to humour him,especially as so many loaded rifles were lying about.

  "He has seen the myst'ry hid Under Egypt's pyramid,"

  I quoted; "but, my dear fellow, as the negro is dumb, I don't see how youare to get the secret out of him."

  "I did not say he _knew_ it," answered Moore crossly; "I said he _had_it. As to Egypt, I don't know what you are talking about--"

  At this moment we heard the crack of rifles, and in the instant ofsilence which followed came the note of the "Bob White."

  Once it shrilled, and we listened eagerly; then the notes came twicerapidly, and a sound of voices rose up from the negro outposts, who hadbeen driven in and were making fast the one door of the house that hadbeen left open. From the negroes we learned that our assailants (BillHicock's band of border ruffians, "specially engaged for this occasion")had picketed their horses behind the dip of the hill and were advancingon foot. Moore hurried to the roof to reconnoitre. The dawn wasstealing on, and the smoke from the still smouldering trees, which we hadfelled and burned, rose through the twilight air.

  "Moore, you hound," cried a voice through the smoke of the furthest pile,"we have come for your new nigger. Will you give him up or will youfight?"

  Moore's only reply was a bullet fired in the direction whence the voicewas heard. His shot was answered by a perfect volley from men who couldjust be discerned creeping through the grass about four hundred yardsout. The bullets rattled harmlessly against wooden walls and ironshutters, or came with a thud against the mattress fortifications of theverandah. The firing was all directed against the front of the house.

  "I see their game," said Moore. "The front attack is only a feint. Whenthey think we are all busy here, another detachment will try to rush theplace from the back and to set fire to the building. We'll 'give themtheir kail through the reek.'"

  Moore's dispositions were quickly made. He left me with some ten of theblacks to keep up as heavy a fire as possible from the roof against theadvancing skirmishers. He posted himself, with six fellows on whom hecould depend, in a room of one of the wings which commanded the backentrance. As many men, with plenty of ready-loaded rifles, were told offto a room in the opposite wing. Both parties were thus in a position torake the entrance with a cross fire. Moore gave orders that not atrigger should be pulled till the still invisible assailants had arrivedon his side, between the two projecting wings. "Then fire into them, andlet every one choose his man."

  On the roof our business was simple enough. We lay behind bags ofcotton, firing as rapidly and making as much show of force as possible,while women kept loading for us. Our position was extremely strong, aswe were quite invisible to men crouching or running hurriedly far below.Our practice was not particularly good; still three or four of theskirmishers had ceased to advance, and this naturally discouraged theothers, who were aware, of course, that their movement was only a feint.The siege had now lasted about half an hour, and I had begun to fancythat Moore's theory of the attack was a mistake, and that he had creditedthe enemy with more generalship than th
ey possessed, when a perfect stormof fire broke out beneath us, from the rooms where Moore and his companywere posted. Dangerous as it was to cease for a moment from watching theenemy, I stole across the roof, and, looking down between two of thecotton bags which filled the open spaces of the balustrades, I saw thenarrow ground between the two wings simply strewn with dead or woundedmen. The cross fire still poured from the windows, though here and therea marksman tried to pick off the fugitives. Rapidly did I cross the roofto my post. To my horror the skirmishers had advanced, as if at thesignal of the firing, and were now running up at full speed and close tothe walls of the house. At that moment the door opened, and Moore,heading a number of negroes, picked off the leading ruffian and rushedout into the open. The other assailants fired hurriedly and without aim,then--daunted by the attack so suddenly carried into their midst, and bythe appearance of one or two of their own beaten comrades--the enemyturned and fairly bolted. We did not pursue. Far away down the road weheard the clatter of hoofs, and thin and clear came the thrice-repeatedcry of the "Bob White."

  "Dick's coming back with the soldiers," said Moore; "and now I think wemay look after the wounded."

  * * * * *

  I did not see much of Moore that day. The fact is that I slept a gooddeal, and Moore was mysteriously engaged with Gumbo. Night came, andvery much needed quiet and sleep came with it. Then we passed anindolent day, and I presumed that adventures were over, and that on thesubject of "the Secret of the Pyramid" Moore had recovered his sanity. Iwas just taking my bedroom candle when Moore said, "Don't go to bed yet.You will come with me, won't you, and see out the adventure of the CheapNigger?"

  "You don't mean to say the story is to be continued?" I asked.

  "Continued? Why the fun is only beginning," Moore answered. "The nightis cloudy, and will just suit us. Come down to the branch."

  The "branch," as Moore called it, was a strong stream that separated, asI knew, his lands from his brother's. We walked down slowly, and reachedthe broad boat which was dragged over by a chain when any one wanted tocross. At the "scow," as the ferry-boat was called, Peter joined us; heferried us deftly over the deep and rapid water, and then led on, asrapidly as if it had been daylight, along a path through the pines.

  "How often I came here when I was a boy," said Moore; "but now I mightlose myself in the wood, for this is my brother's land, and I haveforgotten the way."

  As I knew that Mr. Bob Moore was confined to his room by an accident,through which an ounce of lead had been lodged in a portion of his frame,I had no fear of being arrested for trespass. Presently the negrostopped in front of a cliff.

  "Here is the 'Sachem's Cave,'" said Moore. "You'll help us to explorethe cave, won't you?"

  I did not think the occasion an opportune one for exploring caves, but tohave withdrawn would have demanded a "moral courage," as people commonlysay when they mean cowardice, which I did not possess. We stepped withina narrow crevice of the great cliff. Moore lit a lantern and went inadvance; the negro followed with a flaring torch.

  Suddenly an idea occurred to me, which I felt bound to communicate toMoore. "My dear fellow," I said in a whisper, "is this quitesportsmanlike? You know you are after some treasure, real or imaginary,and, I put it to you as a candid friend, is not this just a little bitlike poaching? Your brother's land, you know."

  "What I am looking for is in my own land," said Moore. "The river is themarch. Come on."

  We went on, now advancing among fairy halls, glistering with stalactitesor paved with silver sand, and finally pushing our way through aconcealed crevice down dank and narrow passages in the rock. Thedarkness increased; the pavement plashed beneath our feet, and the drip,drip of water was incessant. "We are under the river-bed," said Moore,"in a kind of natural Thames Tunnel." We made what speed we mightthrough this combination of the Valley of the Shadow with the Slough ofDespond, and soon were on firmer ground again beneath Moore's ownterritory. Probably no other white men had ever crawled through thehidden passage and gained the further penetralia of the cave, which nowagain began to narrow. Finally we reached four tall pillars, of aboutten feet in height, closely surrounded by the walls of rock. As weapproached these pillars, that were dimly discerned by the torchlight,our feet made a faint metallic jingling sound among heaps of ashes whichstrewed the floor. Moore and I went up to the pillars and tried themwith our knives. They were of wood, all soaked and green with theeternal damp. "Peter," said Moore, "go in with the lantern and try ifyou can find anything there."

  Peter had none of the superstitions of his race, or he would never havebeen our companion. "All right, massa; me look for Brer Spook."

  So saying, Peter walked into a kind of roofed over-room, open only at thefront, and examined the floor with his lantern, stamping occasionally todetect any hollowness in the ground.

  "Nothing here, massa, but this dead fellow's leg-bone and little bits ofbroken jugs," and the dauntless Peter came out with his ghastly trophy.

  Moore seemed not to lose heart.

  "Perhaps," he said, "there is something on the roof. Peter, give me aback."

  Peter stooped down beside one of the wooden pillars and firmly graspedhis own legs above the knee. Moore climbed on the improvised ladder, andwas just able to seize the edge of the roof, as it seemed to be, with hishands.

  "Now steady, Peter," he exclaimed, and with a spring he drew himself uptill his head was above the level of the roof. Then he uttered a cry,and, leaping from Peter's back retreated to the level where we stood insome confusion.

  "Good God!" he said, "what a sight!"

  "What on earth is the matter?" I asked.

  "Look for yourself, if you choose," said Moore, who was somewhat shaken,and at the same time irritated and ashamed.

  Grasping the lantern, I managed to get on to Peter's shoulders, and by aconsiderable gymnastic effort to raise my head to the level of the ledge,and at the same time to cast the light up and within.

  The spectacle was sufficiently awful.

  I was looking along a platform, on which ten skeletons were disposed atfull length, with the skulls still covered with long hair, and thefleshless limbs glimmering white and stretching back into the darkness.

  On the right hand, and crouching between a skeleton and the wall of thechamber (what we had taken for a roof was the floor of a room raised onpillars), I saw the form of a man. He was dressed in gay colours, and,as he sat with his legs drawn up, his arms rested on his knees.

  On the first beholding of a dreadful thing, our instinct forces us torush against it, as if to bring the horror to the test of touch. Thisinstinct wakened in me. For a moment I felt dazed, and then I continuedto stare involuntarily at the watcher of the dead. He had not stirred.My eyes became accustomed to the dim and flickering light which thelantern cast in that dark place.

  "Hold on, Peter," I cried, and leaped down to the floor of the cave.

  "It's all right, Moore," I said. "Don't you remember the picture in oldLafitau's 'Moeurs des Sauvages Americains'? We are in a burying-place ofthe Cherouines, and the seated man is only the kywash, 'which is an imageof woode keeping the deade.'"

  "Ass that I am!" cried Moore. "I knew the cave led us from the Sachem'sCave to the Sachem's Mound, and I forgot for a moment how the fellowsdisposed of their dead. We must search the platform. Peter, make aladder again."

  Moore mounted nimbly enough this time. I followed him.

  The kywash had no more terrors for us, and we penetrated beyond thefleshless dead into the further extremity of the sepulchre. Here welifted and removed vast piles of deerskin bags, and of mats, filled asthey were with "the dreadful dust that once was man." As we reached thebottom of the first pile something glittered yellow and bright beneaththe lantern.

  Moore stooped and tried to lift what looked like an enormous plate. Hewas unable to raise the object, still weighed down as it was with theghastly remnants of the dead. With feverish haste we cleared away thedebris, and at
last lifted and brought to light a huge and massive diskof gold, divided into rays which spread from the centre, each divisionbeing adorned with strange figures in relief--figures of animals, plants,and what looked like rude hieroglyphs.

  This was only the firstfruits of the treasure.

  A silver disk, still larger, and decorated in the same manner, was nextuncovered, and last, in a hollow dug in the flooring of the sepulchre, wecame on a great number of objects in gold and silver, which somewhatreminded us of Indian idols. These were thickly crusted with preciousstones, and were accompanied by many of the sacred emeralds and opals ofold American religion. There were also some extraordinary manuscripts,if the term may be applied to picture writing on prepared deerskins thatwere now decaying. We paid little attention to cloaks of the famousfeather-work, now a lost art, of which one or two examples are found inEuropean museums. The gold, and silver, and precious stones, as may beimagined, overcame for the moment any ethnological curiosity.

  * * * * *

  Dawn was growing into day before we reached the mouth of the cave again,and after a series of journeys brought all our spoil to the light of theupper air. It was quickly enough bestowed in bags and baskets. Then,aided by three of Moore's stoutest hands, whom we found waiting for us inthe pine wood, we carried the whole treasure back, and lodged it in thestrong room which had been the retreat of Gumbo.