The Man in Gray - Jr. Thomas Dixon

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is you dis mornin', Marse Custis?" Ben asked with a stately bow.

      "Fine, Uncle Ben. I hope you're better?"

      "Des tolerble, sah, des tolerble—" he paused and bowed to Phil. "An' dis is you' school-mate at Wes' Pint, dey tells me about?"

      "Yes, Uncle," Phil answered.

      "I'se glad ter welcome yer ter Arlington, sah. And I'se powerful sorry I ain't able ter be in de big house ter see dat yer git ebry thing ter make yer happy, sah. Dese here young niggers lak Sam do pooty well. But dey ain't got much sense, sah. And dey ain't got no unction'tall. Dey do de best dey kin an' dat ain't much."

      "Oh, I'm having a fine time, Uncle Ben," Phil assured him.

      "Praise de Lord, sah."

      "Sam told me you wanted to see me, Uncle Ben," Custis said.

      "'Bout sumfin mos' particular, sah—"

      "At your service."

      The old man waved to his wife to look after the boys' breakfast.

      "Pile dem fish up on der plates, Hannah. Fill 'em up—fill'em up!"

      "We're mos' full now!" Robbie shouted.

      "No we ain't," John protested. "I jis begun."

      Ben led the young master and his friend out the back door, past the long pile of cord wood, past the chicken yard to a strong box which he had built on tall legs under a mulberry tree. It was constructed of oak and the neatly turned gable roof was covered with old tin carefully painted with three coats of red. A heavy hasp, staple and padlock held the solid door.

      Ben fumbled in his pocket, drew forth his keys and opened it. The box was his fireproof and ratproof safe in which the old man kept his valuables. His money, his trinkets, his hammer and nails, augur and bits, screwdriver and monkeywrench. From the top shelf he drew a tin can. A heavy piece of linen tied with a string served as a cover.

      He carefully untied the string in silence. He shook the can. The boys saw that it was filled with salt of the coarse kind used to preserve meats.

      Ben felt carefully in the salt, drew forth a shriveled piece of dark gristle, and held it up before his young master.

      "Yer know what dat is, Marse Custis?"

      Custis shook his head.

      From the old man's tones of deep emotion he knew the matter was serious. He thought at once of the Hoodoo. But he could make out no meaning to this bit of preserved flesh.

      "Never saw anything like it."

      "Nasah. I spec yer didn't."

      Ben pushed the gray hair back from his left ear. He wore his hair drawn low over the tips of his ears. It was a fad of his, which he never allowed to lapse.

      "See anything funny 'bout de top o' dat year, sah?"

      Custis looked carefully.

      "It looks shorter—"

      "Hit's er lot shorter. De top ob hit's clean gone, sah. Dat's why I allus combs my ha'r down close over my years—"

      He paused and held up the piece of dried flesh.

      "An' dat's hit, sah."

      "A piece of your ear?"

      "Hit sho is. Ye see, sah, a long time ergo when I wuz young an' strong ez er bull, one er dese here uppish niggers come ter our house drivin' a carriage frum Westover on de James, an' 'gin ter brag 'bout his folks bein' de bes' blood er ole Virginia. An' man I tells him sumfin. I tells dat fool nigger dat de folks at Westover wuz des fair ter midlin. Dat our folks wuz, an' allus wuz, de very fust fambly o' Virginy! I tells him, dat Marse Robert's father was General Light Horse Harry Lee dat help General Washington wid de Revolution. Dat he wuz de Govenor o' ole Virginy. Dat he speak de piece at de funeral o' George Washington, dat we all knows by heart, now—

      "'Fust in war, fust in peace and fust in de hearts o' his countrymen.'

      "I tells him dat Marse Robert's mother wuz a Carter. I tells him dat he could count more dan one hundred gemmen his kin. Dat his folks allus had been de very fust fambly in Virginy. I tells him dat he marry my Missis, de gran' daughter o' ole Gineral Washington his-salf—an' en—"

      He paused.

      "An' den, what ye reckon dat fool nigger say ter me?"

      "Couldn't guess."

      "He say General Washington nebber had no children. And den man, man, when he insult me lak dat, I jump on him lak a wil' cat. We fought an' we fit. We fit an' we fought. I got him down an' bit one o' his years clean off smooth wid his head. In de las' clinch he git hol' er my lef year a'fo' I could shake him, he bit de top of hit off, sah. I got him by the froat an' choke hit outen his mouf. And dar hit is, sah."

      He held up the dried piece of his ear reverently.

      "And what do you want me to do with it, Uncle Ben?" Custis asked seriously.

      "Nuttin right now, sah. But I ain't got long ter live—"

      "Oh, you'll be well in a few days, Uncle Ben."

      "I mought an' den agin I moughtent. I been lyin' awake at night worryin' 'bout dat year o' mine. Ye see hit wouldn't do tall fur me ter go walkin' dem golden streets up dar in Heben wid one o' my years lopped off lake a shoat er a calf dat's been branded. Some o' dem niggers standin' on dat gol' sidewalk would laugh at me. An' dat would hurt my feelin's. Some smart Aleck would be sho ter holler, 'Dar come ole Ben. But he ain't got but one year!' Dat wouldn't do, tall, sah."

      Phil bit his lips to keep from laughing. He saw the thing was no joke for the old man. It was a grim tragedy.

      "What I wants ter axe, Marse Custis, is dat you promise me faithful, ez my young master, dat when I die you come to me, get dis year o' mine outen dis salt box an' stick hit back right whar it b'long 'fore dey nail me up in de coffin. I des can't 'ford ter walk down dem golden streets, 'fore all dat company, wid a piece er my year missin'. Will ye promise me, sah?"

      Custis grasped the outstretched hand and clasped it.

      "I promise you, Uncle Ben, faithfully."

      "Den hit's all right, sah. When a Lee make a promise, hit's des ez good ez done. I know dat case I know who I'se er talkin' to."

      He placed the piece of gristle back into the tin can, covered it with salt, tied the linen cover over it carefully, put it back on the shelf, locked the heavy oak door and handed Custis the key.

      "I got annudder key. You keep dat one, please, sah."

      Custis and Phil left the old man more cheerful than he had been for days.

       Table of Contents

      As the sun was sinking across the gray waters of the river, reflecting in its silver surface a riot of purple and scarlet, the master of Arlington sat in thoughtful silence holding the fateful Book of the Slave in his hand. He had promised his friend, Edmund Ruffin, to give him an answer early next week as to a public statement.

      He was puzzled as to his duty. To his ready protest that he was not a politician his friend had instantly replied that his word would have ten times the weight for that reason. So deep was his brooding he did not notice the two boys in a heated argument at the corner of the house.

      Robbie Lee had drawn his barefoot friend, John, thus far. He had balked and refused to go farther.

      "Come on, John," Robbie pleaded.

      "I'm skeered."

      "Scared of what?"

      "Colonel Lee."

      "Didn't you come to see

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