Bill scratched his chin and shook his head in the negative.
“Wall, ’twas this here way: Jed Powers, you ’member Dan Powers’ Jed, don’ yer? Dan thet was tarred an’ feathered fer selling good likely whiskey ter niggers?” Bill nodded in the affirmative. “Jed Powers wuz seed walkin’ with Jimison’s wench Violy. Be blowed ef he wasn’t gittin’ ready ter cut an’ run ter Canidy with her!”
“Don’ b’lieve yer, durned ef I do,” said Bill.
“Fact! Be durned ef it ain’t jes so.”
“Wall! of all the onnat’rall cusses!”
“But his wurst offense, in gineral, wuz thet he wuz meanin’ fer to marry her!” Hank paused in his narrative to allow a full appreciation of his statement to be impressed upon Bill’s mind.
“Wus an’ wus!” groaned the latter. “What is we comin’ to, by thunder! I allays took Jed to be a decen’ sort o’ cuss, too. What’s the committee doin’ ’bout it?”
“Wall, we sot out to stop thet fun, anyhow. We got him after a hot-chase, an’ we put him in jail; an’ las’ week we guv him his trial. Jedge sentenced him to fifty lashes an’ hangin’ by the neck untell he wuz dead. But somehow or nuther folks is gittin’ squeamish. Jedge don’ durst to hang him; he’ll jes guv him the fifty lashes an’ a talkin’ to on the immoralty o’ his acts an’ ways. Jedge tol’ him he wuz young an’ had a chance to ’pent from the desolute ways o’ his youth, of which his wurst failin’ wuz a-wantin’ to marry niggers, leastwise he’d end in hell, shure. Jedge tol’ him everythin’ ’cordin’ ter law an’ jestice. We wuz calkerlatin’ ter have a celebrashun to which all the leading citizens o’ this county would ’a’ been bid, but, o’ course, not havin’ the hangin’ sort o’ took the ginger out o’ the whole business.”
“I hain’t a doubt o’ yer horsepertality in case o’ the event, Hank; we’s allays got along mighty comf’table tergether,” replied Bill, nodding an emphatic approval of all that Hank had said. The whole speech had been liberally punctuated with copious floods of tobacco juice, which formed a small river between the two men.
“Best thing I know of down our way,” said Bill, after they had taken another good look at the ship, “the best thing I know of was a raffle over ter Jellison’s auction-rooms. A raffle’s a great thing fer pickin up bargains in niggers an’ horses. This pertickler one was fer a bay horse, a new light buggy an’ harness, an’ a Mulatto gal Sal. The whole thing wuz wurth fifteen hundred dollars, an’ we had fifteen hundred chances at a dollar a head. Highest throw took first choice; lowest, the remainder. Winners to pay twenty dollars each fer refreshments.”
“Leetle bit selfish o’ you, Bill, ter keep all thet to yerself,” said Hank, giving Bill a reproachful glance.
“Mabby so, mabby so. But you won’t lose nuthin’, Hank, ef I can help yer in the footur. ’Pears like someone wuz a-tellin’ me,” he continued reflectively, “thet yer wuz a-wurkin’ fer the county ’bout thet time fer board an’ clo’s.”
“Be durned ef I wuzn’t,” replied Hank with great candor. “Shot at a free nigger an’ killed Brady’s dog Pete. Ef it’d been the nigger I’d happened ter kill, hit would ’a’ been all right; but bein’ ’twas a bluded hound thet had tred hundreds o’ runaways, it wuz anuther question; an’ not havin’ the muney ter pay a fine, an’ Brady bein’ purty mad, why in I went fer a munth.”
“Wall, as I was a-sayin’, ter perceed, by a lucky chance it wuz my fust choice, an’ I choose the gal. I knowed she wuz a fust-class breeder an’ my muney wuz shure fer a hundred percent on her.”
“I swear ter gosh, but yer right, Bill; mate her with the right sort an’ you’s got yer own muney.”
Both men now turned their attention to the advancing ship.
“I see ol’ Pollock’s got ’em in tow,” remarked Hank reflectively, after a moment’s silence. “Ans Pollock’s as crafty as can be. No ’fense meant, yer know; seems he’s yer boss still; mean cuss ef he’s rich’s a jedge”; he continued, “s’pose they’ve got a heap o’ money, too.”
“Can’t say as to thet,” replied Bill, “but they bought Pollock’s ol’ place, an’ it looks as though money might be plenty the way everything has been fixed up fer the missis.”
The noon hours were now over, and a great deal of confusion reigned, caused by the arrival of a ship in port with so rich a man as Mr. Montfort aboard. The two friends became separated in the ensuing bustle which attended the landing of the party. During the preceding conversation a carriage and teams for transporting the baggage and slaves had drawn up alongside the shore; and as Mr. Montfort stepped on the rickety wharf and assisted his wife to do the same, a murmur of involuntary admiration ran through the motley crowd of rough white men and ignorant slaves.
Grace Montfort was a dream of beauty even among beautiful women. Tall and slender; her form was willowy, although perfectly molded. Her complexion was creamy in its whiteness, of the tint of the camellia; her hair, a rich golden brown, fell in rippling masses far below the waist line; brown eyes, large and soft as those seen in the fawn; heavy black eyebrows marking a high white forehead, and features as clearly cut as a cameo, completed a most lovely type of Southern beauty.
The two children followed their mother closely. They were sturdy boys, who resembled her in the beauty of their features; and in Jesse, the baby, a still greater resemblance could be traced, because the hair had been allowed to remain
