Brother Against Brother; or, The Tompkins Mystery. Read online

  CHAPTER II.

  A NEW ARRIVAL.

  Forty years ago a Virginia planter was a king, his broad acres hiskingdom, his wife his queen, his children heirs to his throne, and hisslaves his subjects. True, it was a petty kingdom and he but a pettymonarch; but, as a rule, petty monarchs are tyrannical, and the Southernplanter was not always an exception. In those days men were measured,not by moral worth, mental power, or physical stature, but by the numberof acres and slaves they owned. The South has never possessed thatsturdy class of yeomanry that has achieved wonders in the North. Beforethe war labor was performed by slaves, now it is done by hired help, thefarmer himself there seldom cultivating his soil.

  The home of Mr. George W. Tompkins, our acquaintance, was a marvel ofbeauty and taste. Located in the Northwestern portion of the State,before its division, it was just where the heat of the South wasdelightfully tempered by the cool winds of the North. No valley in allVirginia was more lovely. To the east were hills which might delight anymountain lover, all clothed and fringed with delicate evergreens,through which could be caught occasional glimpses of precipitous baldrocks. Over the heights the sun climbed every morning to illuminate thevalley below with a radiance of glory. Mountain cascades came tumblingand plunging from mossy retreats to swell a clear pebble-strewn streamwhich afforded the finest trout to be found in the entire State.

  The great mansion, built after the old Virginia plan, with a long stonepiazza in front, stood on an eminence facing the post-road, which ranwithin a few rods of it. The house was substantial, heavy columns,painted white as marble, supporting the porch, and quaint, old-fashionedgables, about which the swallows twittered, breaking the lines of theroof. In the front yard grew the beech and elm and chestnut tree, theirwide-spreading branches indicating an existence for centuries. A littlebelow the structure, and south-west from it, was a colony of low, smallbuildings, where dwelt the slaves of Mr. Tompkins. One or two werenearer, and in these the domestics lived. These were a higher order ofservants than the field-hands, and they never let an opportunity pass toassert their superiority over their fellow slaves.

  Socially, as well as geographically, Mr. Tompkins' home combined theextremes of the North and South. He, with his calm face and mild grayeyes, was a native of the green hills of New Hampshire, while hisdark-eyed wife was a daughter of sunny Georgia.

  Mrs. Tompkins was the only child of a wealthy Georgia planter. Mr.Tompkins had met her first in Atlanta, where he was spending the Winterwith a class-mate, both having graduated at Yale the year before. Theirmeeting grew into intimacy, from intimacy it ripened into love. Shortlyafter the marriage of his daughter, his only child, the planterexchanged his property for more extensive possessions in Virginia, buthe never occupied this new home. He and his wife were in New Orleans,when the dread malady, yellow-fever, seized upon them, and they diedbefore their daughter or her husband could go to them.

  Mr. Tompkins, a man who had always been opposed to slavery, thus foundhimself the owner of a large plantation in Virginia, and more than ahundred slaves. There seemed to be no other alternative, and he acceptedthe situation, and tried, by being a humane master, to conciliate hiswounded conscience for being a master at all.

  He and his only brother, Henry, had inherited a large and valuableproperty from their father, in their native State. His brother, likehimself, had gone South and married a planter's daughter, and become alarge slave-holder. He was a far different man from his brother.Naturally overbearing and cruel, he seemed to possess none of theother's kindness of heart or cool, dispassionate reason. He was a hardtask-master, and no "fire-eating" Southerner ever exercised his powermore remorselessly than he, and no one hated the Abolition party morecordially. But it is not with Henry Tompkins we have to deal at present.

  It was near noon the day after the travelers reached Jerry Lycan's inn.Mrs. Tompkins sat on the piazza, looking down the road that led to thevillage. She was one of those Southern beauties who attract at a firstglance; her eyes large, and dark, and brilliant; her hair soft andglossy, like waves of lustrous silk. Of medium height, though not quiteso slender as when younger, her form was faultless. Her cheek had theolive tint of the South, and as she reclined with indolent grace in hereasy chair, one little foot restlessly tapping the carpet on which itrested, she looked a very queen.

  The Tompkins mansion was the grandest for many miles around, and thewhole plantation bore evidence of the taste and judgment of its owner.There seemed to be nothing, from the crystal fountain splashing in frontof the white-pillared dwelling to the vast fields of corn, wheat andtobacco stretching far into the back-ground, which did not add to thebeauty of the place.

  On the north were barns, immense and well filled granaries and stables.Then came tobacco houses, covering acres of ground. One would hardlyhave suspected the plain, unpretentious Mr. Tompkins as being thepossessor of all this wealth. But his house held his greatesttreasures--two bright little boys, aged respectively nine and sevenyears.

  Abner, the elder, had bright blue eyes and the clear Saxon complexion ofhis father. Oleah, the younger, was of the same dark Southern type ashis mother. They were two such children as even a Roman mother mighthave been proud to call her jewels. Bright and affectionate, theyyielded a quick obedience to their parents, and--a remarkable thing forboys--were always in perfect accord.

  "Oh, mamma, mamma!" cried Oleah, following close after his brother, andquite as much excited.

  "Well, what is the matter?" the mother asked, with a smile.

  "It's coming! it's coming! it's coming!" cried Oleah.

  "He's coming! he's coming!" shouted Abner.

  "Who is coming?" asked the mother.

  "Papa, papa, papa!" shouted both at the top of their voices. "Papa iscoming down the big hill on the stage-coach."

  Mrs. Tompkins was now looking for herself. Sure enough there was thegreat, old-fashioned stage-coach lumbering down the hill, and herhusband was an outside passenger, as the sky was now clear and the sunshone warm and bright. The clumsy vehicle showed the mud-stains of itslong travel, and the roads in places were yet filled with water.

  The winding of the coachman's horn, which never failed to set the boysdancing with delight, sounded mellow and clear on the morning air.

  "It's going to stop! it's going to stop!" cried Oleah, clapping hislittle hands.

  "It's going to stop! it's going to stop!" shouted Abner, and both keptup a frantic shouting, "Whoa, whoa!" to the prancing horses as they drewnear the house.

  It paused in front of the gate, and Mrs. Tompkins and her two boyshurried down the walk.

  Mr. Tompkins' baggage had just been taken from the boot and placedinside the gate, and the stage had rolled on, as his wife and two boyscame up to the traveler.

  "Mamma first, and me next," said Oleah, preparing his red lips for theexpected kiss.

  "And I come after Oleah," said Abner.

  Mr. Tompkins called to a negro boy who was near to carry the baggage tothe house, and the happy group made their way to the great piazza, thetwo boys clinging to their father's hands and keeping up a torrent ofquestions. Where had he been? What had he seen? What had he brought homefor them? The porch reached, Mrs. Tompkins drew up the arm-chair for hertired husband.

  "Rest a few minutes," she said, "and then you can take a bath and changeyour clothes, and you will feel quite yourself once more."

  The planter took the seat, with a bright-faced child perched on eachside of him.

  "You were gone so long without writing that I became uneasy," said hiswife, drawing her chair close to his side.

  "I had a great deal to do," he answered, shaking his head sadly, "and itwas terrible work, I assure you. The memory of the past three weeks, Ifear, will never leave my mind."

  "Was it as terrible as the message said?" asked Mrs. Tompkins, with ashudder.

  "Yes, the horrible story was all true. The whole family was murdered."

  "By whom?"

  "That remains a mystery, but it is supposed to have
been done by one ofthe slaves, as two or three ran away about that time."

  "How did it happen? Tell me all."

  The little boys were sent away, for this story was not for children tohear, and Mr. Tompkins proceeded.

  "We could hardly believe the news the dispatch brought us, my dear, butit did not tell us the worst. The roads between here and North Carolinaare not the best, and I was four or five days making it, even with theaid of a few hours occasionally by rail. I found my brother's nextneighbor, Mr. Clayborne, at the village waiting for me. On the way hetold all that he or any one seemed to know of the affair. My brother hada slave who was half negro and part Indian, with some white blood in hisveins. This slave had a quadroon wife, whom he loved with all his wild,passionate heart. She was very beautiful, and a belle among the negroes.But Henry, for some disobedience on the part of the husband, whoseIndian and white blood revolted against slavery, sold the wife to aLouisiana sugar planter. The half breed swore he would be revenged, andmy brother, unfortunately possessing a hasty temper, had him tied up andseverely whipped--"

  "Served the black rascal quite right," interrupted the wife, who, beingSouthern born, could not endure the least self-assertion on the part ofa slave.

  "I think not, my dear, though we will not argue the question. After hispunishment the black hung about for a week or two, sullen and silent.Several friends cautioned my brother to beware of him, but Henry washeadstrong and took no man's counsel. Suddenly the slave disappeared,and although the woods, swamps and cane-breaks were scoured byexperienced hunters and dogs he could not be found. Three weeks hadpassed, and all thought of the runaway had passed from the minds of thepeople. Late one night the man who told me this was passing my brother'shouse, when he saw flames shooting about the roof and out of thewindows. He gave the alarm, and roused the negroes. As he ran up thelawn toward the house a bloody ax met his view. On entering the frontdoor my brother Henry was found lying in the hall, his skull cleft intwain. I cannot repeat all that met the man's horror-stricken gaze. Theyhad only time to snatch away the bodies of my brother, his wife and twoof the children when the roof fell in."

  "And the other two children?" asked Mrs. Tompkins.

  "Were evidently murdered also, but their bodies could not be found. Itis supposed they were burned to ashes amid the ruins."

  "Did you cause any extra search to be made?"

  "I did, but it was useless. I have searched, searched,searched--mountain, plain and swamp. The rivers were dragged, the wellsexamined, the ruins raked, but in vain. The oldest and the youngest ofthe children could not be found. A skull bone was discovered among theruins, but so burned and charred that it was impossible to tell whetherit belonged to a human being or an animal. I have done everything Icould think of, and yet something seems to tell me my task is notover--my task is not over."

  "What has been done with the plantation?" Mrs. Tompkins asked.

  "The father of my brother's wife is the administrator of the estate, andhe will manage it."

  "And the murderer?"

  "No trace of him whatever. It seems as though, after performing hishorrible deed, he must have sank into the earth."

  Mrs. Tompkins now, remembering that her husband needed a bath and achange of clothes, hurried him into the house. The recital of thathorrible story had cast a shadow over her countenance, which she triedin vain to drive away, and had reawakened in Mr. Tompkins' soul alonging for revenge, though his better reason compelled him to admitthat the half-breed was goaded to madness and desperation.

  The day passed gloomily enough after the first joy of the husband andfather's return. The next morning, just as the sun was peeping over thegray peaks of the eastern mountains and throwing floods of golden lightinto the valley below, dancing upon the stream of silver which woundbeneath, or splintering its ineffectual lances among the branches andtrunks of the grand old trees surrounding the plantation, Mr. Tompkinswas awakened from the dreamless sleep of exhaustion.

  "What was that?" he asked of his wife.

  Both waited a moment, listening, when again the feeble wail of an infantreached their ears.

  "It is a child's voice," said Mrs. Tompkins; "but why is it there?"

  "Some of the negro children have strayed from the quarters; or, morelikely, it is the child of one of the house servants," said Mr.Tompkins.

  "The house servants have no children," answered Mrs. Tompkins, "and Ihave cautioned the field women not to allow their children to come hereespecially in the early morning, to annoy us."

  Mr. Tompkins, whose morning nap was not yet over, closed his eyes again.The melodious horn of the overseer, calling the slaves to the labors ofthe day, sounded musical in the early morning air, and seemed only tosoothe the wearied master to sleep again. Footsteps were heard upon thecarpeted hallway, and then three or four light taps on the door of thebedroom.

  "Who is there?" asked Mrs. Tompkins.

  "It's me, missus, if you please." The door was pushed open and a darkhead, wound in a red bandana handkerchief, appeared in the opening.

  "What is the matter, Dinah?" Mrs. Tompkins asked, for she saw by thewoman's manner that something unusual had occurred. Dinah was hermistress' handmaid and the children's nurse.

  "If you please, missus," she said, "there is a queerest little baby onthe front porch in the big clothes-basket."

  "A baby!" cried the astonished Mrs. Tompkins.

  "Yes'm, a white baby."

  "Where is its mother?"

  "I don't know, missus. It must a been there nearly all night, an' Isuppose they who ever left it there wants you to keep it fur good."

  "Bring the poor little thing here," said Mrs. Tompkins, rising to asitting position in the bed.

  In a few minutes Dinah returned with a baby about six months old,dressed in a faded calico gown, and hungrily sucking its tiny fist,while its dark brown eyes were filled with tears.

  "It was in de big basket among some ole clothes," said Dinah.

  "Poor, dear little thing! it is nearly starved and almost frozen.Prepare it some warm milk at once, Dinah," said the kind-heartedmistress.

  The girl hurried away to do her bidding, leaving the baby with Mrs.Tompkins, who held the benumbed child in her arms and tried to still itscries.

  Mr. Tompkins was wide awake now, and his mind busy with conjecture howthe child came to be left on their piazza.

  "What is that?" called Oleah, from the next room.

  "Why, it's a baby," answered Abner, and a moment later two pairs oflittle bare feet came pattering into their mother's room.

  "Oh, the sweet little thing!" cried Oleah; "I want to kiss it."

  His mother held it down for him to kiss.

  "Isn't it pretty!" said Abner. "Its eyes are black, just like Oleah's.Let me kiss it, too."

  The little stranger looked in wonder at the two children, who, in theirjoy over this treasure-trove, were dancing frantically about the room.

  "Oh, mamma, where did you get it?" asked Oleah.

  "Dinah found it on the porch," the mother answered.

  "Who put it there?"

  "I don't know, dear."

  "Why, Oleah," said Abner, "it's just like old Mr. Post. Don't you knowhe found a baby at his door? for we read about it in our First reader."

  "Oh, yes; is this the same baby old Mr. Post found?" asked Oleah.

  "No," answered the mother; "this is another."

  "Oh, isn't it sweet?" said Oleah, as the child cried and stretched outits tiny hands.

  "It's just as pretty as it can be," said Abner.

  "Mamma, oh, mamma!" said Oleah, shaking his mother's arm, as she did notpay immediate attention to his call.

  "What, dear?" she asked.

  "Are we goin' to keep it?"

  "Yes, dear; if some one who has a better right to it does not come toclaim it."

  "They shan't have it," cried Oleah, stamping his little, bare foot onthe carpet.

  "No," added Abner; "it's ours now. They left it there to starve andfreeze, and n
ow we will keep it."

  "You think, then, that the real owner has lost his title by hisneglect?" said the father, with a smile.

  "Yes, that's it," the boy answered.

  "It's a very good common law idea, my son."

  Dinah now came in with warm milk for the baby, and Mrs. Tompkins toldher to take the two boys to their room and dress them; but they wantedto wait first and see the baby eat.

  "Oh, don't it eat; don't it eat!" cried the boys.

  "The poor little thing is almost starved," said the mother.

  "Missus, how d'ye reckin it came on the porch?" Dinah asked.

  "I cannot think who would have left it," answered Mrs. Tompkins.

  "That is not a very young baby," said Mr. Tompkins, watching the littlecreature eat greedily from the spoon, for Dinah had now taken it and wasfeeding it.

  "No, marster, not berry, 'cause it's got two or free teef," said thenurse. "Spect it's 'bout six months old."

  As soon as the little stranger had been fed, Dinah wrapped it in a warmblanket and laid it on Mrs. Tompkin's bed, where it soon fell asleep,showing it was exhausted as well as hungry. Dinah then led the two boysto the room to wash and dress them.

  "Strange, strange!" said Mrs. Tompkins, beginning to dress. "Who can thelittle thing belong to, and what are we to do with it?"

  "Keep it, I suppose," said Mr. Tompkins; and, stumbling over aboot-jack, he exclaimed in the same breath, "Oh, confound it!"

  "What, the baby?"

  "No, the boot-jack. I've stubbed my toe on it."

  "We have no right to take upon ourselves the rearing of other people'schildren," said Mrs. Tompkins, paying no attention to her husband'strifling injury.

  "But it's our Christian duty to see that the little thing does not dieof cold and hunger," said Mr. Tompkins, caressing his aching toe.

  Soon the boys came in, ready for breakfast, and inquired for the baby;when told that it was sleeping, they wanted to see it asleep, and stoleon tiptoe to the bed, where the wearied little thing lay, and nothingwould satisfy them until they were permitted to touch the pale,pinched, tear-stained cheek with their fresh, warm lips.

  The breakfast bell rang, and they went down to the dining-room, whereawaiting them was a breakfast such as only Aunt Susan could prepare.They took their places at the table, while a negro girl stood behindeach, to wait upon them and to drive away flies with long brushes ofpeacock feathers. The boys were so much excited by the advent of thestrange baby that they could scarcely keep quiet long enough to eat.

  "I am going to draw it on my wagon," said Oleah.

  "I'm going to let it ride my pony," said Abner.

  "Don't think too much of the baby yet, for some one may come and claimit," said their mother.

  "They shan't have it, shall they, papa?" cried Oleah.

  "No, it is our baby now."

  "And we are going to keep it, ain't we, Aunt Susan!" he asked the cook,as she entered the dining-room.

  "Yes, bress yo' little heart; dat baby am yours," said Aunt Susan.

  "It's a Christmas gift, ain't it, Maggie?" he asked the waiter behindhim. Oleah was evidently determined to array everyone's opinion againsthis mother's supposition.

  "Yes, I reckin it am," the negro girl answered with a grin.

  "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Abner. "Why, Oleah, this ain't Christmas."

  Seeing his mistake, Oleah joined in the laugh, but soon commenced again.

  "We're goin' to make the baby a nice, new play-house, ain't we, Abner?"

  "Yes, and a swing."

  The baby slept nearly all the forenoon. When she woke (for it was agirl) she was washed, and dressed in some of Master Oleah's clothes, andMrs. Tompkins declared the child a marvel of beauty, and when the littlething turned her dark eyes on her benefactor with a confiding smile thelady resolved that no sorrow that she could avert should cloud thesweet, innocent face.

  When the boys came in they began a war dance, which made the babyscream with delight. Impetuous Oleah snatched her from his mother's lap,and both boy and baby rolled over on the floor, fortunately not hurtingeither. His mother scolded, but the baby crowed and laughed, and heshowered a hundred kisses on the little white face.

  A boy about twelve years of age was coming down the lane. He entered thegate and was coming towards the house. Mr. Tompkins, who was in thesitting-room, in a moment recognized the boy as Crazy Joe, and told hiswife about the unfortunate lad. He met the boy on the porch.

  "How do you do, Joe?" he asked, extending his hand.

  "I am well," Joe answered. "Have you seen my father Jacob or my brotherBenjamin?"

  "No, they have not yet come," answered the planter.

  For several years after, Joe was a frequent visitor. There was nomoment's lapse of his melancholy madness, which yet seemed to have apeculiar method in it, and the mystery that hid his past but deepenedand intensified.