It was quite dark, only two lanterns being in the flat, mine and the one the ferryman had. After tremendous effort they got the flat to touch the slip at one end, leaving about four feet of water at the other. I saw that was the best they could do and that it could only stay so for one second, so I called, "Hold it so for a minute." I told Goliah to let go Ruth's head and spoke to her, and as she hesitated gave her a sharp cut with the whip. She leaped out over the gap and we were safe on land.
I drove home too thankful for words for the great escape. Just the thought that we might have been swirling round, drifting down toward the sea with the current, made the drive home seem a delight. When I went to get out of the buckboard, however, I found I was a rag and could scarcely stand.
November 17.
Went out immediately after breakfast and saw Gibbie put half a bushel of cow-peas in the big pot, fill it with water, and make the fire under it to boil food for cows. Then I told him to start ploughing in the half acre of oats. Bonaparte had already scattered the seed. Later in the day I walked down to the field to see the work, and found Gibbie had not done a stroke, had simply gone home, leaving the oats on the earth for the birds to devour. I was too angry to go in pursuit of him. I find it very unwise to speak until I have cooled off. As Bonaparte said to me once, "Ef you don't tek keer dese peeple'll mek yu los yo' soul."
The corn has been so stolen that there is scarcely a fifth of a crop—all the big ears gone, leaving only nubbins. The horses are all weak from lack of food and I feel desperate. Even Goliah is changed! All the joy and fun and play seem to have left him, and his fat little black face looks like a thunder-cloud.
His household at home are urging him to demand more wages, and he does not wish to do it, and yet the clamor there makes him discontented. I brought him a suit of clothes and a pair of shoes, in which complete outfit he sleeps. The weather being very mild, I beg him to save the shoes for cold weather, as he has never worn shoes before; but in vain, unless I put them up for him, which I do not wish to do, for I wish him to have the full enjoyment of them. He found an old pair of white kid gloves in the buckboard. I had used them to wear about the place and somehow left them there. Yesterday he asked me for them and now he wears them all the time—cutting wood, eating dinner.
I tried to translate in concise and striking words the French proverb, "Chat ganté n'attrape point de souris," but it had no effect; he sits gazing at his shoes, his white-gloved hands folded in his lap. I have sent him to school, as the public school is only half a mile away, and there is a good teacher, but nothing can restore the little gay Goliah, who jigged as he walked.
He has eaten of the apple and been driven out from the Eden of childhood and from henceforth will always be wondering how much he can get out of me. I knew it had to come, but I am so sorry, and I miss the little boy so much.
Sunday, November 20.
Our rector's Sunday with us. He gave a very interesting sketch of the church convention, which he had attended. I had to play the organ as well as do all the singing, as Miss Penelope was not able to come. I thought it was impossible, but really nothing is impossible, for when I got home feeling like a rag I found Zadok waiting for me—"to ask my advice," he said.