VI
One Night.
"Gregoire was right: do you know those nasty creatures have gone andleft every speck of the supper dishes unwashed? I've got half a mindto give them both warning to-morrow morning."
Fanny had come in from the kitchen to the sitting-room, and the abovehomily was addressed to her husband who stood lighting his cigar. Hehad lately taken to smoking.
"You'd better do nothing of the kind; you wouldn't find it easy toreplace them. Put up a little with their vagaries: this sort of thingonly happens once a year."
"How do you know it won't be something else just as ridiculousto-morrow? And that idiot of a Minervy; what do you suppose she toldme when I insisted on her staying to wash up things? She says, lastwhatever you call it, her husband wanted to act hard-headed and staidout after dark, and when he was crossing the bayou, the spirits jerkedhim off his horse and dragged him up and down in the water, till hewas nearly drowned. I don't see what you're laughing at; I guess you'dlike to make out that they're in the right."
Hosmer was perfectly aware that Fanny had had a drink, and he rightlyguessed that Morico had given it to her. But he was at a loss toaccount for the increasing symptoms of intoxication that she showed.He tried to persuade her to go to bed; but his efforts to that endremained unheeded, till she had eased her mind of an accumulation ofgrievances, mostly fancied. He had much difficulty in preventing herfrom going over to give Melicent a piece of her mind about her loftyairs and arrogance in thinking herself better than other people. Andshe was very eager to tell Therese that she meant to do as she liked,and would stand no poking of noses in her business. It was a goodwhile before she fell into a heavy sleep, after shedding a few maudlintears over the conviction that he intended to leave her again, andclinging to his neck with beseeching enquiry whether he loved her.
He went out on the veranda feeling much as if he had been wrestlingwith a strong adversary who had mastered him, and whom he was glad tobe freed of, even at the cost of coming inglorious from the conflict.The night was so dark, so hushed, that if ever the dead had wished tostep from their graves and take a stroll above ground, they could nothave found a more fitting hour. Hosmer walked very long in thesoothing quiet. He would have liked to walk the night through. Thelast three hours had been like an acute physical pain, that was overfor the moment, and that being over, left his mind free to return tothe delicious consciousness, that he had needed to be reminded of,that Therese loved him after all. When his measured tread upon theveranda finally ceased to mark the passing hours, a quiet that wasalmost pulseless fell upon the plantation. Place-du-Bois slept.Perhaps the only night in the year that some or other of the negroesdid not lurk in fence corners, or make exchange of nocturnal visits.
But out in the hills there was no such unearthly stillness reigning.Those restless wood-dwellers, that never sleep, were sending startlinggruesome calls to each other. Bats were flapping and whirling anddarting hither and thither; the gliding serpent making quick rustleamid the dry, crisp leaves, and over all sounded the murmur of thegreat pine trees, telling their mystic secrets to the night.
A human creature was there too, feeling a close fellowship with thesespirits of night and darkness; with no more fear in his heart than theunheeded serpent crossing his path. Every inch of the ground he knew.He wanted no daylight to guide him. Had his eyes been blinded he wouldno doubt have bent his body close to earth and scented his way alonglike the human hound that he was. Over his shoulder hung the polishedrifle that sent dull and sudden gleamings into the dark. A large tinpail swung from his hand. He was very careful of this pail--or itscontents, for he feared to lose a drop. And when he accidentallystruck an intervening tree and spilled some upon the ground, hemuttered a curse against his own awkwardness.
Twice since leaving his cabin up in the clearing, he had turned todrive back his yellow skulking dog that followed him. Each time thebrute had fled in abject terror, only to come creeping again into hismaster's footsteps, when he thought himself forgotten. Here was acompanion whom neither Jocint nor his mission required. Exasperated,he seated himself on a fallen tree and whistled softly. The dog, whohad been holding back, dashed to his side, trembling with eagerness,and striving to twist his head around to lick the hand that pattedhim. Jocint's other hand glided quickly into his pocket, from which hedrew forth a coil of thin rope that he flung deftly over the animal'shead, drawing it close and tight about the homely, shaggy throat. Soquickly was the action done, that no sound was uttered, and Jocintcontinued his way untroubled by his old and faithful friend, whom heleft hanging to the limb of a tree.
He was following the same path that he traversed daily to and from themill, and which soon brought him out into the level with its softtufted grass and clumps of squat thorn trees. There was no longer theprotecting wood to screen him; but of such there was no need, for thedarkness hung about him like the magic mantle of story. Nearing themill he grew cautious, creeping along with the tread of a stealthybeast, and halting at intervals to listen for sounds that he wishednot to hear. He knew there was no one on guard tonight. A movement inthe bushes near by, made him fall quick and sprawling to earth. It wasonly Gregoire's horse munching the soft grass. Jocint drew near andlaid his hand on the horse's back. It was hot and reeking with sweat.Here was a fact to make him more wary. Horses were not found in suchcondition from quietly grazing of a cool autumn night. He seatedhimself upon the ground, with his hands clasped about his knees, alldoubled up in a little heap, and waited there with the patience of thesavage, letting an hour go by, whilst he made no movement.
The hour past, he stole towards the mill, and began his work ofsprinkling the contents of his pail here and there along the drytimbers at well calculated distances, with care that no drop should belost. Then, he drew together a great heap of crisp shavings andslathers, plentifully besprinkling it with what remained in the can.When he had struck a match against his rough trousers and placed itcarefully in the midst of this small pyramid, he found that he haddone his work but too surely. The quick flame sprang into life,seizing at once all it could reach. Leaping over intervals; effacingthe darkness that had shrouded him; seeming to mock him as a fool andpoint him out as a target for heaven and earth to hurl destruction atif they would. Where should he hide himself? He only thought now ofhow he might have done the deed differently, and with safety tohimself. He stood with great beams and loose planks surrounding him;quaking with a premonition of evil. He wanted to fly in one direction;then thought it best to follow the opposite; but a force outside ofhimself seemed to hold him fast to one spot. When turning suddenlyabout, he knew it was too late, he felt that all was lost, for therewas Gregoire, not twenty paces away--covering him with the muzzle of apistol and--cursed luck--his own rifle along with the empty pail inthe raging fire.
Therese was passing a restless night. She had lain long awake,dwelling on the insistent thoughts that the day's happenings had givenrise to. The sleep which finally came to her was troubled bydreams--demoniac--grotesque. Hosmer was in a danger from which she wasstriving with physical effort to rescue him, and when she dragged himpainfully from the peril that menaced him, she turned to see that itwas Fanny whom she had saved--laughing at her derisively, and Hosmerhad been left to perish. The dream was agonizing; like an appallingnightmare. She awoke in a fever of distress, and raised herself in bedto shake off the unnatural impression which such a dream can leave.The curtains were drawn aside from the window that faced her bed, andlooking out she saw a long tongue of flame, reaching far up into thesky--away over the tree tops and the whole Southern horizon a glow.She knew at once that the mill was burning, and it was the affair of amoment with her to spring from her bed and don slippers and wrapper.She knocked on Melicent's door to acquaint her with the startlingnews; then hurried out into the back yard and rang the plantationbell.
Next she was at the cottage rousing Hosmer. But the alarm of the bellhad already awakened him, and he was dressed and out on the porchalmost as soon as Therese had called. Melicen
t joined them, highlyagitated, and prepared to contribute her share towards any scene thatmight be going forward. But she found little encouragement for heroicswith Hosmer. In saddling his horse rather hastily he was as unmoved asthough preparing for an uneventful morning canter. He stood at thefoot of the stairs preparing to mount when Gregoire rode up as ifpursued by furies; checking his horse with a quick, violent wrenchthat set it quivering in its taut limbs.
"Well," said Hosmer, "I guess it's done for. How did it happen? whodid it?"
"Jocint's work," answered Gregoire bitingly.
"The damned scoundrel," muttered Hosmer, "where is he?"
"Don' botha 'bout Jocint; he ain't goin' to set no mo' mill afire,"saying which, he turned his horse and the two rode furiously away.
Melicent grasped Therese's arm convulsively.
"What does he mean?" she asked in a frightened whisper.
"I--I don't know," Therese faltered. She had clasped her handsspasmodically together, at Gregoire's words, trembling with horror ofwhat must be their meaning.
"May be he arrested him," suggested the girl.
"I hope so. Come; let's go to bed: there's no use staying out here inthe cold and dark."
Hosmer had left the sitting-room door open, and Therese entered. Sheapproached Fanny's door and knocked twice: not brusquely, butsufficiently loud to be heard from within, by any one who was awake.No answer came, and she went away, knowing that Fanny slept.
The unusual sound of the bell, ringing two hours past midnight--thatvery deadest hour of the night--had roused the whole plantation. Onall sides squads of men and a few venturesome women were hurryingtowards the fire; the dread of supernatural encounters overcome forthe moment by such strong reality and by the confidence lent them ineach other's company.
There were many already gathered around the mill, when Gregoire andHosmer reached it. All effort to save anything had been abandoned asuseless. The books and valuables had been removed from the office. Thefew householders--mill-hands--whose homes were close by, had carriedtheir scant belongings to places of safety, but everything else wasgiven over to the devouring flames.
The heat from this big raging fire was intense, and had driven most ofthe gaping spectators gradually back--almost into the woods. Butthere, to one side, where the fire was rapidly gaining, and makingitself already uncomfortably felt, stood a small awe-stricken grouptalking in whispers; their ignorance and superstition making themirresolute to lay a hand upon the dead Jocint. His body lay amongstthe heavy timbers, across a huge beam, with arms outstretched and headhanging down upon the ground. The glazed eyes were staring up into thered sky, and on his swarthy visage was yet the horror which had comethere, when he looked in the face of death.
"In God's name, what are you doing?" cried Hosmer. "Can't some of youcarry that boy's body to a place of safety?"
Gregoire had followed, and was looking down indifferently at the dead."Come, len' a han' there; this is gittin' too durn hot," he said,stooping to raise the lifeless form. Hosmer was preparing to help him.But there was some one staggering through the crowd; pushing men toright and left. With now a hand upon the breast of both Hosmer andGregoire, and thrusting them with such force and violence, as to laythem prone amongst the timbers. It was the father. It was old Morico.He had awakened in the night and missed his boy. He had seen the fire;indeed close enough that he could hear its roaring; and he kneweverything. The whole story was plain to him as if it had been told bya revealing angel. The strength of his youth had come back to speedhim over the ground.
"Murderers!" he cried looking about him with hate in his face. He didnot know who had done it; no one knew yet, and he saw in every man helooked upon the possible slayer of his child.
So here he stood over the prostrate figure; his old gray jeans hangingloosely about him; wild eyed--with bare head clasped between hisclaw-like hands, which the white disheveled hair swept over. Hosmerapproached again, offering gently to help him carry his son away.
"Stand back," he hurled at him. But he had understood the offer. Hisboy must not be left to burn like a log of wood. He bent down andstrove to lift the heavy body, but the effort was beyond his strength.Seeing this he stooped again and this time grasped it beneath thearms; then slowly, draggingly, with halting step, began to movebackward.
The fire claimed no more attention. All eyes were fastened upon thisweird picture; a sight which moved the most callous to offer again andagain assistance, that was each time spurned with an added defiance.
Hosmer stood looking on, with folded arms; moved by the grandeur andmajesty of the scene. The devouring element, loosed in its awfulrecklessness there in the heart of this lonely forest. The motleygroup of black and white standing out in the great red light,powerless to do more than wait and watch. But more was he stirred tothe depths of his being, by the sight of this human tragedy enactedbefore his eyes.
Once, the old man stops in his backward journey. Will he give over?has his strength deserted him? is the thought that seizes everyon-looker. But no--with renewed effort he begins again his slowretreat, till at last a sigh of relief comes from the whole watchingmultitude. Morico with his burden has reached a spot of safety. Whatwill he do next? They watch in breathless suspense. But Morico doesnothing. He only stands immovable as a carved image. Suddenly there isa cry that reaches far above the roar of fire and crash of fallingtimbers: "_Mon fils! mon garcon!_" and the old man totters and fallsbackward to earth, still clinging to the lifeless body of his son. Allhasten towards him. Hosmer reaches him first. And when he gently liftsthe dead Jocint, the father this time makes no hinderance, for he toohas gone beyond the knowledge of all earthly happenings.