The Entailed Hat; Or, Patty Cannon's Times
the sphere it moved upon, traversing a greater arc than a giant's seat
would fill. Purity and conquest, power and welcome, seemed to abide
within it, like the empty throne in Parliament.
Milburn, being left alone, touched the fairy rocker with his foot. It
started so easily and so gracefully, that, when it died away, he pressed
his lips to the top of it, nearest where her neck would be, and
whispered aloud, with feeling, "God knows that kiss, at least, was
pure!"
He looked at the portraits, and, though they were not inscribed, he
guessed at them all, right or wrong, from the insight of local lore or
envious interpretation.
"Yon saucy, greedy, superserviceable rogue," thought Meshach, "with wine
and beef in his cheeks, and silver and harlotry in his eye, was the
Irish tavern-keeper of Rotterdam, who kept a heavy score against the
banished princes whom Cromwell's name ever made to swear and shiver, and
they paid him in a distant office in Accomac, where they might never
see him and his bills again, and there they let him steal most of the
revenue, and, of course, his loyalty was in proportion to his booty.
Many a time, no doubt, he was procurer for both royal brothers, Charles
and James, making his tavern their stew, with Betty Killigrew, or Lucy
Walters, or Katy Peg, or even Anne Hyde, the mother of a queen--of her
who was the Princess Anne, godmother of our worshipful town here. I have
not read in vain," concluded Meshach, "because my noble townsmen drove
me to my cell!"
The next portrait was clothed in military uniform, with a higher type of
manhood, shrewd and vigilant, but magisterial. "That should be
Major-general John Custis," thought Milburn, looking at it, "son of John
the tapster, and a marrying, shifty fellow, who first began greatness as
a salt-boiler on these ocean islands, till his father's friend, Charles
II., in a merry mood, made Henry Bennet, the king's bastard son's
father-in-law, Earl of Arlington and lessee of Virginia. All the
province for forty shillings a year rent! Those were pure, economical
times, indeed, around the court. So salt-boiler John flunkeyed to
Arlington's overseers, named his farm 'Arlington,' hunted and informed
upon the followers of the Puritan rebel Bacon, then turned and fawned
upon King William, too. His grandchildren, all well provided for, spread
around this bay. So much for politics in a merchant's hands!"
The tone of Meshach's comment had somewhat raised his courage, and a
sense of pleasurable interest in the warm room and genial surroundings
led him to pass the time, which was of considerable length, quite
contentedly, till Judge Custis was ready.
* * * * *
Meanwhile, the steeple-top hat was giving some silent astonishment to
the house-servants, assembled to gaze upon it from the foot of the hall.
The neat chamber-servant, Virgie, had carried the wondrous information
to the colonnade that the dreadful creditor had come, and Roxy, the
table waiter, had carried it from the colonnade to the kitchen, where
the common calamity immediately produced a revolution against good
manners.
"Hab he got dat debbil hat on he head, chile?" inquired Aunt Hominy,
laying down the club with which she was beating biscuit-dough on the
block.
"Yes, aunty, he's left it on the hat-rack. I'm afraid to go past it to
the do'."
Aunt Hominy threw the club on the blistered bulk of dough, and retreated
towards the big black fireplace, with a face expressive of so much
fright and cunning humor together that it seemed about to turn white,
but only got as far as a pucker and twitches.
"De Lord a massy!" exclaimed Aunt Hominy, "chillen, le's burn dat hat in
de fire! Maybe it'll liff de trouble off o' dis yer house. We got de hat
jess wha' we want it, chillen. Roxy, gal, you go fotch it to Aunt
Hominy!"
The girl started as if she had been asked to take up a snake: "'Deed,
Aunt Hominy, I wouldn't touch it to save my life. Nobody but ole Samson
ever did that!"
"Go' long, gal!" cried Aunt Hominy, "didn't Miss Vessy hole dat ar' hat
one time, an' pin a white rose in it? Didn't he, dat drefful Meshach
Milbun, offer Miss Vessy a gole dollar, an' she wouldn' have none of his
gole? Dat she did! Virgie, you go git dat hat, chile! Poke it off de
rack wid my pot-hook heah. 'Twon't hurt you, gal! I'll sprinkle ye fust
wid camomile an' witch-hazel dat I keep up on de chimney-jamb."
Aunt Hominy turned towards the broadly notched chimney sides, where
fifty articles of negro pharmacy were kept--bunches of herbs, dried
peppers, bladders of seeds, and bottles of every mystic potency.
"Aunty," answered Virgie, "if I wasn't afraid of that Bad Man, I would
be afraid to move that hat, because Miss Vessy would be mortified.
Think of her seeing me treating a visitor's things like that. Why, I'd
rather be sold!"
"Dat hat," persisted Aunt Hominy, "is de ruin ob dis family. Dat hat,
gals, de debbil giv' ole Meshach, an' made him wear it fo' de gift ob
gittin' all de gole in Somerset County. Don't I know when he wore it
fust? Dat was when he begun to git all de gole. Fo' dat he had been po'
as a lizzer, sellin' to niggers, cookin' fo' heseff, an' no' count,
nohow. He sot up in de loft of his ole sto' readin' de Bible upside down
to git de debbil's frenship. De debbil come in one night, and says to
ole Meshach: 'Yer's my hat! Go, take it, honey, and measure land wid it,
and all de land you measure is yo's, honey!' An' Meshach's measured mos'
all dis county in. Jedge Custis's land is de last."
The relation affected both girls considerably, and the group of little
colored boys and girls still more, who came up almost chilled with
terror, to listen; but it produced the greatest effect on Aunt Hominy
herself, whose imagination, widened in the effort, excited all her own
fears, and gave irresistible vividness to her legend.
"How can his hat measure people's lands in, Aunty?" asked Virgie,
drawing Roxy to her by the waist for their mutual protection.
"Why, chile, he measures land in by de great long shadows dat debbil's
hat throws. Meshach, he sots his eyes on a good farm. Says he, 'I'll
measure dat in!' So he gits out dar some sun-up or sundown, when de sun
jest sots a'mos' on de groun, an' ebery tree an' fence-pos' and standin'
thing goes away over de land, frowin' long crooked shadows. Dat's de
time Meshach stans up, wid dat hat de debbil gib him to make him longer,
jest a layin' on de fields like de shadow of a big church-steeple. He
walks along de road befo' de farm, and wherever dat hat makes a mark on
de ground all between it an' where he walks is ole Meshach's land.
Dat's what he calls his mortgage!"
The children had their mouths wide open; the maids heard with faith only
less than fear.
"But, Aunt Hominy," spoke Roxy, "he never measured in Judge Custis's
house, and all of us in it, that is to be sold."
"Didn't I see him a doin' of it?" whispered Aunt Hominy, stooping as if
to creep, in the contraction of her own fears, and looking up into their
faces with her fists clinched. "He's a ben comin' along de fence on de
darkest, cloudiest nights dis long a time, like a man dat was goin' to
rob something, and peepin' up at Miss Vessy's window. He took de dark
nights, when de streets of Prencess Anne was clar ob folks, an' de dogs
was in deir cribs, an' nuffin' goin' aroun' but him an' wind an' cold
an' rain. One night, while he was watchin' Miss Vessy's window like a
black crow, from de shadow of de tree, I was a-watchin' of him from de
kitchen window. De moon, dat had been all hid, come right from behin' de
rain-clouds all at once, gals, an' scared him like. De moon was low on
de woods, chillen, an' as ole Meshach turned an' walked away, his
debbil's shadow swept dis house in. He measured it in dat night. It's
ben his ever since."
"Well," exclaimed Roxy, after a pause, "I know I wouldn't take hold of
that hat now."
"I am almost afraid to look at it," said Virgie, "but if Miss Vessy told
me to go bring it to her, I would do it."
"Le's us all go together," ventured Aunt Hominy, "and take a peep at it.
Maybe it won't hurt us, if we all go."
Aware that Judge Custis and his wife were not near, the little circle of
servants--Aunt Hominy, Virgie, Roxy, and the four children, from five to
fourteen years of age--filed softly from the kitchen through the covered
colonnade, and thence along the back passage to the end of the hall,
where they made a group, gazing with believing wonder at the King James
tile.
* * * Vesta Custis, having changed her morning robe for a walking-suit,
and slightly rearranged her toilet, and knelt speechless awhile to
receive the unknown will of Heaven, came down the stairs at last, in
time to catch a glimpse of half-a-dozen servants staring at a strange
old hat on the hall rack. They hastily fled at her appearance, but the
idea of the hat was also conveyed to her own fancy by their unwonted
behavior. She looked up an instant at the queer, faded article hanging
among its betters, and with a reminiscence of childhood, and of having
held it in her hand, there descended along the intervening years upon
the association, the odor of a rose and the impression of a pair of
bold, startled eyes gazing into hers. She opened the library door, and
the same eyes were looking up from her father's easy-chair.
"Mr. Milburn, I believe?" said Vesta, walking to the visitor, and
extending her hand with native sweetness.
He arose and bowed, and hardly saw the hand in the earnest look he gave
her, as if she had surprised him, and he did not know how to express his
bashfulness. She did not withdraw the hand till he took it, and then he
did not let it go. His strong, rather than bold, look, continuing, she
dropped her eyes to the hand that mildly held her own, and then she
observed, all calm as she was, that his hand was a gentleman's, its
fingers long and almost delicate, the texture white, the palm warm, and,
as it seemed to her, of something like a brotherly pressure, respectful
and gentle too.
As he did not speak immediately, Vesta returned to his face, far less
inviting, but peculiar--the black hair straight, the cheek-bones high,
no real beard upon him anywhere, the shape of the face broad and
powerful, and the chops long, while the yellowish-brown eyes, wide open
and intense, answered to the open, almost observant nostrils at the end
of his straight, fine nose. His complexion was dark and forester-like,
seeming to show a poor, unnutritious diet. He was hardly taller than
Vesta. His teeth were good, and the mouth rather small. She thought he
was uncertain what to say, or confused in his mind, though no sign of
fear was visible. Vesta came to his rescue, withdrawing her hand
naturally.
"I have seen you many times, Mr. Milburn, but never here, I think."
"No, miss, I have never been here." He hesitated. "Nor anywhere in
Princess Anne. You are the first lady here to speak to me."
His words, but not his tone, intimated an inferiority or a slight. The
voice was a little stiff, appearing to be at want for some corresponding
inflection, like a man who had learned a language without having had the
use of it.
"Will you sit, Mr. Milburn? You owe this visit so long that you will not
be in haste to-day. I hope you have not felt that we were inhospitable.
But little towns often encourage narrow circles, and make people more
selfish than they intend."
"You could never be selfish, miss," said Milburn, without any of the
suavity of a compliment, still carrying that wild, regarding gaze, like
the eyes of a startled ox.
Vesta faintly colored at the liberty he took. It was slightly
embarrassing to her, too, to meet that uninterpretable look of inquiry
and homage; but she felt her necessity as well as her good-breeding, and