Read Ebook: Shawn of Skarrow by Ellis James Tandy

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Ebook has 320 lines and 20661 words, and 7 pages

"He move his bo'din' house, en purty soon he move ergin, tell he fine'ly cum ter a house whar dey didn't have much mo' den liver hash. Oh, Lord! Liver hash! Whar wuz his frens? Ef enny uv yo' hez ever been dar, good an' busted, yo' know whar dey wuz. Dey tu'n erway frum him lack he wuz a polecat.

"One mawnin' when ever'thing wuz gone, he started frum de city. Whut a change! One shurt wuz all he had, en dat hadn' seen de wash fer two weeks. He wuz seedy en his heart wuz sore; he wuz down an' out, en clean out, en didn't even have chawin' terbacker. He look lack a turkey buzzard ez had lost his wing-feathers. He wundered on; he stop by de bridge whar de water wuz tricklin' down below--he see de picture uv hi'sel' in de water, en' hit meck de cole chills run up hi' back. 'Shamed er himsel'? He dun got so ershamed dat he look lack he cum out'n a hole in de groun'. Byme-bye he cum to a fawm house, en ast fer a job. Yo' know he mus' er been awful hongry to think erbout wuk, but he dun got so hongry dat he et yarbs en sapplin' bark er ennything. De fawmer look at him en say, 'I cudden' hev yo' erbout de house; de wimmen wouldn' stan' fer hit, but I got some hawgs up de holler yo' kin feed, but yo'll hev to stay erway frum hyar, ez I doan' wan' my chillun skeered.'

"Byme-bye, one night, ez he see de moon comin' over de hill, en de stars winkin en blinkin' in de sky, he got ter thinkin' uv de ole home, uv de chitlins en de spare ribs, de fat biskits en de sweet milk, de persarves en de yaller butter--he jes' cudden' stand hit. He walk down to de hawg-pen en throw over some cawn en say, 'Far'well, my frens, I'se done de bes' I kin fer yo', but I'm gwine home!'

"He struck out, fust in a kine er foxtrot, but de mo' he thought er home, de faster he got. Erlong time hit seem, over dat lonesome road. De little chillun cum out ter look at him, but fly back inter de house, he look so awdashus, en ef he meet a hawg in de road, he cudden' look him in de face. He could smell de ham and hominy fryin' in de skillet at de houses whar he pass, en' hit meck hi' mouf water lack a hoss wid de slobbers.

"Fine'ly he see erway down yondah, de ole place frum de top uv de hill--de ole house sottin' back in de cool shade. He tuck a hitch on his rotten britches an' hit de grit.

"Ez he cum up to de yahd gate, his dawg bark at him, an' his daddy cum down de yahd wid his big gold-headed cane, en he never knowed hi' son whatsomever, tell de boy kiner drag up en say, 'Pap, fo' Gawd sake, gimme sunthin' ter eat!'

"Ole Miss, his mammy, sot by de big winder, lookin' kinder sad-like, doin' fancy wuk wid her needle, en singin' sorter sof 'In De Sweet Bye en' Bye,' en' presen'ly she hear her boy's voice--a mammy kin hear de voice uv her boy a long way--en' she jump up en' thode her sewin' erway en' cried out ez de tears stream down her cheek, 'Praise Gawd, my boy done cum back!'

"De ole genermun knowed de black sheep dun cum home, en he holler out en say, 'Bring de bes' robe en put hit on him, but wash him in de pon' fust!' Den he say, 'Bring de fattes' calf, de one fed on de bran' mash!' Dey wuz merry, en his mammy wep' on his neck, arfter hit wuz washed, en when he sot down to de table, en she give him de veal cutlets en de light rolls, he des hook his laig 'roun' a cheer 'roun' an' lay to, en he des kin er roll frum side ter side, layin' in de grub, en licken' his fingers, en passin' up hi' plate--en dey think he's thru, en gwine set back, but he jes' teck a fresh holt en square hi'se'f erway en des roam eroun' in glory, en he smile, en de grease jes' a-shinin' on hi' chin.

"But de brother wuz mad. He 'low dat he stay at home, en ack a puffeck genermun, en dis hyar skalawag jes' play de devil ginerally, en den cum back lack er skunk en dey tu'n de ole house upside down fer him. He chaw de rag monstrous fer a spell, but de ole man fine'ly tell him ef he doan' lack hit, he better go out en try de wurl hi'se'f, en de brother look at de Prodegale, en kiner shiver en simmer down.

"Dat night when de Prodegale got inter de feather-bed, whar he done hid a ham-bone under de piller, en hi' mammy tucked him in en kiss him good night, he strotch hi'se'f en say, 'When I goes erway frum heah ergin, I goes erway daid!' En he drap to sleep--de sweetes' sleep fo' many er long time, en dream uv de little gal wid de blue eyes, who wuz still er waitin' fer him.

"Young men, all I wan' ter say tuh yo' by de way uv windin' up is dis--Ef yo' got a good home, er enny sort uv home, stay dar!"

And Shawn, sitting by the window, clasped his little Testament and fervently said, "Amen!"

Shawn had been at home for several days. One night when the waves were rolling high on the stream, he sat in the office of the hotel, which stood on the bank of the river. A cheerful log fire glowed in the old fireplace. Pence Oiler, the ferryman, sat in the corner puffing at a cob pipe. Suddenly, came the loud cry of "Hello!" When the door was opened, a young man and woman came into the office. They had hurriedly gotten out of a buggy and both seemed very much agitated, and the young man quickly informed them that they were eloping from a neighboring county and were being hotly pursued by an angry father and brother. Shawn's gaze was fixed on the young woman, for never before had he seen such a beautiful face, such lustrous, dark eyes, lit up by the flame of love, seemed to shed a glow upon the dingy walls of the old room.

"Where can I find the ferryman?" asked the young man.

"I am the ferryman," said old Pence, "but you can't cross the river to-night; the wind is too high."

"But I must cross," said the young man, as a wild glance shot from his eye. "I'll give you ten dollars to set us over!"

"I'm feer'd to resk it," said Pence, but the beautiful girl went up to him, and with a smile which seemed to melt into the very soul, softly said, "I am not afraid. Won't you take us?"

Old Pence hesitated for a moment and then turned and asked, "Who will go with me?"

"Let me go, Mr. Oiler," said Shawn, never thinking of danger connected with the river.

"Can you hold the rudder?" asked old Pence as he turned to Shawn.

"I'll hold it, Mr. Oiler," said Shawn. Down to the shore they went, the sweet woman calm and undisturbed, while the young man at her side was trembling and uneasy. The wind was blowing a gale, and the waves were beating angrily upon the shore.

After several attempts, Shawn and Oiler succeeded in launching the boat and getting up sail. The spray and water came drenching the young woman, but she quietly took her seat.

"Hold her dead on Ogman's hill!" yelled Oiler to Shawn. The wind bellowed into the stout sail and they shot into the foam, Shawn leaning back with a firm grasp on the tiller, and his eye fixed on Oiler.

"Keep her quartered, with stern to the wind, and don't give her a chance to sheer!" shouted Oiler.

"Is there much danger?" asked the bridegroom, as his teeth chattered. Oiler did not answer him but yelled to Shawn, "Hold her steady and fast!"

"I'm trying to," said the groom, clutching his fair companion.

"I wasn't talking to you," said Oiler.

They were nearing the Indiana shore. Oiler shouted to Shawn, "Turn her down a few points, then lift her out on the shore!" and beautifully did they mount high on the pebbled beach. Oiler turned to Shawn and said, "We'll not go back to-night." They went to the hotel. The proprietor found the county clerk and a minister, and there in the little hotel parlor, Shawn saw their passengers take the marriage vows.

"Wasn't he scared comin' over?" said Shawn to Oiler as they went to bed.

"Yes," said Oiler, "but wimmen always has the best grit when it comes to a showdown, and when a woman makes up her mind to do a thing, 'spesh'ly to git married, thar ain't no river or anything else can stop her. I've seed a good many couples cross this stream--some of 'em, I reckon, wish they had never made the trip. I fetched old Joe Davis over here with his third wife. He run away with old Dodger Spillman's girl. Old Dodger killed a plug hoss tryin' to beat them to the river. We was about forty yards from shore when old Dodger run down and hollered for me to come back, but his girl stood up in the skiff and hollered to him, 'Go back, pap and cool off--hit's my last chance!'

"I started across with a young couple once, but the girl's daddy beat 'em to the river, and drawed down on the young man with a hoss-pistol. The young man didn't flinch, but folded his arms and looked that old galoot in the eye as cool as ever I see. The father ordered his girl to come back with him, but she ketched holt of her lover's arm and said, 'If you are goin' to shoot, I bid for the fust fire--I'm goin' to have this man!' Her old daddy swelled up and bust out cryin' and begged them to go back home and git married, but they wouldn't do it, and he went across with us, and after he got four or five drinks, he like to bought out the town for them. Don't never run off to git married, Shawn. As for myself, they ain't no sort of weddin' to my likin'. I never got sot on but one girl, but I got sot on her for all time to come, and dad-scat her, she run away with another feller just about a week before we was to be hitched. Wimmen is curious. Some say as how we couldn't git along without 'em, and it looks like it's mighty hard for some to git along with 'em, an' seems as after some people gits the ones they's after, that somethin' comes along to take away their happiness before it has begun. There was Ann Coffee. Her and Eli Travis must a courted nigh onto ten year. It was away back yonder in '52, but I can see 'em now settin' out thar on the bank, holdin' hands. They went down to Madison and was married at last. They took the Redstone for Cincinnati. The boat was full of people; it was in the spring, and a happy crowd was aboard, with music and dancin', and people come out all along the shore to see the boat pass. Just four miles below here, on the Kentucky side, the Redstone landed to take a young preacher aboard. His name was Perry Scott, and he come up the swingin'-stage wavin' his han'kerchief to his father and mother on the shore. Suddenly, there comes a mighty roar on the air. The steamer was hid from view as the explosion shook the earth and splashed water everywhere. The b'ilers of the Redstone had bust, and all around you could hear the groans of the dyin'. The young preacher was never heard of again, and nothin' but his white han'kerchief, hangin' in a tree, was ever found. There was over seventeen people killed outright. Eli Travis went down to death, and strange to say, Ann, his wife, who was standin' by his side, was saved. She was blowed high up in the air, but come down close to shore. Her hair turned white after that, Shawn, and she used to set out thar on the bank, where they had set so often, lookin' away down to the bend of the stream whar Eli had been took away from her."

The next morning when Oiler and Shawn started to the river, Oiler slipped a five dollar gold piece in Shawn's hand. "He give me two of 'em, and one of them belongs to you. What are you goin' to do with yours, Shawn?"

"Give it to my mammy," said Shawn.

Doctor Hissong sat by the fireplace in his office. Brad was blacking a pair of shoes. "Shawn," said the old doctor, "I'm going up to Old Meadows this afternoon to hunt quail, and I want you to go along. Go down and get ready while Brad hitches up the buggy."

As Shawn passed the old stone kitchen, he caught the fragrance of the good things in Aunt Mary's oven, and Aunt Mary, in her white cap and apron, was bending over the stove.

Major LeCroix and Doctor Hissong were standing on the porch. Shawn paused for a moment to gaze fondly to where the stream wended its way among the tall hills. The Major opened the low colonial door, and stood aside as his guests entered the beautiful old family room. A back-log blazed cheerfully in the open fireplace.

Over the fireplace was the mantel, with its rich hand-carving of the French coat of arms. On the walls of the room were family portraits, some of them brought from the provinces of old France. Doctor Hissong stood before one portrait, a face sweet in its Madonna-like innocence and purity. A tear-drop stole down the Major's cheek.

Leading Doctor Hissong over to the window, he pointed to the family burying-ground, and said, "The dear wife sleeps under that tallest pine." The snow had covered the mound, but again the Major could see April days out there, and the heavy bloom of the orchard--the redbird and the catbird were pouring out symphonies of melody; the silver-winged pigeons were bending through the golden skies, and again he could hear a mother's voice calling in happiest tones to her children.

"Horton, call Lallite," said Major LeCroix.

Shawn turned suddenly to see a young girl come into the room. She came up coyly, greeting Doctor Hissong, and when she came over toward Shawn, he felt a hot flush coming to his cheek. He had seen this young girl before, with her father in town, but now as she came before him, with her merry, flashing eyes and radiant color, he stood with downcast eyes, and the old desire to run off to the woods came over him again. She gave him her soft hand as her musical voice said, "I am so glad you came with the doctor." He stood as one entranced before this girl of such sweet and simple beauty, and unconsciously, he was led into an easy attitude and relieved from his painful embarrassment.

Horton came into the room, bearing a tray and glasses. He turned to the Major and asked, "De white er de red, Major?"

"Both, Horton."

Horton took the keys which hung at the end of the mantel. Returning, he placed two bottles of grape wine on the tray. He filled the glasses, but the Major observed that Shawn did not take his glass.

"Do you want the wine, boy?"

"No, sir, I thank you," said Shawn, hesitatingly.

"It's all right, Major," said Doctor Hissong, "Mrs. Alden is looking after him, you know."

Raising his glass, Major LeCroix said, "Welcome to Old Meadows, and a health to pleasant memories. You find things sadly changed--my dear companion gone; my boy a soldier in a distant land, Louise long married and never returning until she comes with the children to spend the summer--but I have Lallite with her dear, happy heart, and I have Mary and Horton."

The winter day was fast drawing to its close. Horton again appearing, quietly said: "Supper is sarved."

The old dining-room with its mahogany side-board and dining-table, the heavy brass candle-sticks, the tall clock in the corner, were all familiar objects, and the presence of Aunt Mary and Horton, standing behind the chairs, was a picture of a happier time, with the background of many glad faces to be filled only with memory.

Shawn sat beside Lallite at the table, and deep down in his heart, he felt that it was good to be there, and that life was opening to something dearer than the general happenings of his narrow sphere had ever given hope for.

With bowed head the Major asked the table blessing. Aunt Mary brought in the delicious baked apples and poured over them the rich cream. The Major was carving the guineas. "Lallite, help Shawn to one of those corn-pones; I'll venture that you'll never get them any better in town. The last time I was in the city, they brought me something they said was cornbread, but it was mixed up with molasses, baking-powder and other things. There are different kinds of cornbread, as you know. There is a bread called egg-bread, made with meal, buttermilk, lard, soda and eggs, and there is a mush-bread, made by scalding the meal--some call it spoon-bread; but the only corn-bread is the pone, and the only way to make them is to get white flint corn, have it ground at a watermill, if you can, where they do not bolt the life out of it, scald your meal with hot water, adding salt, then drain off the water thoroughly and mix your meal with good, rich, sweet milk, then shove 'em in a hot oven, and you'll have cornbread that is cornbread. Take one and butter it while it is hot--don't cut it, break it. There you are. Let me help you to this guinea breast. Did you ever know anyone who could get the crisp turn that Mary gets on them?"

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