News had come of my aunt's death, and of Nan's runaway5 marriage against her father's wishes, and of how she too had died without ever returning home. Poor unhappy Nannie! I was but a boy of twelve when I had seen her last, but she had impressed even my unimpressionable age with a sense of her charm. I had heard that Jeff, the elder of the two boys, had gone completely to the bad, and having broken with his father, had drifted off to no one knew where. This to me was the saddest news of all; Jeff had been the object of my first case of hero worship.
I knew that Colonel Gaylord, now an old man, was living alone with Radnor, who I understood had grown into a fine young fellow, all that his brother had promised. My only remembrance of the Colonel was of a tall dark man who wore riding boots and carried a heavy trainer's whip, and of whom I was very much afraid. My only remembrance of Rad was of a pretty little chap of four, eternally in mischief6. It was with a mingled7 feeling of eagerness and regret that I looked forward to the visit—eagerness to see again the scenes which were so pleasantly associated with my boyhood, and regret that I must renew my memories under such sadly changed conditions.
As I stepped from the train, a tall broad-shouldered young man of twenty-three or thereabouts, came forward to meet me. I should have recognized him for Radnor anywhere, so striking was his resemblance to the brother I had known. He wore a loose flannel8 shirt and a broad-brimmed felt hat cocked on one side, and he looked so exactly the typical Southern man of the stage that I almost laughed as I greeted him. His welcome was frank and cordial and I liked him from the first. He asked after my health with an amused twinkle in his eyes. Nervous prostration9 evidently struck him as humorously as it did Terry. Lest I resent his apparent lack of sympathy however, he added, with a hearty10 whack11 on my shoulder, that I had come to the right place to get cured.
A drive over sweet smelling country roads behind blooded horses was a new experience to me, fresh from city streets and the rumble12 of elevated trains. I leaned back with a sigh of content, feeling already as if I had got my boyhood back again.
Radnor enlivened the three miles with stories of the houses we passed and the people who lived in them, and to my law-abiding Northern ears, the recital13 indubitably smacked14 of the South. This old gentleman—so Rad called him—had kept an illicit15 still in his cellar for fifteen years, and it had not been discovered until after his death (of delirium16 tremens). The young lady who lived in that house—one of the belles17 of the county—had eloped with the best man on the night before the wedding and the rightful groom18 had shot himself. The one who lived here had eloped with her father's overseer, and had rowed across the river in the only available boat, leaving her outraged19 parent on the opposite bank.
I finally burst out laughing.
"Does everyone in the South run away to get married? Don't you ever have any legitimate20 weddings with cake and rice and old shoes?" As I spoke21 I remembered Nannie and wondered if I had touched on a delicate subject.
But Radnor returned my laugh.
"We do have a good many elopements," he acknowledged. "Maybe there are more cruel parents in the South." Then he suddenly sobered. "I suppose you remember Nan?" he inquired with an air of hesitation22.
"Poor girl!" he said. "I'm afraid she had a pretty tough time. You'd best not mention her to the old gentleman—or Jeff either."
"Does the Colonel still feel hard toward them?"
Radnor frowned slightly.
"He doesn't forgive," he returned.
"What was the trouble with Jeff?" I ventured. "I have never heard any particulars."
"He and my father didn't agree. I don't remember very much about it myself; I was only thirteen when it happened. But I know there was the devil of a row."
"Do you know where he is?" I asked.
Radnor shook his head.
"I sent him some money once or twice, but my father found it out and shut down on my bank account. I've lost track of him lately—he isn't in need of money though. The last I heard he was running a gambling24 place in Seattle."
"It's a great pity!" I sighed. "He was a fine chap when I knew him."
Radnor echoed my sigh but he did not choose to follow up the subject, and we passed the rest of the way in silence until we turned into the lane that led to Four-Pools. After the manner of many Southern places the house was situated25 well toward the middle of the large plantation, and entirely26 out of sight from the road. The private lane which led to it was bordered by a hawthorn27 hedge, and wound for half a mile or so between pastures and flowering peach orchards28. I delightedly breathed in the fresh spring odors, wondering meanwhile how it was that I had let that happy Virginia summer of my boyhood slip so entirely from my mind.
As we rounded a clump29 of willow30 trees we came in sight of the house, set on a little rise of ground and approached by a rolling sweep of lawn. It was a good example of colonial—white with green blinds, the broad brick floored veranda31, which extended the length of the front, supported by lofty Doric columns. On the south side a huge curved portico32 bulged33 out to meet the driveway. Stretching away behind the house was a sleepy box-bordered garden, and behind this, screened by a row of evergreens34, were clustered the barns and out-buildings. Some little distance to the left, in a slight hollow and half hidden by an overgrowth of laurels35, stood a row of one-story weather-beaten buildings—the old negro cabins, left over from the slave days.
"It's just as I remember it!" I exclaimed delightedly as I noted one familiar object after another. "Nothing has changed."
"Nothing does change in the South," said Radnor, "except the people, and I suppose they change everywhere."
"And those are the deserted36 negro cabins?" I added, my eye resting on the cluster of gray roofs showing above the shrubbery.
"Just at present they are not so deserted as we should like," he returned with a suggestive undertone in his voice. "You visit the plantation at an interesting time. The Gaylord ha'nt has reappeared."
"The Gaylord ha'nt!" I exclaimed in astonishment37. "What on earth is that?"
Radnor laughed.
"One of our godless ancestors once beat a slave to death and his ghost comes back, off and on, to haunt the negro cabins. We hadn't heard anything of him for a good many years and had almost forgotten the story, when last week he reappeared. Devil fires have been seen dancing in the laurels at night, and mysterious moanings have been heard around the cabins. If you have ever had anything to do with negroes, you can know the state our servants are in."
"Well!" said I, "that promises entertainment. I shall look forward to meeting the ha'nt."
We had reached the house by this time, and as we drew up before the portico the Colonel stood on the top step waiting to welcome me. He was looking much as I remembered him except that his hair had turned from black to white, and his former imperious bearing had become a trifle querulous. I jumped out and grasped his outstretched hand.
"I'm glad to see you, my boy! I'm glad to see you," he said cordially.
My heart warmed toward the old man's "my boy." It had been a good many years since anyone had called me that.
"You've grown since I saw you last," he chuckled38, as he led the way into the house through the group of negro servants who had gathered to see me arrive.
My first fleeting39 glimpse through the open doors told me that it was indeed true, as Radnor had said, nothing had changed. The furniture was the same old-fashioned, solidly simple furniture that the house had contained since it was built. I was amused to see the Colonel's gloves and whip thrown carelessly on a chair in the hall. The whip was the one token by which I remembered him.
"So you've been working too hard, have you, Arnold?" the old man inquired, looking me over with twinkling eyes. "We'll give you something to do that will make you forget you've ever seen work before! There are half a dozen colts in the pasture just spoiling to be broken in; you may try your hand at that, sir. And now I reckon supper's about ready," he added. "Nancy doesn't allow any loitering when it's a question of beat biscuits. Take him up to his room, Rad—and you Mose," he called to one of the negroes hanging about the portico, "come and carry up Marse Arnold's things."
At this one of them shambled forward and began picking up my traps which had been dumped in a pile on the steps. His appearance struck me with such an instant feeling of repugnance40, that even after I was used to the fellow, I never quite overcame that first involuntary shudder41. He was not a full-blooded negro but an octoroon. His color was a muddy yellow, his features were sharp instead of flat, and his hair hung across his forehead almost straight. But these facts alone did not account for his queerness; the most uncanny thing about him was the color of his eyes. They had a yellow glint and narrowed in the light. The creature was bare-footed and wore a faded suit of linsey-woolsey; I wondered at that, for the other servants who had crowded out to see me, were dressed in very decent livery.
Radnor noticed my surprise, and remarked as he led the way up the winding42 staircase, "Mose isn't much of a beauty, for a fact."
I made no reply as the man was close behind, and the feeling that his eyes were boring into the middle of my back was far from pleasant. But after he had deposited his load on the floor of my room, and, with a sidewise glance which seemed to take in everything without looking directly at anything, had shambled off again, I turned to Rad.
"What's the matter with him?" I demanded.
Radnor threw back his head and laughed.
"You look as if you'd seen the ha'nt! There's nothing to be afraid of. He doesn't bite. The poor fellow's half witted—at least in some respects; in others he's doubly witted."
"Who is he?" I persisted. "Where did he come from?"
"Oh, he's lived here all his life—raised on the place. We're as fond of Mose as if he were a member of the family. He's my father's body servant and he follows him around like a dog. We don't keep him dressed for the part because shoes and stockings make him unhappy."
"But his eyes," I said. "What the deuce is the matter with his eyes?"
"Born that way. His eyes are a little queer, but if you've ever noticed it, niggers' eyes are often yellow. The people on the place call him 'Cat-Eye Mose.' You needn't be afraid of him," he added with another laugh, "he's harmless."
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1
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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plantations
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| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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kaleidoscopic
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| adj.千变万化的 | |
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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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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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7
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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prostration
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| n. 平伏, 跪倒, 疲劳 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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whack
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| v.敲击，重打，瓜分；n.重击，重打，尝试，一份 | |
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rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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smacked
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| 拍，打，掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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illicit
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| adj.非法的，禁止的，不正当的 | |
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delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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belles
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| n.美女( belle的名词复数 )；最美的美女 | |
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groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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hawthorn
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| 山楂 | |
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orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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bulged
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| 凸出( bulge的过去式和过去分词 )； 充满； 塞满（某物） | |
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evergreens
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| n.常青树，常绿植物，万年青( evergreen的名词复数 ) | |
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laurels
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| n.桂冠，荣誉 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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38
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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41
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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42
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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43
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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