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

  CHAPTER IV.

  MORE OF THE MYSTERY.

  We have seen the perfect harmony which prevailed in the household of Mr.Tompkins, though his wife and himself were of totally differenttemperaments, and, on many subjects, held opposite opinions. He, withhis cool Northern blood, was careful and deliberate, slow in drawingconclusions or forming a decision; but, once his stand was taken, firmas a rock. She had all the quick Southern impetuosity, that at timesfound rash expression, though her head was as clear and her heart aswarm as her husband's. Her prejudices were stronger than his, and herreason was more frequently swayed by them.

  The great Missouri Compromise was supposed to have settled the questionof slavery forever, and abolition was regarded only as the dream ofvisionary fanatics. Though a freeholder by birth and principle,circumstances had made Mr. Tompkins a slave-holder. He seldom expressedhis sentiments to his Southern neighbors, knowing how repugnant theywere to their feelings; but when his opinions were asked for he alwaysgave them freely. The movements on the political checker-board belongrather to history than to a narrative of individual lives, yet becauseof their effect on these lives, some of the most important must bementioned. While the abolition party was yet in embryo, the Southernstatesmen, or many of them, seeming to read the fate of slavery in thefuture, had declared that the Union of States was only a compact orco-partnership, which could be dissolved at the option of thecontracting parties. This gave rise to the principle of States' rightsand secession, and when the emancipation of the slaves was advocated,Southern politicians began to talk more and more of dissolution.

  Not only in political assemblies was the subject discussed, but even infamily circles, as we have seen. Mrs. Tompkins, of course, differedfrom her husband on the subject of "State" rights, as she did onslavery, and many were their debates on the theme. Their little sons,observing their parents' interest in these questions, became concernedthemselves, and, as was very natural, took sides. Abner was the Whig andOleah his mother's Democrat. Still, love and harmony dwelt in that happyhousehold, though the prophetic ear might have heard in the distantfuture the rattle of musketry on that fair, quiet lawn, and the clash ofbrothers' swords in mortal combat beneath the roof which had shelteredtheir infancy.

  Little did these fond parents dream of the deep root those seeds ofpolitical difference had taken in the breasts of their children, and thebitter fruit of misery and horror they would bear. Their lives now ranas quietly as a meadow brook. All the long Summer days they playedwithout an angry word or thought, or if either was hurt or grieved akiss or a tender word would heal the wound.

  The tragic fate of his brother's family, and his unavailing efforts tobring the murderers to justice, directed Mr. Tompkins' thoughts into newchannels. The strange baby grew in strength and beauty every day. Itsmysterious appearance among them continued to puzzle the family, and alltheir efforts failed to bring any light on the subject. The servant towhom was assigned the washing of the clothes the baby had on when foundwas charged by her mistress to look closely for marks and letters uponthem. When her work was done, she came to Mrs. Tompkins' room, and thatlady asked:

  "Have you found anything, Hannah?"

  "Yes, missus; here am a word wif some letters in it," the womananswered, holding up a little undershirt and pointing to some faintlines.

  Mrs. Tompkins took the garment, which, before being washed, had been sosoiled that even more legible lines than these would have beenundistinguishable; it was of the finest linen, and faintly, yet surely,was the word "Irene" traced with indelible ink.

  "As soon as all the clothes had been washed and dried, bring them tome," said Mrs. Tompkins, hoping to find some other clew to the child'sparentage.

  "Yes, missus," and Hannah went back to her washing.

  "Irene," repeated Mrs. Tompkins aloud, as she looked down on the baby,who was sitting on the rug, making things lively among a heap of toysAbner and Oleah had placed before her.

  The baby looked up and began crowing with delight.

  "Oh, bless the darling; it knows its name!" cried Mrs. Tompkins. "Poorlittle thing, it has seldom heard it lately. Irene! Irene! Irene!"

  The baby, laughing and shouting, reached out its arms to the lady, whocaught it up and pressed it to her heart.

  "Oh, mamma!" cried Oleah, running into the room, with his brother at hisheels, "me and Abner have just been talking about what to call the baby.He wants to call it Tommy, and that's a boy's name, ain't it, mamma?"

  "Of course it is--"

  "And our baby is a girl, and must have a girl's name, musn't it, mamma?"

  "Yes."

  "I just said Tommy was a nice name; if our baby was a boy we'd call itTommy," explained Abner.

  "But the baby has a name--a real pretty name," said the mother.

  "A name! a name! What is it?" the brothers cried, capering about, andsetting the baby almost wild with delight.

  "Her name is Irene," said Mrs. Tompkins.

  "Oh, mamma, where did you get such a pretty name?" asked Abner.

  "Who said it was Irene?" put in Oleah.

  "I found it written on some of the clothes it wore the morning we foundit," answered the mother.

  "Then we will call it Irene," said Abner, decisively.

  "Irene! Irene! Little Irene! ain't you awful sweet?" cried the impetuousOleah, snatching the baby from his mother's arms and smothering itsscreams of delight with kisses. So enthusiastic was the little fellowthat the baby was in peril, and his mother, spite of his protestations,took it from him. As soon as released, little Irene's feet and handsbegan to play, and she responded, with soft cooing and baby laughter, toall the boys' noisy demonstrations.

  A youth, with large sad eyes and pale face, now entered the door.

  "Oh, come, Joe, come and see the baby!" cried Oleah. "Isn't it sweet?Just look at its pretty bright eyes and its cunning little mouth."

  Joe had visited the plantation frequently of late, and Mr. Tompkinshaving given orders that he should always be kindly treated, had finallyestablished himself there, and was now considered rather a member of thehousehold than a guest.

  The poor, insane boy came close to Mrs. Tompkins' side and lookedfixedly at the baby for a few moments. An expression of pain passed overhis face, as though some long forgotten sorrow was recalled to his mind.

  "I remember it now," he finally said. "It was at the great carnivalfeast, and after the gladiators fought, this babe, which was the son ofthe man who was slain, was given to the lions to devour, but although itwas cast in the den, the lions would not harm a hair of its head."

  "Oh, no, Joe; you are mistaken," said Abner; "it was Daniel who was castinto the lions' den."

  "You are right," said Crazy Joe. "It was Daniel; but I remember thisbaby. It was one of the two taken by the cruel uncle and placed in atrough and put in the river. The river overflowed the banks and left thebabes at the root of a tree, where the wolf found them, and takingcompassion on the children, came every day and furnished themnourishment from his own breast."

  "No, no," interrupted Abner, who, young as he was, knew something ofRoman mythology. "You are talking about Romulus and Remus."

  "Ah, yes," sighed the poor youth, striving in vain to gather up hiswandering faculties; "but I have seen this child before. If it was notthe one concealed among the bulrushes, then what can it be?"

  "It's our baby," put in Oleah, "and it wasn't in no bulrushes; it was inthe clothes-basket on the porch."

  "It was a willow ark," said Joe; "its mother hid it there, for a decreehad gone forth that all male children of the Israelites should beexterminated--"

  "No; it was a willow basket," interrupted Oleah. "Its mother shan'thave it again. It's our little baby. This baby ain't a liverite, and itshan't be sterminated, shall it, mamma?"

  "No, dear; no one shall harm this baby," said Mrs. Tompkins.

  "It's our baby, isn't it mamma?"

  "Yes, my child, unless some one else comes for it who has a better rightto it."

  "
Who could that be, mamma?"

  "Perhaps its own father or mother might come--"

  "They shan't have it if they do," cried Oleah, stamping his little footresolutely on the floor.

  Joe rose from the low chair on which he had been sitting, and went out,saying something about his father coming down into Egypt.

  "Mamma," said Abner, when Joe had gone out, "what makes him say suchstrange things? He says that he is Joseph, and that his brothers soldhim into Egypt, and he calls papa the captain of the guard. He goes outinto the fields and watches the negroes work, and says he is Potiphar'soverseer, and must attend to his household."

  "Poor boy, he is insane, my son," answered Mrs. Tompkins; "he is veryunfortunate, and you must not tease him. Let him believe he is Joseph,for it will make him feel happier to have his delusion carried out byothers."

  "The other day, when we were playing in the barn, Joe and Oleah and me,I saw a great scar and sore place on poor Joe's head, just like some onehad struck him. I asked him what did it, and he said he fell with hishead on a sharp rock when his brothers threw him into the pit."

  Oleah now was anxious to go back to his play, and dragged his brotherout of the house to the lawn, leaving Mrs. Tompkins alone with the baby.

  Several weeks after the baby and Crazy Joe became inmates of Mr.Tompkins' house, a man, dressed in trowsers of brown jeans and huntingshirt of tanned deer skin, wearing a broad-brimmed hat and heavy boots,came to the mansion. The Autumn day was delightful; it was after theFall rains. The Indian Summer haze hung over hill, and mountain, andvalley, and the sun glowed with mellowed splendor. The stranger carrieda rifle, from which a wild turkey was suspended, and wore the usualbullet-pouch and powder-horn of the hunter slung across his shoulder. Hewas tall and wiry, about thirty-five years of age, and, to use his ownexpression, as "active as a cat and strong as a lion."

  Daniel Martin, or "Uncle Dan," as he was more generally known, was atypical Virginia mountaineer, whose cabin was on the side of a mountainfifteen miles from Mr. Tompkins' plantation. He was noted for hisbravery and his bluntness, and for the unerring aim of his rifle.

  He was the friend of the rich and poor, and his little cabin frequentlyafforded shelter for the tourist or the sportsman. He was called "UncleDan" by all the younger people, simply because he would not allowhimself to be called Mr. Martin.

  "No, siree," he would say; "no misterin' fur me. I was never brought upto it, and I can't tote the load now." He persisted in being called"Uncle Dan," especially by the children. "It seems more home-like," hewould say.

  Why he had not wife and children to make his cabin "home-like" wasfrequently a theme for discussion among the gossips, and, as they couldarrive at no other conclusion, they finally decided that he must havebeen crossed in love.

  Mr. Tompkins, who chanced to be on the veranda, observed the hunterenter the gate, and met him with an extended hand and smile of welcome,saying:

  "Good morning, Dan. It is so long since you have been here that yourface is almost the face of a stranger."

  "Ya-as, it's a'most a coon's age, and an old coon at that, since I beenon these grounds. How's all the folks?" he answered, grasping Mr.Tompkins' out-stretched hand.

  "They are all well, and will be delighted to see you Dan. Come in."

  "Ye see I brought a gobbler," said Dan, removing the turkey from hisshoulder. "I thought maybe ye'd be wantin' some wild meat, and I killedone down on the creek afore I came."

  Mr. Tompkins took the turkey, and calling a negro boy, bade him take itto the cook to be prepared for dinner. Then he conducted his guest tothe veranda. Uncle Dan placed his long rifle and accoutrements in a farcorner, and sat down by Mr. Tompkins.

  "Wall, how's times about heah, any how, and how's politicks?" he asked,as soon as seated.

  The mountain air in America, as in Switzerland, seems to inspire thosewho breathe it with love of liberty. The dwellers on the mountains ofVirginia, North Carolina and Tennessee were chiefly Abolitionists, whohated the slave-holder as free men do tyrants, and when the greatstruggle came on they remained loyal to the Government. As a rule, theywere poor, but self-respecting, possessing a degree of intelligence farsuperior to that of most of the lower class of the South.

  The secret of the friendship between the planter and the hunter was thatboth were, at heart, opposed to human bondage, and though they seldomexpressed their real sentiments, even when alone, each knew the other'sfeelings.

  Before Mr. Tompkins could reply to the mountaineer's question, Abner andOleah ran up to the veranda with shouts of joy and noisy demonstrationsof welcome. Uncle Dan placed one on each knee, and for some time theboys claimed all his attention.

  "Oh, Uncle Dan, you can't guess what we've got," Oleah cried.

  "Why, no; I can't. What is it?" asked Uncle Dan, abandoning attempt toreturn to the social chat the boys had interrupted.

  "A baby! a baby!" cried Oleah, clapping his hands.

  "A baby?" repeated Uncle Dan, in astonishment.

  "Yes, sir; a bran new baby, just as sweet as it can be, too."

  The puzzled mountaineer, with a suspicious look at Mr. Tompkins, said:"Thought ye said the folks was all well?"

  "They are," answered Mr. Tompkins, with an amused smile.

  "Dinah found the baby in a clothes-basket," put in Abner.

  "Oh, it's a nigger baby, is it?" asked Uncle Dan.

  "No, no, no; it's a white baby--a white baby," both boys quicklyreplied.

  "What do the children mean?" asked Uncle Dan, bewildered, looking fromthe boys to their father.

  "They mean just what they say," said Mr. Tompkins. "A baby was left atour door a short time ago in the clothes-basket by some unknown person."

  "Don't you want to see it, Uncle Dan?" Master Oleah eagerly asked.

  "To be sure I do. I always liked babies; they are the perfection o'innocence."

  Before he had finished his sentence, Oleah had climbed down from hisknee, and was scampering away toward the nursery. Abner was not morethan two seconds in following him.

  "Wall, now, see heah," said the hunter; "while them young rattletraps isgone, jest tell me what all this means. Hez someone been increasin' yerfamily by leavin' babies a layin' around loose, or is it a big doll someone haz give the boys?"

  "It's just as the boys say," Mr. Tompkins answered. "Some one didactually leave a baby about six months old on this porch, and no oneknows who he was, where he came from, or where he went."

  "That's mighty strange. How long ago was it?"

  "About six weeks."

  "Wall, now, ain't that strange? Have you any suspicion who done it?"

  "Not the least."

  "Wall, it is strange. Never saw no un sneakin' about the house, like?"

  "No one at all."

  "Humph! Well, it's dog gone strange."

  At this moment the two boys, with Dinah in attendance, came out, bearingbetween them little Irene.

  "Here it is; here is our baby! Ain't she sweet, though?" cried Oleah, asthey bore their precious burden toward the mountaineer.

  "Why it's a spankin' big un, by jingo! Ya-as, an' I be blessed ef Iain't seen that baby before," cried Uncle Dan.

  "Where?" asked Mr. Tompkins, eagerly.

  Uncle Dan took the little thing on his lap, and, as it turned its largedark-gray eyes up to his in wonder, he reflected a few minutes insilence and then said:

  "I saw a baby what looked like this, and I'll bet a good deal it is thesame one, too."

  "Where did you see it?" again demanded the planter.

  "That's jest what I'm tryin' to think up," said Uncle Dan. "Oh, yes; itwar in the free nigger's cabin, on the side o' the east Twin Mountain.You know where the old cabin stands, where we used to camp when we warout huntin'!"

  "Yes."

  "Wall, I war roamin' by there one day, and found two nigger men and awoman livin' there. They had this baby with them, and I questioned themas to where they war gwine, but one nigger, who had a scar slaunch-waysacross his face," here the
narrator made an imaginary mark diagonallyacross his left cheek to indicate what he meant by "slaunch-ways," "saidthey war gwine to live thar. I asked 'em whar they got the baby, andthey said its people war dead, and they war to take it to some of itsrelations. I left 'em soon, for I couldn't git much out o' them, but Idetarmined to keep an eye on 'em. The next time I came by that way theywere gone, bag and baggage."

  "The free nigger's cabin is at least twenty miles from here," said Mr.Tompkins. "It is strange why they should bring the baby all that wayhere and leave it."

  "It do look strange, but I guess they war runaway niggers what had stolethe child out of spite, and when they got heah give out an' left it. Ikinder think these niggers war from the South."

  "Have you ever seen or heard of them since?" asked Mr. Tompkins.

  "Neither har nor hide."

  At this moment a stranger to Uncle Dan came sauntering up the lawn, and,stepping on the porch, addressed them with:

  "Can you tell me where my brothers feed their flocks?"

  "He's crazy," whispered Abner to the hunter. "He's crazy, and mamma sayspretend as if he was talking sense."

  "Oh, they are out thar somewhar on the hills, I reckin'," Uncle Dananswered.

  Joe looked at the mountaineer for a moment, carefully examining thehunting jacket of tanned skins, the hair of which formed an ornamentalfringe, and then said:

  "I know you now. You are my Uncle Esau; but why should you be here inEgypt? It was you who grew angry with my father because he got yourbirthright for a mess of potage. You sought to slay him and he fled.Have you come to mock his son?"

  "Oh, no, youngster; yer pap and me hev made up that little fuss longago. I forgive him that little steal, an' now we ar' all squar' agin."

  "But why are you in Egypt? You must be very old. My father, who isyounger than you, is old--bowed down--"

  "Poor boy," said Mr. Tompkins, with a sigh, "he has been a closestudent, and perhaps that was what turned his head."

  "Does he ever git rantankerous?" asked Uncle Dan.

  "No; he is always mild and harmless."

  "Have you seen my father?" Joe now asked. "He has long white hair andsnowy beard."

  "No, youngster; I ain't got a sight o' the old man fur some time," saidUncle Dan.

  "Potiphar resembles my father, but my father must be dead," and he sankinto a chair, with a sad look of despair, and, burying his face in hishands, groaned as if in pain.

  "He does that way a dozen times a day," Abner whispered to Uncle Dan.

  "It's maughty strange," said Uncle Dan, shaking his head in a puzzledmanner.

  The next day, when the mountaineer was about to return to his lonelycabin, Crazy Joe asked permission to accompany his Uncle Esau. Consentwas given, and he went and stayed several weeks. For years afterward hestayed alternate on Mr. Tompkins' plantation and at the home of themountaineer.