The Entailed Hat; Or, Patty Cannon's Times
into Snow Hill for the doctor. Poor mother is dreadful sick!"
Then, leaping upon the lean old horse, bare-backed and with a rope
bridle, Meshach had pushed through the deep sand, bareheaded and
barefooted, and almost crazy with excitement, until he entered the
shining streets of the sandhilled town, and sensitively rushed into the
doctor's office, crying, "Daddy and mammy is sick, at the Furnace!" and
told his name, and wheeled, and fled.
But, as the boy rode home, more slowly, past the river full of
splutter-docks, the yellow masts of vessels rising above the woods, the
flat fields of corn everywhere bounded by forest, and the small white
houses of the better farmers, and at last entered the murmurous,
complaining woods, he saw but one thing--his mother.
Was she to disappear from the lonely clearing, and leave only the hut
and its orphans? she, who kept heaven here below, and was the saints,
the arts, the all-sufficient for her child? With her there could be no
poverty; without her riches would be only more sand. With a little
molasses she made Christmas kingly with a cake. She could name a little
chicken "Meshach," and every egg it laid was a new toy. A mocking-bird
caught in the swamp became one of the family by her kindness; would it
ever sing again? The religion they knew was all of her. The poor slaves
saw no difference in mistresses while she was theirs. In sickness she
was in her sphere--health itself had come. And once, the tenderest
thing in life, when his father and she had quarrelled, and the light of
love being out made the darkness of poverty for the only time visible,
Meshach saw her weeping, and he could not comfort her.
Then, blinded by tears, he lashed his nag along, and entered the low
door. She was dead!
"Sonny, mammy's gone!" the wretched father groaned; the little children,
huddling about the form, lifted their wail; the mocking-bird could find
no note for this, and was hushed.
Milburn arose; the fire was low. He walked to the door, and there was a
sign of day; the all-surrounding woods of pine were still dark, but on
the sandy road and hummock-field some light was shining, like
hopefulness against hope; the farm was ploughed no more; the ungrateful
centuries were left behind and abandoned, like old wilderness
battle-fields, so sterile that their great events remain ever unvisited.
"Ho! Samson, boy! It is time!"
"Yes, marster!" answered the negro in the loft.
As the negro gathered himself up and passed down the stairs, he saw
Meshach Milburn before the fire, stirring the coals. Passing out, Samson
stood a moment at the gate, and lounged up the road, not to lose his
master. As he stood there, flames burst out of the old hut and glistened
on the evergreen forest, lighting the tops of the mossy cypresses in the
mill-pond, and revealing the forms of the sandy fields. Before he could
start back Samson saw his master's figure go round and round the house,
lighting the weather-boarding from place to place with a torch; and then
the low figure, capped with the long hat, came up the road as if at
mighty strides, so lengthened by the fire.
"No need of alarm, boy!" exclaimed the filial incendiary. "Henceforth my
only ancestral hall is _here_!"
He held the ancient tile up in the light of the blaze.
"Ah, marster!" said the negro, "yo' hat will never give comfort like a
home, fine as de hat may be, mean as de roof! De hat will never hold two
heads, and dat makes happiness."
"The hat, at least," answered Milburn, bitterly, "will cover me where I
go. Such rotted roofs as that was make captives of bright souls."
They looked on the fire in silence a few minutes.
"You have burnt me out, boss," said old Samson, finally. "I ain't got no
place to go an' hide when I fights, now. It makes me feel solemn."
"Peace!" replied Meshach Milburn. "Now for the horses and Princess
Anne!"
CHAPTER VI.
THE CUSTISES RUINED.
Vesta Custis, dressing in her chamber, heard early wheels upon the
morning air, and looking through the blinds saw a double team coming up
the road from Hardship.
"Mother," she said, "is that father coming, yonder? No, it is not his
driver."
"Why, Vesta!" exclaimed Mrs. Custis, "that is old Milburn's man."
"Samson Hat? so it is. What is he doing with two horses?"
Here Vesta laughed aloud, and began to skip about in her long, slender,
worked slippers, whose insteps would spare a mouse darting under.
"Mamma, it is Milburn himself, in a hack and span. See there; the
steeple-top hat, copper buckle and all! Isn't he too funny for anything!
But, dear me! he is staring right up at this window. Let us duck!"
Vesta's long, ivory-grained arms, divided from her beautiful shoulders
only by a spray of lace, pulled her mother down.
"Don't be afraid, dear! he can see nothing but the blinds. Perhaps he is
looking for the Judge."
Vesta rose again in her white morning-gown, like a stag rising from a
snow-drift. A long, trembling movement, the result of tittering, passed
down the graceful column of her back.
"He sits there like an Indian riding past in a show, mamma! Did you ever
see such a hat?"
"I think it must be buggy by this time," said the mother; and both of
them shook with laughter again. "Unless," added Mrs. Custis, "the bugs
are starved out."
"Poor, lonely creature," said Vesta, "he can only wear such a hat from
want of understanding."
"His _understanding_ is good enough, dear. He has the green gaiters on."
They laughed again, and Vesta's hair, shaken down by her merriment, fell
nearly to her slipper, like the skin of some coal-black beast, that had
sprung down a poplar's trunk.
"Ah! well," exclaimed Vesta, as her maid entered and proceeded to wind
up this satin cordage on her crown, "what men are in their minds, can
woman know? Old ladies, not unfrequently, wear their old coal-scuttle
bonnets long past the fashion, but it is from want. This man is his own
master and not poor. His companion is a negro, and his taste a mouldy
hat, old as America. How happy are we that it is not necessary to pry
into such minds! A little refinement is the next blessing to religion."
"Your father's mind is a puzzle, too, Vesta. He has everything which
these foresters lack,--education, society, standing, and comforts. But
he returns to the forest, like an opossum, the moment your eye is off
him. He can't be traced up like this man, by his hat. I think it's a
shame on you, particularly. If he don't come home this day, I shall send
for my brother and force an account of my property from Judge Custis!"
The wife sat down and began to cry.
"I'll take the carriage after breakfast, mamma, and seek him at the
Furnace or wherever he may be. Those bog ores have given him a great
deal of trouble."
"I wish I had never heard of bog ore," exclaimed Mrs. Custis. "When the
money was in bank, there was no ore about it. He goes to the forest
looking like a magistrate and a gentleman; he always comes back looking
like a bog-trotter and a drunkard. There must be _women_ in it!"
Here, in an impulse of weak rage, the poor lady got up and walked to her
mirror and looked at her face. Apparently satisfied that such charms
were trampled on, she dried her tears altogether, and resumed:
"Ginny, go out of the room! (to the neat mulatto lass). Vesta, my dear
daughter, I would not cast a stain upon you for the world; but flesh and
blood _will_ cry out. If your father don't do better I will separate
from him, and leave Princess Anne!"
"Why, _mother_!"
The daughter's bright eyes were large and startled now, and their
steel-blue tint grew plainer under her rich black eyebrows.
"I will do it, if I die, unless he reforms!"
"Why, mother!"
Vesta stood with her lips parted, and her beautiful teeth just lacing
the coral of the lip. She could say no more for a long moment. Rising as
she spoke, with her head thrown back, and her mould the fuller and a
pallor in her cheeks, she looked the Eve first hearing the Creator's
rebuke.
"A separation in this family?" whispered Vesta. "It would scandalize all
Maryland. It would break my heart."
"Darling daughter, my heart must be considered sometimes. I was
something before I was a Custis. I am a woman, too."
Vesta, still pale, crossed to her mother's side and kissed her.
"Don't, don't, mamma, ever harbor a thought like that again. You, who
have been so brave and patient longer than I have lived!"
"Ah, Vesta, it is the length of injury that wears us out! What if
something should happen to us? None are so unfit to bear poverty as we."
"We cannot be poor," said the daughter, soothingly. "Don't you remember,
mother, where it says: 'As thy day, so shall thy strength be'?".
"My child," Mrs. Custis replied, "your day is young. Life looks hopeful
to you. I am growing old, and where is the arm on which I should be
leaning? What are we but two women left? There is another passage on
which I often think when we sit so often alone: 'Two women shall be
grinding at the mill: the one shall be taken and the other left!' Is
that you, or is it I? Listen, my child! it is time that you should feel
the melancholy truth! Your father's habits have mastered him. He is
beyond reclamation!"
Vesta was kneeling, and she slowly raised her head and looked at her
mother, with her nostrils dilated. Mrs. Custis felt uneasy before the
aroused mind of her child.
"Don't look at me so, Vesta," the poor lady pleaded. "I thought you
ought to know it."
"How dare you say that of my father? Of Judge Custis?"
As they were in this suspense of feeling, wheels were heard. The
daughter went to the window and looked down, and then returned to her
mother's ear.
"Hush, mother, it is papa. Now, wash your eyes at the toilet. Let us
meet him cheerfully. Never say again that he is beyond reclamation,
while we can try!"
A kiss smoothed Mrs. Custis's countenance. Vesta was dressed for
breakfast in a few moments, and descended to the library and was
received in her father's arms. He held her there a long while, and held
her close, and by little fits renewed his embrace, but she felt that his
breath was feverish and his arms trembled. Looking up at him she saw,
indeed, that he was flushed, yet haggard and careworn.
"Vessy," he spoke with a feeble attempt to smile, "I want a glass of
brandy. Mine gave out at the Furnace, and the morning ride has weakened
me. Where is the key?"
She looked at him with a half-glance, so that he might not suspect, as
if to measure his need of stimulant. Then, without a word, she led the
way to the dining-room and unlocked the liquor closet, and turned her
back lest he might not drink his need from sensitiveness.
"Naughty man," said Vesta, standing off and looking at him when he was
done. "I was going down for you to the Furnace after breakfast. We will
have no more of this truantry. Mamma and I have set our feet down! You
must come back from the Furnace every night, and go again in the
morning, like other business men. Be very kind to mamma this morning,
sir! She feels your neglect."
Vesta had already rung for the Judge's valet, who now appeared, drew off
his boots, supplied his slippers and dressing-gown, and led the way to
his bath. In a quarter of an hour he reappeared, looking better, and he
irresolutely turned again towards the dining-room, smiling suggestively
at Vesta.
"Not that way," spoke she. "Here is mamma, and we are ready for prayers.
Here is the place in the Bible."
They all went to the family room, where the dressing-maids of Vesta and
her mother were waiting for the usual morning prayers. Vesta placed the
open Bible on her father's knee, and he began absently and stumblingly
to read. It was in the book of Samuel, and seemed to be some old Jewish