START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DADDY JAKE THE RUNAWAY*** E-text prepared by Richard Tonsing, David Edwards, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 60804-h.htm or 60804-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/60804/60804-h/60804-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/60804/60804-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/daddyjakerunaway00harruoft Transcriberâs note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). DADDY JAKE THE RUNAWAY [Illustration: JUDGE RABBIT AND THE FAT MAN.] [Illustration] [Illustration] DADDY JAKE THE RUNAWAY And Short Stories Told after Dark by âUNCLE REMUSâ JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS [Illustration] New York The Century Co. 1898 Copyright, 1889, by Joel Chandler Harris. The De Vinne Press, New York. CONTENTS PAGE DADDY JAKE, THE RUNAWAY: CHAPTER I 1 CHAPTER II 28 CHAPTER III 53 HOW A WITCH WAS CAUGHT 83 THE LITTLE BOY AND HIS DOGS 93 HOW BLACK SNAKE CAUGHT THE WOLF 108 WHY THE GUINEAS STAY AWAKE 118 HOW THE TERRAPIN WAS TAUGHT TO FLY 123 THE CREATURE WITH NO CLAWS 134 UNCLE REMUSâS WONDER STORY 139 THE RATTLESNAKE AND THE POLECAT 149 HOW THE BIRDS TALK 152 THE FOOLISH WOMAN 165 THE ADVENTURES OF SIMON AND SUSANNA 171 BROTHER RABBIT AND THE GINGERCAKES 183 BROTHER RABBITâS COURTSHIP 188 ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE JUDGE RABBIT AND THE FAT MAN, FRONTISPIECE âTHE YOUNGSTERS SAW DADDY JAKE, AND WENT RUNNING AFTER HIM.â 9 âTHE FIELD-HANDS WERE SINGING AS THEY PICKED THE OPENING COTTON.â 19 ââMAYBE HE KNOWS WHERE DADDY JAKE IS,â SAID LILLIAN.â 25 âTHE FIELD-HANDS DISCUSSED THE MATTER.â 29 THE MILLER AND HIS CHILDREN. 41 âANâ OLE MAN JAKE, HE DAR TOO.â 49 âLUCIEN SAW HIM, AND RUSHED TOWARD HIM.â 57 POOR OLD SUE TELLS HER STORY. 63 âMR. RABBIT SQUALL OUT, âCOON DEAD!ââ 71 âDEN DE FROGS DEY WENT TO WORK SHO NUFF.â 75 âTHE OLD NEGRO PUT HIS HANDS TO HIS MOUTH AND CALLED.â 79 âSHE STOOD DAR A MINIT, DAT OLE BLACK CAT DID.â 87 ââALL READY, NOW. STICK YOâ HEAD IN.ââ 105 âEN EVEâY TIME HE SWUNG MR. BLACK SNAKE TUCK âN LASH âIM WID HE TAIL.â 115 ââBRER TARRYPIN, HOW YOU FEEL?ââ 127 BILLY BIG-EYE AND TOMMY LONG-WING. 159 SIMON SHAKES THE PEBBLES. 175 DADDY JAKE THE RUNAWAY DADDY JAKE, THE RUNAWAY CHAPTER I One fine day in September, in the year 1863, there was quite an uproar on the Gaston plantation, in Putnam County, in the State of Georgia. Uncle Jake, the carriage-driver, was missing. He was more than fifty years old, and it was the first time he had been missing since his mistress had been big enough to call him. But he was missing now. Here was his mistress waiting to order the carriage; here was his master fretting and fuming; and here were the two little children, Lucien and Lillian, crying because they didnât know where Uncle Jake wasââDaddy Jake,â who had heretofore seemed always to be within sound of their voices, ready and anxious to amuse them in any and every way. Then came the news that Daddy Jake had actually run away. This was, indeed, astounding news, and although it was brought by the son of the overseer, none of the Gastons would believe it, least of all Lucien and Lillian. The son of the overseer also brought the further information that Daddy Jake, who had never had an angry word for anybody, had struck the overseer across the head with a hoe-handle, and had then taken to the woods. Dr. Gaston was very angry, indeed, and he told the overseerâs son that if anybody was to blame it was his father. Mrs. Gaston, with her eyes full of tears, agreed with her husband, and Lucien and Lillian, when they found that Daddy Jake was really gone, refused to be comforted. Everybody seemed to be dazed. As it was Saturday, and Saturday was a holiday, the negroes stood around their quarters in little groups discussing the wonderful event. Some of them went so far as to say that if Daddy Jake had taken to the woods it was time for the rest of them to follow suit; but this proposition was hooted down by the more sensible among them. Nevertheless, the excitement on the Gaston plantation ran very high when it was discovered that a negro so trusted and so trustworthy as Daddy Jake had actually run away; and it was not until all the facts were known that the other negroes became reconciled to Daddy Jakeâs absence. What were the facts? They were very simple, indeed; and yet, many lads and lasses who read this may fail to fully comprehend them. In the first place, the year in which Daddy Jake became a fugitive was the year 1863, and there was a great deal of doubt and confusion in the South at that time. The Conscription Act and the Impressment Law were in force. Under the one, nearly all the able-bodied men and boys were drafted into the army; and under the other, all the corn and hay and horses that the Confederacy needed were pressed into service. This state of things came near causing a revolt in some of the States, especially in Georgia, where the laws seemed to bear most heavily. Something of this is to be found in the history of that period, but nothing approaching the real facts has ever been published. After the Conscription Act was passed the planters were compelled to accept the services of such overseers as they could get, and the one whom Dr. Gaston had employed lacked both experience and discretion. He had never been trained to the business. He was the son of a shoemaker, and he became an overseer merely to keep out of the army. A majority of those who made overseeing their business had gone to the war either as volunteers or substitutes, and very few men capable of taking charge of a large plantation were left behind. At the same time overseers were a necessity on some of the plantations. Many of the planters were either lawyers or doctors, and these, if they had any practice at all, were compelled to leave their farming interests to the care of agents; there were other planters who had been reared in the belief that an overseer was necessary on a large plantation; so that, for one cause and another, the overseer class was a pretty large one. It was a very respectable class, too; for, under ordinary circumstances, no person who was not known to be trustworthy would be permitted to take charge of the interests of a plantation, for these were as varied and as important as those of any other business. But in 1863 it was a very hard matter to get a trustworthy overseer; and Dr. Gaston, having a large practice as a physician, had hired the first person who applied for the place, without waiting to make any inquiries about either his knowledge or his character; and it turned out that his overseer was not only utterly incompetent, but that he was something of a rowdy besides. An experienced overseer would have known that he was employed, not to exercise control over the house-servants, but to look after the farm-hands; but the new man began business by ordering Daddy Jake to do various things that were not in the line of his duty. Naturally, the old man, who was something of a boss himself, resented this sort of interference. A great many persons were of the opinion that he had been spoiled by kind treatment; but this is doubtful. He had been raised with the white people from a little child, and he was as proud in his way as he was faithful in all ways. Under the circumstances, Daddy Jake did what other confidential servants would have done; he ignored the commands of the new overseer, and went about his business as usual. This led to a quarrelâthe overseer doing most of the quarreling. Daddy Jake was on his dignity, and the overseer was angry. Finally, in his fury, he struck the old negro with a strap which he was carrying across his shoulders. The blow was a stinging one, and it was delivered full in Uncle Jakeâs face. For a moment the old negro was astonished. Then he became furious. Seizing an ax-handle that happened to be close to his hand, he brought it down upon the head of the overseer with full force. There was a tremendous crash as the blow fell, and the overseer went down as if he had been struck by a pile-driver. He gave an awful groan, and trembled a little in his limbs, and then lay perfectly still. Uncle Jake was both dazed and frightened. He would have gone to his master, but he remembered what he had heard about the law. In those days a negro who struck a white man was tried for his life, and if his guilt could be proven, he was either branded with a hot iron and sold to a speculator, or he was hanged. The certainty of these punishments had no doubt been exaggerated by rumor, but even the rumor was enough to frighten the negroes. Daddy Jake looked at the overseer a moment, and then stopped and felt of him. He was motionless and, apparently, he had ceased to breathe. Then the old negro went to his cabin, gathered up his blanket and clothes, put some provisions in a little bag, and went off into the woods. He seemed to be in no hurry. He walked with his head bent, as if in deep thought. He appeared to understand and appreciate the situation. A short time ago he was the happy and trusted servant of a master and mistress who had rarely given him an unkind word; now he was a fugitiveâa runaway. As he passed along by the garden palings he heard two little children playing and prattling on the other side. They were talking about him. He paused and listened. âDaddy Jake likes me the best,â Lucien was saying, âbecause he tells me stories.â âNo,â said Lillian, âhe likes me the best, âcause he tells me all the stories and gives me some gingercake, too.â The old negro paused and looked through the fence at the little children, and then he went on his way. But the youngsters saw Daddy Jake, and went running after him. âLet me go, Uncle Jake!â cried Lucien. âLeâ me go, too!â cried Lillian. But Daddy Jake broke into a run and left the children standing in the garden, crying. It was not very long after this before the whole population knew that Daddy Jake had knocked the overseer down and had taken to the woods. In fact, it was only a few minutes, for some of the other negroes had seen him strike the overseer and had seen the overseer fall, and they lost no time in raising the alarm. Fortunately the overseer was not seriously hurt. He had received a blow severe enough to render him unconscious for a few minutes,âbut this was all; and he was soon able to describe the fracas to Dr. Gaston, which he did with considerable animation. âAnd who told you to order Jake around?â the doctor asked. âWell, sir, I just thought I had charge of the whole crowd.â âYou were very much mistaken, then,â said Doctor Gaston, sharply; âand if I had seen you strike Jake with your strap, I should have been tempted to take my buggy-whip and give you a dose of your own medicine.â As a matter of fact, Doctor Gaston was very angry, and he lost no time in giving the new overseer what the negroes called his âwalking-papers.â He paid him up and discharged him on the spot, and it was not many days before everybody on the Gaston plantation knew that the man had fallen into the hands of the Conscription officers of the Confederacy, and that he had been sent on to the front. At the same time, as Mrs. Gaston herself remarked, this fact, however gratifying it might be, did not bring Daddy Jake back. He was gone, and his absence caused a great deal of trouble on the plantation. It was found that half-a-dozen negroes had to be detailed to do the work which he had voluntarily taken upon himselfâone to attend to the carriage-horses, another to look after the cows, another to feed the hogs and sheep, and still others to look after the thousand and one little things to be done about the âbig house.â But not one of them, nor all of them, filled Daddy Jakeâs place. [Illustration: âTHE YOUNGSTERS SAW DADDY JAKE, AND WENT RUNNING AFTER HIM.â] Many and many a time Doctor Gaston walked up and down the veranda wondering where the old negro was, and Mrs. Gaston, sitting in her rocking-chair, looked down the avenue day after day, half expecting to see Daddy Jake make his appearance, hat in hand and with a broad grin on his face. Some of the neighbors, hearing that Uncle Jake had become a fugitive, wanted to get Bill Lockeâs âtrack-dogsâ and run him down, but Doctor Gaston and his wife would not hear to this. They said that the old negro wasnât used to staying in the woods, and that it wouldnât be long before he would come back home. Doctor Gaston, although he was much troubled, looked at the matter from a manâs point of view. Here was Daddy Jakeâs home; if he chose to come back, well and good; if he didnât, why, it couldnât be helped, and that was an end of the matter. But Mrs. Gaston took a different view. Daddy Jake had been raised with her father; he was an old family servant; he had known and loved her mother, who was dead; he had nursed Mrs. Gaston herself when she was a baby; in short, he was a fixture in the ladyâs experience, and his absence worried her not a little. She could not bear to think that the old negro was out in the woods without food and without shelter. If there was a thunderstorm at night, as there sometimes is in the South during September, she could hardly sleep for thinking about the old negro. Thinking about him led Mrs. Gaston to talk about him very often, especially to Lucien and Lillian, who had been in the habit of running out to the kitchen while Daddy Jake was eating his supper and begging him to tell a story. So far as they were concerned, his absence was a personal loss. While Uncle Jake was away they were not only deprived of a most agreeable companion, but they could give no excuse for not going to bed. They had no one to amuse them after supper, and, as a consequence, their evenings were very dull. The youngsters submitted to this for several days, expecting that Daddy Jake would return, but in this they were disappointed. They waited and waited for more than a week, and then they began to show their impatience. âI used to be afraid of runaways,â said Lillian one day, âbut Iâm not afraid now, âcause Daddy Jake is a runaway.â Lillian was only six years old, but she had her own way of looking at things. âPshaw!â exclaimed Lucien, who was nine, and very robust for his age; âI never was afraid of runaways. I know mighty well they wouldnât hurt me. There was old Uncle Fed; he was a runaway when Papa bought him. Would he hurt anybody?â âBut there might be some bad ones,â said Lillian, âand you know Lucinda says Uncle Fed is a real, sure-enough witch.â âLucinda!â exclaimed Lucien, scornfully. âWhat does Lucinda know about witches? If one was to be seen she wouldnât stick her head out of the door to see it. Sheâd be scared to death.â âYes, and so would anybody,â said Lillian, with an air of conviction. âI know I would.â âWell, of course,âa little girl,â explained Lucien. âAny little girl would be afraid of a witch, but a great big double-fisted woman like Lucinda ought to be ashamed of herself to be afraid of witches, and that, too, when everybody knows there arenât any witches at all, except in the stories.â âWell, I heard Daddy Jake telling about a witch that turned herself into a black cat, and then into a big black wolf,â said Lillian. âOh, that was in old times,â said Lucien, âwhen the animals used to talk and go on like people. But you never heard Daddy Jake say he saw a witch,ânow, did you?â âNo,â said Lillian, somewhat doubtfully; âbut I heard him talking about them. I hope no witch will catch Daddy Jake.â âPshaw!â exclaimed Lucien. âDaddy Jake carried his rabbit-foot with him, and you know no witch can bother him as long as he has his rabbit-foot.â âWell,â said Lillian, solemnly, âif heâs got his rabbit-foot and can keep off the witches all night, he wonât come back any more.â âBut he _must_ come,â said Lucien. âIâm going after him. Iâm going down to the landing to-morrow, and Iâll take the boat and go down the river and bring him back.â âOh, may I go, too?â asked Lillian. âYes,â said Lucien, loftily, âif youâll help me get some things out of the house and not say anything about what we are going to do.â Lillian was only too glad to pledge herself to secrecy, and the next day found the two children busily preparing for their journey in search of Daddy Jake. The Gaston plantation lay along the Oconee River in Putnam County, not far from Roachâs Ferry. In fact, it lay on both sides of the river, and, as the only method of communication was by means of a bateau, nearly everybody on the plantation knew how to manage the boat. There was not an hour during the day that the bateau was not in use. Lucien and Lillian had been carried across hundreds of times, and they were as much at home in the boat as they were in a buggy. Lucien was too young to row, but he knew how to guide the bateau with a paddle while others used the oars. This fact gave him confidence, and the result was that the two children quietly made their arrangements to go in search of Daddy Jake. Lucien was the âprovider,â as he said, and Lillian helped him to carry the things to the boat. They got some meal-sacks, two old quilts, and a good supply of biscuits and meat. Nobody meddled with them, for nobody knew what their plans were, but some of the negroes remarked that they were not only unusually quiet, but very busyâa state of things that is looked upon by those who are acquainted with the ways of children as a very bad sign, indeed. The two youngsters worked pretty much all day, and they worked hard; so that when night came they were both tired and sleepy. They were tired and sleepy, but they managed to cover their supplies with the meal-sacks, and the next morning they were up bright and early. They were up so early, indeed, that they thought it was a very long time until breakfast was ready; and, at last, when the bell rang, they hurried to the table and ate ravenously, as became two travelers about to set out on a voyage of adventure. It was all they could do to keep their scheme from their mother. Once Lillian was on the point of asking her something about it, but Lucien shook his head, and it was not long before the two youngsters embarked on their journey. After seating Lillian in the bateau, Lucien unfastened the chain from the stake, threw it into the boat, and jumped in himself. Then, as the clumsy affair drifted slowly with the current, he seized one of the paddles, placed the blade against the bank, and pushed the bateau out into the middle of the stream. It was the beginning of a voyage of adventure, the end of which could not be foretold; but the sun was shining brightly, the mocking-birds were singing in the water-oaks, the blackbirds were whistling blithely in the reeds, and the children were light-hearted and happy. They were going to find Daddy Jake and fetch him back home, and not for a moment did it occur to them that the old negro might have gone in a different direction. It seemed somehow to those on the Gaston plantation that whatever was good, or great, or wonderful had its origin âdown the river.â Rumor said that the biggest crops were grown in that direction, and that there the negroes were happiest. The river, indeed, seemed to flow to some far-off country where everything was finer and more flourishing. This was the idea of the negroes themselves, and it was natural that Lucien and Lillian should be impressed with the same belief. So they drifted down the river, confident that they would find Daddy Jake. They had no other motiveâno other thought. They took no account of the hardships of a voyage such as they had embarked on. Lazily, almost reluctantly as it seemed, the boat floated down the stream. At first, Lucien was inclined to use the broad oar, but it appeared that when he paddled on one side the clumsy boat tried to turn its head up stream on the other side, and so, after a while, he dropped the oar in the bottom of the boat. The September sun was sultry that morning, but, obeying some impulse of the current, the boat drifted down the river in the shade of the water-oaks and willows that lined the eastern bank. On the western bank the Gaston plantation lay, and as the boat floated lazily along the little voyagers could hear the field-hands singing as they picked the opening cotton. The song was strangely melodious, though the words were ridiculous. My dogâs a âpossum dog, _Here, Rattler! here!_ He cross de creek upon a log, _Here, Rattler! here!_ He run de âpossum up a tree, _Here, Rattler! here!_ He good enough fer you anâ me, _Here, Rattler! here!_ Kaze when it come his fatânin time, _Here, Rattler! here!_ De âpossum eat de muscadine, _Here, Rattler! here!_ He eat till he kin skacely stanâ, _Here, Rattler! here!_ Anâ den we bake him in de pan, _Here, Rattler! here!_ [Illustration: âTHE FIELD-HANDS WERE SINGING AS THEY PICKED THE OPENING COTTON.â] It was to the quaint melody of this song that the boat rocked and drifted along. One of the negroes saw the children and thought he knew them, and he called to them, but received no reply; and this fact was so puzzling that he went back and told the other negroes that there was some mistake about the children. âEf deyâd âaâ bin our chillun,â he said, âdeyâd âaâ hollered back at me, shoâ.â Whereupon the field-hands resumed their work and their song, and the boat, gliding southward on the gently undulating current, was soon lost to view. To the children it seemed to be a very pleasant journey. They had no thought of danger. The river was their familiar friend. They had crossed and recrossed it hundreds of times. They were as contented in the bateau as they would have been in their motherâs room. The weather was warm, but on the river and in the shade of the overhanging trees the air was cool and refreshing. And after a while the current grew swifter, and the children, dipping their hands in the water, laughed aloud. Once, indeed, the bateau, in running over a long stretch of shoals, was caught against a rock. An ordinary boat would have foundered, but this boat, clumsy and deep-set, merely obeyed the current. It struck the rock, recoiled, touched it again, and then slowly turned around and pursued its course down the stream. The shoals were noisy but harmless. The water foamed and roared over the rocks, but the current was deep enough to carry the bateau safely down. It was not often that a boat took that course, but Lucien and Lillian had no sense of fear. The roaring and foaming of the water pleased them, and the rushing and whirling of the boat, as it went dashing down the rapids, appeared to be only part of a holiday frolic. After they had passed the shoals, the current became swifter, and the old bateau was swept along at a rapid rate. The trees on the river bank seemed to be running back toward home, and the shadows on the water ran with them. Sometimes the boat swept through long stretches of meadow and marsh lands, and then the children were delighted to see the sandpipers and killdees running along the margin of the water. The swallows, not yet flown southward, skimmed along the river with quivering wing, and the kingfishers displayed their shining plumage in the sun. Once a moccasin, fat and rusty, frightened by the unexpected appearance of the young voyagers, dropped into the boat; but, before Lucien could strike him with the unwieldy oar, he tumbled overboard and disappeared. Then the youngsters ate their dinner. It was a very dry dinner; but they ate it with a relish. The crows, flying lazily over, regarded them curiously. âI reckon they want some,â said Lucien. âWell, they canât get mine,â said Lillian, ââcause I _jest_ about got enough for myself.â They passed a white man who was sitting on the river bank, with his coat off, fishing. âWhere under the sun did you chaps come from?â he cried. âUp the river,â replied Lucien. âWhere in the nation are you going?â âDown the river.â âMaybe he knows where Daddy Jake is,â said Lillian. âAsk him.â âWhy, he wouldnât know Daddy Jake from a side of sole leather,â exclaimed Lucien. By this time the boat had drifted around a bend in the river. The man on the bank took off his hat with his thumb and forefinger, rubbed his head with the other fingers, drove away a swarm of mosquitoes, and muttered, âWell, Iâll be switched!â Then he went on with his fishing. Meanwhile the boat drifted steadily with the current. Sometimes it seemed to the children that the boat stood still, while the banks, the trees, and the fields moved by them like a double panorama. Queer-looking little birds peeped at them from the bushes; fox-squirrels chattered at them from the trees; green frogs greeted them by plunging into the water with a squeak; turtles slid noiselessly off the banks at their approach; a red fox that had come to the river to drink disappeared like a shadow before the sun; and once a great white crane rose in the air, flapping his wings heavily. Altogether it was a very jolly journey, but after a while Lillian began to get restless. âDo you reckon Daddy Jake will be in the river when we find him?â she asked. Lucien himself was becoming somewhat tired, but he was resolved to go right on. Indeed, he could not do otherwise. âWhy, who ever heard of such a thing?â he exclaimed. âWhat would Daddy Jake be doing in the water?â âWell, how are weâs to find him?â âOh, weâll find him.â âBut I want to find him right now,â said Lillian, âand I want to see Mamma, and Papa, and my dollies.â âWell,â said Lucien with unconscious humor, âif you donât want to go, you can get out and walk back home.â At this Lillian began to cry. [Illustration: ââMAYBE HE KNOWS WHERE DADDY JAKE IS,â SAID LILLIAN.â] âWell,â said Lucien, âif Daddy Jake was over there in the bushes and was to see you crying because you didnât want to go and find him, heâd run off into the woods and nobody would see him any more.â Lillian stopped crying at once, and, as the afternoon wore on, both children grew more cheerful; and even when twilight came, and after it the darkness, they were not very much afraid. The lonelinessâthe sighing of the wind through the trees, the rippling of the water against the sides of the boat, the hooting of the big swamp-owl, the cry of the whippoorwill, and the answer of its cousin, the chuck-willâs-widowâall these things would have awed and frightened the children. But, shining steadily in the evening sky, they saw the star they always watched at home. It seemed to be brighter than ever, this familiar star, and they hailed it as a friend and fellow-traveler. They felt that home couldnât be so far away, for the star shone in its accustomed place, and this was a great comfort. After a while the night grew chilly, and then Lucien and Lillian wrapped their quilts about them and cuddled down in the bottom of the boat. Thousands of stars shone overhead, and it seemed to the children that the old bateau, growing tired of its journey, had stopped to rest; but it continued to drift down the river. CHAPTER II You may be sure there was trouble on the Gaston place when night came and the children did not return. They were missed at dinner-time; but it frequently happened that they went off with some of the plantation wagons, or with some of the field-hands, and so nothing was thought of their absence at noon; but when night fell and all the negroes had returned from their work, and there was still no sign of the children, there was consternation in the big house and trouble all over the plantation. The field-hands, returned from their work, discussed the matter at the doors of their cabins and manifested considerable anxiety. [Illustration: âTHE FIELD-HANDS DISCUSSED THE MATTER.â] At first the house-servants were sent scurrying about the place hunting for the truants. Then other negroes were pressed into service, until, finally, every negro on the place was engaged in the search, and torches could be seen bobbing up and down in all parts of the plantation. The negroes called and called, filling the air with their musical halloos, but there was no reply save from the startled birds, or from the dogs, who seemed to take it for granted that everybody was engaged in a grand âpossum hunt, and added the strength of their own voices to the general clamor. While all this was going on, Mrs. Gaston was pacing up and down the long veranda wringing her hands in an agony of grief. There was but one thought in her mindâthe _river_, the RIVER! Her husband in the midst of his own grief tried to console her, but he could not. He had almost as much as he could do to control himself, and there was in his own mindâthe RIVER! The search on the plantation and in its vicinity went on until nearly nine oâclock. About that time Big Sam, one of the plough-hands, who was also a famous fisherman, came running to the house with a frightened face. âMarster,â he exclaimed, âde boat goneâshe done gone!â âOh, I knew it!â exclaimed Mrs. Gastonââthe river, the river!â âWell!â said Doctor Gaston, âthe boat must be found. Blow the horn!â Big Sam seized the dinner-horn and blew a blast that startled the echoes for miles around. The negroes understood this to be a signal to return, and most of them thought that the children had been found, so they came back laughing and singing, and went to the big house to see the children. âWhâabouts you fine um, marster?â asked the foreman. âThey havenât been found, Jim,â said Dr. Gaston. âBig Sam says that the boat is gone from the landing, and that boat must be found to-night.â âMarster,â said a negro, coming forward out of the group, âI seed a boat gwine down stream dis morninâ. I wuz way up on de hillââ âAnd you didnât come and tell me?â asked Dr. Gaston in a severe tone. âWell, suh, I hollered at um, anâ dey ainât make no answer, anâ den it look like ter me ât wuz dem two Ransome boys. Hit mosâ drap outân my minâ. Anâ den you know, suh, our chillun ainât never had no doinâs like datâgittinâ in de boat by dey own-alone seâf anâ sailinâ off dat a-way.â âWell,â said Dr. Gaston, âthe boat must be found. The children are in it. Where can we get another boat?â âI got one, suh,â said Big Sam. âMe, too, marster,â said another negro. âThen get them both, and be quick about it!â âAh-yi, suh,â was the response, and in a moment the group was scattered, and Big Sam could be heard giving orders in a loud and an energetic tone of voice. For once he was in his element. He could be foreman on the Oconee if he couldnât in the cotton-patch. He knew every nook and cranny of the river for miles up and down; he had his fish-baskets sunk in many places, and the overhanging limbs of many a tree bore the marks of the lines of his set-hooks. So for once he appointed himself foreman, and took charge of affairs. He and Sandy Bill (so-called owing to the peculiar color of his hair) soon had their boats at the landing. The other negroes were assembled there, and the most of them had torches. âMarster,â said Big Sam, âyou git in my boat, anâ let little Willyum come fer ter holâ de torch. Jesse, you git in dar wid Sandy Bill. Fling a armful er lightâood in bofe boats, boys, kaze we got ter have a light, and dey ainât no tellinâ how fur we gwine.â The fat pine was thrown in, everything made ready, and then the boats started. With one sweep of his broad paddle, Big Sam sent his boat into the middle of the stream, and, managed by his strong and willing arms, the clumsy old bateau became a thing of life. Sandy Bill was not far behind him. The negroes used only one paddle in rowing, and each sat in the stern of his boat, using the rough but effective oar first on one side and then the other. [Illustration] From a window, Mrs. Gaston watched the boats as they went speeding down the river. By her side was Charity, the cook. âIsnât it terrible!â she exclaimed, as the boats passed out of sight. âOh, what shall I do?â ââT would be mighty bad, Mistâiss, _ef_ dem chillun wuz losâ; but dey ainât no moâ losâ dan I is, anâ Iâm a-standinâ right yer in de cornder by dish yer cheer.â âNot lost! Why, of course they are lost. Oh, my darling little children!â âNo âm, dey ainât no moâ losâ dan you is. Dey tuck dat boat dis morninâ, anâ dey went atter ole man Jakeâdatâs whar dey er gone. Dey ainât gone nowhar else. Dey er in dat boat right now; dey may be asleep, but dey er in dar. Ainât I year um talkinâ yistiddy wid my own years? Ainât I year dat ar Marse Lucien boy âlow ter he sister dat he gwine go fetch ole man Jake back? Ainât I miss a whole can full er biscuits? Ainât I miss two er dem pies wâat I lefâ out dar in de kitchen? Ainât I miss a great big hunk er light-bread? Anâ who gwine dast ter take um lessân itâs dem ar chillun? Dey donât fool me, mon. Iâm one er de oldest rats in de barnâI is dat!â Charityâs tone was emphatic and energetic. She was so confident that her theory was the right one that she succeeded in quieting her mistress somewhat. âAnâ moâ ân dat,â she went on, seeing the effect of her remarks, âdem chillun âll come home yer all safe anâ sounâ. Ef Marster anâ dem niggers donât fetch um back, dey âll come deyseâf; anâ old man Jake âll come wid um. You minâ waât I tell you. You go anâ go ter bed, honey, anâ donât pester yoâseâf âbout dem chillun. Iâll set up yer in the cornder anâ nod, anâ keep my eyes on wâatâs gwine on outside.â But Mrs. Gaston refused to go to bed. She went to the window, and away down the river she could see the red light of the torches projected against the fog. It seemed as if it were standing still, and the motherâs heart sank within her at the thought. Perhaps they had found the boatâempty! This and a thousand other cruel suggestions racked her brain. But the boats were not standing still; they were moving down the river as rapidly as four of the stoutest arms to be found in the county could drive them. The pine torches lit up both banks perfectly. The negroes rowed in silence a mile or more, when Big Sam said: âMarster, kin we sing some?â âDoes it seem to be much of a singing matter, Sam?â Dr. Gaston asked, grimly. âNo, suh, it donât; but singinâ heâps âlong mightâly wâen you workinâ, moâ speshually ef you er doinâ de kind er work whar you kin sorter hit a lick wid the chuneâkinder keepinâ time, like.â Dr. Gaston said nothing, and Big Sam went on: ââSides dat, Marster, we-all useter sing ter dem chillun, anâ dey knows our holler so well dat I bounâ you ef dey wuz ter year us singinâ anâ gwine on, deyâd holler back.â âWell,â said Dr. Gaston, struck by the suggestion, âsing.â âBill,â said Big Sam to the negro in the other boat, âwatch out for me; Iâm gwine away.â âYouâll year fum me wâen you git whar you gwine,â Sandy Bill replied. With that Big Sam struck up a song. His voice was clear and strong, and he sang with a will. Oh. Miss Malindy, you er lots too sweet for me; I cannot come to see you Ontil my time is freeâ Oh, den Iâll come ter see you, Anâ take you on my knee. Oh, Miss Malindy, now donât you go away; I cannot come to see you Ontil some yuther dayâ Oh, den Iâll come ter see youâ Oh, den Iâll come ter stay. Oh, Miss Malindy, you is my only one; I cannot come ter see you Ontil de day is doneâ Oh, den Iâll come ter see you, And weâll have a little fun. Oh, Miss Malindy, my heart belongs ter you; I cannot come ter see you Ontil my work is thooâ. Oh, den Iâll come ter see you, I âll come in my canoe. The words of the song, foolish and trivial as they are, do not give the faintest idea of the melody to which it was sung. The other negroes joined in, and the tremulous tenor of little Willyum was especially effective. The deep dark woods on either side seemed to catch up and echo back the plaintive strain. To a spectator on the bank, the scene must have been an uncanny oneâthe song with its heart-breaking melody, the glistening arms and faces of the two gigantic blacks, the flaring torches, flinging their reflections on the swirling waters, the great gulfs of darkness beyondâall these must have been very impressive. But these things did not occur to those in the boats, least of all to Dr. Gaston. In the minds of all there was but one thoughtâthe children. The negroes rowed on, keeping time to their songs. Their arms appeared to be as tireless as machinery that has the impulse of steam. Finally Big Samâs boat grounded. âHolâ on dar, Bill!â he shouted. âWatch out!â He took the torch from the little negro and held it over his head, and then behind him, peering into the darkness beyond. Then he laughed. âDe Lord heâp my soul!â he exclaimed; âI done clean fergit âbout Moccasin Shoals! Back yoâ boat, Bill.â Suiting the action to the word, he backed his own, and they were soon away from the shoals. âNow, den,â he said to Bill, âgit yoâ boat in line wid mine, anâ holâ yoâ paddle in yoâ lap.â Then the boats, caught by the current, moved toward the shoals, and one after the other touched a rock, turned completely around, and went safely down the rapids, just as the childrenâs boat had done in the forenoon. Once over the shoals, Big Sam and Sandy Bill resumed their oars and their songs, and sent the boats along at a rapid rate. A man, sitting on the river bank, heard them coming, and put out his torch by covering it with sand. He crouched behind the bushes and watched them go by. After they had passed he straightened himself, and remarked: âWell, Iâll be switched!â Then he relighted his torch, and went on with his fishing. It was the same man that Lucien and Lillian had seen. The boats went on and on. With brief intervals the negroes rowed all night long, but Dr. Gaston found no trace of his children. In sheer desperation, however, he kept on. The sun rose, and the negroes were still rowing. At nine oâclock in the morning the boats entered Rossâs mill-pond. This Dr. Gaston knew was the end of his journey. If the boat had drifted into this pond, and been carried over the dam, the children were either drowned or crushed on the rocks below. If their boat had not entered the pond, then they had been rescued the day before by some one living near the river. It was with a heavy heart that Dr. Gaston landed. And yet there were no signs of a tragedy anywhere near. John Cosby, the miller, fat and hearty, stood in the door of the mill, his arms akimbo, and watched the boats curiously. His children were playing near. A file of geese was marching down to the water, and a flock of pigeons was sailing overhead, taking their morning exercise. Everything seemed to be peaceful and serene. As he passed the dam on his way to the mill, Dr. Gaston saw that there was a heavy head of water, but possibly not enough to carry a large bateau over; stillâthe children were gone! [Illustration: THE MILLER AND HIS CHILDREN] The puzzled look on the millerâs face disappeared as Dr. Gaston approached. âWell, the gracious goodness!â he exclaimed. âWhy, howdy, Doc.âhowdy! Why, I âm right down glad to see you. Whichever anâ whichaway did you come?â âMy little children are lost,â said Dr. Gaston, shaking the millerâs hand. The jolly smile on John Cosbyâs face disappeared as suddenly as if it had been wiped out with a sponge. âWell, now, thatâs too badâtoo bad,â he exclaimed, looking at his own rosy-cheeked little ones standing near. âThey were in a bateau,â said Dr. Gaston, âand I thought maybe they might have drifted down here and over the mill-dam.â The millerâs jolly smile appeared again. âOh, no, Doc.âno, no! Whichever anâ whichaway they went, they never went over that dam. In time of a freshet, the thing might be did; but not now. Oh, no! Ef it lies betwixt goinâ over that dam anâ beinâ safe, them babies is jest as safe anâ sounâ as mine is.â âI think,â said Dr. Gaston, âthat they started out to hunt Jake, my carriage-driver, who has run away.â âJake run away!â exclaimed Mr. Cosby, growing very red in the face. âWhy, the impident scoundull! Hit ainât been three days sence the ole rascal wuz here. He come anâ âlowed that some of your wagons was a-campinâ out about two mile from here, anâ he got a bushel of meal, anâ said that if you didnât pay me the money down I could take it out in physic. The impident ole scoundull! Anâ he was jest as âumble-come-tumble as you pleaseâa-bowinâ, anâ a-scrapinâ, anâ a-howdy-do-inâ.â But the old millerâs indignation cooled somewhat when Dr. Gaston briefly told him of the incident which caused the old negro to run away. âHit sorter sticks in my gizzard,â he remarked, âwhen I hear tell of a nigger hittinâ a white man; but I donât blame Jake much.â âAnd now,â said Dr. Gaston, âI want to ask your advice. You are a level-headed man, and I want to know what you think. The children got in the boat, and came down the river. There is no doubt in my mind that they started on a wild-goose chase after Jake; but they are not on the river now, nor is the boat on the river. How do you account for that?â âWell, Doc., if you want my naked beliefs about it, Iâll give âem to you, faâr anâ squarâ. Itâs my beliefs that them youngsters have run up agin old Jake somewhar up the river, anâ that they are jest as safeâanâ sounâ as you is. Themâs my beliefs.â âBut what has become of the boat?â âWell, Iâll tell you. Old Jake is jest as cunning as any other nigger. He took anâ took the youngsters out, anâ arterwards he drawed the boat out on dry land. He rightly thought there would be pursuit, anâ he didnât mean to be ketched.â âThen what would you advise me to do?â asked Dr. Gaston. The old man scratched his head. âWell, Doc., Iâm a-talkinâ in the dark, but itâs my beliefs them youngsters âll be at home before you can get there to save your life. Jake may not be there, but if heâs found the boy anâ gal, he âll carry âem safe home. Now you mind what I tell you.â Dr. Gastonâs anxiety was too great to permit him to put much confidence in the old millerâs prediction. What he said seemed reasonable enough, but a thousand terrible doubts had possession of the fatherâs mind. He hardly dared go home without the children. He paced up and down before the mill, a most miserable man. He knew not where to go or what to do. Mr. Cosby, the miller, watched him awhile, and shook his head. âIf Doc. donât find them youngsters,â he said to himself, âhe âll go plum deestracted.â But he said aloud: âWell, Doc., you anâ the niggers must have a breathing-spell. Weâll go up to the house anâ see ef we canât find somethinâ to eat in the cubberd, anâ arterwards, in the time you are restinâ, weâll talk about findinâ the youngsters. If thereâs any needcessity, Iâll go with you. My son John can run the mill eâen about as good as I can. Weâll go up yan to âSquire Rossâs anâ git a horse or two, anâ weâll scour the country on both sides of the river. But youâve got to have a snack of somethinâ to eat, anâ youâve got to take a rest. Human naturâ canât stand the strain.â Torn as he was by grief and anxiety, Dr. Gaston knew this was good advice. He gratefully accepted John Cosbyâs invitation to breakfast, as well as his offer to aid in the search for the lost children. After Doctor Gaston had eaten, he sat on the millerâs porch and tried to collect his thoughts so as to be able to form some plan of search. While the two men were talking, they heard Big Sam burst out laughing. He laughed so loud and heartily that Mr. Cosby grew angry, and went into the back yard to see what the fun was about. In his heart the miller thought the negroes were laughing at the food his wife had set before them, and he was properly indignant. âWell, well,â said he, âwhatâs this I hear? Two high-fed niggers a-laughinâ becaâse their masterâs little ones are lost and gone! And has it come to this? A purty pass, a mighty purty pass!â Both the negroes grew very serious at this. âMarsâ John, we-all was des projickinâ wid one anâer. You know how niggers is wâen dey git nuff ter eat. Dey feel so good dey âbleege ter holler.â Mr. Cosby sighed, and turned away. âWell,â said he, âI hope niggers âs got souls, but I know right pâint-blank that they ainât got no hearts.â Now, what was Big Sam laughing at? He was laughing because he had found out where Lucien and Lillian were. How did he find out? In the simplest manner imaginable. Sandy Bill and Big Sam were sitting in Mr. Cosbyâs back yard eating their breakfast, while little Willyum was eating his in the kitchen. It was the first time the two older negroes had had an opportunity of talking together since they started from home the day before. âSam,â said Sandy Bill, âdid you see whar de chillun landed wâen we come âlong des aâter sun-up dis morninâ?â âDat I didnât,â said Sam, wiping his mouth with the back of his handââdat I didnât, anâ ef I
{'title': 'Daddy Jake the Runaway, and Short Stories Told after Dark by Joel Chandler Harris', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}