Hector perforce had gone out to bring in breakfast, a labor which he had long since foregone.
As soon as Mammy Tulip and he were out of the room, Lyddon said to Colonel Tremaine: “Hector, as well as the old woman, knows all about it, as you see. No doubt the plans of these young negroes were made long ago, and probably every other negro on the plantation knows it.” Colonel Tremaine looked pained and mystified.
“It seems incredible to me,” he said, “that Hector, who has been my boy for nearly sixty years, should know of any such design without informing me. When I took him to Baltimore in ’52, he carried all the money for the journey in a belt around his waist, and when a negro abolitionist would have beguiled him into escaping to Philadelphia, Hector remarked that he had money enough in his belt to buy the abolition negro and all his family. It is impossible that he should change in his attitude toward me.”
“The attitude of every negro toward every white person is changed,” coolly replied Lyddon. “Why should it not be?” Just then Hector came in with the tray from the kitchen, carrying mountains of muffins and batter cakes. Colonel Tremaine sought his eye, but Hector, for the first time in his life, evaded the look.
“Very well,” cried Angela, with spirit, “if all the negroes go away we can do as Marie Antoinette and her ladies did at the Little Trianon. I can make the butter, uncle, if you will milk the cows.” At which Colonel Tremaine smiled grimly, and remarked that during the Mexican War he had acquired the accomplishment of being able to milk a cow into a bottle and generally without the knowledge of the cow’s owner.
This flight of the negroes from Harrowby was paralleled by what occurred within a few days at numerous estates in the county. The young negroes went off in droves, taking advantage of the snow to avoid pursuit.
George Charteris had a harrowing tale to tell of every house servant at Greenhill disappearing in a single night, and this with a family of refugees, including five small children, in the house. Mrs. Charteris had been forced to import a plowman into the dining room as butler, who put his fingers in the glasses at dinner and called sauce for the suet pudding “slush for de tallow roll.”
Angela’s experiences were not unlike these. A couple of raw ebony youths, Tom and Israel, otherwise known as Izzle, occupied but did not fill the places of the well-trained Tasso and Jim Henry. They were frightened half out of their lives at “Unc’ Hector” and fled from his face when he was endeavoring to teach them their business. They fell over each other in their desire to oblige “Miss Angela,” whom they adored, and collided with each other at frequent intervals during every meal.
“I ’clare to Gord, Miss Angela,” groaned Hector, “dem black niggers gwine lose me my ’ligion. At pra’r time ’stid o’ praying I jes goes down on my knees and cusses dem niggers same like Abraham cussed Isaac and Rebekah. If Job had had black Torm an’ Izzle, he would have cussed the Gord an’ died, an’ I ain’ no better’n than Job. Lord A’mighty! I wonder what General Zachary Taylor, ole Ruff an’ Ready, as dey called him, would a’ done wid Torm an’ Izzle.”
“The best he could, I suppose, Uncle Hector,” responded Angela promptly and with the positiveness of youth.