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quite a disgrace not to be born in Louisiana； or at least in one of the
Border States。 And this impression was strengthened by Aunt Chloe； who
said； 〃dar wasn't no gentl'men in the Norf no way；〃 and on one occasion
terrified me beyond measure by declaring that； 〃if any of dem mean whites
tried to git her away from marster； she was jes'gwine to knock 'em on de
head wid a gourd！〃
The way this poor creature's eyes flashed； and the tragic air with which
she struck at an imaginary 〃mean white；〃 are among the most vivid things
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in my memory of those days。
To be frank； my idea of the North was about as accurate as that
entertained by the well…educated Englishmen of the present day
concerning America。 I supposed the inhabitants were divided into two
classes…Indians and white people； that the Indians occasionally dashed
down on New York； and scalped any woman or child （giving the
preference to children） whom they caught lingering in the outskirts after
nightfall； that the white men were either hunters or schoolmasters； and that
it was winter pretty much all the year round。 The prevailing style of
architecture I took to be log…cabins。
With this delightful picture of Northern civilization in my eye； the
reader will easily understand my terror at the bare thought of being
transported to Rivermouth to school； and possibly will forgive me for
kicking over little black Sam； and otherwise misconducting myself； when
my father announced his determination to me。 As for kicking little Sam…I
always did that； more or less gently； when anything went wrong with me。
My father was greatly perplexed and troubled by this unusually violent
outbreak； and especially by the real consternation which be saw written in
every line of my countenance。 As little black Sam picked himself up； my
father took my hand in his and led me thoughtfully to the library。
I can see him now as he leaned back in the bamboo chair and
questioned me。 He appeared strangely agitated on learning the nature of
my objections to going North； and proceeded at once to knock down all
my pine log houses； and scatter all the Indian tribes with which I had
populated the greater portion of the Eastern and Middle States。
〃Who on earth； Tom； has filled your brain with such silly stories？〃
asked my father； wiping the tears from his eyes。
〃Aunt Chloe； sir； she told me。〃
〃And you really thought your grandfather wore a blanket embroidered
with beads； and ornamented his leggins with the scalps of his enemies？〃
〃Well； sir； I didn't think that exactly。〃
〃Didn't think that exactly？ Tom； you will be the death of me。〃
He hid his face in his handkerchief； and； when he looked up； he
seemed to have been suffering acutely。 I was deeply moved myself； though
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I did not clearly understand what I had said or done to cause him to feel so
badly。 Perhaps I had hurt his feelings by thinking it even possible that
Grandfather Nutter was an Indian warrior。
My father devoted that evening and several subsequent evenings to
giving me a clear and succinct account of New England； its early struggles；
its progress； and its present condition…faint and confused glimmerings of
all which I had obtained at school； where history had never been a favorite
pursuit of mine。
I was no longer unwilling to go North； on the contrary； the proposed
journey to a new world full of wonders kept me awake nights。 I promised
myself all sorts of fun and adventures； though I was not entirely at rest in
my mind touching the savages； and secretly resolved to go on board the
ship…the journey was to be made by sea…with a certain little brass pistol in
my trousers…pocket； in case of any difficulty with the tribes when we
landed at Boston。
I couldn't get the Indian out of my head。 Only a short time previously
the Cherokees…or was it the Camanches？…had been removed from their
hunting…grounds in Arkansas； and in the wilds of the Southwest the red
men were still a source of terror to the border settlers。 〃Trouble with the
Indians〃 was the staple news from Florida published in the New Orleans
papers。 We were constantly hearing of travellers being attacked and
murdered in the interior of that State。 If these things were done in Florida；
why not in Massachusetts？
Yet long before the sailing day arrived I was eager to be off。 My
impatience was increased by the fact that my father had purchased for me
a fine little Mustang pony； 20and shipped it to Rivermouth a fortnight
previous to the date set for our own departure…for both my parents were to
accompany me。 The pony （which nearly kicked me out of bed one night in
a dream）； and my father's promise that he and my mother would come to
Rivermouth every other summer； completely resigned me to the situation。
The pony's name was Gitana； which is the Spanish for gypsy； so I always
called her…she was a lady pony…Gypsy。
At length the time came to leave the vine…covered mansion among the
orange…trees； to say goodby to little black Sam （I am convinced he was
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heartily glad to get rid of me）； and to part with simple Aunt Chloe； who； in
the confusion of her grief； kissed an eyelash into my eye； and then buried
her face in the bright bandana turban which she had mounted that morning
in honor of our departure。
I fancy them standing by the open garden gate； the tears are rolling
down Aunt Chloe's cheeks； Sam's six front teeth are glistening like pearls；
I wave my hand to him manfully。 then I call out 〃goodby〃 in a muffled
voice to Aunt Chloe； they and the old home fade away。 I am never to see
them again！
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CHAPTER Three
On Board the Typhoon
I do not remember much about the voyage to Boston； for after the first