Drum (55 page)

'■ "Masta Hammond, Masta Hammond." A boy of about ten started jumping up and down, unable to contain his excite-[aaent. "I seen you first, I seen you first."

I The shrill voices of the other children, echoing the words f^f the boy, dispersed the chickens and fowl while the self-ponstituted herald who had first spied Hammond rushed up ihe canted wooden steps.

"Miz Ellen, Miz Ellen, Miss 'Cretia Borgia! Masta Ham-liond done come home! He's here, Masta Hammond is."

Hammond's wagon had stopped before the steps but before ae could get down over the wheel a light mulatto woman,

short in stature but heavy breasted and with wide hips, camcj-ru nnin g down the Steps, followed by three children, all oi. whom were dressed. She wore a tattered brown sateen whicli at one time might have had some pretentions to modishnesji but which was now so spotted, soiled and draggle-hemmeci that it seemed hardly fit for the ragbag. The children, sev: eral shades whiter than the woman, were also clothed wit! some pretense of gentility, but their clothing, like hers, wa soiled, stained and ragged. The brood gathered about her b} the front wheel of the wagon and Hammond reached down patted the woman gently on the head and let his fingers slidi down over her cheek,

"It's good to see you, Ellen." His smile included th( children. "Everything all right?"

"I'se been a good boy, papa." The youngest of the childrei started climbing over the wheel.

"Course you have, Johnny." Hammond leaned down am lifted him up into the wagon while the others climbed up "And have Tom and Eddy been good boys too?"

"Eddy hit me"—Johnny pointed an accusing finger at th oldest—"but I'se been good,"

"Sh-h-h," Ellen quieted him. "Yes suh, Masta Hammonc suh, everything's all right. 'Cretia Borgia'U be here in minute, suh. She jes' a-puttin' on a clean wrapper. Tryin' ov. leaf lard today, we are, and she gits hersel' all spattered v/it grease. Miz Sophie, she a-playing down by the creek. Yoi Eddy, git yoursel' down from the wagon and go find Mi Sophie. Tell her her papa's done come."

Suddenly, as though exploding from a cannon, an enoii mous Negro woman catapulted out of the doorway an down the steps, her wide arms outstretched, her calico wraf per half buttoned and her head hastily boxmd in a strip < violently green cotton.

"Masta Hammond, suh. Bless de Lawd you's home safe ' soun'. We sure missed you 'roun heah,"

The group at the wheel deferentially parted to let h( through and she flung both arms up, catching Hammer around the calves of his legs. He jumped down, to \ smothered in her embrace which he returned affectionatel I

"You been behavin' yourself, Lucretia Borgia?" HanMnor grinned and slapped her broad rump,

"Cain't help behavin' myse'f these days, Masta Hammon suh. Dat Memnon, he gittin' too old to misbehave any m< Forgettin' dat a woman need a bit of pesterin' once in i

while. Wishin' you sell him nex' time yo' go to N'Orleans and git me a nice young buck with plenty o' sap in him. Maybe I gives yo' couple mo' twins."

Drumson's mules had reached the tailboard of Hammond's wagon and halted of their own accord. He jumped to the ground and stood alongside Hammond.

"Mammy." A sorrowful wail came from the back of Drum-son's wagon, echoed by another and even louder one. "Mammy, it's Meg, it's Alph."

Lucretia Borgia looked up at Hammond beside her. "Wha't that noise? What that mean, Masta Hammond, suh? Who-all a-sayin' mammy to me? Who sayin* they's Meg and Alph?"

"It's them." Hammond jerked his thumb towards the back of the second wagon. "They's behind them boxes. You takes a look at 'em now if'n you wishes, 'cause you ain't goin' see much of them afterwards."

With the familiarity of an old servant, she laid a trembling hand on Hammond's arm. Her round, shiny face was drawn in sudden panic and the bounding aplomb which had marked her appearance disappeared.

"Masta Hammond suh, if'n them's my twins back there, you ain't gonna do to them boys what yo' did to Mede, is you? Ain't seen them twins for 'bout ten years, almost forgotten 'bout them I had but they's my flesh and blood. Cain't 1 bear to see you bile 'em up in no kittle like you done biled Mede. You a-goin' to kill 'em?"

"Masta Hammond, no." Ellen, too, put her hand on Hammond's arm. "Don't! You've felt bad 'nough 'bout Mede dying. ; You kills 'em, you never sleep again."

r He shook off both hands. "What yo' wimmen talkin' 'bout? \ Ain't nobody said nothing 'bout killin' nobody. Jes' said you won't be seeing much of 'em any mo' cause they ain't goin' (to be no house servants. Bo't 'em back again, I did, and goin' J to use 'em but don't need no mo' house servants. Got me a [ smart boy in New Orleans"—he pointed to Drumson—"and I goin' to put him in charge of Miz Sophie's new house." I Lucretia Borgia was only half convinced. J "Whyn't them twins get theyselves down and come 'round here and see they mammy?" she questioned.

"Cause they spancelled," Hammond explained. "Cain't take (no chances on they runnin'."

Again Lucretia Borgia looked at him with a question in her eyes, but he looked away.

"If n you wants to see 'em, go 'round and take a look at 'em. Guess after all these years, they be glad to see you and mayhap you glad to see 'em. Whure that Memnon? He's they pappy and mayhap he likes to see 'em, too."

"Memnon down in the quarters a-dolin' out com rations for the week." Lucretia Borgia was already edging away from Hanmiond and as she passed Drumson she surveyed him carefully.

"You the spittin' image of that Mede boy we had here onct." It was plain to see that she was full of memories of the dead Mandingo. She hurried around to the back of the wagon. Hammond, EUen and the. children accompanied her and Drumson sidled up to the wagon wheel where he could peer around the piled-up luggage.

Lucretia Borgia stood, her hands on her ample hips, regarding the two dust-covered men chained in the back of the wagon.

"Manmiy, wha'fer Masta Hammond done keep us chained up? We ain' done nuflfin'. We ain' a-goin' ter run. We'se too glad to git oursel's back to Falconhurst." Meg's tears rolled down over his dust-encrusted cheeks, making wet black tracks on his face.

"Mammy, could you get me jes' a little drap of corn/ Achin' all over I is. Rheumatiz I cotched from ol' masta Hurtin' me powerful it is."

Lucretia Borgia continued to stare at these two growr men. The last time she had seen them, they had been boys Now she hardly recognized them. Their births had been j long time ago and her affection and love for them had lon| died. But... they were hers.

"Dunno why Masta Hammond got yo'uns spancelled," sh* spoke slowly, "but reckon he's got good reason. But you' back at Falconhurst. Glad to see you both here onct mo'. Suddenly the maternal love which she had thought forgottei was rekindled. She turned to Hammond.

"Kin I unloose 'em and take 'em into de house? Know you says they ain' house servants no mo', but kin I give 'er somep'n to eat? Kin I, Masta Hammond suh? Long tim since these yere boys tasted they's mammy's cookin'."

Hammond shook his head as he mounted the wagon agaiiji "You'll see 'em again, Lucretia Borgia. Promise you tha Ain't a-goin' to sell 'em. Now I'm a-takin' *em down to thj slave pen. Ellen, you 'n Lucretia Borgia bed them wenches i the women's shed and see that they's fed. And a-fore you g<

Lucretia Borgia, give me the key to the slave pen. Take those two little bucks and put them in the bam with the other boys. Don' forget to lock the door of the girls' shed— gotta keep the bucks away from these new girls till I decides which ones goin' to get 'em." He motioned to Drumson. "Git up here," he said and as Drumson took his seat beside him, Hammond picked up the reins. They turned the comer of the house, just in time to see the wet and bedraggled figure of a white girl about twelve years old come running up the road between the long line of slave cabins and sheds.

"Poppa," she was screaming, waving her arms and running, then stopping to gather up the long wet skirts as she came through the dust. "Poppa, you home? What you bnmg me, poppa?"

Hammond stopped the mules and reached a hand down over the wheel to hoist her up. She leaped up, threw her arms around his neck and smothered his face with kisses, her long, snarled blond curls covering his face.

"Papa's home, Sophie." Hammond managed to extricate himself from her damp embrace. "Wha'for you all wet?"

"Been a-playin' wid Lx>u-Emma. Been a-sailin' boats. What you brung me, Poppa?"

"Go back to the house, change your clothes and get yourself all prettied up. Goin' over to the new house to live. Want you should look nice to meet Miz Augusta. Tha's whut I brought you from the city—nice lady—white lady who's a-goin' to be hke a mama to you. Brung you somethin' else, too. Now, scamper. Get yo'self clean 'cause soon's I gets back to the house, we're a-goin' over."

"Who's he?" Sophie pointed to Drumson.

Drumson turned to look at the girl. He was shocked to see her pale blue eyes so badly crossed that he was unable to tell whether she was looking at him or not. He bobbed his head in acknowledgment of her inquiry.

"He's yo' new boy. Goin' to be yo' house servant over to the new house. He named Drumson."

Sophie giggled. "Shore is a funny name but shore is a pretty nigger boy. He's mine?"

"He's yours."

"Kin I have him whupped if'n he's naughty?"

Hammond shook his head. "Any whuppin' to be done 'round here, I does it. No one else. Now run!" He eased her down over the wheel and started the mules.

The wagon left the house behind and turned into a dusty

road which ran between the slave quarters. Drumson saw ; clean, well-built cabins, neatly whitewashed, lining each side, of the road. Orderly vegetable gardens surrounded each one and before some of them young women were down on their knees, weeding or gathering produce for the evening meal. As Hammond passed, they all stood up and greeted hira. Drumson noticed that they were all big-bellied with pregnancy. After the cabins, they passed a number of long sheds, each with barred windows and massive wooden doors. The doors now stood wide open and the barracks were deserted. Drumson guessed, rightly, that the slaves were out in the fields working. At the very end of the street, separated fron; all the other buildings, stood a small structure of heav^ planks, whitewashed and clean, with tiny barred windows, sc high that one could not look inside. The door, also of heav^ planks, was closed, fastened with a ponderous padlock, anc further secured by two wide planks fastened into ironj hasps. Hammond lifted them out, took the key that Lucreti^ Borgia had given him and opened the padlock, letting the door swing open. He picked up the light mule whip from the wagon seat. Then taking another key from his pocket, he walked around to the back of the wagon.

"Please, Masta Hammond suh." Meg was still weeping; "We's home now, Masta Hammond suh. We's home 'gainj Why'n you let us loose? Wha' for you keepin' us spancelled?" We ain' goin' ter run. Al'ays loved you, Masta HammondJ 'Member how you used ter say I'se de bes' boy you ever had? 'Member how I ate from yo' own plate an' slept in yo' room? 'Member how Alph dreened the rheumatiz from yo' pappy? 'Member how I used ter fix toddies fo' you jes' like you wanted 'em?"

Hammond maintained a stony silence. He undid the padlock that held the running chain between the handcuffs an

The mention of toddies had started the more stolid Alph.

"Let me fix yo' toddies, Masta Hammond suh. Ain't nevei forgotten how yo' pappy liked 'em. Cain't I have jes' a draj o' com for myself? I'se turrible miz-rable, Masta Hammonc suh, and you 'members how yo' pappy said only corn'll fia rheumatiz. Achin' all over, I am."

"Jump down!" They were the first words that Hammonc had spoken to them since he purchased them.

"Wha's this li'l house?" Meg regarded the building witl the high barred windows. "Ain' never seen this place 'fore

Somepin new? Why you puttin' us in here, Masta Hammond suh? We bin locked up since de day we lef our old masta, Mista Chauvet."

The horsewhip snaked around their bare calves, then bit into their backs. Both boys yelped with pain.

"Git inside," Hammond said. "Jest in case you wants to know, this yere's the slave pen. This whure we keeps runners and other bad 'uns. This goin' to be yo' home fer some time so better git used to it."

"Wha' we done, Masta Hammond suh, wha' we done? We never don' nuthin' bad. Them things we done with Masta Roche we hadda do, Masta Hammond suh. You cain't blame them on us. He made us do 'em. Didn't want to but he made us." Meg eyed the whip in Hammond's hand. "You goin' to whup us, Masta Hammond suh?"

"Whuppin' too good for you varmints. As to what you done. Better think back a long ways to when you livin' here afore. You remembers Mede?"

"Yas suh, Masta Hammond suh, remembers that big Mede," Alph, who was slower witted than Meg, answered. Meg's teeth were chattering so with fear that his lips could not frame the words.

Hammond's mouth was a grim line.

"Mede done learned his lesson. He'll never rape no white woman 'gain. Neither'll you when I gits through with you." Hammond pushed them both inside the door, closed it with a bang, snapped the padlock and put the planks back in place. He slipped the key in his pocket.

The two pairs of hands encircled the bars. The voices echoed strangely inside the empty room.

"Masta Hammond, 'tweren't our fault. 'Tweren't Mede's fault nuther." The words became inaudible with sobbing.

Hammond turned his back on the slave pen.

"Better drive over to the other house, Drumson, and get

L this stuff unloaded. See to it that Miz Augusta and Regine

! gits settled in. Needs a lot to be done—beds to be put up

! and ever'thing. Miz Augusta'll know whut to do. You step

right lively and help her."

"Yas suh, Masta Hammond, suh." Drumson reached out to

take the whip that Hammond handed to him. It was the

same whip he had held in his hands for four days. Now it

felt strangely different. It had cut into flesh—it had given

tpain. He hated to touch it. He turned the mules and left

I Hammond standing beside the slave pen. The noise of the

mules and the sound of the wheels served to muffle the cries that came from the pen. Drumson felt glad that he was on his way to the new house. Stark and ugly as it had seemed, rising in its nakedness from the raw fields, it did not have the mysterious air of tragedy fliat seemed to hover over the old house.

chapter vii

When Drumson arrived back at the new house, he was confronted by a stormy Augusta, whose quick nervous steps as she strode back and forth across the portico betrayed her anger. She was followed by a weeping Regine who seemed on the verge of hysterics. Before Drumson was able to stop the mules, Augusta came running down the steps to the wagon wheel, her eyes blazing, her words rushing forth in a torrent.

"Where's that Hammond Maxwell?" she demanded, as though it was Drumson's fault that he was not there.

Drumson looked at her blankly. He could appear stupid when he wished or when the occasion seemed to demand it.

"He's back over to the other house, Miz 'Gusta, ma'am."

"Then go back immediately and fetch him. Tell him he must come here at once, do you understand, at once. And have Him send back some servants—intelligent ones if he has any—and a lot of them. I want wenches with brooms and pails and brushes; I want men with hammers and nails and saws. If I had ever known this place was in such a horrible mess, I would never have left New Orleans. Now go, and hurry! There is much to be done before night"

Without waiting to unload the boxes or staying to expose timself longer to Augusta's ire, Drumson turned aroimd and headed back for the old house. Hammond, sitting on the gallery, surrounded by his nearly white children, did not seem surprised to see him return, and at Drumson's repetition of Augusta's demand that he come back to the new house at once, Hammond merely laughed.

"Kinda put out, ain't she? Thought she might be. So, I'm not a-goin'. You jes' tells her I'm busy—got a plantation to tend to that's a damn sight more important than a house. I'll be over later. Memnon," he half turned to call into the house. "Memnon, round up 'bout six boys and four or five wenches wit' some cleanin' things 'n tools. Better get that

Brute boy and them wenches I jes' brought from the city. Pile 'em all in the wagon and let I>rumson take 'em back," He looked down at Drumson and laughed again.

"Bet she's madder'n a wet hen and don't knows as how I blame her. But I'm a-keepin' away from her 'til she gets herself cooled down. Want some advice, Dnimson?"

"Yes suh, Masta Hammond, suh." Hanamond's way of talking made Drumson feel they were almost on equal footing—men banded together against women.

"When a white woman gets a hair across they ass, you jes* keeps out o' the way 'til they gets rid o' it. Pretty soon they calms down. When you gets back, tell Miz Augusta I'll be over 'fore nightfall and I'll have Lucretia Borgia send over supper fer you-all. Tell her to go ahead and do anythin' she damn pleases over there 'ceptin' the lower room on the ell in back is to be my bedroom and the room over it Regine's. Room over the kitchen is fo' you. Ask her kindly to get the beds set up. We sleeps over there tonight."

"Yes suh, Masta Hammond, suh. Downstairs room in back for you, upstairs for Miz Regine, room over kitchen for me. Yes suh!" He looked up as a straggling procession of slaves shuffled up. Memnon herded them into the back of the wagon. One, an engaging fellow of about Drumson's age and coloring with a saw and a carpenter's box, jumped up on the seat beside him.

"I'se Brutus," he grinned as the mules started. "Who're you, new boy?"

"Dnimson. Jes' got here today. Goin' to be the house servant over to the new house."

"You lucky. Tha's whut I hankerin' fer. House servant. Craves to git me inside the big house. Carpenter now and I don' like it. Perhaps you can work me in. We be frens, huh?"J

Drumson had never had a friend of his own age. Something about the fellow appealed to him—his humor, his good I looks, his light coloring. Perhaps it was the fact that theyi were both young, both ripe for adventure.

"Ain' got me no frens here," Drumson admitted. "Shore: Ukes to have me one. Shore we be frens."

"Wants to stay here," Brutus admitted, "but thinks they, goin' to sell me, come next year. Don' sell house servants here. That Memnon bin here all his life. If'n you says a good: word fo' me, I yo' fren for life."

Drumson nodded. It was a fait accompli —they were: friends.

Augusta exploded again when she saw that Hammond had not returned but she seemed somewhat mollified when she saw the small army of servants Drumson had brought with him. She ordered him out of the wagon and into the house and he, sensing the propaganda value of Brutus' inclusion in whatever project was under way, pulled at the fellow's shirtsleeve and brought him along.

"This yere's Brutus, Miz Augusta, ma'am. He right smart boy. He'n I git things goin' fer you."

Once inside the door, Drumson could well understand Augusta's anger.

The house was a scene of utter confusion. Crates, boxes, bales and bimdles were piled high in the hall and in the adjoining rooms. In order to pass from one room to another, it was necessary to push the crates aside or climb over them. He had a fleeting impression of a wide, white-paneled, high-ceilinged hall, with a fan-lighted back door corresponding to the front door. Under tall, open archways, supported by fluted white columns, they progressed through two large rooms on one side of the hall, out through a shelved pantry into a smaller room at the rear which was evidently a kitchen for it held a large black, cast-iron stove—the first that Drumson had ever seen. A narrow stairway led from this room to a room above which Drumson figured must be the one Hammond had designated for him. He went back down again and out through the pantry into the big room which Augusta said would be the dining room, then into the front room which she called the parlor. They crossed the hall into two large corresponding rooms on the other side, and then into the ell, where a wood-paneled room with a richly carved mantelpiece occupied a position corresponding to the kitchen. The staircase that led from this room, however, instead of being plain and utilitarian like the one in the kitchen, was fitted with ornately carved railings, and curved instead of leading straight up. An outside door opened in the rear so that a person could enter or leave without going through the rest of the house.

"This yere's Masta Hammond's room, Miz 'Gusta, ma'am." Drumson's arm included the room and his finger pointed to the stairs. "That one up there's Miz Regine's. My room's over the kitchen."

Augusta turned to him.

"Who said so?" she demanded.

"Masta Hammond, ma'am. He says to tell you the down-

stairs room in the back is his'n. The room over it to be her'n and mine over the kitchen, ma'am. Them's his words, ma'am, Miz Regine. . . ."

"Don't call her Miss Regine," Augusta snapped. "What do you think she is . . . white? Well, she isn't. She's just as much a nigger as you are. Just a slave, that's all. So, Maxwell wants her to have the room over his. With a staircase between! We'U see about that. Now, let's get to work. What's that boy's name with you?"

"Brutus, ma'am. What kin he do to help you?"

"What can he do? My God, look at this mess! Four miserable days on the road and when I arrive here . . . what? Not a bed to lie down on, not a washstand where I can wash my face, not a place to make a cup of coffee. Get those others in here. First we've got to get beds up to sleep in if we can find them." She noticed the tools in Brutus' hands. "Can you open those crates?"

"Yes ma'am, sure kin." Brutus was only too anxious to be useful. He was willing to do anything to ingratiate himself. This was his opportrmity.

"Then see if you can find some crates that contain beds. Know what beds look like? No? Then I'll go with you."

Brutus and Drumson ripped the boards off crate after crate. They found chairs, tables and a sideboard. One huge crate held an ebony pianoforte; another was filled with folded damasks and stUl another with silver candelabra and a silver coffee service. At length, the ripped-off boards disclosed the high mahogany posts of a bed and Augusta directed that they carry it upstairs to the big room at the left of the portico.

"This will be my room," she stated. "Mr. Maxwell's daughter will have the room behind it and"—^her lip curled—"the small one in the rear will be for Regine. Where is she? What's she doing?"

"She downstairs, ma'am, a-sittin' on the porch," Drumson replied.

"Sniveling, I suppose."

"Yes, Miz Augusta ma'am, she kind-a cryin' like."

"Has been, ever since that night at the tavern. Doesn't she know why Maxwell bought her? Then she'd better find out. Give her a broom and tell her to start working."

Drumson left and went downstairs. He discovered Regine: sitting on a box in the hall, and delivered Augusta's message. She reached up a hand for him to help her up and he could see his own desire for her, reflected in her eyes.

Augusta and Brutus were upstairs, the other slaves were dispersed about the house. Drumson gathered her into his arms, pressed her to him and found her lips warm and soft against his own. Neither of them spoke but when they separated and he led her upstairs, he knew that she belonged to him, even though Hammond owned her.

Augusta marshaled all the slaves upstairs and set them at various tasks of cleaning, while Drumson and Brutus located more beds and set them up. They foimd ropes to cord them and mattresses to place on them and eventually a large case the contained linens. One by one the big beds were made, all except the testers that went on the high frames, but Augusta decided that this final touch could be postponed until later.

She was an eflBcient manager and skilled at getting work out of the slaves. She seemed to be everywhere. No sooner was a crate opened than its contents were toted off by strong black hands to its proper destination. It was she who planned the rooms. Hammond had been overgenerous and there was more than enough furniture, all of it new, for the whole house. He had contracted for the furnishings for the entire house in New Orleans and had chosen none of it himself, merely stipulating the number of rooms. Most of the furniture was ornate, sprawling and ugly, but its very bigness fitted the huge rooms and its ugliness was dwarfed by the architectural elegance of the house.

The heavy, damask-upholstered Empire chairs and sofas, Augusta decided, were destined for the parlor. Here too, she had laid the big roll of carpeting with its florid design of pink and yellow roses, and here she had hung the long rose damask draperies imder their bright metal cornices. One of the last boxes to be opened disclosed the metal frame of a big chandelier with box after box of cut crystals which nobody but Augusta knew how to put together. She had them hang the chandeher frame but put the boxes of crystals aside to await her greater leisure.