There was great excitement on the plantation, for Susanne, the Madame’s maid, was to marry Henry, Major Stone’s man-in-waiting. Susanne had told the Judge of her desire, and, not wishing to sell Susanne, or to separate her from the husband of her choice, the Judge had promptly bought him for a good round sum. The Madame herself had looked to the details of Susanne’s wedding-gown, for the Madame set great store by Susanne, and the ceremony was to be performed in the dining-room. Then afterwards would come the feast and dance in the Quarters until daylight, in which the inmates of every cabin, by invitation of the bride, might join.
Micajah’s cabin felt the unwonted influence, and even the little fan-bearer was in a flutter about the wedding. Milly had been bidden; carefully she laid her small store of finery upon the bed, and was softly singing to herself before going to the field. Milly believed in feasting, though, unlike Micajah, who loved to scrape his foot to anybody’s fiddle, she only believed in a certain kind of terpsichorean exercise, which she called “de ’ligious dance.” Hers was only executed upon solemn occasions, or commemorated special emotions, but Milly was indulgent to the general fault in others.
These fair days of freedom were losing more and more of their beauty to Uncle Cage; the song of the mocking-bird was far less sweet, and even the crimson-and-black beauty of the watermelon had almost lost its lusciousness to the idle slave of freedom. But, most of all, the impudence of the jay-birds maddened him when they came to gather from the remnant of his meals.
Many an unpicked bone and half-finished biscuit was flung at them in the abundance, to be regretted in the after-time.
“I lay I gwine larn ’em,” muttered Cage, as he resumed his solitary dinner after a vigorous onslaught, which was about the only exercise the monarch would allow himself; and the fact was that Uncle Cage might be suspected of a first-class case of dyspepsia, for the life of irregularity and idleness was telling hardly upon his astonished organs and his temper. “I lay I gwine larn ’em—er-eatin’ er my vittles an’ er-callin’ me ’Cage! Cage!’ des es pat, ’dout eben er handle ter hit, an’ erlowin’ ’He got hit! he got hit!’ lack hit any business er thern ef I is got freedom. I lay I larn ’em!”
As he grew more and more irascible the negroes drew entirely away from him, even his chosen few, and freely let him know that they could get along without him. But now the crowning insult had been offered—he had not been bidden to the wedding. It was Milly’s charm—he knew that it was Milly; the fact of his freedom could not alone have worked that change in his fellows; and Milly, finding her spouse exceedingly cross upon this particular morning, wisely refrained from any but necessary conversation.
Micajah was stung to the quick, and dwelt upon his sorrow. At a wedding he was in his own particular province, and everybody knew it—that was where it wounded. They had even invited Milly before his eyes, and the messenger had sarcastically “‘lowed dat es Cage were erbove workin’ wid common niggers, he reckoned he were erbove playin’ an’ eatin’ wid ’em.” And the little fan-bearer suffered that day, for Micajah’s feet were very hot.
At last the momentous hour arrived, and there was much hurrying to and fro in the Quarters. Here and there Susanne was swishing her wedding-skirts and bandying saucy words with the older negroes, but she did not even pause at Micajah’s cabin.