The Colonel's Dream Page 19

  _Nineteen_

  Time slipped rapidly by, and the colonel had been in Clarendon acouple of months when he went home one afternoon, and not finding Philand Peter, went around to the Treadwells' as the most likely place toseek them.

  "Henry," said Miss Laura, "Philip does not seem quite well to-day.There are dark circles under his eyes, and he has been coughing alittle."

  The colonel was startled. Had his growing absorption in other thingsled him to neglect his child? Phil needed a mother. This dear,thoughtful woman, whom nature had made for motherhood, had seen thingsabout his child, that he, the child's father, had not perceived. To amind like Colonel French's, this juxtaposition of a motherly heart anda motherless child seemed very pleasing.

  He despatched a messenger on horseback immediately for Dr. Price. Thecolonel had made the doctor's acquaintance soon after coming toClarendon, and out of abundant precaution, had engaged him to callonce a week to see Phil. A physician of skill and experience, agentleman by birth and breeding, a thoughtful student of men andmanners, and a good story teller, he had proved excellent company andthe colonel soon numbered him among his intimate friends. He had seenPhil a few days before, but it was yet several days before his nextvisit.

  Dr. Price owned a place in the country, several miles away, on theroad to Mink Run, and thither the messenger went to find him. He wasin his town office only at stated hours. The colonel was waiting athome, an hour later, when the doctor drove up to the gate with BenDudley, in the shabby old buggy to which Ben sometimes drove his onegood horse on his trips to town.

  "I broke one of my buggy wheels going out home this morning,"explained the doctor, "and had just sent it to the shop when yourmessenger came. I would have ridden your horse back, and let the manwalk in, but Mr. Dudley fortunately came along and gave me a lift."

  He looked at Phil, left some tablets, with directions for their use,and said that it was nothing serious and the child would be all rightin a day or two.

  "What he needs, colonel, at his age, is a woman's care. But for thatmatter none of us ever get too old to need that."

  "I'll have Tom hitch up and take you home," said the colonel, when thedoctor had finished with Phil, "unless you'll stay to dinner."

  "No, thank you," said the doctor, "I'm much obliged, but I told mywife I'd be back to dinner. I'll just sit here and wait for youngDudley, who's going to call for me in an hour. There's a fine mind,colonel, that's never had a proper opportunity for development. Ifhe'd had half the chance that your boy will, he would make his mark.Did you ever see his uncle Malcolm?"

  The colonel described his visit to Mink Run, the scene on the piazza,the interview with Mr. Dudley, and Peter's story about the hiddentreasure.

  "Is the old man sane?" he asked.

  "His mind is warped, undoubtedly," said the doctor, "but I'll leave itto you whether it was the result of an insane delusion or not--if youcare to hear his story--or perhaps you've heard it?"

  "No, I have not," returned the colonel, "but I should like to hearit."

  This was the story that the doctor told:

  * * * * *

  When the last century had passed the half-way mark, and had startedupon its decline, the Dudleys had already owned land on Mink Run for ahundred years or more, and were one of the richest and mostconspicuous families in the State. The first great man of the family,General Arthur Dudley, an ardent patriot, had won distinction in theWar of Independence, and held high place in the councils of the infantnation. His son became a distinguished jurist, whose name is still asynonym for legal learning and juridical wisdom. In Ralph Dudley, theson of Judge Dudley, and the immediate predecessor of the demented oldman in whom now rested the title to the remnant of the estate, thefamily began to decline from its eminence. Ralph did not marry, butled a life of ease and pleasure, wasting what his friends thought raregifts, and leaving his property to the management of his nephewMalcolm, the orphan son of a younger brother and his uncle'sprospective heir. Malcolm Dudley proved so capable a manager that foryear after year the large estate was left almost entirely in hischarge, the owner looking to it merely for revenue to lead his ownlife in other places.

  The Civil War gave Ralph Dudley a career, not upon the field, forwhich he had no taste, but in administrative work, which suited histalents, and imposed more arduous tasks than those of actual warfare.Valour was of small account without arms and ammunition. Acommissariat might be improvised, but gunpowder must be manufacturedor purchased.

  Ralph's nephew Malcolm kept bachelor's hall in the great house. Theonly women in the household were an old black cook, and thehousekeeper, known as "Viney"--a Negro corruption of Lavinia--a tall,comely young light mulattress, with a dash of Cherokee blood, whichgave her straighter, blacker and more glossy hair than most women ofmixed race have, and perhaps a somewhat different temperamentalendowment. Her duties were not onerous; compared with the toilingfield hands she led an easy life. The household had been thusconstituted for ten years and more, when Malcolm Dudley began payingcourt to a wealthy widow.

  This lady, a Mrs. Todd, was a war widow, who had lost her husband inthe early years of the struggle. War, while it took many lives, didnot stop the currents of life, and weeping widows sometimes foundconsolation. Mrs. Todd was of Clarendon extraction, and had returnedto the town to pass the period of her mourning. Men were scarce inthose days, and Mrs. Todd was no longer young, Malcolm Dudley courtedher, proposed marriage, and was accepted.

  He broke the news to his housekeeper by telling her to prepare thehouse for a mistress. It was not a pleasant task, but he was aresolute man. The woman had been in power too long to yieldgracefully. Some passionate strain of the mixed blood in her veinsbroke out in a scene of hysterical violence. Her pleadings,remonstrances, rages, were all in vain. Mrs. Todd was rich, and he waspoor; should his uncle see fit to marry--always a possibility--hewould have nothing. He would carry out his purpose.

  The day after this announcement Viney went to town, sought out theobject of Dudley's attentions, and told her something; just what, noone but herself and the lady ever knew. When Dudley called in theevening, the widow refused to see him, and sent instead, a curt notecancelling their engagement.

  Dudley went home puzzled and angry. On the way thither a suspicionflashed into his mind. In the morning he made investigations, afterwhich he rode round by the residence of his overseer. Returning to thehouse at noon, he ate his dinner in an ominous silence, which struckterror to the heart of the woman who waited on him and had alreadyrepented of her temerity. When she would have addressed him, with alook he froze the words upon her lips. When he had eaten he looked athis watch, and ordered a boy to bring his horse round to the door. Hewaited until he saw his overseer coming toward the house, then spranginto the saddle and rode down the lane, passing the overseer with anod.

  Ten minutes later Dudley galloped back up the lane and sprang from hispanting horse. As he dashed up the steps he met the overseer comingout of the house.

  "You have not----"

  "I have, sir, and well! The she-devil bit my hand to the bone, andwould have stabbed me if I hadn't got the knife away from her. You'dbetter have the niggers look after her; she's shamming a fit."

  Dudley was remorseful, and finding Viney unconscious, sent hastily fora doctor.

  "The woman has had a stroke," said that gentleman curtly, after anexamination, "brought on by brutal treatment. By G--d, Dudley, Iwouldn't have thought this of you! I own Negroes, but I treat themlike human beings. And such a woman! I'm ashamed of my own race, Iswear I am! If we are whipped in this war and the slaves are freed, asLincoln threatens, it will be God's judgment!"

  Many a man has been shot by Southern gentlemen for language lessoffensive; but Dudley's conscience made him meek as Moses.

  "It was a mistake," he faltered, "and I shall discharge the overseerwho did it."

  "You had better shoot him," returned the doctor. "He has no soul--andwhat is worse, no discrimination."


  Dudley gave orders that Viney should receive the best of care. Nextday he found, behind the clock, where she had laid it, the letterwhich Ben Dudley, many years after, had read to Graciella on Mrs.Treadwell's piazza. It was dated the morning of the previous day.

  An hour later he learned of the death of his uncle, who had beenthrown from a fractious horse, not far from Mink Run, and had brokenhis neck in the fall. A hasty search of the premises did not disclosethe concealed treasure. The secret lay in the mind of the strickenwoman. As soon as Dudley learned that Viney had eaten and drunk andwas apparently conscious, he went to her bedside and took her limphand in his own.

  "I'm sorry, Viney, mighty sorry, I assure you. Martin went furtherthan I intended, and I have discharged him for his brutality. You'llbe sorry, Viney, to learn that your old Master Ralph is dead; he waskilled by an accident within ten miles of here. His body will bebrought home to-day and buried to-morrow."

  Dudley thought he detected in her expressionless face a shade ofsorrow. Old Ralph, high liver and genial soul, had been so indulgent amaster, that his nephew suffered by the comparison.

  "I found the letter he left with you," he continued softly, "and musttake charge of the money immediately. Can you tell me where it is?"

  One side of Viney's face was perfectly inert, as the result of herdisorder, and any movement of the other produced a slight distortionthat spoiled the face as the index of the mind. But her eyes were notdimmed, and into their sombre depths there leaped a sudden fire--onlya momentary flash, for almost instantly she closed her lids, and whenshe opened them a moment later, they exhibited no trace of emotion.

  "You will tell me where it is?" he repeated. A request came awkwardlyto his lips; he was accustomed to command.

  Viney pointed to her mouth with her right hand, which was notaffected.

  "To be sure," he said hastily, "you cannot speak--not yet."

  He reflected for a moment. The times were unsettled. Should a wave ofconflict sweep over Clarendon, the money might be found by the enemy.Should Viney take a turn for the worse and die, it would be impossibleto learn anything from her at all. There was another thought, whichhad rapidly taken shape in his mind. No one but Viney knew that hisuncle had been at Mink Run. The estate had been seriously embarrassedby Roger's extravagant patriotism, following upon the heels of otherand earlier extravagances. The fifty thousand dollars would in partmake good the loss; as his uncle's heir, he had at least a moral claimupon it, and possession was nine points of the law.

  "Is it in the house?" he asked.

  She made a negative sign.

  "In the barn?"

  The same answer.

  "In the yard? the garden? the spring house? the quarters?"

  No question he could put brought a different answer. Dudley waspuzzled. The woman was in her right mind; she was no liar--of thisservile vice at least she was free. Surely there was some mystery.

  "You saw my uncle?" he asked thoughtfully.

  She nodded affirmatively.

  "And he had the money, in gold?"

  Yes.

  "He left it here?"

  Yes, positively.

  "Do you know where he hid it?"

  She indicated that she did, and pointed again to her silent tongue.

  "You mean that you must regain your speech before you can explain?"

  She nodded yes, and then, as if in pain, turned her face away fromhim.

  Viney was carefully nursed. The doctor came to see her regularly. Shewas fed with dainty food, and no expense was spared to effect hercure. In due time she recovered from the paralytic stroke, in allexcept the power of speech, which did not seem to return. All ofDudley's attempts to learn from her the whereabouts of the money wereequally futile. She seemed willing enough, but, though she made theeffort, was never able to articulate; and there was plainly somemystery about the hidden gold which only words could unravel.

  If she could but write, a few strokes of the pen would give him hisheart's desire! But, alas! Viney may as well have been without hands,for any use she could make of a pen. Slaves were not taught to read orwrite, nor was Viney one of the rare exceptions. But Dudley was a manof resource--he would have her taught. He employed a teacher for her,a free coloured man who knew the rudiments. But Viney, handicapped byher loss of speech, made wretched progress. From whatever cause, shemanifested a remarkable stupidity, while seemingly anxious to learn.Dudley himself took a hand in her instruction, but with no betterresults, and, in the end, the attempt to teach her was abandoned ashopeless.

  Years rolled by. The fall of the Confederacy left the slaves free andcompleted the ruin of the Dudley estate. Part of the land went, atruinous prices, to meet mortgages at ruinous rates; part lay fallow,given up to scrub oak and short-leaf pine; merely enough wascultivated, or let out on shares to Negro tenants, to provide a livingfor old Malcolm and a few servants. Absorbed in dreams of the hiddengold and in the search for it, he neglected his business and fell yetdeeper into debt. He worried himself into a lingering fever, throughwhich Viney nursed him with every sign of devotion, and from which herose with his mind visibly weakened.

  When the slaves were freed, Viney had manifested no desire to leaveher old place. After the tragic episode which had led to their mutualundoing, there had been no relation between them but that of masterand servant. But some gloomy attraction, or it may have been habit,held her to the scene of her power and of her fall. She had no kithnor kin, and her affliction separated her from the rest of mankind.Nor would Dudley have been willing to let her go, for in her lay thesecret of the treasure; and, since all other traces of her ailment haddisappeared, so her speech might return. The fruitless search wasnever relinquished, and in time absorbed all of Malcolm Dudley'sinterest. The crops were left to the servants, who neglected them. Theyard had been dug over many times. Every foot of ground for rodsaround had been sounded with a pointed iron bar. The house hadsuffered in the search. No crack or cranny had been left unexplored.The spaces between the walls, beneath the floors, under thehearths--every possible hiding place had been searched, with littlecare for any resulting injury.

  * * * * *

  Into this household Ben Dudley, left alone in the world, had come whena boy of fifteen. He had no special turn for farming, but such work aswas done upon the old plantation was conducted under his supervision.In the decaying old house, on the neglected farm, he had grown up inharmony with his surroundings. The example of his old uncle, wreckedin mind by a hopeless quest, had never been brought home to him as awarning; use had dulled its force. He had never joined in the search,except casually, but the legend was in his mind. Unconsciously hisstandards of life grew around it. Some day he would be rich, and inorder to be sure of it, he must remain with his uncle, whose heir hewas. For the money was there, without a doubt. His great-uncle had hidthe gold and left the letter--Ben had read it.

  The neighbours knew the story, or at least some vague version of it,and for a time joined in the search--surreptitiously, as occasionoffered, and each on his own account. It was the common understandingthat old Malcolm was mentally unbalanced. The neighbouring Negroes,with generous imagination, fixed his mythical and elusive treasure ata million dollars. Not one of them had the faintest conception of thebulk or purchasing power of one million dollars in gold; but when onebuilds a castle in the air, why not make it lofty and spacious?

  From this unwholesome atmosphere Ben Dudley found relief, as he grewolder, in frequent visits to Clarendon, which invariably ended at theTreadwells', who were, indeed, distant relatives. He had one goodhorse, and in an hour or less could leave behind him the shabby oldhouse, falling into ruin, the demented old man, digging in thedisordered yard, the dumb old woman watching him from her inscrutableeyes; and by a change as abrupt as that of coming from a dark roominto the brightness of midday, find himself in a lovely garden, besidea beautiful girl, whom he loved devotedly, but who kept him on theragged edge of an uncertainty that was stimulating enough, but veryweari
ng.