Chapter II: Part 2

It wanted but four days more to the barn dance, and here was one whole miserable week of freedom, and, alas! his freedom from freedom would come too late to save the day, so he resolved to make one more effort, and, shame-faced and miserable, Micajah once more sought his master.

The Judge knitted his brows forbiddingly.

“What is the matter, Micajah, that you want to give it up? Haven’t you got all to go with it that you wanted?”

“Yas, Ole Marse.”

“Then what the devil is the matter?”

“Ole Marse”—Micajah’s voice was very low, and his humbleness was as the dust—“I done fotch back de book, an’ I done fotch back de freedom. One hain’t no betterer dan tuther ter er nigger. Dey bofe on ’em lies ter er nigger, an’ hit hain’t nuffin but miz’ry. Dey don’ ’spec’ me no mo’; dey don’ lis’en ter me talk no mo’. Eben Milly, my ole ’oman—dat I gwine frail ’din er inch uv her life when I gits shet er freedom—done lay er spell on me: I kin feel hit in my bones. Eben de little nigger what tote de palm-leaf fan done talk sass ter me, an’ I ’low I cain’t stan’ hit!”

His master smiled, then bit his mustache gravely.

“But, Micajah, you must command respect—command it, and you will get it.”

“I done ’mand hit, Ole Marse,” said Micajah, pitifully, “but I ’mands hit lack er nigger, er big fool nigger, an’ hit hain’t done no good. Gittin’ freedom on de outside don’ make freedom on de inside, Ole Marse. I’s ’bleeged ter you, Ole Marse, ’deed I is, but I wants you ter take hit back. I’s nuffin but er fool nigger, Ole Marse, an’ ’fore Gord I hain’t gwine cut up no mo’! I’se got all I want ’dout freedom, an’ I gwine be thankful fur hit!”

Micajah paused expectantly; there was a silence, which was broken by the master’s firm voice.

“I am a man of my word, Micajah. I have promised you a month of freedom, and you have accepted it; I cannot take it back until the time is out. Stop your foolishness, and go and make the best of it.” And Ole Marse rode away.

Micajah looked long and earnestly into the cloud of dust he left behind. The condition was desperate; something must be done.

Between the gate and the Quarters he collared his astonished little nigger with no uncertain gesture, and led him across the field towards the river, and when Micajah returned he was alone. Spying the palm-leaf fan, the emblem of his freedom and his misery, on the floor of the cabin, where it had dropped from the hand of the rebellious Amaziah, he silently tore it into shreds and tossed them from him with a contemptuous grunt.

* * * * *

That night a theft was committed on the plantation—a very small one, it is true, but made memorable because it was the very night that Micajah sent the little negro home. Such a thing was almost unheard of, and the overseer, a black Hercules, was very indignant.

The next night a similar depredation was discovered, and the negroes were at fever-heat. “Reckon Ole Marse ’bout ter lose he min’, ter set still an’ see things erg-wine on diserway an’ hain’t raise his han’; but I gwine raise mine, sho mun!” declared the overseer.

So a cordon of guards was formed, with regular reliefs, and the night-watch began. The midnight wore away, the stars winked out, and the last guard slept peacefully before the rising sun, and no marauder disturbed the stillness of the smoke-house. But something had happened. The house, the Quarters, the very air, was full of it. A runaway nigger had been caught on Major Stone’s plantation, was caught stealing, and was even now being carried in handcuffs to the court-house to await his owner.

The summer season was dull enough in the little village which had the honor of being the county-seat, and the passing of the Judge’s carriage was of sufficient moment to attract a knot of idlers. So, too, the little court-room was filled with the same material, even before the Judge had leisurely alighted, after his usual custom; for, as the negroes said, “Eben de toot er Gabrul moughten pester Ole Marse; he gwine ’bout he business, an’ hain’t gwine herry fur nobody!”

The runaway was secreted in an inner chamber; nobody had even seen him, and speculation ran high; but the Judge, in the most exasperating manner possible, calmly disposed of some minor matters, leisurely joking his constituents, as was his wont, utterly oblivious of the throng of eager faces.

At last every joke had been turned and every paper signed, when the Judge relapsed into sternness.

“Bring in the prisoner!”

The mysterious door opened, and Major Stone preceded the little procession, stroking his beard in a peculiar manner, but as grave as a chief mourner.

“I’ve got a good one on him now,” he whispered to Attorney Allen as he passed up the aisle.

Then followed the culprit, his crossed wrists in the little steel cuffs, his head bent low upon his breast. There was something painfully familiar in the figure. The now soiled and torn broadcloth, even upon its spare ebon rack, still held the Judge’s outline in its creases. Ludicrously pitiful the picture, and the crowd swayed and murmured.

The Judge rose to his feet. He was thinking of green fields and boyish days, of the clear brook beyond the pasture, of the pair of honest black feet that had timed their pace to his.

“Micajah!”

There was a world of pathos in the tone. It mattered not if the whole of his little world was there to hear it—attorneys, clients, negroes, and all.

“I’se comin’, Ole Marse!” The pitiful wail rang through the court-room, and the old slave, oblivious of any other presence, fell prone at his master’s feet.

“Take de cuss offen me, Ole Marse, an’ lemme die, fur dat freedom hit ride me lack er hant, an’ let loose de debil in ole Cage! Take hit back, Ole Marse, fur I got er whole week er dat mizerbul freedom lef’, an’ you wouldn’ take hit back! Dat what mek me brek in yo’ smoke-house fur, an’—oh, Lord! I’s er mizerbul sinnin’ nigger, all on ercount er dis heah freedom; an’ you nebber sont de oberseer ter whup me; but I were willin’—de Lord He know how willin’ I were—if I mought git shet er dis heah freedom!”

There was a pause, broken by Micajah’s sobs.

“Tell it all, Micajah,” said the Judge.

“Dat what I taken Marse Harry Stone’s tuckeys fur. I ain’ want dem tuckeys, Ole Marse—dey done tied out dar in de fiel’ now—but I wants ter get shet er dis heah freedom! I hain’t nuffin but des er po’ fool nigger, Ole Marse. I hain’t gwine ter ax fur nuffin ebber no mo’—nuffin but sumpen ter eat, an’ mighty little er dat! Yo’ knows what’s the bestes’ fur me, Ole Marse, an’ yo’ knows I hain’t fitten ter breave de bref er life! Kill me, Ole Marse, kill me; but ’fore yo’ does hit take de cuss er freedom offen my soul!”

* * * * *

A sudden gust must have blown dust in the Judge’s eyes, for he winked them hard, then blew his nose vociferously.

A whispered consultation was held with Major Stone.

“That’s entirely satisfactory to me, Judge”—the Major was smiling.

“The case is dismissed!” roared the Judge.

THE DEVIL’S LITTLE FLY

In the long ago, when the nether world was not so densely populated as it now is, and the days were not so full of interest, never having forgotten an early experience with a most beautiful woman, and often feeling the spirit of adventure strong upon him, the lord of that domain used to walk abroad upon the earth in the cool of the evening.

Many of these excursions were full of excitement and variety, and sometimes of great daring upon the part of Satan, as there was no need of the slightest disguise, for the world was not so wise as it is now, and those simple folk, both fine and poor, white and black, dallied with Satan without question.

But the subjugation of an entire plantation, from the “Quality” to the “Quarters,” required time—more time, often, than Satan could give consecutively—so there were certain emissaries to be employed during enforced absences.

Now, by way of practice, the devil had conquered the “Quarters” of a great plantation, even to every soul, with the exception of an old mammy and a certain Zacheus who was very cautious, and was preparing plans for the “Big House,” when something went wrong with the eternal fire below, and the devil was besought to depart in haste.

His old courier, the jay-bird, brought the message from the under world, whither he had gone to deposit his usual load of firewood; and he was in no fine humor, for every Friday he bitterly remembered the day he had sold himself, in an unguarded moment, to the devil, for a worm-eaten, half-filled ear of corn—“sight unseen,” complained the jay to Mrs. Jay, when he sometimes filled the air with vain regrets.

“Dey says dat dey want you mighty bad down dar; de fire hain’t half hot, an’ dar’s sumpen de matter wid de furnace,” said the jay.

“You right sho dey needs me?” asked the devil, for he had other fish to fry that Friday morning,

“Course I is,” said the jay, crossly, for he was very tired, and had carelessly gotten his feathers scorched in the lower regions. “Think I gwine come all de way back ter tell you er lie? Ax my cousin, de crow; he went wid me ter de do’ an’ heared ’em gib hit out!”

“Go back,” said the devil, getting angry, “an’ tell ’em I hain’ gwine come twel dis day week, an’ ter keep dat fire hot, if dey knows what’s good fur deyse’fs! I got er job er my own ter ’ten’ ter, ’dout any partnerships!”

“Go ter hell yo’se’f! I hain’t due dar twel nex’ Friday, an’ I hain’t gwine budge twel den,” said the jay-bird as he preened his scorched wing and flew away.

Now the devil had a love-affair on hand, one of those strange, inexplicable things that require very careful handling, and it was the same old cry down below—any ordinary devil who knew his business could attend to that.

So the devil importuned the crow to take the message; but Squire Billups had just planted a large field of corn; there was work enough in that for Mister Crow to do for a whole week; he was not compelled to serve the devil but a single day out of the week, and he had already given that service; besides, Mrs. Crow was just beginning to hatch, and no self-respecting _paterfamilias_ could fail to be within call during such an important event. The owl was too blind to go, for the journey had to be made by daylight; the black-snake was too sleepy, for his season was not yet fully arrived; the terrapin was too slow; and there was nothing left except the little fly; but the little fly was always ready, though his work must always be rendered upon the earth.

So, with many impatient stampings of his foot, the devil set about to take his departure. He got down upon his knees and blew his breath into a dandelion puff, and whispered to the seed, and a wind rose, and the seed scattered, and the down floated through an open window of the Big House and tickled Marse Charles’s ear as he lay asleep.

Now Marse Charles was come to attend the house-party of Marse Beverly Baillie, and was mad with love of Miss Demetria, Marse Beverly’s youngest daughter, who looked above the highest, and had no mind to marry any man. But Marse Charles, in his cloak of green-and-gold lace, swore upon his jewelled sword that he would win. Even now, as he slept, he held between his moist fingers a withered rose that had nestled upon the bosom of the cold Demetria.

It was such as this that the devil was loath to leave, and as he blew the seeds of the dandelion ball he sowed the seeds of jealousy in Marse Charles’s heart. Marse Charles sighed in his sleep, and clutched the withered rose; then the night became as daylight to him, and his eyes were wide open.

Biding his time, so that jealousy might breed the mushroom hate, the devil lingered, leaving the doubtful hours of the night to pass away; but between midnight and day, when the young man was wellnigh crazed with evil passions, the devil threw off all disguise and stood before him.

“Who are you?” cried Marse Charles, springing from his bed and stretching his swollen eyelids in the dusky light as his hand sought his sword.

“One who can do you a service,” said the devil, talking fine, for he always chose his language according to his surroundings.

Marse Charles’s brain was full of fever, and he put up his sword and listened, while he crushed nervously the rose within his palm.

“You are young, you are noble, you have the treasures of the earth before you,” said the devil, soothingly, “and yet you are the most miserable man in all creation.”

“What do you know about my misery?” cried Marse Charles, angrily.

“What do I _not_ know?” asked the devil, sagely. “I know that you love Demetria, that she disdains you, that you have a rival.”

“Ah!” sighed Marse Charles, “that is it—I have a rival! Whoever, whatever you are, aid me if you can, for I am mad with love. I have written a challenge to my rival, that we may settle this at daylight. I was about to send it when you called.”

“Not so fast,” said the devil, lifting a warning finger and drawing nearer. “Hot blood is the father of many regrets. Your rival is a better swordsman.”

“But ’tis honor! I do this for my honor!” said Marse Charles, loudly, puffing out his breast, frog fashion.

“Hush! not so loud! Your honor will do you much credit when you rot in the ground, run through with your rival’s sword,” sneered the devil, “leaving him in possession of Demetria’s favor. My plan is better than that.”

“What is your plan, and who the devil are you?” cried Marse Charles, writhing at the possibility of losing Demetria.

“That’s just it—I am he,” said the devil, chuckling; and, stretching out his arm, he touched Marse Charles with a hand as soft as velvet. “The world is mine, and I would sit upon a throne, my rightful seat, if it were not for this!” and he kicked out his hoof foot petulantly.

“Well, what is your plan? I haven’t time to listen to your miserable troubles; I’ve enough of my own,” said Marse Charles, impatiently.

“That’s so; I was talking to no purpose then,” said the devil, fingering Marse Charles’s ruffles. “But this, briefly, is to the point. Upon a certain condition, if you will do as I bid you, Demetria shall detest the very presence of your rival, disasters shall come upon him, and, lastly, Demetria shall smile upon your suit.”

“Words are cheap,” said Marse Charles, languidly. “What proof can you give me that you can do all of these things?”

“Look upon the occurrences of every day—look out upon the world—what better proof need I give?” said the devil, archly. “Moreover, if you wish, you shall know the innermost life of your lady as though you held a mirror ever before her face; her every act, her every sigh, nothing shall be hidden from you that you may have the desire to hear or know.”

Marse Charles pondered awhile, but the devil and the moonlight, together with his old-fashioned frenzy of love, had turned his head.

“Name your condition!” he cried, tearing the challenge into little bits; and there, in the beginning of the gray dawn, Marse Charles did what many a man, both before and since, has done.

* * * * *

It matters little to the story to give the exact specifications of the bargain, though Mammy, in the telling of it, was always very particular to describe minutely all of the virtues that go to make up the best part of a man—in other words, his soul. The awfulness of the bargain was duly impressed upon Mammy’s small listeners; how Marse Charles, for the love of a woman, had given up happiness forever and forever; how the eternal fires of hell were to be kept at white heat with fiendish delight by those who had made similar bargains; how the days of his coming were written in fiery letters upon the walls, and there would be no water in all hell for Marse Charles to drink, save the tears of the lost, which flowed forever, and they were exceedingly bitter and full of regret.

“Can’t he ever, ever get out, Mammy?” asked the little maid, whose lips were quivering, and whose great eyes were full of unshed tears.

“Yas, honey,” said Mammy, hastily, “if er good hoodoo kim erlong ’fore de bref leabe Marse Charles, er ’pentance kim ’fore de wo’ms ’stroy de body—an’ er good hoodoo sho gwine kim!—so don’ you cry, honey!”

But now, said Mammy, the devil had his man hard and fast, heart and hand, and when it became his time to leave the earth for a season he took Marse Charles out into a lonely place, and put into his hand a tiny snuff-box made of gold, curiously wrought upon the top.

“I will leave you now,” said the devil, “for the rest will be fair sailing. I have jaundiced your Demetria’s eyes to your rival. She sees that he has a squint, and talks with a drawl, and that he drags one foot in dancing. Misery is entering her soul, and she is very unhappy, for she believes that the squint is due to the hard counting of her father’s acres and slaves.

“In this box,” continued the devil, “I leave you my most useful possession, one that will never slumber and never sleep. You can keep watch upon Demetria when she goes abroad; but when the doors are closed between you, when you would know her every word and every act, just open the box, for nothing can be hid from the little fly. In two weeks I will come again, and in the meantime I wish you joy.”

So the devil went back to hell, chuckling as he went, for he carried Marse Charles’s conscience, fluttering like a wounded bird, in his hand, and Marse Charles put the little gold box beneath his lace ruffles and went on his way rejoicing.

* * * * *

Now it chanced soon after that there was a great meet, and the ladies and their gallants rode into the far woods. It was a fine company, for Marse Beverly Baillie had scattered his invitations broadcast, that the world might see the young Demetria. Marse Charles, on his great bay, rode sulkily alone, for his rival was in a high humor, having been paired to ride with the fair Demetria.

As he rode, Marse Charles was ready to question the efficacy of his bargain, when, just in the second mile, his rival’s horse went lame—so lame that he was forced to turn back, and Marse Charles, with much bantering and light laughter, gallantly rode forward with a dozen others to take his place. But the sun shone for Marse Charles and the world was fair, for Demetria gave him her sweetest smile.

Late in the day the rival came, upon a fresher horse; but Demetria had no eyes for him, all of her favors were reserved for Marse Charles; and as they rested upon a shady knoll after dinner, beside a bubbling spring, Marse Charles lost no time, and told his love in most vehement fashion.

But perplexities will creep in, even into the best-planned schemes, for as Marse Charles talked he thoughtlessly drew from his bosom the devil’s snuff-box, and as he toyed idly with the lid the sharp eyes of Demetria remarked its curious workmanship.

“A trophy!—a memento to mark the day!” she cried, throwing down a jewelled medallion, into which she had deftly slipped a ring of her own bright hair.

“A pawn of love as precious as heart’s blood!” cried Marse Charles, twirling his mustache and gallantly kissing the golden curl as he threw upon the grass an Egyptian bracelet, which he always wore concealed from view, and which held a tiny needle and a poisoned drop, forgotten by Marse Charles.

“No!” pouted the spoiled Demetria. “A manlier trophy—I would have the box—the little box you toyed with just now!”

The blood of poor Marse Charles ran cold. What would he not give to please the sweet Demetria? He almost reached his hand to yield it, but the little fly buzzed hard within, and, starting with a shock, he hid it in his bosom.

“A princess wore the bracelet once,” began Marse Charles. “It has a wonderful history. Make it more wonderful and wear it for me, sweet!”

“But I would have the box!”

“But it will make thee sneeze!”

“Then I will sneeze! Your love means less than any bubble here if you shall hold so fast to such a trifling thing!”

Then Demetria shed tears, and more reproaches followed, and Marse Charles, cold even to the marrow’s centre from fear, let loose the devil’s little fly and threw the box upon the grass.

“How beautiful!” said Demetria, snatching it up; “but, Charles, you played me false; it holds no snuff, and cannot make me sneeze. I only thought to try you, but now I will not give it back again, to punish you for the teasing!”

So Charles, restored, basked in the light of love, and comforted himself with the thought that Demetria soon would tire of the box.

* * * * *

There was fine sport and much merriment in the far wood, and such ado to make shelter when a thunder-storm came on. But the rain would not cease, and, in the cold drizzle which followed, the gay company, with limp gauderies and feathers, mounted for the return. But nothing damped the ardor of Marse Charles, and, as they rode, his hearty laughter, mingled with Demetria’s, fell upon the ears of the cavalcade.

Marse Charles had made a scoop at something with his hand, and Demetria laughed again. “On my word, Mr. Charles, such grace it has seldom been my good fortune to see!”

“A most persistent fly,” said Marse Charles, catching at it again, as he felt the cold clinging feet upon his forehead. Then, suddenly remembering, he was silent, and with reddening cheek he caught the little fly out of the rain into the folds of his cloak.

* * * * *

The days wore on, and, as the devil had promised, disasters, one close upon the heels of another, overtook the rival of Marse Charles. Now it was an ague, now a broken limb, now a fever—so fast they came, indeed, that he dared not try to reach his home between his woes; and, courteous to all men, Demetria salted his gruel, but made sweet eyes at Marse Charles.

But all this time Marse Charles was troubled about the little fly. Demetria still treasured the box, and there was no spot in which to keep the little fly in safety. Marse Charles felt that it was a precious trust, and faith must be kept by a man of honor, though even with the devil. And sometimes, but for an opportune buzz, Marse Charles would have killed it for a common house pest, which always made him very serious.

Every day and every night the little fly brought in a full report, over which Marse Charles gloated as a miser over gold; but at last even the devil’s emissary grew weary of roosting in precarious places, and considering that Marse Charles had broken faith by disposing of the box, was less and less vigilant, and finally cultivated a spirit of rebellion.

* * * * *

Now Demetria was blessed with an old mammy, as fine a blending of mother-wit and shrewdness as ever wore a Madras kerchief, and who was married to that Zacheus who dealt in charms and “cungers.”

Every night since Demetria’s babyhood Mammy had drawn the bed-curtains for her mistress, and sitting in the same old chair, had fanned and told her stories until she fell asleep; but of late Demetria was restless, and the stories did not soothe. In vain Mammy shook the curtains and drew them farther back, then opened the French windows wide upon the broad veranda. In vain she brushed out the long yellow locks; Demetria still sighed, and would not close her eyes.

“What ail my chile?” crooned Mammy, softly wielding her great palm-leaf, and forgetful that she was speaking to other than a child.

“I’m miserable, Mammy, miserable, ever since the day of the meet. Something seems to be taking my strength. See how I have fallen away!” And the little figure in its white robes was small enough indeed.

“Um!” crooned Mammy. “I gwine mek my chile some sassafac tea—dat mek her better! Hi! dar dat mizerbul fly ergin! I sho gwine git hit out ’fore I lets down de bar dis night. Don’ be ’feared, honey!”

“It’s no use. I can’t sleep, Mammy!” said Demetria, fretfully.

“Nebber min’,” said Mammy, as soft as a cradle-song; “yo’ be all right bimeby. Hain’t yo’ tell Marse Charles yo’ lub him? Hain’t yo’ done promus ter marry wid him whedder Marse Avery die or no? An’ hain’t Marse Charles des plum crazy ’bout yo’, an’ cain’t say ’good-bye’ ’fore he say ’howdy,’ fur de lub er yo’?”

“Yes, yes,” said Demetria, wearily, “and yet I am not happy, Mammy.”

“My Lord!—wid all dem di’munts an’ things? Yo’ is er mighty sp’ilt chile, honey! But I hope do it,” added Mammy, complacently. “Nebber min’, baby, yo’ be all right arter while; yo’ des narvous.”

“Cuss dat fly!” said Mammy, under her breath, for the little thing eluded her at every turn, and, giving it up, Mammy softly fanned until Demetria moaned in uneasy slumber.

“I gwine git ter de bottom er dis. Hain’t all right, sho ’nough. I been er-tryin’ nigh onter two weeks now, an’ I cain’t ketch dat fly nary time!”

Demetria’s hand was under her pillow, as it had been on all of these restless nights.

“Won’er what she got unner dar, po’ little gal!”

Mammy tenderly drew the little hand from its hiding, and in its palm the devil’s snuff-box lay. Mammy eyed it curiously.

“Mighty quare thing fur my chile ter hug up so close, fur she des hate snuff! Um! dat ole fly sho think dat box got sugar in it—Shoo!”

But curiosity was too much for Mammy, and she opened the lid, and the fly dropped down and nestled in the corner of the box. Mammy closed the lid with a snap, shutting the little fly in.

“Sumpen mighty quare ’bout dis. I gwine tek dis ter Zacheus!”

* * * * *

The whole plantation rang next day with the loss of the curious box, an heirloom and a token from Marse Charles to Demetria; but the box was not found, and Marse Charles wandered about, pale and ill at ease, for the little fly did not return.

* * * * *

The narrative of the dusky story-teller does not falter at this juncture, for there were always three pairs of eager eyes that were burning into hers. “Zacheus was the hoodoo—the good hoodoo who could steal souls back from the devil!” sang the chorus.

“Um—and when de ole mammy what were his wife lay de gole-worked box in Zacheus’s han’, Zacheus gib er great big laugh, ’case es soon es hit tech his han’ hit turn ter nuffin but er debil’s snuff-box—you know, chillen—one er dem brown spongy things wid dus’ in ’em dat you fin’ in de woods; an’ den de little fly fly up mighty survigrous an’ try ter bite Zacheus on de mouf.”

“An’ dat what de little miss been sleepin’ wid unner her head?” said Zacheus. “De charm Marse Charles gib her? Um, dar’s work for Zacheus!”

Of course the gold snuff-box was never found, though the plantation was searched far and near, and to Demetria no one bemoaned its loss louder than Mammy; but down in the Quarters, when she could steal away, she was watching Zacheus mix his pot of sweet ointment with which to kill the fly, for the fly would not eat.

“I kin kill de fly,” growled Zacheus, “but I don’ wanter ’do’ Marse Charles, so I gotter change de charm.”

Marse Charles, whiter and thinner by reason of sleeplessness, listened to Demetria’s songs with a ringing in his ears, and gorged every common house-fly that he could coax, on sugar, in the vain hope of finding again the devil’s little fly; but the little fly was lying with stiff wings outside of Zacheus’s pot of ointment, and James, the barber, had given Zacheus a lock of Marse Charles’s hair.

The time was up. The devil would return. What then?

Marse Charles hardly remembered how it was, but once again, after a night when sleep would not come, he found himself sitting opposite, in the hazy light, as once before.

“How dare you”—said the devil—“part with my box, to give it as a token, a lover’s toy? You have forfeited your bargain, and I am undone; but the girl is mine!”

“No!” cried Marse Charles, his eyes starting from their sockets.

“I tell you that I love her—that I am mad with love for her—and by the token that she keeps she is lost!”

“The token cannot be found,” said Marse Charles.

“What does it matter? She is mine. She is mine!” cried the devil, tremulous with passion, for the hoodoo had given him a human heart in order to torment him and to change the charm. “Do you think that I would yield her now, to such dirty scum as you?”

“I will protect her with my life, even if I cannot win her,” said Marse Charles, hotly, for the devil in his rage had let loose Marse Charles’s conscience.

“Choose your weapons,” said the other, mockingly, “for the sword of the devil is a double-pointed sword; it wounds the soul, not the flesh—the spirit, not the body.”

And back of the orchard, said Mammy, while the whole world was asleep, was fought grimly and silently the bitterest duel of the earth.

There were no witnesses save Zacheus, and though he rendered yeoman service to his mistress and to her lover’s bartered soul, he looked upon the duel, and Mammy solemnly declared that the sight of it made him blind.

Through and through, the devil thrust Marse Charles, but the blade came out dry and bright; not a drop of blood was spilled; and after Marse Charles’s lunges, Zacheus swore that he could see the light through the body of the devil.

Marse Charles was almost sinking to his knees, and the devil raised his arms exulting, when on a sudden impulse Marse Charles rose with a mighty effort and made a double cut in the shape of a cross on the breast of his opponent. That was what he should have done long ago, said Mammy; even if he had only worn a little gold cross on his watch-guard it would have been a protection, for at Marse Charles’s new movement the devil gave one hoarse cry and fled into the shadows of the breaking day.

Of course the “Quality” at the Big House did not know of the plotting that had been going on, or of the fearful duel that had ended it. _They_ were not the privileged beings of the earth, and so they only knew it was with pale brow and downcast eyes that Marse Charles came to say farewell, and that Marse Beverly Baillie clapped him on the shoulder, like the good soul that he was, by way of comfort—

“To think my minx Demetria should flirt you!” cried Marse Beverly; “for she marries Avery in the fall. But cheer up, lad, cheer up! there ’re as good fish yet to catch as ever have been caught.”

ASMODEUS IN THE QUARTERS

Mammy did not tell this story very often; it was held in reserve as an especial reward. Whether it was of African origin, and by one of those strange coincidences bore a resemblance to the classic, or was a garbled negro version of it, is lost in conjecture; but certain it is, that almost within ear-shot of a doting but unknowing mother, many a childish ambition has been fired “ter rise wid Satan.”

And this is the way Mammy told it to the little night-gowned cherubs whom she wanted to get to sleep:

“Shadrach were de very ol’es’ nigger on de place; he ’lowed he were er hundud an’ fifty, an’ I reckon he were, ’case he back were doubled up twel he wa’n’t no tallerer ’n Charlie dar; he face were es black an’ es wrinkledy es er warnut, he hair were es white es cotton, an’ de long white beard kim ’mos’ ter he knees, dat tu’n in kinder bow-legged when he walk.

“He so ole he hain’t fitten ter work none, but he hab er little couterin’ roun’ ter do ever’day, lack feedin’ de tuckies, shuckin’ corn, er makin’ nets, er sumpen, ’case he ’Ole Miss’ ’low dat Satan sho gwine fin’ some debilment fur idle han’s ter do, an’ she plum right.

“Shadrach hab plenty er clo’es, plenty ter eat, plenty er ’baccy ter chaw an’ ter smoke, an’ er good warm cabin; but he ain’ happy yit, ’case hit ’pear lack de debil gib us sumpen ter hone fur, no matter what we got. Shadrach des wanter know ever’thing dat happin; but he des es deef es er pos’, an’ dey hain’t nobody wanter tell him no secrets, ’case if yo’ gotter holler hit all ober de place, hit no secret ertall; so he go erbout putty nigh all de time wid one han’ up ter he year. I reckon hit were mighty painful ter ’im, but ever’body oughter min’ dey own business, specuil if dey cain’t hear good.

“But hit go mighty hard wid Shadrach, ’case he git deefer an’ deefer, an’ cuissomer an’ cuissomer; an’ when he do hear ’em he git ’em so cross-eyed ’mos’ all de time, ’case he hear so bad, dat he git inter er heap er trouble, fur dey ’low dat Shadrach were er power ter talk.

“Hit er mighty bad thing fur ter git inter de fix dat Shadrach done in, ’case hit lack gittin’ bofe foots inter tar—while you’s er-pullin’ one foot out, de odder gwine sho sink furder in; dey hain’t nuffin but er good strong pull on de outside dat gwine git yo’ shet uv hit.

“Now yo’ knows, honey, dat dar’s some times er de year dat de debil plum loose—done free ter go anywhar er ter do anything, an’ he all de time er-layin’ fur des sech er sof’, mizerbul creetur es Shadrach were.

“Shadrach meet him ’way off unner de trees in de woods-lot, an’ were powerful glad ter see him when he kim; an’ he git outen he skin, an’ len’ he body ter de debil ter go erbout in, two er free times, ’case er lot er de niggers seed Shadrach in some mighty quare places fur er Christiun an’ er shouter. But dat wa’n’t pleasurin’ Shadrach ’bout hearin’ things, fur de debil cain’t gib er man er pa’r er new years, an’ he cain’t eben hope him, lessen he gib up he soul. Hit pester Shadrach mightily, ’case he know he cain’t sarve two marsters, an’ he mighty feared er de fire down dar; but bimeby, ’fore de debil go back, he git so cuis ’bout hearin’ an’ knowin’ things dat he done furgit all he larnin’ an’ he ’ligion, an’ he bargains wid de debil fur he soul. Better folks an’ whiter folks ’n Shadrach done gone an’ done hit, an’ er-doin’ uv hit yit, ’case de debil he kim ter folks in de ways dey wants him in dey min’s, but hit hain’t gwine ter pay in de long run; hit gwine ter peter out mighty painful.

“Well, ole Shadrach he done sell he soul ter de debil fur good, an’ he mighty lively an’ peart erbout hit, an’ dance all unbeknownst—ole mizerbul Shadrach dance, an’ he er-lookin’ lack he do!—but hit de debil’s dance, an’ dar hain’t nobody know nuffin ’bout hit but er hoodoo. Er good hoodoo all de time on de lookout fur de debil, an’ hit ’pear lack de hoodoo hear de debil gib he promus ter Shadrach, if he sell him he soul, dat he take him wid him ever’ night, when he fly ober de roofs an’ look down de chimblies, an’ he gwine see ever’thing an’ hear ever’thing—an’ ole Shadrach des couldn’t keep still fur de joy er thinkin’ ’bout hit.

“Sho ’nough, de debil were es good es he word, an’ de hoodoo fin’ de body er Shadrach in he bed, layin’ lack he sleepin’; but he were des es cole es def, fur dar wa’n’t no bref in de body, ’case de debil done taken de sperit out, an’ de hoodoo, while he lookin’, hear two screech-owls holler an’ laugh, den flop an’ fly erway. Dey taken de owls’ skins, ’case owls got de bigges’ eyes an’ de bigges’ years er anything dat b’long ter de debil, an’ kin see in de dark. De jackass got de longes’ years uv all uv ’em, but de debil hain’t got no holt on him sence de Lord let him talk ter de man dat try ter make him tromp on er angil, an’ I reckon dat why de Lord rid on one uv ’em inter de New Jerusalem.

“Well, de hoodoo he see how things were er-gwine when he hear dem owls, an’ he hain’t got no call but ter foller uv ’em, ’case if he let de debil go one single blessed time, he lose dat much uv he power fur good, so he riz an’ foller.

“At fust, de debil des take Shadrach ober niggerdom in de quarters, an’ oh! how dat littles’ squinchup owl holler an’ laugh when he hear Pomp an’ Dinah des er-quoilin’ an’ er-quoilin’ in de cabin, an’ dey bofe so mighty sanctified an’ shout so loud on er Sunday; an’ when he see Lush—dat he Ole Marse trus’ lack he white—des er-stealin’ sugar fum de pantry, an’ ole Cindy, ernudder sanctified sister, kerhootin’ roun’ in de smoke-house widout er light, er-huntin’ fur er ham, he laugh so loud dat de odder owl hatter shake ’im.

“Hit were er lot er fun ter ole Shadrach, an’ he git so full er dem things dat he ’mos’ fittin ter bus’ wid hit, ’case he cain’t tell nobody what he see an’ hear, fur he feared er de debil. He hear all de secrets er de creepin’ things, an’ larn whar de snakes an’ things hides in de daytime, an’ es dey riz in de air, de secrets er de things dat flies in de dark.

“He seed folks er-dancin’ an’ er-mournin’, er-laughin’ an’ er-cryin’, er-cotin’ an’ er-gamblin’, er-stealin’ an’ er-lyin’, er-sleepin’ de hones’ sleep er de Christiun, an’ er-groanin’ on dey beds er suff’rin’—de people dat he see an’ know ever’ day—lack dar wa’n’t no tops ter de houses, ner walls ter ’em nuther. He hear de debil temp’ de weak, an’ dey fall, an’ de strong, an’ dey hain’t gib in, an’ de debil kim roun’ ter ’em ergin de nex’ night; an’ all day long ole Shadrach des er-laughin’ an’ er-chucklin’ an’ er-waitin’ fur night ter come.

“Hit go on dat way fur er long time, but de hoodoo don’ say nuffin; he des foller uv ’em ever’ night, an’ he putty nigh plum wore out; but he know dat de debil hain’t got much longer ter tarry, so he bide he time, fur he gwine fur ter try ter git back ole Shadrach’s soul, ’case er burnin’, wand’rin’, los’ soul is er mighty hard thing ter steddy on, an’ de hoodoo were er ’zorter, too.

“At de fust, Shadrach were mighty happy an’ mighty ’umble ter de debil, ’case he hear more ’n anybody dat got two good years kin hear, an’ see ten times es much. But arter while he git manish, an’ sot in ter grumblin’, an’ talk back ter de debil some. He done tired er des seein’ niggers; he wanter see what de white folks er-doin’.

“De debil he tell him he better take keer, dat hit hain’t gwine ter be good fur hese’f fur him ter see an’ hear dat, an’ ’fuse ter rise dat high wid him; but Shadrach keep er-teasin’ an’ er-teasin’, twel one dark night de debil he borry two pa’r er buzzards’ wings so’s ter fly high (dat all he kin git, ’case de eagle hain’t gwine len’ his’n), an’ dey riz ober de top er de talles’ house.

“Hain’t no tellin’ what Shadrach see dat night, an’ arter dat, dar wa’n’t no doin’ nuffin wid him—he des er-gallopin’ ter ’struction es fas’ es he kin trabble.

“Es ole es Shadrach were, an’ es doubled up, de oberseer hatter lay de whup on him two er free times, an’ hit make de Ole Marster feel mighty bad; an’ all de time de debil des er-aggin’ uv hit on, an’ er-showin’ him down de white folks’ chimblies ever’ night, ’case Shadrach done git too uppish ter wanter know nuffin ’bout niggers.

“But bimeby he retch de eend uv he rope, an’ he retch hit so powerful suddent dat hit putty nigh fling him outen he senses.

“He git manisher an’ manisher wid de debil; he done furgit all erbout de bargain, an’ who de debil were, an’ ’low he hain’t gotter borry no wings ner nuffin ter rise wid, if de debil do. Dat he gwine rise wid he own coat-tails—dat any hoodoo kin, an’ he gwine do hit. Po’ fool Shadrach!—he done furgit he hain’t no hoodoo ner nuffin—nuffin but er po’ ole sarvent er de debil, an’ hit all fru he power!

“But de debil do he pleasurin’ an’ hain’t say nuffin; so dat night when dey riz, de debil he borry de buzzard’s wings ergin fur hese’f; but Shadrach he riz wid he own coat-tails, an’ de debil he do mighty ’umble, an’ make lack Shadrach doin’ all dis here by hese’f. De debil gwine let him git mixed an’ tangled up lack er fly in er spider’s web, an’ Shadrach he sho boun’ ter do hit; fur dat night he hear things dat sot him putty nigh plum crazy, ’case he done hear too much at las’; an’ de nex’ day de debil hatter leabe de quarters an’ go back inter de bad place. He taken Shadrach’s soul wid him, an’ sumpen else dat oughter b’long ter er good man, ’case Shadrach hain’t eben passable no mo’.

“Arter de debil go ’way, Shadrach’s years taken ter growin’, an’ dey grows long an’ high an’ thin, an’ hit ’pear lack Shadrach hear ever’thing at oncet, lack er big roarin’ er waters, so’s he cain’t make out nuffin.

“He cry out, when nobody ain’ hearin’ nuffin, dat he hear Cindy ’way down in de cotton-fiel’ er-talkin’ ter herself, an’ he cain’t make out what she say. Den he hear Missar Jones’s Sambo, five mile erway, er-yellin’ out sumpen, but he cain’t make hit out; an’ he sot in ter cryin’ an’ er-moanin’ wid de pain an’ de noises dat ’mos’ bustin’ he head opin.

“He Ole Marse say he plum crazy, ’case he so mighty ole; but he Ole Miss ’low he need quinine; an’ dat quinine des de stuff dat de debil want him ter hab, ’case hit kin work mo’ ’fusion in one hour ’n de debil kin in er whole day, an’ hit hope de debil mightily, es he couldn’ be on de groun’ fur ter make Shadrach mo’ painful hese’f.

“An’ Shadrach git ter be so painful wid de hearin’ uv ever’thing plum mixed up, dat he taken ter w’arin’ big wads er cotton in he years fur ter shet hit out er de years, dat keeps er-growin’ longer an’ longer, narrerer an’ narrerer; but de cotton cain’t shet hit out, ’case half uv hit kim fum de inside, an’ was de wakin’ up uv all dat de debil lef’ Shadrach dat b’long ter er good man.

“De hoodoo he see what were er-ailin’ Shadrach, an’ he mighty sorry fur him; but he cain’t go ter Shadrach; Shadrach gotter kim ter him ter git he soul back, an’ hit hatter be er mighty good hoodoo ter do hit den, so de hoodoo he sot an’ wait.

“Bimeby Shadrach des couldn’ stan’ hit no longer, an’ he des kim er-rinnin’ ter de hoodoo, all doubled up, wid de long white beard des er-draggin’ on de groun’, an’ he fingers in he years—dem big years dat des er-settin’ up on bofe sides he head.

“‘Pear lack Shadrach sho gwine plum crazy ’twixt de mizry an’ de noises, an’ de hoodoo git ter work quick, fur ter pull de debil outen Shadrach, so’s Shadrach mought git he soul back.

“Shadrach lay on de flo’ er de cabin, des er-rollin’ an’ er-groanin’. Dey done pour hot lard an’ er whole bottle er laud’num in he years widout doin’ any good, an’ de hoodoo try ter fling de debil out in de name er de jackass, de el’phunt, de owl—ever’thing dat he kin think uv dat got big years; but de debil hain’t come outen him yit.

“Den de hoodoo taken him inter de woods an’ call de name uv er long-yeared houn’ dat passin’ by, but hit hain’t dat.

“De hoodoo workin’ mighty hard, an’ he stop an’ steddy erwhile, an’ den he lead Shadrach, wid de thorns des er-t’arin’ uv he beard an’ he knees an’ he han’s, ober inter er thicket er blackberry-bushes, ter gib de debil er good chance ter kim out, ’case he sho arter him.

“He make de passes wid he han’s, an’ say de charm, an’ wait erwhile. De debil he see he chances done plum gone, an’ he hatter gib up de soul, ’case de hoodoo got him in er corner, an’ when he see dat, he des kim er-lopin’ outen Shadrach inter de blackberry-bushes, in de shape uv er big jack-rabbit wid great long years.

“Dey say dat ole Shadrach lib ter be er hundud an’ fifty year ol’er ’n he were, stone-blin’ an’ ’mos’ stone-deef; but he go ’bout powerful happy twel he die, an’ hain’t nebber git cuissome ’bout hearin’ things no mo’, ’case he done heared ernough ter las’ him.”

THE TAMING OF JEZRUL

It was a nine days’ wonder that Jezrul had ever taken a fancy to Lemuel’s Crecy, for Jezrul was Colonel Greene’s butler, as pompous, if not so rotund, as the Colonel himself, and Lemuel’s Crecy, as every one knew, had never done anything but pick cotton in her life.

But the fancy grew, and so did the stories, when Jezrul asked that she might be brought from the field and taken on trial as a house-maid. When Madame demurred, Jezrul promised to assist in the training himself, and he begged so hard that Madame finally agreed, first stipulating, however, that Crecy should learn to wear shoes; and this was how Jezrul’s trouble began, for Crecy could not be fired with ambition even by the most ardent lover, and did not even appreciate the honor conferred. Moreover, it was impossible to keep the shoes on her feet, though Jezrul tied them hard and fast every morning, with a warning; but they turned up mysteriously in every corner of the house, once even—oh! the horror of the thing!—behind the door in Madame’s drawing-room, and were discovered just in time to save Jezrul from overwhelming mortification.

In view of his contract with Ole Miss, Jezrul groaned helplessly in secret, as Crecy plodded plantigrade about the house, slipping nervously into the little black prisons and opening her mouth wide whenever she was called; but he was loving Crecy, and even these thorns, as sharp as they were, were blunted by love’s power.

The hardest trial came about through the conventionalities of high life in the Quarters, for Jezrul was a born gallant, and used to the making of pretty compliments, copied studiously from the “Big House,” but which “language of the court” was as Greek to Crecy’s ears.

Then there had been a little feeling when Madame had given a great ball and Crecy had been ignominiously set aside as too awkward and ungainly to serve upon the occasion, though that pain had been soothed by the policy of Jezrul, and the culmination came at the time of the Christmas “break-down.”

Ole Marse had just been to New Orleans, and as a Christmas gift to the Madame had brought Susanne, whose “Cagion” French and cunningly arched head-handkerchief bow had proved too much for Jezrul’s peace of mind, for he was an ardent believer in feminine accomplishments. And how she could dance! Her very feet seemed to be made of a different material from those of the others. Louisiana was giving Mississippi points, and, alas! the star of Mississippi was on the wane.

In her humble blue cotton gown, at first Crecy was awed and dazzled by the unfamiliar gorgeousness of the new-comer, with her flashing eyes and sallies of wit, until she saw the all-devouring gaze of Jezrul; then the reality fell like a leaden weight, and the fires of jealousy burned briskly, fanned, too, it is to be feared, by meddlesome observers, for in all of the gayeties Jezrul had not even seemed to see her. At first she sat apart, aimless and listless, watching the pair through half-closed eyes; it was a new experience, and thought travelled slowly. Then she threw herself wildly into the dance.

“I lay I l’arn him ter go kerhootin’ arter er strange gal!”

Faster and faster flew her feet; now she curtsied, now coquetted with a shuffling would-be partner, always keeping within the circle, but always dancing alone, with her eyes fixed upon the object of her jealousy.

“Go it, Crecy!” shouted the fiddler, and the music and patting grew louder and faster—“Pea-patch Ladies,” “Chicken in the Bread-Tray,” “Buzzard Lope,” and a score of others; then a medley of wild, half-savage fiddling and chanting followed, and the dancers were tiring out; but still Crecy whirled, her body swaying almost to the floor as she spread the folds of her swelling skirts. She was dancing to the pair, but Susanne and Jezrul were oblivious. Susanne was teaching him a shuffle that he had never seen before, and he was beating time for her, independent of the chanters. There was a strange light in Crecy’s eyes, and then Lemuel tried to drag his daughter from the floor, for the fiddler had stopped to rest, and the singers had quit from sheer exhaustion. But with a high, resonant note she struck into a wilder chant alone, wheeling and veering like a wounded bird.

“Look!” came the awe-struck whisper.

Still swaying and singing, every movement consorting with the rhythm of the chant, she bared her shapely body to the waist, whirling now above her head and now about her knees a cluster of rude castanets swung by a leather thong.

At each revolution, accompanied by a high note in the wail, the rough edges of the shells cut sharply into the steaming flesh.

The space was clear; every dancer had given way: they had been dancing for a jubilee, but this dance was another thing. The spell was irresistible; one by one the hoodoos who had been hanging on the outskirts moved forward, first with a vibrating finger, then with a waving arm, like the great claw of a sand-fiddler signalling from his hole, and then the entire figures, rags and all, reeled with the horrid song.

Only the hoodoos joined in it; the rest were dumb; and at last even Jezrul and Susanne were conscious of the mysterious thing, and Jezrul touched the charm he wore around his neck, and Susanne laughed softly and nervously.

Out and in, the figures of the hoodoos turned, weaving a cabalistic sign with that of Crecy, from whose breast and shoulders the blood was fast trickling.

The chant and dance, if such it could be called, continued for nearly three-quarters of an hour, when suddenly the girl raised both arms, with a yell like that of a crazed animal, and fell upon her clattering castanets; and the hoodoos carried her out, for Lemuel was afraid to touch her.

* * * * *

A red glow lighted the cabin faintly. Goobers and sweet-potatoes were roasting on the hearth, but Crecy let them burn.

Mumbling and moaning, she was busying herself with rags and sticks and thread, for out of her rude material she was fashioning a man.