It is natural, therefore, that a man such as Aaron was, full of courage and valuable to the man who had bought him from the speculator, should have many adventures that the animals knew nothing of, or, if they knew, had no occasion to relate. In the book you will find that Buster John and Sweetest Susan asked only about such things as they heard of incidentally. But some of the most interesting things were never mentioned by Aaron at all; consequently the children never asked about them.
Little Crotchet, it will be remembered, who knew more about the matter than anybody except Aaron, was dead, and so there was nobody to give the children any hint or cue as to the questions they were to ask. You will say they had Aaron close at hand. That is true, but Aaron was busy, and besides that he was not fond of talking, especially about himself.
And yet, the most of the adventures Aaron had in the wildwoods were no secret. They were well known to the people in the neighborhood, and for miles around. In fact, they were made the subject of a great deal of talk in Little Crotchet's day, and many men (and women too)[25] who were old enough to be wise shook their heads over some of the events and declared that they had never heard of anything more mysterious. And it so happened that this idea of mystery deepened and grew until it made a very romantic figure of Aaron, and was a great help to him, not only when he was a fugitive in the wildwoods, but afterwards when he "settled down," as the saying is, and turned his attention to looking after affairs on the Abercrombie plantation9.
All this happened before Buster John and Sweetest Susan were born, while their mother was a girl in her teens. When Little Crotchet was alive things on the Abercrombie plantation were very different from what they were before or afterward8. It is true the lad was a cripple and had to go on crutches10, except when he was riding Gristle, the Gray Pony. But he was very active and nimble, and very restless, too, for he was here, there, and everywhere. More than that, he was always in a good humor, always cheerful, and most of the time laughing at his own thoughts or at something he had heard. For it was well understood on that plantation, and, indeed, wherever[26] little Crotchet was familiarly known, that, as he was something of an invalid11, and such a little bit of a fellow to boot, nothing unpleasant was to come to his ears. If he found out about trouble anywhere he was to find it out for himself, and without help from anybody else.
But although little Crotchet was small and crippled, he had a very wise head on his shoulders. One of the first things he found out was that everybody was in a conspiracy12 to prevent unpleasant things from coming to his ears, and the idea that he was to be humbugged in this way made him laugh, it was so funny. He said to himself that if he could have troubles while everybody was trying to help him along and make life pleasant for him, surely other people who had nobody to look out for them must have much larger troubles. And he found it to be true, although he never said much about it.
The truth is that while people thought they were humbugging little Crotchet, he was humbugging everybody except a few who knew what a shrewd little chap he was. These few had found out that little Crotchet knew a great deal more about the troubles that visit the unfortunate in[27] this world than anybody knew about his troubles—and he had many.
It was very peculiar13. He would go galloping14 about the plantation on the Gray Pony, and no matter where he stopped there was always a negro ready to let down the bars or the fence. How could this be? Why, it was the simplest matter in the world. It made no difference where the field hands were working, nor what they were doing, they were always watching for their Little Master, as they called him. They were sure to know when he was coming—sure to see him; and no matter how high the fence was, down it would come whenever the Gray Pony was brought to a standstill.
It was a sight to see the hoe hands or the plow15 hands when their Little Master went riding among them. It was hats off and "howdy, honey," with all, and that was something the White-Haired Master never saw unless he was riding with Little Crotchet, which sometimes happened. Once the White-Haired Master said to Little Crotchet, "They all love you because you are good, my son." But Little Crotchet was quick to reply:—
"Oh, no, father; it isn't that. It's because I am fond of them!"
[28]
Now, wasn't he wise for his age? He had stumbled upon the great secret that makes all the happiness there is in this world. The negroes loved him because he was fond of them. He used to sit on the Gray Pony and watch the hands hoeing and plowing16; and although they did their best when he was around, he never failed to find out the tired ones and send them on little errands that would rest them. To one it was "Get me a keen switch." To another, "See if you can find me any flowers."
One of the worst negroes on the plantation was Big Sal, a mulatto woman. She had a tongue and a temper that nothing could conquer. Once Little Crotchet, sitting on the Gray Pony, saw her hoeing away with a rag tied around her forehead under her head handkerchief. So he called her out of the gang, and she came with no very good grace, and only then because some of the other negroes shamed her into it. No doubt Little Crotchet heard her disputing with them, but he paid no attention to it. When Big Sal came up, he simply said:—
"Help me off the horse. I have a headache sometimes, and I feel it coming on now. I want[29] you to sit here and rub my head for me if you are not too tired."
"What wid?" cried big Sal. "My han's too dirty."
"You get the headache out, and I'll get the dirt off," said Little Crotchet, laughing.
Big Sal laughed too, cleaned her hands the best she could, and rubbed the youngster's head for him, while the Gray Pony nibbled17 the crabgrass growing near. But presently, when Little Crotchet opened his eyes, he found that Big Sal was crying. She was making no fuss about it, but as she sat with the child's head in her lap the tears were streaming down her face like water.
"What are you crying about?" Little Crotchet asked.
"God A'mighty18 knows, honey. I'm des a-cryin', an' ef de angels fum heav'm wuz ter come down an' ax me, I couldn't tell um no mo' dan dat."
This was true enough. The lonely heart had been touched without knowing why. But Little Crotchet knew.
"I reckon it's because you had the headache," he said.
[30]
"I speck19 so," answered Big Sal. "It looked like my head'd bust5 when you hollered at me, but de pain all done gone now."
"I'm glad," replied Little Crotchet. "I hope my head will quit aching presently. Sometimes it aches all night long."
"Well, suh!" exclaimed Big Sal. It was all she could say.
Finally, when she had lifted Little Crotchet to his saddle (which was easy enough to do, he was so small and frail20) and returned, Uncle Turin, foreman of the hoe hands, remarked:—
"You'll be feelin' mighty biggity now, I speck."
"Who? Me?" cried Big Sal. "God knows, I feel so little an' mean I could t'ar my ha'r out by de han'ful."
Uncle Turin, simple and kindly21 old soul, never knew then nor later what Big Sal meant, but ever afterwards, whenever the woman had one of her tantrums, she went straight to her Little Master, and if she sometimes came away from him crying it was not his fault. If she was crying it was because she was comforted, and it all seemed so simple and natural to her that she never failed to[31] express a deep desire to tear her hair out if anybody asked her where she had been or where she was going.
It was not such an easy matter to reach the plow hands. The fields were wide and the furrows22 were long on that plantation, and some of the mules25 were nimbler than the others, and some of the hands were quicker. So that it rarely happened that they all came down the furrows abreast26. But what difference did that make? Let them come one by one, or two by two, or twenty abreast, it was all the same when the Little Master was in sight. It was hats off and "howdy," with "Gee27, Beck!" and "Haw, Rhody!" and "Whar you been, Little Marster, dat we ain't seed you sence day 'fo' yistiddy?" And so until they had all saluted28 the child on the Gray Pony.
And why did Susy's Sam hang back and want to turn his mule24 around before he had finished the furrow23? It was easy to see. Susy's Sam, though he was the most expert plowman in the gang, had only one good hand, the other being a mere29 stump30, and he disliked to be singled out from the rest on that account. But it was useless[32] for him to hang back. Little Crotchet always called for Susy's Sam. Sometimes Sam would say that his mule was frisky31 and wouldn't stand. But the word would come, "Well, drive the mule out in the bushes," and then Susy's Sam would have a long resting spell that did him good, and there would be nobody to complain. And so it was with the rest. Whoever was sick or tired was sure to catch the Little Master's eye. How did he know? Well, don't ask too many questions about that. You might ask how the Gray Pony knew the poison vines and grasses. It was a case of just knowing, without knowing where the knowledge came from.
But it was not only the plow hands and the hoe hands that Little Crotchet knew about. At the close of summer there were the cotton pickers and the reapers32 to be looked after. In fact, this was Little Crotchet's busiest time, for many of the negro children were set to picking cotton, and the lad felt called on to look after these more carefully than he looked after the grown hands. Many a time he had half a dozen holding the Gray Pony at once. This made the older negroes shake their heads, and say that the Little Master was spoiling the children, but you may be sure that they thought none the less of him on that account.
pag32ilo
THAT'S RANDALL'S SONG
[33]
And then there were the reapers, the men who cut the oats and the wheat, and the binders33 that followed after. At the head of the reapers was Randall, tall, black, and powerful. It was fun to see the blade of his cradle flashing in the sun, and hear it swing with a swish through the golden grain. He led the reapers always by many yards, but when he was making the pace too hot for them he had a way of stopping to sharpen his scythe34 and starting up a song which spread from mouth to mouth until it could be heard for miles. Aaron, hiding in the wildwoods, could hear it, and at such times he would turn to one of his companions—the White Pig, or Rambler, or that gay joker, the Fox Squirrel—and say: "That's Randall's song. He sees the Little Master coming."
The White Pig would grunt2, and Rambler would say he'd rather hear a horn; but the Red Squirrel would chatter35 like mad and declare that he lost one of his ears by sitting on a limb of the live oak and singing when he saw a man coming.
[34]
But the reapers knew nothing about the experience of the Fox Squirrel, and so they went on singing whenever Randall gave the word. And Little Crotchet was glad to hear them, for he used to sit on the Gray Pony and listen, sometimes feeling happy, and at other times feeling lonely indeed. It may have been the quaint36 melody that gave him a lonely feeling, or it may have been his sympathy for those who suffer the pains of disease or the pangs37 of trouble. The negroes used to watch him as they sang and worked, and say in the pauses of their song:—
"Little marster mighty funny!"
That was the word,—"funny,"—and yet it had a deeper meaning for the negroes than the white people ever gave it. Funny!—when the lad leaned his pale cheek on the frail hand, and allowed his thoughts (were they thoughts or fleeting38 aspirations39 or momentary40 longings41?) to follow the swift, sweet echoes of the song. For the echoes had a thousand nimble feet, and with these they fled away, away,—away beyond the river and its bordering hills; for the echoes had twangling wings, like those of a turtle-dove, and on these they lifted themselves heavenward, and[35] floated above the world, and above the toil42 and trouble and sorrow and pain that dwell therein.
Funny!—when the voice of some singer, sweeter and more powerful than the rest, rose suddenly from the pauses of the song, and gave words, as it seemed, to all the suffering that the Little Master had ever known. Aye! so funny that at such times Little Crotchet would suddenly wave his hand to the singing reapers, and turn the Gray Pony's head toward the river. Was he following the rolling echoes? He could never hope to overtake them.
Once when this happened Uncle Fountain stopped singing to say:—
"No, you don't!" exclaimed Randall.
"Yes, I does," Uncle Fountain insisted.
"How come?"
"Go 'way, nigger man! You'd have Jim Simmons's nigger dogs atter you, an' den what'd you do?"
"Dat ar Aaron had um atter 'im, an' what'd he do?"
[36]
"De Lord, He knows,—I don't! But don't you git de consate in yo' min' dat you kin7 do what Aaron done done, kaze you'll fool yo'se'f, sho!"
"What Aaron done done?" Fountain was persistent44.
"He done fool dem ar nigger dogs; dat what he done done."
"Den how come I can't fool dem ar dogs?"
"How come? Well, you des try um one time, mo' speshully dat ar col'-nose dog, which he name Soun'."
"Well, I ain't bleege ter try it when de white folks treat me right," remarked Uncle Fountain, after thinking the matter over.
"Dat what make I say what I does," asserted Randall. "When you know 'zactly what you got, an' when you got mighty nigh what you want, dat's de time ter lay low an' say nothin'. Hit's some trouble ter git de corn off'n de cob, but spozen dey want no corn on de cob, what den?"
"Honey, ain't it de trufe?" exclaimed Uncle Fountain.
Thus the negroes talked. They knew a great[37] deal more about Aaron than the white people did, but even the negroes didn't know as much as the Little Master, and for a very good reason. They had no time to find out things, except at night, and at night—well, you may believe it or not, just as you please, but at night the door of the Swamp was closed and locked—locked hard and fast. The owls45, the night hawks46, the whippoorwills, and the chuck-will's widows could fly over. Yes, and the Willis Whistlers could creep through or crawl under when they returned home from their wild serenades. But everything else—even that red joker, the Fox Squirrel—must have a key. Aaron had one, and the White Grunter, and Rambler, and all the four-footed creatures that walk on horn sandals or in velvet47 slippers48 each had a key. The Little Master might have had one for the asking, but always when night came he was glad to lie on his sofa and read, or, better still, go to bed and sleep, so that he never had the need of a key to open the door of the Swamp after it was closed and locked at night.
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收听单词发音
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1
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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7
kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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8
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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crutches
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| n.拐杖, 支柱 v.支撑 | |
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11
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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12
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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13
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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14
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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15
plow
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| n.犁，耕地，犁过的地；v.犁，费力地前进[英]plough | |
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16
plowing
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| v.耕( plow的现在分词 )；犁耕；费力穿过 | |
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17
nibbled
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| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的过去式和过去分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
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18
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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22
furrows
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| n.犁沟( furrow的名词复数 )；（脸上的）皱纹v.犁田，开沟( furrow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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furrow
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| n.沟；垄沟；轨迹；车辙；皱纹 | |
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24
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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27
gee
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| n.马；int.向右！前进！，惊讶时所发声音；v.向右转 | |
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28
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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29
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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30
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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31
frisky
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| adj.活泼的，欢闹的；n.活泼，闹着玩；adv.活泼地，闹着玩地 | |
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32
reapers
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| n.收割者，收获者( reaper的名词复数 )；收割机 | |
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33
binders
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| n.（司机行话）刹车器；（书籍的）装订机( binder的名词复数 )；（购买不动产时包括预付订金在内的）保证书；割捆机；活页封面 | |
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34
scythe
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| n. 长柄的大镰刀，战车镰； v. 以大镰刀割 | |
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35
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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36
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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37
pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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39
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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40
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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41
longings
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| 渴望，盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
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42
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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43
runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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44
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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45
owls
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| n.猫头鹰( owl的名词复数 ) | |
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46
hawks
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| 鹰( hawk的名词复数 )； 鹰派人物，主战派人物 | |
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47
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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48
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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