Aaron Hill

“ They think to use the death of Hamilton for Aaron’s political destruction.
At no time does Aaron, serene with his wine and his cigar and his empire-planning, interpose by word or act to stem the current of real or spurious feeling. He heeds it no more, dwells on it no more than on the ebbing or flowing of the tides, muttering about the lawn’s shaven borders in front of Richmond Hill.
The duel is eleven days old. Aaron, accompanied by the faithful, stubborn Swartwout, takes barge for Perth Amboy. The stubborn, faithful one says “Good-by!” ”

“ What time is it, Manfredi?”
“Half past six. Do come and have one with us,” said the Italian. “We always take one about this time.”
Aaron continued with them over the bridge. They had the first floor of an old palazzo opposite, a little way up the hill. A man-servant opened the door.
“If only it will be warm,” she said. “The apartment is almost impossible to keep warm. We will sit in the little room.”
Aaron found himself in a quite warm room with shaded lights and a mixture of old Italian stiffness and deep soft modern comfort. ”

“ It is, I hope and believe, true that Richmond Hill is competent to all purposes; but nothing is done nor can be speedily done. The thing constantly eludes a conclusion, and matters are, in fact, now as badly circumstanced as one year ago. When I left New-York I arranged my affairs of all kinds for six months' absence, which would extend to the middle of June, with the determination to go hence to South Carolina, in which determination I persist ”

“ Hill is as far as most of his contemporaries from appreciating such a literal translation as the King James Version. On the other hand, he is one of a small group of critics who were beginning to see that at least certain aspects of Biblical style were of universal appeal; that they might be as effective psychologically for the modern Englishman as for the ancient Jew. And he sees in this collection of ancient Oriental literature a corrective for some of the worst tendencies of a degenerate contemporary poetry. ”

“ Reading furnishes Matter, Reflexion digests it, and makes it our own; as the Flesh and Blood which are made out of the Food we eat. And Prudence and the Knowledge of the World, must direct us how to employ our Genius, and on all occasions make the best Use of it. ”

“ The March of an Army is pleasing, orderly, slow; The Inundation of a Sea, from the Tops of the Mountains, frightful, wild and tumultuous; Every Justness and Grace of the original Conception is destroyed by the Metaphor. ”

“ Hills and Valleys, Woods and Pasture, Seas and Shores, not only diversify the Prospect, but give much more Entertainment to the Eye, that can successively go from one to the other, than any of them could singly do. ”

“ I can keep everybody out of the room, except"—
"Except somebody," said Aaron, smiling. "No, no! The White-Haired Master is a good man. Good to all. He'd shake his head and say, 'Runaway hiding in my house! That's bad, bad!' No, Little Master, they'll not get Aaron. You sleep. To-morrow night I'll come. My clothes will be ripped and snagged. Have me a big needle and some coarse thread. I'll mend 'em here and while I'm mending I may tell a tale. I don't know. Maybe. You sleep."
[80]
Aaron was no mesmerist, but somehow, the red goblin being gone, Little Crotchet was soon in the land of dreams. ”

“ Aaron and Manfredi kept their faces averted from one another and hardly spoke to one another. It was as if two invisible hands pushed their faces apart, away, averted. And Aaron's face glimmered with a little triumph, and a little grimace of obstinacy. And the Italian's face looked old, rather monkey-like, and of a deep, almost stone-bare bitterness. The woman looked wondering from one man to the other—wondering. The glimmer of the open flower, the wonder-look, still lasted. And Aaron said in his heart, what a goodly woman, what a woman to taste and enjoy. Ah, what a woman to enjoy! ”

“ If Aaron could get to the stable, where the Black Stallion had his temporary quarters, all would be well. He could then proceed to carry out the idea he had in his mind, which was a very bold one, so bold that it might be said to depend on accident for its success.
The moon was shining brightly, even brilliantly, as Aaron stood at the corner of the great house and looked toward the horse lot. He could easily reach the negro quarters, he could even reach the black-jack thicket beyond, but he would [214] be farther from the lot than ever, and still have an acre of moonlight to wade through. ”

“ No noise before I give the word; none of the loud screaming that men call whickering. You know my hand. You are to have a frolic, and a fine one, but before you begin it, wait for the word. Now, then, we will go."
With his hand on the horse's withers, Aaron guided Timoleon to the gate. They went through the lot in which the Black Stallion's new stable stood, out at the gate through which Buster John and Sweetest Susan rode years afterward, and into the lane that led to the public road. ”

“ He say, ‘I hear tell you es des han’ in glove wid dat ar nigger A’on what Pap bought fum de speculator.’ I say, ‘Ef A’on ever is been at my house, suh, it wuz unbeknownst to me.’
“He say, ‘Nummine. I’ll git you yit; an’ when I does, hit’ll be all night Isom dar wid you.’ I say, ‘Yasser,’ and den I bowed perlite ez I know how, an’ come on to de big house.
“I ain’t been here long, ’fo’ dey tell me dat de Little Marster—which dey call him Little Crotchet—is sorter ailin’, an’ I say ter myse’f dat I’ll go up sta’rs dar whar he stay at, an’ see him. ”

“ The scheme which Aaron had conceived, and which he proposed to carry out without delay, was bold, and yet very simple,—simple, that is to say, from his point of view. It came into his mind while he was in Little Crotchet's room, and fashioned itself as he went whistling to the horse lot in full view of George Gossett.
He swung himself over the fence, and made directly for Timoleon's stable. The Black Stallion heard some one fumbling about the door, and breathed hard through his nostrils, making a low, fluttering sound, as high-spirited horses do when they are suspicious or angry. ”

“ Let him ride you out as he rode me in—ooft! He's no man! Gooft! No bed for me. When a horse is ridden, he must eat, as I've heard you say, Son of Ben Ali. Gooft-ooft!"
The White Pig, still grinding his tusks together, turned and trotted off into the darkness, and presently Aaron and Chunky Riley heard him crashing through the canes and reeds. Then Aaron kindled his fire.
"Why did you come?" inquired the Son of Ben Ali when the two had made themselves comfortable.
"Des ter fetch word dat Marster wuz layin' [53] off ter git atter you wid Simmons's nigger-dogs 'fo' long." ”

“ Still another story about Aaron was that he was very dangerous. It was whispered that he had killed several people, a number of women and children among them. This story grew out of the fact that he alone could manage Timoleon, the big black stallion. This horse, wild in his ways and fierce of temper, was as gentle as a dog in Aaron’s hands, and followed him about as the chicken follows the mother hen.
BUSTER JOHN WENT FORWARD AND KNOCKED
It was one Saturday, when Buster John, Sweetest Susan, and Drusilla went to Aaron’s cabin. ”

“ As Aaron saw it and knew it, the incident was as simple as it could be. As he was riding the horse along the lane leading to the double gates (having left Rambler behind at the stable) , Timoleon gave a snort and lifted his head higher than usual.
"Son of Ben Ali," he said, "I smell strange men and strange horses. Their scent is hot on the air. Some of them are the men that went tumbling about the pasture the night you bade me play with them."
"Not at this hour, Grandson of Abdallah," replied Aaron. ”

“ Then Aaron, who had stood motionless as if turned to a pillar of salt, went quietly down the passage and into the living room. His face was very pale, ghastly-looking. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the mantel, as he passed, and felt weak, as if he were really a criminal. But his heart did not relax, nevertheless. So he hurried into the night, down the garden, climbed the fence into the field, and went away across the field in the rain, towards the highroad.
He felt sick in every fibre. He almost hated the little handbag he carried, which held his flute and piccolo. ”

“ The moon was shining, and as George Gossett and his companions had refused to raise the siege a single night since Mr. Fullalove had seen the runaway at the stillhouse, Aaron found it difficult to respond promptly when the Little Master signaled him to come. It is not an easy matter to pass a picket line of patrollers when the moon is shining as it shines in Georgia at the beginning of autumn, and as it shone on the Abercrombie place the night that Little Crotchet was so anxious to see Aaron. ”

“ When you stoop in de road fer ter git a drink er water you kin allers tell when dey's sump'n dead up de creek."
Still Aaron swept the water back with his oar, and still the bateau went up stream. One mile—two miles—two miles and a half. At last Aaron headed the boat toward the shore.
"What you gwine ter lan' on the same side wid Jim Simmons fer?" Uncle Andy inquired indignantly. "Ain't you got no sense? Don't you know he'll ketch you ef you do dat? You reckon he gwine ter foller you ter de landin' en den turn right 'roun' in his tracks en go back?"
"I'll hide in the big swamp," replied Aaron. ”

“ And Lilly went to the window, and stood looking out at the river.
“We're going away on Thursday,” he said.
“Where to?” said Aaron.
“Naples. We've got a little house there for the winter—in the country, not far from Sorrento—I must get a bit of work done, now the winter is coming. And forget all about everything and just live with life. What's the good of running after life, when we've got it in us, if nobody prevents us and obstructs us?”
Aaron felt very queer. ”

“ And like the first southern flower, Novara.
Aaron sat watching in silence. Only the uneasy birds rustled. He watched the city and the winding river, the bridges, and the imminent Alps. He was on the south side. On the other side of the time barrier. His old, sleepy English nature was startled in its sleep. He felt like a man who knows it is time to wake up, and who doesn't want to wake up, to face the responsibility of another sort of day.
To open his darkest eyes and wake up to a new responsibility. Wake up and enter on the responsibility of a new self in himself. ”

“ An’ dar’s dat ol’ dog settin’ up dar big ez anybody. What you want, honey?” turning to Buster [94] John. “Talk quick. I ain’t got no time ter th’ow way. I got ter go up yonder,” indicating the big house, “and set my mornin’s bread ter rise.” Then she turned to Aaron, “Did you call me sho’ nuff, er is deze yer chillun des runnin’ on wid der foolishness?”
Aaron nodded his head and brought out a stool for himself, giving Jemimy the chair in which he had been sitting.
“I ’clar’. I ain’t got no time fer ter be settin’ down here gwine on wid deze chillun. ”

“ And now came his desire back. But strong, fierce as iron. Like the strength of an eagle with the lightning in its talons. Something to glory in, something overweening, the powerful male passion, arrogant, royal, Jove's thunderbolt. Aaron's black rod of power, blossoming again with red Florentine lilies and fierce thorns. He moved about in the splendour of his own male lightning, invested in the thunder of the male passion-power. ”

“ The real name of the red goblin with the green hat was Pain, as we know, and he was very busy with Little Crotchet this night; and though the lad had fallen into a doze, he was moving restlessly about when Aaron entered the room. The Son of Ben Ali stepped to the low bed, and knelt by it, placing his hand that the night winds had cooled on Little Crotchet's brow, touching it with firm but gentle strokes. The lad awoke with a start, saw that Aaron was near, and then closed his eyes again.
"It's a long way for you to come," he said. "There's a lot of things for you in the basket there." ”

“ Aaron sat still and watched. He was frightened, it all seemed so sinister, this dark, bristling heart of London. Wind boomed and tore like waves ripping a shingle beach. The two white lights of the taxi stared round and departed, leaving the coast at the foot of the cliffs deserted, faintly spilled with light from the high lamp. Beyond there, on the outer rim, a policeman passed solidly.
Josephine was weeping steadily all the time, but inaudibly. Occasionally she blew her nose and wiped her face. But he had not realized. She hardly realized herself. She sat near the strange man. ”

“ We s'll have to enjoy ourselves with what we've got. We mean to, anyhow.”
“Ay,” he said.
“Time we had a bit of enjoyment, THIS Christmas. They ought to have made things more plentiful.”
“Yes,” he said, stuffing his package in his pocket.
CHAPTER II. ROYAL OAK
The war had killed the little market of the town. As he passed the market place on the brow, Aaron noticed that there were only two miserable stalls. But people crowded just the same. There was a loud sound of voices, men's voices. Men pressed round the doorways of the public-houses.
But he was going to a pub out of town. ”

“ Not less'n you'll run dat ar wil' hog off. He mo' servigrous dan a pant'er. Ef I hadn't er straddled 'im des now he'd 'a' e't me bodaciously up an' dey wouldn't 'a' been nothin' lef' but de buttons on my cloze, an' nobody in de roun' worl' would 'a' know'd dey wuz buttons."
Aaron laughed while speaking to the White Pig: "Get to bed, Grunter. It is the Lifter—the man that is as strong in the back as a horse." ”