A Dream of Empire | Page 2

in dazzling
white save the window shutters, which were vivid green. The mansion
consisted of a main edifice fifty feet square and two stories high, with a
peculiar portico in front, projected not in straight lines, but forming a
semicircle, embracing within the curvature of its outstretching arms a
favored area of dooryard. The proprietor of the estate had chosen the
site and designed the plan of this his residence with the double purpose
of indulging a fancy for architectural novelty and of providing against
disaster by lightning and earthquake. Never did it occur to him that fire
and flood were the elements he had most reason to fear: each of these
ruinous agents was destined, in turn, to devastate the island.
In the rear of the fantastic dwelling, and not far from it, stood a row of
log cabins for the negroes who served on the place, and a cluster of
barns and stables abundantly stocked. All the houses were new, and the
adjacent cultivated land showed many signs that it had not long been
tilled, or even cleared. The rank soil retained its quick fertility, as could
be seen in the thrifty growth of peas, beets, radishes, and early potatoes,
flourishing in the "truck-patch." The plum and the peach trees had cast
their bloom; the cherry blossoms were falling like snow; the flowers of
the apple loaded the air with fragrance; the red-buds were beginning to
fade; the maples and oaks, just starting into leaf, hung full of light

green tassels.
The vegetable close had irresistible attractions for the gardener, and this
drew his laggard steps from their idle excursion, back to the freshly
spaded spot enriched by leaf mould, and carefully picketed against the
incursions of scratching hens. Here he busied himself in planting
lettuce seed, forgetful of Scipio, who lolled sleepily in the shadow of
the willows.
The drowsy bondman was just sinking into slumber, when his attention
was aroused by a plashing noise followed by the sound of whistling.
Glancing in the direction of the disturbance, his eyes fell upon the
ungainly figure of a man who was stooping at the water's edge. The
negro got upon his feet, and approached the stranger, who at first took
no notice of him, being absorbed in puzzled observation. A cut of lean
meat, encircled by a row of stones, lay immersed in a pool caused by an
eddy in the river.
"Danged if I can make out what this hunk of raw beef is put here for,"
soliloquized the visitor. "The minnies are nibblin' it away. I wonder if
this here Mr. Bladderhatchet means to feed all the fish in the Ohio on
beefsteak. Hello, Cuffey, what do you want?"
"I's not Cuffey, sah; I's Scipio."
"Well, I's Byle, Plutarch Byle," said the stranger, raising his gaunt,
gawky figure to a posture which, though far from erect, revealed a
stature so much above the average height that the negro stepped back a
few paces and stared with astonishment. Plutarch Byle's feet, hands and
head seemed somewhat too large for his trunk and limbs, but were
quite in harmony with the big joints of his knees, elbows and wrists.
His attitudes were grotesque and his gestures awkward. Light, curly
hair covered his head; his nose was long and inquisitive; his eyes, big,
blue and good-humored; his mouth, incredibly wide, with shrewd,
mobile lips, which habitually smiled. A tuft of yellow beard on the end
of his sharp chin, gave his face a comical expression resembling that
which caricature bestows on Uncle Sam. His voice was pitched in a
high key, and was modified by that nasal twang supposed to indicate

Yankee origin; but a habit of giving his declarative sentences an
interrogative finish, might denote that he came from the mountain
regions of Pennsylvania or Virginia. A pair of linsey pantaloons, a blue
hunting shirt with a fringe of red and yellow, moccasins of tanned
leather and a woollen hat were his chief visible articles of dress.
Scrutinizing Scipio's features as he might inspect a wonder in a
museum, Byle interrogated him:
"Potterin' about for greens, I reckon? Do you belong here, Africanus?"
The only information drawn from the slave was that the proprietor of
the island had bought him in Virginia.
"Bought? Consarn my bones! How much did he give for you? Look
here, Sambo, if I was a Roman general, like you, and in your fix," said
Byle, pointing with his left thumb over his right shoulder and winking,
"I'd skite over to the Buckeye-side of the water and forget to pay for
myself. Don't you know what the Ordinance of '87 says? 'No
involuntary servitude in said territory.' I agree with John Woolman, that
niggers are our feller-creatures."
Turning abruptly, the tall man moved with long, slow