Bobby Blake on a Plantation: or, Lost in the Great Swamp

“You want to save room, fellows,” remonstrated Lee. “My mother will have a corking good supper waiting for us, and she’ll want to see you put it away.”

“She needn’t worry a bit about that,” mumbled Fred, with his mouth full. “We may have our faults, but we never go back on grub. Just put us at the table and trust us to do the rest.”

Both Bobby and Fred were impressed by the leisurely way in which life seemed to flow on in the various places through which they passed. Even the soft haze in the atmosphere was suggestive of rest and quiet. In the little towns, dogs lay in the dust in the middle of the road, not at all disturbed by the fear of being run over. Merchants in their shirt sleeves sat in front of their stores, with chairs tilted back, exchanging gossip with farmers, who had come in with their produce and were in no hurry to get back. Even the people coming toward the station to take the train sauntered along with no fear of being left. Some of them stopped to chat with the engineer, who leaned against the side of his cab, chewing a straw and showing in every movement that time was the last thing in the world that could bother him. Then after a while he would get up in his seat, and the train would begin to move, with much wheezing and creaking, as though disgruntled at being disturbed.

“Any mattresses on the train?” queried Fred, as he looked around him. “Looks as if we’d spend the night here, at the rate we’re going.”

“Not quite so bad as that,” laughed Lee, “though I don’t wonder that you think so. But we’ve only two more stations now before we come to Raneleigh. That’s the nearest station to the plantation.”

“Do we have far to walk to get to your place?” asked Fred, as he viewed their collection of suit cases rather apprehensively.

“Oh, we’re about six miles from the station,” rejoined Lee carelessly.

“Six miles,” gasped Fred. “Scubbity-yow! And on a hot day like this. I can see where I melt into a grease spot.”

“Hold your horses,” said Lee. “You won’t have to walk a step. One of the men will be at the station with a buckboard and a pair of mules. Ever ridden in a buckboard?”

“Yes,” replied Fred, “many a time out on the ranch. But I’ve never ridden behind mules. Do they step fast?”

“Not that you could notice,” grinned Lee. “Their strong point is in standing fast. Once in a while we have to build a fire under one of them to get it to budge. You’ll know a good sight more about mules than you do now when you go back to school.”

“School!” groaned Fred. “What’s the use of spoiling a perfectly good day by talking about school. We’ll have to go back soon enough. Let’s forget it while we’re here.”

In less than an hour they were approaching Raneleigh, and Bobby and Fred craned their necks in order to get a glimpse of the town. All they saw however as the train lumbered up to the platform was a general store, that stood opposite the station, and three or four dwellings located irregularly along a dusty street.

“As a matter of fact it isn’t a town at all, only a station,” explained Lee, as he led the way out on the platform. “Ah, there’s Jim!” he exclaimed, as a rather decrepit old negro came hobbling up to meet them. “How are you, Jim?”

“Tol’able, jess tol’able, Marse Lee,” replied Jim. “Ah sho’ am glad to see you-all.”

“These are my friends, Bobby Blake and Fred Martin,” said Lee, as he piled the bags in the back of the buckboard. “They’ve come down to stay awhile with me on the plantation.”

The old man took off his tattered hat and made a sweeping bow.

“I’se proud to meet de young gem’lum,” he said. “Missus tole me dey waz a comin’. We sho’ will try ter give dem er mighty good time.”

CHAPTER XIII

FLYING HEELS

The six dusty miles from the station to the plantation would have been tedious ordinarily, but the boys were too full of high spirits to let little things like dust and heat affect them. The buckboard creaked and jounced along, and the mules seemed to have even more than their share of the general disinclination to hurry. The old negro gave the boys news of all that had been going on at the plantation since Lee’s last time home.

“Ah’m afraid dat Marse Jim Boolus am fixin’ to make you an’ you ma all de trouble dat he kin,” said the old darkey, shaking his head. “Seems like he’s gettin’ meaner and more no-account every year dat passes over his haid.”

“The old rascal!” exclaimed Lee, with flashing eyes. “I’ll make him sorry some day for all the trouble he’s caused my family.”

“Dere’s lots of odder folks feels de same way,” said Jim. “Ev’body in de parish hates him like pisen, but de more people hates him de mo’ he seems to like it.”

On the boat Lee had said quite a little of this Jim Boolus to Bobby and Fred. He was a mean old skinflint, who had thriven on the misery of others, and by many a shady deal had brought ruin on honest people. While everybody knew him to be unscrupulous and dishonest, he was so cunning and crafty that he always managed to keep out of the grip of the law. At present he was trying to prove his ownership to a large part of Mrs. Cartier’s estate, and she was in serious danger of losing it.

The boys were still discussing ways and means to frustrate the wily schemings of the crafty old land shark when the buckboard turned off the dusty road, pursued its leisurely way up a long graveled avenue shaded by stately trees, and drew up before a wide-flung old mansion flanked by wide verandas. Before it had stopped Lee jumped out and ran to meet a pleasant faced lady who was descending the steps. After their first affectionate greeting Lee introduced Bobby and Fred to her.

“These are my two friends, Mother, Bobby Blake and Fred Martin,” he said. “I guess you’ve heard so much about them in my letters to you that you hardly need an introduction.”

“Indeed yes,” she smiled. “And I hope that Lee’s mother will be just as good friends with you as Lee is.”

Mrs. Cartier was so gracious and hospitable that the boys were quickly at their ease and felt as though they had known her a long time.

Lee showed them their room, a beautiful large one with big, comfortable looking beds and dark, cool curtains at the windows.

“When you fellows have gotten some of the dust off you, come on down and I’ll show you around,” said Lee, as he left them.

“Well,” remarked Bobby, when he and Fred were alone, “it looks to me as though we had come to a pretty fine place to spend our vacation. Mrs. Cartier certainly has a way of making a fellow feel welcome.”

“She certainly has,” returned Fred, “I’ve often heard about Southern hospitality, and now I know what it’s like.”

“I wish we could do something to fix that skinflint old neighbor of theirs,” continued Fred, after a pause.

“Well, there’s no telling; maybe we can,” said Bobby.

Shortly afterwards Bobby and Fred went downstairs, and found Lee waiting for them on the veranda.

“I thought you fellows must have been overcome by the excitement of that buckboard ride and dropped asleep,” grinned Lee. “You never used to take as long as that to get spruced up back at school, especially when you happened to get up late and thought you’d be late for breakfast.”

“When in Rome do as the Romans do,” quoted Bobby. “When you hit a place where everybody seems to take things easy, why be in a hurry?”

“Hurray!” shouted Lee. “I can see that you’ve got the making of a Southern gentleman in you, all right. ‘Never be in a hurry’ is one of the first things you learn around here.”

“That’s all right, sometimes,” put in Fred. “But when you’re toting a football down a field with the goal posts looking to be about ten miles away, and eleven fellows doing their best to grab you around the knees and sit on your chest, hurrying is the one thing you’re most anxious to do.”

“Right!” laughed Bobby. “Not to mention the way the coach feels about it.”

“Well, I’ll have to admit that a coach doesn’t believe in taking things easy,” said Lee, “but then, I guess probably most coaches don’t come from the South.”

The others agreed that this was very probable, and then set out on a tour of the plantation. This covered several hundred acres, and in the days “before the war” had evidently been a profitable estate. Besides the big, rambling old mansion, there were numerous barns and outbuildings, including what had formerly been quarters for numerous slaves. Most of these buildings were unused and out of repair now, and, except in the busy planting and picking seasons, there were only five old servants on the place. Aunt Dinah, the cook, deserved first place, because she was past master (or mistress) of the art of cookery, and could turn out dishes that had spread her fame for miles in a country of good cooks.

Uncle Josh, a faithful old darkey, whose wrinkled face was framed in snow white hair, acted as “handy man” and did odd jobs where-ever they were needed, although forever complaining about a mysterious ailment that he invariably referred to as “de misery in mah back.” There were three other more or less lazy but entirely good-natured darkeys, who did whatever else was necessary in a carefree but somewhat inefficient manner.

“They mean well enough, and they think the world of mother and me, but unless somebody’s watching them they’ll never hurt themselves with overwork,” explained Lee. “When I’m through school and college and can take charge of this place, I’m going to get more action or know the reason why.”

He took Bobby and Fred through the big barn, where now only a few horses and mules were stabled, although there was room for a hundred. As they passed one stall, there was a flash of vicious hoofs, which narrowly missed Fred, who was the nearest.

“Wow!” he exclaimed, as he jumped back, “I pretty near stopped something that time. That beast must have a grudge against me, I guess.”

“Oh, it isn’t against you, in particular,” said Lee. “He’s got a grudge against the whole human race. That’s old Baldy, and I really believe he’s the meanest mule that ever lived, and if you know anything about mules, you’ll realize that that’s saying something. I should have warned you about him, but I didn’t think about it.”

“Oh, well it doesn’t matter as long as he missed me,” said Fred. “You can bet I’ll watch out for him in the future.”

“It’s a circus to see the darkeys when they have to harness him,” said Lee. “They’re all afraid of him, and yet they respect him, too, because he’s as strong as two ordinary mules, and when he feels like it can do a hard day’s work. I think they’re going to hitch him up in a little while, and if you like we’ll hang around and watch the fun.”