I
The cold gray light of early dawn had given place to saffron, and the first drowsy challenge from the henroost had been shrilly answered from far and near, when old man Jerry awoke from his nap in the chimney corner, and, finding himself chilled through all his old, rheumatic bones, bent over the dying embers, pushed together the blackened and half-burned “chunks,” and blew them until they glowed. Then, hitching his stool close into the ashes, he spread his horny palms to the blaze, and basked in its genial warmth as it crackled up the wide chimney. Reaching his pipe from its nook, he filled it, dipped it skillfully in the coals so as to ignite without wasting the precious weed, and drew a long whiff by way of a start; then, bending still closer to the blaze, he pulled away, now and then rubbing his shins in slow content, as though to emphasize his comfort.
All things, though, must come to an end. The “chunks” became a heap of white ashes, the pipe was finished, and broad shafts of light stealing down the chimney and under the door told “Ung Jerry” that it was time to be stirring.
He had, according to his usual custom, risen from his bed long before cockcrow, and, having cooked and eaten his “morning bread,” had unlatched his door in order to throw a morsel to his old hog-hound, “Drive,” who had already crept from under the house, and stood wagging his stump of a tail in eager expectancy. The morsel being thrown, the old man had cast a knowing look towards the heavens, and, judging by the seven stars that it yet lacked an hour to dawn, had returned to the smoky warmth and comfort of his hovel, where, seated in the chimney nook, he had nodded till roused by the crowings from all the neighboring henroosts—for his cabin was one of many.
The pipe being smoked, Ung Jerry rose stiffly, and, shuffling to his bed, fumbled underneath it, and, taking care not to disturb the setting hen, brought out two bits of old blanket, with which he proceeded to wrap his feet before putting on his shoes.[2]
The hog-horn was now slung over the old coat, a bucket of cold victuals was reached from the shelf, and the old hog-feeder, equipped for his day’s work, lifted the latch, and, stepping out into the sharp frostiness of the November morning, plodded with heavy steps toward the barnyard, Drive following closely at his heels.
The frosty fields were glittering in the slant rays of the newly risen sun, and sounds of busy life came floating through the crisp air, telling the old man that the day’s labor had begun. The sharp crack of the teamster’s whip told that the great ox wagons were already afield. The plow-boys whistled as they led out their mules; men and short-skirted, heavily shod women went trooping to the cotton fields; the milkwomen stepped briskly by, with the foaming pails balanced upon their well-poised heads. Then came the cowboys, with noisy whoop, driving before them the crowding, clumsy, sweet-breathed herd, while, fearlessly amid all, pigeons fluttered, greedily picking up the refuse grain, heedless of the hoofs among which they pecked and fluttered.
One small, grizzled mule, of great age and much cunning, had contrived to slip into the feedroom, and was there enjoying a stolen bait of oats when Ung Jerry found her.
“You ’speck I wan’t gwine fine you, I reckon, but you ’se wrong dis time,” he said, taking her by one of the long ears and leading her off to the barnyard, where the little cart awaited her.
Drive, meanwhile, had crept under the barn, where, nosing about, he had come upon a hen’s nest, and was feasting upon the warm, fresh eggs.
The hitching-up was done with great deliberation. Ung Jerry plodded to and from the harness-room many times, bringing out first a chuck collar, then a bit of leather, finally, after a long search, an end of rope. At length, when all seemed to be adjusted, the old man again retired to the harness-room, where he remained so long that Drive was contemplating another raid upon the hens, when he reappeared, bringing with him an old piece of bagging, with which he proceeded with careful adjustment to protect the old mule’s back from the friction of the cart-saddle. She, meanwhile, had stood with closed eyes and flopped ears, immovable save for an occasional twitching of her small, rat-like tail; but when the loading began, her manner changed from its quiescent indifference; watchful glances followed each basketful that was dumped in, and an ominous backing of the ears gave warning of what would happen should the load be heavier than she liked.
At length, all being ready for the start, Ung Jerry climbed slowly to his perch on the cart’s edge, gave a jerk to the rope bridle, and Rachel moved off, closely followed by Drive, who, conscious of egg-sucking and fearful of its consequences, had prudently ensconced himself beneath the cart, from whence he eyed, suspiciously, all passers-by.
Slowly the little cart crept along the narrow plantation lanes, crept past the level cornfields and into the wide pasture, where sunburnt mares were grazing with their wild-eyed, unkempt colts; crept past the marsh, where the heron, disturbed in her solitary vigil, rose upon silent wing and sought some more secluded haunt amid the dim recesses of the swamp.
Turning at length into the forest, where the gray moss hanging from the trees almost obscured the deep blue autumnal sky, the cart slowly creaked through the rustling leaves until it came upon a cross fence which barred the way. Here, as Rachel came to a full stop, Ung Jerry awoke from his nap, descended from his perch, and, unslinging his horn, blew one long blast.
One was enough. In a moment the deep stillness of the forest was broken by the pattering of many little feet; from the thickets the hogs came; each hurrying with might and main to be foremost, they rushed, grunting, squealing, crowding to the fence, where, standing with upturned faces and small covetous eyes, they awaited the feast of golden grain which the old man hastened to scatter amongst them. Then, leaning upon the fence, he noted each greedy grunter as he wriggled his small tail in keenest enjoyment and cracked the sweet corn.
No need was there to count; to the hog-feeder each animal possessed an individuality so marked that in all the drove the absence of the most insignificant was at once detected. So now, as he leaned upon the fence, he cast anxious glances into the dimness beyond. Evidently some were missing.
Drive, too, divining his master’s thoughts, stood with look intent and anxious yelp, impatient for the search to begin.
Then the word came, “Seek, boy!”
Scrambling through the fence, he dashed into every covert or tangle wherein a hog might lurk, but without result; there came no rush of feet, no shaking of the brown leaves, no startled grunt. All was still, save for the quick panting of the old hound.
The old man then turned his eyes again upon the greedy mob, still hoping to discover the missing ones amongst them. ’T was all in vain.
“De listed sow, she done gone, an’ de big white hogue, he done gone, an’ seben head o’ shotes!” he at length murmured, still, however, casting expectant glances toward the thickets, in which Drive was still sniffing with uneasy yelpings.
“Seem like dem creturs is clean gone, sho’ nuf,” he exclaimed, with an air of unwilling conviction; then adding, “well, ef dey’s gone, I ’se got ’em to fine, dat’s de trufe.”
He called in the dog, and, taking his dinner bucket, climbed the fence and struck off into the woods. Now and again he would pause, put his horn to his lips, and give a long blast, then stand listening with anxious expectancy. Every thicket was searched. It was a weary tramp,—through bogs and sloshes, where the cypress knees stood up like sugar-loaves in the shallow water, or sometimes his steps were bent to some open glade, where the great oaks dropped sweet mast among the brown leaves.
The day was no longer young when a low fence came into view; beyond it stretched a levee, and at its base a glint of water showed itself through the great trees, which stretched their mighty arms as though they would embrace it.
Ung Jerry, after climbing the fence, mounted the levee and stood upon the brink of a wide and muddy river. Taking off his hat, the old man wiped the sweat from his face, then turned an observant eye upon the river, whose muddy waters were already lapping the boughs of the overhanging trees, and with a long-drawn breath exclaimed, “Bank an’ bank!”
Then, as his experienced eye noted the angry swirls near the shore and the débris borne rapidly upon the turbid current, “An’ still on de rise. She gwine be out in de low groun’s befo’ mornin’, bless de Lord; I’s been ’spectin’ she gwine play dis trick eber since de win’ set like et did.”
Then, looking at the field of standing corn upon the further shore, protected by a low levee, and seeming to be upon a lower level than the red waters of the flood, he soliloquized:—
“I’s skeared de fresh gwine ’stroy a sight o’ Mars Jones’s corn. It raly do ’pear like dat corn mout a been housed befo’ now.”
The old man’s thoughts were interrupted at this point by loud and animated barkings from Drive, and, hurrying to the spot whence they proceeded, he discovered the old hound standing in a broken gap in the fence, in a state of excitement over the numerous footprints which told that the truants had broken through and made for the river, evidently with designs upon “Mars Jones’s” cornfield.
“Here’s wha’ dey tuck de watah,” the old man remarked to the dog, as together they followed the footprints to the water’s edge. “Dat ’ere listed sow, she got mo’ sense un folks! She know ’bout Mars Jones’s corn, an’ dey ain’t no fence gwine stop dat cretur when she take a notion for to go.
“Well, well, well, de listed sow, an’ de big white hogue, an’ seben head o’ shotes done tore down de fence, an’ took deyselves ’cross de riber for to steal Mars Jones’s corn; I ’clare ’t is a disgrace. I reckon Mars Jones gwine cuss a plenty when he fine it out. It certinly is a pity for master’s creturs to do sich a low-life trick as dat. But bless de Lord,” and a look of crafty triumph came into his face, “dey’s got dey bellies full, anyhow.”
With this pleasing reflection, and the conviction that nothing more could be done for the present, the old man seated himself upon a log, opened his bucket, took out his jack-knife, and proceeded to eat his dinner, while Drive sat by, in eager readiness to snatch the morsels flung to him, ere they could reach the ground.
When the meal was finished, dog and man each took comfort in his own way. The dog stretched himself in the sunshine. The old man sat with bent head “a-studyin’,” then nodded, then fell into a deep sleep, soothed by the silence, which reigned unbroken save for the distant cawing of a crow.
The long gray moss swayed dreamily upon the motionless boughs of the giant trees. Where the sycamore lifted its gaunt, white arms, the great bald eagle sat immovable, watching with fierce, intent gaze for its prey in the waters below.