The first thing Don did, after locking the door behind him, was to take from his pocket a small bundle, which being undone proved to contain a brush and a box of blacking. His next move was to open a huge chest that stood at the head of the bed. In it he found four articles he needed—a suit of clothes neatly folded up; a gaudily-colored handkerchief; a shining plug hat, that had once been the property of the general; and a pair of heavy plantation shoes, like those which used to be so extensively manufactured in New England under the name of “russets.” The fifth article Don needed to complete the disguise he was about to assume was a walking-stick, and that stood in the corner behind the chest.
Having selected everything he wanted, Don quickly divested himself of his outer clothing, and in two minutes more had put on old Jordan’s Sunday suit, which fitted him well enough for all practical purposes. The shoes were much too large, but by putting a roll of paper in the toe of each, he found that he could walk in them very well. He wrapped the handkerchief about his head, leaving the ends hanging down behind, and taking care to cover up all his hair so that no one could see it, and placed the plug hat on the top of it. Then the blacking brush, and the three-cornered piece of looking glass that was nailed against the wall, came into use, and in a few minutes more Don had made such a change in his appearance that his own father would not have recognised him.
“I wish I had some of that burnt cork, or whatever it is, that the minstrels use to blacken their faces,” said the boy, glancing into the little mirror after he had finished his work. “My white skin shows through almost too much. But, after all, who cares for that? It will be dark when I present myself to Godfrey, and I shall have no need to be so very particular about my hands and face. I say! this is going to a good deal of trouble for a little fun, isn’t it? No matter; if I can see Godfrey run as he did on the night he saw the pumpkin with the lighted candle in it, I shall be well repaid.”
Don could remember old Jordan very well, for, although he was young when the latter went away, his peculiar actions and odd style of dress had made a lasting impression on him. Besides, he had heard him described time and again; and his sayings had been so often repeated, and his style of locomotion so frequently imitated by those who knew him, that Don thought he should have no difficulty in passing himself off for old Jordan. Now that he was dressed and ready for the performance, he thought it would be a great pity to assume his own character again before he had tested his disguise.
This thought had no sooner suggested itself to him than he prepared to act upon it. Everything favored him. The door of the room, opening as it did into a narrow passage-way that led from the barn into the corn-crib, was out of sight of anybody who might happen to be on the barn floor. The only difficult thing for him to do, was to get out of the passage-way without being seen. That being accomplished he did not care who saw him—provided, of course, that the members of the family kept out of the way—for no one could tell where he came from.
“But I must first make sure of a way of retreat,” thought Don, as he looked about the room for something with which to draw the nails that held the window. “I must get back into this room, somehow, and it may not be quite safe to get back the same way I go out.”
But Don could not find a hammer or anything else to draw the nails with, so he broke them off by prying them up and down with the end of his walking-stick. Then he raised the window, placing a stick under it to keep it open, and unhooked the shutter which fitted tightly enough to remain closed, even when it was not fastened. After that he looked into the mirror again, touched up one or two white spots on his hands and face, grasped his walking-stick, and slipped out into the passage-way. Locking the door he put the key into his pocket, and moved cautiously down the passage-way until he could look into the barn.
There was no one there except the hostler, and he was busy and his back was turned toward Don. Moving with noiseless footsteps, the boy succeeded in walking out into the middle of the floor before he was discovered. He did not expect to be recognised by the hostler, for the latter was a new hand who had never been acquainted with Jordan; but there were some negroes at work in the field close by who knew the old fellow he was now personating, and toward them Don directed his course.
The hostler looked up from his work when he heard the sound of footsteps behind him, and seeing a strange negro approaching, spoke to him very civilly; but Don took no notice of him. He was playing ghost now, and ghosts did not speak to anybody—at least he had never heard that they did. Walking straight out of the door he turned toward the place where the negroes were at work, and had not made many steps before one of them discovered him. He straightened up quickly, shaded his eyes with his hand, and said a few words in a low tone to his companions, who also turned and looked at Don. They gazed fixedly at him for a moment, and then broke out into a chorus of greeting.
“Bress my soul an’ body, if dar ain’t ole uncle Jordan!” they exclaimed in concert.