The Crossing [19]
no danger anyway,'' said Nick. ``The niggers are all scared to death.''
Mr. Fanning burst out into a loud laugh, stopped suddenly, sat down, and took Nick on his knee. It was an incongruous scene. Mr. Fanning almost cried.
``Bless your soul,'' he said, ``but you are a lad. Would to God I had you instead of--''
He paused abruptly.
``I must go home,'' said Nick; ``she will be worried.''
``SHE will be worried!'' cried Mr. Fanning, in a burst of anger. Then he said: ``You shall have the militia. You shall have the militia.'' He rang a bell and sent his steward for the captain, a gawky country farmer, who gave a gasp when he came upon the scene in the hall.
``And mind,'' said Nick to the captain, ``you are to keep your men away from him, or he will kill one of them.''
The captain grinned at him curiously.
``I reckon I won't have to tell them to keep away,'' said he.
Mr. Fanning started us off for the walk with pockets filled with sweetmeats, which we nibbled on the way back. We made a queer procession, Nick and I striding ahead to show the path, followed by the now servile chief, and after him the captain and his twenty men in single file. It was midnight when we saw the lights of Temple Bow through the trees. One of the tired overseers met us near the kitchen. When he perceived the Congo his face lighted up with rage, and he instinctively reached for his whip. But the chief stood before him, immovable, with arms folded, and a look on his face that meant danger.
``He will kill you, Emory,'' said Nick; ``he will kill you if you touch him.
Emory dropped his hand, limply.
``He will go to work in the morning,'' said Nick; ``but mind you, not a lash.''
``Very good, Master Nick,'' said the man; ``but who's to get him in his cabin?''
``I will,'' said Nick. He beckoned to the Congo, who followed him over to quarters and went in at his door without a protest.
The next morning Mrs. Temple looked out of her window and saw the militiamen on the lawn.
``Pooh!'' she said, ``are those butternuts the soldiers that Nick went to fetch?''
CHAPTER V
CRAM'S HELL
After that my admiration for Nick Temple increased greatly, whether excited by his courage and presence of mind, or his ability to imitate men and women and creatures, I know not. One of our amusements, I recall, was to go to the Congo's cabin to see him fall on his face, until Mr. Mason put a stop to it. The clergyman let us know that we were encouraging idolatry, and he himself took the chief in hand.
Another incident comes to me from those bygone days. The fear of negro insurrections at the neighboring plantations being temporarily lulled, the gentry began to pluck up courage for their usual amusements. There were to be races at some place a distance away, and Nick was determined to go. Had he not determined that I should go, all would have been well. The evening before he came upon his mother in the garden. Strange to say, she was in a gracious mood and alone.
``Come and kiss me, Nick,'' she said. ``Now, what do you want?''
``I want to go to the races,'' he said.
``You have your pony. You can follow the coach.''
``David is to ride the pony,'' said Nick, generously. ``May I go in the coach?''
``No,'' she said, ``there is no room for you.''
Nicholas flared up. ``Harry Riddle is going in the coach. I don't see why you can't take me sometimes. You like him better than me.''
The lady flushed very red.
``How dare you, Nick!'' she cried angrily. ``What has Mr. Mason been putting into your head?''
``Nothing,'' said Nick, quite as angrily. ``Any one can see that you like Harry. And I WILL ride in the coach.''
``You'll not,'' said his mother.
I had heard nothing of this. The next morning he led out his pony from the stables for me to ride, and insisted. And, supposing he was to go in the coach, I put foot in the stirrup. The little beast would scarce stand still for me to mount.
``You'll not need the whip with her,'' said Nick, and led her around by the side of the
Mr. Fanning burst out into a loud laugh, stopped suddenly, sat down, and took Nick on his knee. It was an incongruous scene. Mr. Fanning almost cried.
``Bless your soul,'' he said, ``but you are a lad. Would to God I had you instead of--''
He paused abruptly.
``I must go home,'' said Nick; ``she will be worried.''
``SHE will be worried!'' cried Mr. Fanning, in a burst of anger. Then he said: ``You shall have the militia. You shall have the militia.'' He rang a bell and sent his steward for the captain, a gawky country farmer, who gave a gasp when he came upon the scene in the hall.
``And mind,'' said Nick to the captain, ``you are to keep your men away from him, or he will kill one of them.''
The captain grinned at him curiously.
``I reckon I won't have to tell them to keep away,'' said he.
Mr. Fanning started us off for the walk with pockets filled with sweetmeats, which we nibbled on the way back. We made a queer procession, Nick and I striding ahead to show the path, followed by the now servile chief, and after him the captain and his twenty men in single file. It was midnight when we saw the lights of Temple Bow through the trees. One of the tired overseers met us near the kitchen. When he perceived the Congo his face lighted up with rage, and he instinctively reached for his whip. But the chief stood before him, immovable, with arms folded, and a look on his face that meant danger.
``He will kill you, Emory,'' said Nick; ``he will kill you if you touch him.
Emory dropped his hand, limply.
``He will go to work in the morning,'' said Nick; ``but mind you, not a lash.''
``Very good, Master Nick,'' said the man; ``but who's to get him in his cabin?''
``I will,'' said Nick. He beckoned to the Congo, who followed him over to quarters and went in at his door without a protest.
The next morning Mrs. Temple looked out of her window and saw the militiamen on the lawn.
``Pooh!'' she said, ``are those butternuts the soldiers that Nick went to fetch?''
CHAPTER V
CRAM'S HELL
After that my admiration for Nick Temple increased greatly, whether excited by his courage and presence of mind, or his ability to imitate men and women and creatures, I know not. One of our amusements, I recall, was to go to the Congo's cabin to see him fall on his face, until Mr. Mason put a stop to it. The clergyman let us know that we were encouraging idolatry, and he himself took the chief in hand.
Another incident comes to me from those bygone days. The fear of negro insurrections at the neighboring plantations being temporarily lulled, the gentry began to pluck up courage for their usual amusements. There were to be races at some place a distance away, and Nick was determined to go. Had he not determined that I should go, all would have been well. The evening before he came upon his mother in the garden. Strange to say, she was in a gracious mood and alone.
``Come and kiss me, Nick,'' she said. ``Now, what do you want?''
``I want to go to the races,'' he said.
``You have your pony. You can follow the coach.''
``David is to ride the pony,'' said Nick, generously. ``May I go in the coach?''
``No,'' she said, ``there is no room for you.''
Nicholas flared up. ``Harry Riddle is going in the coach. I don't see why you can't take me sometimes. You like him better than me.''
The lady flushed very red.
``How dare you, Nick!'' she cried angrily. ``What has Mr. Mason been putting into your head?''
``Nothing,'' said Nick, quite as angrily. ``Any one can see that you like Harry. And I WILL ride in the coach.''
``You'll not,'' said his mother.
I had heard nothing of this. The next morning he led out his pony from the stables for me to ride, and insisted. And, supposing he was to go in the coach, I put foot in the stirrup. The little beast would scarce stand still for me to mount.
``You'll not need the whip with her,'' said Nick, and led her around by the side of the