Bricks Without Straw: A Novel (2024)

Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading

Team

BRICKS WITHOUT STRAW

A Novel

BY

ALBION W. TOURGEE, LL.D.,

LATE JUDGE OF THE SUPERIOR COURT OF NORTH CAROLINA

My Wife;

TO WHOSE UNFLINCHING COURAGE, UNFALTERING FAITH, UNFAILING CHEER,AND STEADFAST LOVE, I OWE MORE THAN MANY VOLUMES MIGHT DECLARE.

[From an ancient Egyptian Papyrus-Roll, recently discovered.]

It came to pass that when Pharaoh had made an end of givingcommandment that the children of Israel should deliver the dailytale of bricks, but should not be furnished with any straw wherewithto make them, but should instead go into the fields and gathersuch stubble as might be left therein, that Neoncapos, the king'sjester, laughed.

And when he was asked whereat he laughed, he answered, At the king'sorder.

And thereupon he laughed the more.

Then was Pharaoh, the king, exceeding wroth, and he gave commandmentthat an owl be given to Neoncapos, the king's jester, and that hebe set forth without the gate of the king's palace, and that he beforbidden to return, or to speak to any in all the land, save onlyunto the owl which had been given him, until such time as the birdshould answer and tell him what he should say.

Then they that stood about the king, and all who saw Neoncapos,cried out, What a fool's errand is this! So that the saying remainseven unto this day.

Nevertheless, upon the next day came Neoncapos again into thepresence of Pharaoh, the king.

Then was Pharaoh greatly astonished, and he said, How is this? Haththe bird spoken?

And Neoncapos, the king's jester, bowed himself unto the earth,and said, He hath, my lord.

Then was Pharaoh, the king, filled with amazement, and said, Tellme what he hath said unto thee.

And Neoncapos raised himself before the king, and answered him,and said:

As I went out upon the errand whereunto thou hadst sent me forth,I remembered thy commandment to obey it. And I spake only untothe bird which thou gavest me, and said unto him:

There was a certain great king which held a people in bondage, andset over them task-masters, and required of them all the bricksthat they could make, man for man, and day by day;

For the king was in great haste seeking to build a palace whichshould be greater and nobler than any in the world, and shouldremain to himself and his children a testimony of his glory forever.

And it came to pass, at length, that the king gave commandment thatno more straw should be given unto them that made the bricks, butthat they should still deliver the tale which had been aforetimerequired of them.

And thereupon the king's jester laughed.

Because he said to himself, If the laborers have not straw wherewithto attemper the clay, but only stubble and chaff gathered fromthe fields, will not the bricks be ill-made and lack strength andsymmetry of form, so that the wall made thereof will not be trueand strong, or fitly joined together? For the lack of a littlestraw it may be that the palace of the great king will fall uponhim and all his people that dwell therein. Thereupon the king waswroth with his fool, and his countenance was changed, and he spakeharshly unto him, and—

It matters not what thou saidst unto the bird, said the king. Whatdid the bird say unto thee?

The bird, said Neoncapos, bowing himself low before the king, thebird, my lord, looked at me in great amaze, and cried again andagain, in an exceeding loud voice: Who! Who-o! Who-o-o!

Then was Pharaoh exceeding wroth, and his anger burned within him,and he commanded that the fool should be taken and bound with cords,and cast into prison, while he should consider of a fit punishmentfor his impudent words.

NOTE.-A script attached to this manuscript, evidently of laterdate, informs us that the fool escaped the penalty of his folly bythe disaster at the Red Sea.

I. TRI-NOMINATE
II. THE FONT
III. THE JUNONIAN RITE
IV. MARS MEDDLES
V. NUNC PRO TUNC
VI. THE TOGA VIRILIS
VII. DAMON AND PYTHIAS
VIII. A FRIENDLY PROLOGUE
IX. A BRUISED REED
X. AN EXPRESS TRUST
XI. RED WING
XII. ON THE WAY AY TO JERICHO
XIII. NEGOTIATING A TREATY
XIV. BORN OF THE STORM
XV. TO HIM AND HIS HEIRS FOREVER
XVI. A CHILD OF THE HILLS
XVII. GOOD-MORROW AND FAREWELL
XVIII. "PRIME WRAPPERS,"
XIX. THE SHADOW OF THE FLAG,
XX. PHANTASMAGORIA,
XXI. A CHILD-MAN
XXII. HOW THE FALLOW WAS SEEDED
XXIII. AN OFFERING OF FIRST-FRUITS
XXIV. A BLACK DBMOCRITUS
XXV. A DOUBLE-HEADED ARGUMENT
XXVI. TAKEN AT HIS WORD
XXVII. MOSES IN THE SUNSHINE
XXVIII. IN THE PATH OF THE STORM
XXIX. LIKE AND UNLIKE
XXX. AN UNBIDDEN GUEST
XXXI. A LIFE FOR A LIFE
XXXII. A VOICE FROM THE DARKNESS
XXXIII. A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION
XXXIV. THE MAJESTY OF THE LAW
XXXV. A PARTICULAR TENANCY LAPSES
XXXVI. THE BEACON-LIGHT OF LOVE
XXXVII. THE "BEST FRIENDS" REVEAL THEMSELVES
XXXVIII. "THE ROSE ABOVE THE MOULD,"
XXXIX. WHAT THE MIST HID
XL. DAWNING
XLI. Q. E. D.
XLII. THROUGH A CLOUD-RIFT
XLIII. A GLAD GOOD-BY
XLIV. PUTTING THIS AND THAT TOGETHER
XLV. ANOTHER OX GORED
XLVI. BACKWARD AND FORWARD
XLVII. BREASTING THE TORRENT
XLVIII. THE PRICE OF HONOR
XLIX. HIGHLY RESOLVED
L. FACE ANSWERETH UNTO FACE
LI. HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE?
LII. REDEEMED OUT OF THE HOUSE OF BONDAGE
LIII. IN THE CYCLONE
LIV. A BOLT OUT OF THE CLOUD
LV. AN UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER
LVI. SOME OLD LETTERS
LVII. A SWEET AND BITTER FRUITAGE
LVIII. COMING TO THE FRONT
LIX. THE SHUTTLEco*ck OF FATE
LX. THE EXODIAN
LXI. WHAT SHALL THE END BE?
LXII. How?

CHAPTER I.

TRI-NOMINATE.

"Wal, I 'clar, now, jes de quarest ting ob 'bout all dis mattero' freedom is de way dat it sloshes roun' de names 'mong us culludfolks. H'yer I lib ober on de Hyco twenty year er mo'—nobody butole Marse Potem an' de Lor', an' p'raps de Debble beside, know'zackly how long it mout hev been—an' didn't hev but one name inall dat yer time. An' I didn't hev no use for no mo' neither, kasedat wuz de one ole Mahs'r gib me hisself, an' nobody on de libbin'yairth nebber hed no sech name afo' an' nebber like to agin. Datwuz allers de way ub ole Mahs'r's names. Dey used ter say dat hean' de Debble made 'em up togedder while he wuz dribin' roun' in datole gig 'twixt de diff'ent plantations—on de Dan an' de Ro'noke,an' all 'bout whar de ole cuss could fine a piece o' cheap lan",dat would do ter raise nigg*rs on an' pay for bringin' up, at desame time. He was a powerful smart man in his day, wuz ole KunnelPotem Desmit; but he speshully did beat anythin' a findin' namesfer nigg*rs. I reckon now, ef he'd 'a hed forty thousan' culludfolks, men an' wimmen, dar wouldn't ha' been no two on 'em hevin'de same name. Dat's what folks used ter say 'bout him, ennyhow.Dey sed he used ter say ez how he wasn't gwine ter hey his nigg*rsmixed up wid nobody else's namin', an' he wouldn't no mo' 'low obone black feller callin' ob anudder by enny nickname ner nothin'ub dat kine, on one o' his plantations, dan he would ob his takin'a mule, nary bit. Dey du say dat when he used ter buy a boy ergal de berry fust ting he wuz gwine ter du wuz jes ter hev 'em upan' gib 'em a new name, out 'n out, an' a clean suit ob close ter'member it by; an' den, jes by way ob a little 'freshment, he usedter make de oberseer gib 'em ten er twenty good licks, jes ter makesure ob der fergittin' de ole un dat dey'd hed afo'. Dat's whatmy mammy sed, an' she allers 'clar'd dat tow'rd de las' she nebbercould 'member what she was at de fus' no more'n ef she hed'nt beende same gal.

"All he wanted ter know 'bout a nigg*r wuz jes his name, an' deysay he could tell straight away when an' whar he wuz born, wharhe'd done lived, an' all 'bout him. He war a powerful man in derway ob names, shore. Some on 'em wuz right quare, but den aginmos' all on 'em wuz right good, an' it war powerful handy hevin' notwo on 'em alike. I've heard tell dat a heap o' folks wuz a takin'up wid his notion, an' I reckon dat ef de s'rrender hed only stoodoff long 'nuff dar wouldn't 'a been nary two nigg*rs in de wholeState hevin' de same names. Dat would hev been handy, allroun'!

"When dat come, though, old Mahs'r's plan warn't nowhar. Lor' bressmy soul, how de names did come a-brilin' roun'! I'd done got kinderused ter mine, hevin' bed it so long an' nebber knowin' myself byany udder, so't I didn't like ter change. 'Sides dat, I couldn'tsee no use. I'd allers got 'long well 'nuff wid it—all on'y jesonce, an' dat ar wuz so long ago I'd nigh about forgot it. Datshowed what a debblish cute plan dat uv ole Mahs'r's was, though.

"Lemme see, dat er wuz de fus er secon' year atter I wuz a plow-boy.Hit wuz right in de height ob de season, an' Marse War'—dat was deoberseer—he sent me to der Cou't House ob an ebenin' to do somesort ob arrant for him. When I was a comin' home, jes about an hourob sun, I rides up wid a sort o' hard-favored man in a gig, an' helooks at me an' at de hoss, when I goes ter ride by, mighty sharplike; an' fust I knows he axes me my name; an' I tole him. An' denhe axes whar I lib; an' I tole him, "On de Knapp-o'-Reeds plantation."Den he say,

"'Who you b'long to, ennyhow, boy?'

"An' I tole him 'Ole Marse Potem Desmit, sah'—jes so like.

"Den he sez 'Who's a oberseein' dar now?'

"An' I sez, 'Marse Si War', sah?'

"Den he sez, 'An' how do all de ban's on Knapp-o Reeds git 'longwid ole Marse Potem an' Marse Si War'?'

"An' I sez, 'Oh, we gits 'long tol'able well wid Marse War', sah.'

"An' he sez, 'How yer likes old Marse Potem?'

"An' I sez, jes fool like, 'We don't like him at all, sah.'

"An' he sez, 'Why?'

"An' I sez, 'Dunno sah.'

"An' he sez, 'Don't he feed?'

"An' I sez, 'Tol'able, I spose.'

"An' he sez, 'Whip much?'

"An' I sez, 'Mighty little, sah.'

"An' he sez, 'Work hard?'

"An' I sez, 'Yes, moderate, sah.' "An' he sez, 'Eber seed him?'

"An' I sez, 'Not ez I knows on, sah.'

"An' he sez, 'What for don't yer like him, den?'

"An' I sez, 'Dunno, on'y jes' kase he's sech a gran' rascal.'

"Den he larf fit ter kill, an' say, 'Dat's so, dat's so, boy.' Denhe take out his pencil an' write a word er two on a slip o' paperan' say,

"'H'yer, boy, yer gibs dat ter Marse Si War', soon ez yer gitshome. D'yer heah?'

"I tole him, 'Yes, sah,' an' comes on home an' gibs dat ter Marse
Si. Quick ez he look at it he say, 'Whar you git dat, boy? 'An' when
I tole him he sez, 'You know who dat is? Dat's old Potem Desmit!
What you say to him, you little fool?'

"Den I tell Marse War' all 'bout it, an' he lay down in de yardan' larf fit ter kill. All de same he gib me twenty licks 'cordin'ter de orders on dat little dam bit o' paper. An' I nebber tink o'dat widout cussin', sence.

"Dat ar, now am de only time I ebber fault my name. Now what Iwant ter change it fer, er what I want ob enny mo'? I don't want'em. An' I tell 'em so, ebbery time too, but dey 'jes fo'ce em onme like, an' what'll I do'bout it, I dunno. H'yer I'se got—lemmesee—one—two—tree! Fo' God, I don' know how many names I hez got!I'm dod-dinged now ef I know who I be ennyhow. Ef ennybody ax meI'd jes hev ter go back ter ole Mahs'r's name an' stop, kase I swarI wouldn't know which ob de udders ter pick an' chuse from.

"I specs its all 'long o' freedom, though I can't see why a freenigg*r needs enny mo' name dan the same one hed in ole slave times.Mus' be, though. I mind now dat all de pore white folks hez gotsome two tree names, but I allus thought dat wuz 'coz dey hedn'tnuffin' else ter call dere can. Must be a free feller needs mo'name, somehow. Ef I keep on I reckon I'll git enuff atter a while.H'yer it's gwine on two year only sence de s'rrender, an' I'se gottree ob 'em sartain!"

The speaker was a colored man, standing before his log-house inthe evening of a day in June. His wife was the only listener tothe monologue. He had been examining a paper which was sealed andstamped with official formality, and which had started him uponthe train of thought he had pursued. The question he was trying invain to answer was only the simplest and easiest of the thousandstrange queries which freedom had so recently propounded to himand his race.

CHAPTER II.

THE FONT.

Knapp-of-reeds was the name of a plantation which was one of thenumerous possessions of P. Desmit, Colonel and Esquire, of thecounty of Horsford, in the northernmost of those States which goodQueen Caroline was fortunate enough to have designated as memorialsof her existence. The plantation was just upon that wavy line whichseparates the cotton region of the east from the tobacco belt thatsweeps down the pleasant ranges of the Piedmont region, east ofthe Blue Appalachians. Or, to speak more correctly, the plantationwas in that indeterminate belt which neither of the great staplescould claim exclusively as its own—that delectable land where everyconceivable product of the temperate zone grows, if not in itsrankest luxuriance, at least in perfection and abundance. Tobaccoon the hillsides, corn upon the wide bottoms, cotton on the grayuplands, and wheat, oats, fruits, and grasses everywhere. Fivehundred acres of hill and bottom, forest and field, with what wastermed the Island, consisting of a hundred more, which had never beenoverflowed in the century of cultivation it had known, constituteda snug and valuable plantation. It had been the seat of an oldfamily once, but extravagant living and neglect of its resourceshad compelled its sale, and it had passed into the hands of itspresent owner, of whose vast possessions it formed an insignificantpart.

Colonel Desmit was one of the men who applied purely businessprinciples to the opportunities which the South afforded in theolden time, following everything to its logical conclusion, andmeasuring every opportunity by its money value. He was not of anancient family. Indeed, the paternal line stopped short with hisown father, and the maternal one could only show one more link,and then became lost in malodorous tradition which hung about anold mud-daubed log-cabin on the most poverty-stricken portion ofNubbin Ridge.

There was a rumor that the father had a left-handed kinship withthe Brutons, a family of great note in the public annals of theState. He certainly showed qualities which tended to confirm thistradition, and abilities which entitled him to be considered thepeer of the best of that family, whose later generations were byno means the equals of former ones. Untiring and unscrupulous, Mr.Peter Smith rose from the position of a nameless son of an unknownfather, to be as overseer for one of the wealthiest proprietors ofthat region, and finally, by a not unusual turn of fortune's wheel,became the owner of a large part of his employer's estates. Thriftyin all things, he married in middle life, so well as nearly todouble the fortune then acquired, and before his death had becomeone of the wealthiest men in his county. He was always hampered bya lack of education. He could read little and write less. In hislater days he was appointed a Justice of the Peace, and was chosenone of the County Court, or "Court of Pleas and Quarter Sessions,"as it was technically called. These honors were so pleasant tohim that he determined to give his only son a name which shouldcommemorate this event. The boy was, therefore, christened after theopening words of his commission of the peace, and grew to manhoodbearing the name Potestatem Dedimus [Footnote: Potestatem dedimus:"We give thee power, etc." The initial words of the clause conferringjurisdiction upon officers, in the old forms of judicial commissions.This name is fact, not fancy.] Smith. This son was educatedwith care—the shrewd father feeling his own need—but was earlyinstilled with his father's greed for gain, and the necessity forunusual exertion if he would achieve equal position with the oldfamilies who were to be his rivals.

The young man proved a worthy disciple of his father. He married,it is true, without enhancing his fortune; but he secured what wasworth almost as much for the promotion of his purposes as if hehad doubled his belongings. Aware of the ill-effects of so recent abar sinister in his armorial bearings, he sought in marriage MissBertha Bellamy, of Belleville, in the State of Virginia, whounited in her azure veins at least a few drops of the blood of allthe first families of that fine-bred aristocracy, from Pocahontas'sdays until her own. The role of the gentleman had beentoo much for the male line of the Bellamys to sustain. Horses andhounds and cards and high living had gradually eaten down theironce magnificent patrimony, until pride and good blood and povertywere the only dowry that the females could command. Miss Bertha,having already arrived at the age of discretion, found that to matchthis against the wealth of young Potestatem Dedimus Smith was aswell as she could hope to do, and accepted him upon condition thatthe vulgar Smith should be changed to some less democraticname.

The one paternal and two maternal ancestors had not made the verycommon surname peculiarly sacred to the young man, so the point wasyielded; and by considerable persistency on the part of the youngwife, "P. D. SMITH" was transformed without much trouble into "P.DESMIT," before the administrator had concluded the settlement ofhis father's estate.

The vigor with which the young man devoted himself to affairs andthe remarkable success which soon began to attend his exertionsdiverted attention from the name, and before he had reached middlelife he was known over almost half the State as "Colonel Desmit,""Old Desmit," or "Potem Desmit," according to the degree of familiarityor respect desired to be displayed. Hardly anybody remembered andnone alluded to the fact that the millionaire of Horsford was onlytwo removes from old Sal Smith of Nubbin Ridge. On the other handthe rumor that he was in some mysterious manner remotely akin tothe Brutons was industriously circulated by the younger members ofthat high-bred house, and even "the Judge," who was of about thesame age as Colonel Desmit, had been heard more than once to callhim "Cousin." These things affected Colonel Desmit but little. Hehad set himself to improve his father's teachings and grow rich. Heseemed to have the true Midas touch. He added acre to acre, slaveto slave, business to business, until his possessions were scatteredfrom the mountains to the sea, and especially extended on both sidesthe border line in the Piedmont region where he had been bred. Itembraced every form of business known to the community of whichhe was a part, from the cattle ranges of the extreme west to thefisheries of the farthest east. He made his possessions a sort ofself-supporting commonwealth in themselves. The cotton which hegrew on his eastern farms was manufactured at his own factory, anddistributed to his various plantations to be made into clothingfor his slaves. Wheat and corn and meat, raised upon some of hisplantations, supplied others devoted to non-edible staples. Thetobacco grown on the Hyco and other plantations in that belt wasmanufactured at his own establishment, supplied his eastern laborersand those which wrought in the pine woods to the southward at theproduction of naval supplies. He had realized the dream of his ownlife and the aspiration of his father, the overseer, and had becomeone of the wealthiest men in the State. But he attended to all thishimself. Every overseer knew that he was liable any day or nightto receive a visit from the untiring owner of all this wealth, whowould require an instant accounting for every bit of the propertyunder his charge. Not only the presence and condition of everyslave, mule, horse or other piece of stock must be accounted for,but the manner of its employment stated. He was an inflexibledisciplinarian, who gave few orders, hated instructions, and onlyasked results. It was his custom to place an agent in charge of abusiness without directions, except to make it pay. His only carewas to see that his property did not depreciate, and that the courseadopted by the agent was one likely to produce good results. Solong as this was the case he was satisfied. He never interfered,made no suggestions, found no fault. As soon as he became dissatisfiedthe agent was removed and another substituted. This was done withoutwords or controversy, and it was a well-known rule that a man oncedischarged from such a trust could never enter his employ again.For an overseer to be dismissed by Colonel Desmit was to forfeitall chance for employment in that region, since it was looked uponas a certificate either of incapacity or untrustworthiness.

Colonel Desmit was especially careful in regard to his slaves.His father had early shown him that no branch of business was, orcould be, half so profitable as the rearing of slaves for market.

"A healthy slave woman," the thrifty father had been accustomedto say, "will yield a thousand per cent upon her value, whileshe needs less care and involves less risk than any other speciesof property." The son, with a broader knowledge, had carried hisfather's instructions to more accurate and scientific results. Hefound that the segregation of large numbers of slaves upon a singleplantation was not favorable either to the most rapid multiplicationor economy of sustenance. He had carefully determined the factthat plantations of moderate extent, upon the high, well-watereduplands of the Piedmont belt, were the most advantageous locationsthat could be found for the rearing of slaves. Such plantations,largely worked by female slaves, could be made to return a smallprofit on the entire investment, without at all taking into accountthe increase of the human stock. This was, therefore, so muchadded profit. From careful study and observation he had deduceda specific formulary by which he measured the rate of gain. Witha well-selected force, two thirds of which should be females, hecalculated that with proper care such plantations could be made topay, year by year, an interest of five per cent on the first cost,and, in addition, double the value of the working force every eightyears. This conclusion he had arrived at from scientific study ofthe rates of mortality and increase, and in settling upon it hehad cautiously left a large margin for contingencies. He was notaccustomed to talk about his business, but when questioned as tohis uniform success and remarkable prosperity, always attributed itto a system which he had inexorably followed, and which had neverfailed to return to him at least twenty per cent. per annum uponevery dollar he had invested.

So confident was he in regard to the success of this plan that hebecame a large but systematic borrower of money at the legal rateof six per cent, taking care that his maturing liabilities should,at no time, exceed a certain proportion of his available estate.By this means his wealth increased with marvelous rapidity.

The success of his system depended, however, entirely upon the carebestowed upon his slaves. They were never neglected. Though he hadso many that of hundreds of them he did not know even the faces, hegave the closest attention to their hygienic condition, especiallythat of the women, who were encouraged by every means to bear children.It was a sure passport to favor with the master and the overseer:tasks were lightened; more abundant food provided; greater libertyenjoyed; and on the birth of a child a present of some sort wascertain to be given the mother.

The one book which Colonel Desmit never permitted anybody else tokeep or see was the register of his slaves. He had invented forhimself an elaborate system by which in a moment he could ascertainevery element of the value of each of his more than a thousand slavesat the date of his last visitation or report. When an overseer wasput in charge of a plantation he was given a list of the slavesassigned to it, by name and number, and was required to reportevery month the condition of each slave during the month previous,as to health and temper, and also the labor in which the same hadbeen employed each day. It was only as to the condition of the slavesthat the owner gave explicit directions to his head-men. "Mightyfew people know how to take care of a nigg*r," he was wont to say;and as he made the race a study and looked to them for his profits,he was attentive to their condition.

Among the requirements of his system was one that each slave bornupon his plantations should be named only by himself; and this wasdone only on personal inspection. Upon a visit to a plantation,therefore, one of his special duties always was to inspect, name,and register all slave children who had been born to his estatesince his previous visitation.

It was in the summer of 1840 that a traveler drove into the grovein front of the house at Knapp-of-Reeds, in the middle of a Juneafternoon, and uttered the usual halloo. He was answered after amoment's delay by a colored woman, who came out from the kitchenand exclaimed,

"Who's dah?"

It was evident at once that visitors were not frequent at
Knapp-of-Reeds.

"Where's Mr. Ware?" asked the stranger.

"He's done gone out in de new-ground terbacker, long wid de han's,"answered the woman.

"Where is the new-ground this year?" repeated the questioner.
"Jes' down on the p'int 'twixt de branch an' de Hyco," she replied.

"Anybody you can send for him?"

"Wal, thar mout be some shaver dat's big enough to go, but MarseWar's dat keerful ter please Marse Desmit dat he takes 'em allouten de field afore dey can well toddle," said the woman doubtfully.

"Well, come and take my horse," said he, as he began to descendfrom his gig, "and send for Mr. Ware to come up at once."

The woman came forward doubtfully and took the horse by the bit,while the traveler alighted. No sooner did he turn fully towardher than her face lighted up with a smile, and she said,

"Wal, dar, ef dat a'n't Marse Desmit hisself, I do believe! Howd'ye do, Mahs'r?" and the woman dropped a courtesy.

"I'm very well, thank ye, Lorency, an' glad to see you looking sopeart," he responded pleasantly. "How's Mr. Ware and the people?All well, I hope."

"All tol'able, Mahs'r, thank ye."

"Well, tie the horse, and get me some dinner, gal. I haven't eatensince I left home."

"La sakes!" said the woman in a tone of commiseration, though shehad no idea whether it was twenty or forty miles he had drivensince his breakfast.

The man who sat upon the porch and waited for the coming ofMr. Silas Ware, his overseer, was in the prime of life, of floridcomplexion, rugged habit, short stubbly hair—thick and bristling,that stood close and even on his round, heavy head from a littleway above the beetling brows well down upon the bull-like neck whichjoined but hardly separated the massive head and herculean trunk.This hair, now almost white, had been a yellowish red, a hue whichstill showed in the eyebrows and in the stiff beard which was allowedto grow beneath the angle of his massive jaw, the rest of his facebeing clean shaven. The eyes were deep-sunk and of a clear, coldblue. His mouth broad, with firm, solid lips. Dogged resolution,unconquerable will, cold-blooded selfishness, and a keen hog-cunningshowed in his face, while his short, stout form—massive but notfleshy—betrayed a capacity to endure fatigue which few men couldrival.

"How d'ye, Mr. Ware?" he said as that worthy came striding in fromthe new-ground nervously chewing a mouthful of home-made twist,which he had replenished several times since leaving the field,without taking the precaution to provide stowage for the quantityhe was taking aboard.

"How d'ye, Colonel?" said Ware uneasily.

"Reckon you hardly expected me to day?" continued Desmit, watchinghim closely. "No, I dare say not. They hardly ever do. Fact is, Irarely ever know myself long enough before to send word."

He laughed heartily, for his propensity for dropping in unawaresupon his agents was so well known that he enjoyed their confusionalmost as much as he valued the surprise as a means of ascertainingtheir attention to his interests. Ware was one of his most trustedlieutenants, however, and everything that he had ever seen orheard satisfied him of the man's faithfulness. So he made haste torelieve him from embarrassment, for the tall, awkward, shamblingfellow was perfectly overwhelmed.

"It's a long time since I've been to see you, Mr. Ware—almosta year. There's mighty few men I'd let run a plantation that longwithout looking after them. Your reports have been very correct,and the returns of your work very satisfactory. I hope the stockand hands are in good condition?"

"I must say, Colonel Desmit," responded Ware, gathering confidence,"though perhaps I oughtn't ter say it myself, that I've never seen'em lookin' better. 'Pears like everything hez been jest about ezfavorable fer hands an' stock ez one could wish. The spring's workdidn't seem ter worry the stock a mite, an' when the new feed comeon there was plenty on't, an' the very best quality. So they shedoff ez fine ez ever you see ennything in yer life, an' hev jestbeen a doin' the work in the crop without turnin' a hair."

"Glad to hear it, Mr. Ware," said Desmit encouragingly.

"And the hands," continued Ware, "have jest been in prime condition.We lost Horion, as I reported to you in—lemme see, February, Ireckon—along o' rheumatism which he done cotch a runnin' away fromthat Navigation Company that you told me to send him to work for."

"Yes, I know. You told him to come home if they took him into
Virginia, as I directed, I suppose."

"Certainly, sir," said Ware; "an' ez near ez I can learn they tookhim off way down below Weldon somewheres, an' he lit out to comehome jest at the time of the February 'fresh.' He had to stealhis way afoot, and was might'ly used up when he got here, and diedsome little time afterward."

"Yes. The company will have to pay a good price for him. Wasn't abetter nor sounder nigg*r on the river," said Desmit.

"That ther warn't," replied Ware. "The rest has all been well.Lorency had a bad time over her baby, but she's 'round again aspeart as ever." "So I see. And the crops?"

"The best I've ever seed sence I've been here, Colonel. Never hadsuch a stand of terbacker, and the corn looks prime. Knapp-of-Reedshas been doin' better 'n' better ever sence I've knowed it; butshe's jest outdoin' herself this year."

"Haven't you got anything to drink, Ware?"

"I beg your parding, Colonel; I was that flustered I doneforgot my manners altogether," said Ware apologetically. "I hevgot a drap of apple that they say is right good for this region,and a trifle of corn that ain't nothing to brag on, though it doesfor the country right well."

Ware set out the liquor with a bowl of sugar from his sideboard ashe spoke, and called to the kitchen for a glass and water.

"That makes me think," said Desmit. "Here, you Lorency, bring methat portmanty from the gig."

When it was brought he unlocked it and took out a bottle, which hefirst held up to the light and gazed tenderly through, then drewthe cork and smelled of its contents, shook his head knowingly,and then handed it to Ware, who went through the same performancevery solemnly.

"Here, gal," said Desmit sharply, "bring us another tumbler. Now,Mr. Ware," said he unctuously when it had been brought, "allow me,sir, to offer you some brandy which is thirty-five years old—pureFrench brandy, sir. Put it in my portmanty specially for you, andlike to have forgot it at the last. Just try it, man."

Ware poured himself a dram, and swallowed it with a gravity whichwould have done honor to a more solemn occasion, after bowing lowto his principal and saying earnestly, "Colonel, your very goodhealth."

"And now," said Desmit, "have the hands and stock brought up whileI eat my dinner, if you please. I have a smart bit of travel beforeme yet to-day."

The overseer's horn was at Ware's lips in a moment, and before themaster had finished his dinner every man, woman, and child on theplantation was in the yard, and every mule and horse was in thebarn-lot ready to be brought out for his inspection.

The great man sat on the back porch, and, calling up the slaves oneby one, addressed some remark to each, gave every elder a quarterand every youngster a dime, until he came to the women. The firstof these was Lorency, the strapping cook, who had improved the timesince her master's coming to make herself gay with her newest gownand a flaming new turban. She came forward pertly, with a youngbabe upon her arm.

"Well, Lorency, Mr. Ware says you have made me a present since Iwas here?"

"Yah! yah! Marse Desmit, dat I hab! Jes' de finest little nigg*rboy yer ebber sot eyes on. Jes' you look at him now," she continued,holding up her brighteyed pickaninny. "Ebber you see de beat ubdat? Reg'lar ten pound, an' wuff two hundred dollars dis bressedminnit."

"Is that it, Lorency?" said Desmit, pointing to the child. "Whoever saw such a thunder-cloud?"

There was a boisterous laugh at the master's joke from the assembledcrowd. Nothing abashed, the good-natured mother replied, with readywit,

"Dat so, Marse Kunnel. He's brack, he is. None ob yer bleachedout yaller sort of coffee-cullud nigg*r 'bout him. De raleole giniwine kind, dat a coal make a white mark on. Yah I yah! whatyer gwine ter name him, Mahs'r? Gib him a good name, now, none o'yer common mean ones, but jes' der bes' one yer got in yer book;"for Colonel Desmit was writing in a heavy clasped book which restedon a light stand beside him.

"What is it, Mahs'r?"

"Nimbus," replied the master.

"Wh—what?" asked the mother. "Say dat agin', won't yer, Mahs'r?"

"Nimbus—Nimbus," repeated Desmit.

"Wal, I swan ter gracious!" exclaimed the mother. "Ef dat don'tbeat! H'yer! little—what's yer name? Jes' ax yer Mahs'r fer asilver dollar ter pay yer fer hevin' ter tote dat er name 'roun'ez long ez yer lives."

She held the child toward its godfather and owner as she spoke, amida roar of laughter from her fellow-servants. Desmit good-naturedlythrew a dollar into the child's lap, for which Lorency courtesied,and then held out her hand.

"What do you want now, gal?" asked Desmit.

"Yer a'n't a gwine ter take sech a present ez dis from a pore culludgal an' not so much ez giv' her someting ter remember hit by, isyer?" she asked with arch persistency.

"There, there," said he laughing, as he gave her another dollar.
"Go on, or I shan't have a cent left."

"All right, Marse Kunnel. Thank ye, Mahs'r," she said, as she walkedoff in triumph.

"Oh, hold on," said Desmit; "how old is it, Lorency?"

"Jes' sebben weeks ole dis bressed day, Mahs'r," said the proudmother as she vanished into the kitchen to boast of her good-fortunein getting two silver dollars out of Marse Desmit instead of the onecustomarily given by him on such occasions. And so the recordwas made up in the brass-clasped book of Colonel Potestatem Desmit,the only baptismal register of the colored man who twenty-sixyears afterward was wondering at the names which were seeking himagainst his will.

697—Nimbus—of Lorency—Male—April 24th, 1840—Sound—Knapp-of-Reeds.

It was a queer baptismal entry, but a slave needed no more—indeeddid not need that. It was not given for his sake, but only for theconvenience of his godfather should the chattel ever seek to runaway, or should it become desirable to exchange him for some otherform of value. There was nothing harsh or brutal or degraded aboutit. Mr. Desmit was doing, in a business way, what the law not onlyallowed but encouraged him to do, and doing it because it paid.

CHAPTER III.

THE JUNONIAN RITE.

"Marse Desmit?"

"Well?"

"Ef yer please, Mahs'r, I wants ter marry?"

"The devil you do!"

"Yes, sah, if you please, sah."

"What's your name?"

"Nimbus."

"So: you're the curer at Knapp-of-Reeds, I believe?"

"Yes, sah." "That last crop was well done. Mr. Ware says you'reone of the best hands he has ever known."

"Thank ye, Mahs'r," with a bow and scrape.

"What's the gal's name?"

"Lugena, sah."

"Yes, Vicey's gal—smart gal, too. Well, as I've about concluded tokeep you both—if you behave yourselves, that is, as well as you'vebeen doing—I don't know as there's any reason why you shouldn'ttake up with her."

"Thank ye, Mahs'r," very humbly, but very joyfully.

The speakers were the black baby whom Desmit had christened Nimbus,grown straight and strong, and just turning his first score on thescale of life, and Colonel Desmit, grown a little older, a littlegrayer, a little fuller, and a great deal richer—if only the smallcloud of war just rising on the horizon would blow over and leavehis possessions intact. He believed it would, but he was a wiseman and a cautious one, and he did not mean to be caught nappingif it did not.

Nimbus had come from Knapp-of-Reeds to a plantation twenty milesaway, upon a pass from Mr. Ware, on the errand his conversationdisclosed. He was a fine figure of a man despite his ebon hue,and the master, looking at him, very naturally noted his straight,strong back, square shoulders, full, round neck, and shapely,well-balanced head. His face was rather heavy—grave, it wouldhave been called if he had been white—and his whole figure andappearance showed an earnest and thoughtful temperament. He was asfar from that volatile type which, through the mimicry of burnt-corkminstrels and the exaggerations of caricaturists, as well as theworks of less disinterested portrayers of the race, have come torepresent the negro to the unfamiliar mind, as the typical Englishmanis from the Punch-and-Judy figures which amuse him. The slave Nimbusin a white skin would have been considered a man of great physicalpower and endurance, earnest purpose, and quiet, self-reliantcharacter. Such, in truth, he was. Except the whipping he hadreceived when but a lad, by his master's orders, no blow had everbeen struck him. Indeed, blows were rarely stricken on the plantationsof Colonel Desmit; for while he required work, obedience, anddiscipline, he also fed well and clothed warmly, and allowed nooverseer to use the lash for his own gratification, or except forgood cause. It was well known that nothing would more surely securedismissal from his service than the free use of the whip. Not thathe thought there was anything wrong or inhuman about the whipping-post,but it was entirely contrary to his policy. To keep a slavecomfortable, healthy, and good-natured, according to Colonel Desmit'snotion, was to increase his value, and thereby add to his owner'swealth. He knew that Nimbus was a very valuable slave. He hadalways been attentive to his tasks, was a prime favorite with hisoverseer, and had already acquired the reputation of being one of themost expert and trusty men that the whole region could furnish, fora tobacco crop. Every step in the process of growing and curing—fromthe preparation of the seed-bed to the burning of the coal-pit,and gauging the heat required in the mud-daubed barn for differentkinds of leaf and in every stage of cure—was perfectly familiarto him, and he could always be trusted to see that it was properlyand opportunely done. This fact, together with his quiet and contenteddisposition, added very greatly to his value. The master regardedhim, therefore, with great satisfaction. He was willing to gratifyhim in any reasonable way, and so, after some rough jokes at hisexpense, wrote out his marriage-license in these words, in pencil,on the blank leaf of a notebook:

MR. WARE: Nimbus and Lugena want to take up with each other. Youhave a pretty full force now, but I have decided to keep them andsell some of the old ones—say Vicey and Lorency. Neither have hadany children for several years, and are yet strong, healthy women,who will bring nearly as much as the girl Lugena. I shall makeup a gang to go South in charge of Winburn next week. You may sendthem over to Louisburg on Monday. You had better give Nimbus theempty house near the tobacco-barn. We need a trusty man there.Respectfully, P. DESMIT.

So Nimbus went home happy, and on the Saturday night following, inaccordance with this authority, with much mirth and clamor, and withthe half-barbarous and half-Christian ceremony—which the law didnot recognize; which bound neither parties, nor master nor stranger;which gave Nimbus no rights and Lugena no privileges; which neithersanctified the union nor protected its offspring—the slave "boy"and "gal" "took up with each other," and began that farce whichthe victims of slavery were allowed to call "marriage." The solepurpose of permitting it was to raise children. The offspring weresometimes called "families," even in grave legal works; but therewas no more of the family right of protection, duty of sustenanceand care, or any other of the sacred elements which make the familya type of heaven, than attends the propagation of any other speciesof animate property. When its purpose had been served, the voiceof the master effected instant divorce. So, on the Monday morningthereafter the mothers of the so-called bride and groom, widowedby the inexorable demands of the master's interests, left husbandand children, and those fair fields which represented all that theyknew of the paradise which we call home, and with tears and groansstarted for that living tomb, the ever-devouring and insatiable"far South."

CHAPTER IV.

MARS MEDDLES.

LOUISBURG, January 10, 1864.

MR. SILAS WARE:

DEAR SIR: In ten days I have to furnish twenty hands to work onfortifications for the Confederate Government. I have tried everyplan I could devise to avoid doing so, but can put it off no longer.I anticipated this long ago, and exchanged all the men I couldpossibly spare for women, thinking that would relieve me, but itmakes no difference. They apportion the levy upon the number ofslaves. I shall have to furnish more pretty soon. The trouble isto know who to send. I am afraid every devil of them will run away,but have concluded that if I send Nimbus as a sort of headman of thegang, he may be able to bring them through. He is a very faithfulfellow, with none of the fool-notions nigg*rs sometimes get, Ithink. In fact, he is too dull to have such notions. At the sametime he has a good deal of influence over the others. If you agreewith this idea, send him to me at once. Respectfully, P. DESMIT.

In accordance with this order Nimbus was sent on to have anotherinterview with his master. The latter's wishes were explained,and he was asked if he could fulfil them. "Dunno," he answeredstolidly.

"Are you willing to try?"

"S'pect I hev ter, ennyhow, ef yer say so."

"Now, Nimbus, haven't I always been a good master to you?"reproachfully.

No answer.

"Haven't I been kind to you always?"

"Yer made Marse War' gib me twenty licks once."

"Well, weren't you saucy, Nimbus? Wouldn't you have done that toa nigg*r that called you a 'grand rascal' to your face?"

"S'pecs I would, Mahs'r."

"Of course you would. You know that very well. You've too muchsense to remember that against me now. Besides, if you are notwilling to do this I shall have to sell you South to keep you outof the hands of the Yanks."

Mr, Desmit knew how to manage "nigg*rs," and full well understoodthe terrors of being "sold South." He saw his advantage in theflush of apprehension which, before he had ceased speaking, madethe jetty face before him absolutely ashen with terror.

"Don't do dat, Marse Desmit, ef you please! Don't do dat erwid Nimbus! Mind now, Mahs'r, I'se got a wife an' babies."

"So you have, and I know you don't want to leave them."

"No more I don't, Mahs'r," earnestly.

"And you need not if you'll do as I want you to. See here, Nimbus,if you'll do this I will promise that you and your family nevershall be separated, and I'll give you fifty dollars now and ahundred dollars when you come back, if you'll just keep those otherfool-nigg*rs from trying—mind' I say trying—to run away andso getting shot. There's no such thing as getting to the Yankees,and it would be a heap worse for them if they did, but you knowthey are such fools they might try it and get killed—whichwould serve them right, only I should have to bear the loss."

"All right, Mahs'r, I do the best I can," said Nimbus.

"That's right," said the master.

"Here are fifty dollars," and he handed him a Confederate bill ofthat denomination (gold value at that time, $3.21).

Mr. Desmit did not feel entirely satisfied when Nimbus and histwenty fellow-servants went off upon the train to work for theConfederacy. However, he had done all he could except to warn theguards to be very careful, which he did not neglect to do.

Just forty days afterward a ragged, splashed and torn young ebonySamson lifted the flap of a Federal officer's tent upon one of thecoast islands, stole silently in, and when he saw the officer'seyes fixed upon him. asked,

"Want ary boy, Mahs'r?"

The tone, as well as the form of speech, showed a new-comer. Theofficer knew that none of the colored men who had been upon theisland any length of time would have ventured into his presenceunannounced, or have made such an inquiry.

"Where did you come from?" he asked.

"Ober to der mainlan'," was the composed answer.

"How did you get here?"

"Come in a boat."

"Run away?"

"S'pose so."

"Where did you live?"

"Up de kentry—Horsford County."

"How did you come down here?" "Ben wukkin' on de bres'wuks."

"The dickens you have!"

"Yes, sah."

"How did you get a boat, then?"

"Jes' tuk it—dry so."

"Anybody with you?"

"No, Mahs'r."

"And you came across the Sound alone in an open boat?"

"Yes, Mahs'r; an' fru' de swamp widout any boat."

"I should say so," laughed the officer, glancing at his clothes.
"What did you come here for?"

"Jes'—kase."

"Didn't they tell you you'd be worse off with the Yankees than youwere with them?"

"Yes, sah."

"Didn't you believe them?"

"Dunno, sah."

"What do you want to do?"

"Anything."

"Fight the rebs?"

"Wal, I kin du it."

"What's your name?"

"Nimbus."

"Nimbus? Good name—ha! ha: what else?"

"Nuffin' else."

"Nothing else? What was your old master's name?"

"Desmit—Potem Desmit."

"Well, then, that's yours, ain't it—your surname—Nimbus Desmit?"

"Reckon not, Mahs'r."

"No? Why not?"

"Same reason his name ain't Nimbus, I s'pose."

"Well," said the officer, laughing, "there may be something inthat; but a soldier must have two names. Suppose I call you GeorgeNimbus?"

"Yer kin call me jes' what yer choose, sah; but my name's Nimbusall the same. No Gawge Nimbus, nor ennything Nimbus, nor Nimbusennything—jes' Nimbus; so. nigg*r got no use fer two names, nohow."

The officer, perceiving that it was useless to argue the matterfurther, added his name to the muster-roll of a regiment, andhe was duly sworn into the service of the United States as GeorgeNimbus, of Company C, of the—-Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry,and was counted one of the quota which the town of Great Barringham,in the valley of the Housatuck, was required to furnish to completethe pending call for troops to put down rebellion. By virtue ofthis fact, the said George Nimbus became entitled to the sum offour hundred dollars bounty money offered by said town to such asshould give themselves to complete its quota of "the boys in blue,"in addition to his pay and bounty from the Government. So, if itforced on him a new name, the service of freedom was not altogetherwithout compensatory advantages.

Thus the slave Nimbus was transformed into the "contraband" GeorgeNimbus, and became not only a soldier of fortune, but also therepresentative of a patriotic citizen of Great Barringham, who servedhis country by proxy, in the person of said contraband, faithfullyand well until the end of the war, when the South fell—strickenat last most fatally by the dark hands which she had manacled,and overcome by their aid whose manhood she had refused toacknowledge.

CHAPTER V.

NUNC PRO TUNC.

The first step in the progress from the prison-house of bondageto the citadel of liberty was a strange one. The war was over. Thestruggle for autonomy and the inviolability of slavery, on the partof the South, was ended, and fate had decided against them. Withthis arbitrament of war fell also the institution which had beenits cause. Slavery was abolished—by proclamation, by nationalenactment, by constitutional amendment—ay, by the sterner logicwhich forbade a nation to place shackles again upon hands whichhad been raised in her defence, which had fought for her life andat her request. So the slave was a slave no more. No other mancould claim his service or restrain his volition. He might go orcome, work or play, so far as his late master was concerned.

But that was all. He could not contract, testify, marry or givein marriage. He had neither property, knowledge, right, or power.The whole four millions did not possess that number of dollarsor of dollars' worth. Whatever they had acquired in slavery wasthe master's, unless he had expressly made himself a trustee fortheir benefit. Regarded from the legal standpoint it was, indeed,a strange position in which they were. A race despised, degraded,penniless, ignorant, houseless, homeless, fatherless, childless,nameless. Husband or wife there was not one in four millions.Not a child might call upon a father for aid, and no man of themall might lift his hand in a daughter's defence. Uncle and auntand cousin, home, family—none of these words had any place inthe freedman's vocabulary. Right he had, in the abstract; in theconcrete, none. Justice would not hear his voice. The law was stillcolor-blinded by the past.

The fruit of slavery—its first ripe harvest, gathered with swordsand bloody bayonets, was before the nation which looked ignorantlyon the fruits of the deliverance it had wrought. The North did notcomprehend its work; the South could not comprehend its fate. Theunbound slave looked to the future in dull, wondering hope.

The first step in advance was taken neither by the nation nor by thefreedmen. It was prompted by the voice of conscience, long hushedand hidden in the master's breast. It was the protest of Christianityand morality against that which it had witnessed with complacencyfor many a generation. All at once it was perceived to be a greatenormity that four millions of Christian people, in a Christianland, should dwell together without marriage rite or family tie.While they were slaves, the fact that they might be bought and soldhad hidden this evil from the eye of morality, which had lookedunabashed upon the unlicensed freedom of the quarters and theenormities of the barracoon. Now all at once it was shocked beyondexpression at the domestic relations of the freedmen.

So they made haste in the first legislative assemblies that met inthe various States, after the turmoil of war had ceased, to provideand enact:

I. That all those who had sustained to each other the relation ofhusband and wife in the days of slavery, might, upon applicationto an officer named in each county, be registered as such husbandand wife.

2. That all who did not so register within a certain time shouldbe liable to indictment, if the relation continued thereafter.

3. That the effect of such registration should be to constitute suchparties husband and wife, as of the date of their first assumptionof marital relations.

4. That for every such couple registered the officer should beentitled to receive the sum of one half-dollar from the partiesregistered.

There was a grim humor about this marriage of a race by wholesale,millions at a time, and nunc pro tunc; but especially quaintwas the idea of requiring each freed-man, who had just been torn,as it were naked, from the master's arms, to pay a snug fee forthe simple privilege of entering upon that relation which the lawhad rigorously withheld from him until that moment. It was a strangeremedy for a long-hidden and stubbornly denied disease, and manystrange scenes were enacted in accordance with the provisions ofthis statute. Many an aged couple, whose children had been lost inthe obscure abysses of slavery, or had gone before them into thespirit land, old and feeble and gray-haired, wrought with patienceday after day to earn at once their living and the money for thisfee, and when they had procured it walked a score of miles in orderthat they might be "registered," and, for the brief period thatremained to them of life, know that the law had sanctioned therelation which years of love and suffering had sanctified. It wasthe first act of freedom, the first step of legal recognition ormanly responsibility! It was a proud hour and a proud fact for therace which had so long been bowed in thralldom and forbidden eventhe most common though the holiest of God's ordinances. What thelaw had taken little by little, as the science of Christian slaverygrew up under the brutality of our legal progress, the law returnedin bulk. It was the first seal which was put on the slave'smanhood—the first step upward from the brutishness of another'spossession to the glory of independence. The race felt its importanceas did no one else at that time. By hundreds and thousands theycrowded the places appointed, to accept the honor offered to theirposterity, and thereby unwittingly conferred undying honor uponthemselves. Few indeed were the unworthy ones who evaded the sacredresponsibility thus laid upon them, and left their offspring toremain under the badge of shame. When carefully looked at it wasbut a scant cure, and threw the responsibility of illegitimacywhere it did not belong, but it was a mighty step nevertheless.The distance from zero to unity is always infinity.

The county clerk in and for the county of Horsford sat behindthe low wooden railing which he had been compelled to put acrosshis office to protect him from the too near approach of those whocrowded to this fountain of rehabilitating honor that had recentlybeen opened therein. Unused to anything beyond the plantation onwhich they had been reared, the temple of justice was as strangeto their feet, and the ways and forms of ordinary business asmarvelous to their minds as the etiquette of the king's palace toa peasant who has only looked from afar upon its pinnacled roof.The recent statute had imposed upon the clerk a labor of no littledifficulty because of this very ignorance on the part of those whomhe was required to serve; but he was well rewarded. The clerk wasa man of portly presence, given to his ease, who smoked a long-stemmedpipe as he sat beside a table which, in addition to his papers andwriting materials, held a bucket of water on which floated a cleangourd, in easy reach of his hand.

"Be you the clerk, sail?" said a straight young colored man, whoseclothing had a hint of the soldier in it, as well as his respectfulbut unusually collected bearing.

"Yes," said the clerk, just glancing up, but not intermitting hiswork; "what do you want?"

"If you please, sah, we wants to be married, Lugena and me."

"Registered, you mean, I suppose?"

"No, we don't, sah; we means married."

"I can't marry you. You'll have to get a license and be married bya magistrate or a minister."

"But I heard der was a law—-"

"Have you been living together as man and wife?"

"Oh, yes, sah; dat we hab, dis smart while."

"Then you want to be registered. This is the place. Got ahalf-dollar?"

"Yes, sah?"

"Let's have it."

The colored man took out some bills, and with much difficultyendeavored to make a selection; finally, handing one doubtfullytoward the clerk, he asked,

"Is dat a one-dollah, sah?"

"No, that is a five, but I can change it."

"No, I'se got it h'yer," said the other hastily, as he dove againinto his pockets, brought out some pieces of fractional currency andhanded them one by one to the officer until he said he had enough.

"Well," said the clerk as he took up his pen and prepared to fillout the blank, "what is your name?"

"My name's Nimbus, sah."

"Nimbus what?"

"Nimbus nuffin', sah; jes' Nimbus." "But you must have anothername?"

"No I hain't. Jes' wore dat fer twenty-odd years, an' nebber hedno udder."

"Who do you work for?"

"Wuk for myself, sah."

"Well, on whose land do you work?"

"Wuks on my own, sah. Oh, I libs at home an' boa'ds at de sameplace, I does. An' my name's Nimbus, jes' straight along, widoutany tail ner handle."

"What was your old master's name?"

"Desmit—Colonel Potem Desmit."

"I might have known that," said the clerk laughingly, "from thedurned outlandish name. Well, Desmit is your surname, then, ain'tit?"

"No'taint, Mister. What right I got ter his name? He nebber gibit ter me no more'n he did ter you er Lugena h'yer."

"Pshaw, I can't stop to argue with you. Here's your certificate."

"Will you please read it, sah? I hain't got no larnin'. Ef youplease, sah."

The clerk, knowing it to be the quickest way to get rid of them,read rapidly over the certificate that Nimbus and Lugena Desmit hadbeen duly registered as husband and wife, under the provisions ofan ordinance of the Convention ratified on the—-day of—-, 1865.

"So you's done put in dat name—Desmit?"

"Oh, I just had to, Nimbus. The fact is, a man can't be marriedaccording to law without two names."

"So hit appears; but ain't it quare dat I should hev ole Mahs'r'sname widout his gibbin' it ter me, ner my axin' fer it, Mister?"

"It may be, but that's the way, you see."

"So hit seems. 'Pears like I'm boun' ter hev mo' names 'n I knowswhat ter do wid, jes' kase I's free. But de chillen—yer hain'tsed nary word about dem, Mister."

"Oh, I've nothing to do with them."

"But, see h'yer, Mister, ain't de law a doin dis ter make dem lawfulchillen?"

"Certainly."

"An' how's de law ter know which is de lawful chillen ef hit ain'ton dat ar paper?"

"Sure enough," said the clerk, with amusem*nt. "That would havebeen a good idea, but, you see, Nimbus, the law didn't go thatfar."

"Wal, hit ought ter hev gone dat fur. Now, Mister Clerk, couldn'tyou jes' put dat on dis yer paper, jes' ter "commodate me, yerknow."

"Perhaps so," good-naturedly, taking back the certificate; "whatdo you want me to write?"

"Wal, yer see, dese yer is our chillen. Dis yer boy Lone—Axylone,Marse Desmit called him, but we calls him Lone for short—he'sgwine on fo'; dis yer gal Wicey, she's two past; and dis littlebrack cuss Lugena's a-holdin' on, we call Cap'n, kase he bossesall on us—he's nigh 'bout a year; an' dat's all."

The clerk entered the names and ages of the children on the backof the paper, with a short certificate that they were present,and were acknowledged as the children, and the only ones, of theparties named in the instrument.

And so the slave Nimbus was transformed, first into the "contraband"and mercenary soldier George Nimbus, and then by marriageinto Nimbus Desmit.

CHAPTER VI.

THE TOGA VIRILIS.

But the transformations of the slave were not yet ended. The timecame when he was permitted to become a citizen. For two years hehad led an inchoate, nondescript sort of existence: free withoutpower or right; neither slave nor freeman; neither property norcitizen. He had been, meanwhile, a bone of contention between theProvisional Governments of the States and the military power whichcontrolled them. The so-called State Governments dragged him towardthe whipping-post and the Black Codes and serfdom. They deniedhim his oath, fastened him to the land, compelled him to hire bythe year, required the respectfulness of the old slave "Mahs'r"and "Missus," made his employer liable for his taxes, and allowedrecoupment therefor; limited his avocations and restricted hisopportunities. These would substitute serfdom for chattelism.

On the other hand the Freedman's Bureau acted as his guardian andfriend, looked after his interests in contracts, prohibited thelaw's barbarity, and insisted stubbornly that the freedman wasa man, and must be treated as such. It needed only the robe ofcitizenship, it was thought, to enable him safely to dispense withthe one of these agencies and defy the other. So the negro wastransformed into a citizen, a voter, a political factor, by act ofCongress, with the aid and assistance of the military power.

A great crowd had gathered at the little town of Melton, which wasone of the chief places of the county of Horsford, for the peoplehad been duly notified by official advertisem*nt that on this daythe board of registration appointed by the commander of the militarydistrict in which Horsford County was situated would convene there,to take and record the names, and pass upon the qualifications,of all who desired to become voters of the new body politic whichwas to be erected therein, or of the old one which was to bereconstructed and rehabilitated out of the ruins which war hadleft.

The first provision of the law was that every member of such boardof registration should be able to take what was known in thosedays as the "iron-clad oath," that is, an oath that he had neverengaged in, aided, or abetted any rebellion against the Governmentof the United States. Men who could do this were exceedinglydifficult to find in some sections. Of course there were abundanceof colored men who could take this oath, but not one in a thousandof them could read or write. The military commander determined,however, to select in every registration district one of the mostintelligent of this class, in order that he might look after theinterests of his race, now for the first time to take part in anypublic or political movement. This would greatly increase thelabors of the other members of the board, yet was thought not onlyjust but necessary. As the labor of recording the voters of a countywas no light one, especially as the lists had to be made out intriplicate, it was necessary to have some clerical ability on theboard. These facts often made the composition of these boardssomewhat heterogeneous and peculiar. The one which was to registerthe voters of Horsford consisted of a little old white man, who hadnot enough of stamina or character to have done or said anythingin aid of rebellion, and who, if he had done the very best he knew,ought yet to have been held guiltless of evil accomplished. In hisyounger days he had been an overseer, but in his later years hadrisen to the dignity of a landowner and the possession of one ortwo slaves. He wrestled with the mysteries of the printed page witha sad seriousness which made one regret his inability to rememberwhat was at the top until he had arrived at the bottom. Writingwas a still more solemn business with him, but he was a brave manand would cheerfully undertake to transcribe a list of names, whichhe well knew that anything less than eternity would be too shortto allow him to complete. He was a small, thin-haired, squeaky-voicedbachelor of fifty, and as full of good intentions as the road toperdition. If Tommy Glass ever did any evil it would not only bewithout intent but from sheer accident.

With Tommy was associated an old colored man, one of those knownin that region as "old-issue free-nigg*rs." Old Pharaoh Ray was avenerable man. He had learned to read before the Constitution of1835 deprived the free-negro of his vote, and had read a littlesince. He wore an amazing pair of brass-mounted spectacles. Hishead was surmounted by a mass of snowy hair, and he was of erectand powerful figure despite the fact that he boasted a life of morethan eighty years. He read about as fast and committed to memorymore easily than his white associate, Glass. In writing they wereabout a match; Pharaoh wrote his name much more legibly than Glasscould, but Glass accomplished the task in about three fourths ofthe time required by Pharaoh.

The third member of the board was Captain Theron Pardee, a youngman who had served in the Federal army and afterward settledin an adjoining county. He was the chairman. He did the writing,questioning, and deciding, and as each voter had to be sworn heutilized his two associates by requiring them to administer theoaths and—look wise. The colored man in about two weeks learnedthese oaths so that he could repeat them. The white man did notcommit the brief formulas in the four weeks they were on duty.

The good people of Melton were greatly outraged that this compositeboard should presume to come and pass upon the qualifications ofits people as voters under the act of Congress, and indeed it wasa most ludicrous affair. The more they contemplated the outragethat was being done to them, by decreeing that none should votewho had once taken an oath to support the Government of the UnitedStates and afterward aided the rebellion, the angrier they grew,until finally they declared that the registration should notbe held. Then there were some sharp words between the ex-Federalsoldier and the objectors. As no house could be procured for thepurpose, he proposed to hold the registration on the porch of thehotel where he stopped, but the landlord objected. Then he proposed tohold it on the sidewalk under a big tree, but the town authoritiesdeclared against it. However, he was proceeding there, whenan influential citizen kindly came forward and offered the useof certain property under his control. There was some clamor, butthe gentleman did not flinch. Thither they adjourned, and the workwent busily on. Among others who came to be enrolled as citizenswas our old friend Nimbus.

"Where do you live?" asked the late Northern soldier sharply, asNimbus came up in. his turn in the long line of those waiting forthe same purpose.

"Down ter Red Wing, sah?"

"Where's that?"

"Oh, right down h'yer on Hyco, sah."

"In this county?"

"Oh, bless yer, yes, Mister, should tink hit was. Hit's not abovefive or six miles out from h'yer."

"How old are you?"

"Wal, now, I don't know dat, not edzactly."

"How old do you think—twenty-one?"

"Oh, la, yes; more nor dat, Cap'."

"Born where?"

"Right h'yer in Horsford, sah."

"What is your name?"

"Nimbus."

"Nimbus what?" asked the officer, looking up.

"Nimbus nothin', sah; jes' straight along Nimbus."

"Well, but—" said the officer, looking puzzled, "you must havesome sort of surname."

"No, sah, jes' one; nigg*r no use for two names."

"Yah! yah! yah!" echoed the dusky crowd behind him. "You's jes'right dah, you is! nigg*h mighty little use fer heap o' names. Jes'like a mule—one name does him, an' mighty well off ef he's 'lowedter keep dat."

"His name's Desmit," said a white man, the sheriff of the county,who stood leaning over the railing; "used to belong to old PotemDesmit, over to Louisburg. Mighty good nigg*r, too. I s'pec' oleman Desmit felt about as bad at losing him as ary one he had."

"Powerful good hand in terbacker," said Mr. Glass, who was himself anexpert in "yaller leaf." "Ther' wasn't no better ennywhar' round."

"I knows all about him," said another. "Seed a man offer old Desmiteighteen hundred dollars for him afore the war—State money—buthe wouldn't tech it. Reckon he wishes he had now."

"Yes," said the sheriff, "he's the best curer in the county. Commandsalmost any price in the season, but is powerful independent, andgittin' right sassy. Listen at him now?"

"They say your name is Desmit—Nimbus Desmit," said the officer;"is that so?"

"No, tain't."

"Wasn't that your old master's name?" asked the sheriff roughly.

"Co'se it war," was the reply.

"Well, then, ain't it yours too?"

"No, it ain't."

"Well, you just ask the gentleman if that ain't so," said thesheriff, motioning to the chairman of the board.

"Well," said that officer, with a peculiar smile, "I do not knowthat there is any law compelling a freedman to adopt his formermaster's name. He is without name in the law, a pure nulliusfilius—nobody's son. As a slave he had but one name.He could have no surname, because he had no family. Hewas arraigned, tried, and executed as 'Jim' or 'Bill' or 'Tom.'The volumes of the reports are full of such cases, as The Statevs. 'Dick' or 'Sam.' The Roman custom was for the freedmanto take the name of some friend, benefactor, or patron. I do notsee why the American freedman has not a right to choose his ownsurname."

"That is not the custom here," said the sheriff, with some chagrin,he having begun the controversy.

"Very true," replied the chairman; "the custom—and a very properand almost necessary one it seems—is to call the freedman by aformer master's name. This distinguishes individuals. But when thefreedman refuses to acknowledge the master's name as his, who canimpose it on him? We are directed to register the names of parties,and while we might have the right to refuse one whom we foundattempting to register under a false name, yet we have no powerto make names for those applying. Indeed, if this man insists thathe has but one name, we must, for what I can see, register him bythat alone."

His associates looked wise, and nodded acquiescence in the viewsthus expressed.

"Den dat's what I chuse," said the would-be voter. "My name's
Nimbus—noffin' mo'."

"But I should advise you to take another name to save troublewhen you come to vote," said the chairman. His associates noddedsolemnly again.

"Wal, now, Marse Cap'n, you jes' see h'yer. I don't want ter carrynobody's name widout his leave. S'pose I take ole Marse War's nameober dar?"

"You can take any one you choose. I shall write down the one yougive me."

"Is you willin', Marse War'?"

"I've nothing to do with it, Nimbus," said Ware; "fix your ownname."

"Wal sah," said Nimbus, "I reckon I'll take dat ef I must hev ennymo' name. Yer see he wuz my ole oberseer, Mahs'r, an' wuz powerfulgood ter me, tu. I'd a heap ruther hev his name than Marse Desmit's;but I don't want no name but Nimbus, nohow.

"All right," said the chairman, as he made the entry. "Ware it isthen."

As there might be a poll held at Red Wing, where Nimbus lived, hewas given a certificate showing that Nimbus Ware had beenduly registered as an elector of the county of Horsford and forthe precinct of Red Wing.

Then the newly-named Nimbus was solemnly sworn by the patriarchalPharaoh to bear true faith and allegiance to the government of theUnited States, and to uphold its constitution and the laws passedin conformity therewith; and thereby the recent slave became acomponent factor of the national life, a full-fledged citizen ofthe American Republic.

As he passed out, the sheriff said to those about him, in a lowtone,

"There'll be trouble with that nigg*r yet. He's too sassy. You'llsee."

"How so?" asked the chairman. "I thought you said he was industrious,thrifty, and honest."

"Oh, yes," was the reply, "there ain't a nigg*r in the county gota better character for honesty and hard work than he, but he's tooimportant—has got the big head, as we call it."

"I don't understand what you mean," said the chairman.

"Why he ain't respectful," said the other. "Talks as independentas if he was a white man."

"Well, he has as much right to talk independently as a white man.
He is just as free," said the chairman sharply.

"Yes; but he ain't white," said the sheriff doggedly, "and ourpeople won't stand a nigg*r's puttin' on such airs. Why, Captain,"he continued in a tone which showed that he felt that the fact hewas about to announce must carry conviction even to the incredulousheart of the Yankee officer. "You just ought to see his place downat Red Wing. Damned if he ain't better fixed up than lots of whitemen in the county. He's got a good house, and a terbacker-barn,and a church, and a nigg*r school-house, and stock, and one ofthe finest crops of terbacker in the county. Oh, I tell you, he'scutting a wide swath, he is." "You don't tell me," said thechairman with interest. "I am glad to hear it. There appears tobe good stuff in the fellow. He seems to have his own ideas aboutthings, too."

"Yes, that's the trouble," responded the sheriff. "Our peopleain't used to that and won't stand it. He's putting on altogethertoo much style for a nigg*r."

"Pshaw," said the chairman, "if there were more like him it wouldbe better for everybody. A man like him is worth something foran example. If all the race were of his stamp there would be morehope."

"The devil!" returned the sheriff, with a sneering laugh, "if theywere all like him, a white man couldn't live in the country. They'dbe so damned sassy and important that we'd have to kill the lastone of 'em to have any peace."

"Fie, sheriff," laughed the chairman good-naturedly; "you seem tobe vexed at the poor fellow for his thrift, and because he is doingwell."

"I am a white man, sir; and I don't like to see nigg*rs gittin'above us. Them's my sentiments," was the reply. "And that's theway our people feel."

There was a half-suppressed murmur of applause among the group ofwhite men at this. The chairman responded,

"No doubt, and yet I believe you are wrong. Now, I can't helpliking the fellow for his sturdy manhood. He may be a trifle toopositive, but it is a good fault. I think he has the elements ofa good citizen, and I can't understand why you feel so toward him."

There were some appreciative and good-natured cries of "Dar now,""Listen at him," "Now you're talkin'," from the colored men at thisreply.

"Oh, that's because you're a Yankee," said the sheriff, withcommiserating scorn. "You don't think, now, that it's any harm totalk that way before nigg*rs and set them against the white peopleeither, I suppose?"

The chairman burst into a hearty laugh, as he replied,

"No, indeed, I don't. If you call that setting the blacks againstthe whites, the sooner they are by the ears the better. If youare so thin-skinned that you can't allow a colored man to think,talk, act, and prosper like a man, the sooner you get over yoursqueamishness the better. For me, I am interested in this Nimbus.We have to go to Red Wing and report on it as a place for holdinga poll and I am bound to see more of him."

"Oh, you'll see enough of him if you go there, never fear," wasthe reply.

There was a laugh from the white men about the sheriff, a sortof cheer from the colored men in waiting, and the business of theboard went on without further reference to the new-made citizen.

The slave who had been transformed into a "contraband" andmustered as a soldier under one name, married under another, andnow enfranchised under a third, returned to his home to meditateupon his transformations—as we found him doing in our first chapter.

The reason for these metamorphoses, and their consequences, mightwell puzzle a wiser head than that of the many-named but unletteredNimbus.

CHAPTER VII.

DAMON AND PYTHIAS.

After his soliloquy in regard to his numerous names, as given in ourfirst chapter, Nimbus turned away from the gate near which he hadbeen standing, crossed the yard in front of his house, and entereda small cabin which stood near it.

"Dar! 'Liab," he said, as he entered and handed the paper which hehad been examining to the person addressed, "I reckon I'se freenow. I feel ez ef I wuz 'bout half free, ennyhow. I wuz a sojer,an' fought fer freedom. I've got my house an' bit o' lan', wife,chillen, crap, an' stock, an' it's all mine. An' now I'se done beenregistered, an' when de 'lection comes off, kin vote jes' ez hardan' ez well an' ez often ez ole Marse Desmit. I hain't felt freeafore—leastways I hain't felt right certain on't; but now I reckonI'se all right, fact an' truth. What you tinks on't, 'Liab?"

The person addressed was sitting on a low seat under the one windowwhich was cut into the west side of the snugly-built log cabin. Theheavy wooden shutter swung back over the bench. On the other sideof the room was a low cot, and a single splint-bottomed chair stoodagainst the open door. The house contained no other furniture.

The bench which he occupied was a queer compound of table, desk,and work-bench. It had the leathern seat of a shoemaker's bench,except that it was larger and wider. As the occupant sat with hisback to the window, on his left were the shallow boxes of a shoemaker'sbench, and along its edge the awls and other tools of that craftwere stuck in leather loops secured by tacks, as is the custom ofthe crispin the world over. On the right was a table whose edgewas several inches above the seat, and on which were some books,writing materials, a slate, a bundle of letters tied together witha piece of shoe-thread, and some newspapers and pamphlets scatteredabout in a manner which showed at a glance that the owner wasunaccustomed to their care, but which is yet quite indescribable.On the wall above this table, but within easy reach of the sitter'shand, hung a couple of narrow hanging shelves, on which a few bookswere neatly arranged. One lay open on the table, with a shoemaker'slast placed across it to prevent its closing.

Eliab was already busily engaged in reading the certificate whichNimbus had given him. The sun, now near its setting, shone in atthe open door and fell upon him as he read. He was a man apparentlyabout the age of Nimbus—younger rather than older—having a finecountenance, almost white, but with just enough of brown in itssallow paleness to suggest the idea of colored blood, in a regionwhere all degrees of admixture were by no means rare. A splendidhead of black hair waved above his broad, full forehead, and anintensely black silky beard and mustache framed the lower portionof his face most fittingly. His eyes were soft and womanly, thoughthere was a patient boldness about their great brown pupils and adirectness of gaze which suited well the bearded face beneath. Thelines of suffering were deeply cut upon the thoughtful brow andaround the liquid eyes, and showed in the mobile workings of thebroad mouth, half shaded by the dark mustache. The face was nota handsome one, but there was a serious and earnest calmness aboutit which gave it an unmistakable nobility of expression and promptedone to look more closely at the man and his surroundings.

The shoulders were broad and square, the chest was full, the figureerect, and the head finely poised. He was dressed with unusualneatness for one of his race and surroundings, at the time of whichwe write. One comprehended at a glance that this worker and learnerwas also deformed. There was that in his surroundings which showedthat he was not as other men. The individuality of weakness andsuffering had left its indelible stamp upon the habitation whichhe occupied. Yet so erect and self-helping in appearance was thefigure on the cobbler's bench that one for a moment failed to notein what the affliction consisted. Upon closer observation he sawthat the lower limbs were sharply flexed and drawn to the leftward,so that the right foot rested on its side under the left thigh.This inclined the body somewhat to the right, so that the rightarm rested naturally upon the table for support when not employed.These limbs, especially below the knees, were shrunken and distorted.The shoe of the right foot whose upturned sole rested on the leftleg just above the ankle, was many sizes too small for a developmentharmonious with the trunk.

Nimbus sat down in the splint-bottomed chair by the door and fannedhimself with his dingy hat while the other read.

"How is dis, Nimbus? What does dis mean? Nimbus Ware?Where did you get dat name?" he asked at length, raising his eyesand looking in pained surprise toward the new voter.

"Now, Bre'er 'Liab, don't talk dat 'ere way ter Nimbus, efyo please. Don't do it now. Yer knows I can't help it. Ebberybodywant ter call me by ole Mahs'r's name, an' dat I can't abide nohow;an' when I kicks 'bout it, dey jes gib me some odder one, Dey allseems ter tink I'se boun' ter hev two names, though I hain't gotno manner o' right ter but one."

"But how did you come to have dis one—Ware?" persisted Eliab.

"Wal, you see, Bre'er 'Liab, de boss man at der registerin' heax me fer my las' name, an' I tell him I hadn't got none, jes so.Den Sheriff Gleason, he put in his oar, jes ez he allus does, an'he say my name wuz Desmit, atter ole Mahs'r. Dat made memad, an' I 'spute him, an' sez I, 'I won't hev no sech name'. Dende boss man, he shet up Marse Gleason purty smart like, and hesed I'd a right ter enny name I chose ter carry, kase nobody hadn'tenny sort o' right ter fasten enny name at all on ter me 'ceptmyself. But he sed I'd better hev two, kase most other folks hed'em. So I axed Marse Si War' ef he'd lend me his name jes fer de'casion, yer know, an' he sed he hadn't no 'jection ter it. So Itole der boss man ter put it down, an' I reckon dar 'tis."

"Yes, here it is, sure 'nough, Nimbus; but didn't you promise meyou wouldn't have so many names?"

"Co'se I did; an' I did try, but they all 'llowed I got ter havetwo names whe'er er no."

"Then why didn't you take your old mahs'r's name, like de rest,and not have all dis trouble?"

"Now, 'Liab, yer knows thet I won't nebber do dat."

"But why not, Nimbus?"

"Kase I ain't a-gwine ter brand my chillen wid no sech slave-mark!Nebber! You hear dat, 'Liab? I hain't got no ill-will gin MarseDesmit, not a mite—only 'bout dat ar lickin, an' dat ain't nuffinnow; but I ain't gwine ter war his name ner giv it ter my chillenter mind 'em dat der daddy wuz jes anudder man's critter one time.I tell you I can't do hit, nohow; an' I won't, Bre'er 'Liab.I don't hate Marse Desmit, but I does hate slavery—dat what mademe his—worse'n a pilot hates a rattlesnake; an' I hate everytingdat 'minds me on't, I do!"

The black Samson had risen in his excitement and now sat down uponthe bench by the other.

"I don't blame you for dat, Nimbus, but—"

"I don't want to heah no 'buts' 'bout it, an' I won't."

"But the chillen, Nimbus. You don't want dem to be different fromothers and have no surname?"

"Dat's a fac', 'Liab," said Nimbus, springing to his feet. "Inebber t'ought o' dat. Dey must hev a name, an' I mus' hev one tergib 'em, but how's I gwine ter git one? Dar's nobody's got enny rightter gib me one, an' ef I choose one dis week what's ter hender mytakin' ob anudder nex week?"

"Perhaps nothing," answered 'Liab, "but yourself. You must not doit."

"Pshaw, now," said Nimbus, "' what sort o' way is dat ter hevthings? I tell ye what orter been done, 'Liab; when de law marriedus all, jes out of han' like, it orter hev named us too. Hit mouthev been done, jes ez well's not. Dar's old Mahs'r now, he'd hevnamed all de nigg*s in de county in a week, easy. An' dey'd beengood names, too."

"But you'd have bucked at it ef he had," said 'Liab, good-naturedly.

"No I wouldn't, 'Liab. I hain't got nuffin 'gin ole Mahrs'r. Hewar good enough ter me—good 'nuff. I only hate what madehim 'Old Mahs'r,' an' dat I does hate. Oh, my God, how I does hateit, Liab! I hates de berry groun' dat a slave's wukked on! I do,I swar! When I wuz a-comin' home to-day an' seed de gullies 'longder way, hit jes made me cuss, kase dey wuz dar a-testifyin' ob deole time when a man war a critter—a dog—a nuffin!"

"Now you oughtn't to say dat, Nimbus. Just think of me. Warn't youbetter off as a slave than I am free?"

"No, I warn't. I'd ruther be a hundred times wuss off ner you, an'free, than ez strong as I am an' a slave."

"But think how much more freedom is worth to you. Here you are avoter, and I—"

"Bre'er 'Liab," exclaimed Nimbus, starting suddenly up, "what foryou no speak 'bout dat afore. Swar to God I nebber tink on't—nota word, till dis bressed minit. Why didn't yer say nuffin' 'boutbein' registered yo'self, eh? Yer knowed I'd a tuk yer ef I hedter tote ye on my back, which I wouldn't. I wouldn't gone a stepwidout yer ef I'd only a t'ought. Yer knows I wouldn't."

"Course I does, Nimbus, but I didn't want ter make ye no trouble,nor take the mule out of the crap," answered 'Liab apologetically.

"Damn de crap!" said Nimbus impetuously.

"Don't; don't swear, Nimbus, if you please."

"Can't help it, 'Liab, when you turn fool an' treat me dat 'ereway. I'd swar at ye ef yer wuz in de pulpit an' dat come ober me,jes at de fust. Yer knows Nimbus better ner dat. Now see heah, 'LiabHill, yer's gwine ter go an' be registered termorrer, jes ez sureez termorrer comes. Here we thick-headed dunces hez been up darto-day a-takin' de oath an' makin' bleve we's full grown men, an'here's you, dat knows more nor a ten-acre lot full on us, a lyin'here an' habin' no chance at all."

"But you want to get de barn full, and can't afford to spend anymore time," protested 'Liab.

"Nebber you min' 'bout de barn. Dat's Nimbus' business, an" he'lltake keer on't. Let him alone fer dat. Yis, honey, I'se comin'd'reckly!" he shouted, as his wife called him from his own cabin.

"Now Bre'er 'Liab, yer comes ter supper wid us. Lugena's jes' acallin' on't."

"Oh, don't, Nimbus," said the other, shrinking away. "I can't! Youjes send one of the chillen in with it, as usual."

"No yer don't," said Nimbus; "yer's been a scoldin' an' abusin' meall dis yer time, an' now I'se gwine ter hab my way fer a littlewhile."

He went to the door and called:

"Gena! Oh, Gena!" and as his wife did not answer, he said toone of his children, "Oh, Axylone, jes run inter de kitchen,son, an' tell yer ma ter put on anudder plate, fer Bre'er 'Liab'scomin' ober ter take a bite wid us."

Eliab kept on protesting, but it was in vain. Nimbus bent over himas tenderly as a mother over the cradle of her first-born, claspedhis arms about him, and lifting him from the bench bore him awayto his own house.

With an unconscious movement, which was evidently acquired by longexperience, the afflicted man cast one arm over Nimbus' shoulder,put the other around him, and leaning across the stalwart breastof his friend so evenly distributed his weight that the other borehim with ease. Entering his own house, Nimbus placed his burden inthe chair at the head of the table, while he himself took his seaton one of the wooden benches at the side.

"I jes brought Bre'er 'Liab in ter supper, honey," said he tohis wife; "kase I see'd he war gettin' inter de dumps like, an' I'llowed yer'd chirk him up a bit ef yer jes hed him over h'yer awhile."

"Shan't do it," said the bright-eyed woman saucily.

"Kase why?" queried her husband.

"Kase Bre'er 'Liab don't come oftener. Dat's why."

"Dar, now, jes see what yer done git fer being so contrary-like,will yer?" said the master to his guest. H'yer, you Axylone,"he continued to his eldest born, " fo'd up yer han's while Bre'er'Liab ax de blessin'. You, too, Capting," shaking his finger ata roll of animated blackness on the end of the seat opposite.

"Now, Bre'er 'Liab."

The little black fingers were interlocked, the close-clipped, kinkyheads were bowed upon them; the master of the house bent reverentlyover his plate; the plump young wife crossed her hands demurelyon the bright handle of the big coffee-pot by which she stood, and"Bre'er 'Liab," clasping his slender fingers, uplifted his eyesand hands to heaven, and uttered a grace which grew into a prayer.His voice was full of thankfulness, and tears crept from under histrembling lids.

The setting sun, which looked in upon the peaceful scene, no doubtflickered and giggled with laughter as he sank to his evening couchwith the thought, "How quick these 'sassy' free-nigg*rs do put onairs like white folks!"

In the tobacco-field on the hillside back of his house, Nimbus andhis wife, Lugena, wrought in the light of the full moon nearly allthe night which followed, and early on the morrow Nimbus harnessedhis mule into his canvas-covered wagon, in which, upon a bedof straw, reclined his friend Eliab Hill, and drove again to theplace of registration. On arriving there he took his friend in hisarms, carried him in and sat him on the railing before the Board.Clasping the blanket close about his deformed extremities thecripple leaned upon his friend's shoulder and answered the necessaryquestions with calmness and precision.

"There's a pair for you, captain," said Gleason, nodding good-naturedlytoward Nimbus as he bore his helpless charge again to the wagon.

"Is he white?" asked the officer, with a puzzled look.

"White?" exclaimed Sheriff Gleason, with a laugh. "No, indeed! He'sa nigg*r preacher who lives with Nimbus down at Red Wing. They'regreat cronies—always together. I expect he's at the bottom of allthe black nigg*r's perversity, though he always seems as smoothand respectful as you please. He's a deep one. I 'llow he doesall the scheming, and just makes Nimbus a cat's-paw to do his work.I don't know much about him, though. He hardly ever talks withanybody."

"He seems a very remarkable man," said the officer.

"Oh, he is," said the sheriff. "Even in slave times he was a veryinfluential man among the nigg*rs, and since freedom he and Nimbustogether rule the whole settlement. I don't suppose there are tenwhite men in the county who could control, square out and out, asmany votes as these two will have in hand when they once get tovoting."

"Was he a slave? What is his history?"

"I don't exactly know," answered the sheriff. "He is quite a youngman, and somehow I never happened to hear of him till some timeduring the war. Then he was a sort of prophet among them, and whilehe did a power of praying for you Yanks, he always counselled thecolored people to be civil and patient, and not try to run away orgo to cutting up, but just to wait till the end came. He was justright, too, and his course quieted the white folks down here on theriver, where there was a big slave population, more than a little."

"I should like to know more of him," said the chairman.

"All right," said Gleason, looking around. "If Hesden Le Moyneis here, I'll get him to tell you all about him, at noon. If he isnot here then, he will come in before night, I'm certain."

CHAPTER VIII.

A FRIENDLY PROLOGUE.

As they went from the place of registration to their dinner at thehotel, the sheriff, walking beside the chairman, said: "I spoketo Le Moyne about that negro fellow, Eliab Hill, and he says he'svery willing to tell you all he knows about him; but, as there aresome private matters connected with the story, he prefers to cometo your room after dinner, rather than speak of it more publicly."

"I am sure I shall be much obliged to him if he will do so," said
Pardee.

"You will find him one of the very finest men you ever met, I'mthinking," continued Gleason. "His father, Casaubon Le Moyne, wasvery much of a gentleman. He came from Virginia, and was akinto the Le Moynes of South Carolina, one of the best of those oldFrench families that brag so much of their Huguenot blood. I neverbelieved in it myself, but they are a mighty elegant family; nodoubt of that. I've got the notion that they were not as well offas they might be. Perhaps the family got too big for the estate.That would happen with these old families, you know; but they wereas high-toned and honorable as if their fore-bears had been kings.Not proud, I don't mean—not a bit of that—but high-spirited andhot-tempered.

"His mother was a Richards—Hester Richards—the daughter of oldman Jeems Richards. The family was a mighty rich one; used to ownall up and down the river on both sides, from Red Wing to MulberryHill, where Hesden now lives. Richards had a big family of boys andonly one gal, who was the youngest. The boys was all rather toughcustomers, I've heard say, taking after their father, who was aboutas hard a man to get along with as was ever in this country. Hecame from up North somewhere about 1790, when everybody thought thispea-vine country was a sort of new Garden of Eden. He was a welleducated and capable man, but had a terrible temper. He let theboys go to the devil their own way, just selling off a plantationnow and then and paying their debts. He had so much land thatit was a good thing for him to get rid of it. But he doted on thegal, and sent her off to school and travelled with her and give herevery sort of advantage. She was a beauty, and as sweet and goodas she was pretty. How she come to marry Casaubon Le Moyne nobodyever knew; but it's just my opinion that it was because they lovedeach other, and nothing else. They certainly were the best matchedcouple that I ever saw. They had but one child—this young manHesden. His mother was always an invalid after his birth; in facthasn't walked a step since that time. She was a very remarkablewoman. though, and in spite of her sickness took charge of herson's education and fitted him for college all by herself. Theboy grew up sorter quiet like, probably on account of being in hismother's sick room so much; but there wasn't anything soft abouthim, after all.

"The old man Casaubon was a Unioner—the strongest kind. Mighty fewof them in this county, which was one of the largest slave-holdingcounties in the State. It never had anything but a big Democraticmajority in it, in the old times. I think the old man Le Moyne, runfor the Legislature here some seven times befo're he was elected,and then it was only on his personal popularity. That was the onlytime the county ever had a Whig representative even. When the warcame on, the old man was right down sick. I do believe he sawthe end from the beginning. I've heard him tell things almost toa fraction jest as they came out afterward. Well, the young manHesden, he had his father's notions, of course, but he was pluck.He couldn't have been a Le Moyne, or a Richards either, withoutthat. I remember, not long after the war begun—perhaps in thesecond year, before the conscription came on, anyhow—he came intotown riding of a black colt that he had raised. I don't think ithad been backed more than a few times, and it was just as fine asa fiddle. I've had some fine horses myself, and believe I know whatgoes to make up a good nag, but I've never seen one that suited mynotion as well as that black. Le Moyne had taken a heap of painswith him. A lot of folks gathered 'round and was admiring thebeast, and asking questions about his pedigree and the like, whenall at once a big, lubberly fellow named Timlow—Jay Timlow—saidit was a great pity that such a fine nag should belong to a Unionman an' a traitor to his country. You know, captain, that's whatwe called Union men in them days. He hadn't more'n got the wordsout of his mouth afore Hesden hit him. I'd no idea he couldstrike such a blow. Timlow was forty pounds heavier than he, butit staggered him back four or five steps, and Le Moyne folleredhim up, hitting just about as fast as he could straighten his arm,till he dropped. The queerest thing about it was that the horsefollered right along, and when Timlow come down with his face allbattered up, and Le Moyne wheeled about and started over to theCourt House, the horse kept on follerin' him up to the very steps.Le Moyne went into the Court House and stayed about ten minutes.Then he came out and walked straight across the square to wherethe crowd was around Timlow, who had been washing the blood offhis face at the pump. Le Moyne was as white as a sheet, and Timlowwas jest a-cussing his level best about what he would do when hesot eyes on him again. I thought there might be more trouble, andI told Timlow to hush his mouth—I was a deputy then—and then Itold Le Moyne he mustn't come any nearer. He was only a few yardsaway, with a paper in his hand, and that horse just behind him. Hestopped when I called him, and said:

"'You needn't fear my coming for any further difficulty, gentlemen.I merely want to say'—and he held up the paper—' that I haveenlisted in the army of the Confederate States, and taken this horseto ride—given him to the Government. And I want to say further,that if Jay Timlow wants to do any fighting, and will go and enlist,I'll furnish him a horse, too.'

"With that he jumped on his horse and rode away, followed by abig cheer, while Jay Timlow stood on the pump platform sopping hishead with his handkerchief, his eyes as big as saucers, as they say,from surprise. We were all surprised, for that matter. As soon aswe got over that a little we began to rally Timlow over the outcome ofhis little fracas. There wasn't no such timber in him as in youngLe Moyne, of course—a big beefy fellow—but he couldn't standthat, and almost before we had got well started he put on his hat,looked round at the crowd a minute, and said, 'Damned if I don't doit!' He marched straight over to the Court House and did it, too.

"Le Moyne stood up to his bargain, and they both went out in thesame company a few days afterward. They became great friends, andthey do say the Confederacy had mighty few better soldiers thanthose two boys. Le Moyne was offered promotion time and again, buthe wouldn't take it. He said he didn't like war, didn't believein it, and didn't want no responsibility only for himself. Justabout the last fighting they had over about Appomattox—perhapsthe very day before the Surrender—he lost that horse and hisleft arm a-fighting over that same Jay Timlow, who had got a ballin the leg, and Le Moyne was trying to keep him out of the handsof you Yanks.

"He got back after a while, and has been living with his mother onthe old plantation ever since. He married a cousin just before hewent into the service—more to have somebody to leave with his mathan because he wanted a wife, folks said. The old man, ColonelCasaubon, died during the war. He never seemed like himself afterthe boy went into the army. I saw him once or twice, and I neverdid see such a change in any man. Le Moyne's wife died, too. Sheleft a little boy, who with Le Moyne and his ma are all that's leftof the family. I don't reckon there ever was a man thought moreof his mother, or had a mother more worth setting store by, thanHesden Le Moyne." They had reached the hotel when this accountwas concluded, and after dinner the sheriff came to the captain'sroom and introduced a slender young man in neatly fitting jeans,with blue eyes, a dark brown beard, and an empty coat-sleeve, asMr. Hesden Le Moyne.

He put his felt hat under the stump of his left arm and extendedhis right hand as he said simply:

"The sheriff said you wished to see me about Eliab Hill."

"I did," was the response; "but after what he has told me, I desiredto see you much more for yourself."

The sheriff withdrew, leaving them alone together, and they fellto talking of army life at once, as old soldiers always will, eachtrying to locate the other in the strife which they had passedthrough on opposite sides.

CHAPTER IX.

A BRUISED REED.

"Eliab Hill," said Le Moyne, when they came at length to the subjectin relation to which the interview had been solicited, "was bornthe slave of Potem Desmit, on his plantation Knapp-of-Reeds, inthe lower part of the county. His mother was a very likely woman,considerable darker than he, but still not more than a quadroon, Ishould say. She was brought from Colonel Desmit's home plantationto Knapp-of-Reeds some little time before her child was born. Itwas her first child, I believe, and her last one. She was a veryslender woman, and though not especially unhealthy, yet neverstrong, being inclined to consumption, of which she finally died.Of course his paternity is unknown, though rumor has not been silentin regard to it. It is said that a stubborn refusal on his mother'spart to reveal it led Colonel Desmit, in one of his whimsicalmoods, to give the boy the name he bears. However, he was as brighta child as ever frolicked about a plantation till he was somefive or six years old. His mother had been a house-servant beforeshe was sent to Knapp-of-Reeds, and being really a supernumerarythere, my father hired her a year or two afterward as a nurse formy mother, who has long been an invalid, as you may be aware."

His listener nodded assent, and he went on:

"Her child was left at Knapp-of-Reeds, but Saturday nights itwas brought over to stay the Sunday with her, usually by this boyNimbus, who was two or three years older than he. The first I rememberof his misfortune was one Saturday, when Nimbus brought him overin a gunny-sack, on his back. It was not a great way, hardly halfa mile, but I remember thinking that it was a pretty smart tug forthe little black rascal. I was not more than a year or two olderthan he, myself, and not nearly so strong.

"It seems that something had happened to the boy, I never knewexactly what—seems to me it was a cold resulting from some exposure,which settled in his legs, as they say, producing rheumatism orsomething of that kind—so that he could not walk or hardly standup. The boy Nimbus had almost the sole charge of him during theweek, and of course he lacked for intelligent treatment. In fact,I doubt if Desmit's overseer knew anything about it until itwas too late to do any good. He was a bright, cheerful child, andNimbus was the same dogged, quiet thing he is now. So it went on,until his mother, Moniloe, found that he had lost all use of hislegs. They were curled up at one side, as you saw them, and whilehis body has developed well they have grown but little in comparison.

"Moniloe made a great outcry over the child, to whom she was muchattached, and finally wrought upon my father and mother to buyherself and her crippled boy. Colonel Desmit, on whom the burdenof his maintenance would fall, and who saw no method of making himself-supporting, was willing to sell the mother on very moderateterms if my father would take the child and guarantee his support.This was done, and they both became my father's property. Neitherforgot to be grateful. The woman was my mother's faithful nurseuntil after the war, when she died, and I have never been able tofill her place completely, since. I think Eliab learned his letters,and perhaps to read a little, from me. He was almost always in mymother's room, being brought in and set down upon a sheepskin onone side the fireplace in the morning by his mammy. My mother hadgreat sympathy with his misfortune, the more, I suppose, becauseof her own very similar affliction. She used to teach him to sewand knit, and finally, despite the law, began to encourage him toread. The neighbors, coming in and finding him with a book in hishands, began to complain of it, and my father, in order to silenceall such murmurs, manumitted him square out and gave bonds for hissupport, as the law required.

"As he grew older he remained more and more in his mother's cabin,in one corner of which she had a little elevated platform made forhim. He could crawl around the room by means of his hands, and hadgreat skill in clambering about by their aid. When he was aboutfifteen a shoemaker came to the house to do our plantation work.Eliab watched him closely all the first day; on the second desiredto help, and before the month had passed was as good a shoemakeras his teacher. From that time he worked steadily at the trade,and managed very greatly to reduce the cost of his support.

"He was a strange boy, and he and this fellow Nimbus were alwaystogether except when prevented by the latter's tasks. A thousandtimes I have known Nimbus to come over long after dark and leavebefore daylight, in order to stay with his friend over night. Notunfrequently he would carry him home upon his back and keep him forseveral days at Knapp-of-Reeds, where both were prime favorites, asthey were with us also. As they grew older this attachment becamestronger. Many's the time I have passed there and seen Nimbus workingin the tobacco and Eliab with his hammers and lasts pounding awayunder a tree near by. Having learned to read, the man was anxiousto know more. For a time he was indulged, but as the hot times justpreceding the war came on, it became indiscreet for him to be seenwith a book.

"While he was still very young he began to preach, and hisministrations were peculiarly prudent and sensible. His influencewith his people, even before emancipation, was very great, andhas been increased by his correct and manly conduct since. I regardhim, sir, as one of the most useful men in the community.

"For some reason, I have never known exactly what, he became anxiousto leave my house soon after Nimbus' return from the army, althoughI had offered him the free use of the little shop where he and hismother had lived, as long as he desired. He and Nimbus, by some hookor crook, managed to buy the place at Red Wing. It was a perfectlybarren piney old-field then, and not thought of any account exceptfor the timber there was on it. It happened to be at the crossingof two roads, and upon a high sandy ridge, which was thought to betoo poor to raise peas on. The man who sold it to them—their oldmaster Potem Desmit—no doubt thought he was getting two or threeprices for it; but it has turned out one of the best tobaccofarms in the county. It is between two very rich sections, and ina country having a very large colored population, perhaps the largestin the county, working the river plantations on one side and thecreek bottoms on the other. I have heard that Nimbus takes greatcredit to himself for his sagacity in foreseeing the capabilitiesof Red Wing. If he really did detect its value at that time, itshows a very fine judgment and accounts for his prosperity since.Eliab Hill affirms this to be true, but most people think he doesthe planning for the whole settlement. Nimbus has done extremelywell, however. He has sold off, I should judge, nearly half hisland, in small parcels, has worked hard, and had excellent crops.I should not wonder, if his present crop comes off well and themarket holds on, if before Christmas he were worth as many thousandsas he had hundreds the day he bought that piney old-field. Itdon't take much tobacco at a dollar a pound, which his last cropbrought, lugs and all, to make a man that does his own work andworks his own land right well off. He's had good luck, has workedhard, and has either managed well or been well advised; it don'tmatter which.

"He has gathered a good crowd around him too, sober, hard-workingmen; and most of them have done well too. So that it has becomequite a flourishing little settlement. I suppose there are somefifty or sixty families live there. They have a church, whichthey use for a school-house, and it is by a great deal the bestschool-house in the county too. Of course they got' outside help,some from the Bureau, I reckon, and more perhaps from some charitableassociation. I should think the church or school-house must havecost fifteen hundred or two thousand dollars. They have a splendidschool. Two ladies from the North are teaching there—real ladies,I should judge, too."

The listener smiled at this indorsem*nt.

"I see," said Le Moyne, "it amuses you that I should qualify mywords in that manner. It seems unneccessary to you."

"Entirely so."

"Well, it may be; but I assure you, sir, we find it hard to believethat any one who will come down here and teach nigg*rs is of verymuch account at home."

"They are generally of the very cream of our Northern life,"said the other. "I know at this very time the daughters of severalprominent clergymen, of two college professors, of a wealthy merchant,of a leading manufacturer, and of several wealthy farmers, who areteaching in these schools. It is missionary work, you see—justas much as going to Siam or China. I have never known a moreaccomplished, devoted, or thoroughly worthy class of ladies, anddo not doubt that these you speak of, well deserve your praisewithout qualification."

"Well, it may be," said the other dubiously; "but it is hard forus to understand, you know. Now, they live in a little old house,which they have fixed up with flowers and one thing and anothertill it is very attractive—on the outside, at least. I know nothingabout the inside since their occupancy. It was a notable place inthe old time, but had quite run down before they came. I don'tsuppose they see a white person once a month to speak to them, unlessindeed some of the officers come over from the post at Boyleston,now and then. I am sure that no lady would think of visiting themor admitting them to her house. I know a few gentlemen who havevisited the school just out of curiosity. Indeed, I have riddenover once myself, and I must say it is well worth seeing. I shouldsay there were three or four hundred scholars, of all ages, sizes,and colors—black, brown, white apparently, and all shades of whatwe used to call 'ginger-cake.' These two ladies and the man Eliabteach them. It is perfectly wonderful how they do get on. You oughtto see it."

"I certainly shall," said Pardee, "as a special duty calls me there.
How would it do for a polling-place?"

"There ought to be one there, but I should be afraid of trouble,"answered Le Moyne seriously.

"Name me one or two good men for poll-holders, and I will risk anydisorder."

"Well, there is Eliab. He's a good man if there ever was one, andcapable too."

"How about Nimbus?"

"He's a good man too, honest as the day is long, hard-headed anddetermined, but he can't read or write."

"That is strange."

"It is strange, but one of the teachers was telling me sowhen I was there. I think he has got so that he can sign his firstname—his only one, he insists—but that is all, and he cannot reada word."

"I should have thought he would have been one of the first to learnthat much at least."

"So should I. He is the best man of affairs among them all—hasgood judgment and sense, and is always trying to do something toget on. He says he is 'too busy to get larnin', an' leaves thatand preachin' to Bre'er' 'Liab.'" "Do they keep up their formerintimacy?"

"Keep it up? 'Liab lives in Nimbus' lot, has his meals from histable, and is toted about by Nimbus just the same as if they werestill boys. Nimbus seems to think more of him than he would of abrother—than he does of his brothers, for he has two whom he seemsto care nothing about. His wife and children are just as devotedto the cripple as Nimbus, and 'Liab, on his part, seems to think asmuch of them as if they were his own. They get along first-rate,and are prospering finely, but I am afraid they will have troubleyet."

"Why so?"

"Oh, well, I don't know; they are nigg*rs, you see, and our peopleare not used to such things."

"I hope your apprehensions are groundless."

"Well, I hope so too."

The officer looked at his watch and remarked that he must returnto his duty, and after thanking his companion for a pleasant hour,and being invited to call at Mulberry Hill whenever occasion mightserve, the two men parted, each with pleasant impressions of theother.

CHAPTER X.

AN EXPRESS TRUST.

Fortunately for Nimbus, he had received scarcely anything of hispay while in the service, and none of the bounty-money due him,until some months after the surrender, when he was discharged ata post near his old home. On the next day it happened that therewas a sale of some of the transportation at this post, and throughthe co-operation of one of his officers he was enabled to buy agood mule with saddle and bridle for a song, and by means of thesereached home on the day after. He was so proud of his new acquisitionthat he could not be induced to remain a single day with his formercomrades. He had hardly more than assured himself of the safety ofhis wife and children before he went to visit his old friend andplaymate, Eliab Hill. He found that worthy in a state of greatdepression.

"You see," he explained to his friend, "Mister Le Moyne" (with aslight emphasis on the title) "bery kindly offered me de use ob discabin's long as I might want it, and has furnished me with nearlyall I have had since the S'rrender. While my mother lived and hehad her services and a well-stocked plantation and plenty ob hands,I didn't hab no fear o' being a burden to him. I knew he would getgood pay fer my support, fer I did de shoemakin' fer his people,and made a good many clo'es fer dem too. Thanks to Miss Hester'scare, I had learned to use my needle, as you know, an' could docommon tailorin' as well as shoemakin'. I got very little fer mywuk but Confederate money and provisions, which my mother alwaysinsisted that Mr. Le Moyne should have the benefit on, as he hadgiven me my freedom and was under bond for my support.

"Since de S'rrender, t'ough dere is plenty ob wuk nobody has anymoney. Mr. Le Moyne is just as bad off as anybody, an' has', to goin debt fer his supplies. His slaves was freed, his wife is dead,he has nobody to wait on Miss Hester, only as he hires a nuss; hislittle boy is to take keer on, an' he with only one arm an' jest abare plantation with scarcely any stock left to him. It comes hardfer me to eat his bread and owe him so much when I can't do nothin'fer him in return. I know he don't mind it, an' b'lieve he wouldfeel hurt if he knew how I feel about it; but I can't help it,Nimbus—I can't, no way."

"Oh, yer mustn't feel that 'ere way, Bre'er 'Liab," said his friend."Co'se it's hard fer you jes now, an' may be a little rough on MarseMoyne. But yer mus' member dat atter a little our folks 'll hevmoney. White folks got ter have wuk done; nebber do it theirselves;you know dat; an' ef we does it now we's boun' ter hev pay fer it.An' when we gits money, you gits wuk. Jes' let Marse Moyne waittill de crap comes off, an' den yer'll make it all squar wid him.I tell yer what, 'Liab, it's gwine ter be great times fer us nigg*rs,now we's free. Yer sees dat mule out dar?" he asked, pointing toa sleek bay animal which he had tied to the rack in front of thehouse when he rode up.

"Yes, o' course I do," said the other, with very little interestin his voice.

"Likely critter, ain't it?" asked Nimbus, with a peculiar tone.

"Certain. Whose is it?"

"Wal, now, dat's jes edzackly de question I wuz gwine ter ax ofyou. Whose yer spose 'tis?"

"I'm sure I don't know. One o' Mr. Ware's?"

"I should tink not, honey; not edzackly now. Dat ar mule b'longster me—Nimbus! D'yer h'yer dat, 'Liab?"

"No! Yer don't tell me? Bless de Lord, Nimbus, yer's a fortunitman. Yer fortin's made, Nimbus. All yer's got ter do is ter wuk fera livin' de rest of this year, an' then put in a crap of terbackernext year, an' keep gwine on a wukkin' an' savin', an' yer fortin'smade. Ther ain't no reason why yer shouldn't be rich afore yer'sfifty. Bless the Lord, Nimbus, I'se that glad for you dat I can'tfind no words fer it."

The cripple stretched out both hands to his stalwart friend, andthe tears which ran down his cheeks attested the sincerity of hiswords. Nimbus took his outstretched hands, held them in his own amoment, then went to the door, looked carefully about, came backagain, and with some embarrassment said,

"An' dat ain't all, Bre'er 'Liab. Jes' you look dar."

As he spoke Nimbus took an envelope from the inside pocket of hissoldier jacket and laid it on the bench where the other sat. 'Liablooked up in surprise, but in obedience to a gesture from Nimbusopened it and counted the contents.

"Mos' five hundred dollars!" he said at length, in amazement. "Disyours too, Bre'er Nimbus?"

"Co'se it is. Didn't I tell yer dar wuz a good time comin'?"

"Bre'er Nimbus," said Eliab solemnly, "you gib me your word yougit all dis money honestly?"

"Co'se I did. Yer don't s'pose Nimbus am a-gwine ter turn thief atdis day, does yer?"

"How you get it?" asked Eliab sternly.

"How I git it?" answered the other indignantly. "You see demclo'es? Hain't I been a-sojerin' nigh onter two year now? Hain'tI hed pay an' bounty, an' rations too? One time I wuz cut off fromde regiment, an' 'ported missin' nigh bout fo' months afo' I managedter git over ter Port R'yal an' 'port fer duty, an' dey gib me moneyfer rations all dat time. Tell yer, 'Liab, it all counts up. I'sespent a heap 'sides dat."

Still Eliab looked incredulous.

"You see dat _dis_charge?" said Nimbus, pulling the documentfrom his pocket. "You jes look at what de paymaster writ on dat,ef yer don't b'lieve Nimbus hez hed any luck. 'Sides dat, I'se gotde dockyments h'yer ter show jes whar an' how I got dat mule."

The care which had been exercised by his officer in providingNimbus with the written evidence of his ownership of the mule wasby no means needless. According to the common law, the possessionof personal property is prima facie evidence of its ownership;but in those early days, before the nation undertook to spreadthe aegis of equality over him, such was not the rule in the caseof the freedman. Those first legislatures, elected only by thehigh-minded land-owners of the South, who knew the African, hisneeds and wants, as no one else could know them, and who have alwaysproclaimed themselves his truest friends, enacted with especialcare that he should not "hold nor own nor have any rights of propertyin any horse, mule, hog, cow, steer, or other stock," unless thesame was attested by a bill of sale or other instrument of writingexecuted by the former owner. It was well for Nimbus that he wasarmed with his "dockyments."

Eliab Hill took the papers handed him by Nimbus, and read, slowlyand with evident difficulty; but as he mastered line after linethe look of incredulity vanished, and a glow of solemn joy spreadover his face. It was the first positive testimony of actualfreedom—the first fruits of self-seeking, self-helping manhoodon the part of his race which had come into the secluded countryregion and gladdened the heart of the stricken prophet and adviser.

With a sudden jerk he threw himself off his low bench, and buryinghis head upon it poured forth a prayer of gratitude for this evidenceof prayer fulfilled. His voice was full of tears, and when he said"Amen," and Nimbus rose from his knees and put forth his hand tohelp him as he scrambled upon his bench, the cripple caught thehand and pressed it close, as he said:

"Bress God, Nimbus, I'se seen de time often an' often 'nough whenI'se hed ter ax de Lor' ter keep me from a-envyin' an' grudgin' dewhite folks all de good chances dey hed in dis world; but now I'segot ter fight agin' covetin' anudder nigg*'s luck. Bress de Lor',Nimbus, I'se gladder, I do b'lieve, fer what's come ter you dan yerbe yerself. It'll do you a power of good—you an' yours—but whatgood wud it do if a poor crippled feller like me hed it? Not abit. Jes' git him bread an' meat, Nimbus, dat's all. Oh, de Lordknows what he's 'bout, Nimbus. Mind you dat. He didn't give youall dat money fer nothing, an' yer'll hev ter 'count fer it, datyou will; mighty close too, 'kase he keeps his books right. Yer mustsee ter dat, Bre'er Nimbus." The exhortation was earnestly given,and was enforced with tears and soft strokings of the dark stronghand which he still clasped in his soft and slender ones.

"Now don't you go ter sayin' nuffin' o' dat kind, ole feller. I'sebeen a-tinkin' ebber sence I got dat money dat it's jes ez much'Liab's ez'tis mine. Ef it hadn't been fer you I'd nebber knowed'nough ter go ober to de Yanks, when ole Mahs'r send me down terwuk on de fo'tifications, an' so I neber git it at all. So now,yer see, Bre'er 'Liab, you's gwine ter keep dat 'ere money.I don't feel half safe wid it nohow, till we find out jes whatwe wants ter do wid it. I 'lows dat we'd better buy a plantationsomewheres. Den I kin wuk it, yer know, an' you kin hev a shop,an' so we kin go cahoots, an' git along right smart. Yer see, efwe do dat, we allers hez a livin', anyhow, an' der ain't no suchthing ez spendin' an' losin' what we've got."

There was great demurrer on the part of the afflicted friend, buthe finally consented to become his old crony's banker. He insisted,however, on giving him a very formal and peculiarly worded receiptfor the money and papers which he received from him. Consideringthat they had to learn the very rudiments of business, Eliab Hillwas altogether right in insisting upon a scrupulous observance ofwhat he deemed "the form of sound words."

In speaking of the son of his former owner as "Mister," Eliab Hillmeant to display nothing of arrogance or disrespect. The titles"Master" and "Missus," were the badges of slavery and inferiority.Against their use the mind of the freedman rebelled as instinctivelyas the dominant race insisted on its continuance. The "BlackCodes" of 1865, the only legislative acts of the South since thewar which were not affected in any way by national power or Northernsentiment, made it incumbent on the freedman, whom it sought tocontinue in serfdom, to use this form of address, and denouncedits neglect as disrespectful to the "Master" or "Mistress." Whenthese laws ceased to be operative, the custom of the white racegenerally was still to demand the observance of the form, and thisdemand tended to embitter the dislike of the freedmen for it. Atfirst, almost the entire race refused. After a while the habit ofgenerations began to assert itself. While the more intelligent andbetter educated of the original stock discarded its use entirely,the others, and the children who had grown up since emancipation,came to use it almost interchangeably with the ordinary form ofaddress. Thus Eliab Hill, always nervously alive to the fact offreedom, never allowed the words to pass his lips after the Surrender,except when talking with Mrs. Le Moyne, to whose kindness he owedso much-in early years. On the other hand, Nimbus, with an equalaversion to everything connected with slavery, but without thesame mental activity, sometimes dropped into the old familiar habit.He would have died rather than use the word at another's dictationor as a badge of inferiority, but the habit was too strong for oneof his grade of intellect to break away from at once. Since thesuccess of the old slaveholding element of the South in subvertingthe governments based on the equality of political right and power,this form of address has become again almost universal except inthe cities and large towns.

CHAPTER XI.

RED WING.

Situated on the sandy, undulating chain of low, wooded hillswhich separated the waters of two tributaries of the Roanoke, atthe point where the "big road" from the West crossed the countryroad which ran northward along the crest of the ridge, as if insearch of dry footing between the rich valleys on either hand, wasthe place known as Red Wing. The "big road" had been a thoroughfarefrom the West in the old days before steam diverted the ways oftraffic from the trails which the wild beasts had pursued. It ledthrough the mountain gaps, by devious ways but by easy grades,along the banks of the water-courses and across the shallowestfords down to the rich lowlands of the East. It was said that thebuffalo, in forgotten ages, had marked out this way to the ever-verdantreed-pastures of the then unwooded East; that afterward the Indianshad followed his lead, and, as the season served, had fished uponthe waters of Currituck or hunted amid the romantic ruggednessof the Blue Appalachians. It was known that the earlier settlersalong the Smoky Range and on the Piedmont foot-hills had used thisthoroughfare to take the stock and produce of their farms down tothe great plantations of the East, where cotton was king, and tothe turpentine orchards of the South Atlantic shore line.

At the crossing of these roads was situated a single house, whichhad been known for generations, far and near, as the Red WingOrdinary. In the old colonial days it had no doubt been a houseof entertainment for man and beast. Tradition, very well based anduniversally accepted, declared that along these roads had marchedand countermarched the hostile forces of the Revolutionary period.Greene and Cornwallis had dragged their weary columns over thetenacious clay of this region, past the very door of the low-eavedhouse, built up of heavy logs at first and covered afterward withfat-pine siding, which had itself grown brown and dark with age.It was said that the British regulars had stacked their arms aroundthe trunk of the monster white-oak that stretched its great armsout over the low dark house, which seemed to be creeping nearerand nearer to its mighty trunk for protection, until of late yearsthe spreading branches had dropped their store of glossy acorns andembossed cups even on the farther slope of its mossy roof, a goodtwenty yards away from the scarred and rugged bole. "Two decksand a passage"—two moderate-sized rooms with a wide open pass-waybetween, and a low dark porch running along the front—constitutedall that was left of a once well-known place of public refreshment.At each end a stone chimney, yellowish gray and of a massivenessnow wonderful to behold, rose above the gable like a shattered towerabove the salient of some old fortress. The windows still retainedthe little square panes and curious glazing of a century ago. Belowit, fifty yards away to the eastward, a bold spring burst out ofthe granite rock, spread deep and still and cool over its whitesandy bottom, in the stone-walled inclosure where it was confined(over half of which stood the ample milk-house), and then gurglingalong the stony outlet ran away over the ripple-marked sands ofits worn channel, to join the waters of the creek a mile away.

It was said that in the olden time there had been sheds and out-buildings,and perhaps some tributary houses for the use of lodgers, all ofwhich belonged to and constituted a part of the Ordinary. Two thingshad deprived it of its former glory. The mart-way had changed evenbefore the iron horse charged across the old routes, scorning theirpretty curves and dashing in an almost direct line from mountainto sea. Increasing population had opened new routes, which divertedthe traffic and were preferred to the old way by travelers. Besidesthis, there had been a feud between the owner of the Ordinary andthe rich proprietor whose outspread acres encircled on every sidethe few thin roods which were attached to the hostel, and when theowner thereof died and the property, in the course of administration,was put upon the market, the rich neighbor bought it, despoiledit of all its accessories, and left only the one building of tworooms below and two above, a kitchen and a log stable, with cribattached, upon the site of the Ordinary which had vexed him solong. The others were all cleared away, and even the little openingaround the Ordinary was turned out to grow up in pines and black-jacks,all but an acre or two of garden-plot behind the house. The signwas removed, and the overseer of Colonel Walter Greer, the newowner, was installed in the house, which thenceforth lost entirelyits character as an inn.

In the old days, before the use of artificial heat in the curingof tobacco, the heavy, coarse fibre which grew upon rich, loamybottom lands or on dark clayey hillsides was chiefly prized by thegrower and purchaser of that staple. The light sandy uplands, thinand gray, bearing only stunted pines or a light growth of chestnutand clustering chinquapins, interspersed with sour-wood, whilehere and there a dogwood or a white-coated, white-hearted hickorygrew, stubborn and lone, were not at all valued as tobacco lands.The light silky variety of that staple was entirely unknown, andeven after its discovery was for a longtime unprized, and its habitatand peculiar characteristics little understood. It is only sincethe war of Rebellion that its excellence has been fully appreciatedand its superiority established. The timber on this land was of novalue except as wood and for house-logs. Of the standard timbertree of the region, the oak, there was barely enough to fence it,should that ever be thought desirable. Corn, the great staple ofthe region next to tobacco, could hardly be "hired" to grow uponthe "droughty" soil of the ridge, and its yield of the smallergrains, though much better, was not sufficient to tempt the ownerof the rich lands adjacent to undertake its cultivation. This landitself, he thought, was only good "to hold the world together" ormake a "wet-weather road" between the rich tracts on either hand.Indeed, it was a common saying in that region that it was "too pooreven to raise a disturbance upon."

To the westward of the road running north and south there had oncebeen an open field of some thirty or forty acres, where the wagonerswere wont to camp and the drovers to picket their stock in thehalcyon days of the old hostelry. It had been the muster-groundof the militia too, and there were men yet alive, at the time ofwhich we write, whose fathers had mustered with the county forceson that ground. When it was "turned out," however, and the Ordinaryceased to be a place of entertainment, the pines shot up, almostas thick as grass-blades in a meadow, over its whole expanse. Itis strange how they came there. Only black-jacks and the lighterdecidua which cover such sandy ridges had grown there before, butafter these were cleared away by the hand of man and the plow fora few years had tickled the thin soil, when nature again resumedher sway, she sent a countless army of evergreens, of mysteriousorigin, to take and hold this desecrated portion of her domain. Theysprang up between the corn-rows before the stalks had disappearedfrom sight; they shot through the charred embers of the desertedcamp-fire; everywhere, under the shade of each deciduous bush,protected by the shadow of the rank weeds which sprang up wherethe stock had fed, the young pines grew, and protected others, andshot slimly up, until their dense growth shut out the sunlight andchoked the lately protecting shrubbery. Then they grew larger, andthe weaker ones were overtopped by the stronger and shut out fromthe sunlight and starved to death, and their mouldering fragmentsmingled with the carpet of cones and needles which became thickerand thicker under their shade, until at the beginning of the war asolid, dark mass of pines fit for house-logs, and many even larger,stood upon the old muster-field, and constituted the chief valueof the tract of two hundred acres which lay along the west sideof the plantation of which it formed a part. It was this tractthat Nimbus selected as the most advantageous location for himselfand his friend which he could find in that region. He rightlyjudged that the general estimate of its poverty would incline theowner to part with a considerable tract at a very moderate price,especially if he were in need of ready money, as Colonel Desmitwas then reputed to be, on account of the losses he had sustainedby the results of the war. His own idea of its value differedmaterially from this, and he was thoroughly convinced that, in thenear future, it would be justified. He was cautious about statingthe grounds of this belief even to Eliab, having the natural fearof one unaccustomed to business that some other person would getwind of his idea and step into his Bethesda while he, himself,waited for the troubling of the waters.

He felt himself quite incompetent to conduct the purchase, evenwith Eliab's assistance, and in casting about for some white manwhom they could trust to act as their agent, they could think ofno one but Hesden Le Moyne. It was agreed, therefore, that Eliabshould broach the matter to him, but he was expressly cautionedby Nimbus to give him no hint of the particular reasons which ledthem to prefer this particular tract or of their means of payment,until he had thoroughly sounded him in regard to the plan itself.This Eliab did, and that gentleman, while approving the plan ofbuying a plantation, if they were able, utterly condemned the ideaof purchasing a tract so notoriously worthless, and refused to haveanything to do with so wild a scheme. Eliab, greatly discouraged,reported this fact to his friend and urged the abandonment of theplan. Nimbus, however, was stubborn and declared that "if MarseHesden would not act for him he would go to Louisburg and buy itof Marse Desmit himself."

"Dar ain't no use o' talkin', 'Liab," said he. "You an' MarseHesden knows a heap more'n I does 'bout most things; dar ain't nodoubt 'bout dat 'an nobody knows it better'n I does. But what Nimbusknows, he knows, an' dat's de eend on't. Nobody don't knowit any better. Now, I don't know nuffin' 'bout books an' de scripteran' sech-like, only what I gits second-hand—no more'n you does'bout sojerin', fer instance. But I tell ye what, 'Liab, I doesknow 'bout terbacker, an' I knows all about it, too. I kinjes' gib you an' Marse Hesden, an' aheap mo' jes like you uns,odds on dat, an' beat ye all holler ebbery time. What I don't know'bout dat ar' crap dar ain't no sort ob use a tryin' to tell me.I got what I knows de reg'lar ole-fashioned way, like small-pox,jes by 'sposure, an' I tell yer 'Liab, hit beats any sort ob'noculation all ter rags. Now, I tell you, 'Liab Hill, datar' trac' ob lan' 'bout dat ole Or'nery is jes' de berry place wewants, an' I'm boun' ter hev it, ef it takes a leg. Now you heahdat, don't yer?"

Eliab saw that it was useless for him to combat this determination.He knew the ruggedness of his friend's character and had long agolearned, that he could only be turned from a course, once fixedupon in his own mind, by presenting some view of the matter whichhad not occurred to him before. He had great confidence in Mr.Le Moyne's judgment—almost as much as in Nimbus', despite hisadmiration for his herculean comrade—so he induced his friend topromise that nothing more should be done about the matter until hecould have an opportunity to examine the premises, with which hewas not as familiar as he would like to be, before it was altogetherdecided. To this Nimbus readily consented, and soon afterwardshe borrowed a wagon and took Eliab, one pleasant day in the earlyfall, to spy out their new Canaan. When they had driven aroundand seen as much of it as they could well examine from the vehicle,Nimbus drove to a point on the east-and-west road just oppositethe western part of the pine growth, where a sandy hill slopedgradually to the northward and a little spring burst out of it andtrickled across the road.

"Dar," he said, waving his hand toward the slope; "dar is wharI wants my house, right 'longside ob dat ar spring, wid a goodterbacker barn up on de hill dar."

"Why, what do yer want ter lib dar fer?" asked the other insurprise, as he peered over the side of the wagon, in which he satupon a thick bed of fodder which Nimbus had spread over the bottomfor his comfort.

"Kase dat ar side-hill am twenty-five acres ob de best terbackergroun' in Ho'sford County."

"Yer don't say so, Nimbus?"

"Dat's jes what I do say, 'Liab, an' dat's de main reason what'smade me so stubborn 'bout buyin' dis berry track of lan'. Pears terme it's jes made fer us. It's all good terbacker lan', most on'tde berry best. It's easy clar'd off an' easy wukked. De 'backergrowed on dis yer lan' an' cured wid coal made outen dem ar pineswill be jes es yaller ez gold an' as fine ez silk, 'Liab. I knows;I'se been a watchin' right smart, an' long ago, when I used terpass by here, when dey fust begun ter vally de yaller terbacker, Iused ter wonder dat some pore white man like Marse War', dat knowedhow ter raise an' cure terbacker, didn't buy de ole place an' wukfor demselves, 'stead ob overseein' fer somebody else. It's quardey nebber t'ought on't. It allers seemed ter me dat I wouldn't axfer nothin' better."

"But what yer gwine ter do wid de ole house?" asked Eliab.

"Wal, Bre'er Liab," said Nimbus with a queer grimace, "I kinder'llowed dat I'd ler you hab dat ar ter do wid jes 'bout ez yerlike."

"Oh, Bre'er Nimbus, yer don't mean dat now?"

"Don't I? wal, you jes see ef I don't. I'se gwine ter lib righth'yer, an' ef yer don't occupy dat ole Red Wing Or'nery I'm durnedef it don't rot down. Yer heah dat man? Dar don't nobody else libin it, shuah."

Eliab was very thoughtful and silent, listening to Nimbus' commentsand plans until finally, as they sat on the porch of the old houseeating their "snack," he said,

"Nimbus, dar's a heap ob cullud folks libbin' jes one way an'anudder from dis yer Red Wing cross-roads."

"Co'se dey is, an' dat's de berry reason I'se sot my heart on yerhabbin' a shop right h'yer. Yer shore ter git de wuk ob de wholecountry roun', an' der's mo' cullud folks right up an' down decreek an' de ribber h'yer dan ennywhar hereabouts dat I knows on."

"But, Nimbus—" said he, hesitatingly.

"Yis, 'Liab, I hears ye."

"Couldn't we hab a church here?"

"Now yer's talkin'," exclaimed Nimbus. "Swar ter God, it'square I nebber tink ob dat, now. An' you de minister? Now yeris talkin', shuah! Why de debble I nebber tink ob dat afo'?Yer see dem big pines dar, straight ez a arrer an' nigh 'boutde same size from top ter bottom? What yer s'pose dem fer, 'Liab?Dunno? I should tink not. House logs fer de church, 'Liab. Makeit jes ez big ez yer wants. Dar 'tis. Only gib me some few shinglesan' a flo', an' dar yer hev jes ez good a church ez de 'postlesebber hed ter preach in."

"An' de school, Nimbus?" timidly.

"Shuah 'nough. Why I nebber tink ob dat afo'? An' you de teacher!Now you is talkin', 'Liab, certain shuah! Dat's jes deting, jes what we wants an' hez got ter hev. Plenty o' scholarsh'yer-abouts, an' de church fer a school-house an' Bre'er 'Liabfer de teacher! 'Clar fer it, Bre'er'Liab, you hez got ahead-piece,dat's a fac'. Now I nebber tink of all dat togedder. Mout hevcome bimeby, little to a time, but not all to wonst like, as 'tiswid you. Lord, how plain I sees it all now! De church an' school-houseup dar on de knoll; Nimbus' house jes about a hundred yards furderon, 'cross de road; an' on de side ob de hill de 'backer-barn; youa teachin' an' a preachin' an' Nimbus makin' terbacker, an' Genaa-takin' comfort on de porch, an' de young uns gittin' larnin'!Wh-o-o-p! Bre'er 'Liab, yer's a great man, shuah!"

Nimbus caught him in his strong arms and whirled him about in afrenzy of joy. When he sat him down Eliab said quietly:

"We must get somebody else to teach for a while. 'Liab don't know'nough ter do dat ar. I'll go to school wid de chillen an' learn'nough ter do it bimeby. P'raps dis what dey call de 'Bureau' moutstart a school here ef you should ax 'em, Nimbus. Yer know dey'dbe mighty willin' ter 'blige a soldier, who'd been a fightin' fer'em, ez you hev."

"I don't a know about dat ar, Bre'er'Liab, but leastaways we can'tdo no more'n make de trial, anyhow."

After this visit, Eliab withdrew all opposition, not without doubt,but hoping for the best, and trusting, prayerfully, that his friend'ssanguine expectations might be justified by the result. So it wasdetermined that Nimbus should make the purchase, if possible, andthat the old Ordinary, which had been abandoned as a hostel onthe highway to the Eastern market, be made a New Inn upon the roadwhich the Freedman must now take, and which should lead to libertyand light.

CHAPTER XII.

ON THE WAY TO JERICHO.

Colonel Desmit's devotion to the idea that slave property was moreprofitable than any other, and the system by which he had countedon almost limitless gain thereby, was not only overthrown by theuniversal emancipation which attended the issue of the war, butcertain unlocked for contingencies placed him upon the very vergeof bankruptcy. The location of his interests in different places,which he had been accustomed, during the struggle, to look uponas a most fortunate prevision, resulted most disastrously. As thewar progressed, it came about that those regions which were atfirst generally regarded as the most secure from hostile invasionbecame the scene of the most devastating operations.

The military foresight of the Confederate leaders long before ledthem to believe that the struggle would be concluded, or wouldat least reach its climax, in the Piedmont region. From the coastto the mountains the Confederacy spanned, at this point, only twohundred miles. The country was open, accessible from three pointsupon the coast, at which lodgment was early made or might have beenobtained, and only one flank of the forces marching thence towardthe heart of the Confederacy could be assailed. It was earlyapprehended by them that armies marching from the coast of NorthCarolina, one column along the course of the Cape Fear and anotherfrom Newberne, within fair supporting distance and convergingtoward the center of the State, would constitute the most dangerousmovement that could be made against the Confederacy, since it wouldcut it in twain if successful; and, in order to defeat it, the Armyof Virginia would have to be withdrawn from its field of operationsand a force advancing in its track from the James would be enabledto co-operate with the columns previously mentioned. It isinstructive to note that, upon the other side, the untrained instinctof President Lincoln was always turning in the same direction.In perusing the field of operations his finger would always strayto the eastern coast of North Carolina as the vital point, andno persuasions could induce him to give up the apparently uselessfoothold which we kept there for more than three years withoutmaterial advantage. It was a matter of constant surprise to theConfederate military authorities that this course was not adopted,and the final result showed the wisdom of their premonition.

Among others, Colonel Desmit had obtained an inkling of this idea,and instead of concentrating all his destructible property inthe region of his home, where, as it resulted, it would have beencomparatively secure, he pitched upon the "piney-woods" region tothe south-eastward, as the place of greatest safety.

He had rightly estimated that cotton and naval stores would, onaccount of the rigorous blockade and their limited production inother countries, be the most valuable products to hold when theperiod of war should end. With these ideas he had invested largelyin both, and in and about a great factory at the falls of a chieftributary of the Pedee, he had stored his cotton; and in the heartof that sombre-shadowed stretch of soughing pines which lies betweenthe Cape Fear and the Yadkin he had hidden his vast accumulationof pitch, turpentine, and resin. Both were in the very track ofSherman's ruthless legions. First the factory and the thousands ofbales carefully placed in store near by were given to the flames.Potestatem Desmit had heard of their danger, and had ridden post-hasteacross the rugged region to the northward in the vain hope thathis presence might somehow avert disaster. From the top of a rockymountain twenty miles away he had witnessed the conflagration, andneeded not to be told of his loss. Turning his horse's head to theeastward, at a country-crossing near at hand, he struck out withunabated resolution to reach the depot of his naval stores beforethe arrival of the troops, in order that he might interpose for theirpreservation. He had quite determined to risk the consequences ofcapture in their behalf, being now fully convinced of the downfallof the Confederacy.

During the ensuing night he arrived at his destination, where hefound everything in confusion and affright. It was a vast collectionof most valuable stores. For two years they had been accumulating.It was one of the sheet-anchors which the prudent and far-seeingPotestatem Desmit had thrown out to windward in anticipation of acoming storm. For half a mile along the bank of the little streamwhich was just wide enough to float a loaded batteau, the barrelsof resin and pitch and turpentine were piled, tier upon tier,hundreds and thousands upon thousands of them. Potestatem Desmitlooked at them and shuddered at the desolation which a singletorch would produce in an instant. He felt that the chances weredesperate, and he had half a mind to apply the torch himself andat least deprive the approaching horde of the savage pleasure ofdestroying his substance. But he had great confidence in himself,his own powers of persuasion and diplomacy. He would try them oncemore, and would not fail to make them serve for all they might beworth, to save this hoarded treasure.

It was barely daylight the next morning when he was awakened by thecry, "The Yanks are coming!" He had but a moment to question thefrightened messenger, who pressed on, terror-stricken, in the veryroad which he might have known would be the path of the advancingenemy, instead of riding two miles into the heart of the boundlesspine forest which stretched on either hand, where he would havebeen as safe from capture as if he had been in the center of thepyramid of Cheops.

Potestatem Desmit had his carriage geared up, and went coolly forthto meet the invaders. He had heard much of their savage ferocity,and was by no means ignorant of the danger which he ran in thus goingvoluntarily into their clutches. Nevertheless he did not falter.He had great reliance in his personal presence. So he dressed withcare, and arrayed in clean linen and a suit of the finest broadcloth,then exceedingly rare in the Confederacy, and with his snowy hairand beard, his high hat, his hands crossed over a gold-headedcane, and gold-mounted glasses upon his nose, he set out upon hismission. The night before he had prudently removed from the placeevery drop of spirits except a small demi-john of old peach-brandy,which he put under the seat of his carriage, intending therewith toregale the highest official whom he should succeed in approaching,even though it should be the dreaded Sherman himself.

He had proceeded perhaps half a mile, when his carriage was all atonce surrounded by a motley crew of curiously dressed but well-armedruffians, whose very appearance disgusted and alarmed him. With oathsand threats the lumbering chariot, which represented in itself nolittle of respectability, was stopped. The appearance of such avehicle upon the sandy road of the pine woods coming directly towardthe advancing column struck the "bummers" with surprise. They madea thousand inquiries of the frightened driver, and were about toremove and appropriate the sleek span of carriage-horses when theoccupant of the carriage, opening the window, thrust out his head,and with a face flaming with indignation ordered them to desist,bestowing upon them a volley of epithets, beginning with "rascals"and running as far into the language of abuse as his somewhat heatedimagination could carry him.

"Hello, Bill," said the bummer who was unfastening the right-wheeler,as he looked back and saw the red face framed in a circlet ofwhite hair and beard. "Just look at this old sunflower, will you?I guess the old bird must think he commands this brigade. Ha! ha!ha! I say, old fellow, when did you leave the ark?"

"And was Noah and his family well when you bid 'em good-by?" queriedanother.

This levity and ridicule were too much for Colonel P. Desmitto endure. He leaned out of the carriage window, and shaking hisgold-headed cane at the mirthful marauders denounced them in languagefearful in its impotent wrath.

"Take me to General Sherman, you rascals! I want to see the general!"he yelled over and over again.

"The hell you do! Well, now, mister, don't you know that the Generalis too nervous to see company to-day? He's just sent us on aheada bit to say to strangers that he's compelled to refuse all visitorsto-day. He gits that way sometimes, does 'Old Bill,' so ye mustn'tthink hard of him, at all."

"Take me to the general, you plundering pirates!" vociferated theenraged Colonel. "I'll see if a country gentleman travelling in hisown carriage along the highway is to be robbed and abused in thismanner!" "Robbed, did he say?" queried one, with the unmistakablebrogue of an Irishman. "Faith, it must be the gintleman has somethin'very important along wid him in the carriage, that he's gittin' soexcited about; and its meself that'll not see the gintleman imposedupon, sure." This with a wink at his comrades. Then to the occupantof the carriage: "What did yer honor say might be yer name, now?It's very partickler the General is about insthructin' us ter axthe names of thim that's wantin' an' inthroduction to him, ye know?"

The solemnity of this address half deceived the irate Southron,and he answered with dignity, "Desmit—Colonel Potestatem Desmit,of Horsford County, sir."

"Ah, d'ye hear that, b'ys? Faith, it's a kurnel it is ye've beena shtoppin' here upon the highway! Shure it may be he's a goin' tothe Gineral wid a flag of thruce, belike."

"I do wish to treat with the General," said Desmit, thinking hesaw a chance to put in a favorable word.

"An' d'ye hear that, b'ys? Shure the gintleman wants to thrate theGineral. Faith it'll be right glad the auld b'y'll be of a dhrapof somethin' good down here in the pine woods."

"Can I see the General, gentlemen?" asked Desmit, with a growingfeeling that he had taken the wrong course to accomplish his end.The crowd of "bummers" constantly grew larger. They were mountedupon horses and mules, jacks and jennets, and one of them had puta "McClellan saddle" and a gag-bit upon one of the black polled cattlewhich abound in that region, and which ambled easily and brisklyalong with his rider's feet just brushing the low "poverty-pines"which grew by the roadside. They wore all sorts of clothing. Theblue and the gray were already peacefully intermixed in the garmentsof most of them. The most grotesque variety prevailed especiallyin their head-gear, which culminated in the case of one who wore along, barrel-shaped, slatted sun-bonnet made out of spotted calico.They were boisterous and even amusing, had they not been wellarmed and apparently without fear or reverence for any authority orindividual. For the present, the Irishman was evidently in command,by virtue of his witty tongue.

"Can ye see the Gineral, Kurnel?" said he, with the utmost apparentdeference; "av coorse ye can, sir, only it'll be necessary for youto lave your carriage an' the horses and the nagur here in the careof these gintlemen, while I takes ye to the Gineral mesilf."

"Why can I not drive on?"

"Why can't ye dhrive? Is it a Kurnel ye is, an' don't know that?Shure the cavalry an' the arthillery an' the caysons an' one thingan' another of that kind would soon crush a chayriot like that toflinders, ye know."

"I cannot leave my carriage," said Desmit.

"Mein Gott, shust hear him now I" said a voice on the other side,which caused Desmit to turn with a start. A bearded German, with apair of myoptic glasses adding their glare to the peculiar intensityof the short-sighted gaze, had climbed upon the opposite wheelduring his conversation with Pat, and leaning half through thewindow was scanning carefully the inside of the carriage. He hadalready one hand on the demijohn of peach-brandy upon which theowner's hopes so much depended. Potetsatem Desmit was no coward,and his gold-headed cane made the acquaintance of the Dutchman'spoll before he had time to utter a word of protestation.

It was all over in a minute, then. There was a rush and a scramble.The old man was dragged out of his carriage, fighting manfullybut vainly. Twenty hands laid hold upon him. The gold-headed canevanished; the gold-mounted glasses disappeared; his watch leapedfrom his pocket, and the chain was soon dangling at the fob of oneof the still laughing marauders. Then one insisted that his hatwas unbecoming for a colonel, and a battered and dirty infantrycap with a half-obliterated corps badge and regimental number wasjammed down on his gray hairs; he was required to remove his coat,and then another took a fancy to his vest. The one who took hiscoat gave him in exchange a very ragged, greasy, and altogetherdisgusting cavalry jacket, much too short, and not large enough tobutton. The carriage was almost torn in pieces in the search fortreasure. Swords and bayonets were thrust through the panelling; thecushions were ripped open, the cover torn off, and every possiblehiding-place examined. Then thinking it must be about his person,they compelled him to take off his boots and stockings. In theirstead a pair of almost soleless shoes were thrown him by one whoappropriated the boots.

Meantime the Irishman had distributed the contents of the demijohn,after having filled his own canteen. Then there was great hilarity.The taste of the "colonel" was loudly applauded; his health wasdrunk, and it was finally decided to move on with him in charge.The "bummer" who rode the polled ox had, in the mean time, shiftedhis saddle to one of the carriage-horses, and kindly offered thesteer to the "colonel." One who had come upon foot had alreadymounted the other horse. The driver performed a last service forhis master, now pale, trembling, and tearful at the insults andatrocities he was called on to undergo, by spreading one of the carriagecushions over the animal's back and helping the queerly-habitedpotentate to mount his insignificant steed. It was better thanmarching through the hot sand on foot, however.

When they reached the little hamlet which had grown up around hiscollection of turpentine distilleries they saw a strange sight.The road which bore still further to the southward was full ofblue-coated soldiers, who marched along with the peculiar swinginggait which marked the army that "went down to the sea." Beyond thelow bridge, under a clump of pines which had been spared for shade,stood a group of horsem*n, one of whom read a slip of paper, orrather shouted its contents to the soldiery as they passed, whilehe flourished the paper above his head. Instantly the column wasin an uproar. Caps were thrown into the air, voices grew hoarsewith shouting; frantic gesticulation, tearful eyes and laughter,yells, inane antics, queer combinations of sacrilegious oaths andabsurd embraces were everywhere to be seen and heard.

"Who is that?" asked Desmit of the Irishman, near whom he had kept,pointing to the leading man of the group under the tree.

"Faith, Kurnel, that is Gineral——-. Would ye like an inthroduction,
Kurnel?"

"Yes, yes," said Desmit impatiently.

"Thin come wid me. Shure I'll give ye one, an' tell him ye sinthim a dhrink of auld pache to cilebrate the good news with. Comealong, thin!"

Just as they stepped upon the bridge Desmit heard a lank Hoosierask,

"What is in them bar'ls?"

And some one answered,

"Turpentine."

"Hooray!" said the first. "A bonfire!" "Hurry! hurry!" Desmitcried to his guide.

"Come on thin, auld gintleman. It's mesilf that'll not go back ona man that furnishes a good dhram for so joyful an occasion."

They dismounted, and, pressing their way through the surging masson the bridge, approached the group under the pines.

"Gineral," said the Irishman, taking off the silk hat which Desmithad worn and waving it in the air; "Gineral, I have the honorto inthroduce to ye anl auld gintleman—one av the vera furstfamilies—that's come out to mate ye, an' begs that ye'll taste jesta dhrap av the finest auld pache that ivver ran over yer tongue,jist ter cilebrate this vera joyful occasion,"

He waved his hat toward Desmit, and handed up his canteen at once.The act was full of the audacity of his race, but the news hadoverthrown all sense of discipline. The officer even lifted thecanteen to his lips, and no doubt finding Pat's assertion as to itsquality to be true allowed a reasonable quantity of its aromaticcontents to glide down his throat, and then handed it to one ofhis companions.

"General! General!" shrieked Desmit in desperation, as he rushedforward.

"What do you want, sir?" said the officer sternly.

There was a rush, a crackle, and a still louder shout.

Both turned and saw a tongue of red flame with a black, sooty tipleap suddenly skyward. The great mass of naval stores was fired,and no power on earth could save a barrel of them now. Desmitstaggered to the nearest tree, and faint and trembling watched theflame. How it raged! How the barrels burst and the liquid flamepoured over the ground and into the river! Still it burned! The wholeearth seemed aflame! How the black billows of heavy smoke pouredupward, hiding the day! The wind shifted and swept the smoke-waveover above the crowding, hustling, shouting column. It began to rain,but under the mass of heavy smoke the group at the pines stood dry.

And still, out of the two openings in the dark pines upon theother side of the stream, poured the two blue-clad, steel-crownedcolumns! Still the staff officer shouted the glad tidings,"Lee—surrendered—unconditionally.'" Still waved aloft thedispatch! Still the boundless forests rang with shouts! Still thefierce flame raged, and from the column which had gone into theforest beyond came back the solemn chant, which sounded at thatmoment like the fateful voice of an avenging angel;

"John Brown's body lies a-mouldering in the grave; His soul ismarching on!"

One who looked upon the scene thinks of it always when he reads ofthe last great day—the boundless flame—the fervent heat—theshouts—the thousands like the sands of the sea—all are not to beforgotten until the likeness merges into the dread reality!

The Irishman touched Desmit as he leaned against the pine.

"War that yours, misther?" he asked, not unkindly.

Desmit nodded affirmatively.

"Here," said the other, extending his canteen. "There's a drinkleft. Take it."

Desmit took it with a trembling hand, and drained it to the lastdrop.

"That's right," said the Irishman sympathetically. "I'm rightsorry for ye, misther, that I am; but don't ye nivver give up heart.There's more turpentine where that come from, and this thing's overnow. I couldn't find yer bull for ye, mister, but here's a mule.Ye'd better jest take him and git away from here before this row'sover. Nobody'll miss ye now."

Two weeks afterward a queerly clad figure rode up to the elegantmansion of Colonel Potestatem Desmit, overlooking the pleasanttown of Louisburg in the county of Horsford, and found a party ofFederal officers lounging upon his wide porches and making merryafter war's alarums!

CHAPTER XIII.

NEGOTIATING A TREATY.

Not only did Colonel Desmit lose his cotton and naval stores; butthe funds which he had invested, with cautious foresight, in thebonds of the State and the issues of its banks, were also madeworthless by the result of the war. Contrary to the expectationsof the most prudent and far-seeing, the bonds issued by the Statesin rebellion during the period of war, were declared to be attaintwith treason, and by the supreme power of the land were forbiddento be paid. In addition to this he found himself what was properlytermed "land-poor." The numerous small plantations which he hadacquired in different parts of the country, in pursuance of hisoriginal and inherited design of acquiring wealth by slave-culture,though intrinsically very valuable, were just at this timein the highest degree unavailable. All lands had depreciated to aconsiderable extent, but the high price of cotton had tempted manyNorthern settlers and capitalists into that belt of country wherethis staple had been most successfully raised, and their purchases,as well as the continued high price of the staple, had kept up theprices of cotton-lands far beyond all others.

Then, too, the lack of ready money throughout the country and thegeneral indebtedness made an absolute dearth of buyers. In the fouryears of war there had been no collections. The courts had beendebarred from judgment and execution. The sheriff had been withoutprocess, the lawyer without fees, the creditor without his money.Few indeed had taken advantage of this state of affairs to paydebts. Money had been as plenty as the forest leaves in autumn,and almost as valueless. The creditor had not desired to realizeon his securities, and few debtors had cared to relieve themselves.There had come to be a sort of general belief that when the warended there would be a jubilee for all debtors—that each one wouldhold what he had, and that a promise to pay would no more troubleor make afraid even the most timid soul. So that when the courtscame to be unchained and the torrent of judgments and executionspoured forth under their seals, the whole country was flooded withbankruptcy. Almost nobody could pay. A few, by deft use of presentadvantages, gathered means to discharge their own liabilities andtake advantage of the failure of others to do so. Yet they werefew indeed. On every court-house the advertisem*nts of sale coveredthe panels of the door and overflowed upon the walls. Thousandsof homesteads, aye, hundreds of thousands of homes—millions ofacres—were sold almost for a song—frequently less than a shillingan acre, generally less than a dollar.

Colonel Desmit had not been an exception to these rules. He hadnot paid the obligations maturing during the war simply because heknew he could not be compelled to do so. Instead of that, he hadinvested his surplus in lands, cotton, and naval stores. Now theevil day was not far off, as he knew, and he had little to meet it.Nevertheless he made a brave effort. The ruggedness of the disownedfamily of Smiths and the chicanery inherited from the gnarly-headedand subtle-minded old judge came to his rescue, and he determinednot to fail without a fight. He shingled himself with deeds oftrust and sales under fraudulent judgments or friendly liens, todelay if they did not avert calamity. Then he set himself at workto effect sales. He soon swallowed his wrath and appealed to theNorth—the enemy to whom he owed all his calamities, as he thought.He sent flaming circulars to bleak New England health-exhibits tothe smitten of consumption, painting the advantages of climate,soil, and society—did all in his power to induce immigrants tocome and buy, in order that he might beat off poverty and failureand open disgrace. He made a brave fight, but it had never occurredto him to sell an acre to a colored man when he was accosted byNimbus, who, still wearing some part of his uniform, came, over tonegotiate with him for the purchase of Red Wing.

All these untoward events had not made the master of Knapp-of-Reedspeculiarly amiable, or kindly disposed toward any whom he deemedin the remotest manner responsible for his loss. For two classeshe could not find words sufficient to express his loathing—namely,Yankees and Secessionists. To the former directly and to the latterindirectly he attributed all his ills. The colored man he hated asa man, as bitterly as he had before highly prized him as a slave.At the outset of the war he had been openly blamed for his coolnesstoward the cause of the Confederacy. Then, for a time, he hadacquiesced in what was done—had "gone with his State," as it wasthen expressed—and still later, when convinced of the hopelessness ofthe struggle, he had advocated peace measures; to save his propertyat all hazards, some said; because he was at heart a Unionist,others declared So, he had come to regard himself as well disposedtoward the Union, and even had convinced himself that he hadsuffered persecution for righteousness' sake, when, in truth, his"Unionism" was only an investment made to avoid loss.

These things, however, tended to embitter him all the more againstall those persons and events in any manner connected with hismisfortunes. It was in such a mood and under such circ*mstances,that word was brought to Mr. Desmit in his private library, that "anigg*r" wanted to see him. The servant did not know his name, whathe wanted, or where he came from. She could only say that he hadridden there on a "right peart mule" and was a "right smart-lookingboy." She was ordered to bring him in, and Nimbus stood before hismaster for the first time since he had been sent down the countryto work on fortifications intended to prevent the realization ofhis race's long-delayed vision of freedom. He came with his hatin his hand, saying respectfully,

"How d'ye, Marse Desmit?"

"Is that you, Nimbus? Get right out of here! I don't want any suchgrand rascal nigg*r in my house."

"But, Marse Desrnit," began the colored man, greatly flurried bythis rude greeting.

"I don't want any 'buts.' Damn you, I've had enough of all suchcattle. What are you here for, anyhow? Why don't you go back tothe Yankees that you ran away to? I suppose you want I should feedyou, clothe you, support you, as I've been doing for your lazywife and children ever since the surrender. I shan't do it a daylonger—not a day! D'ye hear? Get off from my land before the sungoes down to-morrow or I'll have the overseer set his dogs on you."

"All right," said Nimbus coolly; "jes yer pay my wife what's dueher and we'll leave ez soon ez yer please."

"Due her? You damned black rascal, do you stand there and tell me
I owe her anything?"

Strangely enough, the colored man did not quail. His army life hadtaught him to stand his ground, even against a white man, and hehad not yet learned how necessary it was to unlearn the lesson ofliberty and assume again the role of the slave. The white man wasastounded. Here was a "sassy nigg*r" indeed! This was what freedomdid for them!

"Her papers dat you gib her at de hirin', Marse Potem," said Nimbus,"says dat yer shall pay her fo' dollars a month an' rations. She'shed de rations all reg'lar, Marse Desrnit; dat's all right, butnot a dollar ob de money."

"You lie, you black rascal!" said Desmit excitedly; "she's drawnevery cent of it!"

"Wal," said Nimbus, "ef dat's what yer say, we'll hev ter let de
'Bureau' settle it."

"What, sir? You rascal, do you threaten me with the 'Bureau'?"shouted Desmit, starting toward him in a rage, and aiming a blowat him with the heavy walking-stick he carried.

"Don't do dat, Marse Desmit," cried the colored man; "don't dodat!"

There was a dangerous gleam in his eye, but the white man did notheed the warning. His blow fell not on the colored man's head, buton his upraised arm, and the next moment the cane was wrested fromhis hands, and the recent slave stood over his former master as helay upon the floor, where he had fallen or been thrown, and said:

"Don't yer try dat, Marse Desmit; I won't bar it—dat I won't, fromno man, black ner white. I'se been a sojer sence I was a slave, an'ther don't no man hit me a lick jes cos I'm black enny mo'. Yer'san' ole man, Marse Desmit, an' yer wuz a good 'nough marster terme in the ole times, but yer mustn't try ter beat a free man. Idon't want ter hurt yer, but yer mustn't do dat!"

"Then get out of here instantly," said Desmit, rising and pointingtoward the door.

"All right, Marse," said Nimbus, stooping for his hat; "'tain'tno use fer ye to be so mad, though. I jes come fer to make a tradewid ye."

"Get out of here, you damned, treacherous, ungrateful, black rascal.
I wish every one of your whole race had the small-pox! Get out!"

As Nimbus turned to go, he continued:

"And get your damned lazy tribe off from my plantation beforeto-morrow night, if you don't want the dogs put on them, too!"

"I ain't afeard o' yer dogs," said Nimbus, as he went down thehall, and, mounting his mule, rode away.

With every step his wrath increased. It was well for PotestatemDesmit that he was not present to feel the anger of the black giantwhom he had enraged. Once or twice he turned back, gesticulatingfiercely and trembling with rage. Then he seemed to think betterof it, and, turning his mule into the town a mile off his road,he lodged a complaint against his old master, with the officer ofthe "Bureau," and then rode quietly home, satisfied to "let de lawtake its course," as he said. He was glad that there was a law forhim—a law that put him on the level with his old master—andmeditated gratefully, as he rode home, on what the nation hadwrought in his behalf since the time when "Marse Desmit" had senthim along that very road with an order to "Marse Ware" to givehim "twenty lashes well laid on." The silly fellow thought thatthenceforth he was going to have a "white man's chance in life."He did not know that in our free American Government, while theFederal power can lawfully and properly ordain and establish thetheoretical rights of its citizens, it has no legal power to supportand maintain those rights against the encroachment of any of theStates, since in those matters the State is sovereign, and the partis greater than the whole.

CHAPTER XIV.

BORN OF THE STORM.

Perhaps there was never any more galling and hated badge of defeatimposed upon a conquered people than the "Bureau of Freedmen,Refugees, and Abandoned Lands," a branch of the Federal executivepower which grew out of the necessities of the struggle to putdown rebellion, and to which, little by little, came to be referredvery many of those matters which could by no means be neglected,but which did not properly fall within the purview of any otherbranch of military administration. It is known, in these latterdays, simply as the Freedmen's Bureau, and thought to have beena terrible engine of oppression and terror and infamy, because ofthe denunciations which the former slave-owners heaped upon it,and the usually accepted idea that the mismanaged and malodorousFreedmen's Savings Bank was, somehow or other, an outgrowth andexponent of this institution. The poor thing is dead now, and, likedead humanity, the good it did has been interred with its bones.It has been buried, with curses deep and bitter for its funeralobsequies. Its officers have been loaded with infamy. Even itswonderful results have been hidden from the sight of man, and itshistory blackened with shame and hate. It is one of the curiousindices of public feeling that the North listened, at first, withgood-natured indifference to the virulent diatribes of the recentlyconquered people in regard to this institution; after a time wondersucceeded to indifference; until finally, while it was still anactive branch of the public service, wondering credulity succeeded,and its name became synonymous with disgrace; so that now thereis hardly a corner of the land in which a man can be found braveenough to confess that he wore the uniform and performed the dutiesof an agent of the "Freedmen's Bureau." The thorough subserviencyof Northern sentiment to the domination of that masterly willwhich characterized "the South" of the old regime was never betterillustrated. "Curse me this people!" said the Southern Balak—ofthe Abolitionist first, of the Bureau-Officer next, and then ofthe Carpet-Bagger. The Northern Balaam hemmed and paltered, andthen—cursed the children of his loins!

Of the freedmen, our recent allies in war, the grateful and devotedfriends, of the nation which had opened for them the gateway of thefuture, not one of the whole four millions had a word to utter inreproach of this branch of the service, in which they were particularlyinterested. Strangely enough, too, none of those Union men ofthe South, who had been refugees during the war or friends of thatUnion after its close, joined in the complaints and denunciationswhich were visited on this institution and its agents. Neither didthe teachers of colored schools, nor the officers and agents ofthose charitable and missionary associations of the North, whoseespecial work and purpose was the elevation and enlightenment ofthe colored man, see fit to unite in that torrent of detractionwhich swept over the country in regard to the "Bureau" and itsagents. But then, it may be that none of these classes were ableto judge truly and impartially of its character and works! They mayhave been prepossessed in its favor to an extent which preventeda fair and honest determination in regard to it.

Certain it is that those who stood upon the other side—those whoinstituted and carried on rebellion, or the greater part of them,and every one of those who opposed reconstruction, who fought tothe last moment the enfranchisem*nt of the black; every one whodenied the right of the nation to emancipate the slave; every onewho clamored for the payment of the State debts contracted duringthe war; all of those who proposed and imposed the famous "blackcodes,"—every one of these classes and every man of each class avowedhimself unable to find words to express the infamy, corruption, andoppression which characterized the administration of that climactericoutrage upon a brave, generous, overwhelmed but unconquered—forgiving but not to be forgiven, people.

They felt themselves to have been in all things utterly innocentand guileless. The luck of war had been terribly against them, theyconsidered, but the right remained with them. They were virtuous.Their opponents had not only been the aggressors at the outset,but had shown themselves little better than savages by the mannerin which they had conducted the war; and, to crown the infamy oftheir character, had imposed upon "the South" at its close thatmost nefarious of all detestable forms of oppressive degradation,"the Bureau." Their orators grew magniloquent over its tyrannicaloppression; the Southern press overflowed with that marvellousexuberance of diatribe of which they are the acknowledged masters—toall of which the complaisant North gave a ready and subservientconcurrence, until the very name reeked in the public mind withinfamous associations and degrading ideas.

A few men tried to stem the torrent. Some who had been in its serviceeven dared to insist that they had not thereby rendered themselvesinfamous and unworthy. The nation listened for a time with kindlypity to their indignant protests, and then buried the troublesomeand persistent clamorers in the silence of calm but consideratedisbelief. They were quietly allowed to sink into the charitablegrave of unquestioning oblivion. It was not any personal attaintwhich befouled their names and blasted their public prospects, butsimply the fact that they had obeyed the nation's behest and donea work assigned to them by the country's rulers. Thus it came topass that in one third of the country it was an ineffaceable brandof shame to have been at any time an agent or officer of thisBureau, and throughout the rest of the country it was accounted afair ground for suspicion. In it all, the conquering element wassimply the obedient indicator which recorded and proclaimed thesentiment and wish of the conquered. The words of the enemy werealways regarded as being stamped with the mint-mark of truth andverity, while the declarations of our allies accounted so apparentlyfalse and spurious as to be unworthy of consideration, even whenattested by svvorn witnesses and written in blood upon a page ofhistory tear blotted and stained with savage deeds. All this wasperfectly natural, however, and arose, almost unavoidably, fromthe circ*mstances under which the institution was created and theduties which it was called upon to discharge. It may not be amissto consider again the circ*mstances under which it came to exist.

This is how this institution had its origin: As the war to put downrebellion progressed and our armies advanced farther and fartherinto the heart of the Confederacy, the most devoted and malignantadherents of the Confederate cause abandoned their homes andall that they could not easily take with them, and fled withinthe Confederate lines. Those white people who were adverse to theConfederate cause, or at least lukewarm in its support, spurredby the rigors of conscription and the dangers of proscription andimprisonment, took their lives in their hands, left their homes,and fled by every available road to the shelter of the Federalforces. Those who had no homes—the slaves—either deserted by theirowners or fancying they saw in that direction a glimmer of possiblefreedom, swarmed in flank and rear of every blue-clad column whichinvaded the Confederacy, by thousands and tens of thousands. Theyfled as the Israelites did from the bondage of Egypt, with thatsort of instinctive terror which has in all ages led individuals,peoples, and races to flee from the scene of oppression. The whiteswho came to us were called "refugees," and the blacks at first"contrabands," and after January 1, 1863, "freedmen." Of coursethey had to be taken care of. The "refugee" brought nothing withhim; the freedrnan had nothing to bring. The abandoned lands ofthe Confederates were, in many cases, susceptible of being usedto employ and supply these needy classes who came to us for aidand sustenance. It was to do this that the Freedmen's Bureau wascreated.

Its mission was twofold—to extend the helping hand to the needywho without such aid must have perished by disease and want,and to reduce the expenses of such charity by the cultivation andutilization of abandoned lands. It was both a business and a missionaryenterprise. This was its work and mission until the war ended. Its"agents" were chosen from among the wounded veteran officers ofour army, or were detached from active service by reason of theirsupposed fitness on account of character or attainments. Almostevery one of them had won honor with the loss of limb or of health;all had the indorsem*nt and earnest approval of men high in commandof our armies, who had personal knowledge of their character andbelieved in their fitness. This renders it all the more remarkablethat these men should so soon and so universally, as was stoutlyalleged and weakly believed, have become thieves and vagabonds—corrupters of the blacks and oppressors of the whites. It onlyshows how altogether impossible it is to foresee the consequencesof any important social or political movement upon the lives andcharacters of those exposed to its influences.

When the war ended there were four millions of men, women, andchildren without homes, houses, lands, money, food, knowledge, law,right, family, friends, or possibility for self-support. All thesethe Bureau adopted. They constituted a vast family of foundlings,whose care was a most difficult and delicate matter, but there wasnot one among them all who complained of the treatment they received.

It is somewhat strange, too, that the officers of this Branch ofthe service should have all misbehaved in exactly the same manner.Their acts of oppression and outrage were always perpetratedin defence of some supposed right of a defenceless and friendlessrace, overwhelmed with poverty—the bondmen of ignorance—who hadno money with which to corrupt, no art with which to beguile, andno power with which to overawe these representatives of authority.For the first time in the history of mankind, the corrupt andunprincipled agents of undefined power became the servants, friends,protectors, agents, and promoters of the poor and weak and theoppressors of the rich, the strong, the learned, and the astute.

It may be said that this view cannot be true; that thousandsof men selected from the officers of our citizen-soldiery by theunanswerable certificate of disabling wounds and the added prestigeof their commander's recommendation, a class of men in physical,intellectual and moral power and attainments far superior to theaverage of the American people—it may be said that such could nothave become all at once infamously bad; and, if they did suffer suchtransformation, would have oppressed the blacks at the instigationof the whites, who were willing and able to pay well for suchsubversion of authority, and not the reverse. This would seem tobe true, but we are not now dealing with speculations, but withfacts! We know that they did become such a pest because at the Souththey were likened to the plagues of Egypt, and the North reiteratedand affirmed this cry and condoled with the victims of the oppressionwith much show of penitence, and an unappeasable wrath toward theinstruments of the iniquity. Thus the voice of the people—thatvoice which is but another form of the voice of God—proclaimedthese facts to the world, so that they must thenceforth be heldindisputable and true beyond the utmost temerity of scepticism.The facts remain. The puzzling why, let whosoever will endeavorto elucidate.

Perhaps the most outrageous and debasing of all the acts of theBureau, in the eyes of those who love to term themselves "the South,"was the fact that its officers and agents, first of all, allowedthe colored man to be sworn in opposition to and in contradictionof the word of a white man.

That this should be exasperating and degrading to the Southernwhite man was most natural and reasonable. The very corner-stoneof Southern legislation and jurisprudence for more than a hundredyears was based upon this idea: the negro can have no rights, andcan testify as to no rights or wrongs, as against a white man. Sothat the master might take his slave with him when he committedmurder or did any other act in contravention of law or right,and that slave was like the mute eunuch of the seraglio, silentand voiceless before the law. Indeed, the law had done for theslave-owner, with infinitely more of mercy and kindness, what themutilators of the upper Nile were wont to do for the keepers ofthe harems of Cairo and Constantinople—provided them with slaveswho should see and hear and serve, but should never testify ofwhat they saw and knew. To reverse this rule, grown ancient andvenerable by the practice of generations, to open the mouths whichhad so long been sealed, was only less infamous and dangerous thanto accord credence to the words they might utter. To do both wasto "turn back the tide of time," indeed, and it passed the powerof language to portray the anger, disgust, and degradation whichit produced in the Southern mind. To be summoned before the officerof the Bureau, confronted with a negro who denied his most solemnaverments, and was protected in doing so by the officer who,perhaps, showed the bias of the oppressor by believing the negroinstead of the gentleman, was unquestionably, to the Southerner,the most degrading ordeal he could by any possibility be calledupon to pass through.

From this it will be understood that Colonel Desmit passed a mostuneasy night after Nimbus had left his house. He had been summonedbefore the Bureau! He had expected it. Hardly had he given wayto his petulant anger when he recognized the folly of his course.The demeanor of the colored man had been so "sassy" and aggravating,however, that no one could have resisted his wrath, he was sure.Indeed, now that he came to look back at it, he wondered thathe had been so considerate. He was amazed that he had not shotthe impudent rascal on the spot instead of striking him with hiswalking-stick, which he was very confident was the worst that couldbe urged against him. However, that was enough, for he rememberedwith horror that, not long before, this same Bureau officer hadactually imprisoned a most respectable and correct man for havingwhipped a "nigg*r" at work in his crop, who had been "too sassy"to be tolerated by any gentleman.

So it was with much trepidation that the old man went into the townthe next morning, secured the services of a lawyer, and preparedfor his trial before the "Bureau." Nimbus was intercepted as hecame into town with his wife, and an attempt made to induce him towithdraw the prosecution, but that high-minded litigant would hearnothing of the proposed compromise. He had put his hand to the plowand would not look back. He had appealed to the law—"the Bureau"and only "the Bureau" should decide it. So Colonel Desmit and hislawyer asked a few hours' delay and prepared themselves to resistand disprove the charge of assault upon Nimbus. The lawyer onceproposed to examine the papers in the case, but Desmit said thatwas useless—the boy was no liar, though they must make him outone if they could. So, at the time appointed, with his lawyerand train of witnesses, he went before "the Bureau," and there metNimbus and his wife, Lugena.

"The Bureau" wore the uniform of a captain of United States infantry,and was a man about forty-five years of age, grave and serious oflook, with an empty sleeve folded decorously over his breast. Hiscalm blue eyes, pale, refined face, and serious air gave him theappearance of a minister rather than a ruthless oppressor, but hisreputation for cruelty among certain people was as well establishedas that of Jeffreys. He greeted Mr. Desmit and his attorney withsomewhat constrained politeness, and when they were seated proceededto read the complaint, which simply recited that Colonel Desmit,having employed Lugena, the wife of complainant, at a given rateper month, had failed to make payment, and had finally, withoutcause, ordered her off his premises.

"Is that all?" asked the lawyer.

"That is all," answered the officer.

"Has no other complaint been lodged against Colonel Desmit?"

"None."

"We cannot—that is—we did not expect this," said the attorney,and then after a whispered consultation with his client, he added,"We are quite willing to make this matter right. We had entirelymisunderstood the nature of the complaint."

"Have you any further complaint to make against Colonel Desmit?"asked the officer, of Nimbus.

"No," said that worthy, doubtfully. "He was pretty brash wid me,an' 'llowed ter hit me wid a stick; but he didn't—at least not terspeak on—so I don't make no 'count ob dat. 'Twas jes dis matterob Lugeny's wuk dat made me bring him h'yer—nuffin' else."

"When did this matter of the stick occur?" asked the officer.

"On'y jes yeste'day, sah."

"Where was it?"

"Up ter Marse Potem's, sah. In his house."

"How did it happen?"

"Wal, you see, sah, I went up dar ter see ef I could buy a trackob lan" from him, an'—"

"What!" exclaimed Desmit, in astonishment. "You didn't say a wordto me about land."

"No more I didn't," answered Nimbus, "kase yer didn't gib me nochance ter say a word 'bout it. 'Peared like de fus sight on memade yer mad, an' den yer jes feathered away on me, spite ob all Icould do er say. Yer see, sah," to the officer, "I'd made a bit obmoney in de wah, an' wanted ter see ef I could buy a bit ob porelan' ob Marse Desmit—a track jes good fer nothin on'y fer a nigg*ter starve on—but afore I could git to dat Marse Desmit got souproarous-like dat I clean fergot what'twas I cum fer."

"There was evidently a misunderstanding," said the attorney.

"I should think so," said the officer, dryly. "You say you have nocomplaint to make about that affair?" he added to Nimbus. "No,"said he; "'twan't a tingob any 'count, nohow. I can't make outwhat'twas made Marse Potem so fractious anyhow. I reckon, as he says,dar must hev ben some mistake about it. Ef he'll fix up dis matterwid Lugena, I hain't no mo' complaint, an' I'se mighty sorry 'boutdat, kase Marse Desmit hab allus been mighty kin' ter me—all 'ceptdis time an' once afo'."

"There's the money for the woman," said the attorney, laying somebills on the officer's table; "and I may say that my client greatlyregrets the unfortunate misunderstanding with one of the best ofhis old slaves. He desires me to say that the woman's services havebeen entirely satisfactory, and that she can keep right on underthe contract, if she desires."

So that was settled. The officer discharged Colonel Desmit, commendedNimbus for the sensible view he had taken of the quarrel, and theparties gave way for other matters which awaited the officer'sattention.

This would not seem to have been so very oppressive, but anythinggrowing out of the war which had resulted so disastrously for himwas hateful to Colonel Desmit, and we should not wonder if hisgrandchildren told over, with burning cheeks, the story of theaffront which was offered to their ancestor in haling him beforethat infamous tribunal, "the Bureau," to answer a charge preferredby a "nigg*r."

CHAPTER XV.

TO HIM AND HIS HEIRS FOREVER.

After leaving the office of "the Bureau," the parties repairedto that of the lawyer, and the trade for the land which had beenso inopportunely forestalled by Colonel Desmit's hasty temper wasentered upon in earnest. That gentleman's financial condition wassuch as to render the three or four hundred dollars of ready moneywhich Nimbus could pay by no means undesirable, while the propertyitself seemed of so little value as to be regarded almost as anincumbrance to the plantation of which it was a part. Such was itswell-established reputation for poverty of soil that Desmit hadno idea that the purchaser would ever be able to meet one of hisnotes for the balance of the purchase money, and he looked forwardto resuming the control of the property at no distant day, somewhatimproved by the betterments which occupancy and attempted use wouldcompel the purchaser to make. He regarded the cash to be paid inhand as just so much money accidentally found in his pathway, forwhich, in no event, was he to render any quid pro quo. Butof this he said nothing. It was not his business to look after theinterests of a "sassy nigg*r." In fact, he felt that the money wasin a sense due to him on account of the scurvy trick that Nimbushad played him, in deserting to the Yankees after agreeing to lookafter his "nigg*rs" on the breast-works, although, as the eventproved, his master would have gained nothing by his remaining. Sothe former master and slave met on the level of barter and sale,and gave and took in the conflict of trade.

Except the small tract just about the old hostel, which hasalready been mentioned, the plantation, which included Red Wing,was descended from an ancestor of the Richards family, who had comefrom the North about the close of the Revolution and "entered" animmense tract in this section. It had, however, passed out of thefamily by purchase, and about the beginning of the war of Rebelliona life estate therein was held by its occupant, while the reversionbelonged to certain parties in Indiana by virtue of the will of acommon ancestor. This life-tenant's necessities compelled him torelinquish his estate, which was bought by Colonel Desmit, duringthe second year of the war, together with the fee which he hadacquired in the tract belonging to the old Ordinary, not because hewanted the land about Red Wing, but because the plantation to whichit was attached was a good one, and he could buy it on reasonableterms for Confederate currency. He expected to treat with theIndiana heirs and obtain their respective interests in the fee,which no doubt he would have been able to acquire very cheaply butfor the intevening accident of war, as the life-tenant was yet ofmiddle age and the succession consequently of little probable valueto living reversioners. This, however, he had not done; but as hisdeed from the life-tenant was in form an exclusive and unlimitedconveyance, it had been quite forgotten that the will of hisgrandfather limited it to a life estate. So when Nimbus and hisfriend and counsellor, Eliab Hill, sought to negotiate the purchaseof Red Wing, no mention was made of that fact; neither was italluded to when they came again to conclude the purchase, nor wheninstructions were given to Colonel Desmit's lawyer to prepare thenecessary papers.

The trade was soon brought to an apparently happy conclusion. Nimbusbought two hundred acres at a price of eight hundred dollars, payingone half the price agreed upon in cash, and for the balance gavethree notes of equal amounts, one maturing each year thereafter, andreceived from Colonel Uesmit a bond for title to the whole tract,with full covenants of warranty and seizin. Colonel Desmit accountedthe notes of little value; Nimbus prized the bond for title aboveany patent of nobility. Before the first note fell due all hadbeen discharged, and the bond for title was exchanged for a deedin fee, duly executed. So the recent slave, who had but lately beenthe subject of barter and sale, was clothed with the rights of aproprietor.

According to the former law, the slave was a sort of chattel-real.Without being attached to the land, he was transferable from oneowner to another only by deed or will. In some States he descendedas realty, in others as personalty, while in others still, heconstituted a separate kind of heritable estate, which was especiallyprovided for in the canons of descent and statutes regulatingadministration. There was even then of record in the county ofHorsford a deed of sale, bearing the hand and seal of P, Desmit,and executed little more than a year previously, conveying to onePeyton Winburn "all the right, title, and interest of said Desmit,in and to a certain runaway negro boy named Nimbus." The saidWinburn was a speculator in slaves who had long been the agent ofDesmit in marketing his human crop, and who, in the very last hoursof the Confederacy, was willing to risk a few dollars on the result.As he well stated it to himself, it was only staking one formof loss against another. He paid Confederate money for a runawaynegro. If the Confederacy failed, the negro would be free; but then,too, the money would be worthless. So with grim humor he said tohimself that he was only changing the form of his risk and couldnot possibly lose by the result. Thus, by implication of law,the recent subject of transfer by deed was elevated to thedignity of being a party thereto. The very instrument ofhis bondage became thereby the sceptre of his power. It was only anincident of freedom, but the difference it measured was infinite.No wonder the former slave tiembled with elation as he receivedthis emblem of autonomy, or that there was a look of gloom on theface of the former master as he delivered the carefully-enrolled deed,made complete by his hand and seal, and attested by his attorney.It was the first time the one had felt the dignity of proprietorship,or the other had known the shame of fraud. The one thought of thebright future which lay before his children, to whom he dedicatedRed Wing at that moment in his heart, in terms more solemn than thelegal phrases in which Potestatem Desmit had guaranteed to them theestate in fee therein. The other thought of the far-away Indianareversioners, of whose rights none knew aught save himself—himselfand Walter Greer, who had gone away to the wilds of Texas, andmight never be heard of any more. It was the first time he hadever committed a deliberate fraud, and when he handed the freedmanthe deed and said sadly, "I never expected to come down to this,"those who heard him thought he meant his low estate, and pitied hismisfortunes. He smiled meaningly and turned hastily away, whenNimbus, forgetting his own elation, said, in tones of earnestfeeling:

"I declar, Marse Desmit, I'se sorry fer you—I is dat; an' I hopesyer'll come outen dis yer trouble a heap better nor yer's lookin'for."

Then they separated—the one to treasure his apples of Sodom, theother to nourish the memory of his shame.

CHAPTER XVI.

A CHILD OF THE HILLS.

"Come at once; Oscar very low."

This was the dispatch which an awkward telegraph messenger handedto the principal teacher of "No. 5," one soft September day of1866. He waited upon the rough stone step, while she, standing inthe doorway, read it again and again, or seemed to do so, as if shecould not make out the import of the few simple words it contained.

'No 5' was a school-house in one of the townships of BankshireCounty, in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. In it were taughtthe children, within school age, of one of those little hamletswhich have crept up the valleys of the White Mountains, toled onand on, year after year, farther and farther up the little rivuletsthat dash down the mountain slopes, by the rumble and clatter ofnewly-erected machinery.

These mountain streams are the magic handiwork of the nymphs andfays who for ages have lain hidden in the springs that burst outinto little lakes upon the birch-crowned summits, and come rushingand tumbling down the rocky defiles to join the waters of theHousatuck. School-house No. 5 was thriftily placed on a bit ofrefractory land just opposite the junction of two streams which hadtheir rise in two lakelets miles away from each other—one lyingunder the shadow of Pixey Mountain, and the other hidden among thewooded hills of Birket. They were called "ponds," but are, in truth,great springs, in whose icy coldness the mountain trout delight.Back of the school-house, which, indeed, was half built into it,was a sharp, rocky hillside; across the road which ran before itwas a placid pond, bordered on the farther side by a dark fringe ofevergreens that lay between it and the-wide expanse of white-armedbirches and flaming maples, now beginning to feel the autumn'sbreath, on the rugged mountain-side above. A little to the leftwas the narrow gorge through which one of the streams discharged,its bottom studded with ponds and mills, and its sharp sides fleckedwith the little white-painted homes of well-to-do operatives; tothe right and left along the other branch and the course of theunited streams, the rumble of water-wheels, the puff of laboringengines, and the groan of tortured machinery never ceased.Machine-shops and cotton-factories, bagging-mills and box-mills,and wrapping-mills, and print-mills, and fine-paper-mills, andeven mills for the making of those filmy creations of marvelloustexture and wonderful durability which become the representatives ofvalue in the form of bank-notes, were crowded into the narrow gorges.The water was fouled with chemic combinations from source to mouth.For miles up and down one hardly got a breath of air untainted withthe fumes of chemicals. Bales of rags, loads of straw, packagesof woody pulp, boxes of ultramarine dye, pipes leading from thedistant mountain springs, and, above all, the rumble and the groaningof the beating-engines told to every sense that this was one ofthe great hillside centres of paper-manufacture in New England.The elegant residences of the owners were romantically situatedon some half-isolated promonotory around which the stream sweeps,embowered with maples and begirt with willows at its base; ornestled away in some nook, moss-lined and hemlock-shaded, whichmarks where some spring brook bubbles down its brief career to thelarger stream; or in some plateau upon the other side, backed by ascraggly old orchard, and hidden among great groves of rock-mapleswhich the careful husbandman spared a hundred years ago for a"sugar-bush," little dreaming that the nabobs of the rushing streamswould build homesteads beneath their shade. And all along, hereand there, wherever a house could find a foothold or the nativeruggedness be forced to yield one lodgment, houses and shopsand crowded tenements stood thick. It was a busy and a populousvillage, full of wealth and not barren of poverty, stretched alongthe rushing tributary for more than a mile, and then branching withits constituent forks up into the mountain gorges.

In the very centre of this busy whirl of life stood the littlewhite two-story school-house, flanked on one side by the dwellingof a mill-owner, and on the other by a boarding-house; and justbelow it, across the street, a machine-shop, and a little cottageof cased logs, with minute-paned windows, and a stone chimneywhich was built before the Revolution by the first inhabitant ofthe little valley. A little to the left of the school-house was agreat granite boulder, rising almost to its eaves, which had beenloosened from the mountain-side two miles up the gorge when thedam at the mouth of the pond gave way years before in a freshet,and brought down and left, by the respectful torrent almost at thethreshold of the temple of knowledge.

Such was the scene the Indian summer sun looked down upon, whilethe teacher stood gazing fixedly at the message which she held.Curious faces peered out of the windows and through the door,which she left ajar when she came into the hall. She took no noteof this infraction of discipline. "Any answer, ma'arn?" Themessenger-boy shifts his weight awkwardly upon the other foot, ashe asks, but receives no reply.

For two years Mollie Ainslie, with her assistants, had dispensedthe sweets of knowledge at "No. 5," to the children of the littlehamlet. The hazy morning light revealed a small, lithe figure,scarcely taller than the messenger-boy that stood before her;a fair, white face; calm, gray eyes; hair with a glint of goldenbrown, which waved and rippled about a low, broad brow, and wasgathered in a great shining coil behind; and a mouth clear-cut andfirm, but now drawn and quivering with deep emotion. The comely headwas finely poised upon the slender neck, and in the whole figurethere was an air of self-reliance and power that accorded well withthe position which she held. A simple gray dress, with a brightribbon at the throat and a bunch of autumn flowers carelessly tuckedinto the belt which circled the trim waist, completed the pictureframed in the doorway of the white school-house. She stood, witheyes fastened on the paper which she held in one hand, while theother pressed a pencil-head against her cheek, unmindful of thecurious glances that were fixed upon her from within, until themessenger-boy had twice repeated his customary question:

"Any answer, ma'am?"

She reached forth her hand, slowly and without reply. The boy lookedup and saw that she was gazing far beyond him and had a strained,fixed look in her eyes.

"Want a blank?" he asked, in a tone of unconscious sympathy.

She did not answer, but as he put his pad of blanks into heroutstretched hand she drew it back and wrote, in a slow and absentmanner, a message in these words:

"To CAPTAIN OSCAR AINSLIE, Boyleston, Va.

"Coming.

"MOLLIE."

"Collect?" asked the boy.

"No!"

She inquired, and paid the charges in the same unheeding way. Themessenger departed with a wistful glance at the dry, pained eyeswhich heeded him not. With a look of dumb entreaty at the overhangingmountain and misty, Indian summer sky, and a half perceptible shiverof dread, Mollie Ainslie turned and entered again the school-room.

CHAPTER XVII.

GOOD-MORROW AND FAREWELL.

A week afterward, Mollie Ainslie stood beside the bed of her onlybrother and watched the sharp, short struggle which he made withtheir hereditary enemy, consumption. Weakened by wounds and exposure,he was but ill-prepared to resist the advances of the insidiousfoe, and when she reached his side she saw that the hope, even ofdelay, was gone. So she took her place, and with ready hand, braveheart, and steady purpose, brightened his pathway to the tomb.

Oscar and Mollie Ainslie were the oniy children of a New Englandclergyman whose life had lasted long enough, and whose means hadbeen sufficient, with the closest economy, to educate them bothaccording to the rigorous standards of the region in which they wereborn. Until the son entered college they had studied together,and the sister was almost as well prepared for the university courseas the brother when they were separated. Then she stepped out ofthe race, and determined, though scarcely more than a child, tobecome herself a bread-winner, in order that her father's meagersalary might be able to meet the drain of her brother's collegeexpenses. She did this not only without murmuring, but withactual pleasure. Her ambition, which was boundless, centered uponher brother. She identified herself with him, and cheerfully gaveup every advantage, in order that his opportunities might be morecomplete. To Oscar these sacrifices on his sister's part werevery galling. He felt the wisdom of the course pursued toward himby his family, and was compelled to accede in silence to preventthe disappointment which his refusal would bring. Yet it was thekeenest trial for him to think of accepting his sister's earnings,and only the conviction that to do so was the quickest and surestway to relieve her of the burden of self-support, induced him tosubmit to such an arrangement.

Hardly had he entered upon his college course when the war ofRebellion came on, and Oscar Ainslie saw in the patriotic excitementand the promise of stirring events a way out of a situation whosefetters were too heavy for him to bear by reason of their verytenderness. He was among the first, therefore, to enlist, happythereby to forestall his sister's determination to engage in teaching,for his sake. His father was grieved at the son's abandonment ofhis projected career, but his heart was too patriotic to object.So he gave the bright-eyed young soldier his blessing as he badehim good-by, standing there before him, strong and trim, in hisclose-fitting cavalry uniform. He knew that Oscar's heart beat highwith hope, and he would not check it, though he felt sure that theylooked into each other's eyes for the last time. When his own wereglazing over with the ghastly grave-light, more than two yearsafterward, they were gladdened by the announcement which camethrobbing along the wires and made bright the whole printed pagefrom which he read: "Private Oscar Ainslie, promoted to a Captaincyfor gallant conduct on the field of Gettysburg." Upon this he ralliedhis fading energies, and waited for a week upon the very brink ofthe chill river, that he might hear, before he crossed over, fromthe young soldier himself, how this honor was won. When he hadlearned this he fell asleep, and not long after, the faithful wifewho had shared his toils and sacrifices heard the ceaseless cryof his lonely spirit, and was gathered again to his arms upon theshore where beauty fadeth not forever.

The little homestead upon the rocky hillside overlooking the villagewas all that was left to the brother and sister; but it was morethan the latter could enjoy alone, so she fled away and enteredupon the vocation in which we found her engaged. Meantime herbrother had risen in. rank, and at the close of the war had beentransferred to the regular army as a reward of distinguished merit.Then his hereditary foe had laid siege to his weakened frame, anda brother officer had telegraphed to the sister in the Bankshirehills the first warning of the coming end.

It was a month after her arrival at Boyleston, when her brother,overcoming the infatuation which usually attends that disease, sawthat the end was near and made provision respecting it.

"Sis," he said, calling her by the pet name of their childhood,"what day of the month is it?"

"The thirteenth, Oscar—your birthday," she replied briskly. "Don'tyou see that I have been out and gathered leaves and flowers todecorate your room, in honor of the event?"

Her lap was full of autumn leaves-maple and gum, flaming andvariegated, brown oak of various shapes and shades, golden hickory,the open burrs of the chintuapin, pine cones, and the dun scragglyballs of the black-gum, some glowing bunches of the flame-bush,with their wealth of bursting red beries, and a full-laden branchof the black-haw.

The bright October sun shone through the open window upon her asshe arranged them with deft fingers, contrasting the various hueswith loving skill, and weaving ornaments for different points inthe bare room of the little country hotel where her brother lay.He watched her awhile in silence, and then said sadly,

"Yes, my last birthday."

Her lips trembled, and her head drooped lower over her lap, butshe would not let him see her agitation. So she simply said,

"Do not say that, Oscar."

"No," he replied, "I ought not to say so. I should have said, mylast earthly birthday. Sit closer, Sis, where I can see you better.I want to talk to you."

"Do you know," he continued, as she came and sat upon his bedside,spreading her many-hued treasures over the white coverlet, "thatI meant to have been at home to-day?"

"And are you not?" she asked cheerfully. "Am I not with you?"

"True, Sis, and you are my home now; but, after all, I did want tosee the old New England hills once more. One yearns for familiarscenes after years of war. I meant to have gone back and broughtyou here, away from the cold winters that sting, and bite, andkill. I hoped that, after rest, I might recover strength, and thatyou might, here escape the shadow which has fastened upon me."

"Have you seen my horse, Midnight?" he asked, after a fit ofcoughing, followed by a dreamy silence.

"Yes."

"How do you like him?"

"He is a magnificent creature."

"Would he let you approach him?"

"I had no trouble in doing so."

None?" He's very vicious, too. Everybody has had trouble with him.
Do you think you could ride him?"

"I have ridden him every day for two weeks."

"Ah! that is how you have kept so fresh." Then, after a pause, "Doyou know how I got him?"

"I heard that he was captured."

"Yes, in the very last fight before the surrender at Appomattox.I was with Sheridan, you know. We were pursuing the retreatingcolumns—had been pressing them hotly ever since the break atPetersburg—on the rear and on both flanks, fighting, worrying,and watching all the time. On the last day, when the retreat hadbecome a rout, as it seemed, a stand was made by a body of cavalryjust on the crest of a smoothly-sloping hill. Not anticipatingserious resistance, we did not wait for the artillery to come upand dislodge them, but deploying a brigade we rode on, jesting andgay, expecting to see them disperse when we came within range andjoin the rabble beyond. We were mistaken. Just when we got withineasy charging distance, down they came, pell-mell, as dashing abody of dirty veterans as I ever saw. The attack was so unexpectedthat for a time we were swept off our feet and fairly carriedbackward with surprise. Then we rallied, and there was a sharp,short struggle. The enemy retreated, and we pressed after them. Theman that rode this horse seemed to have selected me as his mark.He rode straight at me from the first. He was a fine, manly-lookingfellow, and our swords were about the last that were crossed in thestruggle. We had a sharp tussle for a while. I think he must havebeen struck by a chance shot. At least he was unseated just aboutthe time my own horse was shot under me. Looking around amid theconfusion I saw this horse without a rider. I was in mortal terrorof being trampled by the shifting squadrons and did not delay, butsprang into the saddle and gave him the spur. When the Confederatebugles sounded the retreat I had a terrible struggle to keep himfrom obeying orders and carrying me away into their lines. Afterthat, however, I had no trouble with him. But he is not kind tostrangers, as a rule. I meant to have taken him home to you," headded, sadly. "You will have him now, and will prize him for mysake, will you not, Sis?"

"You know, Oscar, that everything you have ever loved or used willbe held sacred," she answered tearfully.

"Yes, I know," he rejoined. "Sis, I wish you would make me apromise."

"You know I will."

"Well, then, do not go back to our old home this winter, nor thenext, nor—but I will not impose terms upon you. Stay as long asyou can content yourself in this region. I am afraid for you. Iknow you are stronger and have less of the consumptive taint aboutyou than I, but I am afraid. You would have worked for me when Iwas in college, and I have worked only for you, since that time.All that I have saved—and I have saved all I could, for I knewthat my time was not long—is yours. I have some money on deposit,some bonds, and a few articles of personal property—among thelatter, Midnight. All these are yours. It will leave you comfortablefor a time at least. Now, dear, promise that I shall be buried andremain in the cemetery the Government is making for the soldierswho fell in those last battles. Somehow, I think it will keepyou here, in order that you may be near me, and save you from thedisease which is devouring my life."

A week afterward his companions followed, with rever ed arms,the funereally-caparisoned Midnight to the grounds of the NationalCemetery, and fired a salute over a new-made grave.

Nimbus, taking with him his helpless friend, had appealed, soonafter his purchase, to the officer of the Bureau for aid in erectinga school-house at Red Wing. By him he had been referred to oneof those charitable associations, through whose benign agency thegreat-hearted North poured its free bounty into the South immediatelyupon the cessation of strife.

Perhaps there has been no grander thing in our history than the eagergenerosity with which the Christian men and women of the North gaveand wrought, to bring the boon of knowledge to the recently-enslaved.As the North gave, willingly and freely, men and millions to savethe nation from disruption, so, when peace came, it gave other bravemen and braver women, and other unstinted millions to strengthenthe hands which generations of slavery had left feeble and inept.Not only the colored, but the white also, were the recipients ofthis bounty. The Queen City of the Confederacy, the proud capitalof the commonwealth of Virginia, saw the strange spectacle of herown white children gathered, for the first time, into free publicschools which were supported by Northern charity, and taughtby noble women with whom her high-bred Christian dames and daintymaidens would not deign to associate. The civilization of theNorth in the very hour of victory threw aside the cartridge-box,and appealed at once to the contribution-box to heal the ravages ofwar. At the door of every church throughout the North, the appealwas posted for aid to open the eyes of the blind whose limbs hadjust been unshackled; and the worshipper, as he gave thanks forhis rescued land, brought also an offering to aid in curing theignorance which slavery had produced.

It was the noblest spectacle that Christian civilization has everwitnessed—thousands of schools organized in the country of avanquished foe, almost before the smoke of battle had cleared away,free to the poorest of her citizens, supported by the charity, andtaught by kindly-hearted daughters of a quick-forgiving enemy. Theinstinct of our liberty-loving people taught them that light mustgo with liberty, knowledge with power, to give either permanence orvalue. Thousands of white-souled angels of peace, the tenderly-rearedand highly-cultured daughters of many a Northern home, came intothe smitten land to do good to its poorest and weakest. Even tothis day, two score of schools and colleges remain, the gloriousmementoes of this enlightened bounty and Christian magnanimity.

And how did the white brothers and sisters of these messengers ofa matchless benevolence receive them? Ah, God! how sad that historyshould be compelled to make up so dark a record—abuse, contumely,violence! Christian tongues befouled with calumny! Christian lipsblistered with falsehood! Christian hearts overflowing with hate!Christian, pens reeking with ridicule because other Christianssought to do their needy fellows good! No wonder that faith grewweak and unbelief ran riot through all the land when men lookedupon the spectacle! The present may excuse, for charity is kind;but the future is inexorable and writes its judgments with a penhard-nibbed! But let us not anticipate. In thousands of Northernhomes still live to testify these devoted sisters and daughters,now grown matronly. They are scattered through every state, almostin every hamlet of the North, while other thousands have gone,with the sad truth carved deep upon their souls, to testify in thatcourt where "the action lies in its true nature."

Nimbus found men even more ready to assist than he and his fellowswere to be aided. He himself gave the land and the timbers; thebenevolent association to whom he had appealed furnished the othermaterials required; the colored men gave the major part of the labor,and, in less than a year from the time the purchase was made, thehouse was ready for the school, and the old hostelry prepared forthe teachers that had been promised.

So it was that, when Nimbus came to the officer in charge atBoyleston and begged that a teacher might be sent to Red Wing, andmet the reply that because of the great demand they had none tosend, Mollie Ainslie, hearing of the request, with her load of sorrowyet heavy on her lonely heart, said, "Here am I; take me." Shethought it a holy work. It was, to her simple heart, a love-offeringto the memory of him who had given his life to secure the freedomof the race she was asked to aid in lifting up. The gentle childfelt called of God to do missionary work for a weak and strugglingpeople. She thought she felt the divine commandment which restedon the Nazarene. She did not stop to consider of the "impropriety"of her course. She did not even know that there was any improprietyin it. She thought her heart had heard the trumpet-call of duty,and, like Joan of Arc, though it took her among camps and dangers,she would not flinch. So Nimbus returned happy; an officer was sentto examine the location and report. Mollie, mounted upon Midnight,accompanied him. Of course, this fact and her unbounded delightat the quaint beauty of Red Wing was no part of the reason whyLieutenant Hamilton made a most glowing report on the location;but it was owing to that report that the officer at the head of the"Bureau" in that district, the department-commander, and finallythe head of the Bureau, General Howard himself, indorsed the schememost warmly and aided it most liberally. So that soon afterwardthe building was furnished as a school-house, Mollie Ainslie, withLucy Ellison, an old schoolmate, as her assistant, was installedat the old hostlery, and bore sway in the school of three hundreddusky pupils which assembled daily at Red Wing. Midnight was givenroyal quarters in the old log-stable, which had been re-coveredand almost rebuilt for his especial delectation, the great squarestall, with its bed of dry oak leaves, in which he stood knee-deep,being sufficient to satisfy even Miss Mollie's fastidious demandsfor the comfort of her petted steed After a time Eliab Hill, towhose suggestion the whole plan was due, became also an assistantinstructor.

Mollie Ainslie did not at all realize the nature of the task shehad undertaken, or the burden of infamy and shame which a Christianpeople would heap upon her because of this kindly-meant work donein their midst!

CHAPTER XVIII.

"PRIME WRAPPERS."

It was more than a year afterward. Quite a little village had grownup around the church and school-house at Red Wing, inhabited bycolored men who had been attracted thither by the novelty of oneof their own members being a proprietor. Encouraged by his example,one and another had bought parcels of his domain, until its size wasmaterially reduced though its value was proportionately enhanced.Those who settled here were mostly mechanics—carpenters andmasons—who worked here and there as they could find employment,a blacksmith who wrought for himself, and some farm laborers whodreaded the yearly system of hire as too nearly allied to the slaveregime, and so worked by the day upon the neighboring plantations.One or two bought somewhat larger tracts, intending to imitate thecourse of Nimbus and raise the fine tobacco for which the localitywas already celebrated. All had built cheap log-houses, but theirlots were well fenced and their "truck-patches" clean and thrifty,and the little hamlet was far from being unattractive, set as itwas in the midst of the green forests which belted it about. Fromthe plantations on either side, the children flocked to the school.So that when the registering officer and the sheriff rode intothe settlement, a few days after the registration at Melton, itpresented a thriving and busy spectacle.

Upon the hillside, back of his house, Nimbus, his wife, and twomen whom he had employed were engaged in cutting the tobacco whichwaved—crinkled and rank, with light ygjlowish spots showing hereand there upon the great leaves—a billow of green in the autumnwind. The new-comers halted and watched the process for a momentas they rode up to the barn, while the sheriff explained to theunfamiliar Northman:

"This is the first cutting, as it is called. They only take out theripest this time, and leave the rest for another cutting, a weekor two later. You see, he goes through there," pointing to Nimbus,"and picks out the ripe, yellow-looking plants. Then he sets hisknife in at the top of the stalk where it has been broken off toprevent its running up to seed, and splits it down almost to theground; then he cuts the stalk off below the split, and it is readyto be hung on the thin narrow strips of oak, which you see stuckup here and there, where the cutting has been done. They generallyput from seven to ten plants on a stick, according to the sizeof the plants; so that the number of sticks makes a very accuratemeasure of the size of the crop, and an experienced hand can tellwithin a few pounds the weight of any bulk of tobacco by simplycounting the sticks."

They rode up to the barn and found it already half full of tobacco.Nimbus came and showed the officer how the sticks were laid uponbeams placed at proper intervals, the split plants hanging topsdownward, close together, but not touching each other. The upperportions of the barn were first filled and then the lower tiers,until the tobacco hung within two or three feet of the bottom. Thebarn itself was made of logs, the interstices closely chinked anddaubed with clay, so as to make it almost air-tight. Around thebuilding on the inside ran a large stone flue, like a chimney laidon the ground. Outside was a huge pile of wood and a liberal supplyof charcoal. Nimbus thus described the process of curing: "Yersee, Capting, we fills de barn chock full, an' then shets it up fera day or two, 'cording ter de weather, sometimes wid a slow firean' sometimes wid none, till it begins ter sweat—git moist, yerknow. Den we knows it's in order ter begin de curin', an' we putson mo' fire, an' mo,' an' mo', till de whole house gits hot an' deleaves begins ter hev a ha'sh, rough feel about de edges, an' nowan' den one begins ter yaller up. Den we raises de heat jes ze fastez we kin an' not fire de barn. Some folks uses de flues alonean' some de coal alone, but I mostly 'pends on de flues wid a fewheaps of coal jes here an' dar 'bout de flo', at sech a time, kaseeberyting 'pends on a even reg'lar heat dat you kin manage good.Den you keeps watch on it mighty close an' don't let it git too hotnor yet fail ter be hot 'nough, but jes so ez ter keep it yallerin'up nicely. When de leaves is crisp an' light so dat dey rustlesroun' in de drafts like dead leaves in the fall, yer know, it'scured; an' all yer's got ter du den is ter dry out de stems an'stalks. Dat's got ter be done, tho,' kase ef yer leaves enny bitob it green an' sappy-like, fust ting yer knows when it comes inorder—dat is, gits damp an' soft—de green runs outen de stemsdown inter de leaves an' jes streaks 'em all ober, or p'raps itturns de fine yaller leaf a dull greenish brown. So yer's got terkeep up yer fire till every stalk an' stem'll crack like a pipe-stemez soon ez yer bends 'em up. Den yer lets de fire go down an' opensder do' fer it ter come in order, so't yer kin bulk it down."

"What do you mean by 'bulking it down'?"

"Put it in bulk, like dis yer," said he, pointing to a pile of stickslaid crosswise of each other with the plants still on them, andcarefully covered to keep out the weather. "Yer see," he continued,"dis answers two pu'poses; fust yergits yer barn empty an' uses itagain. Den de weather don't git in ter signify, yer know, an' soit don't come inter order any more an' color up wid de wet; datis, 'less yer leaves it too long or de wedder is mighty damp."

"Oh, he knows," said the sheriff, with a ring of pride in hisvoice. "Nimbus was raised in a tobacco-field, and knows as muchas anybody about it. How did your first barn cure up, Nimbus?"

"Right bright and even, sah," answered the colored man, as hethrust his hand under the boards spread over the bulk near which hestood, and drew out a few leaves, which he smoothed out carefullyand handed to his visitors. "I got it down in tol'able fa'r order,too, alter de rain t'odder evenin'. Dunno ez I ebber handled abarn thet, take it all round, 'haved better er come out fa'rer inmy life—mighty good color an' desp'ut few lugs. Yer see, I got itcut jes de right time, an' de weather couldn't hev ben better efI'd hed it made ter order."

The sheriff stretched a leaf to its utmost width, held it up tothe sunshine, crumpled it between his great palms, held it to hisface and drew a long breath through it, rubbed the edges between thumband finger, pinched the stem with his thumb-nail till it broke inhalf a dozen places, and remarked with enthusiasm, to the Northernman, who stood rubbing and smelling of the sample he held, inawkward imitation of one whom he recognized as a connoisseur:

"That's prime terbacker, Captain. If it runs like that throughthe bulk and nothing happens to it before it gets to the warehouse,it'll bring a dollar a pound, easy. You don't often see suchterbacker any year, much less such a one as this has been. Didn'tit ripen mighty uneven, Nimbus?" "Jest about ez it oughter—alittle 'arlier on the hilltop an' dry places 'long de sides, an'den gradwally down ter de moister places. Dar wa'n't much ob datpesky spotted ripenin' up—jes a plant h'yer an' anodder dar, allin 'mong de green, but jest about a good barnfull in tollablefa'r patches, an' den anodder comin' right on atter it. I'll hevit full agin an' fire up by to-morrer evenin'."

"Do you hang it right up after cutting?" asked the officer.

"Wal, we mout do so. Tain't no hurt ter do it dat er way, only ithandles better ter let it hang on de sticks a while an' git sorterwilted—don't break de leaves off ner mash 'em up so much loadin'an" unloadin', yer know," answered Nimbus.

"How much have you got here?" asked the sheriff, casting his eyeover the field; "forty thousand?"

"Wal," said Nimbus, "I made up sixty thousand hills, but I hed terre-set some on 'em. I s'pose it'll run somewhere between fifty an'sixty thousand."

"A right good crop," said the sheriff. "I doubt if any man in thecounty has got a better, take it all 'round."

"I don't reckon ther's one wukked enny harder fer what he's got,"said the colored man quietly.

"No, I'll guarantee ther hain't," said the other, laughing. "Nobodyever accused you of being lazy, Nimbus. They only fault you ferbeing too peart."

"All 'cause I wants my own, an' wuks fer it, an' axes nobody ennyodds, but only a fa'r show—a white man's chance ter git along,"responded Nimbus, with a touch of defiance in his tone.

"Well, well," said the sheriff good-naturedly, "I won't never faultye for that, but they do say you're the only man, white er black,that ever got ahead of Potem Desmit in a trade yet. How's that,Nimbus?"

"I paid him all he axed," said the colored man, evidently flatteredby this tribute to his judgment as to the value of Red Wing. "Kasewhite folks won't see good fine-terbacker lan' when dey walks oberit, tain't my fault, is it?"

"No more tain't, Nimbus; but don't yer s'pose yer Marse Potem'ssmartly worried over it?"

"La, no, I reckon not. He don't 'pear ter be, ennyhow. He war byhere when I was curin' up dis barn, an' stopped in an' looked atit, an' axed a power ob questions, an' got Lugena ter bring him outsome buttermilk an' a corn pone. Den he went up an' sot an hourin de school an' sed ez how he war mighty proud ter see one of hisole nigg*'s gittin' on dat er way."

"Wal, now, that was kind of him, wasn't it?"

"Dat it war, sah, an' hit done us all a power ob good, too. Hevyou ebber ben ter de school, Mr. Sheriff? No? wal, yer oughter;an' you, too, Capting. Dar's a little Yankee woman, Miss MollieAinslie, a runnin' ob it, dat do beat all curration fer managin'tings. I'd nebber'd got long so h'yer, not by no means, ez I hez,but fer her advice—her'n an' 'Liab's, gentlemen. Dar she am now,"he added, as a slight figure, mounted on a powerful black horse,and dressed in a dark riding-habit, with a black plume hanging froma low-crowned felt hat, came out of the woods below and canteredeasily along the road a hundred yards away, toward the school-house.The visitors watched her curiously, and expressed a desire to visitthe school. Nimbus said that if they would walk on slowly he wouldgo by the house and get his coat and overtake them before theyreached the school-house. As they walked along the sheriff said,

"Did you notice the horse that Yankee schoolmarm rode?"

"I noticed that it was a very fine one," was the reply.

"I should think it was. I haven't seen a horse in an age thatreminded me so much of the one I was telling you about that HesdenLe Moyne used to have. He is fuller and heavier, but if I was notafraid of making Hesden mad I would rig him about a nigg*r-teacher'sriding his horse around the country. Of course it's not the same,but it would be a good joke, only Hesden Le Moyne is not exactlythe man one wants to start a joke on."

When they arrived at the school-house they found that MollieAinslie had changed her habit and was now standing by the desk onthe platform in the main room, clad in a neat half-mourning dress,well adapted to the work of the school-room, quiet and composed,tapping her bell to reduce to order the many-hued crowd of scholars ofall ages and sizes who were settling into their places preparatoryto the morning roll-call. Nimbus took his visitors up the broad aisle,through an avenue of staring eyes, and introduced them awkwardly,but proudly, to the self-collected little figure on the platform.She in turn presented to them her assistant, Miss Lucy Ellison,a blushing, peach-cheeked little Northern beauty, and Eliab Hill,now advanced to the dignity of an assistant also, who sat near heron the platform. The sheriff nodded awkwardly to the ladies, asif doubtful how much deference it would do to display, said, "Howd'ye, 'Liab?" to the crippled colored man, laid his saddle-bags onthe floor, and took the chair assigned to him. The Northern mangreeted the young ladies with apparent pleasure and profound respect,shook hands with the colored man, calling him "Mister" Hill, andbefore sitting down looked out on the crowded school with evidentsurprise.

Before proceeding with the roll-call Miss Ainslie took the large
Bible which lay upon her desk, and approaching the gentlemen said:

"It is our custom every morning to read a portion of the Scriptureand offer prayer. We should be glad if either of you would conductthese exercises for us."

Both declined, the sheriff with some confusion, and the otherremarking that he desired to see the school going on as if he werenot present, in order that he might the better observe its exercises.

Miss Ainslie returned to her desk, called the roll of a portionof the scholars, and then each of her assistants called the namesof those assigned to their charge. A selection from the Scripturewas next read by the preceptress, a hymn sung under her lead withgreat spirit and correctness, and then Eliab Hill, clasping hishands, said, "Let us pray." The whole school knelt, the ladiesbowed their heads upon the desk, and Eliab offered an appropriateprayer, in which the strangers were not forgotten, but were eachkindly and fitly commended to the Divine care. Then there was animpromptu examination of the school. Each of the teachers heard aclass recite, there was more singing, with other agreeable exercises,and it was noon before the visitors thought of departing. Then theywere invited to dine with the lady teachers at the old Ordinary,and would have declined, on the ground that they must go on to thenext precinct, but Nimbus, who had been absent for an hour, nowappeared and brought word that the table was spread on the porchunder the great oak, and their horses already cared for; so thatexcuse would evidently be useless. The sheriff was very uneasy,but the other seemed by no means displeased at the delay. However,the former recovered when he saw the abundant repast, and told manyamusing stories of the old hostel. At length he said:

"That is a fine horse you rode this morning, Miss Ainslie. May Iask to whom it belongs?"

"To me, of course," replied the lady, in some surprise.

"I did not know," replied the sheriff, slightly confused. "Haveyou owned him long?"

"Nearly two years, she answered."

"Indeed? Somehow I can't get it out of my head that I have seen himbefore, while I am quite sure I never had the pleasure of meetingyou until to-day."

"Quite likely," she answered; "Nimbus sometimes rides him into
Melton for the mail."

"No," said he, shaking his head, "that is not it. But, no matter,he's a fine horse, and if you leave here or wish to sell him atany time, I hope you will rememher and give me a first chance."

He was astonished at the result of his harmless proposal.

"Sir," said the little lady, her gray eyes filling and her voicechoking with emotion, "that was my only brother's favorite horse.He rode him in the army, and gave him to me when he died. No moneycould buy him under any circ*mstances."

"Beg pardon," said the sheriff; "I had no idea—I—ah—"

To relieve his embarrassment the officer brought forward the specialobject of his visit by stating that it was thought desirable toestablish a voting precinct at Red Wing for the coming election,if a suitable place to hold the election could be found, and askedif the school-house could be obtained for that purpose. A livelyconversation ensued, in which both gentlemen set forth the advantagesof the location to the voters of that section. Miss Ellison seemedto favor it, but the little lady who was in charge only askedquestions and looked thoughtful. When at length her opinion wasdirectly asked, she said:

"I had heard of this proposal through both Mr. Hill and Nimbus, andI must say I quite agree with the view taken by the former. If itwere necessary in order to secure the exercise of their rights bythe colored men I would not object; but I cannot see that it is.It would, of course, direct even more attention to our school, andI do not think the feeling toward us among our white neighbors isany too kindly now. We have received no serious ill-treatment, itis true, but this is the first time any white person has venturedinto our house. I don't think that anything should be done to exciteunnecessary antipathy which might interfere with what I must considerthe most important element of the colored man's development, theopportunity for education."

"Why, they hold the League meetings there, don't they?" asked thesheriff, with a twinkle which questioned her sincerity.

"Certainly," she answered calmly. "At least I gave them leave todo so, and have no doubt they do. I consider that necessary. Thecolored men should be encouraged to consider and discuss politicalaffairs and decide in regard to them from their own standpoint.The League gives them this opportunity. It seems to be a quietand orderly gathering. They are all colored men of the same way ofthought, in the main, and it is carried on entirely by them; atleast, such is the case here, and I consider the practice which itgives in the discussion of public affairs and the conduct of publicassemblies as a most valuable training for the adults who willnever have a chance to learn otherwise."

"I think Nimbus is in favor of having the election here," said
Captain Pardee.

"No doubt," she replied. "So are they all, and they have been verypressing in their importunity—all except Mr. Hill. They are proudof their school and the building, which is the joint product oftheir own labor and the helpfulness of Northern friends, and areanxious for every opportunity to display their unexpected prosperity.It is very natural, but I think unwise."

"Nimbus owns the land, don't he?" asked the sheriff.

"No, He gave that for school and church purposes, and, except thatthey have a right to use it on the Sabbath, it is in my charge asthe principal teacher here," she replied, wilh dignity.

"And you do not desire the election held here?" asked Captain
Pardee.

"I am sorry to discommode the voters around here, white or black,but I would not balance a day's time or a day's walk against themore important interests of this school to the colored people. Theycan walk ten miles to vote, if need be, but no exertion of theirscould replace even the building and its furniture, let alone theschool which it shelters."

"That is very true," said the officer, thoughtfully.

So the project was abandoned, and Melton remained the nearestpolling-place to Red Wing.

As they rode away the two representatives of antipodal thoughtdiscussed the scenes they had witnessed that day, which were equallynew to them both, and naturally enough drew from them entirelydifferent conclusions. The Northern man enthusiastically prophesiedthe rapid rise and miraculous development of the colored raceunder the impetus of free schools and free thought. The Southernman only saw in it a prospect of more "sassy nigg*rs," like Nimbus,who was "a good enough nigg*r, but mighty aggravating to the whitefolks."

With regard to the teachers, he ventured only this comment:

"Captain, it's a mighty pity them gals are teaching a nigg*r school.
They're too likely for such work—too likely by half."

The man whom he addressed only gave a low, quiet laugh at thisremark, which the other found it difficult to interpret.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE SHADOW OF THE FLAG.

As soon as it became known that the plan of having a polling-placeat Red Wing had been abandoned, there was an almost universalexpression of discontent among the colored people. Never before hadthe authority or wisdom of the teachers been questioned. The purityof their motives and the devotion they had displayed in advancingevery interest of those to whom they had come as the missionariesof light and freedom, had hitherto protected them from all jealousyor suspicion on the part of the beneficiaries of their devotion.Mollie Ainslie had readily and naturally fallen into the habitof controlling and directing almost everything about her, simplybecause she had been accustomed to self-control and self-direction,and was by nature quick to decide and resolute to act. Consciousof her own rectitude, and fully realizing the dangers which mightresult from the experiment proposed, she had had no hesitationabout withholding her consent, without which the school-house couldnot be used, and had not deemed it necessary to consult the generalwish of the villagers in regard to it. Eliab Hill had approved heraction, and she had briefly spoken of it to Nimbus—that was all.

Now, the people of Red Wing, with Nimbus at their head, had settheir hearts upon having the election held there. The idea wasflattering to their importance, a recognition of their manhoodand political co-ordination which was naturally and peculiarlygratifying. So they murmured and growled, and the discontent grewlouder and deeper until, on the second day thereafter, Nimbus, withtwo or three other denizens of Red Wing, came, with gloomy, sullenfaces, to the school-house at the hour for dismissal, to hold aninterview with Miss Ainslie on the subject. She knew their errand,and received them with that cool reserve which so well became herdetermined face and slight, erect figure. When they had statedtheir desire, and more than half indicated their determination tohave the election held there at all hazards, she said briefly,

"I have not the slightest objection."

"Dar now," said Nimbus exultingly; "I 'llowed dar mus' be somethin'wrong 'bout it. They kep' tellin' me that you 'posed it, an' tolede Capting dat it couldn't never be held here wid your consentwhile you wuz in de school."

"So I did."

"You don't say? an' now yer's changed yer mind."

"I have not changed my mind at all." "No? Den what made you sayyer hadn't no 'jections, just now."

"Because I have not. It is a free country. You say you are determinedto have the election here, I am fully convinced that it would doharm. Yet you have a right to provide a place, and hold it here,if you desire. That I do not question, and shall not attemptto prevent; only, the day that you determine to do so I shallpack up my trunk, ride over to Boyleston, deliver the keys to thesuperintendent, and let him do as he chooses about the matter."

"Yer don't mean ter say yer'd go an' leave us fer good, does yer,
Miss Mollie?" asked Nimbus in surprise.

"Certainly," was the reply; "when the people have once lost confidencein me, and I am required to give up my own deliberate judgment toa whimsical desire for parade, I can do no more good here, and willleave at once."

"Sho, now, dat won't do at all—no more it won't," responded Nimbus.
"Ef yer feel's dat er way 'bout it, der ain't no mo' use a-talkin'.
Dere's gwine ter be nary 'lection h'yer ef it really troubles you
ladies dat 'er way."

So it was decided, and once again there was peace.

To compensate themselves for this forbearance, however, it wassuggested that the colored voters of Red Wing and vicinity shouldmeet at the church on the morning of election and march in a bodyto the polls with music and banners, in order most appropriately andsignificantly to commemorate their first exercise of the electoralprivilege. To this Miss Ainslie saw no serious objection, andin order fully to conciliate Nimbus, who might yet feel himselfa*ggrieved by her previous decision, she tendered him the loan ofher horse on the occasion, he having been elected marshal.

From that time until the day of the election there was considerableexcitement. There were a number of political harangues made inthe neighborhood; the League met several times; the colored menappeared anxious and important about the new charge committed totheir care; the white people were angry, sullen, and depressed.The school at Red Wing went peaceably on, interrupted only by theexcitement attendant upon the preparations making for the expectedparade.

Almost every night, after work was over, the colored people wouldgather in the little hamlet and march to the music of a drum andfife, and under the command of Nimbus, whose service in the armyhad made him a tolerable proficient in such tactical movements aspertained to the "school of the company." Very often, until wellpast midnight the fife and drum, the words of command, and therumble of marching feet could be heard in the little village. Thewhite people in the country around about began to talk about "thenigg*rs arming and drilling," saying that they intended to "seizethe polls on election day;" "rise up and murder the whites;" "burnall the houses along the river;" and a thousand other absurd andincredible things which seemed to fill the air, to grow and multiplylike baleful spores, without apparent cause. As a consequenceof this there grew up a feeling of apprehension among the coloredmen also. They feared that these things were said simply to make aready and convenient excuse for violence which was to be perpetratedupon them in order to prevent the exercise of their legal rights.

So there were whisperings and apprehension and high resolve uponboth sides. The colored men, conscious of their own rectitude, wereeither unaware of the real light in which their innocent parade wasregarded by their white neighbors, or else laughed at the feelingas insincere and groundless. The whites, having been for generationsfirm believers in the imminency of servile insurrections; devoutlycrediting the tradition that the last words of George Washington,words of wisdom and warning, were, "Never trust a nigg*r with a gun;"and accustomed to chafe each other into a fever heat of excitementover any matter of public interest, were ready to give credenceto any report—all the more easily because of its absurdity. Onthe other hand, the colored people, hearing these rumors, said tothemselves that it was simply a device to prevent them from voting,or to give color and excuse for a conflict at the polls.

There is no doubt that both were partly right and partly wrong.While the parade was at first intended simply as a display, it cameto be the occasion of preparation for an expected attack, and asthe rumors grew more wild and absurd, so did each side grow moreearnest and sincere. The colored men determined to exercise theirrights openly and boldly, and the white men were as fully determinedthat at any exhibition of "impudence" on the part of the "nigg*rs"they would teach them a lesson they would not soon forget.

None of this came to the ears of Mollie Ainslie. Nevertheless shehad a sort of indefinite foreboding of evil to come out of it, andwished that she had exerted her influence to prevent the parade.

On the morning of the election day a motley crowd collected at anearly hour at Red Wing. It was noticeable that every one carrieda heavy stick, though there was no other show of arms among them.Some of them, no doubt, had pistols, but there were no guns in thecrowd. They seemed excited and alarmed. A few notes from the fife,however, banished all irresolution, and before eight o'clock twohundred men gathered from the country round marched away towardMelton, with a national flag heading the column, in front of whichrode Eliab Hill in the carryall belonging to Nimbus. With themwent a crowd of women and children, numbering as many more, allanxious to witness the first exercise of elective power by theirrace, only just delivered from the bonds of slavery. The fifescreeched, the drum rattled; laughter and jests and high cheerprevailed among them all. As they marched on, now and then a whiteman rode past them, silent and sullen, evidently enraged at thedisplay which was being made by the new voters. As they drew nearerto the town it became evident that the air was surcharged withtrouble. Nimbus sent back Miss Ainslie's horse, saying that he wasafraid it might get hurt. The boy that took it innocently repeatedthis remark to his teacher.

Within the town there was great excitement. A young man who had passedRed Wing while the men were assembling had spurred into Melton andreported with great excitement that the "nigg*rs" were collectingat the church and Nimbus was giving out arms and ammunition; thatthey were boasting of what they would do if any of their votes wererefused; that they had all their plans laid to meet negroes fromother localities at Melton, get up a row, kill all the white men,burn the town, and then ravish the white women. This formula ofhorrors is one so familiar to the Southern tongue that it runs offquite unconsciously whenever there is any excitement in the airabout the "sassy nigg*rs." It is the "form of sound words," whichis never forgotten. Its effect upon the Southern white man ismagical. It moves him as the red rag does a mad bull. It takes awayall sense and leaves only an abiding desire to kill.

So this rumor awakened great excitement as it flew from lip to lip.Few questioned its verity, and most of those who heard felt boundin conscience to add somewhat to it as they passed it on to thenext listener. Each one that came in afterward was questionedeagerly upon the hypothesis of a negro insurrection having alreadytaken shape. "How many are there?" "Who is at the head of it?""How are they armed?" "What did they say?" were some of the querieswhich overwhelmed every new comer. It never seemed to strike anyone as strange that if the colored men had any hostile intent theyshould let these solitary horsem*n pass them unmolested. The feverspread. Revolvers were flourished and shot-guns loaded; excitedcrowds gathered here and there, and nearly everybody in thetown sauntered carelessly toward the bridge across which Nimbus'gayly-decked column must enter the town. A few young men rode outto reconnoitre, and every few minutes one would come dashing backupon a reeking steed, revolver in hand, his mouth full of strangeoaths and his eyes flaming with excitement.

It was one of these that precipitated the result. The flag whichwaved over the head of the advancing column had been visible fromthe town for some time as now and then it passed over the successiveridges to the eastward. The sound of fife and drum had become moreand more distinct, and a great portion of the white male population,together with those who had come in to the election from thesurrounding country, had gathered about the bridge spanning the swiftriver which flowed between Melton and the hosts of the barbarousand bloodthirsty "nigg*rs" of the Red Wing country. Several ofthe young scouts had ridden close up to the column with tantalizingshouts and insulting gestures and then dashed back to recount theirown audacity; until, just as the Stars and Stripes began to showover the last gullied hill, one of them, desirous of outdoing hiscomrades in bravado, drew his revolver, flourished it over his head,and cast a shower of insulting epithets upon the colored pilgrimsto the shrine of ballatorial power. He was answered from the duskycrowd with words as foul as his own. Such insult was not to beendured. Instantly his pistol was raised, there was a flash, a puffof fleecy smoke, a shriek from amid the crowd.

At once all was confusion. Oaths, cries, pistol-shots, and a showerof rocks filled the air as the young man turned and spurred backto the town. In a moment the long covered-bridge was manned bya well-armed crowd, while others were seen running toward it. Thetown was in an uproar.

The officers of election had left the polls, and in front of thebridge could be seen Hesden Le Moyne and the burly sheriff strivingto keep back the angry crowd of white men. On the hill the coloredmen, for a moment struck with amazement, were now arming with stones,in dead earnest, uttering loud cries of vengeance for one of theirnumber who, wounded and affrighted, lay groaning and writhing bythe roadside. They outnumbered the whites very greatly, but thelatter excelled them in arms, in training, and in position. Still,such was their exasperation at what seemed to them a wanton andunprovoked attack, that they were preparing to charge upon thebridge without delay. Nimbus especially was frantic with rage.

"It's the flag!" he shouted; "the damned rebels are firing on theflag!" He strode back and forth, waving an old cavalry sabrewhich he had brought to mark his importance as marshal of the day,and calling on his followers to stand by him and they would "cleanout the murderous crowd." A few pistol shots which were fired fromabout the bridge but fell far short, added to their excitement anddesperation.

Just as they were about to rush down the hillside, Mollie Ainslie,with a white set face, mounted on her black horse, dashed in frontof them, and cried,

"Halt!"

Eliab Hill had long been imploring them with upraised hands to becalm and listen to reason, but his voice was unheeded or unheardin the wild uproar. The sight of the woman, however, whom all ofthem regarded so highly, reining in her restive horse and commandingsilence, arrested the action of all. But Nimbus, now raging like amad lion, strode up to her, waving his sword and cursing fearfullyin his wild wrath, and said hoarsely:

"You git out o' de way, Miss Mollie! We all tinks a heap ob you,but yer hain't got no place h'yer! De time's come for mennow, an' dis is men's wuk, an' we's gwine ter du it, too! D'yersee dat man dar, a-bleedin' an' a-groanin'? Blood's been shed! We'sbeen fired into kase we wuz gwine ter exercise our rights like menunder de flag ob our kentry, peaceable, an' quiet, an' disturbin'nobody! 'Fore God, Miss Mollie, ef we's men an' fit ter hev ennyrights, we won't stan' dat! We'll hev blood fer blood! Dat's whatwe means! You jes git outen de way!" he added imperiously. "We'llsettle dis yer matter ourselves!" He reached out his hand as hespoke to take her horse by the bit.

"Stand back!" cried the brave girl. "Don't you touch him, sir!" Sheurged her horse forward, and Nimbus, awed by her intensity, slowlyretreated before her, until she was but a pace or two in front ofthe line which stretched across the road. Then leaning forward,she said,

"Nimbus, give me your sword!"

"What you wants ob dat, Miss Mollie?" he asked in surprise.

"No matter; hand it to me!"

He took it by the blade, and held the heavy basket-hilt toward her.She clasped her small white fingers around the rough, shark-skinhandle and raised it over her head as naturally as a veteran leaderdesiring to command attention, and said:

"Now, Nimbus, and the rest of you, you all know that I am yourfriend. My brother was a soldier, and fought for your liberty onthis very horse. I have never advised you except for your good, andyou know I never will. If it is right and best for you to right now,I will not hinder you. Nay, I will say God-speed, and for aught Iknow fight with you. I am no coward, if I am a woman. You know whatI have risked already for your good. Now tell me what has happened,and what this means."

There was a cheer at this, and fifty excited voices began thestory.

"Stop! stop!'" she cried. "Keep silent, all of you, and let Mr.
Hill tell it alone. He was here in front and saw it all."

Thereupon she rode up beside the carry-all, which was now in themiddle of the throng, and listened gravely while Eliab told thewhole story of the march from Red Wing, There was a buzz when hehad ended, which she stilled by a word and a wave of the hand, andthen turning to Nimbus she said:

"Nimbus, I appoint you to keep order in this crowd until my return.Do not let any man, woman, or child move forward or back, whatevermay occur. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am, I hears; but whar you gwine, Miss Mollie?"

"Into the town."

"No yer don't, Miss Mollie," said he, stepping before her. "Dey'llkill you, shore."

"No matter. I am going. You provoked this affray by your foolishlove of display, and it must be settled now, or it will be a matterof constant trouble hereafter."

"But, Miss Mollie—"

"Not a word! You have been a soldier and should obey orders. Hereis your sword. Take it, and keep order here. Examine that poorfellow's wound, and I will go and get a doctor for him."

She handed Nimbus his sword and turned her horse toward the bridge.Then a wail of distress arose from the crowd. The women begged hernot to go, with tears. She turned in her saddle, shook her head,and raised her hand to show her displeasure at this. Then she tooka handkerchief from her pocket and half waving it as she proceeded,went toward the bridge.

"Well, I swear," said the sheriff; "if that are gal ain't comingin with a flag of truce. She's pluck, anyhow. You ought to giveher three cheers, boys."

The scene which had been enacted on the hill had been closely watchedfrom the bridge and the town, and Mollie's conduct had been prettywell interpreted though her words could not be heard. The nerve whichshe had exhibited had excited universal comment, and it needed nosecond invitation to bring off every hat and send up, in her honor,the shrill yell with which our soldiers became familiar during thewar.

Recognizing this, her pale face became suffused with blushes, andshe put her handkerchief to her lips to hide their tremulousness asshe came nearer. She ran her eyes quickly along the line of strangefaces, until they fell upon the sheriff, by whom stood Hesden LeMoyne. She rode straight to them and said,

"Oh, Mr. Sheriff—"

Then she broke down, and dropping the rein on her horse's neck,she pressed her handkerchief to her face and wept. Her slight frameshook with sobs. The men looked at her with surprise and pity.There was even a huskiness in the sheriff's voice as he said,

"Miss Ainslie—I—I beg your pardon, ma'am-but—"

She removed the handkerchief, but the tears were still running downher face as she said, glancing round the circle of sympathizingfaces:

"Do stop this, gentlemen. It's all a mistake. I know it must be amistake!"

"We couldn't help it, ma'am," said one impulsive youth, putting inbefore the elders had time to speak; "the nigg*rs was marching onthe town here. Did you suppose we was going to sit still and letthem burn and ravage without opposition? Oh, we haven't got so lowas that, if the Yankees did outnumber us. Not yet!"

There was a sneering tone in his voice which did more than sympathycould, to restore her equanimity. So she said, with a hint of asmile on her yet tearful face,

"The worst thing those poor fellows meant to do, gentlemen, wasto make a parade over their new-found privileges—march up to thepolls, vote, and march home again. They are just like a crowd ofboys over a drum and fife, as you know. They carefully excludedfrom the line all who were not voters, and I had them arranged sothat their names would come alphabetically, thinking it might behandier for the officers; though I don't know anything about how anelection is conducted," she added, with an ingenuous blush. "It'sall my fault, gentlemen! I did not think any trouble could comeof it, or I would not have allowed it for a moment. I thought itwould be better for them to come in order, vote, and go home thanto have them scattered about the town and perhaps getting intotrouble."

"So 'twould," said the sheriff. "Been a first-rate thing if we'dall understood it—first-rate."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, gentlemen—so sorry, and I'm afraid one man iskilled. Would one of you be kind enough to go for a doctor?"

"Here is one," said several voices, as a young man stepped forwardand raised his hat respectfully.

"I will go and see him," he said.

He walked on up the hill alone.

"Well, ma'am," said the sheriff, "what do you think should be donenow?"

"If you would only let these people come in and vote, gentlemen.They will return at once, and I would answer with my life fortheir good behavior. I think it was all a misunderstanding."

"Certainly—certainly, ma'am," said the sheriff. "No doubt aboutit."

She turned her horse and was about to ride back up the hill, but
Hesden Le Moyne, taking off his hat, said:

"Gentlemen, I think we owe a great deal to the bravery of thisyoung lady. I have no doubt but all she says is literally true.Yet we like to have got into trouble which might have been veryserious in its consequences, nay, perhaps has already resultedseriously. But for her timely arrival, good sense, and courage therewould have been more bloodshed; our town would have been disgraced,troops posted among us, and perhaps lives taken in retaliation.Now, considering all this, I move a vote of thanks to the lady,and that we all pledge ourselves to take no notice of these people,but let them come in and vote and go out, without interruption.All that are in favor of that say Aye!"

Every man waved his hat, there was a storm of "ayes," and then theold rebel yell again, as, bowing and blushing with pleasure, Mollieturned and rode up the hill.

There also matters had assumed a more cheerful aspect by reason ofher cordial reception at the bridge, and the report of the surgeonthat the man's wound, though quite troublesome, was by no meansserious. She told in a few words what had occurred, explained themistake, reminded them that such a display would naturally provevery exasperating to persons situated as the others were, counselledmoderation and quietness of demeanor, and told them to re-formtheir ranks and go forward, quietly vote, and return. A rousingcheer greeted her words. Eliab Hill uttered a devout prayerof thankfulness. Nimbus blunderingly said it was all his fault,"though he didn't mean no harm," and then suggested that the flagand music should be left there in charge of some of the boys,which was approved. The wounded man was put into the carry-all bythe side of Eliab, and they started down the hill. The sheriff, whowas waiting at the bridge, called out for them to bring the flagalong and have the music strike up.

So, with flying colors and rattling drum-beat, the voters of RedWing marched to the polls; the people of Melton looked good-naturedlyon; the young hot-bloods joked the dusky citizen, and bestowedextravagant encomiums on the plucky girl who had saved them fromso much threatened trouble; and Mollie Ainslie rode home with a hot,flushed face, and was put to bed by her co-laborer, the victim ofa raging headache.

"I declare, Mollie Ainslie," said Lucy, "you are the queerest girl Iever saw. I believe you would ride that horse into a den of lions,and then faint because you were not eaten up. I could never do whatyou have done—never in the world—but if did I wouldn't get sickbecause it was all over."

CHAPTER XX.

PHANTASMAGORIA.

The day after the election a colored lad rode up to the school-house,delivered a letter for Miss Ainslie to one of the scholars, androde away. The letter was written in an even, delicate hand, whichwas yet full of feminine strength, and read as follows:

"MISS AINSLIE:

"My son Hesden has told me of your courage in preventing what mustotherwise have resulted in a most terrible conflict yesterday, andI feel it to be my duty, in behalf of many ladies whose husbands andsons were present on that occasion, to express to you our gratitude.It is seldom that such opportunity presents itself to our sex, andstill more seldom that we are able to improve it when presented.Your courage in exerting the power you have over the peculiar peopletoward whom you hold such important relations, commands my utmostadmiration. It is a matter of the utmost congratulation to the goodpeople of Horsford that one of such courage and prudence occupiesthe position which you hold. I am afraid that the people whom youare teaching can never be made to understand and appreciate theposition into which they have been thrust by the terrible eventsof the past few years. I am sure, however, that you will do allin your power to secure that result, and most earnestly pray foryour success. Could I leave my house I should do myself the pleasureto visit your school and express my gratitude in person. As it is,I can only send the good wishes of a weak old woman, who, thoughonce a slave-mistress, was most sincerely rejoiced at the down-fallof a system she had always regarded with regret, despite thehumiliation it brought to her countrymen.

"HESTER LE MOYNE."

This was the first word of commendation which had been receivedfrom any Southern white woman, and the two lonely teachers weregreatly cheered by it. When we come to analyze its sentences thereseems to be a sort of patronizing coolness in it, hardly calculatedto awaken enthusiasm. The young girls who had given themselvesto what they deemed a missionary work of peculiar urgency andsacredness, did not stop to read between the lines, however, butperused with tears of joy this first epistle from one of their ownsex in that strange country where they had been treated as leprousoutcasts by all the families who belonged to the race of whichthey were unconscious ornaments. They jumped to the conclusion thata new day was dawning, and that henceforth they would have thatcompanionship and sympathy which they felt that they deserved fromthe Christian women by whom they were surrounded.

"What a dear, good old lady she must be!" exclaimed the prettyand gushing Lucy Ellison. "I should like to kiss her for that sweetletter."

So they took heart of grace, talked with the old "Mammy" who hadcharge of their household arrangements about the gentle invalidwoman, whom she had served as a slave, and pronounced "jes debestest woman in de worl', nex' to my young ladies," and then theywent on with their work with renewed zeal.

Two other results followed this affair, which tended greatly torelieve the monotony of their lives. A good many gentlemen calledin to see the school, most of them young men who were anxious fora sight of the brave lady who had it in charge, and others merelydesirous to see the pretty Yankee "nigg*r teachers." Many would, nodoubt, have become more intimate with them, but there was somethingin the terms of respectful equality on which they associated withtheir pupils, and especially with their co-worker, Eliab Hill, whichthey could not abide or understand. The fame of the adventure hadextended even beyond the county, however, and raised them verygreatly in the esteem of all the people.

Miss Ainslie soon noticed that the gentlemen she met in her rides,instead of passing her with a rude or impudent stare began to greether with polite respect. Besides this, some of the officers ofthe post at Boyleston, hearing of the gallant conduct of theircountry-woman, rode over to pay their respects, and brought backsuch glowing reports of the beauty and refinement of the teachersat Red Wing that the distance could not prevent others of the garrisonfrom following their example; and the old Ordinary thereafterwitnessed many a pleasant gathering under the grand old oak whichshaded it. Both of the teachers found admirers in the gallantcompany, and it soon became known that Lucy Ellison would leaveher present situation erelong to brighten the life of a younglieutenant. It was rumored, too, that another uniform covered thesad heart of a cavalier who asked an exchange into a regiment onfrontier duty, because Mollie Ainslie had failed to respond favorablyto his passionate addresses.

So they taught, read, sang, wandered along the wood-paths insearch of new beauties to charm their Northern eyes; rode togetherwhenever Lucy could be persuaded to mount Nimbus' mule, which, despiteits hybrid nature, was an excellent saddle-beast; entertained withunaffected pleasure the officers who came to cheer their loneliness;and under the care of their faithful old "Mammy" and the oversightof a kind-hearted, serious-faced Superintendent, who never missedRed Wing in his monthly rounds, they kept their oddly transformedhome bright and cheerful, their hearts light and pure, and theirfaith clear, daily thanking God that they were permitted to do whatthey thought to be His will.

All of their experiences were not so pleasant. By their own sexthey were still regarded with that calm, unobserving indifferencewith which the modern lady treats the sister who stands withoutthe pale of reputable society. So far as the "ladies" of Horsfordwere concerned, the "nigg*r teachers" at Red Wing stood on the planeof the courtesan—they were seen but not known. Therecognition which they received from the gentlemen of Southernbirth had in it not a little of the shame-faced curiosity whichcharacterizes the intercourse of men with women whose reputationshave been questioned but not entirely destroyed. They were treatedwith apparent respect, in the school-room, upon the highway, orat the market, by men who would not think of recognizing them whenin the company of their mothers, sisters, or wives. Such treatmentwould have been too galling to be borne had it not been that thespotless-minded girls were all too pure to realize its significance.

CHAPTER XXI.

A CHILD-MAN.

Eliab Hill had from the first greatly interested the teachersat Red Wing. The necessities of the school and the desire of thecharitable Board having it in charge, to accustom the colored peopleto see those of their own race trusted and advanced, had inducedthem to employ him as an assistant teacher, even before he wasreally competent for such service. It is true he was given chargeof only the most rudimentary work, but that fact, while it inspiredhis ambition, showed him also the need of improvement and made hima most diligent student.

Lucy Ellison, as being the most expert in housewifely accomplishments,had naturally taken charge of the domestic arrangements at theOrdinary, and as a consequence had cast a larger share of theschool duties upon her "superior officer," as she delighted to callMollie Ainslie. This division of labor suited well the characteristicsof both. To plan, direct, and manage the school came as naturallyand easily to the stirring Yankee "school-marm" as did the orderingof their little household to the New York farmer's daughter. Amongthe extra duties thus devolved upon the former was the supervisionand direction of the studies of Eliab Hill. As he could notconsistently with the requisite discipline be included in any of theregular classes that had been formed, and his affliction preventedhim from coming to them in the evening for private instruction,she arranged to teach him at the school-house after school hours.So that every day she remained after the school was dismissed togive him an hour's instruction. His careful attention and rapidprogress amply repaid her for this sacrifice, and she lookedforward with much pleasure to the time when, after her departure,he should be able to conduct the school with credit to himself andprofit to his fellows.

Then, for the first time, she realized how great is the momentumwhich centuries of intelligence and freedom give to the mind ofthe learner—how unconscious is the acquisition of the great bulkof that knowledge which goes to make up the Caucasian manhood ofthe nineteenth century.

Eliab's desire to acquire was insatiable, his application wastireless, but what he achieved seemed always to lack a certainflavor of completeness. It was without that substratum of generalintelligence which the free white student has partly inherited andpartly acquired by observation and experience, without the laboror the consciousness of study. The whole world of life, business,society, was a sealed book to him, which no other hand might openfor him; while the field of literature was but a bright tangledthicket before him.

That unconscious familiarity with the past which is as thesmall-change of daily thought to us was a strange currency to hismind. He had, indeed, the key to the value of each piece, and could,with difficulty, determine its power when used by another, but hedid not give or receive the currency with instinctive readiness.Two things had made him clearly the intellectual superior of hisfellows—the advantages of his early years by which he learned toread, and the habit of meditation which the solitude of his strickenlife induced. This had made him a thinker, a philosopher far moreprofound than his general attainments would naturally produce. Withthe super-sensitiveness which always characterizes the afflicted,also, he had become a most acute and subtle observer of the humancountenance, and read its infinite variety of expression withease and certainty. In two things he might be said to be profoundlyversed—the spirit of the Scriptures, and the workings of thehuman heart. With regard to these his powers of expression werecommensurate with his knowledge. The Psalms of David were morecomprehensible to him than the simplest formulas of arithmetic.

Mollie Ainslie was not unfrequently amazed at this inequality ofnature in her favorite pupil. On one side he seemed a full-grownman of grand proportions; on the other, a pigmy-child. She had heardhim pour forth torrents of eloquence on the Sabbath, and felt theforce of a nature exceptionally rich and strong in its conceptionof religious truths and human needs, only to find him on themorrow floundering hopelessly in the mire of rudimentary science,or getting, by repeated perusals, but an imperfect idea of someauthor's words, which it seemed to her he ought to have graspedat a glance.

He had always been a man of thought, and now for two years he hadbeen studying after the manner of the schools, and his tasks wereyet but rudimentary. It is true, he had read much and had learnednot a little in a thousand directions which he did not appreciate,but yet he was discouraged and despondent, and it is no wonder thathe was so. The mountain which stood in his pathway could not beclimbed over nor passed by, but pebble by pebble and grain by grainmust be removed, until a broad, smooth highway showed instead. Andall this he must do before he could comprehend the works of thosewriters whose pages glow with light to our eyes from thevery first. He read and re-read these, and groped his way to theirmeaning with doubt and difficulty.

Being a woman, Mollie Ainslie was not speculative. She could notsolve this problem of strength and weakness. In power of thought,breadth of reasoning, and keenness of analysis she felt thathe was her master; in knowledge—the power of acquiring and usingscientific facts—she could but laugh at his weakness. It puzzledher. She wondered at it; but she had never sought to assign a reasonfor it. It remained for the learner himself to do this. One day,after weeks of despondency, he changed places with his teacherduring the hour devoted to his lessons, and taught her why it wasthat he, Eliab Hill, with all his desire to learn and his ceaselessapplication to his tasks, yet made so little progress in theacquisition of knowledge.

"It ain't so much the words, Miss Mollie," he said, as he threwdown a book in which he had asked her to explain some passage shehad never read before, but the meaning of which came to her at aglance—"it ain't so much the words as it is the ideas that troubleme. These men who write seem to think and feel differently fromthose I have known. I can learn the words, but when I have themall right I am by no means sure that I know just what they mean,""Why, you must," said the positive little Yankee woman; "when onehas the words and knows the meaning of all of them, he cannot helpknowing what the writer means."

"Perhaps I do not put it as I should," said he sadly. "What I wantto say is, that there are thoughts and bearings that I can nevergather from books alone. They come to you, Miss Ainslie, and tothose like you, from those who were before you in the world, andfrom things about you. It is the part of knowledge that can't beput into books. Now I have none of that. My people cannot giveit to me. I catch a sight of it here and there. Now and then,a conversation I heard years ago between some white men will comeup and make plain something that I am puzzling over, but it is noteasy for me to learn."

"I do not think I understand you," she replied; "but if I do, Iam sure you are mistaken. How can you know the meanings of words,and yet not apprehend the thought conveyed?"

"I do not know how," he replied. "I only know that whilethought seems to come from the printed page to your mind likea flash of light, to mine it only comes with difficulty and aftermany readings, though I may know every word. For instance," hecontinued, taking up a voiume of Tennyson which lay upon her table,"take any passage. Here is one: 'Tears, idle tears, I know not whatthey mean!' I have no doubt that brings a distinct idea to yourmind."

"Yes," she replied, hesitatingly; "I never thought of it before,but I think it does."

"Well, it does not to mine. I cannot make out what is meant by'idle' tears, nor whether the author means to say that he does notknow what 'tears' mean, or only 'idle' tears, or whether he doesnot understand such a display of grief because it is idle."

"Might he not have meant any or all of these?" she asked.

"That is it," he replied. "I want to know what he did mean.Of course, if I knew all about his life and ways, and the like,I could tell pretty fully his meaning. You know them because histhoughts are your thoughts, his life has been your life. You belongto the same race and class. I am cut off from this, and can onlystumble slowly along the path of knowledge."

Thus the simple-minded colored man, taught to meditate by thesolitude which his affliction enforced upon him, speculated inregard to the leges non scripta which control the action ofthe human mind and condition its progress.

"What has put you in this strange mood, Eliab?" asked the teacherwonderingly.

His face flushed, and the mobile mouth twitched with emotion ashe glanced earnestly toward her, and then, with an air of suddenresolution, said:

"Well, you see, that matter of the election—you took it all inin a minute, when the horse came back. You knew the white folkswould feel aggravated by that procession, and there would betrouble. Now, I never thought of that. I just thought it was niceto be free, and have our own music and march under that dear oldflag to do the work of free men and citizens. That was all."

"But Nimbus thought of it, and that was why he sent back the horse,"she answered.

"Not at all. He only thought they might pester the horse to plaguehim, and the horse might get away and be hurt. We didn't, none ofus, think what the white folks would feel, because we didn't know.You did."

"But why should this affect you?"

"Just because it shows that education is something more that Ihad thought—something so large and difficult that one of my age,raised as I have been, can only get a taste of it at the best."

"Well, what then? You are not discouraged?"

"Not for myself—no. The pleasure of learning is reward enough tome. But my people, Miss Mollie, I must think of them. I am onlya poor withered branch. They are the straight young tree. I mustthink of them and not of Eliab. You have taught me—this affair,everything, teaches me—that they can only be made free by knowledge.I begin to see that the law can only give us an opportunity to makeourselves freemen. Liberty must be earned; it cannot be given."

"That is very true," said the practical girl, whose mind recognizedat once the fact which she had never formulated to herself. Butas she looked into his face, working with intense feeling and solighted with the glory of a noble purpose as to make her forgetthe stricken frame to which it was chained, she was puzzled at whatseemed inconsequence in his words. So she added, wonderingly, "ButI don't see why this should depress you. Only think how much youhave done toward the end you have in view. Just think what you haveaccomplished—what strides you have made toward a full and completemanhood. You ought to be proud rather than discouraged."

"Ah!" said he, "that has been for myself, Miss Mollie, not for mypeople. What am I to my race? Aye," he continued, with a glanceat his withered limbs, "to the least one of them not—not—" Hecovered his face with his hands and bowed his head in the self-abasem*ntwhich hopeless affliction so often brings.

"Eliab," said the teacher soothingly, as if her pupil were a childinstead of a man older than herself, "you should not give way tosuch thoughts. You should rise above them, and by using the powersyou have, become an honor to your race."

"No, Miss Mollie," he replied, with a sigh, as he raised his headand gazed into her face earnestly. "There ain't nothing in thisworld for me to look forward to only to help my people. I am onlythe dust on the Lord's chariot-wheels—only the dust, which must bebrushed out of the way in order that their glory may shine forth.And that," he continued impetuously, paying no attention to hergesture of remonstrance, "is what I wanted to speak to you aboutthis evening. It is hard to say, but I must say it—must say itnow. I have been taking too much of your time and attention, MissMollie."

"I am sure, Mr. Hill—" she began, in some confusion.

"Yes, I have," he went on impetuously, while his face flushed hotly."It is the young and strong only who can enter into the Canaan theLord has put before our people. I thought for a while that we werejust standing on the banks of Jordan—that the promised land wasright over yon, and the waters piled up like a wall, so that evenpoor weak 'Liab might cross over. But I see plainer now. We'reonly just past the Red Sea, just coming into the wildnerness, andif I can only get a glimpse from Horeb, wid my old eyes by and by,'Liab 'll be satisfied. It'll be enough, an' more'n enough, forhim. He can only help the young ones—the lambs of the flock—alittle, mighty little, p'raps, but it's all there is for him todo." "Why, Eliab—" began the astonished teacher again.

"Don't! don't! Miss Mollie, if you please," he cried, with a lookof pain. "I'se done tried—I hez, Miss Mollie. God only knows howI'se tried! But it ain't no use—no use," he continued, with a fiercegesture, and relapsing unconsciously into the rougher dialect thathe had been training himself to avoid. "I can't do it, an' there'sno use a-tryin'. There ain't nothin' good for me in this worl'—notin this worl'. It's hard to give it up, Miss Mollie—harder'n you'llever dream; but I hain't blind. I knows the brand is on me. It'son my tongue now, that forgets all I've learned jes ez soon ez thetime of trial comes."

He seemed wild with excitement as he leaned forward on the tabletoward her, and accompanied his words with that eloquence ofgesticulation which only the hands that are tied to crippled formsacquire. He paused suddenly, bowed his head upon his crossed arms,and his frame shook with sobs. She rose, and would have come aroundthe table to him. Raising his head quickly, he cried almost fiercely:

"Don't! don't! don't come nigh me, Miss Mollie! I'm going to doa hard thing, almost too hard for me. I'm going to get off thechariot-wheel—out of the light of the glory—out of the way of theyoung and the strong! Them that's got to fight the Lord's battlesmust have the training, and not them that's bound to fall inthe wilderness. The time is precious—precious, and must not bewasted. You can't afford to spend so much of it on me! The Lordcan't afford ter hev ye, Miss Mollie! I must step aside, an' I'segwine ter do it now. If yer's enny time an' strength ter spar'more'n yer givin' day by day in the school, I want yer shouldgive it to—to—Winnie an' 'Thusa—they're bright girls, that havestudied hard, and are young and strong. It is through such as themthat we must come up—our people, I mean. I want you to give themmy hour, Miss Mollie—my hour! Don't say you won't do it!"he cried, seeing a gesture of dissent. "Don't say it! You must doit! Promise me, Miss Mollie—for my sake! for—promise me—now—quick!afore I gets too weak to ask it!"

"Why, certainly, Eliab," she said, in amazement, while she halfshrank from him as if in terror. "I will do it if you desire it somuch. But you should not get so excited. Calm yourself! I am sureI don't see why you should take such a course; but, as you say,they are two bright girls and will make good teachers, which aremuch needed."

"Thank God! thank God!" cried the cripple, as his head fell againupon his arms. After a moment he half raised it and said, weakly,

"Will you please call Nimbus, Miss Mollie? I must go home now. Andplease, Miss Mollie, don't think hard of 'Liab—don't, Miss Mollie,"he said humbly.

"Why should I?" she asked in surprise. "You have acted nobly, though
I cannot think you have done wisely. You are nervous now. You may
think differently hereafter. If you do, you have only to say so.
I will call Nimbus. Good-by!"

She took her hat and gloves and went down the aisle. Happeningto turn near the door to replace a book her dress had brushed froma desk, she saw him gazing after her with a look that haunted hermemory long afterward.

As the door closed behind her he slid from his chair and bowed hishead upon it, crying out in a voice of tearful agony, "Thank God!thank God!" again and again, while his unfinished form shook withhysteric sobs. "And she said I was not wise!" he halflaughed, as the tears ran down his face and he resumed his invocationof thankfulness. Thus Nimbus found him and carried him home withhis wonted tenderness, soothing him like a babe, and wondering whathad occurred to discompose his usually sedate and cheerful friend.

"I declare, Lucy," said Mollie Ainslie that evening, to her co-worker,over their cosy tea, "I don't believe I shall ever get to understandthese people. There is that Eliab Hill, who was getting alongso nicely, has concluded to give up his studies. I believe he ishalf crazy anyhow. He raved about it, and glared at me so that Iwas half frightened out of my wits. I wonder why it is that cripplesare always so queer, anyhow?"

She would have been still more amazed if she had known that fromthat day Eliab Hill devoted himself to his studies with a redoubledenergy, which more than made up for the loss of his teacher's aid.Had she herself been less a child she would have seen that he whomshe had treated as such was, in truth, a man of rare strength.

CHAPTER XXII.

HOW THE FALLOW WAS SEEDED.

The time had come when the influences so long at work, the seedwhich the past had sown in the minds and hearts of races, must atlength bear fruit. The period of actual reconstruction had passed,and independent, self-regulating States had taken the placeof Military Districts and Provisional Governments. The people ofthe South began, little by little, to realize that they held theirfuture in their own hands—that the supervising and restrainingpower of the General Government had been withdrawn. The coloredrace, yet dazed with the new light of liberty, were divided betweenexultation and fear. They were like a child taking his firststeps—full of joy at the last accomplished, full of terror at theone which was before.

The state of mind of the Southern white man, with reference to thefreedman and his exaltation to the privilege of citizenship isone which cannot be too frequently analyzed or too closely kept inmind by one who desires fully to apprehend the events which havesince occurred, and the social and political structure of the Southat this time.

As a rule, the Southern man had been a kind master to his slaves.Conscious cruelty was the exception. The real evils of the systemwere those which arose from its un-conscious barbarism—thenatural and inevitable results of holding human beings as chattels,without right, the power of self-defence or protestation—dumbdriven brutes, deprived of all volition or hope, subservient toanother's will, and bereft of every motive for self-improvementas well as every opportunity to rise. The effect of this upon thedominant race was to fix in their minds, with the strength of anabsorbing passion, the idea of their own innate and unimpeachablesuperiority, of the unalterable inferiority of the slave-race, of theinfinite distance between the two, and of the depth of debasem*ntimplied by placing the two races, in any respect, on the samelevel. The Southern mind had no antipathy to the negro in a menialor servile relation. On the contrary, it was generally kind andconsiderate of him, as such. It regarded him almost precisely asother people look upon other species of animate property, exceptthat it conceded to him the possession of human passions, appetites,and motives. As a farmer likes to turn a favorite horse into afine pasture, watch his antics, and see him roll and feed and run;as he pats and caresses him when he takes him out, and delightshimself in the enjoyment of the faithful beast—just so the slave-ownertook pleasure in the slave's comfort, looked with approval upon hisenjoyment of the domestic relation, and desired to see him sleekand hearty, and physically well content.

It was only as a man that the white regarded the black withaversion; and, in that point of view, the antipathy was all themore intensely bitter since he considered the claim to manhood anintrusion upon the sacred and exclusive rights of his own race. Thisfeeling was greatly strengthened by the course of legislation andlegal construction, both national and State. Many of the subtlestexertions of American intellect were those which traced and definedthe line of demarcation, until there was built up between the races,considered as men, a wall of separation as high as heavenand as deep as hell.

It may not be amiss to cite some few examples of this, which willserve at once to illustrate the feeling itself, and to show thesteps in its progress.

1. It was held by our highest judicial tribunal that the phrase "wethe people," in the Declaration of Independence, did not includeslaves, who were excluded from the inherent rights recited thereinand accounted divine and inalienable, embracing, of course, theright of self-government, which rested on the others as substantialpremises.

2. The right or privilege, whichever it may be, of intermarriagewith the dominant race was prohibited to the African in all theStates, both free and slave, and, for all legal purposes, that manwas accounted "colored" who had one-sixteenth of African blood.

3. The common-law right of self-defence was gradually reduced bylegal subtlety, in the slave States, until only the merest shredremained to the African, while the lightest word of disobedience orgesture of disrespect from him, justified an assault on the partof the white man.

4. Early in the present century it was made a crime in all theStates of the South to teach a slave to read, the free blacks weredisfranchised, and the most stringent restraining statutes extendedover them, including the prohibition of public assembly, even fordivine worship, unless a white man were present.

5. Emancipation was not allowed except by decree of a courtof record after tedious formality and the assumption of onerousresponsibilities on the part of the master; and it was absolutelyforbidden to be done by testament.

6. As indicative of the fact that this antipathy was directed againstthe colored man as a free agent, a man, solely, may be cited thewell-known fact of the enormous admixture of the races by illicitcommerce at the South, and the further fact that this was, in verylarge measure, consequent upon the conduct of the most refinedand cultivated elements of Southern life. As a thing, an animal, amere existence, or as the servant of his desire and instrument ofhis advancement, the Southern Caucasian had no antipathy to thecolored race. As one to serve, to nurse, to minister to his willand pleasure, he appreciated and approved of the African to theutmost extent.

7. Every exercise of manly right, sentiment, or inclination, on thepart of the negro, was rigorously repressed. To attempt to escapewas a capital crime if repeated once or twice; to urge others toescape was also capitally punishable; to learn to read, to claimthe rights of property, to speak insolently, to meet for prayerwithout the sanction of the white man's presence, were all offencesagainst the law; and in this case, as in most others, the law wasan index as well as the source of a public sentiment, which grewstep by step with its progress in unconscious barbarity.

8. Perhaps the best possible indication of the force of thissentiment, in its ripened and intensest state, is afforded by thecourse of the Confederate Government in regard to the proposal thatit should arm the slaves. In the very crisis of the struggle, whenthe passions of the combatants were at fever heat, this propositionwas made. There was no serious question as to the efficiency orfaithfulness of the slaves. The masters did not doubt that, ifarmed, with the promise of freedom extended to them, they wouldprove most effective allies, and would secure to the Confederacythat autonomy which few thoughtful men at that time believed itpossible to achieve by any other means. Such was the intensity ofthis sentiment, however, that it was admitted to be impossible tohold the Southern soldiery in the field should this measure beadopted. So that the Confederacy, rather than surrender a titheof its prejudice against the negro as a man, rather thanowe its life to him, serving in the capacity of a soldier, choseto suffer defeat and overthrow. The African might raise the food,build the breastworks, and do aught of menial service or meremanual labor required for the support of the Confederacy, withoutobjection or demurrer on the part of any; but they would rathersurrender all that they had fought so long and so bravely to secure,rather than admit, even by inference, his equal manhood or hisfitness for the duty and the danger of a soldier's life. It was agrand stubborness, a magnificent adherence to an adopted and declaredprinciple, which loses nothing of its grandeur from the fact thatwe may believe the principle to have been erroneous.

9. Another very striking and peculiar illustration of this sentimentis the fact that one of the most earnest advocates of the abolition ofslavery, and a type of its Southern opponents, the author of "TheImpending Crisis"—a book which did more than any other to crystallizeand confirm the sentiment awakened at the North by "Uncle Tom'sCabin"—was perhaps more bitterly averse to the freedom, citizenship,and coexistence of the African with the Caucasian than any man thathas ever written on the subject. He differed from his slaveholdingneighbors only in this: they approved the African as a menial,but abominated him as a self-controlling man; he abhorredhim in both relations. With them, the prejudice of racemade the negro hateful only when he trenched on the sacred domainof their superior and self-controlling manhood; with him,hatred of the race overleaped the conventional relation and includedthe African wherever found, however employed, or in whatsoeverrelation considered. His horror of the black far overtopped hisancient antipathy to the slave. The fact that he is an exception,and that the extravagant rhodomontades of "Nojoque" are neitherindorsed nor believed by any considerable number of the Southernpeople, confirms most powerfully this analysis of their tempertoward the African.

10. Still another signal instance of its accuracy is the strikingfact that one of the hottest political struggles since the wararose out of the proposition to give the colored man the right totestify, in courts of justice, against a white man. The objectionwas not bottomed on any desire to deprive the colored man ofhis legal rights, but had its root in the idea that it would be adegradation of the white man to allow the colored man to take thewitness-stand and traverse the oath of a Caucasian.

Now, as it relates to our story:—That this most intense and vitalsentiment should find expression whenever the repressive power ofthe conquering people was removed was most natural; that it wouldbe fanned into a white heat by the freedman's enfranchisem*nt wasbeyond cavil; and that Red Wing should escape such manifestationsof the general abhorrence of the work of development there goingon was not to be expected, even by its most sanguine friend.

Although the conduct of the teachers at Red Wing had been such asto awaken the respect of all, yet there were two things which madethe place peculiarly odious. One was the influence of Eliab Hillwith his people in all parts of the county, which had very greatlyincreased since he had ceased to be a pupil, in appearance, andhad betaken himself more than ever to solitude and study. The otherwas the continued prosperity and rugged independence of Nimbus,who was regarded as a peculiarly "sassy nigg*r." To the maligninfluence of these two was attributed every difference of opinionbetween employer and employee, and every impropriety of conduct onthe part of the freedmen of Horsford. Eliab was regarded as a wickedspirit who devised evil continually, and Nimbus as his willingfamiliar, who executed his purpose with ceaseless diligence. So RedWing was looked upon with distrust, and its two leading characters,unconsciously to themselves, became marked men, upon whom restedthe suspicion and aversion of a whole community.

CHAPTER XXIII.

AN OFFERING OF FIRST-FRUITS.

An election was impending for members of the Legislature, andthere was great excitement in the county of Horsford. Of whiteRepublicans there were not above a half dozen who were openly knownas such. There were two or three others who were regarded withsome suspicion by their neighbors, among whom was Hesden Le Moyne.Since he had acted as a judge of election at the time of theadoption of the Constitution, he had never been heard to expressany opinion upon political matters. He was known to have voted forthat Constitution, and when questioned as to his reasons for sucha course, had arrogantly answered,

"Simply because I saw fit to do so."

His interrogator had not seen fit to inquire further. Hesden LeMoyne was not a man with whom one wished to provoke a controversy.His unwillingness to submit to be catechised was generally acceptedas a proof positive of his "Radical" views. He had been an adviserof Nimbus, his colored playmate, in the purchase of the Red Wingproperty, his interest in Eliab Hill had not slackened since thatworthy cast in his lot with Nimbus, and he did not hesitate tocommend the work of the school. He had several times attendedthe examinations there, had become known to the teachers, and tookan active interest in the movement there going on. What his personalviews were in regard to the very peculiar state of affairs by whichhe was surrounded he had never found it necessary to declare. Heattended quietly to the work of his plantation, tenderly cared forhis invalid mother, and watched the growth of his little son withthe seemingly settled conviction that his care was due to themrather than to the public. His counsel and assistance were stillfreely sought in private matters by the inhabitants of the littlevillage of Red Wing, and neither was ever refused where he saw thatit might do good. He was accounted by them a friend, but not apartisan, and none of them had ever discussed any political questionswith him, except Eliab Hill, who had more than once talked withhim upon the important problem of the future of that race to whichthe unfortunate cripple was so slightly akin and yet so closelyallied.

There was a large majority of colored men in the county, and oneof the candidates for the Legislature was a colored man. Whileelections were under the military control there had been no seriousattempt to overcome this majority, but now it was decided that thecounty should be "redeemed," which is the favorite name in thatsection of the country for an unlawful subversion of a majority.So the battle was joined, and the conflict waged hot and fierce.That negroes—no matter how numerous they might be—should rule,should bear sway and control in the county of Horsford, wasa thought not by any means to be endured. It was a blow on everywhite cheek—an insult to every Caucasian heart. Men cursed wildlywhen they thought of it. Women taunted them with cowardice forpermitting it. It was the one controlling and consuming thought ofthe hour.

On the other hand, the colored people felt that it was necessaryfor them to assert their newly-acquired rights if they expected toretain them. So that both parties were influenced by the strongestconsiderations which could possibly affect their action.

Red Wing was one of the points around which this contest raged thehottest. Although it had never become a polling precinct, and wasa place of no mercantile importance, it was yet the center fromwhich radiated the spirit that animated the colored men of the mostpopulous district in the county. It was their place of meeting andconference. Accustomed to regard their race as peculiarly dependentupon the Divine aid because of the lowly position they had so longoccupied, they had become habituated to associate political andreligious interests. The helplessness of servitude left no roomfor hope except through the trustfulness of faith. The generationwhich saw slavery swept away, and they who have heard the tale ofdeliverance from the lips of those who had been slaves, will nevercease to trace the hand of God visibly manifested in the eventsculminating in liberty, or to regard the future of the freed raceas under the direct control of the Divine Being. For this reasonthe political and religious interests and emotions of this peopleare quite inseparable. Wherever they meet to worship, there theywill meet to consult of their plans, hopes, and progress, as at oncea distinct race and a part of the American people. Their religionis tinged with political thought, and their political thought shapedby religious conviction.

In this respect the colored race in America are the true childrenof the Covenanters and the Puritans. Their faith is of the sameunquestioning type, which no disappointment or delay can daunt,and their view of personal duty and obligation in regard to it isnot less intense than that which led men to sing psalms and utterpraises on board the storm-bound "Mayflower." The most English ofall English attributes has, by a strange transmutation, become theleading element in the character of the Africo-American. The samemixed motive of religious duty toward posterity and devotion topolitical liberty which peopled the bleak hills of New England andthe fertile lands of Canaan with peoples fleeing from bondage andoppression, may yet cover the North with dusky fugitives from thespirit and the situs of slavery.

From time to time there had been political meetings held at thechurch or school-house, composed mainly of colored men, though nowand then a little knot of white men would come in and watch theirproceedings, sometimes from curiosity, and sometimes from spleen.Heretofore, however, there had been no more serious interruptionthan some sneering remarks and derisive laughter. The colored menfelt that it was their own domain, and showed much more boldness thanthey would ever manifest on other occasions. During this campaign,however, it was determined to have a grand rally, speeches, and abarbecue at Red Wing. The colored inhabitants of that section wereput upon their mettle. Several sheep and pigs were roasted, rudetables were spread under the trees, and all arrangements made fora great occasion.

At an early hour of the day when it was announced that the meetingwould be held, groups of colored people of all ages and both sexesbegan to assemble. They were all talking earnestly as they came,for some matter of unusual interest seemed to have usurped forthe moment their accustomed lightness and jollity of demeanor.Nimbus, as the most prosperous and substantial colored man ofthe region, had always maintained a decided leadership among them,all the more from the fact that he had sought thereby to obtainno advantage for himself. Though a most ardent supporter of thatparty with which he deemed the interests of his race inseparablyallied, he had never taken a very active part in politics, and hadpersistently refused to be put forward for any official position,although frequently urged to allow himself to be named a candidate.

"No," he would always say; "I hain't got no larnin' an' not muchsense. Besides, I'se got all I kin manage, an' more too, a-takin'keer o' dis yer farm. Dat's what I'm good fer. I kin manage terbacker,an' I'd ruther hev a good plantation an' run it myself, than allthe offices in the worl'. I'se jes fit fer dat, an' I ain't fitfer nuffin' else."

His success proved the justice of his estimate, and the more heprospered the stronger was his hold upon his people. Of course,there were some who envied him his good-fortune, but such was hisgood-nature and readiness to render all the assistance in hispower that this dangerous leaven did not spread. "Bre'er Nimbus" wasstill the heart and life of the community which had its center atRed Wing. His impetuosity was well tempered by the subtle cautionof Eliab Hill, without whose advice he seldom acted in any importantmatter.

The relations between these two men had continued singularly close,although of late Eliab had been more independent of his friend'sassistance than formerly; for, at the suggestion of the teachers,his parishioners had contributed little sums—a dime, a quarter,and a few a half-dollar apiece—to get him one of those wheeledchairs which are worked by the hands, and by means of which theinfirm are frequently enabled to move about without other aid. Itwas the first time they had ever given anything to a minister oftheir own, and it was hard for those who had to support familiesupon a pittance which in other parts of the country would meanstarvation; yet so many had hastened to give, that the "go-cart,"as it was generally called, proved a vehicle of marvelous luxuryand finish to the unaccustomed eyes of these rude children of theplantation.

In this chair Eliab was able to transport himself to and from theschool-room, and even considerable distances among his people.This had brought him into nearer relations with them, and it waslargely owing to his influence that, after Northern benevolencebegan to restrict its gifts and to condition its benevolence uponthe exercise of a self-help which should provide for a moiety ofthe expense, the school still continued full and prosperous, andthe services of Miss Ainslie were retained for another year—thelast she intended to give to the missionary work which accidenthad thrust upon her young life. Already her heart was pining forthe brightness and kindly cheer of the green-clad hills from whichshe had been exiled so long, and the friends whose hearts and armswould welcome her again to her childhood's home.

On the morning of the barbecue Nimbus and his household were astirbetimes. Upon him devolved the chief burden of the entertainmentwhich was to be spread before his neighbors. There was an abundanceof willing hands, but few who could do much toward providingthe requisite material. His premises had undergone little changebeyond the wide, cool, latticed walk which now led from his houseto the kitchen, and thence to "Uncle 'Liab's" house, over whichVirginia-creepers and honeysuckle were already clambering in thefurious haste which that quick-growing clime inspires in vegetation.A porch had also been added to his own house, up the posts andalong the eaves of which the wisteria was clambering, while itspendulous, lilac flower-stems hung thick below. A few fruit-treeswere planted here and there, and the oaks, which he had topped andshortened back when he cut away the forest for his house-lot, hadput out new and dense heads of dark-green foliage that gave to thehumble home a look of dignity and repose hardly to be matched bymore ornate and costly structures. Upon the north side the corngrew rank and thick up to the very walls of the mud-daubed gable,softening its rudeness and giving a charm even to the bare logsof which it was formed. Lugena had grown full and matronly, hadadded two to her brood of lusty children, and showed what even abrief period of happiness and prosperity would do for her race asshe bustled about in neat apparel with a look of supreme contenton her countenance.

Long before the first comers from the country around had made theirappearance, the preparations were completed, the morning mealcleared away, the table set in the latticed passage for the dinnerof the most honored guests, the children made tidy, and Nimbus,magnificently attired in clean shirt, white pants and vest, ablack alpaca coat and a new Panama hat, was ready to welcome theexpected arrivals.

Eliab, too, made tidy by the loving care of his friends, was earlymounted in his hand-carriage, and propelling himself here and there tomeet the first comers. The barbecue was roasting under the chargeof an experienced cook; the tables were arranged, and the speakers'stand at the back of the school-house in the grove was in the handsof the decorators. All was mirth and happiness. The freedmen wereabout to offer oblations to liberty—a sacrifice of the first-fruitsof freedom.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A BLACK DEMOCRITUS.

"I say, Bre'er Nimbus!" cried a voice from the midst of agroup of those first arriving, "how yer do dis mornin'? Hope yer'swell, Squar', you an' all de family."

The speaker was a slender, loose-jointed young man, somewhat shabbilyattired, with a shapeless narrow-brimmed felt hat in his hand, whowas bowing and scraping with a mock solemnity to the dignitary ofRed Wing, while his eyes sparkled with fun and his comrades roaredat his comic gestures.

"Is dat you, Berry?" said Nimbus, turning, with a smile. "How yerdo, Berry? Glad ter see ye well," nodding familiarly to the othersand extending his hand.

"Thank ye, sah. You do me proud," said the jester, sidling towardshim and bowing to the crowd with serio-comic gravity. "Ladies an'gemmen, yer jes takes notice, ef yer please, dat I ain't stuckup—not a mite, I ain't, ef I is pore. I'se not ashamed tershake hands wid Mr. Squar' Nimbus—Desmit—War'. I stan's by himwhatever his name, an' no matter how many he's got, ef it's more'nhe's got fingers an' toes." He bowed low with a solemn wave of hisgrimy hat, as he shook the proffered hand, amid the laughter ofhis audience, with whom he seemed to be a prime favorite.

"Glad ter know it, Berry," said Nimbus, shaking the other's handwarmly, while his face glowed with evident pleasure. "How's allgittin' on wid ye, ennyhow?"

"Gittin' on, Bre'er Nimbus?" replied Berry, striking an attitude."Gittin' on, did yer say? Lor' bress yer soul, yer nebber seedde beat—nebber. Ef yer ebber pegs out h'yer at Red Wing, Bre'erNimbus, all yer's got ter du is jes ter come up on de Kentry Linewhar folks libs. Jes you look o' dar, will yer?" he continued,extending a slender arm ending in a skinny hand, the widely partedfingers of which seemed like talons, while the upturned palm wasworn smooth and was of a yellowish, pallid white about the fingers'ends. "Jes see de 'fec's ob high libbin' on a nigg*r. Dar's musclefer ye. All you needs, Bre'er Nimbus, is jest a few weeks ob goodfeed! Come up dar now an' wuk a farm on sheers, an' let MarseSykes 'llowance ye, an' yer'll come out like me an' git some goodclothes, too! Greatest place ter start up a run-down nigg*r yerever seed. Jes' look at me, now. When I went dar I didn't hev arag ter my back—nary a rag, an' now jes see how I'se covered wid'em!"

There was a laugh from the crowd in which Berry joined heartily,rolling his eyes and contorting his limbs so as to show in thecompletest manner the striking contrast between his lank, stringy,meanly-clad frame and the full, round, well-clothed form of Nimbus.

When the laughter had subsided he struck in again, with the art ofan accomplished tease, and sidling still closer to the magnate ofRed Wing, he said, with a queer assumption of familiarity:

"An' how is yer good lady, Missus Lugena, an' all de babies, Squar'?They tell me you're gittin' on right smart an' think of settin' upyer kerridge putty soon. Jes' ez soon ez yer git it ready, Sallyan' me's a-comin' over ter christen it. We's cousins, yer know,Squar', leastways, Sally an' Lugena's allus said ter be kin on thefather's side—the white side ob de family, yer know. Yer wouldn'tgo back on yer relations, would yer, Nimbus? We ain't proud, not abit proud, Bre'er Nimbus, an' yer ain't a gwine ter forgit us, isyer? Yah, yah, yah!"

There was a tinge of earnestness in this good-natured banter, butit was instantly dissipated by Nimbus's reply:

"Not a bit of it, cousin Berry. Lugena charged me dis berry mornin',jes ez soon ez I seed you an' Sally, ter invite ye ter help eather big dinner to-day. Whar' is Sally?"

"Dar now," said Berry, "dat's jes what I done tole Sally, now. She'sgot a notion, kase you's rich yer's got stuck up, you an' Lugena.But I tole her, sez I, 'Nimbus ain't dat ar sort of a chile, Nimbushain't. He's been a heap luckier nor de rest of us, but he ain'tgot de big-head, nary bit.' Dat's what I say, an' durn me ef Idon't b'lieve it too, I does. We's been hevin' purty hard times,Sally an' me hez. Nebber did hev much luck, yer know—'cept forchillen. Yah, yah! An' jes' dar we's hed a trifle more'n we 'zacklykeered about. Might hev spared a few an' got along jest ez well,'cordin' ter my notion. Den de ole woman's been kinder peaked thissummer, an' some two or free ob de babies hez been right poorly,an' Sal—wal, she got a leettle fretted, kase yer know we bothwuks purty hard an' don't seem ter git ahead a morsel. So she gother back up, an' sez she ter me dis mornin': 'Berry,' sez she, 'Iain't a gwine ter go near cousin Nimbus', I ain't, kase I hain'tgot no fine clo'es, ner no chicken-fixing ter take ter de barbecuenuther.' So she's done stop up ter Bob Mosely's wid de baby, an' It'ought I'd jes come down an' spy out de lan' an' see which on uswuz right. Dat's de fac' truf, Bre'er Nimbus, an' no lyin". Yah,yah!"

"Sho, sho, Berry," replied Nimbus, reproachfully; "what makes Sallysech a big fool? She oughter be ashamed ter treat her ole fren'sdat ar way."

"Now yer talkin', Bre'er Nimbus, dat you is! But la sakes! Bre'erNimbus, dat ar gal hain't got no pride. Why yer wouldn't b'lievehit, but she ain't even 'shamed of Berry—fac'! Yah, yah! What yertinks ob dat now?"

"Why, co'se she ain't," said Nimbus. "Don't see how she could be.Yer always jes dat peart an' jolly dat nobody couldn't git put outwid yer."

"Tink so, Bre'er Nimbus? Wal, now, I'shures ye dat yer couldn'tbe wuss mistaken ef yer'd tried. On'y jes' dis mornin' Marse Sykesgot put out wid me jes de wus kind."

"How's dat, Berry?"

"Wal, yer see, I'se been a wukkin' fer him ebber sence de s'rrenderjes de same ez afore, only dat he pays me an' I owes him. He paysme in sto' orders, an' it 'pears like I owes him mo' an' mo' ebberytime we settles up. Didn't use ter be so when we lied de Bureau,kase den Marse Sykes' 'count didn't use ter be so big; but deselas' two year sence de Bureau done gone, bress God, I gits nex'ter nuffin' ez we goes 'long, an' hez less 'n nuffin' atterwards."

"What wages d'ye git?" asked Nimbus.

"Marse Sykes, he sez I gits eight dollahs a month, myself, an'Sally she gits fo'; an' den we hez tree pounds o' meat apiece an'a peck o' meal, each on us, ebbery week. We could git along rightpeart on dat—we an' de chillens, six on 'em—wid jes' a drop o'coffee now an' agin, yer know; but yer see, Sally, she's a leetleonsartin an' can't allus wuk, an' it 'pears like it takes all ob mywuk ter pay fer her rations when she don't wuk. I dunno how 'tis,but dat's de way Marse Sykes figgers it out,"

"Yer mus' buy a heap ob fine clo'es," said one of the bystanders.

"'Wall, ef I does, I leaves 'em ter home fer fear ob wearin' 'emout, don't I?" said Berry, glancing at his dilapidated costume."Dat's what's de matter. I'se bad 'nough off, but yer jest ortersee dem chillen! Dey war's brak ebbery day jes' like a minister,yer knows—not sto' clo'es dough, oh, no! home-made all de time!Mostly bar'-skins, yer know! Yah, yah!"

"An' yer don't drink, nuther," said one whose words and appearanceclearly showed that he regarded it as a matter of surprise thatany one should not.

"'Ceptin' only de Christmas an' when some feller treats," responded
Berry.

"P'raps he makes it outen de holidays," said a third.

"Dar's whar my boss sloshes it on ter me. Clar ef I don't hev moreholidays than dar is wuk-days, 'cordin 'ter his 'count."

"Holidays!" said Berry; "dat's what's de matter. Hain't hed butjes tree holidays 'cep' de Chris'mas weeks, in all dat time. So,I 'llowed I'd take one an' come ter dis yer meetin'. Wal, 'long defust ob de week, I make bold ter tell him so, an' ebber sence dat'pears like he's gwine ter hu't hisself, he's been so mad. I'sedone tried not ter notice it, kase I'se dat solemn-like myself, yerknows, I couldn't 'ford ter take on no mo' ob dat kind; but everyday or two he's been a lettin' slip somethin' 'bout nigg*s gaddin'roun', yer know."

"That was mean," said Nimbus, "kase ef yer is allus laughin' an'hollerin' roun', I'm boun' ter say dar ain't no stiddier han' inde county at enny sort ob wuk."

"Jes' so. Much obleeged ter ye, Squar', fer dat. Same ter yeself'tu. Howsomever, he didn't make no sech remark, not ezI heerd on, an' dis mornin' bright an' airly, he comed roun' an'axes me didn't I want ter take de carry-all and go ter Lewyburg;an' when I 'llowed dat I didn't keer tu, not jes to-day, yer know,he axed me, was I comin' h'yer ter dis yer meetin', an' when I'llowed I was, he jes' got up an' rar'd. Yah, yah! how he did makede turf fly, all by hissef, kase I wur a whistlin' 'Ole Jim Crow'an' some other nice psalm-tunes, jes' ter keep myself from larfin'in his face! Till finally he sez, sez he, 'Berry Lawson, ef yergoes ter dat er Radikil meetin', yer needn't never come back termy plantation no mo'. Yer can't stay h'yer no longer—' jes so.Den I made bold ter ax him how our little 'count stood, kase we'sbeen livin' mighty close fer a while, in hopes ter git a mite aheadso's ter sen' de two oldes' chillen ter school h'yer, 'gin winter.An' den sez he, 'Count be damned!'—jes so; 'don't yer know hit'sin de papers dat ef yer don't 'bey me an' wuk obedient ter mywishes, yer don't git nary cent, nohow at all?' I tole him I didn'tknow dat ar, and didn't reckon he did. Den he out wid de paper an'read it ober ter me, an' shure 'nough, dar 'tis, dough I'll swarI nebber heerd nothin' on't afo'. Nebber hed no sech ting in depapers when de Bureau man drawed 'em up, dat's shuah."

"How de debble yer come ter sign sech a paper, Berry?" said Nimbus.

"Dod burned ef I know, Cousin Nimbus. Jes kase I don' know no better,I s'pose. How I gwine ter know what's in dat paper, hey? Does youread all de papers yer signs, Squar' Nimbus? Not much, I reckons;but den you keeps de minister right h'yer ter han' tu read 'em forye. Can't all ob us afford dat, Bre'er Nimbus."

"Yah, yah, dat's so!" "Good for you, Berry!" from the crowd.

"Wal, yer orter hev a guardian—all on us ought, for dat matter,"said Nimbus; "but I don't s'pose dere's ary man in de country datwould sign sech a paper ef he know'd it, an' nobody but GranvilleSykes that would hev thought of sech a dodge."

"It's jes so in mine," said one of the bystanders. "And in mine;""an' mine," added one and another.

"And has any one else offered to turn men off for comin' here?"asked Nimbus.

To his surprise, he learned that two thirds the men in the crowdhad been thus threatened.

"Jes let 'em try it!" he exclaimed, angrily. "Dey dassent do it,nohow. They'll find out dat a man can't be imposed on allus, ef heis pore an' black. Dat dey will! I'se only jes a pore man,but I hain't enny sech mean cuss ez to stan' roun' an' see my racean' kin put on in dat ar way, I hain't."

"All right, Cousin Nimbus, ef Marse Sykes turns me outen house an'home, I knows right whar I comes ter, now."

"Co'se yer do," said Nimbus, proudly. "Yer jes comes ter me an' Itakes keer on ye. I needs anudder han' in de crap, ennyhow."

"Now, Cousin Nimbus, yer ain't in airnest, is yer? Yer don'tmean dat, pop-suah, does yer now?" asked Berry anxiously. "DatI does, Cousin Berry! dat I does!" was the hearty response.

"Whoop, hurrah!" cried Berry, throwing up his hat, turninga hand-spring, and catching the hat as it came down. "Whar's datSally Ann? H'yeah, you fellers, clar away dar an' let me come ather. H'yer I goes now, I jes tole her dis yer bressed mornin' datit tuk a fool fer luck. Hi-yah!" he cried, executing a sommersault,and diving through the crowd he ran away. As he started off, hesaw his wife walking along the road toward Nimbus' house by theside of Eliab Hill in his rolling-chair. Berry dashed back intothe circle where Nimbus was engaged in earnest conversation withthe crowd in relation to the threats which had been made to themby their employers.

"H'yer, Cousin Nimbus," he cried, "I done fergot ter thank ye,I was dat dar' flustered by good luck, yer know. I'se a t'ousan'times obleeged ter ye, Bre'er Nimbus, jes' a t'ousan' times, an'h'yer's Sally Ann, right outside on de road h'yer, she'll be powerfulglad ter hear on't. I'd jes ez lief wuk fer you as a white man,Bre'er Nimbus. I ain't proud, I ain't! Yah! yah!"

He dragged Nimbus through the crowd to intercept his wife, cryingout as soon as they came near:

"H'yer, you Sally Ann, what yer tinks now? H'yer's Bre'er Nimbussez dat ef dat ole cuss, Marse Sykes, should happen ter turn us off,he's jest a gwine ter take us in bag an' baggage, traps, chillenand calamities, an' gib us de bes' de house affo'ds, an' wuk in decrap besides. What yer say now, you Sally Ann, ain't yer 'shamedfer what yer sed 'bout Bre'er Nimbus only dis yere mornin'?"

"Dat I be, Cousin Nimbus," said Sally, turning a comely but carewornface toward Nimbus, and extending her hand with a smile. "Bre'er'Liab was jest a-tellin' me what a fool I was ter ever feel sotoward jes de bes' man in de kentry, ez he sez."

"An' I be damned ef he ain't right, too," chimed in Berry.

"Sho, you Berry. Ain't yer'shamed now—usin' cuss-words afore deminister!" said Sally.

"Beg yer parding, Bre'er Hill," said Berry, taking off his hat,and bowing with mock solemnity to that worthy. "Hit's been sech along time sence Sunday come ter our house dat I nigh 'bout forgotmy 'ligion."

"An' yer manners too," said Sally briskly, turning from herconversation with Nimbus.

"Jes so, Bre'er Hill, but yer see I was dat ar flustered by myole woman takin' on so 'bout dat ar sneakin' cuss ob a Marse Sykesa turnin' on us off, dat I hardly knowed which from todder, an'when Cousin Nimbus 'greed ter take me up jes de minnit he droppedme down, hit kinder tuk me off my whoopendickilar, yer know."

CHAPTER XXV.

A DOUBLE-HEADED ARGUMENT.

The attempt to prevent the attendance of voters at the meeting,showing as it did a preconcerted purpose and design on the partof the employers to use their power as such, to overcome theirpolitical opponents, was the cause of great indignation at themeeting, and gave occasion for some flights of oratory which wouldhave fallen upon dull ears but for the potent truth on which theywere based. Even the cool and cautious Eliab Hill could not restrainhimself from an allusion to the sufferings of his people when hewas raised upon the platform, still sitting in his rolling-chair,and with clasped hands and reverent face asked God's blessing uponthe meeting about to be held.

Especially angry was our friend Nimbus about this attempt todeprive his race of the reasonable privileges of a citizen. Perhapsthe fact that he was himself a proprietor and employer rendered himstill more jealous of the rights of his less fortunate neighbors.The very immunity which he had from any such danger no doubtemboldened him to express his indignation more strongly, and afterthe regular speeches had been made he mounted the platform and madea vigorous harangue upon the necessity of maintaining the rightswhich had been conferred upon them by the chances of war.

"We's got ter take keer ob ourselves," said he. "De guv'ment hezbeen doin' a heap for us. It's gin us ourselves, our wives, ourchillen, an' a chance ter du fer ourselves an' fer dem; an' nowwe's got ter du it. Ef we don't stan' togedder an' keep de whitefolks from a-takin' away what we's got, we nebber gits no mo'.In fac', we jes goes back'ards instead o' forrards till yer can'ttell de difference twixt a free nigg*r an' a rale ole time slave.Dat's my 'pinion, an' I say now's de time ter begin—jes when deybegins. Ef a man turns off ary single one fer comin' ter dis meetin'evr'y han' dat is ter wuk for him oughter leave him to once an'nary colored man ought ter do a stroke ob wuk fer him till hetakes 'em back."

Loud cheers greeted this announcement, but one old white-headed manarose and begged leave to ask him a question, which being granted,he said:

"Now, feller citizens, I'se been a listenin' ter all dat's beensaid here to-day, an' I'm jest ez good a 'Publikin ez enny ub despeakers. Yer all knows dat. But I can't fer de life ob me see howwe's gwine ter carry out sech advice. Ef we leave one man, how'swe gwine ter git wuk wid anodder? An' ef we does, ain't it jest ashiftin' ub han's? Does it make ary difference—at least enoughter speak on—whether a white man hez his wuk done by one nigg*rer another?"

"But," said Nimbus, hotly, "we oughtn't ter none on us wukfer him."

"Then," said the old man, "what's we ter do fer a libbin'? Here'shalf er two thirds ob dis crowd likely ter be turned off aforeto-morrer night. Now what's yer gwine ter do 'bout it? We's gotter lib an' so's our wives an' chillens? How's we gwine ter s'portdem widout home or wuk?"

"Let them git wuk wid somebody else, that's all," said Nimbus.

"Yes, Bre'er Nimbus, but who's a-gwine ter s'port 'em while we'swaitin' fer de white folks ter back down, I wants ter know?"

"I will," said Nimbus, proudly.

"I hain't no manner ob doubt," said the other, "dat Bre'er Nimbus'lldo de berry bes' dat he can in sech a case, but he must 'memberdat he's only one and we's a great many. He's been mighty fortinitan' I'se mighty glad ter know it; but jes s'pose ebbery man in decounty dat hires a han' should turn him off kase he comes ter dismeetin' an' goes ter 'lection, what could Bre'er Nimbus du towardsa feedin' on us? Ob co'se, dey's got ter hev wuk in de crop, butyou mus' member dat when de 'lection comes off de crap's all laidby, an' der ain't no mo' pressin' need fer wuk fer months ter come.Now, how's we gwine ter lib during dat time? Whar's we gwine terlib? De white folks kin stan' it—dey's got all dey wants—butwe can't. Now, what's we gwine ter do? Jest ez long ez de guv'mentstood by us an' seed dat we hed a fa'r show, we could stan' by deguv'ment. I'se jest ez good a 'Publikin ez ennybody h'yer, yer allknows dat; but I hain't a gwine ter buck agin impossibles, I ain't.I'se got a sick wife an' five chillen. I ain't a gwine ter bring'em nex' do' ter starvation 'less I sees some use in it. Now, Idon't see no use in dis h'yer notion, not a bit. Ef de white folkshez made up der minds—an' hit seems ter me dey hez—dat cullu'dfolks shan't vote 'less dey votes wid dem, we mout jest ez wellgib up fust as las'!"

"Nebber! nebber, by God!" cried Nimbus, striding across theplatform, his hands clenched and the veins showing full and roundon neck and brow. The cry was echoed by nearly all present. Shouts,and cheers, and groans, and hisses rose up in an indistinguishableroar.

"Put him out! Down wid him!" with other and fiercer cries, greetedthe old man's ears.

Those around him began to jostle and crowd upon him. Already violenthands were upon him, when Eliab Hill dashed up the inclined planewhich had been made for his convenience, and, whirling himselfto the side of Nimbus, said, as he pointed with flaming face andimperious gesture to the hustling and boisterous crowd about theold man,

"Stop that!"

In an instant Nimbus was in the midst of the swaying crowd, hisstrong arms dashing right and left until he stood beside the nowterrified remonstrant.

"Dar, dar, boys, no mo' ob dat," he cried, as he pushed the howlingmass this way and that. "Jes you listen ter Bre'er 'Liab. Don'tyer see he's a talkin' to yer?" he said, pointing to the platformwhere Eliab sat with upraised hand, demanding silence.

When silence was at last obtained he spoke with more earnestness andpower than was his wont, pleading for moderation and thoughtfulnessfor each other, and a careful consideration of their surroundings.

"There is too much truth," he said, "in all that has been saidhere to-day. Brother Nimbus is right in saying that we must guardour rights and privileges most carefully, if we would not losethem. The other brother is right, too, in saying that but few ofus can exercise those privileges if the white men stand togetherand refuse employment to those who persist in voting againstthem. It is a terrible question, fellow-citizens, and one that itis hard to deal with. Every man should do his duty and vote, andact as a citizen whenever called upon to do so, for the sake ofhis race in the future. We should not be weakly and easily drivenfrom what has been gained for us. We may have to suffer—perhapsto fight and die; but our lives are nothing to the inheritance wemay leave our children.

"At the same time we should not grow impatient with our brethrenwho cannot walk with us in this way. I believe that we shall winfrom this contest the supreme seal of our race's freedom. It maynot come in our time, but it will be set on the foreheads of ourchildren. At all events, we must work together, aid each other,comfort each other, stand by each other. God has taught us patienceby generations of suffering and waiting, and by the light whichcame afterwards. We should not doubt Him now. Let us face ourdanger like men; overcome it if we may, and if not, bow to the forceof the storm and gather strength, rooting ourselves deep and widewhile it blows, in order that we may rise erect and free when itshall have passed.

"But above all things there must be no disagreement. The coloredpeople must stand or fall together. Those who have been as fortunateas our Brother Nimbus may breast the tempest, and we must allstruggle on and up to stand beside them. It will not do to weaklyyield or rashly fight. Remember that our people are on trial, andmore than mortal wisdom is required of us by those who have stoodour friends. Let us show them that we are men, not only in courageto do and dare, but also to wait and suffer. Let the young andstrong, and those who have few children, who have their own homesor a few months' provision, let them bid defiance to those whowould oppress us; but let us not require those to join us who arenot able or willing to take the worst that may come. Remember thatwhile others have given us freedom, we must work and struggle andwait for liberty—that liberty which gives as well as receives,self-supporting, self-protecting, holding the present and lookingto the future with confidence. We must be as free of the employeras we are of the master—free of the white people as they are ofus. It will be a long, hard struggle, longer and harder than wehave known perhaps; but as God lives, we shall triumph if we do butpersevere with wisdom and patience, and trust in Him who brought usup out of the Egypt of bondage and set before our eyes the Canaanof liberty."

The effect of this address was the very opposite of what Eliab hadintended. His impassioned references to their imperilled liberty,together with his evident apprehension of even greater danger thanwas then apparent, accorded so poorly with his halting counselfor moderation that it had the effect to arouse the minds of hishearers to resist such aggression even at every risk. So decidedwas this feeling that the man whom Nimbus had just rescued fromthe rudeness of those about him and who had been forgotten duringthe remarks of the minister, now broke forth and swinging his hatabout his head, shouted:

"Three cheers for 'Liab Hill! an' I tells yer what, brudderin',dat ef dis yer is ter be a fight fer takin' keer ob de freedom we'sgot, I'se in fer it as fur ez ennybody. We must save the crapthat's been made, ef we don't pitch ary other one in our day atall. Them's my notions, an' I'll stan' by 'em—er die by 'em efwust comes ter wust."

Then there was a storm of applause, some ringing resolutions wereadopted, and the meeting adjourned to discuss the barbecue and talkpatriotism with each other.

There was much clamor and boasting. The candidates, in accordancewith a time-honored custom in that region, had come prepared totreat, and knowing that no liquor could be bought at Red Wing, hadbrought a liberal supply, which was freely distributed among thevoters.

On account of the large majority of colored voters in this country,no attempt had previously been made to influence them in thismanner, so that they were greatly excited by this threat of coercion.Of course, they talked very loud, and many boasts were made, asto what they would do if the white people persisted in the courseindicated. There was not one, however, who in his drunkest momentthreatened aught against their white neighbors unless they wereunjustly debarred the rights which the law conferred upon them.They wanted "a white man's chance." That was all.

There was no such resolution passed, but it was generally noisedabroad that the meeting had resolved that any planter who dischargeda hand for attending that meeting would have the privilege ofcutting and curing his tobacco without help. As this was the chiefcrop of the region, and one admitting of no delay in its harvestingand curing, it was thought that this would prove a sufficientguaranty of fair treatment. However, a committee was appointedto look after this matter, and the day which had seemed to dawn soinauspiciously left the colored voters of that region more unitedand determined than they had ever been before.

CHAPTER XXVI.

TAKEN AT HIS WORD

It was past midnight of the day succeeding the meeting, whenNimbus was awakened by a call at his front gate. Opening the doorhe called out:

"Who's dar?"

"Nobody but jes we uns, Bre'er Nimbus," replied the unmistakablevoice of Berry. "H'yer we is, bag an' baggage, traps an' calamities,jest ez I tole yer. Call off yer dogs, ef yer please, an' come an''scort us in as yer promised. H'yer we is—Sally an' me an' Boban' Mariar an' Bill an' Jim an' Sally junior—an' fo' God I can'tget fru de roll-call alone. Sally, you jest interduce Cousin Nimbuster de rest ob dis family, will yer?"

Sure enough, on coming to the gate, Nimbus found Berry and Sallythere with their numerous progeny, several bundles of clothing anda few household wares.

"Why, what does dis mean, Berry?" he asked.

"Mean? Yah, yah!" said the mercurial Berry. "Wal now, ain't datcool? H'yer he axes me ter come ter his house jest ez soon ez everMarse Granville routs us offen his plantation, an' ez soon's everwe comes he wants ter know what it means! How's dat fer cousinin',eh? Now don't yer cry, Sally Ann. Jes yer wait till I tell CousinNimbus de circ*mstanshuels an' see ef he don't ax us inside degate."

"Oh, Cousin Nimbus," said Sally, weeping piteously, "don't yergo ter fault us now—don't please. Hit warn't our fault at all;leastways we didn't mean it so. I did tell Berry he'd better stayan' du what Marse Sykes wanted him ter, 'stead of comin' tu dermeetin', an' my mind misgive me all day kase he didn't. But I didn'tlook for no sech bad luck as we've hed."

"Come in, come in, gal," said Nimbus, soothingly, as he opened thegate, "an' we'll talk it all ober in de mornin'."

"Oh, der ain't nuffin' mo' to be told, Squar'," said Berry, "on'ywhen we done got home we foun' dis yer truck outdoors in the road,an' dechillen at a neighbor's cryin' like de mischief. De housewas locked up an' nailed up besides. I went down ter Marse Sykes'an' seed him, atter a gret while, but he jes sed he didn't knownothin' 'bout it, only he wanted the house fer somebody ez 'ud wukwhen he tole 'em tu, instead ub gaddin' roun' ter p'litcal meetins;an' ez my little traps happened ter be in de way he'd jes sot'eminter de big-road, so dey'd be handy when I come ter load 'em onter take away. So we jes take de lightest on 'em an' de chillen an'corned on ter take up quarters wid you cordin' ter de 'rangementwe made yesterday."

"Dat's all right; jes right," said Nimbus; "but I don't understandit quite. Do yer mean ter say dat Marse Sykes turn you uns offenhis plantation while you'se all away, jes kase yer come ter demeetin' yesterday?"

"Nuffin' else in de libbin yairth. Jes put us out an' lock de do'an' nailed up de winders, an' lef de tings in de big-road."

"But didn't yer leave the house locked when you came here?"

"Nary bit. Nebber lock de do' at all. Got no lock, ner key, nernuffin' ter steal ub enny account ef enny body should want terbreak in. So what I lock de do' fer? Jes lef de chillen wid one obde neighbors, drawed do' tu, an' comes on. Dat's all."

"An' he goes in an' takes de tings out? We'll hab de law ob him;dat we will, Berry. De law'll fotch him, pop sure. Dey can't treata free man dat 'ere way no mo', specially sence de constooshunel'mendments. Dat dey can't."

So Berry became an inmate of Castle Nimbus, and the next day thatworthy proprietor went over to Louisburg to lay the matter beforeCaptain Pardee, who was now a practising lawyer in that city. Hereturned at night and found Berry outside the gate with a banjowhich he accounted among the most precious of his belongings,entertaining a numerous auditory with choice selections from anextensive repertory.

Berry was a consummate mimic as well as an excellent singer, andhis fellows were never tired either of his drolleries or his songs.Few escaped his mimicry, and nothing was too sacred for his wit.When Nimbus first came in sight, he was convulsing his hearers byimitating a well-known colored minister of the county, giving outa hymn in the most pompous manner.

"De congregashun will now rise an' sing, ef yer please, the freehundred an' ferty-ferd hime." Thereupon he began to sing:

"Sinner-mans will yer go
To de high lans' o' Hebben,
Whar de sto'ms nebber blow
An' de mild summer's gibben?
Will yer go? will yer go?
Will yer go, sinner-mans?
Oh, say. sinner-mans, will yer go?"

Then, seeing Nimbus approach, he changed at once to a politicalsong.

"De brack man's gittin' awful rich
The people seems ter fear,
Alt'ough he 'pears to git in debt
A little ebbery year.
Ob co'se he gits de biggest kind
Ob wages ebbery day,
But when he comes to settle up
Dey dwindles all away.

"Den jes fork up de little tax
Dat's laid upon de poll.
It's jes de tax de state exac's
Fer habben ob a soul!"

"Yer got no lan', yer got no cash,
Yer only got some debts;
Yer couldn't take de bankrupt law
'Cos ye hain't got no 'assets.'
De chillen dey mus' hev dere bread;
De mudder's gettin' ole,
So darkey, you mus' skirmish roun'
An' pay up on yer poll."

"Den jes fork up de little tax, etc.

"Yer know's yer's wuked dis many a year.
To buy de land for 'Marster,'
An' now yer orter pay de tax
So't he kin hold it faster.
He wuks one acre 'n ebbery ten,
De odders idle stan';
So pay de tax upon yo're poll
An' take it off his lan'.

"Den jes fork up de little tax, etc.

"Oh! dat's de song dat some folks sing!
Say, how d'y'e like de soun'?
Dey say de pore man orter pay
For walkin' on de groun"!
When cullud men was slaves, yer know',
'Twas drefful hard to tax 'em;
But jes de minnit dat dey's free,
God save us! how dey wax 'em!

"Den jes fork up de little tax, etc."

"What you know 'bout poll-tax, Berry?" asked Nimbus, good-naturedly,when the song was ended. "Yer hain't turned politician, hez yer?"

"What I know 'bout poll-tax, Squar' Nimbus? Dat what yer ax? Gad!I knows all 'bout 'em, dat I do, from who tied de dog loose. Who'sea better right, I'd like ter know? I'se paid it, an' ole MarseSykes hes paid it for me; an' den I'se hed ter pay him de tax an'half a dollah for 'tendin' ter de biznis for me. An' den, one timeI'se been 'dicted for not payin' it, an' Marse Sykes tuk it up,an' I hed ter wuk out de tax an' de costs besides. Den I'se hed terwuk de road ebbery yeah some eight er ten days, an' den wuk nigh'bout ez many more fer my grub while I wuz at it. Oh, I knows 'boutpoll-tax, I does! Dar can't nobody tell a nigg*r wid five er sixchillen an' a sick wife, dat's a wukkin' by de yeah an' a gettin'his pay in ole clo'es an' orders—dar can't nobody teach himnothin' 'bout poll-tax, honey!" There was a laugh at this whichshowed that his listeners agreed fully with the views he hadexpressed.

The efforts to so arrange taxation as to impose as large a burdenas possible upon the colored man, immediately after his emancipation,were very numerous and not unfrequently extremely subtle. The BlackCodes, which were adopted by the legislatures first convened underwhat has gone into history as the "Johnsonian" plan of reconstruction,were models of ingenious subterfuge. Among those which survivedthis period was the absurd notion of a somewhat onerous poll-tax.That a man who had been deprived of every benefit of governmentand of all means of self-support or acquisition, should at once bemade the subject of taxation, and that a failure to list and paysuch tax should be made an indictable offense, savored somewhat ofthe ludicrous. It seemed like taxing the privilege of poverty.

Indeed, the poor men of the South, including the recent slaves,were in effect compelled to pay a double poll-tax. The roadsof that section are supported solely by the labor of those livingalong their course. The land is not taxed, as in other parts ofthe country, for the support of those highways the passability ofwhich gives it value; but the poor man who travels over it only onfoot must give as much of his labor as may be requisite to maintainit. This generally amounts to a period ranging from six to tendays of work per annum. In addition to this, he is required to paya poll-tax, generally about two dollars a year, which is equivalentto at least one fourth of a month's pay. During both these periodshe must board himself.

So it may safely be estimated that the average taxes paid by acolored man equals one half or two thirds of a month's wages, evenwhen he has not a cent of property, and only maintains his familyby a constant miracle of effort which would be impossible butfor the harsh training which slavery gave and which is one of thebeneficent results of that institution. If he refuses to work theroad, or to pay or list the poll-tax, he may be indicted, fined,and his labor sold to the highest bidder, precisely as in the oldslave-times, to discharge the fine and pay the tax and costs ofprosecution. There is a grim humor about all this which did not failto strike the colored man and induce him to remark its absurdity,even when he did not formulate its actual character.

A thousand things tend to enhance this absurdity and seemingoppression which the imagination of the thoughtful reader willreadily supply. One is the self evident advantage which this stateof things gives to the landowners. By it they are enabled to holdlarge tracts of land, only a small portion of which is cultivatedor used in any manner. By refusing to sell on reasonable terms andin small parcels, they compel the freedmen to accept the alternativeof enormous rents and oppressive terms, since starvation is theonly other that remains to them.

The men who framed these laws were experts in legislation and adeptsin political economy. It would perhaps be well for countries whichare to-day wrestling with the question: "What shall we do with ourpoor?" to consider what was the answer the South made to this sameinquiry. There were four millions of people who owned no property.They were not worth a dollar apiece. Of lands, tenements andhereditaments they had none. Life, muscle, time, and the clothesthat conceal nakedness were their only estate. But they were richin "days' works." They had been raised to work and liked it. Theywere accustomed to lose all their earnings, and could berelied on to endure being robbed of a part, and hardly know thatthey were the subject of a new experiment in governmental waysand means. So, the dominant class simply taxed the possibilitiesof the freedman's future, and lest he should by any means fail torecognize the soundness of this demand for tribute and neglect toregard it as a righteous exemplification of the Word, which declaresthat "from him that hath not shall be taken away even that whichhe hath," they frugally provided:

1. That the ignorant or inept citizen neglecting to list his pollfor taxation should be liable to indictment and fine for suchrefusal or neglect.

2. That if unable to pay such tax and fine and the costs of prosecution,he should be imprisoned and his labor sold to the highest bidderuntil this claim of the State upon his poverty should be fullyredeemed.

3. That the employer should be liable to pay the personal taxes ofhis employees, and might recoup himself from any wages due to saidhirelings or to become due.

4. To add a further safeguard, in many instances they made theexercise of the elective franchise dependent upon the payment ofsuch tax.

Should the effete monarchies of the Old World ever deign to glanceat our civil polity, they will learn that taxation is the only sureand certain cure for pauperism, and we may soon look for theirpolitical economists to render thanks to the "friends" of theformer slave for this discovery of a specific for the most ancientof governmental ills!

The song that has been given shows one of the views which a racehaving little knowledge of political economy took of this somewhatpeculiar but perhaps necessary measure of governmental finance.

The group broke up soon after Nimbus arrived, and Berry, followinghim upon the porch said, as he laid his banjo in the window:

"Wal, an' what did de Cap'n say 'bout my case 'gin Marse Granville
Sykes?"

"He said you could indict him, an' hev him fined by de court ef heturned yer off on 'count ob yer perlitical principles."

"Bully fer de Cap'n!" said Berry, "dat's what I'll do, straightaway. Yah, yah! won't dat er be fun, jes makin' ole Mahs'r trot upter de lick-log fer meanness ter a nigg*r? Whoop! h'yer she goes!"and spreading his hands he made "a cart-wheel" and rolled on hisoutstretched hands and feet half way to the gate, and then turneda handspring back again, to show his approval of the advice givenby the attorney.

"An' he says," continued Nimbus, who had looked seriously on athis kinsman's antics, "dat yer can sue him an' git yer wages fer dewhole year, ef yer kin show dat he put yer off widout good reason."

"Der ain't no mite ob trouble 'bout dat ar, nary mite," said Berry,confidently. "You knows what sort uv a wuk-hand I is in de crap,Bre'er Nimbus?"

"Yes, I knows dat," was the reply; "but de cap'n sez dat it mouttake two or tree year ter git dese cases fru de court, an' darmust, of co'se, be a heap ob cost an' trouble 'bout 'em."

"An' he's right tu', Bre'er Nimbus," said Berry seriously.

"Dat's so, Berry," answered Nimbus, "an' on account ob dat, an' derfac' dat yer hain't got no money an' can't afford ter resk de wagesdat yer family needs ter lib on, an' 'cause 'twould make smart obfeelin' an' yer don't stan' well fer a fa'r show afore de courtan' jury, kase of yer color, he sez yer'd better jes thankde Lo'd fer gittin' off ez well ez yer hev, an' try ter look outfer breakers in de futur. He sez ez how it's all wrong an' hardan' mean an' all dat, but he sez, tu, dat yer ain't in no sort obfix ter make a fight on't wid Marse Sykes. Now, what youthink, Berry?"

The person addressed twirled his narrow-brimmed felt hat upon hisfinger for a time and then said, looking suddenly up at the other:

"Uncle Nimbus, Berry's right smart ob a fool, but damn me ef Idon't b'lieve de Cap'n's in de right on't. What you say, now?"

Nimbus had seated himself and was looking toward the darkening westwith a gloomy brow. After a moment's silence he said:

"I'se mighty feared yer both right, Bre'er Berry. But it certainar' a mighty easy way ter git wuk fer nothin', jes ter wait tillde crap's laid by an' den run a man off kase he happens ter go tera political meetin'! 'Pears like tain't much more freedomdan we hed in ole slave-times."

"Did it ebber'ccur ter you. Uncle Nimbus," said Berry, verythoughtfully, "dat dis yer ting freedom waz a durn curusaffair fer we cullud people, ennyhow?"

"Did it ever? Wal, now, I should tink it hed, an' hit 'ccurs terme now dat it's growin' quarer an' quarer ebbery day. Though I'sehad less on't ter bear an' puzzle over than a-most enny on ye,dat I hez, I don't know whar it'll wuk out. 'Liab sez de Lord's adoin' His own wuk in His own way, which I 'specs is true; but hit'sa big job, an' He's got a quare way ob gittin' at it, an' seemster be a-takin' His own time fer it, tu. Dat's my notion."

It was no doubt childish for these two simple-minded colored mento take this gloomy view of their surroundings and their future.They should have realized that the fact that their privileges wereinsecure and their rights indefensible was their own misfortune,perhaps even their fault. They should have remembered that thesusceptibilities of that race among whom their lot had been cast bythe compulsion of a strange providence, were such as to be greatlyirritated by anything like a manly and independent exercise ofrights by those who had been so long accounted merely a superiorsort of cattle. They should not have been at all surprised to findtheir race helpless and hopeless before the trained and organizedpower of the whites, controlled by the instinct of generations andanimated by the sting of defeat.

All this should have been clear and plain to them, and they shouldhave looked with philosophic calmness on the abstract rights whichthe Nation had conferred and solemnly guaranteed to them, insteadof troubling themselves about the concrete wrongs they fanciedthey endured. Why should Berry Lawson care enough about attendinga political meeting to risk provoking his employer's displeasureby so doing; or why, after being discharged, should he feel angryat the man who had merely enforced the words of his own contract?He was a free man; he signed the contract, and the courts were opento him as they were to others, if he was wronged. What reason wasthere for complaint or apprehension, on his part?

Yet many a wiser head than that of Berry Lawson, or even that ofhis more fortunate kinsman, the many-named Nimbus, has been sorelypuzzled to understand how ignorance and poverty and inexperienceshould maintain the right, preserve and protect themselves againstopposing wisdom, wealth and malicious skill, according to thespirit and tenor of the Reconstruction Acts. But it is a problemwhich ought to trouble no one, since it has been enacted and providedby the Nation that all such persons shall have all the rights andprivileges of citizens. That should suffice.

However, the master-key to the feeling which these colored mennoted and probed in their quiet evening talk was proclaimed aloudby the county newspaper which, commenting on the meeting at Red Wingand the dismissal of a large number of colored people who attendedit in opposition to the wish of their employers, said:

"Our people are willing that the colored man should have all hisrights of person and of property; we desire to promote hismaterial welfare; but when he urges his claim to political right,he offers a flagrant insult to the white race. We have no sympathyto waste on negro-politicians or those who sympathize with andencourage them." [Footnote: Taken from the Patriot-Democrat,Clinton, La., Oct 1876.]

The people of Horsford county had borne a great deal fromnegro-domination. New men had come into office by means of coloredvotes, and the old set to whom office had become a sort of perquisitewere deprived thereby of this inherited right. The very presenceof Nimbus and a few more who like him were prosperous, though in aless degree, had been a constant menace to the peace of a communitywhich looked with peculiar jealousy upon the colored man in hisnew estate. This might have been endured with no evil results hadtheir prosperity been attended with that humility which shouldcharacterize a race so lately lifted from servitude to liberty. Itwas the "impudent" assertion of their "rights" that so aggravatedand enraged the people among whom they dwelt. It was not so muchthe fact of their having valuable possessions, and being entitledto pay for their labor, that was deemed such an outrage on the partof the colored race, but that they should openly and offensivelyuse those possessions to assert those rights and continually holdlanguage which only "white men" had a right to use. This was morethan a community, educated as the Southerners had been, could beexpected peaceably to endure.

As a farmer, a champion tobacco-grower and curer, as the mostprosperous man of his race in that section, Horsford was not withouta certain pride in Nimbus; but when he asserted the right of hispeople to attend a political meeting without let or hindrance,losing only from their wages as hirelings the price of the timethus absent, he was at once marked down as a "dangerous" man. Andwhen it was noised abroad that he had proposed that all the coloredmen of the county should band together to protect themselves againstthis evil, as he chose to regard it, he was at once branded notonly as "dangerous" but as a "desperate" and "pestiferous" nigg*r,instead of being considered merely "sassy," as theretofore.

So this meeting and its results had the effect to make Nimbus farmore active in political matters than he had ever been before, sincehe honestly believed that their rights could only be conserved bytheir political co-operation. To secure this he travelled aboutthe country all the time he could spare from his crop, visiting thedifferent plantations and urging his political friends to standfirm and not be coaxed or driven away from the performance oftheir political duty. By this means he became very "obnoxious" tothe "best people" of Horsford, and precipitated a catastrophe thatmight easily have been avoided had he been willing to enjoy his owngood fortune, instead of clamoring about the collective rights ofhis race.

CHAPTER XXVII.

MOTES IN THE SUNSHINE.

Mollie Ainslie's third year of teacher's life was drawing near itsclose. She had promised her brother to remain at the South duringthat time in order that she might escape the perils of their nativeclimate. She was of vigorous constitution but of slight build, andhe dreaded lest the inherited scourge should take an ineradicablehold upon her system. She had passed her school-girl life with safety;but he rightly judged that a few years in the genial climate whereshe then was would do very much toward enabling her to resist theapproaches of disease.

The work in which she had been engaged had demanded all her energiesand commanded all her devotion. Commencing with the simplest ofrudimentary training she had carried some of her pupils along untila fair English education had been achieved. One of these pupilshad already taken the place vacated a few months before by LucyEllison, since which time Mollie had occupied alone the northrooms of the old hostelry—a colored family who occupied the otherportion serving as protectors, and bringing her meals to her ownapartments. A friend had spent a portion of this time with her, aschoolmate whose failing health attested the wisdom of the conditionher dying brother had imposed in regard to herself. As the warmweather approached this friend had returned to her New Englandhome, and Mollie Ainslie found herself counting the days when shemight also take her flight.

Her work had not grown uninteresting, nor had she lost any of herzeal for the unfortunate race she had striven to uplift; but herheart was sick of the terrible isolation that her position forcedupon her. She had never once thought of making companions, inthe ordinary sense, of those for whom she labored. They had beenso entirely foreign to her early life that, while she laboredunremittingly for their advancement and entertained for many ofthem the most affectionate regard, there was never any inclinationto that friendly intimacy which would have been sure to arise ifher pupils had been of the same race as herself. She recognizedtheir right most fully to careful and polite consideration; shehad striven to cultivate among them gentility of deportment; butshe had longed with a hungry yearning for friendly white faces,and the warm hands and hearts of friendly associates.

Her chief recreation in this impalpable loneliness—this Chillonof the heart in which she had been bound so long—was in dailyrides upon her horse, Midnight. Even in her New England home shehad been passionately fond of a horse, and while at school had beencarefully trained in horsemanship, being a prime favorite with theold French riding-master who had charge of that branch of educationin the seminary of her native town. Midnight, coming to her fromthe dying hand of her only brother, had been to her a sacred trustand a pet of priceless value. All her pride and care had centeredupon him, and never had horse received more devoted attention. Asa result, horse and rider had become very deeply attached to eachother. Each knew and appreciated the other's good qualities andvarying moods. For many months the petted animal had shown noneof that savageness with which his owner had before been compelledoccasionally to struggle. He had grown sleek and round, but hadlost his viciousness, so far as she was concerned, and obeyed herlightest word and gesture with a readiness that had made him a subjectof comment in the country around, where the "Yankee school-marm"and her black horse had become somewhat noted.

There was one road that had always been a favorite with the horsefrom the very first. Whenever he struck that he pressed steadilyforward, turning neither to the right or left until he came to arocky ford five miles below, which his rider had never permittedhim to cross, but from which he was always turned back withdifficulty—at first with a troublesome display of temper, and atthe last, with evident reluctance.

It was in one of her most lonely moods, soon after the incidentswe have just narrated, that Mollie Ainslie set out on one of hercustomary rides. In addition to the depression which was incidentto her own situation, she was also not a little disturbed by theuntoward occurrences affecting those for whom she had labored solong. She had never speculated much in regard to the future of thefreedmen, because she had considered it as assured. Growing towomanhood in the glare of patriotic warfare, she had the utmostfaith in her country's honor and power. To her undiscriminatingmind the mere fact that this honor and power were pledged to theprotection and elevation of the negro had been an all-sufficientguarantee of the accomplishment of that pledge. In fact, to hermind, it had taken on the reality and certainty of a fact alreadyaccomplished. She had looked forward to their prosperity as anevent not to be doubted. In her view Nimbus and Eliab Hill werebut feeble types of what the race would "in a few brief years"accomplish for itself. She believed that the prejudice that prevailedagainst the autonomy of the colored people would be suppressed,or prevented from harmful action by the national power, until thedevelopment of the blacks should have shown them to be of suchvalue in the community that the old-time antipathy would find itselfwithout food to exist upon longer.

She had looked always upon the rosy side, because to her the countryfor which her brother and his fellows had fought and died was thefairest and brightest thing upon earth. There might be spots uponthe sun's face, but none were possible upon her country's escutcheon.So she had dreamed and had fondly pictured herself as doing both apatriot's and a Christian's duty in the work in which she had beenengaged. She felt less of anger and apprehension with regard tothe bitter and scornful whites than of pity and contempt for them,because they could not appreciate the beauty and grandeur of theNation of which they were an unwilling part, and of the futurethat lay just before. She regarded all there had been of violenceand hate as the mere puerile spitefulness of a subjugated people.She had never analyzed their condition or dreamed that they wouldever be recognized as a power which might prove dangerous eitherto the freedman's rights or to the Nation itself.

The recent events had opened her eyes. She found that, unknown toherself, knowledge had forced itself upon her mind. As by a flashthe fact stood revealed to her consciousness that the colored manstood alone. The Nation had withdrawn its arm. The flag still wavedover him, but it was only as a symbol of sovereignty renounced—ofpower discarded. Naked privileges had been conferred, but the rightto enforce their recognition had been abandoned. The weakness andpoverty of the recent slave was pitted alone and unaided against thewealth and power and knowledge of the master. It was a revelationof her own thought to herself, and she was stunned and crushed byit.

She was no statesman, and did not comprehend anything of thosegrand policies whose requirements over-balance all considerationsof individual right—in comparison with which races and nationsare but sands upon the shore of Time. She little realized how granda necessity lay at the back of that movement which seemed to herso heartless and inexcusable. She knew, of course, vaguely andweakly, that the Fathers made a Constitution on which our governmentwas based. She did not quite understand its nature, which was verystrange, since she had often heard it expounded, and as a matterof duty had read with care several of those books which tell usall about it.

She had heard it called by various names in her far New Englandhome by men whom she loved and venerated, and whose wisdom andpatriotism she could not doubt. They had called it "a matchlessinspiration" and "a mass of compromises;" "the charter of liberty"and "a league with Hell;" "the tocsin of liberty" and "the manacleof the slave." She felt quite sure that nobler-minded, braver-heartedmen than those who used these words had never lived, yet she couldnot understand the thing of which they spoke so positively and sopassionately. She did not question the wisdom or the patriotism ofthe Fathers who had propounded this enigma. She thought they didthe best they knew, and knew the best that was at that time to beknown.

She had never quite believed them to be inspired, and shewas sure they had no models to work after. Greece and Rome werenot republics in the sense of our day, and in their expanded growthdid not profess to be, at any time; Switzerland and San Marinowere too limited in extent to afford any valuable examples; Venicewhile professedly a republic had been as unique and inimitable asher own island home. Then there were a few experiments here andthere, tentative movements barren of results, and that was all thatthe civilized world had to offer of practical knowledge of democracyat that time. Beyond this were the speculations of philosophersand the dreams of poets. Or perhaps the terms should be reversed,for the dreams were oft-times more real and consistent than thelucubrations. From these she did not doubt that our ancient sagestook all the wisdom they could gather and commingled it with theriper knowledge of their own harsh experience.

But yet she could not worship the outcome. She knew that Franklinwas a great man and had studied electricity very profoundly, forhis day; but there are ten thousand unnoted operators to-day whoknow more of its properties, power and management than he everdreamed of. She did not know but it might be so with regard to freegovernment. The silly creature did not know that while the worldmoves in all things else, it stands still or goes backward ingovernmental affairs. She never once thought that while in scienceand religion humanity is making stupendous strides, in governmentas in art, it turns ever to the model of the antique and approvesthe wisdom only of the ancient.

So it was that she understood nothing of the sacredness of rightwhich attaches to that impalpable and indestructible thing, a Stateof the American Union—that immortal product of mortal wisdom, thatcreature which is greater than its creator, that part which is morethan the whole, that servant which is lord and master also. If shehad been given to metaphysical researches, she would have foundmuch pleasure in tracing the queer involutions of that network ofwisdom that our forefathers devised, which their sons have laboredto explain, and of which the sword had already cut some of themore difficult knots. Not being a statesman or a philosopher, shecould only wonder and grow sad in contemplating the future thatshe saw impending over those for whom she had labored so long.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

IN THE PATH OF THE STORM.

While Mollie Ainslie thought of these things with foreboding, hersteed had turned down his favorite road, and was pressing onwardwith that persistency which characterizes an intelligent horse havinga definite aim in view. The clouds were gathering behind her, butshe did not notice them. The horse pressed on and on. Closer andcloser came the storm. The road grew dark amid the clustering oakswhich overhung its course. The thunder rolled in the distance andpuffs of wind tossed the heavy-leafed branches as though the treesbegged for mercy from the relentless blast. A blinding flash, afierce, sharp peal, near at hand, awoke her from her reverie. Thehorse broke into a quick gallop, and glancing back she saw a wallof black cloud, flame-lighted and reverberant, and felt the coldbreath of the summer storm come sweeping down upon her as she spedaway.

She saw that it would be useless to turn back. Long before shecould reach any shelter in that direction she would be drenched.She knew she was approaching the river, but remembering that shehad noticed some fine-looking houses just on the other side, shedecided that she would let the horse have his own way, and apply atone of these for shelter. She was sure that no one would deny herthat in the face of such a tornado as was raging behind her. Thehorse flew along as if a winged thing. The spirit of the storm seemedto have entered into him, or else the thunder's voice awakenedmemories of the field of battle, and for once his rider foundherself powerless to restrain his speed or direct his course. Helaid back his ears, and with a short, sharp neigh dashed onwardwith a wild tremor of joy at the mad race with wind and storm.The swaying tree-tops waved them on with wild gesticulations. Thelightning and the thunder added wings to the flying steed.

Just before reaching the river bank they had to pass througha stretch of tall pines, whose dark heads were swaying to and frountil they almost met above the narrow road, making it so darkbelow that the black horse grew dim in the shadow, while the gaunttrunks creaked and groaned and the leaves hissed and sobbed as thewind swept through them. The resinous fragrance mingled with theclayey breath of the pursuing storm. The ghost-like trunks stoodout against the lightning flashes like bars before the path of flame.She no longer tried to control her horse. Between the flashes, hisiron feet filled the rocky road with sparks of fire. He reachedthe ford and dashed knee-deep into the dark, swift stream, castinga cool spray around him before he checked his speed. Then he haltedfor an instant, tossed his head as if to give the breeze a chanceto creep beneath his flowing mane, cast a quick glance back athis rider, and throwing out his muzzle uttered a long, loud neighthat seemed like a joyful hail, and pressed on with quick, carefulsteps, picking his way along the ledge of out-cropping granite whichconstituted the ford, as if traversing a well-remembered causeway.

The water grew deeper and darker; the rider reached down andgathered up her dark habit and drew her feet up close beneath her.The current grew swifter. The water climbed the horse's polishedlimbs. It touched his flanks and foamed and dashed about his ruggedbreast. Still he picked his way among the rocks with eager haste,neighing again and again, the joy-ringing neighs of the home-comingsteed. The surging water rose about his massive shoulders and therider drew herself still closer up on the saddle, clinging to bowand mane and giving him the rein, confident in his prowess andintelligence, wondering at his eagerness, yet anxious for his footingin the dashing current. The wind lifted the spray and dashed itabout her. The black cloud above was fringed with forked lightningand resonant with swift-succeeding peals of thunder. The big dropsbegan to fall hissing into the gurgling waters. Now and then theysplashed on her hands and face and shot through her close-fittinghabit like icy bolts. The brim of the low felt hat she wore andits dark plume were blown about her face. Casting a hurried glancebackward, she saw the grayish-white storm-sheet come rushing overthe sloping expanse of surging pines, and heard its dull heavy roarover the rattle of the aerial artillery which echoed and re-echoedabove her.

And now the wind shifted, first to one point and then to another.Now it swept down the narrow valley through which the stream ran;now it dashed the water in her face, and anon it seemed aboutto toss her from her seat and hurl her over her horse's head. Sheknew that the fierce storm would strike her before she could reachany place of shelter. The wild excitement of a struggle with theelements flamed up in her face and lighted her eyes with joy. Shemight have been a viking's daughter as her fair hair blew over herflushed face, while she patted her good steed and laughed aloudfor very glee at the thought of conflict with the wild masterfulstorm and the cool gurgling rapid which her horse breasted sogallantly.

There was a touch of fun, too, in the laugh, and in the archgleaming of her eyes, as she thought of the odd figure which shemade, perched thus upon the saddle in mid-river, blown and tossed bythe wind, and fleeing from the storm. Her rides were the interludesof her isolated life, and this storm was a part of the fun.She enjoyed it as the vigorous pleasure-seeker always enjoys thesimulation of danger.

The water shoaled rapidly as they neared the farther shore. Theblack horse mounted swiftly to the bank, still pressing on withunabated eagerness. She leaned over and caught up the stirrup,thrust her foot into it, regained her seat and seized the reins,as with a shake and a neigh he struck into a long easy gallop.

"Go!" she said, as she shook the reins. The horse flew swiftly alongwhile she swayed lightly from side to side as he rose and fell withgreat sinewy strides. She felt him bound and quiver beneath her,but his steps were as though the black, corded limbs were springsof steel. Her pride in the noble animal she rode overcame her fearof the storm, which followed swifter than they fled. She lookedeagerly for a by-path leading to some farm-house, but the swift-settlingdarkness of the summer night hid them from her eager glance, ifany there were. Half a mile from the ford, and the storm over-tookthem—a wall of wind-driven rain, which dashed and roared aboutthem, drenching the rider to the skin in an instant. In a momentthe red-clay road became the bed of a murky torrent. The horse'shoofs, which an instant before echoed on the hard-beaten track,splashed now in the soft mud and threw the turbid drops over herdripping habit and into her storm-washed face. A quarter of a milemore, and the cold streams poured down her back and chilled herslight frame to the marrow. Her hands were numb and could scarcecling to the dripping reins. Tears came into her eyes despiteherself. Still the wild cloud-burst hurled its swift torrents oficy rain upon them. She could scarcely see her horse's head, throughthe gray, chilly storm-sheet.

"Whoa! whoa, Midnight!" she cried, in tremulous tones through herchattering teeth and white, trembling lips. All her gay exultantcourage had been drenched and chilled out of her. She tried tocheck his stride with a loose convulsive clutch at the reins as shepeered about with blinded eyes for a place of shelter. The horseshook his head with angry impatience, neighed again, clasped the bitin his strong teeth, stretched his neck still further and coveredthe slippery ground with still swifter strides. A hundred yardsmore and he turned into a narrow lane at the right, between twoswaying oaks, so quickly as almost to unseat his praticed rider,and with neigh after neigh dashed down to a great, rambling, oldfarm-house just visible under the trees at the foot of the lane,two hundred yards away. The way was rough and the descent sharp,but the horse did not slacken his speed. She knew it was useless toattempt to check him, and only clung to the saddle pale with fearas he neared the high gate which closed its course. As he rose witha grand lift to take the leap she closed her eyes in terror. Easyand swift as a bird's flight was the leap with which the strong-limbedhorse cleared the high palings and lighted on the soft springy turfwithin; another bound or two and she heard a sharp, strong voicewhich rang above the storm with a tone of command that betrayed nodoubt of obedience:

"Whoa, Satan! Stand, sir!"

The fierce horse stopped instantly. Mollie Ainslie was thrown heavilyforward, clasped by a strong arm and borne upon the piazza. Whenshe opened her eyes she saw the torrents pouring from the eaves,the rain beating itself into spray upon the ground without, theblack horse steaming and quivering at the steps of the porch, andHesden Le Moyne gazing anxiously down into her face. The waterdripped from her garments and ran across the porch. She shook asif in an ague-fit. She could not answer the earnest inquiries thatfell from his lips. She felt him chafing her chill, numbed hands,and then the world was dark, and she knew no more of the kindlycare which was bestowed upon her.

CHAPTER XXIX.

LIKE AND UNLIKE.

When she awoke to consciousness she was lying on a bed in an apartmentwhich was a strange compound of sitting- and sleeping-room. Thebed stood in a capacious alcove which seemed to have been builton as an afterthought. The three sides were windows, in the outerof which were tastefully arranged numerous flowering plants, someof which had clambered up to the ceiling and hung in gracefulfestoons above the bed. The window-shades were so arranged as tobe worked by cords, which hung within easy reach of one lying there.The night had not fully come, but a lamp was burning at the sideof the bed yet beyond its head-board, so that its rays lit up thewindows and the green trailing vines, but did not fall upon thebed. In an invalid's chair drawn near the bedside, a lady well pastthe middle age but with a face of singular sweetness and refinementwas watching and directing the efforts which were being made forthe resuscitation of the fainting girl by two servant women, whowere busily engaged in chafing her hands and making warm applicationsto her chilled limbs.

As she opened her eyes they took in all these things, but she couldnot at once remember what had happened or where she was, This sweetvision of a home interior was so different from the low, heavy-beamedrooms and little diamond-paned windows of the Ordinary, even afterall her attempts to make it cosy, that she seemed to have awakenedin fairy land. She wondered dully why she had never trained iviesand Madeira vines over those dark beams, and blushed at the thoughtthat so simple a device had never occurred to her. She lay motionlessuntil she had recalled the incidents of the day. She had recognizedMr. Le Moyne at once, and she knew by instinct that the gracefullady who sat beside her was she who had written her the only wordof sympathy or appreciation she had ever received from one of herown sex in the South. She was anxious for a better view and turnedtoward her.

"Ah, here are you, my dear!" said a soft, low voice, as the lightfell upon her opened eyes. "Move me up a little, Maggie," to oneof the servants." We are glad to see you coming around again. Don'tmove, dear," she continued, as she laid her thin soft hand upon theplump one of the reclining girl." You are among friends. The stormand the ride were too much for you, and you fainted for a littlewhile. That is all. There is no trouble now. You weren't hurt, wereyou?" she asked anxiously.

"No," said the other, wonderingly.

"We are glad of that," was the reply. "You are exhausted, of course,but if you do not get cold you will soon be all right. Maggie,"she continued, to the servant, "tell Mr. Hesden to bring in thathot toddy now. He had better put the juice of a lemon it it, too.Miss Ainslie may not be accustomed to taking it. I am Mrs. Le Moyne,I forgot to say," she added, turning to her unintended guest, "andHesden, that is my son, tells me that you are Miss Ainslie, thebrave young teacher at Red Wing whom I have long wished to see. Iam really glad that chance, or Hesden's old war horse Satan, broughtyou here, or I am afraid I should never have had that pleasure.This is Hesden," she continued, nodding toward him as he enteredwith a small silver waiter on which was a steaming pitcher anda delicate glass. "He has been my nurse so long that he thinks noone can prepare a draught for a sick person so well as he, and Iassure you that I quite agree with his notion. You have met before,I believe. Just take a good dose of this toddy and you will bebetter directly. You got a terrible drenching, and I was afraidyou would have a congestive chill when they brought you in here aswhite as a sheet with your teeth chattering like castanets."

Hesden Le Moyne filled the glass with the steaming decoction andheld the salver toward her. She took it and tried to drink.

"Hand me the waiter, Hesden," said his mother, reprovingly, "andraise her head. Don't you see that Miss Ainslie cannot drink lyingthere. I never saw you so stupid, my son. I shall have to growworse again soon to keep you from getting out of practice entirely."

Thus reproached, Hesden Le Moyne put his arm hesitatingly beneaththe pillow, raised the flushed face upon it and supported the younglady while she quaffed the hot drink. Then he laid her easily down,smoothed the pillow with a soft instinctive movement, poured outa glass of the toddy which he offered to his mother, and then,handing the waiter to the servant, leaned over his mother with acaressing movement and said:

"You must look out, little mother. Too much excitement will notdo for you. You must not let Miss Ainslie's unexpected call disturbyou."

"No indeed, Hesden," she said, as she looked up at him gratefully,"I feel really glad of any accident that could bring her under ourroof, now that I am satisfied that she is to experience no harmfrom her stormy ride. She will be all right presently, and we willhave supper served here as usual. You may tell Laura that she needbe in no haste."

Having thus dismissed her son she turned to her guest and said:

"I have been an invalid so long that our household is all orderedwith regard to that fact. I am seldom able to be taken out to dinner,and we have got into the habit of having a late supper here, justHesden, his little boy, and I, and to-night we will have the tableset by the bedside and you will join us."

The sudden faint was over; the toddy had sent the blood tinglingthrough the young girl's veins. The role of the invalid wasan unaccustomed one for her to play, and the thought of suppingin bed was peculiarly distasteful to her self-helping Northerntraining. It was not long before she began to manifest impatience.

"Are you in pain, dear?" asked the good lady, noticing with thekeen eye of the habitual invalid her restive movements.

"No, indeed," was the reply. "I am not at all sick. It was onlya little faint. Really, Mrs. Le Moyne, I would rather get up thanlie here."

"Oh, lie still," said the elder lady, cheerfully. "The room hardlylooks natural unless the bed is occupied. Besides," she addedwith a light laugh, "you will afford me an excellent opportunityto study effects. You seem to me very like what I must have beenwhen I was first compelled to abandon active life. You are verynearly the same size and of much the same complexion and cast offeatures. You will pardon an old lady for saying it, I am sure. Lestyou should not, I shall be compelled to add that I was consideredsomething of a beauty when I was young. Now, you shall give mean idea of how I have looked in all the long years that couch hasbeen my home. I assure you I shall watch you very critically, forit has been my pride to make my invalid life as pleasant to myselfand as little disagreeable to others as I could. Knowing that Icould never be anything else, I devised every plan I could to makemyself contented and to become at least endurable to my family."

"Everyone knows how well you have succeeded, Mrs, Le Moyne," saidthe young girl. "It must indeed have been a sad and burdened life,and it seems to me that you have contrived to make your sick rooma perfect paradise." "Yes, yes," said the other, sadly, "it isbeautiful. Those who loved me have been very indulgent and veryconsiderate, too. Not only every idea of my own has been carriedinto effect, but they have planned for me, too. That alcove wasan idea of my husband's. I think that the sunlight pouring in atthose windows has done more to prolong my life than anything else.I did not think, when thirty years ago I took to my bed, that Ishould have survived him so long—so long—almost eight years. Hewas considerably older than I, but I never looked to outlive him,never.

"That lamp-stand and little book-rack," she continued, withthe garrulity of the invalid when discoursing of his own affairs,"were Hesden's notions, as were many other things in the room. Theflowers I had brought in, one by one, to satisfy my hunger for theworld without. In the winter I have many more. Hesden makes theroom a perfect conservatory, then. They have come to be very dearto me, as you may well suppose. That ivy now, over the foot of thebed, I have watched it from a little slip not a finger high. It istwenty-seven years old."

So she would have run on, no one knows to what length, had not theservant entered to set the table for supper. Under her mistress'directions she was about to place it beside the bed, when the younggirl sprang into a sitting posture and with flaming cheeks criedout:

"Please, Mrs. Le Moyne, I had rather not lie here. I am quitewell—just as well as ever, and I wish you would let me get up."

"But how can you, dear?" was the reply. "Your clothes are dryingin the kitchen. They were completely drenched."

"Sure enough," answered Miss Ainslie. "I had forgotten that." Shelaid herself down resignedly as the invalid said:

"If Hesden's presence would annoy you, he shall not come. I onlythought it might be pleasanter for you not to be confined to theconversation of a crippled old woman. Besides, it is his habit, andI hardly know what he would do if he had to eat his supper elsewhere."

"Oh, certainly, I would not wish to disturb your usual arrangement,"answered Mollie, "but—" she began, and then stoppd with some signsof confusion.

"But what, my dear?" asked the elder lady, briskly. "Do you meanthat you are not accustomed as I am to invalidism, and hardly likethe notion of supping in bed as an introduction to strangers? Well,I dare say it would be annoying, and if you think you are quitewell enough to sit up, I reckon something better may be arranged."

"I assure you, Mrs. Le Moyne," said the other, "that I am quitewell, but pray do not let me make you any trouble."

"Oh, no trouble at all, dear; only you will have to wear one ofmy gowns now many years old. I thought they were very pretty then,I assure you. I should be very glad to see them worn again. Thereare few who could wear them at all; but I think they would both fitand suit you. You are like enough to me to be my daughter. Here,you Maggie!"

She called the servant, and gave some directions which resulted inher bringing in several dresses of an ancient pattern but exquisitetexture, and laying them upon the bed.

"You will have to appear in full dress, my dear, for I have noother gowns that would be at all becoming," said Mrs. Le Moyne.

"How very beautiful!" said the girl sitting up in the bed, gazingat the dainty silks and examining their quaint patterns. "Butreally, Mrs. Le Moyne—"

"Now, please oblige me by making no more objections," interruptedthat lady. "Indeed," she added, shaking her finger threateninglyat her guest, "I will not listen to any more. The fit has seizedme now to have you sit opposite me at the table. It will be likefacing. my own youth; for now that I look at you more closely,you seem wonderfully like me. Don't you think so, Maggie?"

"'Deed I do," said the servant, "an' dat's jes what Laura was asayin' ter me when we done fotch de young lady in here in a faint.She sez ter me, sez she, 'Maggie, ebber you see anybody look somuch like de Mistis made young again?'"

"Hush, Maggie," said her mistress, gaily; "don't you see how theyoung lady is blushing, while it is the poor, faded woman here inthe chair who ought to blush at such a compliment?"

And indeed the bright flushed face with its crown of soft goldenhair escaped from its customary bondage, tossing in sunny tendrilsabout the delicate brow and rippling in waves of light over hershoulders, was a picture which any woman past the middle life mightwell blush and sigh to recognize as the counterpart of her youth.The two women looked at each other and both laughed at the admirationeach saw in the other's glance.

"Well," said Mollie, as she sank smilingly on her pillow, "I see
I must submit. You will have your own way."

She raised her arm above' her head and toyed with a leaf of theivy which hung in graceful festoons about the head-board. As shedid so the loose-sleeved wrapper which had been flung about herwhen her own drenched clothing was removed, fell down almost toher shoulder and revealed to the beauty-worshipping watcher by thebedside an arm of faultless outline, slender, pink-tinged, plumpand soft. When she had toyed lazily for a moment with the ivy, shedropped her arm listlessly down upon the bed. It fell upon one ofthe dresses which lay beside her.

"Ah, thank you!" exclaimed Mrs. Le Moyne.

"You have relieved me greatly. I was trying to decide whichone I wanted you to wear, when your arm dropped across that pale,straw-colored silk, with the vine border around the corsage and theclambering roses running down the front. That is the one you mustwear. I never wore it but once, and the occasion is one I shallalways like to recall."

There was a gleeful time in the invalid's room while the fair girlwas being habited in the garments of a by-gone generation, and whenHesden Le Moyne and his boy Hildreth were admitted to the heartyevening meal, two women who seemed like counterparts sat oppositeeach other at the sparkling board—the one habited in black silkwith short waist, a low, square bodice with a mass of tender lawnshowing about the fair slender neck, puffed at the shoulders withstraight, close sleeves reaching to the wrists, around which peepedsome rows of soft white lace; the white hair combed in puffs besidethe brow, clustering above its pinky softness and falling in asilvery cataract upon the neck. The style of the other's dress wasthe same, save that the shoulders were uncovered, and except forthe narrow puff which seemed but a continuation on either side, ofthe daintily-edged bodice, the arm hung pink and fair over the ambersatin, uncovered and unadorned save at the wrist, where a narrowcirclet of gold clung light and close about it. Her hair was dressedin the same manner as the elder lady's, and differed only in itsgolden sheen. The customary lamp had been banished, and coloredwax-candles, brought from some forgotten receptacle, burned in thequaint old candelabra with which the mantels of the house had longbeen decorated.

The one-armed veteran of thirty gazed in wonder at this unaccustomedbrightness. If he needed to gaze long and earnestly at thefair creature who sat over against his mother, to determine theresemblances which had been noted between the permanent and thetemporary invalid, who shall blame him for so doing?

Little Hildreth in his six-year-old wonderment was less judicial,or at least required less time and inquiry to decide, for he criedout even before an introduction could be given,

"Oh, papa, see, I've got a new, young grandma."

It was a gay party at that country supper-table, and four happierpeople could hardly have gone afterward into the parlor where theinvalid allowed herself to be wheeled by her son in special honorof their unintended guest.

Miss Ainslie was soon seated at the piano which Hesden had kept intune more for the pleasure of occasional guests than his own. Itwas three years since she had touched one, but the little organ,which some Northern benefactor had given to the church and schoolat Red Wing, had served to prevent her fingers from losing alltheir skill, and in a few minutes their wonted cunning returned.She had been carefully trained and had by nature rare musical gifts.The circ*mstances of the day had given a wonderful exhilaration toher mind and thought. She seemed to have taken a leaf out of Paradiseand bound it among the dingy pages of her dull and monotonous life.Every thing about her was so quaint and rare, the clothes she woreso rich and fantastic, that she could not control her fancy. Everymusical fantasy that had ever crept into her brain seemed to betrooping along its galleries in a mad gallop as her fair fingersflew over the time-stained keys. The little boy stood clinging toher skirt in silent wonder, his fair, sensitive face working, andhis eyes distended, with delighted amazement.

The evening came to an end at last, and when the servant went withher in her quaint attire, lighting her up the winding stairwayfrom the broad hall to the great airy room above, with its yawningfireplace cheery with the dying embers of a fire built hours agoto drive out the dampness, and its two high-posted beds standingthere in lofty dignity, the little Yankee school marm could hardlyrealize what madcap freaks she had perpetrated since she boundedover the gate at the foot of the lane leading from the highway downto Mulberry Hill, the ancestral home of the Richards family.

As she sat smiling and blushing over the memory of what she haddone and said in those delicious hours, a servant tapped at thedoor and announced that Master Hildreth, whom she bore in her armsand whose chubby fists were stuck into his eyes, was crying mostdisconsolately lest he should lose his "new grandma" while he slept.She had brought him, therefore, to inquire whether he might occupyone of the beds in the young lady's room. Mollie had not seen forso many years a child that she could fondle and caress, that itwas with unbounded delight that she took the little fellow fromhis nurse's arms, laid him on the bed and coaxed his eyes to slumber.

CHAPTER XXX.

AN UNBIDDEN GUEST.

When the morning dawned the boy awoke with hot cheeks and bloodshoteyes, moaning and restless, and would only be quiet when pillowedin the arms of his new-found friend. A physician who was calledpronounced his ailment to be scarlet-fever. He soon became delirious,and his fretful moans for his "new grandma" were so piteous thatMiss Ainslie could not make up her mind to leave him. She stayedby his bed-side all day, saying nothing of returning to Red Wing,until late in the afternoon a messenger came from there to inquireafter her, having traced her by inquiry among several who had seenher during the storm, as well as by the report that had gone outfrom the servants of her presence at Mulberry Hill.

When Hesden Le Moyne came to inform her of the messenger's arrival,he found her sitting by his son's bedside, fanning his fevered brow,as she had done the entire day. He gazed at them both in silencea moment before making known his errand. Then he took the fan fromher hand and informed her of the messenger's arrival. His voicesounded strangely, and as she looked up at him she saw his faceworking with emotion. She cast down her eyes quickly. She couldnot tell why. All at once she felt that this quiet, maimed veteranof a lost cause was not to her as other men. Perhaps her heartwas made soft by the strange occurrences of the few hours she hadpassed beneath his mother's roof. However that may be, she wassuddenly conscious of a feeling she had never known before. Hercheeks burned as she listened to his low, quiet tones. The tearsseemed determined to force themselves beneath her downcast lids,but her heart bounded with a strange undefined joy.

She rose to go and see the messenger. The sick boy moaned andmurmured her name. She stole a glance at the father, and saw hiseyes filled with a look of mingled tenderness and pain. She walkedto the door. As she opened it the restless sufferer called for heragain. She went out and closed it quickly after her. At the headof the stairs she paused, and pressed her hand to her heart whileshe breathed quick and her face burned. She raised her other handand pushed back a stray lock or two as if to cool her forehead. Shestood a moment irresolute; glanced back at the door of the room shehad left, with a half frightened look; placed a foot on the firststair, and paused again. Then she turned suddenly back with ascared resolute look in her gray eyes, opened the door and glidedswiftly to the bedside. Hesden Le Moyne's face was buried in thepillow. She stood over him a moment, her bosom heaving with short,quick sighs. She reached out her hand as if she would touch him,but drew it quickly back. Then she spoke, quietly but with greateffort, looking only at the little sufferer.

"Mr. Le Moyne?" He raised his head quickly and a flush of joy sweptover his face. She did not see it, at least she was not looking athim, but she knew it. "Would you like me to—to stay—until—untilthis is over?"

He started, and the look of joy deepened in his face. He raised hishand but let it fall again upon the pillow, as he answered humblyand tenderly,

"If you please, Miss Ainslie." She put her hand upon the bed, inorder to seem more at ease, as she replied, with a face which sheknew was all aflame,

"Very well. I will remain for—the present."

He bent his head and kissed her hand. She drew it quickly away andadded in a tone of explanation:

"It would hardly be right to go back among so many children aftersuch exposure." So quick is love to find excuse. She called itduty, nor ever thought of giving it a tenderer name.

He made no answer. So easy is it for the fond heart to be jealousof a new-found treasure.

She waited a moment, and then went out and wrote a note to EliabHill. Then she went into the room of the invalid mother. How sweetshe looked, reclining on the bed in the pretty alcove, doing penancefor her unwonted pleasure of the night before! The excited girllonged to throw her arms about her neck and weep. It seemed to herthat she had never seen any one so lovely and loveable. She wentto the bedside and took the slender hand extended toward her,

"So," said Mrs. Le Moyne, "I hear they have sent for you to go backto Red Wing. I am sorry, for you have given us great pleasure; butI am afraid you will have only sad memories of Mulberry Hill. Itis too bad! Poor Hildreth had taken such a liking to you, too. Iam sure I don't blame him, for I am as much in love with you as aninvalid can be with any one but herself. Hesden will have a hardtime alone in this great house with two sick people on his hands."

"I shall not go back to Red Wing to-day."

"Indeed?"

"No, I do not think it would be right to endanger so many by exposureto the disease." "Oh," carelessly; "but I am afraid yon may takeit yourself."

"I hope not. I am very well and strong. Besides, Hildreth callsfor me as soon as I leave him for a moment."

"Poor little fellow! It is pitiable to know that I can do nothingfor him."

"I will do what I can, Mrs. Le Moyne."

"But you must not expose yourself in caring for a strange child,my dear. It will not do to be too unselfish."

"I cannot leave him, Mrs. Le Moyne."

She left the room quickly and returned to her place at the sufferer'sbedside. Hesden Le Moyne rose as she approached. She took the fanfrom his hand and sat down in the chair he had occupied. He stoodsilent a moment, looking down upon her as she fanned the uneasysleeper, and then quietly left the room.

"What a dear, tender-hearted thing she is!" said Mrs. Le Moyne toherself after she had gone. "So lady-like and refined too. Howcan such a girl think of associating with nigg*rs and teaching anigg*r school? Such a pity she is not one of our people. She wouldbe just adorable then. Don't you think so, Hesden?" she said aloudas her son entered. Having been informed of the subject of hercogitations, Mr. Hesden Le Moyne replied, somewhat absently andirrelevantly, as she thought, yet very warmly,

"Miss Ainslie is a very remarkable woman."

He passed into the hall, and his mother, looking after him, said,

"Poor fellow! he has a heap of trouble." And then it struck herthat her son's language was not only peculiar but amusing. "Aremarkable woman!" She laughed to herself as she thought of it. Alittle, brown-haired, bright-eyed, fair-skinned chit, pretty andplucky, and accomplished no doubt, but not at all "remarkable."She had no style nor pride. Yankee women never had. And no familyof course, or she would not teach a colored school. "Remarkable!"It was about the only thing Miss Ainslie was not and could notbe. It was very kind of her to stay and nurse Hildreth, though sheonly did that out of consideration for the colored brats under hercharge at Red Wing. Nevertheless she was glad and gratified thatshe did so. She was a very capable girl, no doubt of that, and shewould feel much safer about Hildreth because of her care. It wasjust in her line. She was like all Yankee women—just a better classof housemaids. This one was very accomplished. She had playedthe piano exquisitely and had acted the lady to perfection in lastnight's masquerade. But Hesden must be crazy to call her remarkable.She chuckled lightly as she determined to rally him upon it, whenshe saw him next. When that time came, the good lady had quiteforgotten her resolve.

CHAPTER XXXI.

A LIFE FOR A LIFE.

It was a time of struggle at Mulberry Hill. Love and death foughtfor the life of little Hildreth Le Moyne. The father and the "newgrandma" watched over him most assiduously; the servants were untiringin their exertions; the physician's skill was not lacking, butyet none could foresee the result. The invalid below sent frequentinquiries. First one and then the other stole away to ask her somequestion or bring her tidings in regard to the lad in whose lifewas bound up the hope of two old families.

One morning, while the child was still very sick, when MissAinslie awoke after the brief sleep which had been all the restshe had allowed herself from her self-imposed task, her head seemedstrangely light. There was a roaring in her ears as if a cataractwere playing about them. Her limbs ached, and every movement seemedunusually difficult—almost painful. She walked across the roomand looked dully into the mirror on her dressing-case, resting herhands on the top of the high old-fashioned furniture as she didso. She was only able to note that her eyes looked heavy and herface flushed and swollen, when a sharp pain shot through her frame,her sight grew dim, the room spun round and round. She could onlycrawl back and clamber with difficulty upon the high-posted bed,where the servant found her fevered and unconscious when she camean hour later to awaken her for breakfast. The struggle that hadbeen waged around the bed of the young child was now renewed bythat of his self-constituted nurse. Weeks passed away before it wasover, and ere that time the music of little feet had ceased aboutthe ancient mansion, and the stroke to pride and love had renderedthe invalid grand-mother still more an invalid.

The child had been her hope and pride as its mother had been herfavorite. By a strange contrariety the sunny-faced little motherhad set herself to accomplish her son's union with the tall, dark,and haughty cousin, who had expired in giving birth to littleHildreth. There was nothing of spontaneity and no display ofconjugal affection on the part of the young husband or his wife;but during the absence of her son, the invalid was well cared forand entertained by the wife, whom she came to love with an intensitysecond only to that she lavished on her son. In the offspring ofthese two her heart had been wrapped up from the hour of his birth.She had dreamed out for him a life full of great actualities,and had even reproached Hesden for his apathy in regard to publicaffairs during the stirring scenes enacting around them, urginghim to take part in them for his son's sake.

She was a woman of great ambition. At first this had centered in herson, and she had even rejoiced when he went into the army, thoughhe was earnestly opposed to the war, in the hope that it mightbring him rank and fame. When these did not come, and he returnedto her a simple private, with a bitterer hate for war and a sturdierdislike for the causes which had culminated in the struggle thanhe had when it began, she had despaired of her dream ever beingrealized through him, but had fondly believed that the son of thedaughter-in-law she had so admired and loved would unite his father'ssterling qualities with his mother's pride and love of praise, andso fulfill her desire that the family name should be made famousby some one descended from herself. This hope was destroyed by thedeath of the fair, bright child whom she loved so intensely, andshe felt a double grief in consequence. In her sorrow, she hadentirely secluded herself, seeing no one but her nurse and, onceor twice, her son. The sick girl in the room above was somehowunpleasantly connected with her grief, and received no real sympathyin her illness. There was even something of jealousy in the mindof the confirmed invalid, when she remembered the remarkable mannerin which the child had been attracted toward the new-comer, as wellas the fact that she had nursed him so faithfully that his lastwords were a moan for his "new grandma," while his real grandmotherlay useless and forgotten in her dim-shadowed room below.

Besides, it was with a feeling of envy that she recognized the factthat, for the first time in his life, her son was more absorbedin another's welfare than in her own. The chronic ailment of themother had no doubt become so much a thing of habit in his life thatit failed to impress him as it should, while the illness of theyoung girl, having, as he believed, been incurred by her voluntaryattendance upon his son inspired him with a feeling of responsibilitythat would not otherwise have existed. Something had occurred,too, which had aroused a feeling upon his part which is often veryclose akin to a tenderer one. As soon as he had learned of herillness, he had endeavored to induce some of his female relativesto come and attend her, but they had all flatly refused. Theywould come and care for the child, they said; they would even sendthe "Yankee school-marm" flowers, and make delicacies to tempt herappetite, but they would not demean themselves by waiting upon asick "nigg*r teacher." They did not fear the contagion; indeed theywould have come to take care of little Hildreth but that they didnot care to meet his Yankee nurse. They even blamed Hesden forallowing her to come beneath his roof, and intimated that she hadbrought contagion with her.

He was angry at their injustice and prejudice. He had known of itsexistence, but it never before seemed so hateful. Somehow he couldnot rid himself of two thoughts: one was of the fairy creaturewhose song and laughter and bird-like grace and gaiety, as shemasqueraded in the quaint dress of olden time, had made the dullold mansion bright as a dream of Paradise for a single night. Ithad seemed to him, then, that nothing so bright and pure had everflitted through the somber apartments of the gray old mansion. Heremembered the delight of his boy—that boy whom he loved more thanhe had ever loved any one, unless it were his invalid mother—andhe could not forget the same slight form, with serious shadowed faceand earnest eyes moving softly about the sick-room of the child,her eyes full of sorrowful anxiety as if the life she sought tosave were part of her own being. He wondered that any one couldthink of her as a stranger. It was true she had come from the Northand was engaged in a despised avocation, but even that she hadglorified and exalted by her purity and courage until his fastidiouslady mother herself had been compelled to utter words of praise.So his heart grew sore and his face flushed hot with wrath whenhis cousins sneered at this lily which had been blighted by thefevered breath of his son.

They tauntingly advised him to send to Red Wing and get some ofher "nigg*r" pupils to attend upon her. Much to their surprise hedid so, and two quiet, gentle, deft-handed watchers came, who byday and by night sat by her bedside, gladly endeavoring to repaythe debt they owed to the faithful teacher. But this did not seemto relieve Mr. Le Moyne of anxiety. He came often and watched theflushed face, heard the labored breathing, and listened with painedheart to the unmeaning murmurs which fell from her lips—the echoesof that desert dreamland through which fever drags its unconsciousvictims. He heard his own name and that of the fast-failing suffererin the adjoining room linked in sorrowful phrase by the stammeringtongue. Even in the midst of his sorrow it brought him a thrill ofjoy. And when his fear became fact, and he mourned the young lifeno love could save, his visits to the sick-room of her who hadbeen his co-watcher by his child's bedside became more frequent.He would not be denied the privilege until the crisis came, andreason resumed her sway. Then he came no more, but every day sentsome token of remembrance.

Mrs. Le Moyne had noted this solicitude, and with the jealousy ofthe confirmed invalid grudged the sick girl the slightest of thethoughtful attentions that she alone had been accustomed to receive.She did not dream that her son, Hesden Le Moyne, cared anything forthe little Yankee chit except upon broadly humanitarian grounds,or perhaps from gratitude for her kindly attention to his son; buteven this fretted her. As time went on, she came more and more todislike her and to wish that she had never come beneath their roof.So the days flew by, grew into weeks, and Mollie Ainslie was stillat Mulberry Hill, while important events weve happening at RedWing.

CHAPTER XXXII.

A VOICE FROM THE DARKNESS.

It was two weeks after Miss Ainslie's involuntary flight from RedWing that Nimbus, when he arose one morning, found a large pineboard hung across his gateway. It was perhaps six feet long andsome eighteen or twenty inches wide in the widest part, smoothlyplaned upon one side and shaped like a coffin lid. A hole had beenbored in either end, near the upper corner, and through each ofthese a stout cord had been passed and tied into a loop, which,being slipped over a paling, one on each side the gate, left theboard swinging before it so as effectually to bar its opening unlessthe board were first removed.

The attention of Nimbus was first directed to it by a neighbor-womanwho, stopping in front of the gate, called out to him in greatexcitement, as he sat with Berry Lawson on his porch waiting forhis breakfast:

"Oh, Bre'er Nimbus, what in de libbin' yairth is dis h'yer on yourgate? La sakes, but de Kluckers is after you now, shore 'nough!"

"Why, what's de matter wid yer, Cynthy?" said Nimbus, cheerfully.
"Yer hain't seen no ghosteses nor nuffin', bez ye?"

"Ghosteses, did yer say?" answered the excited woman. "Jes yercome an' look, an' ef yer don't say hit wuss ner ghosteses, yermay count Cynthy a fool. Dat's all."

Berry started down to the gate, Nimbus following him, carelessly.

"Why, hello, Bre'er Nimbus! Yer shore hez got a signboard cross depassway. Jes look a' dat now! What yer 'spect it mout be, cousin?"said Berry, stopping short and pointing to the board hung on thefence.

"'Clar, I dunno," said Nimbus, as he strode forward and leaned overthe fence to get a sight of the other side of the board. "'Spec'it must be some of dem Ku Kluck's work, ez Cynthy says."

After examining it a moment, he directed Berry to lift up theother end, and together they carried it to the house of Eliab Hill,where its grotesque characters were interpreted, so far as he wasable to translate them, as well as the purport of a warning letterfastened on the board by means of a large pocket-knife thrustthrough it, and left sticking in the soft wood.

Upon the head of the coffin-shaped board was roughly drawn, inblack paint, a skull and cross-bones and, underneath them, thewords "Eliab Hill and Nimbus Desmit," and below these still, themystic cabala, "K.K.K," a formulary at which, just at that time,a great part of the nation was laughing as a capital illustrationof American humor. It was accounted simply a piece of grotesquerieintended to frighten the ignorant and superstitious negro.

The old claim of the South, that the colored man could be controlledand induced to labor only by the lash or its equivalent, had manybelievers still, even among the most earnest opponents of slavery,and not a few of these even laughed good-naturedly at the grotesquepictures in illustrated journals of shadowy beings in horriblemasks and terrified negroes cowering in the darkness with eyesdistended, hair rising in kinky tufts upon their heads, and teethshowing white from ear to ear, evidently clattering like castanets.It was wonderfully funny to far-away readers, and it made uproariousmirth in the aristocratic homes of the South. From the banks ofthe Rio Grande to the waters of the Potomac, the lordly Southronlaughed over his glass, laughed on the train, laughed in the street,and laughed under his black cowl of weirdly decorated muslin—notso much at the victims of the terrible Klan, as at the silly Northwhich was shaking its sides at the mask he wore. It was an era offun. Everybody laughed. The street gamins imitated the Kluck,which gave name to the Klan. It was one of the funniest things theworld had ever known.

The Yankee—Brother Jonathan—had long been noted as a droll.A grin was as much a part of his stock apparel as tow breechesor a palm-leaf hat. The negro, too, had from time immemorial beenportrayed upon the stage and in fiction as an irrepressible andinimitably farcical fellow. But the "Southern gentleman" was aman of different kidney from either of these. A sardonic dignityhedged him about with peculiar sacredness. He was chivalrous andbaronial in his instincts, surroundings, and characteristics. Hewas nervous, excitable, and bloodthirsty. He would "pluck up drownedhonor by the locks" and make a target of everyone who laughed. Hehunted, fought, gambled, made much of his ancestors, hated nigg*rs,despised Yankees, and swore and swaggered on all occasions. That wasthe way he was pictured in the ancient days. He laughed—sometimes—notoften, and then somewhat sarcastically—but he did not makehimself ridiculous. His amour propre was most intense. Heappreciated fun, but did not care that it should be at his expense.He was grave, irritable and splenetic; but never comical. A braggart,a rough-rider, an aristocrat; but never a masquerader. That wasthe old-time idea.

Yet so had the war and the lapse of half a decade changed thispeople that in one State forty thousand men, in another thirty, inothers more and in others less, banded together with solemn oathsand bloody ceremonies, just to go up and down the earth in thebright moonlight, and play upon the superstitious fears of the poorignorant and undeveloped people around them. They became a raceof jesters, moonlight masqueraders, personators of the dead. Theyinstituted clubs and paraded by hundreds, the trained cavalry ofa ghostly army organized into companies, battalions, divisions,departments, having at their head the "Grand Wizard of the Empire."It was all in sport—a great jest, or at the worst designed onlyto induce the colored man to work somewhat more industriously fromapprehension of ghostly displeasure. It was a funny thing—thegravest, most saturnine, and self-conscious people on the globemaking themselves ridiculous, ghostly masqueraders by the hundredthousand! The world which had lately wept with sympathy forthe misfortunes of the "Lost Cause," was suddenly convulsed withmerriment at the midnight antics of its chivalric defenders. Themost vaunted race of warriors seized the cap and bells and stolealso the plaudits showered upon the fool. Grave statesmen, reverenddivines, legislators, judges, lawyers, generals, merchants, planters,all who could muster a good horse, as it would seem, joined thejolly cavalcade and rollicked through the moonlight nights, merelyto make fun for their conquerors by playing on the superstitiousfear of the sable allies of the Northmen. Never before was suchgood-natured complaisance, such untiring effort to please. So theNorth laughed, the South chuckled, and the world wondered.

But the little knot of colored men and women who stood around EliabHill while he drew out the knife which was thrust through the paperinto the coffin-shaped board laid across the front of his "go-cart,"and with trembling lips read the message it contained—these sillycreatures did not laugh. They did not even smile, and a joke whichBerry attempted, fell flat as a jest made at a funeral.

There is something very aggravating about the tendency of this raceto laugh at the wrong time, and to persist in being disconsolatewhen every one can see that they ought to dance. Generation aftergeneration of these perverse creatures in the good old days ofslavery would insist on going in search of the North Pole under themost discouraging circ*mstances. On foot and alone, without moneyor script or food or clothing; without guide or chart or compass;without arms or friends; in the teeth of the law and of nature,they gave themselves to the night, the frost, and all the dangersthat beset their path, only to seek what they did not want!

We know there was never a happier, more contented, light-hearted,and exuberant people on the earth than the Africo-American slave! Hehad all that man could reasonably desire—and more too! Well-fed,well-clothed, luxuriously housed, protected from disease with watchfulcare, sharing the delights of an unrivalled climate, relieved ofall anxiety as to the future of his off-spring, without fear ofwant, defiant of poverty, undisturbed by the bickerings of societyor heartburnings of politics, regardless of rank or station, wealth,kindred, or descent, it must be admitted that, from an earthly pointof view, his estate was as near Elysian as the mind can conceive.Besides all this, he had the Gospel preached unto him—for nothing;and the law kindly secured him against being misled by falsedoctrines, by providing that the Bread of Life should never bebroken to him unless some reputable Caucasian were present to vouchfor its quality and assume all responsibility as to its genuineness!

That a race thus carefully nourished, protected, and guarded fromerror as well as evil should be happy, was just as natural as thatthe sun should shine. That they were happy only lunatics could doubt.All their masters said so. They even raved when it was denied. Theministers of the Gospel—those grave and reverend men who ministeredunto them in holy things, who led their careless souls, blindfoldedand trustful, along the straight and narrow way—all declaredbefore high Heaven that they were happy, almost too happy, fortheir spiritual good. Politicians, and parties, and newspapers;those who lived among them and those who went and learned all aboutthem from the most intelligent and high-toned of their Caucasianfellow-beings—nigh about everybody, in fact—declared, affirmed,and swore that they were at the very utmost verge of human happiness!Yet even under these circ*mstances the perverse creatures wouldrun away. Indeed, to run away seemed to be a characteristic ofthe race like their black skin and kinkling hair! It would haveseemed, to an uninformed on-looker, that they actually desired toescape from the paternal institution which had thrown around theirlives all these blissful and beatifying circ*mstances. But we knowit was not so. It was only the inherent perversity of the race!

Again, when the war was ended and they were thrown upon the coldcharity of an unfriendly world, naked, poor, nameless, and homeless,without the sheltering and protecting care of that master who hadever before been to them the incarnation of a kindly Providence—at that moment when, by all the rules which govern Caucasian humannature, their eyes should have been red with regretful tears, andtheir hearts overburdened with sorrow, these addled-pated childrenof Africa, moved and instigated by the perverse devil of inherentcontrariness, were grinning from ear to ear with exasperatingexultation, or bowed in still more exasperating devotion, wererendering thanks to God for the calamity that had befallen them!

So, too, when the best people of the whole South masqueradedfor their special benefit, they stupidly or stubbornly failed andrefused to reward their "best friends" for the entertainment providedfor them, at infinite pains and regardless of expense, even withthe poor meed of approving cachinnation. They ought to have beenamused; they no doubt were amused; indeed, it is morally impossiblethat they should not have been amused—but they would not laugh!Well may the Caucasian of the South say of the ebony brother whomhe has so long befriended and striven to amuse: "I have piped untoyou, and you have not danced!"

So Eliab read, to a circle whose cheeks were gray with pallor, andwhose eyes glanced quickly at each other with affright, these words

"ELIAB HILL AND NIMBUS DESMIT: You've been warned twice, and ithain't done no good. This is your last chance. If you don't gitup and git out of here inside of ten days, the buzzards will havea bait that's been right scarce since the war. The white folks isgoing to rule Horsford, and sassy nigg*rs must look out. We're notgoing to have any such San Domingo hole as Red Wing in it, neither.Now just sell off and pack up and git clear off and out of thecountry before we come again, which will be just as soon as themoon gits in the left quarter, and has three stars in her lowerhorn. If you're here then you'll both need coffins, and that boyBerry Lawson that you coaxed away from his employer will hang withyou.

"Remember! Remember! REMEMBER!

"By order of the Grand Cyclops of the Den and his two Night Hawks,and in the presence of all the Ghouls, on the fifth night of thesixth Dark Moon!

"K.K.K."

Hardly had he finished reading this when a letter was brought tohim which had been found on the porch of the old Ordinary. It wasaddressed to "MISS MOLLIE AINSLIE, nigg*r Teacher at Red Wing," butas it was indorsed "K.K.K." Eliab felt no compunctions in openingit in her absence. It read:

"MISS AINSLIE: We hain't got no spite against you and don't meanyou no harm; but the white folks owns this country, and is goingto rule it, and we can't stand no such nigg*r-equality schools asyou are running at Red Wing. It's got to stop, and you'd betterpick up and go back North where you come from, and that quick, ifyou want to keep out of trouble. Remember!

"By order of the Grand Cyclops of the Den and his Ghouls, K.K.K."

"P.S. We don't mean to hurt you. We don't make no war on women andchildren as the Yankees did, but we mean what we say—git out! Anddon't come back here any more neither!"

The rumor of the mysterious Klan and its terrible doings hadbeen in the air for many months. From other States, and even fromadjoining counties, had come to their ears the wail of its victims.But so preponderating was the colored population of Horsford, andso dependent upon their labor was its prosperity, that they hadentertained little fear of its coming among them. Two or threetimes before, Nimbus and Eliab had received warnings and had eventaken some precautions in regard to defense; but they did notconsider the matter of sufficient moment to require them to makeit public. Indeed, they were inclined to think that as there hadbeen no acts of violence in the county, these warnings were merelythe acts of mischievous youngsters who desired to frighten them intoa display of fear. This seemed to be a more serious demonstration,but they were not yet prepared to give full credence to the threatconveyed in so fantastic a manner.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION.

"Wal, dey manage to fotch Berry inter it widout sending him a letterall to hissef, alter all," said that worthy, when Eliab, with palelips, but a firm voice, had finished reading the paper. "Ben done'spectin' dat, all de time sence I come h'yer, Cousin Nimbus. I'sebeen a-hearin' 'bout dese Klu Kluckers dis smart while now, oberyer in Pocatel and Hanson counties, an' I 'spected Marse Sykes'dbe a-puttin' 'em on ter me jest ez soon as dey got ober here. Hehed no idear, yer know, but what I'd hev ter go back an' wuk ferjes what I could git; an sence I hain't he's mad about it, dat'sall. What yer gwine ter do 'bout it, Nimbus?"

"I'se gwine ter stay right h'yer an' fight it out, I is," saidNimbus, doggedly. 'I'se fout fer de right ter live in peace onmy own lan' once, an' I kin fight for it agin. Ef de Ku Kluckerswants ter try an' whip Nimbus, jes let 'em come on," he said,bringing down his clenched right hand upon the board which wasupheld by his left, with such force that it was split from end toend.

"Hi! you take keer dar, Cousin Nimbus," said Berry, hopping outof the way of the falling board with an antic gesture. "Fust youknow, yer hurt yer han' actin' dat er way. What YOU gwine ter do'bout dis yer matter, Uncle 'Liab?" he continued, turning to thepreacher.

The man addressed was still gazing on the threatening letter. Hisleft hand wandered over his dark beard, but his face was full ofan unwavering light as he replied:

"The Lord called me to my work; He has opened many a door beforeme and taken me through many trials. He has written, 'I will bewith thee alway, even unto the end.' Bless His holy Name! Hitherto,when evil has come I have waited on Him. I may not do a man's partlike you, my brother," he continued, laying his hand on Nimbus'knotted arm and gazing admiringly upon his giant frame," but I canstand and wait, right here, for the Lord's will to be done; and hereI will stay—here with my people. Thank the Lord, if I am unable tofight I am also unable to fly. He knew what a poor, weak creatureI was, and He has taken care of that. I shall stay, let others doas they may. What are you going to do, Brother Berry? You are inthe same danger with Nimbus and me."

"Wal, Bre'er 'Liab," replied Berry," I hab jes 'bout made up MY min'ter run fer it. Yer see, I'se jes a bit differently sarc*mstancedfrom what either o' you 'uns is. Dar's Nimbus now, he's been in dewah an' knows all 'bout de fightin' business; an' you's a preacheran' knows all der is ob de prayin' trade. But I never was wuthnothin' ob any account at either. It's de feet ez hez allers stoodby me," he added, executing a double-shuffle on the plank walkwhere he stood; "an' I 'llows ter stan' by dem, an' light outenhere, afore dem ar Kluckers comes roun' fer an answer ter dat arletter. Dat's my notion, Bre'er 'Liab."

"Yer don't mean yer gwine ter run away on de 'count ob dese yer Ku
Kluckers, does yer, Berry?" said Nimbus, angrily.

"Dat's jes 'zackly what I do mean, Cousin Nimbus—no mistake 'boutdat," answered Berry, bowing towards Nimbus with a great show ofmock politeness. "What else did yer tink Berry mean, hey? Didn'tmy words 'spress demselves cl'ar? Yer know, cousin, dat I'se notone ob de fightin' kine. Nebber hed but one fight in my life, an'den dar wuz jes de wuss whipped nigg*r you ebber seed. Yer see demsinners, eh?" rolling up his sleeve and showing a round, close-cordedarm. "Oh, I'se some when I gits started, I is. All whip-cordan' chain-lightnin', whoop! I'll bet a harf dollar now, an borrerde money from Bre'er Nimbus h'yer ter pay it, dat I kin turn morehan'-springs an' offener an' longer nor ary man in dis crowd. Oh,I'se some an' more too, I is, an' don't yer fergit it. 'Bout datfight?" he continued to a questioner, "oh, yes, dat was one ob demos' 'markable fights dar's ever been in Ho'sford county. Yer see'twuz all along uv Ben Slade an' me. Lor' bress yer, how we didfight! 'Pears ter me dat it must hev been nigh 'bout harf a daywe wuz at it."

"But you didn't lick Ben, did you, Berry?" asked one of the bystandersin surprise.

"Lick him? Yer jes' orter see de corn I wollered down 'long widdat nigg*'! Dar must hev been close on ter harf an acre on't."

"But he's a heap bigger'n you, Berry, ez stout ez a bull an' one obde bes' fighters ebber on de hill at Louisburg. Yer jest romancin'now, Berry," said Nimbus, incredulously.

"Oh, but yer don't understan' it, cousin," said Berry. "Yer see Iplayed fer de under holt—an' got it, dat I did. Lor'! howdat ar Ben did thrash de groun' wid me! Ole Mahs'r lost a heapob corn on 'count dat ar fight! But I hung on ter him, an' nebberwould hev let him go till now, ef—ef somebody hedn't pulled meout from under him!"

There was a roar of laughter at this, in which Berry joined heartily,and as it began to die out he continued: "Dat's de only fightI ebber hed, an' I don't want no mo'. I'se a peaceable man, an'don't want ter hurt nobody. Ef de Kluckers wants ter come whar Iis, an' gibs me sech a perlite notice ez dat ter quit, I'se gwineter git out widout axin' no imper'ent questions 'bout who wasdar fust. An' I'se gwine ter keep gittin' tu—jest' ez fur an' ezfast ez dey axes me ter move on, ez long ez de road's cut out an'I don't come ter no jumpin'-off place. Ef dey don't approve of BerryLawson a stayin' roun' h'yer, he's jes' a gwine West ter grow upwid der kentry."

"I'd sooner be dead than be sech a limber-jinted coward!" saidNimbus. "I'm sorry I ebber tuk ye in atter Marse Sykes hed put yerout in de big road, dat I am." There was a murmur of approval, andhe added: "An' ef yer hed enny place ter go ter, yer shouldn't stayin my house nary 'nother minit."

"Now, Cousin Nimbus," said Berry, soberly, "dar hain't nary bitob use ob enny sech talk ter me. Berry arns his libbin' ef he doeshab his joke now an' agin."

"Oh, no doubt o' dat," said Nimbus. "Ther ain't no better han' inenny crop dan Berry Lawson. I've said dat often an' over."

"Den yer jes take back dem hard words yer spoke 'bout Berry, won'tyer now, Cousin Nimbus?" said Berry, sidling up to him and lookingvery much as if he intended to give the lie to his own account ofhis fighting proclivities.

"No, I won't," said Nimbus, positively. "I do say dat any man ezruns away kase de Ku Kluck tries ter scar him off is a damn coward,'n I don't care who he calls his name neither."

"Wal, now, Cousin Nimbus," said Berry, his eyes flashing and hiswhole appearance falsifying his previous poltroonery, "dar's twosides ter dat ar question. I hain't nebber been a sojer like you,cousin, an' it's a fac' dat I don't keer ter be; but I du say ezhow I'd be ez willin' ter stan' up an' fight fer de rights we's gotez enny man dat ebber's trod de sile ennywhere's 'bout Red Wing, efI thought ez how 'twould do de least bit ob good. But I tell yer,gemmen, hit won't do enny good, not de least bit, an' I knows it.I'se seen de Ku Kluckers, gemmen, an' I knows who some on 'em is,an' I knows dat when sech men takes hold ob sech a matter wid onlypore nigg*rs on de udder side, dar ain't no chance fer de nigg*rs.I'se seen 'em, an' I knows."

"When?" "Whar?" "Tell us 'bout it, Berry!" came up from all sidesin the crowd which had collected until now almost all the inhabitantsof Red Wing and its vicinity were there.

"Oh, 'tain't nuffin'," said he, nonchalantly. "What Berry says,ain't no 'count, nohow."

"Yes, tell us 'bout it," said Nimbus, in a conciliatory tone.

"Wal, ef you wants ter hear, I'll tell it," said Berry,condescendingly. "Yer mind some tree er fo' weeks ago I went terBre'er Rufe's, ober in Hanson county, on a Friday night, an' didn'tgit back till a Monday mornin'?"

"Sartin," said Nimbus, gravely.

"Wal, 'twas along o' dis yer business dat I went thar. I know'dyer'd got one er two warnin's sence I'd come yere wid yer, an' I'llowed it were on account ob me, kase dem ar Sykeses is monstrous badfolks when dey gits mad, an' ole Marse Granville, he war powerfulmad at me findin' a home here wid my own relations. So, I tole SallyAnn all 'bout it, an' I sez to her, 'Sally,' sez I, 'I don't wantter make Nimbus no sort o' trouble, I don't, kase he's stood up terus like a man. Now, ef dey should take a notion ter trouble Bre'erNimbus, hit mout do him a heap of harm, kase he's got so much truck'round him here ter lose.' So we made it up dat I was ter go terBre'er Rufe Paterson's, ober in Hanson county an' see ef we couldn'tfind a place ter lib dar, so's not ter be baitin' de hawks on teryou, Cousin Nimbus."

"Now you, Berry," said Nimbus, extending his hand heartily, "whatfor yer no tell me dis afore?"

"Jes kase 'twas no use," answered Berry. "Wall, yer know, I lefth'yer 'bout two hours ob de sun, an' I pushes on right peart, kaseit's a smart step ober ter Rufe's, ennyhow, an' I wanted ter seehim an' git back ter help Nimbus in de crap ob a Monday. Sally hedfixed me up a bite o' bread an' a piece o' meat, an' I 'llowed I'djes stop in some piney ole-field when I got tired, eat my snack,go ter sleep, an' start fresh afo' daylight in de mornin' for derest ob de way. I'd been a wukkin' right peart in de new-ground datday, an' when I got ter dat pine thicket jes past de spring by deBrook's place, 'twixt de Haw Ribber an' Stony Fork, 'long 'boutnine o'clock I reckon, I wuz dat done out dat I jes takes a drinkat de spring, eats a bite o' bread an' meat, hunts a close placeunder de pines, an' goes ter sleep right away.

"Yer knows dar's a smart open place dar, whar dey used ter hev deole muster-ground. 'Twas de time ob de full moon, an' when I wokeup a-hearin' somethin', an' kind o' peeped out under de pine bushes,I t'ought at fust dat it was de ghostesses ob de ole chaps dat hedcome back ter muster dar, sure 'nough. Dey warn't more'n ten stepsaway from me, an' de boss man, he sot wid his back to me in datrock place what dey calls de Lubber's Cheer. De hosses was tied allround ter de bushes, an' one ob 'em warn't more'n tree steps fromme, nohow. I heard 'em talk jest ez plain ez you can hear me, an'I know'd right smart ob de voices, tu; but, la sakes! yer couldn'tmake out which from t'odder wid dem tings dey hed on, all ober derheads, an' way down to der feet."

"What did they say?" asked Eliab Hill.

"Wal, Bre'er 'Liab, dey sed a heap, but de upshot on't all was datde white folks hed jes made up dar min's ter run dis kentry, spiteob ebbery ting. Dey sed dat dey wuz all fixed up in ebbery countyfrom ole Virginny clean ter Texas, an' dey wuz gwine ter teach denigg*rs dere place agin, ef dey hed ter kill a few in each countyan' hang 'em up fer scarecrows—jes dat 'ere way. Dey wa'n't nospring chickens, nuther. Dar wur Sheriff Gleason. He sed he'd cornedover ter let 'em know how they was gittin' on in Ho'sford. He seddat ebbery white man in de county 'cept about ten or twelve wasinter it, an' dey wuz a gwine ter clean out nigg*r rule h'yer,shore. He sed de fust big thing they got on hand wuz terbreak up dis buzzard-roost h'yer at Red Wing, an' he 'llowed datwouldn't be no hard wuk kase dey'd got some pretty tough tings onNimbus an" 'Liab both.

"Dey wuz all good men, I seed de hosses, when dey mounted ter go'way. I tell ye dey wuz good 'uns! No pore-white trash dar; no lamehosses ner blind mules ner wukked down crap-critters, Jes sleekgentlemen's hosses, all on 'em.

"Wal, dey went off atter an hour er two, an' I lay dar jes in apuffick lather o' sweat. I was dat dar skeered, I couldn't sleepno mo' dat ar night, an' I darsn't walk on afore day kase I wuzafeared o' meetin' some on 'em. So I lay, an' t'ought dis ting allober, an' I tell ye, fellers, 'tain't no use. 'Spose all de whitemen in Ho'sford is agin us, what's we gwine ter do? We can't lib.Lots o' nigg*rs can't lib a week widout wuk from some white man.'Sides dat, dey's got de bosses an' de guns, an' de 'sperience; an'what we got? Jes nuffin'. Der ain't no mo' use o' fightin' dan obtryin' ter butt down 'simmons off a foot-an'-a-half tree wid yerhead. It don't make no sort o' matter 'bout our rights. Co'se we'segot a right ter vote, an' hold meetin's, an' be like whitefolks; but we can't do it ef dey's a mind ter stop us. An' deyis—dat berry ting!

"Nimbus sez he's gwine ter fight, an' 'Liab sez he's gwine terpray. Dat's all right, but it won't do nobody else enny good northem nuther. Dat's my notion. What good did fightin' er prayin'either used ter do in ole slave times? Nary bit. An' dey's gotus jest about ez close ez dey hed us den, only de halter-chain'sa leetle mite longer, dat's all. All dey's got ter do is jes tershorten up on de rope an' it brings us in, all de same ez ever.Dat's my notion. So I'se gwine ter move on ebbery time dey axes metu; kase why, I can't help it. Berry'll git enough ter eat mostennywhar, an' dat's 'bout all he 'spects in dis worl'. It's a leetlebetter dan de ole slave times, an' ef it keeps on a-growin' better'n better, gineration atter gineration, p'raps some of Berry'skinfolks'll git ter hev a white man's chance some time."

Berry's experience was listened to with profound interest, buthis conclusions were not received with favor. There seemed to bea general conviction that the colored race was to be put on trial,and that it must show its manhood by defending itself and maintainingits rights against all odds. His idea of running away was voteda cowardly and unworthy one, and the plan advocated by Nimbus andEliab, to stay and fight it out or take whatever consequences mightresult, was accepted as the true one to be adopted by men havingsuch responsibility as rested upon them, as the first generationof free-men in the American history of their race.

So, Nimbus and his friends made ready to fight by holding a meetingin the church, agreeing upon signals, taking account of theirarms, and making provision to get ammunition. Berry prepared forhis exodus by going again to his brother Rufus' house and engagingto work on a neighboring plantation, and some two weeks afterwardhe borrowed Nimbus' mule and carry-all and removed his family also.As a sort of safeguard on this last journey, he borrowed from EliabHill a repeating Spencer carbine, which a Federal soldier had leftat the cabin of that worthy, soon after the downfall of the Confederacy.He was probably one of those men who determined to return home assoon as they were convinced that the fighting was over. Sherman'sarmy, where desertion had been unknown during the war, lost thousandsof men in this manner between the scene of Johnston's surrender andthe Grand Review at Washington, which ended the spectacular eventsof the war. Eliab had preserved this carbine very carefully, notregarding it as his own, but ready to surrender it to the owner orto any proper authority when demanded. It was useless without theproper ammunition, and as this seemed to be a peculiar emergency,he allowed Berry to take it on condition that he should stop atBoyleston and get a supply of cartridges. Eliab had never fireda gun in his life, but he believed in defending his rights, andthought it well to be ready to resist unlawful violence should itbe offered.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE MAJESTY OF THE LAW.

A few days after the events narrated in the last two chapters, thesheriff presented himself at Red Wing. There was a keen, shrewdlook in the cold, gray eyes under the overhanging brows, as he tiedhis horse to the rack near the church, and taking his saddle-bagson his arm, crossed the road toward the residence of Nimbus andEliab Hill.

Red Wing had always been a remarkably peaceful and quiet settlement.Acting under the advice of Miss Ainslie and Eliab, Nimbus had partedwith none of his possessions except upon terms which prevented thesale of spirituous liquors there. This was not on account of any"fanatical" prejudice in favor of temperance, since the Squire ofRed Wing was himself not exactly averse to an occasional dram; buthe readily perceived that if such sale could be prohibited in thelittle village the chances for peace and order would be greatlyimproved. He recognized the fact that those characters that weremost likely to assemble around a bar-room were not the most likelyto be valuable residents of the settlement. Besides the conditionin his own deeds, therefore, he had secured through the membersof the Legislature from his county the passage of an act foreverprohibiting the sale of spirituous liquors within one mile of theschool-house at Red Wing. Just without this limit several littleshanties had been erected where chivalric white men doled out liquorto the hard-working colored men of Red Wing. It was an easy and anhonorable business and they did not feel degraded by contact withthe freedmen across the bar. The superior race did not feel itselfdebased by selling bad whisky at an extravagant price to the poor,thirsty Africans who went by the "shebangs" to and from their dailytoil. But Nimbus and the law would not allow the nearer approachof such influences.

By these means, with the active co-operation of the teachers, RedWing had been kept so peaceful, that the officers of the law rarelyhad occasion to appear within its limits, save to collect the fiscaldues from its citizens.

It was with not a little surprise, therefore, that Nimbus saw thestalwart sheriff coming towards him where he was at work upon thehillside back of his house, "worming" and "topping" a field oftobacco which gave promise of a magnificent yield.

"Mornin', Nimbus," said the officer, as he drew near, and turningpartially around glanced critically over the field and furtivelyat the little group of buildings below. "A fine stand of terbackeryou've got—mighty even, good growth. Don't think I've seen quiteas good-looking a crap this year. There's old man George Price upabout Rouseville, he's got a mighty fine crap—always does have, youknow. I saw it yesterday and didn't think anything could be better,but your's does beat it, that's sure. It's evener and brighter,and a trifle heavier growth, too. I told him that if anybody inthe county could equal it you were the man; but I had no idea youcould beat it. This is powerful good land for terbacker, certain."

"'Tain't so much the land," said Nimbus, standing up to his arm-pitsin the rank-leaved crop above which his bare black arms glistenedin the hot summer sun, "as 'tis the keer on't. Powerful few folksis willin' ter give the keer it takes ter grow an' cure a finecrop o' terbacker. Ther ain't a minit from the time yer plant theseed-bed till ye sell the leaf, that ye kin take yer finger offenit widout resk ob losin' all yer wuk."

"That's so," responded the sheriff, "but the land has a heap to dowith it, after all."

"Ob co'se," said Nimbus, as he broke a sucker into short piecesbetween his thumb and finger, "yer's got ter hab de sile; but ther'sa heap mo' jes ez good terbacker lan' ez dis, ef people only hedthe patience ter wuk it ez I do mine."

"Wal, now, there's not so much like this," said the sheriff,sharply, "and you don't think so, neither. You wouldn't take a bigprice for your two hundred acres here now." He watched the other'scountenance sharply as he spoke, but the training of slavery madethe face of the black Ajax simply Sphinx-like in its inscrutability.

"Wal, I don't know," said Nimbus, slowly, "I mout and then againI moutn't, yer know. Ther'd be a good many pints ter think overbesides the quality of the sile afore I'd want ter say 'yes' er'no' to an offer ob dat kind."

"That's what I thought," said the sheriff. "You are nicely fixedhere, and I don't blame you. I had some little business with you,and I'm glad I come to-day and caught ye in your terbacker. It'spowerful fine."

"Business wid me?" asked Nimbus in surprise. "What is it?"

"Oh, I don't know," said the officer, lightly, as he put on hisspectacles, opened his saddle-bags and took out some papers. "Someof these lawyers have got after you, I suppose, thinking you'regetting along too peart. Let me see," he continued, shuffling overthe papers in his hand. "Here's a summons in a civil action—theold man, Granville Sykes, against Nimbus Desmit and Eliab Hill.Where is 'Liab? I must see him, too. Here's your copy," he continued,handing Nimbus the paper and marking the date of service on theoriginal in pencil with the careless promptitude of the well-trainedofficial.

Nimbus looked at the paper which was handed him in undisguisedastonishment.

"What is dis ting, anyhow, Marse Sheriff?" he asked.

"That? Why, that is a summons. Can't you read it? Here, let me takeit."

He read over the legal formulary requiring Nimbus to be and appearat the court house in Louisburg on the sixth Monday after the secondMonday in August, to answer the demand of the plaintiff against him,and concluding with the threat that in default of such appearancejudgment would be entered up against him.

"You see, you've got to come and answer old man Granville'scomplaint, and after that you will have a trial. You'll have toget a lawyer, and I expect there'll be smart of fuss about it beforeit's over. But you can afford it; a man as well fixed as you, thatmakes such terbacker as this, can afford to pay a lawyer rightsmart. I've no doubt the old man will get tired of it before youdo; but, after all, law is the most uncertain thing in the world."

"What does it mean? Has he sued me?" asked Nimbus.

"Sued you? I should rather think he had—for a thousand dollarsdamages too. That is you and 'Liab, between you."

"But what for? I don't owe him anythin' an' never did."

"Oh, that's nothing. He says you've damaged him. I've forgot whatit's about. Let me see. Oh, yes, I remember now. He says you and'Liab enticed away his servant—what's his name? that limber-jinted,whistlin' feller you've had working for you for a spell."

"What, Berry?"

"That's it, Berry—Berry Lawson, That's the very chap. Well, oldGranville says you coaxed him to leave his employ, and he's afteryou under the statute."

"But it's a lie—every word on't! I nebber axed Berry ter leavehim, an' hed no notion he was a gwine ter do it till Marse Sykesthrowed him out in de big road."

"Wal, wal, I don't know nothing about that, I'm sure. He says youdid, you say you didn't. I s'pose it'll take a court and jury todecide betwixt ye. It's none of my concern. Oh, yes," he continued,"I like to have forgot it, but here's a capias for you,too—you and 'Liab again. It seems there's a bill of indictmentagainst you. I presume it's the same matter. I must have a bond onthis for your appearance, so you'd better come on down to 'Liab'shouse with me. I'll take you for him, and him for you, as sureties.I don't suppose 'Liab'll be apt to run away, eh, and you're worthenough for both."

"What's this all about?" asked Nimbus.

"Well, I suppose the old man Sykes got ye indicted under the statutemaking it a misdemeanor, punishable with fine and imprisonment,to coax, hire, or seduce away one's nigg*rs after he's hired 'em.Just the same question as the other, only this is an indictmentand that's a civil action—an action under the code, as they callit, since you Radicals tinkered over the law. One is for the damageto old man Sykes, and the other because it's a crime to coax offor harbor any one's hirelings."

"Is dat de law, Mister Sheriff?"

"Oh, yes, that's the law, fast enough. No trouble about that. Didn'tknow it, did you? Thought you could go and take a man's "hands"right out from under his nose, and not get into trouble about it,didn't ye?"

"I t'ought dat when a man was free anudder could hire him widoutaxin' leave of his marster. Dat's what I t'ought freedom meant."

"Oh, not exactly; there's lots of freedom lyin' round loose, butit don't allow a man to hire another man's hands, nor give themaid and comfort by harboring and feeding them when they break theircontracts and run away. I reckon the old man's got you, Nimbus. Ifone hook don't catch, the other will. You've been harborin' thecuss, if you didn't entice him away, and that's just the same."

"Ef you mean by harborin' that I tuk my wife's kinsman in whenole Marse Sykes turned his family out in de big road like a damnedole rascal—"

"Hold on, Nimbus!" said the sheriff, with a dangerous light inhis cold gray eyes; "you'd better not talk like that about a whitegentleman."

"Whose ter hender my talkin', I'd like ter know? Hain't I jes' desame right ter talk ez you er Marse Sykes, an' wouldn't you callme a damn rascal ef I'd done ez he did? Ain't I ez free ez he is?"

"You ain't white!" hissed the sheriff.

"No, an' it seems I ain't free, nuther!" was the hot reply." H'yert'other night some damn scoundrels—I'specs they wuz white, too,an' yer may tell 'em from me dat I called 'em jes what I did—comean' hung a board 'fore my gate threatening ter kill me an' 'Liabkase we's 'too sassy,' so they sed. Now, 'Liab Hill ner me nebberdisturb nobody, an' nebber do nothin' only jes stan' up for ourown rights, respectful and peaceable-like; but we hain't ter berun down in no sech way, I'se a free man, an' ef I think a man'sa gran' rascal I'se gwine ter say so, whether he's black erwhite; an' ef enny on 'em comes ter Ku Klux me I'll put a bullett'rough dem! I will, by God! Ef I breaks the law I'll take theconsequences like a man, but I'll be damned ef ennybody shall KuKluck me without somebody's goin' 'long with me, when I drops outendis world! Dat much I'se sot on!"

The sheriff did not answer, only to say, "Careful, careful! There'sthem that would give you a high limb if they heard you talk likethat."

They went together to the house. The required bonds were given,and the sheriff started off with a chuckle. He had hardly passedout of sight when he checked his horse, returned, and calling Nimbusto the gate, said to him in a low tone:

"See here, Nimbus, if you should ever get in the notion of sellingthis place, remember and let me have the first chance."

"All right, Marse Gleason."

"And see here, these little papers I've served to-day—you needn'thave any trouble about them in that case. You understand," witha wink.

"Dunno ez I does, Marse Sheriff," stolidly.

"Oh, well, if you sell to me, I'll take care of them, that's all."

"An' ef I don't?"

"Oh, well, in that case, you must look out for yourself."

He wheeled his horse and rode off with a mocking laugh.

Nimbus returned to the porch of Eliab's house where the preachersat thoughtfully scanning the summons and capias.

"What you tink ob dis ting, 'Liab?"

"It is part of a plan to break you up, Nimbus," was the reply.

"Dar ain't no sort ob doubt 'bout that, 'Liab," answered Nimbus,
doggedly, "an' dat ole Sheriff Gleason's jes' at de bottom ob it,
I do b'lieve. But I ain't ter be druv off wid law-suits ner Ku
Kluckers. I'se jest a gwine ter git a lawyer an' fight it out, dat
I am."

CHAPTER XXXV.

A PARTICULAR TENANCY LAPSES.

The second day after the visit of the sheriff, Nimbus was sittingon his porch after his day's work when there was a call at hisgate.

"Who's dar?" he cried, starting up and gazing through an openingin the honeysuckle which clambered up to the eaves and shut inthe porch with a wall of fragrant green. Seeing one of his whiteneighbors, he went out to the gate, and after the usual salutationswas greeted with these words:

"I hear you's gwine to sell out an' leave, Nimbus?"

"How'd ye hear dat?"

"Wal, Sheriff Gleason's a' been tellin' of it 'round, and therain't no other talk 'round the country only that."

"What 'ud I sell out an' leave for? Ain't I well 'nough off whar
I is?"

"The sheriff says you an' 'Liab Hill has been gittin' into sometrouble with the law, and that the Ku Klux has got after you too,so that if you don't leave you're likely to go to States prison orhave a whippin' or hangin' bee at your house afore you know it."

"Jes let 'em come," said Nimbus, angrily—"Ku Kluckers or sheriffs,it don't make no difference which. I reckon it's all 'bout onean' de same ennyhow. It's a damn shame too. Dar, when de 'lectioncome las' time we put Marse Gleason in agin, kase we hadn't narywhite man in de county dat was fitten for it an' could give debond; an' of co'se dere couldn't no cullu'd man give it. An' jeskase we let him hev it an' he's feared we mout change our mindsnow, here he is a runnin' 'roun' ter Ku Klux meetin's an' a tryin'ter stir up de bery ole debble, jes ter keep us cullu'd people fromhevin' our rights. He can't do it wid me, dat's shore. I hain't donenuffin' an' I won't run. Ef I'd a-done ennythin' I'd run, kase Idon't b'lieve more'n ennybody else in a, man's stayin' ter let delaw git a holt on him; but when I hain't done nary ting, ther ain'tnobody ez kin drive me outen my tracks."

"But the Ku Klux mout lift ye outen 'em," said the otherwith a weak attempt at wit.

"Jes let 'em try it once!" said Nimbus, excitedly. "I'se purtywell prepared for 'em now, an' atter tomorrer I'll be jes readyfor 'em. I'se gwine ter Louisburg to-morrer, an' I 'llow thatatter I come back they won't keer ter meddle wid Nimbus. Tell yerwhat, Mister Dossey, I bought dis place from ole Marse Desmit,an' paid for it, ebbery cent; an' I swar I ain't a gwine ter letno man drive me offen it—nary foot. An' ef de Ku Klux comes, I'sjest a gwine ter kill de las' one I gits a chance at. Now, you min'what I say, Mister Dossey, kase I means ebbery word on't."

The white man cowered before the other's energy. He was of thatclass who were once denominated "poor whites." The war taught himthat he was as good a man to stop bullets as one that was gentlerbred, and during that straggle which the non-slaveholders foughtat the beck and in the interest of the slaveholding aristocracy,he had learned more of manhood than he had ever known before. In theold days his father had been an overseer on a plantation adjoiningKnapp-of-Reeds, and as a boy he had that acquaintance with Nimbuswhich every white boy had with the neighboring colored lads—theyhunted and fished together and were as near cronies as their colorwould allow. Since the war he had bought a place and by steadywork had accumulated some money. His plantation was on the riverand abutted on the eastern side with the property of Nimbus. Aftera moment's silence he said:

"That reminds me of what I heard to-day. Your old Marse Potem isdead."

"Yer don't say, now!"

"Yes—died yesterday and will be buried to-morrow."

"La, sakes! An' how's he lef ole Missus an' de gals, I wonder?"

"Mighty pore I'm afraid. They say he's been mighty bad off lately,an' what he's got won't more'n half pay his debts. I reckon thewidder an' chillen'll hev ter 'homestead it' the rest of theirlives."

"Yer don't tink so? Wal, I do declar', hit's too bad. Ez rich ez hewas, an' now ter come down ter be ez pore ez Nimbus—p'raps poorer!"

"It's mighty hard, that's sure. It was all along of the wah thatleft everybody pore in this country, just as it made all the Yankeesrich with bonds and sech-like."

"Sho'! what's de use ob bein' a fool? 'Twan't de wah dat made MarseDesmit pore. 'Twuz dat ar damn fool business ob slavery afo' dewah dat wound him up. Ef he'd never been a 'speculator' an' hadn'ttried to grow rich a raisin' men an' wimmen for market he'd a beenricher'n ever he was, when he died."

"Oh, you're mistaken 'bout that, Nimbus. The wah ruined us all."

"Ha! ha! ha!" roared Nimbus, derisively. "What de wah ebber takefrom you, Mister Dossey, only jes yer oberseer's whip? An' dat wurde berry best ting ebber happen ter ye, kase it sot yer to wuk an'put yer in de way ob makin' money for yerself. It was hard on sechez ole Mahs'r, dat's a fac, even ef 'twas mostly his own fault; butit was worth a million ter sech ez you. You 'uns gained mo' by deoutcome ob de wah, right away, dan we cullu'd folks'll ebber git,I'm afeared."

"Yer may be right," said Dawsey, laughing, and with a touch ofpride in his tone. "I've done pretty well since the wah. An' thatbrings me back to what I come over for. I thought I'd ax, if yeshould git in a notion of selling, what yer'd take fer yer placehere?"

"I hain't no idea uv selling, Mister Dossey, an' hain't no notionuv hevin' any 'nuther. You an' ebberybody else mout jest ez welllarn, fust ez las', dat I shan't never sell only jes ter make money.Ef I put a price on Red Wing it'll be a big one; kase it ain't donegrowing yet, an' I might jest ez well stay h'yr an' grow ez ter goWest an' grow up wid de kentry, ez dat fool Berry Lawson's allerstellin' about."

"Wal, that's all right, only ef you ever want ter sell, reasonable-like,yer know who to come to for your money. Good-night!"

The man was gathering up his reins when Nimbus said:

"When did yer say ole Mahsr's funeral was gwine ter be?"

"To-morrow afternoon at four o'clock, I heerd."

"Thank ye. I'se 'bout made up my mind ter go ter Louisburg to-morrer,stay ter dat funeral, an' come back nex' day. Seems ter me oleMahs'r'd be kind o' glad ter see Nimbus at his funeral, fer all Iwan't no gret fav'rite o' his'n. He wa'nt sich a bad marster, an'atter I bought Red Wing he use ter come ober ebbery now an' agin,an' gib me a heap ob advice 'bout fixin' on it up. I allus listenedat him, tu, kase ef ennybody ever knowed nex' do' ter ebberyting,dat ar man wuz ole Marse Potem. I'se sorry he's dead, I is; an'I'se mighty sorry for ole Missus an' de gals. An' I'se a gwine tergo ter dat er funeral an' see him laid away, ef it do take anudderday outen de crap; dat I is, shore.

"An' that 'minds me," said the white man, "that I heard at the sametime, that Walter Greer, who used to own the plantation afore yerMarse Desmit bought it, died sometime lately, 'way out in Texas.It's quare, ain't it, that they should both go nigh about the sametime. Good-night."

The "poor-white" neighbor rode away, little dreaming that thecolored man had estimated him aright, and accounted him only anemissary of his foes, nor did he comprehend the importance of theinformation he had given.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

THE BEACON-LIGHT OF LOVE.

Mollie Ainslie had been absent from Red Wing more than a month.It was nearly midnight. The gibbous moon hung over the westerntree-tops. There was not a sound to be heard in the little hamlet,but strangely draped figures might have been seen moving aboutin the open glades of the piney woods which skirted Red Wing uponthe west.

One after another they stole across the open space between thechurch and the pine grove, in its rear, until a half-dozen hadcollected in its shadow. One mounted on another's shoulders andtried one of the windows. It yielded to his touch and he raisedit without difficulty. He entered and another after him. Then twoor three strange-looking packages were handed up to them from theoutside. There was a whispered discussion, and then the partieswithin were heard moving cautiously about and a strong benzoicodor came from the upraised window. Now and then a sharp metallicclang was heard from within. At length the two that had enteredreturned to the window. There was a whispered consultation withthose upon the outside. One of these crept carefully to the cornerand gave a long low whistle. It was answered after a moment'sinterval, first from one direction and then from another, untilevery part of the little hamlet resounded with short quick answers.Then the man at the corner of the church crept back and whispered,

"All right!"

One of the parties inside came out upon the window-sill and droppedlightly to the ground. The other mounted upon the window-sill, andturned round upon his knees; there was a gleam of light within thebuilding, a flicker and a hiss, and then with a mighty roar theflame swept through it as if following the trail of some combustible.Here and there it surged, down the aisles and over the desks, whiteand clear, showing in sharpest silhouette every curve and angleof building and furniture.

The group at the window stood gazing within for a moment, the lightplaying on their faces and making them seem ghastly and pale bythe reflection; then they crept hastily back into the shadow ofthe wood—all but one, who, clad in the horribly grotesque habitof the Ku Klux Klan, stood at the detached bell-tower, and whenthe flames burst forth from the windows solemnly tolled the belluntil driven from his post by the heat.

One had hardly time to think, before the massive structure of driedpitch-pine which northern charity had erected in the foolish hopeof benefiting the freedmen, where the young teachers had laboredwith such devotion, and where so many of the despised race had laidthe foundation of a knowledge that they vainly hoped might liftthem up into the perfect light of freedom, was a solid spire ofsheeted flame.

By its ghastly glare, in various parts of the village were to beseen groups and single armed sentries, clad in black gowns whichfell to their very feet, spire-pointed caps, grotesquely marked andreaching far above the head, while from the base a flowing masquedepended over the face and fell down upon the shoulders, hidingall the outlines of the figure.

The little village was taken completely by surprise. It had beenagreed that the ringing of the church bell should be the signalfor assembling at the church with such arms as they had to resistthe Ku Klux. It had not been thought that the danger would be imminentuntil about the expiration of the time named in the notice; sothat the watch which had been determined upon had not been strictlykept, and on this night had been especially lax on one of the roadsleading into the little hamlet.

At the first stroke of the bell all the villagers were awake, andfrom half-opened doors and windows they took in the scene whichthe light of the moon and the glare of the crackling fire revealed.Then dusky-skinned forms stole hastily away into the shadows of thehouses and fences, and through the rank-growing corn of the littletruck-patches, to the woods and fields in the rear. There weresome who since the warning had not slept at home at all, but hadoccupied little leafy shelters in the bush and half-hid burrowson the hillside. On the eyes of all these gleamed the blaze of theburning church, and each one felt, as he had never realized before,the strength of that mysterious band which was just putting forthits power to overturn and nullify a system of laws that sought toclothe an inferior and servile race with the rights and privilegestheretofore exercised solely by the dominant one.

Among those who looked upon this scene was Eliab Hill. Sitting uponhis bench he gazed through the low window of his little cottage, theflame lighting up his pale face and his eyes distended with terror.His clasped hands rested on the window-sill and his upturned eyesevidently sought for strength from heaven to enable him manfullyto perform the part he had declared his determination to enact.What he saw was this:

A company of masked men seemed to spring out of the ground aroundthe house of Nimbus, and, at a whistle from one of their number,began swiftly to close in upon it. There was a quick rush and thedoor was burst open. There were screams and blows, angry words,and protestations within. After a moment a light shot up and diedquickly out again—one of the party had struck a match. Eliabheard the men cursing Lugena, and ordering her to make up a lighton the hearth. Then there were more blows, and the light shone uponthe window. There were rough inquiries for the owner, and Eliabthanked God that his faithful friend was far away from the dangerand devastation of that night. He wondered, dully, what wouldbe his thought when he should return on the morrow, and mark thedestruction wrought in his absence, and tried to paint his rage.

While he thought of these things the neighboring house was ransackedfrom top to bottom. He heard the men cursing because their searchwas fruitless. They brought out the wife, Lugena, and two of herchildren, and coaxed and threatened them without avail. A few blowswere struck, but the wife and children stoutly maintained that thehusband and father was absent, attending his old master's funeral,at Louisburg. The yellow light of the blazing church shone onthe house, and made fantastic shadows all around. The lurid glarelighted up their faces and pictured their terror. They were almostwithout clothing. Eliab noticed that the hand that clasped Lugena'sblack arm below the band of the chemise was white and delicate.

The wife and children were crying and moaning in terror and pain.Oaths and blows were intermingled with questions in disguisedvoices, and gasping broken answers. Blood was running down theface of the wife. The younger children were screaming in the house.Children and women were shrieking in every direction as they fledto the shelter of the surrounding woods. The flame roared andcrackled as it licked the resin from the pine logs of the churchand leaped aloft. It shone upon the glittering needles of thesurrounding pines, lighted up the ripening tobacco on the hillside,sparkled in the dewy leaves of the honeysuckle which clambered overthe freedman's house and hid the staring moon with its columns ofblack smoke.

The search for Nimbus proving unavailing—they scarcely seemed toexpect to find him—they began to inquire of the terror-strickenwoman the whereabouts of his friend.

"Where is 'Liab Hill?" asked the man who held her arm.

"What have you done with that snivelling hop-toad minister?" queriedanother.

"Speak, damn you! and see that you tell the truth," said a third,as he struck her over the bare shoulders with a stick.

"Oh! don't! don't!" shrieked the poor woman as she writhed in agony."I'll tell! I will, gentlemens—I will—I will! Oh, my God! don't!don't!" she cried, as she leaped wildly about, tearingthe one garment away in her efforts to avoid the blows which fellthick and fast on every part of her person, now fully exposed inthe bright light.

"Speak, then!" said the man who held the goad. "Out with it! Tellwhere you've hid him!"

"He ain't—here, gentlemen! He—he—don't—stay here no mo'."

Again the blows came thick and fast. She fell upon the ground androlled in the dust to avoid them. Her round black limbs glistenedin the yellow light as she writhed from side to side.

"Here I am—here!" came a wild, shrill shriek from Eliab's cabin.

Casting a glance towards it, one of the men saw a blanched andpallid face pressed against the window and lighted by the blazingchurch—the face of him who was wont to minister there to the peoplewho did not know their own "best friends!"

"There he is!"—"Bring the damn rascal out!"—"He's the one wewant, anyhow!"

These and numerous other shouts of similar character, beat uponthe ears of the terrified watcher, as the crowd of masked maraudersrushed towards the little cabin which had been his home ever sinceRed Wing had passed into the possession of its present owner. Itwas the first building erected under the new proprietorship, andwas substantially built of pine logs. The one low window and thedoor in front were the only openings cut through the solidly-framedlogs. The door was fastened with a heavy wooden bar which reachedacross the entire shutter and was held in place by strong ironstaples driven into the heavy door-posts. Above, it was stronglyceiled, but under the eaves were large openings made by the thickpoles which had been used for rafters. If the owner had been capableof defense he could hardly have had a castle better adapted for adesperate and successful struggle than this.

Eliab Hill knew this, and for a moment his face flushed as he sawthe crowd rush towards him, with the vain wish that he might fightfor his life and for his race. He had fully made up his mind todie at his post. He was not a brave man in one sense of the word.A cripple never is. Compelled to acknowledge the physical superiorityof others, year after year, he comes at length to regard his owninferiority as a matter of course, and never thinks of any movementwhich partakes of the aggressive. Eliab Hill had procured thestrong bar and heavy staples for his door when first warned by theKlan, but he had never concocted any scheme of defense. He thoughtvaguely, as he saw them coming towards him in the bright moonlightand in the brighter glow of the burning sanctuary, that with agood repeating arm he might not only sell his life dearly, but evenrepel the attack. It would be a proud thing if he might do so. Hewas sorry he had not thought of it before. He remembered the Spencercarbine which he had given a few days before to Berry Lawson toclean and repair, and to obtain cartridges of the proper calibre,in order that it might be used by some one in the defense of RedWing. Berry had not yet returned. He had never thought of using ithimself, until that moment when he saw his enemies advancing uponhim with wild cries, and heard the roar of the flaming church. Hewas not a hero. On the contrary, he believed himself a coward.

He was brave enough in suffering, but his courage was like thatof a woman. He was able and willing to endure the most terribleevils, but he did not think of doing brave things or achieving greatacts. His courage was not aggressive. He could be killed, but didnot think of killing. Not that he was averse to taking life inself-defense, but he had been so long the creature of another'swill in the matter of locomotion that it did not occur to him todo otherwise than say: "Do with me as thou wilt. I am bound handand foot. I cannot fight, but I can die."

He shrank from acute pain with that peculiar terror which theconfirmed invalid always exhibits, perhaps because he realizes itshorror more than those who are usually exempt from its pangs.

As he pressed his face close to the flame-lighted pane, and watchedthe group of grotesquely disguised men rushing toward his door,his eyes were full of wild terror and his face twitched, whilehis lips trembled and grew pale under the dark mustache. There wasa rush against the door, but it did not yield. Another and another;but the heavy bar and strong staples held it fast. Then his namewas called, but he did not answer. Drawing his head quickly fromthe window, he closed the heavy wooden shutter, which fitted closelyinto the frame on the inside, and fastened it with a bar like thatupon the door. Hardly had he done so when a blow shattered thewindow. Something was thrust in and passed around the opening,trying here and there to force open the shutter, but in vain. Thenit was pressed against the bottom, just where the shutter restedon the window-sill. There was an instant's silence save that EliabHill heard a click which he thought was caused by the co*cking ofa revolver, and threw himself quickly down upon his bench. Therewas a sharp explosion, a jarring crash as the ball tore throughthe woodwork, and hurtling across the room buried itself in theopposite wall. Then there were several shots fired at the door. Oneman found a little hole in the chinking, between two of the logs,and putting his revolver through, fired again and again, sendingspits of hot flame and sharp spiteful reverberations through thedarkness of the cabin.

Eliab Hill watched all this with fixed, staring eyes and teeth set,but did not move or speak. He scrambled off the bench, and crawled,in his queer tri-pedal fashion, to the cot, crept into it, and withhands clasped, sat bolt upright on the pillow. He set his backagainst the wall, and, facing the door, waited for the end. Hewished that some of the bullets that were fired might pierce hisheart. He even prayed that his doom might come sharp and swift—thathe might be saved from torture—might be spared the lash. He onlyfeared lest his manhood should fail him in the presence of impendingsuffering.

There came a rush against the door with some heavy timber.He guessed that it was the log from the hitching rack in front ofNimbus' house. But the strong bar did not yield. They called outhis name again, and assured him that if he did not undo the doorthey would fire the house. A strange look of relief, even of joy,passed over his face as he heard this declaration. He clasped hishands across his breast as he sat upon the bed, and his lips movedin prayer. He was not afraid to die, but he was afraid that he mightnot be strong enough to endure all the pain that might be caused bytorture, without betraying his suffering or debasing his manhood.He felt very weak and was glad to know that fire and smoke wouldhide his groans and tears.

While he waited for the hissing of the flame the blows of an axeresounded on the door. It was wielded by stalwart hands, and erelong the glare from without shone through the double planking.

"Hello, 'Liab—'Liab Hill!" cried a voice at the opening whichseemed to the quiet listener within strangely like that of SheriffGleason. "Damn me, boys, if I don't believe you've killed the nigg*r,shooting in there. Hadn't we better just set the cabin afire andlet it burn?"

"Put in your hand and see if you can't lift the bar," said another."I'd like to know whether the scoundrel is dead or alive. Besidesthat, I don't fancy this burning houses. I don't object to hanginga sassy nigg*r, or anything of that kind, but burning a house isa different matter. That's almost too mean for a white man to do.It's kind of a nigg*r business, to my notion."

"For instance!" said another, with a laugh, pointing to the blazingchurch.

"Oh, damn it!" said the former, "that's another thing. A damn nigg*rschool-house ain't of no more account than a brush-pile, anyhow."

A hand was thrust through' the opening and the bar lifted fromone socket and drawn out of the other. Then the door flew open anda half dozen men rushed into the room. The foremost fell over therolling chair which had been left near the door, and the others inturn fell over him.

"What the hell!" cried one. "Here, bring the light here. What isthis thing anyhow?"

The light was brought, and the voice continued: "Damned if it ain'tthe critter's go-cart. Here kick the damn thing out—smash it up!Such things ain't made for nigg*rs to ride on, anyhow. He won'tneed it any more—not after we have got through with him."

"That he won't!" said another, as the invalid's chair which hadfirst given Eliab Hill power to move himself about was kicked outof the door and broken into pieces with blows of the axe.

Eliab Hill felt as if a part of his life was already destroyed.He groaned for the fate of this inseparable companion of all hisindependent existence. It had grown dearer to him than he knew.It hurt him, even then, to hear the coarse, grim jests which wereuttered as its finely-wrought frame cracked beneath the blows of theaxe, and its luxurious belongings were rent and torn by the handsthat would soon rend and tear its owner. He had come to look uponthe insensate machine with a passionate regard. While it seemedlike tearing away his limbs to take it from him, yet there wasa feeling of separate animate existence about it which one neverfeels towards his own members. He had petted and polished and caredfor this strong, pretty, and easily worked combination of leversand springs and wheels that had served him so faithfully, until itseemed to his fancy like an old and valued friend.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

THE "BEST FRIENDS" REVEAL THEMSELVES.

"Bring alight!" shouted the leader. One of the men rushed into thehouse of Nimbus, and snatched a flaming brand from the hearth. Ashe ran with it out of the front door, he did not see a giant formwhich leaped from the waving corn and sprang into the back door.The black foot was bare and made no sound as it fell upon thethreshold. He did not see the black, furious face or the rightarm, bared above the elbow, which snatched a saber from the top ofa cupboard. He did not see the glaring, murderous eyes that peeredthrough the vine-leaves as he rushed, with his flaming brand aloft,out of the house to the hut of Eliab. As he readied the door thelight fell upon the preacher, who sat upon the bed. The fear ofdeath had passed away—even the fear of suffering was gone. Hislips moved in prayer, the forgiving words mingling with the cursesof his assailants: "O God, my help and my shield!" ("Herehe is, God damn him.") "Forgive them, Father—" ("I've gothim.") "They know not—-a—h!"

A long, shrill shriek—the voice of a man overborne by mortalagony—sounded above the clamor of curses, and above the roarof the blazing church. There was a fall upon the cabin floor—thegrating sound of a body swiftly drawn along its surface—and one ofthe masked marauders rushed out dragging by the foot the preacherof the Gospel of Peace. The withered leg was straightened. Theweakened sinews were torn asunder, and as his captor dragged himout into the light and flung the burden away, the limb dropped,lax and nerveless, to the ground. Then there were blows and kicksand curses from the crowd, which rushed upon him. In the midst,one held aloft a blazing brand. Groans and fragments of prayer cameup through the din. [Footnote: Those who are interested in suchmatters may find some curiously exact parallels of the charactersand incidents of this chapter testified to under oath in the "Reportof the Committee on Ku-Klux Outrages in the Southern States." Thefacts are of no special interest, however, except as illustrationsof the underlying spirit and cause of this strange epidemic ofviolence.]

All at once there was a roar as of a desert lion bursting from itslair. They looked and saw a huge black form leap from the porch ofthe other house and bound toward them. He was on them in a minute.There was the swish of a saber swung by a practiced hand, and thehigh-peaked mask of the leader bent over the hissing blade, and wasstripped away, leaving a pale, affrighted face glaring stupidly atthe ebon angel of wrath in the luried fire-light. A fearful oathcame through the white, strong teeth, which showed hard-set below themoustache. Again the saber whistled round the head of the avenger.There was a shriek of mortal agony, and one of the masqueradersfell. The others shrunk back. One fired a shot. The man with thetorch stood for the moment as though transfixed, with the glaringlight still held aloft. Then, with his revolver, he aimed a close,sure shot at the dusky giant whom he watched.

Suddenly he saw a woman's naked figure, that seemed to rise fromthe ground. There was a gleam of steel, and then down through maskand flesh and bone crashed the axe which had fallen by the doorstep, and the blood spurted upon Lugena's unclothed form and intothe face of the prostrate Eliab, as the holder of the torch fellbeside him. Then the others gave way, and the two black formspursued. There were some wild shots fired back, as they fled towardthe wood beyond the road.

Then from its depths came a flash and a roar. A ball went shriekingby them and flew away into the darkness beyond. Another, and anotherand another! It was not the sharp, short crack of the revolver, butthe fierce angry challenge of the rifle. They had heard it beforeupon the battle-field, and terror lent them wings as they fled.The hurtling missiles flew here and there, wherever a masked formcould be seen, and pursued their fleeing shadows into the wood,glancing from tree to tree, cutting through spine and branch andsplintering bole, until the last echo of their footsteps had diedaway.

Then all was still, except the roar of the burning church and thesolemn soughing of the pines, as the rising west wind rustled theirbranches.

Nimbus and his wife stood listening in the shade of a low oak,between the scene of conflict and the highway. No sound of theflying enemy could be heard.

"Nimbus! Oh, Nimbus!" the words came in a strained, lowwhisper from the unclad figure at his side.

"Wal, 'Gena?"

"Is you hurt, honey?"

"Nary bit. How should I be? They run away ez quick ez I come. Didthey 'buse you, 'Gena?"

"None of enny 'count," she answered, cautiously, for fear of raisinghis anger to a point beyond control—"only jest a tryin' ter makeme tell whar you was—you an' 'Liab."

"Whar's yer clo'es, honey?"

"In de house, dar, only what I tore, getting away from 'em." "An'de chillen?"

"Dey's run out an' hid somewheres. Dey scattered like youngpa'tridges."

"Dey's been hunted like 'em too, eh?"

He lays his hand in caution upon the bare shoulder next him, andthey both crouch closer in the shadow and listen. All is quiet,except groans and stertorous breathing near the cabin.

"It's one of them damned villains. Let me settle him!" said Nimbus.

"Don't, don't!" cried Lugena, as she threw her arms about his neck.
"Please don't, honey!"

"P'raps it's Bre'er 'Liab! Let me go!" he said, hastily.

Cautiously they started back through the strip of yellow light whichlay between them and the cabin of Eliab. They could not believethat their persecutors were indeed gone. Nimbus's hand still clutchedthe saber, and Lugena had picked up the axe which she had dropped.

The groaning came indeed from Eliab. He had partially recoveredfrom the unconsciousness which had come over him while undergoingtorture, and with returning animation had come the sense of acutesuffering from the injuries he had received.

"Bre'er 'Liab!" whispered Nimbus, bending over him.

"Is that you, Nimbus?" asked the stricken man in surprise. "How doyou come to be here?"

"Jes tuk it inter my head ter come home atter de funeril, an' donegot here jest in time ter take a han' in what was gwine on."

"Is the church all burned down, Nimbus?"

"De ruf hez all fell in. De sides 'll burn a long while yet. Dey'selogs, yer know."

"Did 'Gena get away, Nimbus?"

"Here I is, Bre'er 'Liab."

"Is anybody hurt?"

"Not ez we knows on, 'cept two dat's lyin' on de groun' right h'yerby ye," said Nimbus.

"Dead?" asked 'Liab, with a shudder. He tried to raise himself upbut sank back with a groan.

"Oh, Bre'er 'Liab! Bre'er 'Liab!" cried Nimbus, his distressovercoming his fear, "is you hurt bad? My God!" he continued, ashe raised his friend's head and saw that he had lapsed again intoinsensibility, "my God! 'Gena, he's dead!"

He withdrew the hand he had placed under the shoulders of theprostrate man. It was covered with blood.

"Sh—sh! You hear dat, Nimbus?" asked Lugena, in a choked whisper,as she started up and peered toward the road. "Oh, Nimbus, run!run! Do, honey, do! Dar dey comes! Dey'll kill you, shore!"

She caught her husband by the arm, and endeavored to drag him intothe shadow of the cabin.

"I can't leave Bre'er 'Liab," said Nimbus, doggedly.

"Yer can't help him. Yer'll jes stay an' be killed ye'self! Darnow, listen at dat!" cried the trembling woman.

The sound to which she referred was that of hurried footfalls inthe road beyond their house. Nimbus heard it, and stooping overhis insensible friend, raised him in his arms and dashed aroundthe cabin into the rank-growing corn beyond. His wife followed fora few steps, still carrying the axe. Then she turned and peeredthrough the corn-rows, determined to cover her husband's retreatshould danger threaten him from that direction. After waitingawhile and hearing nothing more, she concluded to go to the house,get some clothing, and endeavor to rally her scattered brood.

Stealing softly up to the back door—the fire had died out uponthe hearth—she entered cautiously, and after glancing through theshaded porch began to dress. She had donned her clothing and takenup her shoes preparatory to going back to the shelter of thecornfield, when she thought she heard a stealthy footstep on theporch. Her heart stood still with terror. She listened breathlessly.It came again. There was no doubt of it now—a slow, stealthy step!A board creaked, and then all was still. Again! Thank God it wasa bare foot! Her heart took hope. She stole to the open doorand peeped out. There, in the half shadow of the flame-lit porch,she saw Berry Lawson stealing toward her. She almost screamed forjoy. Stepping into the doorway she whispered,

"Berry!"

"Is dat you, 'Gena?" whispered that worthy, tiptoeing hastilyforward and stepping into the shadow within the room. "How'd yermanage ter live t'rough dis yer night, 'Gena? An' whar's Nimbusan' de chillen?"

These questions being hastily answered, Lugena began to inquire inregard to his presence there.

"Whar I come from? Jes got back from Bre'er Rufe's house. Druv atnight jes ter save de mornin' ter walk back in. Lef' Sally an' dechillen dar all right. When I come putty nigh ter Red Wing I seesde light o' de fire, an' presently I sez to myself, sez I, 'Berry,dat ain't no common fire, now. Ain't many houses in the kentryroun' make sech a fire ez dat. Dat mus' be de church, Berry.' DenI members 'bout de Ku Kluckers, an' I sez ter myself agin, sez I,'Berry, dem rascals hez come ter Red Wing an' is raisin' de debbledar now, jes dere own way.' Den I runs de mule and de carryallinter de woods, 'bout a mile down de road, an' I takes out Bre'er'Liab's gun, dat I'd borrered fer company, yer know, an' hed gotsome cattridges fer, ober at Lewyburg, an' I comes on ter take ahan' in—ef dar wa'n't no danger, yer know, honey.

"When I gits ober in de woods, dar, I heah de wust sort ob hullabalooober h'yer 'bout whar Bre'er 'Liab's house was—hollerin' an'screamin' an' cussin' an' fightin'. I couldn't make it all out,but I'llowed dat Nimbus wuz a-habbin' a hell ob a time, an' ef Iwuz gwine ter do anyting, dat wuz about de right time fer me terput in. So I rested dis yer ole gal," patting the carbine in hishand, "agin a tree an' jes slung a bullet squar ober dere heads.Ye see, I dassent shoot too low, fer fear ob hurtin' some of myfren's. 'D'ye heah dat shot, 'Gena? Lord! how de ole gal did holler.'Pears like I nebber hear a cannon sound so big. De Ku Kluckers'peared ter hear it too, fer dey comed squar outen h'yer interde big road. Den I opened up an' let her bark at 'em ez long ez Icould see a shadder ter pull trigger on. Wonder ef I hurt enny on'em. D'yer know, 'Gena, wuz enny on 'em killed?"

"Dar's two on 'em a layin' out dar by 'Liab's house," said thewoman.

"Yer don't say so!" said Berry with a start. "La, sakes! what'sdat?" he continued, breathlessly, as a strange sound was heard inthe direction indicated. They stole out upon the porch, and asthey peered through the clustering wine-leaves a ghastly spectaclepresented itself to their eyes.

One of the prostrate forms had risen and was groping around onits hands and knees, uttering a strange moaning sound. Presentlyit staggered to its feet, and after some vain efforts seized themask, the long flowing cape attached to which fell down upon theshoulders, and tore it away. The pale, distorted face with a bloodychannel down the middle was turned inquiringly this way and that.The man put his hand to his forehead as if to collect his thoughts.Then he tried to utter a cry; the jaw moved, but only unintelligiblesounds were heard.

Lugena heard the click of the gun-lock, and turning, laid her handon Berry, as she said,

"Don't shoot! 'Tain't no use!"

"Yer right, it ain't," said Berry with chattering teeth. "Whoebber seed a man walkin' 'roun' wid his head split wide open afo'?"

The figure staggered on, looked a moment at the house, turned towardthe burning church, and then, seeming to recall what had happened,at once assumed a stealthy demeanor, and, still staggering as itwent, crept off toward the gate, out of which it passed and wentunsteadily off down the road.

"Dar ain't no sort of use o' his dodgin' 'round," said Berry, asthe footsteps died away. "De berry debble'd gib him de road, ennytime."

As he spoke, a whistle sounded down the road. Berry and Lugenainstantly sought shelter in the corn. Crouching low between therows, they saw four men come cautiously into the yard, examine theprostrate man that remained, and bear him off between them, usingfor a stretcher the pieces of the coffin-shaped board which hadbeen hung upon the gate two weeks before.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

"THE ROSE ABOVE THE MOULD."

The convalescence of Mollie Ainslie was very rapid, and a few daysafter the crisis of her disease her attendants were able to returnto their homes at Red Wing. Great was the rejoicing there overthe recovery of their favorite teacher. The school had been greatlycrippled by her absence and showed, even in that brief period, howmuch was due to her ability and skill. Everybody was clamorous forher immediate return—everybody except Eliab Hill, who after analmost sleepless night sent a letter begging her not to return fora considerable time.

It was a strangely earnest letter for one of its apparent import.The writer dwelt at considerable length upon the insidious andtreacherous character of the disease from which she was recovering.He grew eloquent as he detailed all that the people of Red Wingowed to her exertions in their behalf, and told how, year afteryear, without any vacation, she had labored for them. He showed thatthis must have been a strain upon her vital energies, and pointedout the danger of relapse should she resume her duties before shehad fully recovered. He begged her, therefore, to remain at MulberryHill at least a month longer; and, to support his request, informedher that with the advice and consent of the Superintendent he haddismissed the school until that time. He took especial pains, too,to prevent the report of the threatened difficulty from comingto her ears. This was the more easily accomplished from the factthat those who had apprehended trouble were afraid of being deemedcowardly if they acknowledged their belief. So, while the greaternumber of the men in the little hamlet were accustomed to sleep inthe neighboring thickets, in order to be out of harm's way shouldthe Ku Klux come to make good their decree, very little was said,even among themselves, about the threatened attack.

In utter unconsciousness, therefore, of the fate that broodedover those in whom she took so deep an interest, Mollie abandonedherself to the restful delights of convalescence. She soon foundherself able to visit the room of the confirmed invalid below, andthough she seemed to detect a sort of coolness in her manner shedid not dream of associating the change with herself. She attributedit entirely to the sore affliction which had fallen upon thehousehold since her arrival, and which, she charitably reasoned,her own recovery must revive in their minds in full force. So shepardoned the fair, frail invalid who, reclining languidly uponthe couch, asked as to her health and congratulated her in cool,set phrases upon her recovery.

Such was not the case, however, with her host. There were tears inhis eyes when he met her on the landing for the first time aftershe left her sick-bed. She knew they were for the little Hildrethwhom she had nursed and whom her presence recalled. And yet therewas a gleam in his eyes which was not altogether of sorrow. She,too, mourned for the sweet child whom she had learned to love, andher eyes responded to the tender challenge with copious tears. Yether own feelings were not entirely sad. She did not know why. Shedid not stop to analyze or reason. She only gave him her hand—howthin and white it was compared with the first time he had seen herand had noted its soft plumpness!

Their lips quivered so that they could not speak. He held her handand assisted the servant in leading her into the parlor. She wasstill so weak that they had to lay her on the sofa. Hesden Le Moynebent over her for a little while, and then hurried away. He had notsaid a word, and both had wept; yet, as she closed her eyes afterhe had gone she was vaguely conscious that she had never been sohappy before in her life. So the days wore on, quietly and swiftly,full of a tender sorrow tempered with an undefined joy. Day byday she grew stronger and brighter, needing less of assistance butreceiving even more of attention from the stricken father of herlate charge.

"You have not asked about Satan," said Mr. Le Moyne suddenly oneday.

"Why should I?" she replied, with an arch look. "If that personagewill be equally forgetful of me I am sure I shall be very glad."

"Oh, I mean your horse—Midnight, as you call him," laughed Hesden.

"So I supposed," she replied. "I have a dim notion that you appliedthat eipthet to him on the night of my arrival. Your mother, too,said something about 'Satan,' that night, which I remember puzzledme very greatly at the moment, but I was too much flustered to askabout it just then. Thinking of it afterward, I concluded that sheintended to refer to my black-skinned pet. But why do you give himthat name?"

"Because that was the first name he ever knew," answered Hesden,with an amused smile.

"The first name he ever knew? I don't understand you," she replied."My brother captured him at Appomattox, or near there, and namedhim Midnight, and Midnight he has been ever since."

"Very true," said Hesden, "but he was Satan before that, and verywell earned this name, in his young days." "In his young days?"she asked, turning towards him in surprise. "Did you know him then?"

"Very well, indeed," he replied, smiling at her eagerness. "He wasraised on this plantation and never knew any other master than meuntil that day at Rouse's Bridge."

"Why, that is the very place my brother captured him. I rememberthe name now that you mention it!" she exclaimed.

"Is it anything surprising," said he, "that the day I lost himshould be the day he captured him?"

"No—not exactly—but then"—she paused in confusion as she glancedat the empty sleeve which was pinned across his breast.

"Yes," said he, noticing her look, "I lost that there," pointingto the empty sleeve as he spoke; "and though it was a sore loss toa young man who prided himself somewhat on his physical activity,I believe I mourned the horse more than I did the arm."

"But my brother—" she began with a frightened look into his face.

"Well, he must have been in my immediate vicinity, for Satan was thebest-trained horse in the squadron. Even after I was dismounted,he would not have failed to keep his place in the ranks when theretreat was sounded, unless an unusually good horseman were on hisback."

"My brother said he had as hard a struggle with him then as he hadwith his rider before," she said, looking shyly up.

"Indeed! I am obliged to him," he responded with a smile. "Thecommendation of an enemy is always pleasant to a soldier."

"Oh, he said you were terribly bloodthirsty and rode at him asif nothing would satisfy you but his life," she said, with greateagerness.

"Very likely," he answered, lightly. "I have some reputation fordirectness of purpose, and that was a moment of desperation. Wedid not know whether we should come back or not, and did not care.We knew that the end was very near, and few of us wished to outliveit. Not that we cared so much—many of us at least—for the causewe fought for; but we dreaded the humiliation of surrender and thestigma of defeat. We felt the disgrace to our people with a keennessthat no one can appreciate who has not been in like circ*mstances.I was opposed to the war myself, but I would rather have died thanhave lived to see the surrender."

"It must have been hard," she said, softly.

"Hard!" he exclaimed. "I should think it was! But then," headded, his brow suddenly clearing, "next to the fact of surrenderI dreaded the loss of my horse. I even contemplated shooting himto prevent his falling into the hands of the enemy."

"My brother thought you were rather anxious to throw away your ownlife," she said, musingly.

"No," he answered, "just indifferent. I wonder if I saw him atall."

"Oh, you must, for you-" she began eagerly, but stopped in confusion.

"Well, what did I do? Nothing very bad, I hope?" he asked.

"Well, you left an ugly scar on a very smooth forehead, if youcall that bad, sir," she said, archly.

"Indeed! Of course I do," was the reply, but his tone indicatedthat he was thinking less of the atrocity which she had laid tohis charge than of the events of that last day of battle. "Let mesee," said he, musingly. "I had a sharp turn with a fellow on agray horse. He was a slender, fair-haired man"—looking down atthe figure on the sofa behind which he stood as if to note if therewere any resemblance. "He was tall, as tall as I am, I should say,and I thought—I was of the impression—that he was of higher rankthan a captain. He was somewhat in advance of his line and right inmy path. I remember thinking, as I crossed swords with him thatif—if we were both killed, the odds would be in favor of ourside. He must have been a colonel at least, or I was mistaken inhis shoulder-straps."

"My brother was a colonel of volunteers," she said, quietly. "He wasonly a captain, however, after his transfer to the regular army."

"Indeed!" said he with new interest. "What was he like?"

For answer Mollie put her hand to her throat, and opening a goldlocket which she wore, held up the case so far as the chain wouldallow while Hesden bent over to look at it. His face was very nearher own, and she noted the eagerness with which he scanned thepicture.

"Yes, that is the man!" he said at length, with something like asigh. "I hope I did not injure him seriously."

"Only his beauty," she replied, pleasantly.

"Of which, judging from what I see," he said saucily, letting hiseyes wander from the miniature to her face, "he could afford tolose a good deal and yet not suffer by comparison with others."

It was a bold, blunt compliment, yet it was uttered with evidentsincerity; but she had turned the locket so that she could see thelikeness and did not catch the double meaning of his words. So sheonly answered calmly and earnestly, "He was a good brother."

A shadow passed over his face as he noticed her inattention tohis compliment, but he added heartily,

"And a gallant one. I am glad that my horse fell into his hands."

She looked at him and said,

"You were very fond of your horse?"

"Yes, indeed!" he answered. "He was a great pet before we went intothe service, and my constant companion for nearly three years ofthat struggle. But come out on the porch, and let me show you someof the tricks I taught him, and you will not only understand how Iprized him, but will appreciate his sagacity more than you do now."

He assisted her to a rocking-chair upon the porch, and, bidding aservant to bring out the horse, said:

"You must remember that I have but one arm and have not seen him,until lately, at least, for five years.

"Poor old fellow!" he added, as he went down the steps of theporch, and told the servant to turn him loose. He called him up witha snap of his thumb and finger as he entered the yard and pattedhis head which was stretched out to receive the caress. "Poorfellow! he is not so young as he was then, though he has had goodcare. The gray hairs are beginning to show on his muzzle, and I candetect, though no one else might notice them, the wrinkles comingabout his eyes. Let me see, you are only nine years old, though,—ninepast. But it's the war that tells—tells on horses just as well asmen. You ought to be credited with about five years for what youwent through then, old fellow. And a man—Do you know, Miss Mollie,"he said, breaking suddenly off—"that a man who was in that war,even if he did not get a shot, discounted his life about ten years?It was the wear and tear of the struggle. We are different fromother nations. We have no professional soldiers—at least none tospeak of. To such, war is merely a business and peace an interlude.There is no mental strain in their case. But in our war we wereall volunteers. Every man, on both sides, went into the army withthe fate of a nation resting on his shoulders, and because he feltthe burden of responsibility. It was that which killed—killedand weakened—more than shot and shell and frost and heat together.And then—what came afterward?"

He turned towards her as he spoke, his hand still resting onthe neck of the horse which was rubbing against him and playfullynipping at him with his teeth, in manifestation of his delight.

Her face had settled into firm, hard lines. She seemed to belooking beyond him, and the gray coldness which we saw about herface when she read the telegram in the far-away Bankshire hills,settled on cheek and brow again, as she slowly repeated, as thoughunconscious of their meaning, the lines:

"In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!"

Hesden Le Moyne gazed at her a moment in confused wonder. Thenhe turned to the horse and made him perform various tricks at hisbidding. He made him back away from him as far as he chose by themotion of his hand, and then, by reversing the gesture, brought himbounding back again. The horse lifted either foot at his instance,lay down, rolled over, stood upon his hind feet, and finally kneltupon the edge of the porch in obeisance to his mistress, who satlooking, although in a preoccupied manner, at all that was done.Hesden Le Moyne was surprised and somewhat disappointed at her lackof enthusiasm over what he thought would give her so much pleasure.She thanked him absently when it was over, and retired to her ownroom.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

WHAT THE MIST HID.

The darkness was already giving way to the gray light of a mistymorning following the attack on Red Wing. The mocking birds, oneafter another, were responding to each other's calls, at firstsleepily and unwillingly, as though the imprisoned melody compelledexpression, and then, thoroughly aroused and perched upon thehighest dew-laden branches swaying and tossing beneath them, theypoured forth their rival orisons. Other sounds of rising day werecoming through the mist that still hung over the land, shutting outthe brightness which was marching from the eastward. The crowing ofco*cks, the neighing of horses, and the lowing of cattle resoundedfrom hill to hill across the wide bottom-lands and up and down theriver upon either hand. Nature was waking from slumber—not to thefull, boisterous wakefulness which greets the broad day, but thehalf-consciousness with which the sluggard turns himself for thelight, sweet sleep of the summer morning.

There was a tap at the open window that stood at the head of HesdenLe Moyne's bed. His room was across the hall from his mother's,and upon the same floor. It had been his room from childhood. Thewindow opened upon the wide, low porch which ran along three sidesof the great rambling house. Hesden heard the tap, but it onlyserved to send his half-awakened fancy on a fantastic trip throughdreamland. Again came the low, inquiring tap, this time upon theheadboard of the old mahogany bedstead. He thought it was one ofthe servants coming for orders about the day's labors. He wondered,vaguely and dully, what could be wanted. Perhaps they would goaway if he did not move. Again it came, cautious and low, but firmand imperative, made by the nail of one finger struck sharply andregularly against the polished headboard. It was a summons anda command for silence at once. Hesden raised himself quickly andlooked toward the window. The outline of a human figure showeddimly against the gray darkness beyond.

"Who's there?"—in a low, quiet voice, as though caution had beendistinctly enjoined.

"Marse Hesden!"—a low whisper, full of suppressed excitement.

"You, Nimbus?" said Le Moyne, as he stepped quickly out of bed andapproached the window. "What's the matter?"

"Marse Hesden," whispered the colored man, laying a hand tremblingwith excitement on his shoulder as he came near, "is yer a friendter 'Liab Hill?"

"Of course I am; you know that"—in an impatient undertone.

"Sh—sh! Marse Hesden, don't make no noise, please," whisperedNimbus. "I don't mean ter ax ef yer's jes got nothin' agin' him,but is yer that kind ob a friend ez 'll stan' by him in trouble?"

"What do you mean, Nimbus?" asked Hesden in surprise.

"Will yer come wid me, Marse Hesden—slip on yer clo'es an' comewid me, jist a minnit?" Hesden did not think of denying thisrequest. It was evident that something of grave importance hadoccurred. Hardly a moment had elapsed before he stepped cautiouslyout upon the porch and followed Nimbus. The latter led the wayquickly toward a spring which burst out of the hillside fifty yardsaway from the house, at the foot of a giant oak. Lying in the shadowof this tree and reclining against its base, lay Eliab Hill, hispallid face showing through the darkness like the face of the dead.

A few words served to tell Hesden Le Moyne what the reader alreadyknows.

"I brought him here, Marse Hesden, kase ther ain't no place elsedat he'd be safe whar he could be tuk keer on. Dem ar Kluckers isbound ter kill him ef dey kin. He's got ter be hid an' tuk keeron till he's well—ef he ever gits well at all."

"Why, you don't think he's hurt—not seriously, do you?"

"Hurt, man!" said Nimbus, impatiently. "Dar ain't much differenceatwixt him an' a dead man, now.

"Good God! Nimbus, you don't mean that. He seems to sleep well,"said Hesden, bending over the prostrate form.

"Sleep! Marse Hesden, I'se kerried him tree miles sence he's beena-sleepin' like dat; an' de blood's been a runnin' down on my hansan' a-breakin' my holt ebbery now an' den, tu!"

"Why, Nimbus, what is this you tell me? Was any one else hurt?"

"Wal, dar's a couple o' white men a-layin' mighty quiet dar, afo'
'Liab's house."

Hesden shuddered. The time he had dreaded had come! The smoulderingpassion of the South had burst forth at last! For years—ever sincethe war-prejudice and passion, the sense of insult and oppressionhad been growing thicker and blacker all over the South. Thundershad rolled over the land. Lightnings had fringed its edges. Thecountry had heard, but had not heeded. The nation had looked on withsmiling face, and declared the sunshine undimmed. It had taken nonote of exasperation and prejudice. It had unconsciously trampledunder foot the passionate pride of a conquered people. It had scornedand despised a sentiment more deeply inwrought than that of castein the Hindoo breast.

The South believed, honestly believed, in its innate superiority overall other races and peoples. It did not doubt, has never doubted,that, man for man, it was braver, stronger, better than the North.Its men were "gentlemen"—grander, nobler beings than the Northever knew. Their women were "ladies"—gentle, refined, etherealbeings, passion and devotion wrapped in forms of ethereal mould,and surrounded by an impalpable effulgence which distinguished themfrom all others of the sex throughout the world. Whatever was ofthe South was superlative. To be Southern-born was to be primafacie better than other men. So the self-love of every manwas enlisted in this sentiment. To praise the South was to praisehimself; to boast of its valor was to advertise his own intrepidity;to extol its women was to enhance the glory of his own achievementsin the lists of love; to vaunt its chivalry was to avouch his ownhonor; to laud its greatness was to extol himself. He measuredhimself with his Northern compeer, and decided without hesitationin his own favor.

The South, he felt, was unquestionably greater than the North inall those things which were most excellent, and was only overtoppedby it in those things which were the mere result of numbers.Outnumbered on the field of battle, the South had been degraded andinsulted by a sordid and low-minded conqueror, in the very hour ofvictory. Outnumbered at the ballot-box, it had still dictated thepolicy of the Nation. The Southern white man naturally comparedhimself with his Northern brother. For comparison between himselfand the African—the recent slave, the scarcely human anthropoid—hefound no ground. Only contrast was possible there. To have thesemade co-equal rulers with him, seated beside him on the throneof popular sovereignty, merely, as he honestly thought, for thegratification of an unmanly spite against a fallen foe, arousedevery feeling of exasperation and revenge which a people alwaysrestive of restraint could feel.

It was not from hatred to the negro, but to destroy his politicalpower and restore again their own insulted and debased supremacythat such things were done as have been related. It was to showthe conqueror that the bonds in which the sleeping Samson had beenbound were green withes which he scornfully snapped asunder in hisfirst waking moment. Pride the most overweening, and a prejudice ofcaste the most intense and ineradicable, stimulated by the chagrinof defeat and inflamed by the sense of injustice and oppression—boththese lay at the bottom of the acts by which the rule of the majoritiesestablished by reconstructionary legislation were overthrown. Itwas these things that so blinded the eyes of a whole people thatthey called this bloody masquerading, this midnight warfare uponthe weak, this era of unutterable horror, "redeeming the South!"

There was no good man, no honest man, no Christian man of the Southwho for an instant claimed that it was right to kill, maim, beat,wound and ill-treat the black man, either in his old or his newestate. He did not regard these acts as done to another man,a compeer, but only as acts of cruelty to an inferior so infinitelyremoved from himself as to forbid any comparison of rights orfeelings. It was not right to do evil to a "nigg*r;" but it wasinfinitely less wrong than to do it unto one of their own color.These men did not consider such acts as right in themselves, butonly as right in view of their comparative importance and necessity,and the unspeakable inferiority of their victims.

For generations the South had regarded the uprising of the black,the assertion of his manhood and autonomy, as the ultima thuleof possible evil. San Domingo and hell were twin horrors in theirminds, with the odds, however, in favor of San Domingo. To preventnegro domination anything was justifiable. It was a choice of evils,where on one side was placed an evil which they had been taughtto believe, and did believe, infinitely outweighed and overmatchedall other evils in enormity. Anything, said these men in theirhearts; anything, they said to each other; anything, they criedaloud to the world, was better, is better, must be better, thannegro rule, than African domination.

Now, by negro rule they meant the exercise of authority bya majority of citizens of African descent, or a majority of whichthey constituted any considerable factor. The white man who actedwith the negro in any relation of political co-ordination was deemedeven worse than the African himself. If he became a leader, he wasanathematized for self-seeking. If he only co-operated with hisballot, he was denounced as a coward. In any event he was certainto be deemed a betrayer of his race, a renegade and an outcast.Hesden Le Moyne was a Southern white man. All that has just beenwritten was essential truth to him. It was a part of his nature.He was as proud as the proudest of his fellows. The sting of defeatstill rankled in his heart. The sense of infinite distance betweenhis race and that unfortunate race whom he pitied so sincerely, towhose future he looked forward with so much apprehension, was asdistinct and palpable to him as to any one of his compeers. Thethousandth part of a drop of the blood of the despised race degraded,in his mind, the unfortunate possessor.

He had inherited a dread of the ultimate results of slavery. Hewished—it had been accounted sensible in his family to wish—thatslavery had never existed. Having existed, they never thought offavoring its extinction. They thought it corrupting and demoralizingto the white race. They felt that it was separating them, year byyear, farther and farther from that independent self-relying manhood,which had built up American institutions and American prosperity.They feared the fruit of this demoralization. For the sake of thewhite man, they wished that the black had never been enslaved.As to the blacks—they did not question the righteousness of theirenslavement. They did not care whether it were right or wrong. Theysimply did not consider them at all. When the war left them free,they simply said, "Poor fellows!" as they would of a dog without amaster. When the blacks were entrusted with the ballot, they saidagain, "Poor fellows!" regarding them as the blameless instrumentby which a bigoted and revengeful North sought to degrade and humiliate afoe overwhelmed only by the accident of numbers; the colored racebeing to these Northern people like the cat with whose paw the monkeydragged his chestnuts from the fire. Hesden had only wondered whatthe effect of these things would be upon "the South;" meaning by"the South" that regnant class to which his family belonged—apart of which, by a queer synecdoche, stood for the whole.

His love for his old battle-steed, and his curious interest in itsnew possessor, had led him to consider the experiment at Red Wingwith some care. His pride and interest in Eliab as a former slaveof his family had still further fixed his attention and awakenedhis thought. And, finally, his acquaintance with Mollie Ainsliehad led him unconsciously to sympathize with the object of herconstant care and devotion.

So, while he stood there beside the stricken man, whose breathcame stertorous and slow, he was in that condition of mind of allothers most perilous to the Southern man—he had begun to doubt:to doubt the infallibility of his hereditary notions; to doubt thesuper-excellence of Southern manhood, and the infinite superiorityof Southern womanhood; to doubt the incapacity of the negro forself-maintenance and civilization; to doubt, in short, all thosedogmas which constitute the differential characteristics of "theSouthern man." He had gone so far—a terrible distance to oneof his origin—as to admit the possibility of error. He had begunto question—God forgive him, if it seemed like sacrilege—he hadbegun to question whether the South might not have been wrong—mightnot still be wrong—wrong in the principle and practice of slavery,wrong in the theory and fact of secession and rebellion, wrong inthe hypothesis of hate on the part of the conquerors, wrong in theassumption of exceptional and unapproachable excellence.

The future was as misty as the gray morning.

CHAPTER XL

DAWNING.

Hesden Le Moyne stood with Nimbus under the great low-branchingoak, in the chill morning, and listened to the labored breathingof the man for the sake of whose humanity his father had bravedpublic opinion in the old slave-era, which already seemed centuriesaway in the dim past. The training of his life, the conditionsof his growth, bore fruit in that moment. He pitied the outragedvictim, he was shocked at the barbarity of his fellows; but therewas no sense of injustice, no feeling of sacred rights trampledon and ignored in the person of the sufferer. He remembered whenhe had played with Eliab beside his mother's hearth; when he hadvaried the monotony of study by teaching the crippled slave-boythe tasks he himself was required to perform. The tenderness ofold associations sprang up in his mind and he felt himself affrontedin the person of the protege of his family. He disliked cruelty;he hated cowardice; and he felt that Eliab Hill had been the victimof a cruel and cowardly assault. He remembered how faithfullythis man's mother had nursed his own. Above all, the sentiment ofcomradeship awoke. This man who had been his playfellow had beenbrutally treated because of his weakness. He would not see himbullied. He would stand by him to the death.

"The cowards!" he hissed through his teeth. "Bring him in, Nimbus,quick! They needn't expect me to countenance such brutality asthis!"

"Marse Hesden," said the black Samson who had stood, silentlywatching the white playmate of his boyhood, while the latterrecovered himself from the sort of stupor into which the revelationhe had heard had thrown him, "God bress yer fer dem words! I 'llowedyer'd stan' by 'Liab. Dat's why I fotched him h'yer."

"Of course I would, and by you too, Nimbus."

"No, Marse Hesden, dat wouldn't do no sort o' good. Nimbus hez jesgot ter cut an' run fer it. I 'specs them ar dat's a lyin' dar infront ob 'Liab's do' ain't like ter do no mo' troublin'; an' yerknows, Marse Hesden, 'twouldn't nebber be safe fer a cullu'd mandat's done dat ar ter try an' lib h'yerabouts no mo'!"

"But you did it in defense of life. You had a right to do it,
Nimbus."

"Dar ain't no doubt o' dat, Marse Hesden, but I'se larned datde right ter du a ting an' de doin' on't is two mighty diff'renttings, when it's a cullu'd man ez does it. I hed a right ter buya plantation an' raise terbacker; an' 'Liab hed a right ter teachan' preach; an' we both hed a right ter vote for ennybody we hada mind ter choose. An' so we did; an' dat's all we done, tu. An'now h'yer's what's come on't, Marse Hesden."

Nimbus pointed to the bruised creature before them as he spoke,and his tones sounded like an arraignment.

"I am afraid you are right, Nimbus," said the white man, with asense of self-abasem*nt he had never thought to feel before one ofthe inferior race. "But bring him in, we must not waste time here."

"Dat's a fac'," said Nimbus, with a glance at the East. "'Tain'tmore'n 'bout a hour till sun-up, an' I mustn't be seen hereaboutsatter dat. Dey'll be a lookin' atter me, an' 'twon't be safe ferNimbus ter be no whar 'cept in de mos' lonesome places. But whar'sye gwine ter put 'Liab, Marse Hesden?"

"In the house—anywhere, only be quick about it. Don't let himdie here!" said Hesden, bending over the prostrate man and passinga hand over his forehead with a shudder.

"But whar'bouts in de house yer gwine ter put him, Marse Hesden?"

"Anywhere, man—in my room, if nowhere else. Come, take holdhere!" was Hesden's impatient rejoinder as he put his one handunder Eliab's head and strove to raise him up.

"Dat won't do, Marse Hesden," said Nimbus, solemnly. 'Liab had aheap better go back ter de woods an' chance it wid Nimbus, dan bein your room."

"Why so?"

"Why? Kase yer knows dat de men what done disting ain't a-gwine terlet him lib ef dey once knows whar he's ter be found. He's de onedey wuz atter, jest ez much ez Nimbus, an' p'raps a leetle more,dough yer knows ther ain't a mite o' harm in him, an' nebberwas, But dat don't matter. Deytinks dat he keeps de cullu'd folkstogedder, an' makes' em stan' up for dere rights, an' dat's why deywent fer him. 'Sides dat, ef he didn't hurt none on 'em dey knowhe seed an' heerd 'em, an' so'll be afeared ter let up on him ondat account."

"I'd like to see the men that would take him out of my house!" said
Le Moyne, indignantly.

"Dar'd jes be two men killed instead ob one, ef yer should," saidthe other, dryly.

"Perhaps you're right," said Le Moyne, thoughtfully. "The men whodid this will do anything. But where shall we put him? Hecan't lie here."

"Marse Hesden, does yer mind de loft ober de ole dinin'-room, wharwe all used ter play ob a Sunday?"

"Of course, I've got my tobacco bulked down there now," was theanswer. "Dat's de place, Marse Hesden!"

"But there's no way to get in there except by a ladder," said
Hesden.

"So much de better. You gits de ladder, an' I brings 'Liab."

In a few minutes Eliab was lying on some blankets, hastily thrownover a bulk of leaf tobacco, in the loft over the old dining-roomat Mulberry Hill, and Hesden Le Moyne was busy bathing his face,examining his wounds, and endeavoring to restore him to consciousness.

Nimbus waited only to hear his report that the wounds, though numerousand severe, were not such as would be likely to prove fatal. Therewere several cuts and bruises about the head; a shot had struck thearm, which had caused the loss of blood; and the weakened tendonsof the cramped and unused legs had been torn asunder. These wereall the injuries Le Moyne could find. Nimbus dropped upon his knees,and threw his arms about the neck of his friend at this report,and burst into tears.

"God bress yer, 'Liab! God bress yer!" he sobbed.

"Nimbus can't do no mo' fer ye, an' don't 'llow he'll nebber seeye no mo'—no mo' in dis world! Good-by, 'Liab, good-by! Yer don'tknow Nimbus's gwine away, does yer? God bress yer, p'raps it'sbetter so—better so!"

He kissed again and again the pale forehead, from which the darkhair had been brushed back by repeated bathings. Then rising andturning away his head, he extended his hand to Le Moyne and said:

"Good-bye, Marse Hesden! God bress yer! Take good keer o' 'Liab,Mahs'r, an'—an'—ef he gits round agin, don't let him try terstay h'yrabouts—don't, please! 'Tain't no use! See ef yer can'tgit him ter go ter de Norf, er somewhar. Oh, my God!" he exclaimed,suddenly, as the memory of his care of the stricken friend camesuddenly upon him, "my God! what'll he ebber do widout Nimbus terkeer fer him?"

His voice was drowned in sobs and his grip on the hand of the whiteman was like the clasp of a vice.

"Don't go, Nimbus, don't!" pleaded Hesden.

"I must, Marse Hesden," said he, repressing his sobs. "l'se gotter see what's come o' 'Gena an' de rest, an' it's best fer both.Good-by! God bress yer! Ef he comes tu, ax him sometimes ter prayfor Nimbus. But'tain't no use—no use—fer he'll do it withoutaxin'. Good-by!"

He opened the wooden shutter, ran down the ladder, and disappeared,as the misty morning gave way to the full and perfect day.

CHAPTER XLI.

Q. E. D.

As Mollie Ainslie grew stronger day by day, her kind host had doneall in his power to aid her convalescence by offering pleasingattentions and cheerful surroundings. As soon as she was able toride, she had been lifted carefully into the saddle, and under hiswatchful supervision had made, each day, longer and longer rides,until, for some days preceding the events of the last few chapters,her strength had so fully returned that they had ridden severalmiles. The flush of health had returned to her cheeks, and thesleep that followed her exercise was restful and refreshing.

Already she talked of returning to Red Wing, and, but for thethoughtfulness of Eliab Hill in dismissing the school for a monthduring her illness, would have been present at the terrible scenesenacted there. She only lingered because she was not quite recovered,and because there was a charm about the old plantation, which shehad never found elsewhere. A new light had come into her life.She loved Hesden Le Moyne, and Hesden Le Moyne loved the Yankeeschool-marm. No word of love had been spoken. No caress had beenoffered. A pall hung over the household, in the gloom of which thelips might not utter words of endearment. But the eyes spoke; andthey greeted each other with kisses of liquid light when theirglances met. Flushed cheeks and tones spoke more than words. Shewaited for his coming anxiously. He was restive and uneasy whenaway. The peace which each one brought to the other's heart wasthe sure witness of well-grounded love. She had never asked herselfwhere was the beginning or what would be the end. She had neversaid to herself, "I love him;" but his presence brought peace, andin her innocence she rested there as in an undisturbed haven.

As for him—he saw and trembled. He could not shut his eyes toher love or his own. He did not wish to do so. And yet, brave manas he was, he trembled at the thought. Hesden Le Moyne was proud.He knew that Mollie Ainslie was as proud as himself. He had theprejudices of his people and class, and he knew also that she hadthe convictions of that part of the country where she had beenreared. He knew that she would never share his prejudices; he hadno idea that he would ever share her convictions. He wished thatshe had never taught a "nigg*r school"—not for his own sake, hesaid to himself, with a flush of shame, but for hers. How could sheface sneers? How could he endure insults upon his love? How couldhe ask her to come where sneers and insults awaited her? Lovehad set himself a hard task. He had set before him this problem:"New England Puritanism and Southern Prejudice; how shall they bereconciled?" For the solution of this question, there were given onone side a maiden who would have plucked out her heart and trampledit under her feet, rather than surrender one tenet in her creed ofrighteousness; and on the other side a man who had fought for a causehe did not approve rather than be taunted with having espoused oneof the fundamental principles of her belief. To laugh at locksmithswas an easy thing compared with the reading of this riddle!

On the morning when Eliab was brought to Mulberry Hill, Mrs.Le Moyne and Mollie breakfasted together alone in the room of theformer. Both were troubled at the absence of the master of thehouse.

"I cannot see why he does not come," said Mrs. Le Moyne. "He isthe soul of punctuality, and is never absent from a meal when abouthome. He sent in word by Laura early this morning that he would notbe at breakfast, and that we should not wait for him, but gave nosort of reason. I don't understand it."

"I hope he is not sick. You don't think he has the fever, do you?"said Mollie, with evident anxiety.

The elder woman glanced keenly at her as she replied in a carelesstone:

"Oh, no indeed. You have no occasion for anxiety. I told Laura totake him a cup of coffee and a roll in his room, but she says heis not there. I suppose something about the plantation requires hisattention. It is very kind of you, I am sure; but I have no doubthe is quite well."

There was something in the tone as well as the words which cutthe young girl to the heart. She could not tell what it was. Shedid not dream that it was aimed at herself. She only knew thatit sounded harsh and cold, and unkind. Her heart was very tender.Sickness and love had thrown her off her guard against sneersand hardness. It did not once occur to her that the keen-sightedinvalid, whose life was bound up in her son's life, had looked intothe heart which had never yet syllabled the love which filled it,and hated what she saw. She did not deem it possible that thereshould be aught but kindly feeling for her in the household shehad all but died to serve. Moreover, she had loved the delicateinvalid ever since she had received a letter from her hand. Shehad always been accustomed to that unconscious equality of commonright and mutual courtesy that prevails so widely at the North, andhad never thought of construing the letter as one of patronizingapproval. She had counted it a friendly commendation, not only ofherself, but of her work. This woman she had long pictured to herselfas one that rose above the prejudice by which she was surrounded.She who, in the old times, had bravely taught Eliab Hill to readin defiance of the law, would surely approve of a work like hers.

So thought the silly girl, not knowing that the gentle invalid hadtaught Eliab Hill the little that he knew before emancipation moreto show her defiance of meddling objectors, than for the good ofthe boy. In fact, she had had no idea of benefiting him, other thanby furnishing him a means of amusem*nt in the enforced solitude ofhis affliction. Mollie did not consider that Hester Le Moyne wasa Southern woman, and as such, while she might admire courage andaccomplishments in a woman of Northern birth, always did so witha mental reservation in favor of her own class. When, however, onecame from the North to teach the negroes, in order that they mightoverpower and rule the whites, which she devoutly believed to bethe sole purpose of the colored educational movement, no matterunder what specious guise of charity it might be done, she couldnot go even so far as that.

Yet, if such a one came to her, overwhelmed by stress of weather,she would give her shelter; if she were ill she would ministerunto her; for these were Christian duties. If she were fair andbright, and brave, she would delight to entertain her; for thatwas a part of the hospitality of which the South boasted. There wassomething enjoyable, too, in parading the riches of a well-stockedwardrobe and the lavish splendors of an old Southern home to onewho, she believed, had never seen such magnificence before; forthe belief that poverty and poor fare are the common lot of thecountry folks at the North is one of the fallacies commonly heldby all classes at the South. As slavery, which was the universalcriterion of wealth and culture at the South, did not prevail atall at the North, they unconsciously and naturally came to associateself-help with degradation, and likened the Northern farmer tothe poor white "cropper." Where social rank was measured by thelength of the serving train, it was not strange that the Northernself-helper should be despised and his complacent assumption ofequal gentility scorned.

So Mrs. Le Moyne had admired the courage of Mollie Ainslie beforeshe saw her; she had been charmed with her beauty and artless graceon the first night of her stay at Mulberry Hill, and had felt obligedto her for her care of the little Hildreth; but she had not oncethought of considering her the peer of the Richardses and the LeMoynes, or as standing upon the same social plane as herself. Shewas, no doubt, good and honest and brave, very well educated andaccomplished, but by no means a lady in her sense of theword. Mrs. Le Moyne's feeling toward the Northern school-teacherwas very like that which the English gentry express when they usethe word "person." There is no discredit in the term. The individualreferred to may be the incarnation of every grace and virtue, onlyhe is of a lower degree in the social scale. He is of another grade.

Entertaining such feelings toward Mollie, it was no wonder thatMrs. Le Moyne was not pleased to see the anxious interest thatyoung lady freely exhibited in the health of her son.

On the other hand, the young New England girl never suspected theexistence of such sentiments. Conscious of intellectual and moralequality with her hostess, she did not imagine that there couldbe anything of patronage, or anything less than friendly sympathyand approval, in the welcome she had received at Mulberry Hill.This house had seemed to her like a new home. The exile which shehad undergone at Red Wing had unfitted her for the close analysisof such pleasing associations. Therefore, the undertone in Mrs.Le Moyne's remarks came upon her like a blow from an unseen hand.She felt hurt and humbled, but she could not exactly tell why. Herheart grew suddenly heavy. Her eyes filled with tears. She dallieda little while with coffee and toast, declined the dainties pressedupon her with scrupulous courtesy, and presently, excusing her lackof appetite, fled away to her room and wept.

"I must be nervous this morning," she said to herself smilingly,as she dried her eyes and prepared for her customary morning ride.On going down stairs she found a servant in waiting with her horseready saddled, who said: "Mornin', Miss Mollie. Marse Hesden saidez how I was ter tell yer dat he was dat busy dis mornin' dat hecouldn't go ter ride wid yer to-day, nohow. I wuz ter gib yer hiscompliments, all de same, an' say he hopes yer'll hev a pleasantride, an' he wants ter see yer when yer gits back. He's powerfulsorry he can't go."

"Tell Mr. Le Moyne it is not a matter of any consequence at all,
Charley," she answered pleasantly.

"Yer couldn't never make Marse Hesden b'lieve dat ar, no way in deworld," said Charles, with deft flattery, as he lifted her into thesaddle. Then, glancing quickly around, he said in a low, earnestvoice: "Hez ye heerd from Red Wing lately, Miss Mollie?"

"Not for a day or two. Why?" she asked, glancing quickly down athim.

"Oh, nuffin', only I wuz afeared dar'd been somethin' bad a gwineon dar, right lately."

"What do you mean, Charles?" she asked, bending down and speakinganxiously.

"Don't say nuffin' 'bout it, Miss Mollie—dey don't know nuffin''bout it in h'yer," nodding toward the house, "but de Ku Kluckerswas dar las' night."

"You don't mean it, Charles?"

"Dat's what I hear," he answered doggedly.

"Anybody hurt?" she asked anxiously.

"I don't know dat, Miss Mollie. Dat's all I hear—jes dat dey'dbeen dar."

CHAPTER XLII.

THROUGH A CLOUD-RIFT.

It was with a heavy heart that Mollie Ainslie passed out of thegate and rode along the lane toward the highway. The autumn sunshone bright, and the trees were just beginning to put on the gaytrappings in which they are wont to welcome wintry death. Yet,somehow, everything seemed suddenly to have grown dark and dull.Her poor weak brain was overwhelmed and dazed by the incongruity ofthe life she was leaving with that to which she was going back—forshe had no hesitation in deciding as to the course she ought topursue.

She did not need to question as to what had been done or suffered.If there was any trouble, actual or impending, affecting those shehad served, her place was with them. They would look to her forguidance and counsel. She would not fail them. She did not oncethink of danger, nor did she dream that by doing as she proposedshe was severing herself entirely from the pleasant life at thefine old country seat which had been so eventful.

She did, indeed, think of Hesden. She always thought of him of late.Everything, whether of joy or of sorrow, seemed somehow connectedwith him. She thought of him—not as going away from him, or asputting him out of her life, but as deserving his approval by heract. "He will miss me when he finds that I do not return. Perhapshe will be alarmed," she said to herself, as she cantered easilytoward the ford. "But then, if he hears what has happened, he willknow where I have gone and will approve my going. Perhaps he willbe afraid for me, and then he will—" Her heart seemed to stopbeating! All its bright current flew into her face. The boundlessbeatitude of love burst on her all at once. She had obeyed itsdictates and tasted its bliss for days and weeks, quite unconsciousof the rapture which filled her soul. Now, it came like a greatwave of light that overspread the earth and covered with a haloall that was in it. How bright upon the instant was everything!The sunshine was a beating, pulsing ether animated with love! Thetrees, the fields, the yellow-breasted lark, pouring forth his autumnlay, the swallows, glancing in the golden sunshine and weaving inand out on billowy wing the endless dance with which they hie themsouthward ere the winter comes—everything she saw or heard waseloquent with look and tones of love! The grand old horse thatcarried her so easily, how strange and how delightful was thisdouble ownership, which yet was only one! Hers? Hesden's? Hesden'sbecause hers, for—ah, glowing cheek! ah, bounding heart! how sweetthe dear confession, breathed—nay told unspokenly—to autumn skyand air, to field and wood and bird and beast, to nature's boundlessheart—she was but Hesden's! The altar and the idol of hislove! Oh, how its incense thrilled her soul and intoxicated everysense! There was no doubt, no fear, no breath of shame! He wouldcome and ask, and she—would give? No! no! no! She could not give,but she would tell, with word and look and swift embrace, how shehad given—ah! given all—and knew it not! Oh, fairer thanthe opened heaven is earth illumined with love!

As she dreamed, her horse's swift feet consumed the way. She reachedthe river—a silver billow between emerald banks, to-day! Almostunheedingly she crossed the ford, just smiling, rapt in her vision,as memory brought back the darkness of her former crossing! Thenshe swept on, through the dark, over-arching pines, their odormingling with the incense of love which filled her heart. She hadforgotten Red Wing and all that pertained to it. The new song herlips had been taught to sing had made thin and weak every melodyof the past, Shall care cumber the heart of the bride? She knewvaguely that she was going to Red Wing. She recognized the road,but it seemed glorified since she travelled it before. Once, shethought she heard her name called. The tone was full of beseeching.She smiled, for she thought that love had cheated her, and syllabledthe cry of that heart which would not be still until she came again.She did not see the dark, pleading face which gazed after her asher horse bore her swiftly beyond his ken.

On and on, easily, softly! She knows she is approaching her journey'send, but the glamour of love enthralls her senses yet. The lastvalley is passed. She ascends the last hill. Before her is RedWing, bright and peaceful as Paradise before the spoiler came. Shehas forgotten the story which the hostler told. The sight of thelittle village but heightens her rapture. She almost greets itwith a shout, as she gives her horse the rein and dashes down thelittle street. How her face glows! The wind toys with stray tressesof her hair! How dull and amazed the people seem whom she greetsso gayly! Still on! Around the angle of the wood she turns—andcomes upon the smouldering church!

Ah, how the visions melt! What a cry of agony goes up from herwhite lips! How pale her cheeks grow as she drops the rein fromher nerveless fingers! The observant horse needs no words to checkhis swift career. The scene of desolation stops him in an instant.He stretches out his head and looks with staring eyes upon theruin. He snuffs with distended nostrils the smoke that rises fromthe burning.

The villagers gather around. She answers every inquiry with lowmoans. Gently they lead her horse under the shadow of the greatoak before the old Ordinary. Very tenderly she is lifted down andborne to the large-armed rocker on the porch, which the weeping,trembling old "mammy" has loaded with pillows to receive her.

All day long she heard the timid tread of dusky feet and listenedto the tale of woe and fear. Old and young, those whom she hadcounselled, and those whom she had taught, alike sought her presenceand advice. Lugena came, and showed her scarred form; brought herbeaten children, and told her tale of sorrow. The past was blackenough, but the shadow of a greater fear hung over the littlehamlet. They feared for themselves and also for her. They beggedher to go back to Mr. Le Moyne's. She smiled and shook her headwith a soft light in her eyes. She would not go back until the kingcame and entreated her. But she knew that would be very soon. Soshe roused herself to comfort and advise, and when the sun wentdown, she was once more the little Mollie Ainslie of the Bankshirehills, only fairer and ruddier and sweeter than ever before, as shesat upon the porch and watched with dewy, love-lit eyes the roadwhich led to Mulberry Hill.

The shadows came. The night fell; the stars came out; the moonarose—he came not. Stealthy footsteps came and went. Faithful heartswhispered words of warning with trembling lips. She did not fear.Her heart was sick. She had not once dreamed that Hesden wouldfail to seek her out, or that he would allow her to pass one hourof darkness in this scene of horror. She almost began to wish thenight might be a counterpart of that which had gone before. Shetook out her brother's heavy revolver, loaded every chamber, laidit on the table beside her chair, and sat, sleepless but dry-eyed,until the morning.

The days went by. Hesden did not come, and sent no word. He wasbut five miles away; he knew how she loved him; yet the grave wasnot more voiceless! She hoped—a little—even after that firstnight. She pictured possibilities which she hoped might be true. Thenthe tones of the mother's voice came back to her—the unexplainedabsence—the unfulfilled engagement—and doubt was changed tocertainty! She did not weep or moan or pine. The Yankee girl had nobase metal in her make. She folded up her vision of love and laidit away, embalmed in the fragrance of her own purity, in the inmostrecess of her heart of hearts. The rack could not have wrung fromher a whisper of her one day in Paradise. She was simply MollieAinslie, the teacher of the colored school at Red Wing, oncemore; quiet, cool, and practical, giving herself day by day, withincreased devotion, to the people whom she had served so faithfullybefore her brief translation.

CHAPTER XLIII.

A GLAD GOOD-BY.

A few days after her departure from Mulberry Hill, Mollie Ainsliewrote to Mrs. Le Moyne:

"MY DEAR MADAM: You have no doubt heard of the terrible events whichhave occurred at Red Wing. I had an intimation of trouble just asI set out on my ride, but had no idea of the horror which awaitedme upon my arrival here, made all the more fearful by contrast withyour pleasant home.

"I cannot at such a time leave the people with whom I have laboredso long, especially as their only other trusted adviser, thepreacher, Eliab Hill, is missing. With the utmost exertion we havebeen able to learn nothing of him or of Nimbus since the night ofthe fire. There is no doubt that they are dead. Of course, thereis great excitement, and I have had a very anxious time. I am gladto say, however, that my health continues to improve. I left somearticles scattered about in the room I occupied, which I would bepleased if you would have a servant collect and give to the bearer.

"With the best wishes for the happiness of yourself and Mr. Hesden,and with pleasant memories of your delightful home, I remain,

"Yours very truly,

"MOLLIE AINSLIE."

To this she received the following reply:

"Miss MOLLIE AINSLIE: I very much regret the unfortunate eventswhich occasioned your hasty departure from Mulberry Hill. It isgreatly to be hoped that all occasion for such violence will soonpass away. It is a great calamity that the colored people cannot bemade to see that their old masters and mistresses are their bestfriends, and induced to follow their advice and leadership, insteadof going after strangers and ignorant persons of their own color,or low-down white men, who only wish to use them for their ownadvantage. I am very sorry for Eliab and the others, but I must sayI think they have brought it all on themselves. I am told they havebeen mighty impudent and obstreperous, until really the people inthe neighborhood did not feel safe, expecting every day that theirhouses or barns would be burned down, or their wives or daughtersinsulted, or perhaps worse, by the lazy, saucy crowd they hadgathered about them. "Eliab was a good boy, but I never did likethat fellow Nimbus. He was that stubborn and headstrong, even inhis young days, that I can believe anything of him. Then he was inthe Yankee army during the war, you know, and I have no doubt thathe is a desperate character. I learn he has been indicted once ortwice, and the general belief is that he set the church on fire,and, with a crowd of his understrappers, fixed up to represent KuKlux, attacked his own house, abused his wife and took Eliab offand killed him, in order to make the North believe that the peopleof Horsford are only a set of savages, and so get the Governmentto send soldiers here to carry the election, in order that afilthy negro and a low-down, dirty, no-account poor-white man may_mis_represent this grand old county in the Legislature again.

"I declare, Miss Ainslie, I don't see how you endure such things.You seemed while here very much of a lady, for one in your sphereof life, and I cannot understand how you can reconcile it with yourconscience to encourage and live with such a terrible gang.

"My son has been very busy since you left. He did not find timeto inquire for you yesterday, and seemed annoyed that you had notapprised him of your intention to leave. I suppose he is afraid thathis old horse might be injured if there should be more trouble atRed Wing.

"Yours truly,

"HESTER RICHARDS LE MOYNE."

"P.S.—I understand that they are going to hunt the fellow Nimbuswith dogs to-morrow. I hope they will catch him and hang him tothe nearest tree. I have no doubt he killed poor Eliab, and did allthe rest of the bad things laid to his charge. He is a desperatenegro, and I don't see how you can stand up for him. I hope youwill let the people of the North know the truth of this affair, andmake them understand that Southern gentlemen are not such savagesand brutes as they are represented."

The letter was full of arrows designed to pierce her breast;but Mollie Ainslie did not feel one of them. After what she hadsuffered, no ungenerous flings from such a source could cause herany pain. On the contrary, it was an object of interest to her,in that it disclosed how deep down in the heart of the highest andbest, as well as the lowest and meanest, was that prejudice whichhad originally instigated such acts as had been perpetrated at RedWing. The credulous animosity displayed by this woman to whom shehad looked for sympathy and encouragement in what she deemed a holywork, revealed to her for the first time how deep and impassablewas the channel which time had cut between the people of the Northand those of the South.

She did not lose her respect or regard for Mrs. Le Moyne. She didnot even see that any word which had been written was intendedto stab her, as a woman. She only saw that the prejudice-blindedeyes had led a good, kind heart to endorse and excuse cruelty andoutrage. The letter saddened but did not enrage her. She saw andpitied the pride of the sick lady whom she had learned to love infancy too well to regard with anger on account of what was but thenatural result of her life and training.

CHAPTER XLIV.

PUTTING THIS AND THAT TOGETHER.

After Mollie had read the letter of Mrs. Le Moyne, it struck heras a curious thing that she should write to her of the hunt whichwas to be made after Nimbus, and the great excitement which therewas in regard to him. Knowing that Mrs. Le Moyne and Hesden wereboth kindly disposed toward Eliab, and the latter, as she believed,toward Nimbus also, it occurred to her that this might be intendedas a warning, given on the hypothesis that those parties were inhiding and not dead.

At the same time, also, it flashed upon her mind that Lugena hadnot seemed so utterly cast down as might naturally be expected ofa widow so suddenly and sadly bereaved. She knew something of thesecretive powers of the colored race. She knew that in the old slavetimes one of the men now living in the little village had remaineda hidden runaway for months, within five miles of his master's house,only his wife knowing his hiding-place. She knew how thousandsof these people had been faithful to our soldiers escaping fromConfederate prisons during the war, and she felt that a secretaffecting their own liberty, or the liberty of one acting orsuffering in their behalf, might be given into the keeping of thewhole race without danger of revelation. She remembered that amidall the clamorous grief of others, while Lugena had mourned andwept over the burning of the church and the scenes of blood andhorror, she had exhibited little of that poignant and overwhelminggrief or unappeasable anger which she would have expected, underthe circ*mstances, from one of her temperament. She concluded,therefore, that the woman might have some knowledge in regard to thefate of her husband, Eliab, and Berry, which she had not deemed itprudent to reveal. With this thought in mind, she sent for Lugenaand asked if she had heard that they were going to hunt for herhusband with dogs.

"Yes, Miss Mollie, I'se heerd on't," was the reply, "but nebber youmind. Ef Nimbus is alive, dey'll nebber git him in no sech way ezdat, an' dey knows it. 'Sides dat, it's tree days ago, an' Nimbusain't no sech fool ez ter stay round dat long, jes ter be cotchednow. I'se glad ter hear it, dough, kase it shows ter me datdey hain't killed him, but wants ter skeer him off, an' git himouten de kentry. De sheriff—not de high-sheriff, but one ob hisunderstrappers—wuz up ter our house to-day, a-purtendin' ter huntatter Nimbus. I didn't put no reliance in dat, but somehow I can'tmake out cla'r how dey could hev got away with him an' Berry an''Liab, all on 'em, atter de fight h'yer, an' not left no trace norsign on' em nowhar.

"Now, I tell yer what's my notion, Miss Mollie," she added,approaching closer, and speaking in a whisper; "I'se done a heapo' tinkin' on dis yer matter, an' dis is de way I'se done figgeredit out. I don't keer ter let on 'bout it, an' mebbe you kin seefurder inter it nor I kin, but I'se jes made up my min' dat Nimbusis all right somewhars. I don't know whar, but it's somewhar notfur from 'Liab—dat yer may be shore on, honey. Now, yer see, MissMollie, dar's two or tree tings makes me tink so. In de fus' place,yer know, I see dat feller, Berry, atter all dis ting wuz ober,an' talked wid him an' told him dat Nimbus lef all right, an' dathe tuk 'Liab wid him, an' dat Bre'er 'Liab wuz mighty bad hurt.Wal, atter I told him dat, an' he'd helped me hunt up de chillensdat wuz scattered in de co'n, an' 'bout one place an' anudder,Berry he 'llows dat he'll go an' try ter fin' Nimbus an' 'Liab.So he goes off fru de co'n wid dat ar won'ful gun dat jes keeps ona-shootin' widout ary load.

"Atter a while I heahs him ober in de woods a-whistlin' an' a-carryin'on like a mockin'-bird, ez you'se heerd de quar critter du many atime." Mollie nodded affirmatively, and Lugena went on: "I couldn'thelp but laugh den, dough I wuz nigh about skeered ter death, tertink what a mighty cute trick it wuz. I knowed he wuz a callin'Nimbus an' dat Nimbus 'ud know it, tu, jest ez soon ez he heerd it;but yer know ennybody dat hadn't heerd it over an offen, wouldn'tnebber tink dat it warn't a mocker waked up by de light, or jesmockin' a cat-bird an' rain-crow, an' de like, in his dreams, ezdey say dey does when de moon shines, yer know."

Mollie smiled at the quaint conceit, so well justified by the factshe had herself often observed. Lugena continued:

"I tell yer, Miss Mollie, dat ar Berry's a right cute nigg*, ferall dey say 'bout him. He ain't stiddy, like Nimbus, yer know, nerpious like 'Liab—dat is not ter hurt, yer know—but he sartin habgot a heap ob sense, fer all dat."

"It was certainly a very shrewd thing, but I don't see what it hasto do with the fate of Nimbus," said Mollie. "I don't wish to seemto discourage you, but I am quite certain, myself, that we shallnever see Nimbus or Eliab again."

"Oh, yer can't discourage me, Miss Mollie," answeredthe colored woman bravely. "I jes knows, er ez good ez knows, datNimbus is all right yit awhile. Now I tells yer, honey, what disyer's got ter du wid it. Yer see, it must ha' been nigh about ahalf-hour atter Nimbus left afore Berry went off; jes dat er wayI tole yer "bout."

"Well?" said Mollie, inquiringly.

"Wal," continued Lugena, "don't yer see? Dar hain't been nary wordheard from neither one o' dem boys sence."

"Well?" said Mollie, knitting her brows in perplexity.

"Don't yer see, Miss Mollie," said the woman impatiently,"dat dey couldn't hab got 'em bofe togedder, 'cept Berry had foundNimbus fust?"

"Well?"

"Wal! Don't yer see dar would hev been a—a—terriblefight afore dem two nigg*s would hev gin up Bre'er 'Liab, let alonederselves? Yer must 'member dat dey had dat ar gun. Sakes-a-massy!Miss Mollie, yer orter hev hearn it dat night. 'Peared ter me yercould hab heard it clar' roun' de yairth, ef it is round,ez yer say 'tis. Now, somebody—some cullu'd body—would have beenshore ter heah dat gun ef dar'd been a fight."

"I had not thought of that, Lugena," said Mollie.

"Co'se yer hadn't, honey; an' dere's sunthin' else yer didn't linkob, nuther, kase yer didn't know it," said Lugena. "Yer min' datboy Berry, he'd done borrered our mule, jest afo' dat, ter takeSally an' de chillen an' what few duds dey hez down inter HansonCounty, whar his brudder Rufe libs, an' whar dey's gwine ter libbin'tu. Dar didn't nobody 'spect him ter git back till de nex' day,any more'n Nimbus; an' it war jes kinder accidental-like dat eitheron 'em got h'yer dat night. Now, Miss Mollie, what yer s'pose hezcome ob dat ar mule an' carryall? Dat's de question."

"I'm sure I don't know, 'Gena, said Mollie thoughtfully. "NerI don't know, nuther," was the response; "but it's jes my notiondat whar dey is, right dar yer'll fin' Nimbus an' Berry, an' notfur off from dem yer'll find Bre'er 'Liab."

"You may be right," said her listener, musingly.

"I'se pretty shore on't, honey. Yer see when dat ar under-sheriffcome ter day an' had look all 'round fer Nimbus, he sed, finally,sez he, 'I'se got a'tachment'—dat's what he call it, MissMollie—a'tachment 'gin de property, or sunthin' o' dat kine. Ididn't know nary ting 'bout it, but I spunked up an' tole him ebberyting in de house dar was mine. He argyfied 'bout it a right smartwhile, an' finally sed dar wan't nuffin' dar ob no 'count, ennyhow.Den he inquired 'bout de mule an' de carryall, an' atter dat hewent out an' levelled on de crap."

"Did what?" asked Mollie.

"Levelled on de crap, Miss, dat's what he said, least-a-ways. Denhe called fer de key ob de 'backer-barn, an' I tole him 'twan'tnowheres 'bout de house—good reason too, kase Nimbus allus do carrydat key in his breeches pocket, 'long wid his money an' terbacker.So he takes de axe an' goes up ter de barn, an' I goes 'long widhim ter see what he's gwine ter du. Den he breaks de staple an'opens de do'. Now, Miss Mollie, 'twan't but a week er two ago, ofa Sunday atternoon, Nimbus an' I wuz in dar lookin' roun', an' darwuz a right smart bulk o' fine terbacker dar—some two er tree-hundredpoun's on't. Now when de sheriff went in, dar wa'n't more'n fouror five ban's ob 'backer scattered 'long 'twixt whar de pile hadbeen an' de do'. Yah! yah! I couldn't help laughin' right out,though I wuz dat mad dat I couldn't hardly see, kase I knowed teronce how 'twas. D'yer see now, Miss Mollie?" "I confessI do not," answered the teacher.

"No? Wal, whar yer 'spose dat 'backer gone ter, hey?"

"I'm sure I don't know. Where do you think?"

"What I tink become ob dat 'backer? Wal, Miss Mollie, I tink Nimbusan' Berry put dat 'backer in dat carryall, an' den put Bre'er 'Liabin on dat 'backer, an' jes druv off somewhar—'Gena don't knowwhar, but dat 'backer 'll take 'em a long way wid dat ar mule an'carryall. It's all right, Miss Mollie, it's all right wid Nimbus.'Gena ain't feared. She knows her ole man too well fer dat!

"Yer know he runned away once afo' in de ole slave times. He didn'tsay nary word ter me 'bout gwine ober ter de Yanks, an' de folksall tole me dat I nebber'd see him no mo'. But I knowed Nimbus,an' shore 'nough, atter 'bout two year, back he come! An' dat's deway it'll be dis time—atter de trouble's ober, he'll come back.But dat ain't what worries me now, Miss Mollie," continued Lugena."Co'se I'd like ter know jes whar Nimbus is, but I know he's allright. I'se a heap fearder 'bout Bre'er 'Liab, fer I 'llow it's jeswhich an' t'other ef we ever sees him again. But what troubles menow, Miss Mollie, is 'bout myseff."

"About yourself?" asked Mollie, in surprise.

"'Bout me an' my chillens, Miss Mollie," was the reply.

"Why, how is that, 'Gena?"

"Wal yer see, dar's dat ar 'tachment matter. I don't understan'it, nohow."

"Nor I either," said Mollie.

"P'raps yer could make out sunthin' 'bout it from dese yer," saidthe colored woman, drawing a mass of crumpled papers from herpocket.

Mollie smoothed them out upon the table beside her, and began herexamination by reading the endorsem*nts. The first was entitled,"Peyton Winburn v. Nimbus Desmit, et al. Action for therecovery of real estate. Summons." The next was endorsed,"Copy of Complaint," and another, "Affidavit and Orderof Attachment against Non-Resident or Absconding Debtor."

"What's dat, Miss Mollie?" asked Lugena, eagerly, as the last titlewas read. "Dat's what dat ar sheriff man said my Nimbus was—anon—non—what, Miss Mollie? I tole him 'twan't no sechting; but la sakes! I didn't know nothing in de worl' 'bout it.I jes 'llowed dat 'twas sunthin' mighty mean, an' I knowed dat Icouldn't be very fur wrong nohow, ef I jes contraried ebbery wordwhat he said. What does it mean, Miss Mollie?"

"It just means," said Mollie, "that Nimbus owes somebody—this Mr.
Winburn, I judge, and—"

"It's a lie! A clar, straight-out lie!" interrupted Lugena. "Nimbusdon't owe nobody nary cent—not nary cent, Miss Mollie! Tole medat hisself jest a little time ago."

"Yes, but this man claims he owes him—swears so, in fact;and that he has run away or hidden to keep from paying it," saidMollie. "He swears he is a non-resident—don't live here, youknow; lives out of the State somewhere."

"An' Peyton Winburn swars ter dat?" asked the woman, eagerly.

"Yes, certainly."

"Didn't I tell yer dat Nimbus was safe, Miss Mollie?" she cried,springing from her chair. "Don't yer see how dey cotch derselves?Ef der's ennybody on de green yairth dat knows all 'bout disKu Kluckin' it's Peyton Winburn, and dat ar Sheriff Gleason. Now,don't yer know dat ef he was dead dey wouldn't be a suin' on himan' a swearin' he'd run away?"

"I'm sure I don't know, but it would seem so," responded Mollie.

"Seem so! it's boun' ter be so, honey," said the colored woman,positively.

"I don't know, I'm sure," said Mollie. "It's a matter I don'tunderstand. I think I had better take these papers over to CaptainPardee, and see what ought to be done about them. I am afraid thereis an attempt to rob you of all your husband has acquired, whilehe is away."

"Dat's what I'se afeared on," said the other. "An' it wuz what Nimbus'spected from de fust ob dis h'yer Ku Kluck matter. Dear me, whatebber will I do, I dunno—I dunno!" The poor woman threw her apronover her head and began to weep.

"Don't be discouraged, 'Gena," said Mollie, soothingly. "I'llstand by you and get Mr. Pardee to look after the matter for you."

"T'ank ye, Miss Mollie, t'ank ye. But I'se afeared it won't dono good. Dey's boun' ter break us up, an' dey'll do it, sooner orlater! It's all of a piece—a Ku Kluckin' by night, and a-suin' byday. 'Tain't no use, t'ain't no use! Dey'll hab dere will fust erlast, one way er anudder, shore!"

Without uncovering her head, the sobbing woman turned and walkedout of the room, across the porch and down the path to the gate.

"Not if I can help it!" said the little Yankee woman, as shesmoothed down her hair, shut her mouth close, and turned to makea more thorough perusal of the papers Lugena had left with her.Hardly had she finished when she was astonished by Lugena's rushinginto the room and exclaiming, as she threw herself on her knees:

"Oh, Miss Mollie, I done forgot—I was dat ar flustered 'bout de'tachment an' de like, dat I done forgot what I want ter tell yermost ob all. Yer know, Miss Mollie, dem men dat got hurt dat arnight—de Ku Kluckers, two on 'em, one I 'llow, killed out-an'-out,an' de todder dat bad cut—oh, my God!" she cried with a shudder,"I nebber see de likes—no nebber, Miss Mollie. All down hisface—from his forehead ter his chin, an' dat too—yes, an' hisbreast-bone, too—looked like dat wuz all split open an' a-bleedin'!Oh, it war horrible, horrible, Miss Mollie!"

The woman buried her face in the teacher's lap as if she would shutout the fearful spectacle.

"There, there," said Mollie, soothingly, as she placed a hand uponher head. "You must not think of it. You must try and forget thehorrors of that night."

"Don't yer know, Miss Mollie, dat dem Ku Kluckers ain't a-gwineter let de one ez done dat lib roun' h'yer, ner ennywhar else datdey can come at 'em, world widout end?"

"Well, I thought you were sure that Nimbus was safe?"

"Nimbus?" said the woman in surprise, uncovering her face and lookingup. "Nimbus? 'Twan't him, Miss Mollie, 'twan't him. I 'llows itmout hev been him dat hurt de one dat 'peared ter hev been killedstraight out; but it was me dat cut de odder one, MissMollie."

"You?" cried Mollie, in surprise, instinctively drawing back.
"You?"

"Yes'm," said Lugena, humbly, recognizing the repulse. "Me—widde axe! I hope yer don't fault me fer it, Miss Mollie."

"Blame you? no indeed, 'Gena!" was the reply. "Only it startledme to hear you say so. You did entirely right to defend yourselfand Nimbus. You should not let that trouble you for a moment."

"No, Miss Mollie, but don't yer know dat de Ku Kluckers ain'ta-gwine ter fergit it?"

"Heavens!" said the Yankee girl, springing up from her chair inuncontrollable excitement. "You don't think they would hurt you—awoman?"

"Dat didn't save me from bein' stripped an' beat, did it?"

"Too true, too true!" moaned the teacher, as she walked back andforth wringing her hands. "Poor child! What can you do?—what canyou do?"

"Dat's what I want ter know, Miss Mollie," said the woman. "I dassentsleep ter home at night, an' don't feel safe ary hour in de day.Dem folks won't fergit, an' 'Gena won't nebber be safe ennywhardat dey kin come, night ner day. What will I do, Miss Mollie, whatwill I do? Yer knows Nimbus 'll 'llow fer 'Gena ter take keer obherself an' de chillen an' de plantation, till he comes back, ersends fer me, an' I dassent stay, not 'nudder day, Miss Mollie!What'll I do? What'll I do?"

There was silence in the little room for a few moments, asthe young teacher walked back and forth across the floor, and thecolored woman sat and gazed in stupid hopelessness up into herface. Presently she stopped, and, looking down upon Lugena, saidwith impetuous fervor:

"You shall not stay, Lugena! You shall not stay! Can you stand ita few nights more?"

"Oh, yes, I kin stan' it, 'cause I'se got ter. I'se been sleepin'in de woods ebber sence, an' kin keep on at it; but I knows wharit'll end, an' so der you, Miss Mollie."

"No, it shall not, 'Gena. You are right. It is not safe for you tostay. Just hide yourself a few nights more, till I can look afterthings for you here, and I will take you away to the North, wherethere are no Ku Klux!"

"Yer don't mean it, Miss Mollie!"

"Indeed I do."

"An' de chillen?"

"They shall go too."

"God bress yer, Miss Mollie! God bress yer!"

With moans and sobs, the torrent of her tears burst forth, as thepoor woman fell prone upon the floor, and catching the hem of theteacher's robe, kissed it again and again, in a transport of joy.

CHAPTER XLV.

ANOTHER OX GORED.

There was a caller who begged to see Mr. Le Moyne for a few minutes.Descending to the sitting-room, Hesden found there Mr. JordanJackson, who was the white candidate for the Legislature upon thesame ticket with a colored man who had left the county in frightimmediately after the raid upon Red Wing. Hesden was somewhatsurprised at this call, for although he had known Mr. Jackson fromboyhood, yet there had never been more than a passing acquaintancebetween them. It is true, Mr Jackson was a neighbor, living onlytwo or three miles from Mulberry Hill; but he belonged to such anentirely different class of society that their knowledge of eachother had never ripened into anything like familiarity.

Mr. Jackson was what used to be termed a poor man. He and his fatherbefore him, as Hesden knew, had lived on a little, poor plantation,surrounded by wealthy neighbors. They owned no slaves, and lived,scantily on the products of the farm worked by themselves. Thepresent occupant was about Hesden's own age. There being no freeschools in that county, and his father having been unable, perhapsnot even desiring, to educate him otherwise, he had grown up almostentirely illiterate. He had learned to sign his name, and onlyby strenuous exertions, after his arrival at manhood, had becomeable, with difficulty, to spell out words from the printed pageand to write an ordinary letter in strangely-tangled hieroglyphics,in a spelling which would do credit to a phonetic reformer. Hehad entered the army, probably because he could not do otherwise,and being of stalwart build, and having great endurance and nativecourage, before the struggle was over had risen, despite hisdisadvantages of birth and education, to a lieutenancy.

This experience had been of advantage to him in more ways than one.Chief among these had been the opening of his eyes to the fact thathe himself, although a poor man, and the scion of a poor family,was, in all the manly requisites that go to make up a soldier,always the equal, and very often the superior, of his aristocraticneighbors. Little by little, the self-respect which had beenground out of him and his family by generations of that conditionof inferiority which the common-liver, the self-helper of the South,was forced to endure under the old slave regime, began togrow up in his heart. He began to feel himself a man, and prizedthe rank-marks on his collar as the certificate and endorsem*nt ofhis manhood. As this feeling developed, he began to consider therelations between himself, his family, and others like them, andthe rich neighbors by whom they were surrounded and looked downupon. And more and more, as he did so, the feeling grew upon himthat he and his class had been wronged, cheated—"put upon," hephrased it—in all the past. They had been the "chinking" betweenthe "mud" of slavery and the "house-logs" of aristocracy in thesocial structure of the South—a little better than the mud becauseof the same grain and nature as the logs; but useless and namelessexcept as in relation to both. He felt the bitter truth of thatstinging aphorism which was current among the privates of theConfederate army, which characterized the war of Rebellion as "thepoor man's war and the rich man's fight."

So, when the war was over, Lieutenant Jordan Jackson did not returneasily and contentedly to the niche in the social life of his nativeregion to which he had been born and bred. He found the habit ofleadership and command very pleasant, and he determined that hewould rise in the scale of Horsford society as he had risen in thearmy, simply because he was brave and strong. He knew that to dothis he must acquire wealth, and looking about, he saw opportunitiesopen before him which others had not noticed. Almost before the smokeof battle had cleared away, Jordan Jackson had opened trade withthe invaders, and had made himself a prime favorite in the Federalcamps. He coined money in those days of transition. Fortunately,he had been too poor to be in debt when the war broke out. He wasindependently poor, because beyond the range of credit.

He had lost nothing, for he had nothing but the few poor acres ofhis homestead to lose.

So he started fair, and before the period of reconstruction beganhe had by thrifty management accumulated quite a competency. Hehad bought several plantations whose aristocratic owners could nolonger keep their grip upon half-worked lands, had opened a littlestore, and monopolized a considerable trade. Looking at affairs asthey stood at that time, Jordan Jackson said to himself that theopportunity for him and his class had come. He had a profoundrespect for the power and authority of the Government of the UnitedStates, because it had put down the Rebellion. He had beentwo or three times at the North, and was astounded at its collectivegreatness. He said that the colored man and the poor-whites ofthe South ought to put themselves on the side of this great, busyNorth, which had opened the way of liberty and progress before them,and establish free schools and free thought and free labor in thefair, crippled, South-land. He thought he saw a great and fair futurelooming up before his country. He freely gave expression to theseideas, and, as he traded very largely with the colored people, sooncame to be regarded by them as a leader, and by "the good peopleof Horsford" as a low-down white nigg*r, for whom no epithet wastoo vile.

Nevertheless, he grew in wealth, for he attended to his businesshimself, early and late. He answered raillery with raillery,curses with cursing, and abuse with defiance. He was elected toconventions and Legislatures, where he did many foolish, some bad,and a few wise things in the way of legislation. He knew what hewanted—it was light, liberty, education, and a "fair hack" forall men. How to get it he did not know.

He had been warned a thousand times that he must abandon this wayof life. The natural rulers of the county felt that if they couldneutralize his influence and that which went out from Red Wing, theycould prevent the exercise of ballatorial power by a considerableportion of the majority, and by that means "redeem" the county.

They did not wish to hurt Jordan Jackson. He was a good enough man.His father had been an honest man, and an old citizen. Nobody knewa word against his wife or her family, except that they had beenpoor. The people who had given their hearts to the Confederatecause, remembered too, at first, his gallant service; but that hadall been wiped out from their minds by his subsequent "treachery."Even after the attack on Red Wing, he had been warned by his friendsto desist.

One morning, he had found on the door of his store a paper containingthe following words, written inside a little sketch of a coffin:

[Illustration: JORDAN JACKSON, If you don't get out of here inthree days, you will go to the bone yard. K.K.K.]

He had answered this by a defiant, ill-spelled notice, pasted justbeside it, in which he announced himself as always ready to meet anycrowd of "cowards and villains who were ashamed of their own faces,at any time, night or day." His card was English prose of a mostvigorous type, interspersed with so much of illiterate profanity asto satisfy any good citizen that the best people of Horsford werequite right in regarding him as a most desperate and dangerousman—one of those whose influence upon the colored people was toarray them against the whites, and unless promptly put down, bringabout a war of races—which the white people were determined neverto have in Horsford, if they had to kill every Radical in the countyin order to live in peace with their former slaves, whom they hadalways nourished with paternal affection and still regarded witha most tender care.

This man met Hesden as the latter came out upon the porch, and witha flushed face and a peculiar twitching about his mouth, asked ifhe could see him in private for a moment.

Hesden led the way to his own room. Jackson then, having first shutthe door, cautiously said:

"You know me, Mr. Le Moyne?"

"Certainly, Jackson."

"An' you knew my father before me?"

"Of course. I knew old man Billy Jackson very well in my youngdays."

"Did you ever know anything mean or disreputable about him?"

"No, certainly not; he was a very correct man, so far as I everheard."

"Poor but honest?"—with a sneer.

"Well, yes; a poor man, but a very correct man."

"Well, did you ever know anything disreputable about me?"keenly.

"Well—why—Mr. Jackson—you—" stammered Hesden, much confused.

"Out with it!" angrily. "I'm a Radical?"

"Yes—and—you know, your political course has rendered you veryunpopular."

"Of course! A man has no right to his own political opinions."

"Well, but you know, Mr. Jackson, yours have been so peculiarand so obnoxious to our best people. Besides, you have expressedthem so boldly and defiantly. I do not think our people have anyill-feeling against you, personally; but you cannot wonder thatso great a change as we have had should excite many of them verygreatly. You should not be so violent, Mr. Jackson."

"Violent—Hell! You'd better go and preach peace to Eliab Hill.Poor fellow! I don't reckon the man lives who ever heard him saya harsh thing to any one. He was always that mild I used to wonderthe Lord didn't take him long ago. nigg*r as he was, and crippleas he was, I'd ruther had his religion than that of all the mean,hypocritical, murdering aristocrats in Horsford."

"But, Mr. Jackson, you should not speak in that way of our bestcitizens."

"Oh, the devil! I know—but that is no matter, Mr. Le Moyne. Ididn't come to argue with you. Did you ever hear anything agin' meoutside of my politics?"

"I don't know that I ever did."

"If you were in a tight place, would you have confidence in Jordan
Jackson as a friend?"

"You know I have reason to remember that," said Hesden, with feeling."You helped me when I could not help myself. It's not every manthat would care about his horse carrying double when he was runningaway from the Yanks."

"Ah! you remember that, then?" with a touch of pride in his voice.

"Yes, indeed! Jackson," said Hesden, warmly.

"Well, would you do me a good turn to pay for that?"

"Certainly—anything that—" hesitating.

"Oh, damn it, man, don't strain yourself! I didn't ask any questionswhen I helped you!"

"Mr. Jackson," said Hesden, with dignity, "I merely wished to saythat I do not care at this time to embroil myself in politics. Youknow I have an old mother who is very feeble. I have long regrettedthat affairs are in the condition that they are in, and have wonderedif something could not be done. Theoretically, you are right andthose who are with you. Practically, the matter is very embarrassing.But I do not hesitate to say, Mr. Jackson, that those who commitsuch outrages as that perpetrated at Red Wing disgrace the nameof gentleman, the county, and State, the age we live in, and thereligion we profess. That I will say."

"And that's quite enough, Mr. Le Moyne. All I wanted was to askyou to act as my trustee."

"Your trustee in what?"

"There is a deed I have just executed conveying everything I haveto you, and I want you to sell it off and dispose of it the bestyou can, and send me the money."

"Send it to you?"

"Yes, I'm going away."

"Going away? Why? You are not in debt?"

"I don't owe a hundred dollars."

"Then why are you doing this? I don't understand."

"Mr. Le Moyne," said Jackson, coming close to him and speaking ina low intense tone, "I was whipped last night!"

"Whipped!"

"Yes."

"By whom?"

"By my own neighbors, in the sight of my wife and daughter!"

"By the Ku Klux?"

"That's what they call themselves."

"My God, it cannot be!"

"Cannot?" The man's face twitched nervously, as, dropping his hat,he threw off his light coat and, opening his shirt-collar andturning away his head, showed his shoulder covered with wales,still raw and bleeding.

"My God!" cried Hesden, as he put up his hand and started back inhorror. "And you a white man?"

"Yes, Mr. Le Moyne," said Jackson, turning his face, burning withshame and indignation, toward his high-bred neighbor, "and theonly reason this was done—the only thing agin me—is that I washonestly in favor of giving to the colored man the rights whichthe law of the land says he shall have, like other men. When thewar was over, Mr. Le Moyne, I didn't 'give up,' as all you richfolks talked about doing, and try to put up with what was to comeafterward. I hadn't lost nothing by the war, but, on the contrary,had gained what I had no chance to git in any other way. So Ijest looked things square in the face and made up my mind that itwas a good thing for me, and all such as me, that the damned oldConfederacy was dead. And the more I thought on't the more I couldn'thelp seein' and believin' that it was right and fair to free thenigg*rs and let them have a fair show and a white man's chance—votin'and all. That's what I call a fair hack, and I swear, Mr. Le Moyne,I don't know how it may seem to you, but to my mind any man thatain't willing to let any other man have that, is a damn coward!I'm as white as anybody, and hain't no more reason to stand up fornigg*rs than any of the rest of the white people—no, nor half asmuch as most of 'em, for, as fur as I know, I hain't got no relationsamong 'em. But I do say that if the white folks of the South can'tstand up to a fair fight with the nigg*rs at the polls, withoutcuttin', and murderin', and burnin', and shootin', and whippin',and Ku Kluxin', and cheatin', and swindlin', they are a damnedno-'count people, and don't deserve no sort of show in the world—nomore than a mean, sneakin', venomous moccasin-snake—there!"

"But you don't think—" Hesden began.

"Think? Damn it, I know!" broke in Jackson. "They said ifI would quit standin' up for the nigg*rs, they'd let me off, evenafter they'd got me stripped and hung up. I wouldn't do it! I didn'tbelieve then they'd cut me up this way; but they did! An' now I'mgoin'. I'd stay an' fight, but 'tain't no use; an' I couldn't looka man in the eye who I thought tuk a hand in that whippin' withoutkillin' him. I've got to go, Le Moyne," he said with clenched fists,"or I shall commit murder before the sun goes down."

"Where are you going?"

"God knows! Somewhere where the world's free and the earth's fresh,and where it's no crime to have been born poor or to uphold andmaintain the laws of the land."

"I'm sorry, Jackson, but I don't blame you. You can't live here inpeace, and you are wise to go," said Hesden, extending his hand.

"Will you be my trustee?"

"Yes."

"God bless you!"

The angry, crushed, and outraged man broke into tears as he shookthe hand he held.

There was an hour or two of close consultation, and then Hesden LeMoyne looked thoughtfully after this earnest and well-meaning man,who was compelled to flee from the land for which he had fought,simply because he had adopted the policy and principles which theconquering power had thrust into the fundamental law, and endeavoredto carry them out in good faith. Like the fugitive from slavery inthe olden time, he had started toward the North Pole on the questfor liberty.

CHAPTER XLVI.

BACKWARD AND FORWARD.

The task which Hesden Le Moyne undertook when he assumed the care andprotection of Eliab Hill, was no trivial one, as he well understood.

He realized as fully as did Nimbus the necessity of absoluteconcealment, for he was well aware that the blaze of excitementwhich would sweep over Horsford, when the events that had occurredat Red Wing should become known, would spare no one who should harboror conceal any of the recognized leaders of the colored men. Heknew that not only that organization which had just shown itsexistence in the county, but the vast majority of all the whiteinhabitants as well, would look upon this affair as indubitableevidence of the irrepressible conflict of races, in which they allbelieved most devoutly.

He had looked forward to this time with great apprehension.Although he had scrupulously refrained from active participationin political life, it was not from any lack of interest in thepolitical situation of the country. He had not only the ordinaryinstinct of the educated Southern man for political thought—aninstinct which makes every man in that section first of all thingsa partisan, and constitutes politics the first and most importantbusiness of life—but besides this general interest in publicaffairs he had also an inherited bias of hostility to the rightof secession, as well as to its policy. His father had been whatwas termed a "Douglas Democrat," and the son had absorbed his views.With that belief in a father's infallibility which is so generalin that part of the country, Hesden, despite his own part in thewar and the chagrin which defeat had brought, had looked only forevil results to come out of the present struggle, which he believedto have been uselessly precipitated.

It was in this state of mind that he had watched the new phase ofthe "irrepressible conflict" which supervened upon the downfall ofthe Rebellion In so doing, he had arrived at the following conclusions:

1. That it was a most fortunate and providential thing thatthe Confederacy had failed. He had begun to realize the wisdomof Washington when he referred to the dogma of "State rights" as"that bantling—I like to have said that monster."

2. That the emancipation of the slaves would ultimately proveadvantageous to the white man,

3. That it was the part of honorable men fairly and honestly to carryout and give effect to all the conditions, expressed and implied,on which power, representation, and autonomy were restored to therecently rebellious States. This he believed to be a personal duty,and a failure so to do he regarded as a disgrace to every man inany way contributing to it, especially if he had been a soldierand had shared the defeat of which these conditions were a consequence.

4. He did not regard either the war or the legislation known asreconstructionary as having in any manner affected the naturalrelation of the races. In the old times he had never felt or believedthat the slave was inherently endowed with the same rights as themaster; and he did not see how the results of war could enhancehis natural rights. He did not believe that the colored man had aninherent right to freedom or to self-government. Whatever rightof that kind he might now have was simply by the free grace of theconqueror. He had a right to the fruit of his own labor, to thecare, protection, and service of his own children, to the societyand comfort of his wife, to the protection of his own person, tomarriage, the ballot, possessory capacity, and all those thingswhich distinguish the citizen from the chattel—not because ofhis manhood, nor because of inherent co-equality of right with thewhite man; but simply because the national legislation gave it tohim as a condition precedent of statal rehabilitation.

These may seem to the Northern reader very narrow views; and so theyare, as compared with those that underlay the spirit of resistanceto rebellion, and the fever heat for human rights, which was theanimating principle in the hearts of the people when they endorsedand approved those amendments which were the basis of reconstructionarylegislation. It should be remembered, however, that even these viewswere infinitely in advance of the ideas generally entertained byhis white fellow-citizens of the South. Nearly all of them regardedthese matters in a very different light; and most naturally, too,as any one may understand who will lemember what had gone before,and will keep in mind that defeat does not mean a new birth, andthat warfare leaves men unchanged by its results, whatevermay be its effects on nations and societies.

They regretted the downfall of the Confederacy as the triumph ofa lower and baser civilization—the ascendency of a false idea andan act of unrighteous and unjustifiable subversion. To their mindsit was a forcible denial of their rights, and, to a large portionof them, a dishonorable violation of that contract or treaty uponwhich the Federal Union was based, and by which the right for whichthey fought had, according to their construction, been assured. Asviewed by them, the result of the war had not changed these facts,nor justified the infraction of the rights of the South.

In the popular phrase of that day, they "accepted the situation"—whichto their minds, simply meant that they would not fight anymore for independent existence. The North understood it to meanthat they would accept cheerfully and in good faith any termsand conditions which might be imposed upon them as a condition ofrehabilitation.

The masses of the Southern whites regarded the emancipation ofthe negro simply as an arbitrary exercise of power, intended asa punishment for the act of attempted secession—which act, whilemany believed it to have been impolitic, few believed to be inconflict with the true theory of our government. They consideredthe freeing of the slave merely a piece of wanton spite, inspired,in great measure, by sheer envy of Southern superiority, in partby angry hate because of the troubles, perils, and losses of thewar, and, in a very small degree, by honest though absurd fanaticism.They did not believe that it was done for the sake of the slave,to secure his liberty or to establish his rights; but they believedmost devoutly that it was done solely and purposely to injurethe master, to punish the rebel, and to still further cripple andimpoverish the South. It was, to them, an unwarrantable measure ofunrighteous retribution inspired by the lowest and basest motives.

But if, to the mass of Southern white men, emancipation was ameasure born of malicious spite in the breast of the North, whatshould they say of that which followed—the enfranchisem*ntof the black? It was a gratuitous insult—a causeless infamy! Itwas intended to humiliate, without even the mean motive of advantageto be derived. They did not for a moment believe—they do notbelieve to-day—that the negro was enfranchised for his own sake,or because the North believed that he was entitled to self-government,or was fit for self-government; but simply and solely because itwas hoped thereby to degrade, overawe, and render powerless thewhite element of the Southern populations. They thought it a fraudin itself, by which the North pretended to give back to the Southher place in the nation; but instead, gave her only a debased anddegraded co-ordination with a race despised beyond the power ofwords to express.

This anger seemed—and still seems to the Northern mind—useless,absurd, and ridiculous. It appears to us as groundless and almostas laughable as the frantic and impotent rage of the Chinaman whohas lost his sacred queue by the hand of the Christian spoiler.To the Northern mind the cause is entirely incommensurate with theanger displayed. One is inclined to ask, with a laugh, "Well, whatof it?" Perhaps there is not a single Northern resident of theSouth who has not more than once offended some personal friend bysmiling in his face while he raged, with white lips and glaringeyes, about this culminating ignominy. Yet it was sadly real tothem. In comparison with this, all other evils seemed light andtrivial, and whatever tended to prevent it, was deemed fair andjust. For this reason, the Southerners felt themselves not onlyjustified, but imperatively called upon, in every way and manner,to resist and annul all legislation having this end in view.Regarding it as inherently fraudulent, malicious, and violent, theyfelt no compunctions in defeating its operation by counter-fraudand violence.

It was thus that the elements of reconstruction affected the heartsand heads of most of the Southern whites. To admit that they werehonest in holding such views as they did is only to give them thebenefit of a presumption which, when applied to the acts and motivesof whole peoples, becomes irrefutable. A mob may be wrong-headed,but it is always right-hearted. What it does may be infamous, butunderlying its acts is always the sting of a great evil or the hopeof a great good.

Thus it was, too, that to the subtler mind and less selfish heartof Hesden Le Moyne, every attempt to nullify the effect or evadethe operation of the Reconstruction laws was tinged with the ideaof personal dishonor. To his understanding, the terms of surrenderwere, not merely that he would not again fight for a separategovernmental existence, but, also, that he would submit to suchchanges in the national polity as the conquering majority mightdeem necessary and desirable as conditions precedent to restoredpower; and would honestly and fairly, as an honorable man and abrave soldier, carry out those laws either to successful fruitionor to fair and legitimate repeal.

He was not animated by any thought of advantage to himself or tohis class to arise from such ideas. Unlike Jordan Jackson, and menof his type, there was nothing which his class could gain thereby,except a share in the ultimate glory and success of an enlarged andsolidified nation. The self-abnegation which he had learned fromthree years of duty as a private soldier and almost a lifetimeof patient attendance upon a loved but exacting invalid, inclinedto him to study the movements of society and the world, withoutespecial reference to himself, or the narrow circle of his familyor class. To his mind, honor—that honor which he accountedthe dearest birthright his native South had given—required thatfrom and after the day of his surrender he should seek and desire,not the gratification of revenge nor the display of prejudice,but the success and glory of the great republic. He felt that theAmerican Nation had become greater and more glorious by the veryact of overcoming rebellion. He recognized that the initial rightor wrong of that struggle, whatever it might have been, should besubordinated in all minds to the result—an individual Nation. Itwas a greater and a grander thing to be an American than to havebeen a Confederate! It was more honorable and knightly to be truein letter and in spirit to every law of his reunited land than tomake the woes of the past an excuse for the wrongs of the present.He felt all the more scrupulous in regard to this, because thosemeasures were not altogether such as he would have adopted, norsuch as he could yet believe would prove immediately successful. Hethought that every Southern man should see to it especially that,if any element of reconstruction failed, it should not be on accountof any lack of honest, sincere and hearty co-operation on his part.

It was for this reason that he had taken such interest in theexperiment that was going on at Red Wing in educating the coloredpeople. He did not at first believe at all in the capacity of thenegro for culture, progress, self-support, or self-government; buthe believed that the experiment, having been determined on by thenation, should be fairly and honestly carried out and its successor failure completely demonstrated. He admitted frankly that, ifthey had such capacity, they undoubtedly had the right to use it;because he believed the right inherent and inalienable with anyrace or people having the capacity. He considered that it was onlythe lack of co-ordinate capacity that made the Africans unfit toexercise co-ordinate power with individuals of the white race.

He thought they should be encouraged by every means to developwhat was in them, and readily admitted that, should the experimentsucceed and all distinction of civil right and political power besuccessfully abolished, the strength and glory of the nation wouldbe wonderfully enhanced. His partiality for the two chief promotersof the experiment at Red Wing had greatly increased his interest inthe result, which had by no means been diminished by his acquaintancewith Mollie Ainslie.

It was not, however, until he bent over his unconscious charge inthe stillness of the morning, made an examination of the wounds ofhis old playmate by the flickering light of the lamp, and undertookthe process of resuscitation and cure, that he began to realizehow his ancient prejudice was giving way before the light of whathe could not but regard as truth. The application of some simpleremedies soon restored Eliab to consciousness, but he found thatthe other injuries were so serious as to demand immediate surgicalattendance, and would require considerable time for their cure.

His first idea had been to keep Eliab's presence at his houseentirely concealed; but as soon as he realized the extent of hisinjuries, he saw that this would be impossible, and concluded thatthe safer way would be to entrust the secret to those servantswho were employed "about the lot," which includes, upon a Southernplantation, all who are not regularly engaged in the crop. He feltthe more willing to do this because of the attachment felt for thesweet-tempered but deformed minister at Red Wing by all of hisrace in the county. He carefully impressed upon the two womenand Charles, the stable-boy, the necessity of the utmost cautionin regard to the matter, and arranged with them to care for hispatient by turns, so as never to leave him alone. He sent to thepost at Boyleston for a surgeon, whose coming chanced not to benoticed by the neighbors, as he arrived just after dark and wentaway before daylight to return to his duty. A comfortable cot wasarranged for the wounded man, and, to make the care of him lessonerous, as well as to avoid the remark which continual use ofthe ladder would be sure to excite, Charles was directed to cut adoorway through the other gable of the old house into one of therooms in a newer part. Charles was one of those men found on almostevery plantation, who can "turn a hand to almost anything." Ina short time he had arranged a door from the chamber above "MarseHesden's room," and the task of nursing the stricken man back tolife and such health as he might thereafter have, was carried onby the faithful band of watchers in the dim light of the old atticand amid the spicy odor of the "bulks" of tobacco, which was storedthere awaiting a favorable market.

Hesden was so occupied with fhis care that it was not until thenext day that he became aware of Mollie's absence. As she had gonewithout preparation or farewell, he rightly judged that it was herintention to return. At first, he thought he would go at once toRed Wing and assure himself of her safety, but a moment's considerationshowed him not only that this was probably unnecessary, but alsothat to do so would attract attention, and perhaps reveal thehiding-place of Eliab. Besides, he felt confident that she wouldnot be molested, and thought it quite as well that she should notbe at Mulberry Hill for a few days, until the excitement had somewhatworn away.

On the next day, Eliab inquired so pitifully for both Miss Mollieand Nimbus, that Hesden, although he knew it was a half-deliriousanxiety, had sent Charles on an errand to a plantation in thatvicinity, with directions to learn all he could of affairs there,if possible without communicating directly with Miss Ainslie.

This he did, and reported everything quiet—Nimbus and Berry notheard from; Eliab supposed to have been killed; the colored peoplegreatly alarmed; and "Miss Mollie a-comfortin' an encouragin' on'em night an' day."

Together with this anxiety came the trust confided to Hesden byJordan Jackson, and the new, and at first somewhat arduous, dutiesimposed thereby. In the discharge of these he was brought intocommunication with a great many of the best people of the county,and did not hesitate to express his opinion freely as to the outrageat Red Wing. He was several times warned to be prudent, but heanswered all warnings so firmly, and yet with so much feeling, thathe was undisturbed. He stood so high, and had led so pure a life,that he could even be allowed to entertain obnoxious sentimentswithout personal danger, so long as he did not attempt to reducethem to practice or attempt to secure for colored people the rightsto which he thought them entitled. However, a great deal of remarkwas occasioned by the fact of his having become trustee for thefugitive Radical, and he was freely charged with having disgracedand degraded himself and his family by taking the part of a "renegade,Radical white nigg*r," like Jackson. This duty took him from homeduring the day in a direction away from Red Wing, and a part of eachnight he sat by the bedside of Eliab. So that more than a week hadpassed, during which he had found opportunity to take but threemeals with his mother, and had not yet been able to visit Red Wing.

CHAPTER XLVII.

BREASTING THE TORRENT.

To make up for the sudden loss of society occasioned by thesimultaneous departure of Mollie and the unusual engrossment ofHesden in business matters of pressing moment, as he had informedher, Mrs. Le Moyne had sent for one of the sisters of her son'sdeceased wife, Miss Hetty Lomax, to come and visit her. It was tothis young lady that Hesden had appealed when the young teacher wassuddenly stricken down in his house, and who had so rudely refused.Learning that the object of her antipathy was no longer there,Miss Hetty came and made herself very entertaining to the invalidby detailing to her all the horrors, real and imagined, of thepast few days. Day by day she was in the invalid's room, and it wasfrom her that Mrs. Le Moyne had learned all that was contained inher letter to Mollie concerning the public feeling and excitement.A week had elapsed, when Miss Hetty one day appeared with a mostinteresting budget of news, the recital of which seemed greatly toexcite Mrs. Le Moyne. At first she listened with incredulity andresentment; then conviction seemed to force itself upon her mind,and anger succeeded to astonishment. Calling her serving woman,she asked impetuously:

"Maggie, is your Master Hesden about the house?"

"Really now mistis," said the girl in some confusion, "I can'tedsackly tell. He war, de las' time I seed him; but then he mouthev gone out sence dat, yer know."

"Where was he then?"

"He war in his room, ma'am, wid a strange gemmen."

"Yes," added the mistress, in a significant tone, "he seems to havea great deal of strange company lately."

The girl glanced at her quickly as she arranged the bed-clothing,and the young lady who sat in the easy chair chuckled knowingly.

So the woman answered artfully, but with seeming innocence:

"La, mistis, it certain am quare how you finds out t'ings. 'Pearslike a mouse can't stir 'bout de house, but you hears it quickernor de cat."

It was deft flattery, and the pleased mistress swallowed the baitwith a smile.

"I always try to know what is going on in my own house," sheresponded, complacently.

"Should t'ink yer did," said the colored woman, gazing at her inadmiring wonder. "I don't 'llow dar's ennybody come inter dis yerhouse in one while, dat yer didn't know all 'bout 'em widout settin'eyes on 'em. I wouldn't be at all s'prised, dat I wouldn't," saidshe to the young lady, "ter find dat she knows whose h'yer now,an' whose been h'yer ebbery day sence Marse Hesden's been so busy.La! she's a woman—she's got a headpiece, she hab!"

"Yes," said the invalid; "I know that that odious scallawag, JordanJackson, has been here and has been shut up with my son, consultingand planning the Lord knows what, here in this very house of mine.Pretty business for a Le Moyne and a Richards to be in! You allthought you'd keep it from me; but you couldn't."

"La, sakes!" said the girl, with a look of relief, "yer mustn't sayme. I didn't never try ter keep it. I know'd yer'd find it out."

"When do you say you saw him?"

"I jes disremembers now what time it war. Some time dis mornin'though. It mout hev been some two—free hours ago."

"Who was the gentleman with him—I hope he was a gentleman?"

"Oh la, ma'am, dat he war—right smart ob one, I should jedge,though I nebber seen his face afo' in my born days."

"And don't know his name?"

"Not de fust letter ob it, mistis."

Maggie might well say that, since none of the letters of the alphabetwere known to her; but when she conveyed the idea that she did notknow the name of the visitor, it was certainly a stretch of thetruth; but then she did not know as "Marse Hesden" would care abouthis mother knowing the name of his visitor, and she had no idea ofbetraying anything which concerned him against his wish. So in orderto be perfectly safe, she deemed it best to deceive her mistress.

"Tell your Master Hesden I wish to see him immediately, Maggie,"said Mrs. Le Moyne, imperiously.

"Yes'm," said the girl, as she left the room to perform her errand.

There was a broad grin upon her face as she crossed the passageand knocked at the door of Hesden's room, thinking how she hadflattered her mistress into a revelation of her own ignorance. Shewas demure enough, however, when Hesden himself opened the doorand inquired what she wished.

"Please, sah, de mistis tole me ter ax yer ter come inter her room,right away."

"Anything the matter, Maggie?"

"Nuffin', only jes she wants ter talk wid yer 'bout sunthin', Ireckon."

"Who is with her?"

"Miss Hetty."

"Yes"—musingly.

"An' de mistis 'pears powerfully put out 'bout sunthin' or udder,"volunteered the girl.

"Yes," repeated Hesden, absently. "Well. Maggie, say to my motherthat I am very closely engaged, and I hope she will please excuseme for a few hours."

The girl returned and delivered her message.

"What!" exclaimed the sick woman, in amazement. "He must have turnedRadical sure enough, to send me such an answer as that! Maggie,"she continued, with severe dignity, "you must be mistaken. Returnand tell my son that I am sure you are mistaken."

"Oh, dar ain't no mistake 'bout it, mistis. Dem's de berry words
Marse Hesden said, shore."

"Do as I bade you, Maggie," said the mistress, quietly.

"Oh, certain, mistis, certain—only dar ain't no mistake," said thewoman, as she returned with the message she was charged to deliver.

"Did you ever see such a change?" asked Mrs. Le Moyne of hercompanion as soon as the door was closed upon the servant. "Therenever was a time before when Hesden did not come the instant Icalled, no matter upon what he might be engaged."

"Yes," said the other, laughingly, "I used to tell Julia that itwould make me awfully jealous to have a husband jump up and leaveme to go and pet his mother before the honeymoon was over."

"Poor Julia!" sighed the invalid. "Hesden never appreciatedher—never. He didn't feel her loss as I did."

"I should think not," replied the sister-in-law, sharply. "But hemight at least have had regard enough for her memory not to haveflirted so outrageously with that Yankee school-marm."

"What do you mean, Hetty!" said Mrs. Le Moyne, severely. "Pleaseremember that it is my son of whom you are speaking."

"Oh, yes," said Miss Hetty, sharply, "we have been speaking of himall along, and—"

The door from the hall was opened quickly, and Hesden looking in,said pleasantly,

"I hope you are not suffering, mother?"

"Not more than usual, Hesden," said Mrs. Le Moyne, "but I wish tosee you very particularly, my son."

"I am very busy, mother, on a most important matter; but you know
I will always make everything give way for you."

So saying, he stepped into the room and stood awaiting his mother'spleasure, after bowing somewhat formally to the younger lady.

"What are these reports I hear about you, Hesden?" asked his mother,with some show of anger.

"I beg your pardon, little mother," said Hesden smiling; "but wasit to make this inquiry you called me from my business?"

"Yes, indeed," was the reply; "I should like to know what therecould be of more importance to you than such slanderous reports asCousin Hetty tells me are being circulated about you."

"I have no doubt they are interesting if Cousin Hetty brings them,"said Hesden; "but you will please excuse me now, as I have mattersof more importance to attend to."

He bowed, and would have passed out, but the good lady cried outalmost with a shriek,

"But Hesden! Hesden! Hetty says that—that—that they say—you—area—a Radical!"

She started from her pillows, and leaned forward with one whitehand uplifted, as she waited his reply.

He turned back instantly, stepped quickly to the bedside, and puthis one arm caressingly about her as he said earnestly, "I am afraid,mother, if one speaks of things which have occurred in Horsfordduring the past few days as a man of honor ought, he must expectto be called bad names."

"But Hesden—you are not—do tell me, my son," said his mother, ina tone of entreaty, "that you are not one of those horridRadicals!"

"There, there; do not excite yourself, mother. I will explaineverything to you this evening," said he, soothingly.

"But you are not a Radical?" she cried, catching his hand.

"I am a man of honor, always," he replied, proudly.

"Then you cannot be a Radical," she said, with a happy smile.

"But he is—he is!" exclaimed the younger lady, starting forwardwith flushed cheeks and pointing a trembling finger at his face,as if she had detected a guilty culprit. "He is!" she repeated."Deny it if you dare, Hesden Le Moyne!"

"Indeed, Miss Hetty," said Hesden, turning upon her with dignifiedseverity. "May I inquire who constituted you either my judge or myaccuser."

"Oh fie! Hesden," said his mother. "Isn't Hetty one of the family?"

"And has every Richards and Le Moyne on the planet a right tochallenge my opinions?" asked Hesden.

"Certainly!" said his mother, with much energy, while her pale faceflushed, and her upraised hand trembled—"certainly they have, myson, if they think you are about to disgrace those names. But dodeny it! Do tell me you are not a Radical!" she pleaded.

"But suppose I were?" he asked, thoughtfully.

"I would disown you! I would disinherit you!" shrieked the excitedwoman, shrinking away from his arm as if there were contagionin the touch. "Remember, sir," she continued threateningly, "thatMulberry Hill is still mine, and it shall never go to a Radical—never!"

"There, there, mother; do not excite yourself unnecessarily," saidHesden. "It is quite possible that both these matters are beyondeither your control or mine."

"Why, what do you mean?"

"I simply mean that circ*mstances over which we have no controlhave formed my opinions, and others over which we have as littlecontrol may affect the ownership of this plantation."

"Why—what in the world! Hesden, are you mad? You know that it ismine by the will of my father! Who or what could interfere withmy right?"

"I sincerely hope that no one may," answered Hesden; "but I shallbe able to tell you more about these matters after dinner, when Ipromise that you shall know all, without any reservation."

There had been a calm, almost sorrowful, demeanor about Hesden duringthis conversation, which had held the excited women unconsciouslyin check. They were so astonished at the coolness of his mannerand the matter-of-fact sincerity of his tones that they were quiteunable to express the indignation and abhorrence they both feltthat his language merited. Now, however, as he moved toward thedoor, the younger lady was no longer able to restrain herself,

"I knew it was so!" she said. "That miserable nigg*r-teacher wasn'there for nothing! The mean, low hussy! I should think he wouldhave been ashamed to bring her here anyhow—under his mother's verynose!"

Hesden had almost reached the door of the room when these wordsfell upon his ear. He turned and strode across the room until hestood face to face with his mother once more. There was no lackof excitement about him now. His face was pale as death, his eyesblazed, and his voice trembled.

"Mother," said he, "I have often told you that I would never bringto you a wife whom you did not approve. I hope never to do so; butI wish to say one thing: Miss Ainslie is a pure and lovely woman.None of us have ever known her superior. She is worthy of any man'sdevotion. I would not have said this but for what has been spokenhere. But now I say, that if I ever hear that anyone having asingle drop of our blood in her veins has spoken ill of her—ay,or if her name is linked with mine in any slighting manner, evenby the breath of public rumor—I will make her my wife if she willaccept my hand, whatever your wishes. And further, if any one speaksslightingly of her, I will resent it as if she were my wife, sohelp me God!"

He turned upon his heel, and strode out of the room.

He had not once looked or spoken to the lady whose words had giventhe offense. The mother and cousin were overwhelmed with astonishmentat the intensity of the usually quiet and complaisant Hesden. MissHetty soon made excuses for returning to her home, and Mrs. Le Moynewaited in dull wonder for the revelation which the evening was tobring. It seemed to her as if the world had lost its bearings andeverything must be afloat, now that Hesden had been so transformedas to speak thus harshly to the mother for whom his devotion hadbecome proverbial all the country around.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

THE PRICE OF HONOR.

When Hesden came to his mother's room that night, his countenancewore an unusually sad and thoughtful expression. His mother hadnot yet recovered from the shock of the morning's interview. Themore she thought of it, the less she could understand either hislanguage or his manner. That he would once think of allying himselfin political thought with those who were trying to degrade andhumiliate their people by putting them upon a level with the negro,she did not for a moment believe, despite what he had said. Neitherdid she imagine, even then, that he had any feeling for MollieAinslie other than mere gratitude for the service she had rendered,but supposed that his outburst was owing merely to anger at theslighting language used toward her by Cousin Hetty. Yet she felta dim premonition of something dreadful about to happen, and wasill at ease during the evening meal. When it was over, the tablecleared, and the servant had retired, Hesden sat quiet for a longtime, and then said, slowly and tenderly:

"Mother, I am very sorry that all these sad things should come upat this time—so soon after our loss. I know your heart, as wellas mine, is sore, and I wish you to be sure that I have not, andcannot have, one unkind thought of you. Do not cry," he added,as he saw the tears pouring down her face, which was turned to himwith a look of helpless woe upon it—"do not cry, little mother,for we shall both of us have need of all our strength."

"Oh, Hesden," she moaned, "if you only would not—"

"Please do not interrupt me," he said, checking her with a motionof his hand; "I have a long story to tell, and after that we willspeak of what now troubles you. But first, I wish to ask you somequestions. Did you ever hear of such a person as Edna Richards?"

"Edna Richards—Edna Richards?" said Mrs. Le Moyne, wiping awayher tears and speaking between her sobs. "It seems as if I had,but—I—I can't remember, my son. I am so weak and nervous."

"Calm yourself, little mother; perhaps it will come to your mindif I ask you some other questions. Our grandfather, James Richards,came here from Pennsylvania, did he not?"

"Certainly, from about Lancaster. He always promised to take meto see our relatives there, but he never did. You know, son, I washis youngest child, and he was well past fifty when I was born. Sohe was an old man when I was grown up, and could not travel verymuch. He took me to the North twice, but each time, before we gotaround to our Pennsylvania friends, he was so tired out that hehad to come straight home."

"Did you ever know anything about his family there?"

"Not much—nothing except what he told me in his last days. He usedto talk about them a great deal then, but there was something thatseemed to grieve and trouble him so much that I always did all Icould to draw his mind away from the subject. Especially was thisthe case after the boys, your uncles, died. They led rough lives,and it hurt him terribly."

"Do you know whether he ever corresponded with any of our relativesat the North?"

"I think not. I am sure he did not after I was grown. He oftenspoke of it, but I am afraid there was some family trouble ordisagreement which kept him from doing so. I remember in his lastyears he used frequently to speak of a cousin to whom he seemed tohave been very much attached. He had the same name as father, whoused to call him 'Red Jim.'"

"Was he then alive?"

"I suppose so—at least when father last heard from him. I thinkhe lived in Massachusetts. Let me see, what was the name of thetown. I don't remember," after a pause.

"Was it Marblehead?" asked the son, with some eagerness.

"That's it, dear—Marblehead. How funny that you should strike uponthe very name?"

"You think he never wrote?"

"Oh, I am sure not. He mourned about it, every now and then, tothe very last."

"Was my grandfather a bachelor when he came here?"

"Of course, and quite an old bachelor, too. I think he was aboutthirty when he married your grandmother in 1794."

"She was a Lomax—Margaret Lomax, I believe?'

"Yes; that's how we come to be akin to all the Lomax connection."

"Just so. You are sure he had never married before?"

"Sure? Why, yes, certainly. How could he? Why, Hesden, what doyou mean? Why do you ask all these questions? You do not—youcannot—Oh, Hesden!" she exclaimed, leaning forward and tremblingwith apprehension.

"Be calm, mother. I am not asking these questions without goodcause," he answered, very gravely.

After a moment, when she had recovered herself a little, he continued,holding toward her a slip of paper, as he asked:

"Did you ever see that signature before?"

His mother took the paper, and, having wiped her glasses, adjustedthem carefully and glanced at the paper. As she did so a cry burstfrom her lips, and she said,

"Oh, Hesden, Hesden, where did you get it? Oh, dear! oh, dear!"

"Why, mother, what is it?" cried Hesden in alarm, springing up andgoing quickly to her side.

"That—that horrid thing, Hesden! Where did you get it? Doyou know it was that which made that terrible quarrel between yourgrandfather and Uncle John, when he struck him that—that lastnight, before John's body was found in the river. He was drownedcrossing the ford, you know. I don't know what it was all about;but there was a terrible quarrel, and John wrote that on a sheet ofpaper and held it before your grandfather's face and said somethingto him—I don't know what. I was only a little girl then, but, ahme! I remember it as if it was but yesterday. And then father struckhim with his cane. John fell as if he were dead. I was looking inat the window, not thinking any harm, and saw it all. I thoughthe had killed John, and ran away, determined not to tell. I neverbreathed a lisp of it before, son, and nobody ever knew of thatquarrel, only your grandfather and me. I know it troubled himgreatly after John died. Oh, I can see that awful paper, as Johnheld it up to the light, as plain as this one in my hand now."

The slip of paper which she held contained only the followingapparently unintelligible scrawl:

"And you never saw it but once?" asked Hesden, thoughtfully.

"Never but once before to-night, dear."

"It was not Uncle John's usual signature, then?"

"No, indeed. Is it a signature? She glanced curiously at the paperwhile Hesden pointed out the letters,

"That is what I take it to be, at least," he said. "Sure enough,"said Mrs. Le Moyne, "and that might stand for John Richards orJames Richards. It might be Uncle John or your grandfather, either,child." "True, but grandfather always wrote his name plainly,J. RICHARDS. I have seen a thousand of his signatures, I reckon.Besides, Uncle John was not alive in 1790."

"Of course not. But what has that to do with the matter? What doesit all mean anyhow? There must be some horrid secret about it, Iam sure."

"I do not know what it means, mother, but I am determined to findout. That is what I have been at all day, and I will not stop untilI know all about it."

"But how did you come to find it? What makes you think there isanything to be known about it?"

"This is the way it occurred, mother. The other day it became necessaryto cut a door from the chamber over my room into the attic of theold kitchen, where I have been storing the tobacco. You know thepart containing the dining-room was the original house, and wasat first built of hewed logs. It was, in fact, two houses, with adouble chimney in the middle. Afterward, the two parts were madeinto one, the rude stairs torn away, and the whole thing ceiledwithin and covered with thick pine siding without. In cuttingthrough this, Charles found between two of the old logs and nextto the chinking put in on each side to keep the wall flush andsmooth, a pocketbook, carefully tied up in a piece of coarse linen,and containing a yellow, dingy paper, which, although creased andsoiled, was still clearly legible. The writing was of that heavyround character which marked the legal hand of the old time, andthe ink, though its color had somewhat changed by time, seemed toshow by contrast with the dull hue of the page even more clearlythan it could have done when first written. The paper proved to be awill, drawn up in legal form and signed with the peculiar scrawlof which you hold a tracing. It purported to have been madeand published in December, 1789, at Lancaster, in the State ofPennsylvania, and to have been witnessed by James Adiger and JohanWelliker of that town."

"How very strange!" exclaimed Mrs. Le Moyne. "I suppose it musthave been the will of your grandfather's father."

"That was what first occurred to me," answered Hesden, "but oncloser inspection it proved to be the will of James Richards, asstated in the caption, of Marblehead, in the State of Massachusetts,giving and bequeathing all of his estate, both real and personal,after some slight bequests, to his beloved wife Edna, except—"

"Stop, my son," said Mrs. Le Moyne, quickly, "I remember now. Ednawas the name of the wife of father's cousin James—"Red Jim," hecalled him. It was about writing to her he was always talkingtoward the last. So I suppose he must have been dead."

"I had come to much the same conclusion," said Hesden, "though Inever heard that grandfather had a cousin James until to-night. Ishould never have thought any more of the document, however, exceptas an old relic, if it had not gone on to bequeath particularly'my estate in Carolina to my beloved daughter, Alice E., when sheshall arrive at the age of eighteen years,' and to provide for thesuccession in case of her death prior to that time."

"That is strange," said Mrs. Le Moyne. "I never knew that we hadany relatives in the State upon that side."

"That is what I thought," said the son. "I wondered where the estatewas which had belonged to this James Richards, who was not ourancestor, and, looking further, I found it described with considerableparticlarity. It was called Stillwater, and was said to be locatedon the waters of the Hyco, in Williams County."

"But the Hyco is not in Williams County," said his listener.

"No, mother, but it was then," he replied. "You know that countyhas been many times subdivided."

"Yes, I had forgotten that," she said. "But what then?"

"It went on," contined Hesden, "to say that he held this land byvirtue of a grant from the State which was recorded in Registry ofDeeds in Williams County, in Book A, page 391."

"It is an easy matter to find where it was, then, I suppose," saidthe mother.

"I have already done that," he replied, "and that is the strangeand unpleasant part of what I had to tell you."

"I do hope," she said, smiling, "that you have not made us outcousins of any low-down family."

"As to that I cannot tell, mother; but I am afraid I have foundsomething discreditable in our own family history."

"Oh, I hope not, Hesden," she said, plaintively. "It isso unpleasant to look back upon one's ancestors and not feel thatthey were strictly honorable. Don't tell me, please. I had rathernot hear it."

"I wish you might not," said he; "but the fact which you referredto to-day—that you are, under the will of my grandfather, theowner of Mulberry Hill, makes it necessary that you should."

"Please, Hesden, don't mention that. I was angry then. Please forgetit. What can that have to do with this horrid matter?"

"It has this to do with it, mother," he replied. "The boundaries ofthat grant, as shown by the record, are identical with the recordof the grant under which our grandfather claimed the estate ofwhich this is a part, and which is one of the first entered uponthe records of Horsford County."

"What do you say, Hesden? I don't understand you," said his mother,anxiously.

"Simply that the land bequeathed in this will of J. Richards,is the same as that afterward claimed and held by my grandfather,James Richards, and in part now belonging to you."

"It cannot be, Hesden, it cannot be! There must be some mistake!"she exclaimed, impatiently.

"I wish there were," he answered, "but I fear there is not. Thewill names as executor, 'my beloved cousin James Richards, of theborough of Lancaster, in the State of Pennsylvania.' I presumethis to have been my grandfather. I have had the records of bothcounties searched and find no record of any administration uponthis will."

"You do not think a Richards could have been so dishonorable as torob his cousin's orphans?"

"Alas! mother, I only know that we have always claimed title underthat very grant. The grant itself is among your papers in my desk,and is dated in 1789. I have always understood that grandfathermarried soon after coming here."

"Oh, yes, dear," was the reply, "I have heard mother tell of it ahundred times."

"And that was in 1794?"

"Yes, yes; but he might have been here before, child."

"That is true, and I hope it may all turn out to have been only astrange mistake."

"But if it does not, Hesden?" said his mother, after a moment'sthought. "What do you mean to do?"

"I mean first to go to the bottom of this matter and discover thetruth."

"And then—if—if there was—anything wrong?"

"Then the wrong must be righted."

"But that—why, Hesden, it might turn us out of doors! It mightmake us beggars!"

"We should at least be honest ones."

"But Hesden, think of me—think—" she began.

"So I will, little mother, of you and for you till the last hour ofyour life or of mine. But mother, I would rather you should leaveall and suffer all, and that we should both die of starvation, thanthat we should live bounteously on the fruit of another's wrong."He bent over her and kissed her tenderly again and again. "Neverfear, mother," he said, "we may lose all else by the acts of others,but we can only lose honor by our own. I would give my life foryou or to save your honor."

She looked proudly upon him, and reached up her thin white hand tocaress his face, as she said with overflowing eyes:

"You are right, my son! If others of our name have done wrong, thereis all the more need that we should do right and atone for it."

CHAPTER XLIX.

HIGHLY RESOLVED.

Mollie Ainslie had made all her preparations to leave Red Wing.She had investigated the grounds of the suit brought by Winburnagainst Nimbus and others. Indeed, she found herself named amongthe "others," as well as all those who had purchased from Nimbusor were living on the tract by virtue of license from him. CaptainPardee had soon informed her that the title of Nimbus was, in fact,only a life-estate, which had fallen in by the death of the lifetenant, while Winburn claimed to have bought up the interests ofthe reversioners. He intimated that it was possible that Winburnhad done this while acting as the agent of Colonel Desmit, but thiswas probably not susceptible of proof, on account of the death ofDesmit. He only stated it as a conjecture at best.

At the same time, he informed her that the small tract about theold ordinary, which had come to Nimbus by purchase, and which wasall that she occupied, was not included in the life-estate, butwas held in fee by Walter Greer. She had therefore instructed himto defend for her upon Nimbus's title, more for the sake of assertinghis right than on account of the value of the premises. The suitwas for possession and damages for detention and injury of theproperty, and an attachment had been taken out against Nimbus'sproperty, on the claim for damages, as a non-resident debtor. Asthere seemed to be no good ground for defense on the part of thosewho had purchased under Nimbus, the attorney advised that resistanceto the suit would be useless. Thus they lost at once the labor oftheir whole life of freedom, and were compelled to begin again whereslavery had left them. This, taken in connection with the burningof the church, the breaking up of the school, and the absence ofEliab and Nimbus, had made the once happy and busy little villagemost desolate and forlorn.

The days which Mollie Ainslie had passed in the old hostel sinceshe left Mulberry Hill had been days of sorrow. Tears and moansand tales of anxious fear had been in her ears continually. Allover the county, the process of "redemption" was being carried on.The very air was full of horrors. Men with bleeding backs, womenwith scarred and mutilated forms, came to her to seek advice andconsolation. Night after night, devoted men, who did not dare tosleep in their own homes, kept watch around her, in order that herslumbers might be undisturbed. It seemed as if all law had beenforgotten, and only a secret Klan had power in the land. She didnot dare, brave as she was, to ride alone outside of the littlevillage. She did not really think she would be harmed, yet shetrembled when the night came, and every crackling twig sent herheart into her mouth in fear lest the chivalric masqueraders shouldcome to fulfil their vague threats against herself. But her heartbled for the people she had served, and whom she saw bowed downunder the burden of a terrible, haunting fear.

If she failed to make due allowance for that savageness of naturewhich generations of slavery are sure to beget in the master, let usnot blame her. She was only a woman, and saw only what was beforeher. She did not see how the past injected itself into the present, andgave it tone and color. She reasoned only from what met her sight.It is not strange that she felt bitterly toward those who hadcommitted such seemingly vandal acts. No wonder she spoke bitterly,wrote hard things to her Northern friends, and denied the civilizationand Christianity of those who could harry, oppress, and destroythe poor, the ignorant, and the weak. It is not surprising thatshe sneered at the "Southern Gentleman," or that she wrote him downin very black characters in the book and volume of her memory. Shewas not a philosopher nor a politician, and she had never speculatedon the question as to how near of kin virtue and vice may be.She had never considered how narrow a space it is that very oftendivides the hero from the criminal, the patriot from the assassin,the gentleman from the ruffian, the Christian saint from thered-handed savage. Her heart was hot with wrath and her tonguewas tipped with bitterness.

For the first time she blushed at the thought of her native land.That the great, free, unmatched Republic should permit these things,should shut its eyes and turn its back upon its helpless allies intheir hour of peril, was a most astounding and benumbing fact toher mind. What she had loved with all that tenacity of devotionwhich every Northern heart has for the flag and the country, wascovered with ignominy by these late events. She blushed with shameas she thought of the weak, vacillating nation which had given thepromise of freedom to the ears of four millions of weak but trustfulallies, and broken it to their hearts. She knew that the countryhad appealed to them in its hour of mortal agony, and they hadanswered with their blood. She knew that again it had appealed tothem for aid to write the golden words of Freedom in its Constitution,words before unwritten, in order that they might not be continuedin slavery, and they had heard and answered by their votes; and then,while the world still echoed with boastings of these achievements,it had taken away the protecting hand and said to those whose heartswere full of hate, "Stay not thine hand."

She thought, too, that the men who did these things—the midnightmasqueraders—were rebels still in their hearts. She called themso in hers at least—enemies of the country, striving dishonorablyto subvert its laws. She did not keep in mind that to every Southernman and woman, save those whom the national act brought forth tocivil life, the Nation is a thing remote and secondary. To themthe State is first, and always so far first as to make the countrya dim, distant cloud, to be watched with suspicion or aversion asa something hostile to their State or section. The Northern mindthinks of the Nation first. The love of country centers there.His pride in his native State is as a part of the whole. Asa Northerner, he has no feeling at all. He never speaksof his section except awkwardly, and when reference to it is madeabsolutely necessary by circ*mstances. He may be from the East orthe West or the Middle, from Maine or Minnesota, but he is firstof all things an American. Mollie thought that the result of thewar—defeat and destruction—ought to have made the white peopleof the South just such Americans. In fact it never occurred to hersimple heart but that they had always been such. In truth, she didnot conceive that they could have been otherwise. She had neverdreamed that there were any Americans with whom it was not thefirst and ever-present thought that they were Americans.

She might have known, if she had thought so far, that in thatmystically-bounded region known as "the South," the people werefirst of all "Southerners;" next "Georgians," or "Virginians," orwhatever it might be; and last and lowest in the scale of politicalbeing, "Americans." She might have known this had she but notedhow the word "Southern" leaps into prominence as soon as the old"Mason and Dixon's line" is crossed. There are "Southern" hotelsand "Southern" railroads, "Southern" steamboats, "Southern"stage-coaches, "Southern" express companies, "Southern" books,"Southern" newspapers, "Southern" patent-medicines, "Southern"churches, "Southern" manners, "Southern" gentlemen, "Southern"ladies, "Southern" restaurants, "Southern" bar-rooms, "Southern"whisky, "Southern" gambling-hells, "Southern" principles, "Southern"everything! Big or little, good or bad, everything that courtspopularity, patronage or applause, makes haste to brand itself asdistinctively and especially "Southern."

Then she might have remembered that in all the North—the great,busy, bustling, over-confident, giantly Great-heart of thecontinent—there is not to be found a single "Northern" hotel,steamer, railway, stage-coach, bar-room, restaurant, school,university, school-book, or any other "Northern" institution. Theword "Northern" is no master-key to patronage or approval. There isno "Northern" clannishness, and no distinctive "Northern" sentimentthat prides itself on being such. The "Northern" man may be "Eastern"or "Western." He may be "Knickerbocker," "Pennamite," "Buckeye,"or "Hoosier;" but above all things, and first of all things in hisallegiance and his citizenship, he is an American. The "Southern"man is proud of the Nation chiefly because it contains his sectionand State; the "Northern" man is proud of his section and Statechiefly because it is a part of the Nation.

But Mollie Ainslie did not stop to think of these differences, orof the bias which habit gives to the noblest mind; and so her heartwas full of wrath and much bitterness. She had forgiven coldness,neglect, and aspersion of herself, but she could not forgivebrutality and violence toward the weak and helpless. She saw thefutility of hope of aid from the Nation that had deserted its allies.She felt, on the other hand, the folly of expecting any change in apeople steeped in intolerance and gloating in the triumph of lawlessviolence over obnoxious law. She thought she saw that there was butlittle hope for that people for whom she had toiled so faithfullyto grow to the full stature of the free man in the region wherethey had been slaves. She was short-sighted and impatient, but shewas earnest and intense. She had done much thinking in the sorrowfuldays just past, and had made up her mind that whatsoever othersmight do, she, Mollie Ainslie, would do her duty.

The path seemed plain to her. She had been, as it seemed to her,mysteriously led, step by step, along the way of life, always withblindfolded eyes and feet that sought not to go in the way theywere constrained to take. Her father and mother dead, her brother'sillness brought her to the South; there his wish detained her;a seeming chance brought her to Red Wing; duties and cares hadmultiplied with her capacity; the cup of love, after one sweetdraught, had been dashed from her lips; desolation and destructionhad come upon the scene of her labors, impoverishment and woe uponthose with whom she had been associated, and a hopeless fate uponall the race to which they belonged in the land wherein they wereborn.

She did not propose to change these things. She did not aspire toset on foot any great movement or do any great deed, but she feltthat she was able to succor a few of the oppressed race. Those whom*ost needed help and best deserved it, among the denizens of RedWing, she determined to aid in going to a region where thought atleast was free. It seemed to her altogether providential that atthis time she had still, altogether untouched, the few thousandswhich Oscar had given her of his army earnings, and also the littlehomestead on the Massachusetts hills, toward which a little townhad been rapidly growing during the years of unwonted prosperitysucceeding the war, until now its value was greatly increased fromwhat it was but a few years before. She found she was quite anheiress when she came to take an inventory of her estate, and madeup her mind that she would use this estate to carry out her newidea. She did not yet know the how or the where, but she had got itinto her simple brain that somewhere and somehow this money mightbe invested so as to afford a harbor of refuge for these poorcolored people, and still not leave herself unprovided for. Shehad not arranged the method, but she had fully determined on theundertaking.

This was the thought of Mollie Ainslie as she sat in her room at theold ordinary, one afternoon, nearly two weeks after her departurefrom the Le Moyne mansion. She had quite given up all thought ofseeing Hesden again. She did not rave or moan over her disappointment.It had been a sharp and bitter experience when she waked out ofthe one sweet dream of her life. She saw that it was but adream, foolish and wild; but she had no idea of dying of a brokenheart. Indeed, she did not know that her heart was broken.She had loved a man whom she had fancied as brave and gentle asshe could desire her other self to be. She had neither profferedher love to him nor concealed it. She was not ashamed that sheloved nor ashamed that he should know it, as she believed he did.She thought he must have known it, even though she did not herselfrealize it at the time. If he had been that ideal man whom sheloved, he would have come before, claimed her love, and declaredhis own. That man could never have let her go alone into desolationand danger without following at once to inquire after her. Itwas not that she needed his protection, but she had desired—nay,expected as a certainty—that he would come and proffer it. Theideal of her love would have done so. If Hesden Le Moyne had comethen, she would have given her life into his keeping forever after,without the reservation of a thought. That he did not come onlyshowed that he was not her ideal, not the one she had loved, butonly the dim likeness of that one. It was so much the worse for Mr.Hesden Le Moyne, but none the worse for Mollie Ainslie. She stillloved her ideal, but knew now that it was only an ideal.

Thus she mused, although less explicitly, as the autumn afternoondrew to its close. She watched the sun sinking to his rest, andreflected that she would see him set but once more over the pinesthat skirted Red Wing. There was but little more to be done—afew things to pack up, a few sad farewells to be said, and thenshe would turn her face towards the new life she had set her heartupon.

There was a step upon the path. She heard her own name spoken andheard the reply of the colored woman, who was sitting on the porch.Her heart stopped beating as the footsteps approached her door. Shethought her face flushed burning red, but in reality it was of ahard, pallid gray as she looked up and saw Hesden Le Moyne standingin the doorway.

CHAPTER L.

FACE ANSWERETH TO FACE.

"How do you do, Miss Mollie?"

She caught her breath as she heard his ringing, tone and noted hisexpectant air. Oh, if he had only come before! If he had not lefther to face alone—he knew not what peril! But he had done so, andshe could not forget it. So she went forward, and, extending herhand, took his without a throb as she said, demurely,

"I am very well, Mr. Le Moyne. How are you, and how have you leftall at home?"

She led the way back to the table and pointed to a chair oppositeher own as she spoke.

Hesden Le Moyne had grown to love Mollie Ainslie almost asunconsciously as she had given her heart to him. The loss of hisson had been a sore affliction. While he had known no passionatelove for his cousin-wife, he yet had had the utmost respect for her,and had never dreamed that there were in his heart deeper depthsof love still unexplored. After her death, his mother and his childseemed easily and naturally to fill his heart. He had admired MollieAinslie from the first. His attention had been first particularlydirected to her accomplishments and attractions by the casualconversation with Pardee in reference to her, and by the fact thatthe horse she rode was his old favorite. He had watched her atfirst critically, then admiringly, and finally with an unconsciousyearning which he did not define.

The incident of the storm and the bright picture she made in hissomewhat somber home had opened his eyes as to his real feelings.At the same time had come the knowledge that there was a wide gulfbetween them, but he would have bridged it long before now had itnot been for his affliction, which, while it drew him nearer to theobject of his devotion than he had ever been before, also raised animperative barrier against words of love. Then the time of trialcame. He found himself likely to be stripped of all hope of wealth,and he had been goaded into declaring to others his love for Mollie,although he had never whispered a word of it to her.

Since that time, however, despite his somewhat dismal prospects,he had allowed his fancy greater play. He had permitted himselfto dream that some time and somehow he might be permitted to callMollie Ainslie his wife. She seemed so near to him! There was sucha calm in her presence!

He had never doubted that his passion was reciprocated. He thoughtthat he had looked down into her heart through the soft, gray eyes,and seen himself. She had never manifested any consciousness oflove, but in those dear days at the Hill she had seemed to comeso close to him that he thought of her love as a matter of course,as much so as if it had been already plighted. He felt too thather instinct had been as keen as his own, and that she must havediscovered the love he had taken no pains to conceal. But theevents which had occurred since she went to Red Wing had to hismind forbidden any further expression of this feeling. For hersake as well as for his own honor it must be put aside. He had nowish to conceal or deny it. The fact that he must give her up wasthe hardest element of the sacrifice which the newly discoveredwill might require at his hands.

So he had come to tell her all, and he hoped that she would seewhere honor led him, and would hold him excused from saying, "Ilove you. Will you be my wife?" He believed that she would, andthat they would part without distrust and with unabated esteem foreach other. Never, until this moment, had he thought otherwise.Perhaps he was not without hope still, but it was not such as couldbe allowed to control his action. He could not say now why it was;he could not tell what was lacking, but somehow there seemed tohave been a change. She was so far away—so intangible. It was thesame lithe form, the same bright face, the same pleasant voice; butthe life, the soul, seemed to have gone out of the familiar presence.

He sat and watched her keenly, wonderingly, as they chatted for amoment of his mother. Then he said:

"We have had strange happenings at Mulberry Hill since you leftus, Miss Mollie."

"You don't tell me!" she said laughingly. "I cannot conceive sucha thing possible. Dear me! How strange to think of anything out ofthe common happening there!"

The tone and the laugh hurt him.

"Indeed," said he, gravely, "except for that I should have made myappearance here long ago."

"You are very kind. And I assure you, I am grateful that you didnot entirely forget me." Her tone was mocking, but her look was soguileless as almost to make him disbelieve his ears.

"I assure you, Miss Mollie," said he, earnestly, "you do meinjustice. I was so closely engaged that I was not even aware ofyour departure until the second day afterward."

He meant this to show how serious were the matters which claimedhis attention. To him it was the strongest possible proof of theirurgency. But she remembered her exultant ride to Red Wing, and saidto-herself, "And he did not think of me for two whole days!" Asshe listened to his voice, her heart had been growing soft despiteher; but it was hard enough now. So she smiled artlessly, andsaid:

"Only two days? Why, Mr. Le Moyne, I thought it was two weeks. Thatwas how I excused you. Charles said you were too busy to ride withme; your mother wrote that you were too busy to ask after me; andI supposed you had been too busy to think of me, ever since."

"Now, Miss Mollie," said he, in a tone of earnest remonstrance,"please do not speak in that way. Things of the utmost importancehave occurred, and I came over this evening to tell you of them.You, perhaps, think that I have been neglectful."

"I had no right to demand anything from Mr. Le Moyne."

"Yes, you had, Miss Ainslie," said he, rising and going around thetable until he stood close beside her. "You know that only themost pressing necessity could excuse me for allowing you to leavemy house unattended."

"That is the way I went there," she interrupted, as she looked upat him, laughing saucily.

"But that was before you had, at my request, risked your lifein behalf of my child. Let us not hide the truth, Miss Ainslie.We can never go back to the relation of mere acquaintanceship weheld before that night. If you had gone away the next morning itmight have been different, but every hour afterward increased myobligations to you. I came here to tell you why I had seemed toneglect them. Will you allow me to do so?"

"It is quite needless, because there is no obligation—none in theleast—unless it be to you for generous hospitality and care anda pleasant respite from tedious duty."

"Why do you say that? You cannot think it is so," he said,impetuously. "You know it was my duty to have attended you hither,to have offered my services in that trying time, and by my presenceand counsel saved you such annoyance as I might. You know that Icould not have been unaware of this duty, and you dare not deny thatyou expected me to follow you very speedily after your departure."

"Mr. Le Moyne," she said, rising, with flushed cheeks and flashingeyes, "you have no right to address such language to me! It wasbad enough to leave me to face danger and trouble and horror alone;but not so bad as to come here and say such things. But I am notashamed to let you know that you are right. I did expectyou, Hesden Le Moyne. As I came along the road and thought of theterrors which the night might bring, I said to myself that beforethe sun went down you would be here, and would counsel and protectthe girl who had not shrunk from danger when you asked her to faceit, and who had come to look upon you as the type of chivalry.Because I thought you better and braver and nobler than you are, Iam not ashamed to confess what I expected. I know it was foolish.I might have known better. I might have known that the man whowould fight for a cause he hated rather than be sneered at by hisneighbors, would not care to face public scorn for the sake of a'nigg*r-teacher'—no matter what his obligations to her."

She stood before him with quivering nostrils and flashing eyes. Hestaggered back, raising his hand to check the torrent of her wrath.

"Don't, Miss Ainslie, don't!" he said, in confused surprise.

"Oh, yes!" she continued bitterly, "you no doubt feel very muchsurprised that a 'Yankee nigg*r-teacher' should dare to resent suchconduct. You thought you could come to me, now that the danger andexcitement have subsided, and resume the relations we held before.I know you and despise you, Hesden Le Moyne! I have more respectfor one of those who made Red Wing a scene of horror and destructionthan for you. Is that enough, sir? Do you understand me now?""Oh, entirely, Miss Ainslie," said Hesden, in a quick, husky tone,taking his hat from the table as he spoke. "But in justice tomyself I must be allowed to state some facts which, though perhapsnot sufficient, in your opinion, to justify my conduct, will I hopeshow you that you have misjudged me in part. Will you hear me?"

"Oh, yes, I will hear anything," she said, as she sat down. "Thoughnothing can be said that will restore the past."

"Unfortunately, I am aware of that. There is one thing, however,that I prize even more than that, and that is my honor. Do nottake the trouble to sneer. Say, what I call my honor, ifit pleases you better, and I will not leave a stain upon that, evenin your mind, if I can help it."

"Yes, I hear," she said, as he paused a moment. "Your honor,
I believe you said."

"Yes, Miss Ainslie," he replied with dignity; "my honor requiresthat I should say to you now what I had felt forbidden to saybefore—that, however exalted the opinion you may have formed ofme, it could not have equalled that which I cherished for you—notfor what you did, but for what you were—and this feeling, whateveryou may think, is still unchanged."

Mollie started with amazement. Her face, which had been pale, wasall aflame as she glanced up at Hesden with a frightened look,while he went on.

"I do not believe that you would intentionally be unjust. So, ifyou will permit me, I will ask you one question. If you knew thaton the day of your departure, and for several succeeding days, ahuman life was absolutely dependent upon my care and watchfulness,would you consider me excusable for failure to learn of yourunannounced departure, or for not immediately following you hitheron learning that fact?" He paused, evidently expecting a reply.

"Surely, Mr. Le Moyne," she said, looking up at him in wide-eyedwonder, "you know I would."

"And would you believe my word if I assured you that this was thefact?"

"Of course I would."

"I am very glad. Such was the case; and that alone prevented myfollowing you and insisting on your immediate return."

"I did not know your mother had been so ill," she said, with somecontrition in her voice.

"It was not my mother. I am sorry, but I cannot tell you now whoit was. You will know all about it some time. And more than that,"he continued, "on the fourth day after you had gone, one who hadsaved my life in battle came and asked me to acknowledge my debt byperforming an important service for him, which has required nearlyall my time since that."

"Oh, Mr. Le Moyne!" she said, as the tears came into her eyes,"please forgive my anger and injustice."

"I have nothing to forgive," he said. "You were not unjust—onlyignorant of the facts, and your anger was but natural."

"Yet I should have known better. I should have trusted you more,"said she, sobbing.

"Well, do not mind it," he said, soothingly. "But if my explanationis thus far sufficient, will you allow me to sit down while I tellyou the rest? The story is a somewhat long one."

"Oh, pray do, Mr. Le Moyne. Excuse my rudeness as well as my anger.
Please be seated and let me take your hat."

She took the hat and laid it on a table at the side of the room,and then returned and listened to his story. He told her all thathe had told his mother the night before, explaining such things ashe thought she might not fully understand. Then he showed her thepocket-book and the will, which he had brought with him for thatpurpose.

At first she listened to what he said with a constrained andembarrassed air. He had not proceeded far, however, before she beganto manifest a lively interest in his words. She leaned forward andgazed into his face with an absorbed earnestness that awakened hissurprise. Two or three times she reached out her hand, and herlips moved, as though she would interrupt him. He stopped; but,without speaking, she nodded for him to go on. When he handed herthe pocket-book and the will, she took them with a trembling handand examined them with the utmost care. The student-lamp had beenlighted before his story was ended. Her face was in the soft lightwhich came through the porcelain shade, but her hands were in thecircle of bright light that escaped beneath it. He noticed thatthey trembled so that they could scarcely hold the paper she wastrying to read. He asked if he should not read it for her. Shehanded him the will, but kept the pocketbook tightly clasped inboth hands, with the rude scrawl,

MARBLEHEAD, MASS.,

in full view. She listened nervously to the reading, never oncelooking up. When he had finished, she said,

"And you say the land mentioned there is the plantation you nowoccupy?"

"It embraces my mother's plantation and much more. Indeed, thisvery plantation of Red Wing, except the little tract around thehouse here, is a part of it. The Red Wing Ordinary tract is mentionedas one of those which adjoins it upon the west. This is the westline, and the house at Mulberry Hill is very near the eastern edge.It is a narrow tract, running down on this side the river until itcomes to the big bend near the ford, which it crosses, and keepson to the eastward.

"It is a large belt, though I do not suppose it was then of anygreat value—perhaps not worth more than a shilling an acre. It isalmost impossible to realize how cheap land was in this region atthat time. A man of moderate wealth might have secured almost acounty. Especially was that the case with men who bought up whatwas termed "Land Scrip" at depreciated rates, and then enteredlands and paid for them with it at par."

"Was that the way this was bought?" she asked.

"I cannot tell," he replied. "I immediately employed Mr. Pardeeto look the matter up, and it seems from the records that an entryhad been made some time before, by one Paul Cresson, which was byhim assigned to James Richards. I am inclined to think that it wasa part of the Crown grant to Lord Granville, which had not beenalienated before the Revolution, and of which the State claimed thefee afterward by reason of his adhesion to the Crown. The questionof the right of such alien enemies to hold under Crown grants wasnot then determined, and I suppose the lands were rated very lowby reason of this uncertainty in the title."

"Do you think—that—that this will is genuine?" she asked, withher white fingers knotted about the brown old pocket-book.

"I have no doubt about its proving to be genuine. That is evidentupon its face. I hope there may be something to show that mygrandfather did not act dishonorably," he replied.

"But suppose—suppose there should not be; what would be the effect?"

"Legally, Mr. Pardee says, there is little chance that any validclaim can be set up under it. The probabilities are, he says, thatthe lapse of time will bar any such claim. He also says that itis quite possible that the devisee may have died before coming ofa*ge to take under the will, and the widow, also, before that time;in which case, under the terms of the will, it would have fallento my grandfather."

"You are not likely to lose by it then, in any event?"

"If it should prove that there are living heirs whose claims arenot barred by time, then, of course, they will hold, not only ourplantation, but also the whole tract. In that case, I shall makeit the business of my life to acquire enough to reimburse thosewho have purchased of my grandfather, and who will lose by thisdiscovery."

"But you are not bound to do that?" she asked, in surprise.

"Not legally. Neither are we bound to give up the plantation if theheir is legally estopped. But I think, and my mother agrees withme, that if heirs are found who cannot recover the land by reasonof the lapse of time, even then, honor requires the surrender ofwhat we hold."

"And you would give up your home?"

"I should gladly do so, if I might thereby right a wrong committedby an ancestor."

"But your mother, Hesden, what of her?"

"She would rather die than do a dishonorable thing."

"Yes—yes; but—you know—"

"Yes, I know that she is old and an invalid, and that I am youngand—and unfortunate; but I will find a way to maintain her withoutkeeping what we had never any right to hold."

"You have never known the hardship of self-support!" she said.

"I shall soon learn," he answered, with a shrug.

She sprang up and walked quickly across the room. Her hands wereclasped in front of her, the backs upward and the nails digginginto the white flesh. Hesden wondered a little at her excitement.

"Thank God! thank God!" she exclaimed at last, as she sank againinto her chair, and pressed her clasped hands over her eyes.

"Why do you say that?" he asked, curiously.

"Because you—because I—I hardly know," she stammered.

She looked at him a moment, her face flushing and paling by turns,and stretching out her hand to him suddenly across the table, shesaid, looking him squarely in the face:

"Hesden Le Moyne, you are a brave man!"

He took the hand in his own and pressed it to his lips, whichtrembled as they touched it.

"Miss Mollie," he said, tenderly, "will you forgive my not comingbefore?"

"If you will pardon my lack of faith in you."

"You see," he said, "that my duty for the present is to my motherand the name I bear.

"And mine," she answered, "is to the poor people whose wrongs Ihave witnessed."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean that I will give myself to the task of finding a refuge forthose who have suffered such terrible evils as we have witnessedhere at Red Wing."

"You will leave here, then?"

"In a day or two."

"To return—when?"

"Never."

Their hands were still clasped across the narrow table. He lookedinto her eyes, and saw only calm, unflinching resolution. It piquedhis self-love that she should be so unmoved. Warmly as he reallyloved her, self-sacrificing as he felt himself to be in givingher up, he could not yet rid himself of the thought of her Northernbirth, and felt annoyed that she should excel him in the gentlequality of self control. He had no idea that he would ever meether again. He had made up his mind to leave her out of his lifeforever, though he could not cast her out of his heart. And yet,although he had no right to expect it, he somehow felt disappointedthat she showed no more regret. He had not quite looked for her tobe so calm, and he was almost annoyed by it; so dropping her hand,he said, weakly,

"Shall I never see you again?"

"Perhaps"—quietly.

"When?"

"When you are willing to acknowledge yourself proud of me becauseof the work in which I have been engaged! Hesden Le Moyne,"she continued, rising, and standing before him, "you are a braveman and a proud one. You are so brave that you would not hesitateto acknowledge your regard for me, despite the fact that I am a'nigg*r-teacher.' It is a noble act, and I honor you for it. ButI am as proud as you, and have good reason to be, as you will knowsome day; and I say to you that I would not prize any man's esteemwhich coupled itself with an apology for the work in which I havebeen engaged. I count that work my highest honor, and am morejealous of its renown than of even my own good name. When you cansay to me, 'I am as proud of your work as of my own honor—so proudthat I wish it to be known of all men, and that all men should knowthat I approve,' then you may come to me. Till then, farewell!"

She held out her hand. He pressed it an instant, took his hat fromthe table, and went out into the night, dazed and blinded by thebrightness he had left behind.

CHAPTER LI.

HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE?

Two days afterward, Mollie Ainslie took the train for the North,accompanied by Lugena and her children. At the same time wentCaptain Pardee, under instructions from Hesden Le Moyne to verifythe will, discover who the testator really was, and then ascertainwhether he had any living heirs.

To Mollie Ainslie the departure was a sad farewell to a life whichshe had entered upon so full of abounding hope and charity, sofull of love for God and man, that she could not believe that allher bright hopes had withered and only ashes remained. The way wasdark. The path was hedged up. The South was "redeemed."

The poor, ignorant white man had been unable to perceive thatliberty for the slave meant elevation to him also. The poor,ignorant colored man had shown himself, as might well have beenanticipated, unable to cope with intelligence, wealth, and the subtlepower of the best trained political intellects of the nation; andit was not strange. They were all alone, and their allies wereeither as poor and weak as themselves, or were handicapped with thebrand of Northern birth. These were their allies—not from choice,but from necessity. Few, indeed, were there of the highest and thebest of those who had fought the nation in war as they had foughtagainst the tide of liberty before the war began—who would acceptthe terms on which the nation gave re-established and greatly-increasedpower to the States of the South.

So there were ignorance and poverty and a hated race upon one side,and, upon the other, intelligence, wealth, and pride. The formeroutnumbered the latter; but the latter, as compared with theformer, were a Grecian phalanx matched against a scattered hordeof Scythian bowmen. The Nation gave the jewel of liberty into thehands of the former, armed them with the weapons of self-government,and said: "Ye are many; protect what ye have received." Then ittook away its hand, turned away its eyes, closed its ears to everycry of protest or of agony, and said: "We will not aid you norprotect you. Though you are ignorant, from you will we demandthe works of wisdom. Though you are weak, great things shall berequired at your hands." Like the ancient taskmaster, the Nationsaid: "There shall no straw be given you, yet shall ye deliverthe tale of bricks."

But, alas! they were weak and inept. The weapon they had receivedwas two-edged. Sometimes they cut themselves; again they caught itby the blade, and those with whom they fought seized the hilt andmade terrible slaughter. Then, too, they were not always wise—whichwas a sore fault, but not their own. Nor were they always brave,or true—which was another grievous fault; but was it to be believedthat one hour of liberty would efface the scars of generations ofslavery? Ah! well might they cry unto the Nation, as did Israelunto Pharaoh: "Theree is no straw given unto thy servants, and theysay to us, 'Make brick': and behold thy servants are beaten; butthe fault is in thine own people." They had simply demonstratedthat in the years of Grace of the nineteenth century liberty couldnot be maintained nor prosperity achieved by ignorance and poverty,any more than in the days of Moses adobe bricks could be made withoutstraw. The Nation gave the power of the South into the hands ofignorance and poverty and inexperience, and then demanded of themthe fruit of intelligence, the strength of riches, and the skill ofexperience. It put before a keen-eyed and unscrupulous minority—aminority proud, aggressive, turbulent, arrogant, and scornfulof all things save their own will and pleasure—the temptation toenhance their power by seizing that held by the trembling handsof simple-minded and unskilled guardians. What wonder that it wasravished from their care?

Mollie Ainslie thought of these things with some bitterness. Shedid not doubt the outcome. Her faith in truth and liberty, andher proud confidence in the ultimate destiny of the grand Nationwhose past she had worshiped from childhood, were too strong topermit that. She believed that some time in the future light wouldcome out of the darkness; but between then and the present was agreat gulf, whose depth of horror no man knew, in which the peopleto serve whom she had given herself must sink and suffer—shecould not tell how long. For them there was no hope.

She did not, indeed, look for a continuance of the horrors whichthen prevailed. She knew that when the incentive was removed theacts would cease. There would be peace, because there would nolonger be any need for violence. But she was sure there would beno real freedom, no equality of right, no certainty of justice.She did not care who ruled, but she knew that this people—shefelt almost like calling them her people—needed the incentive ofliberty, the inspiriting rivalry of open and fair competition, toenable them to rise. Ay, to prevent them from sinking lower andlower. She greatly feared that the words of a journal which gloriedin all that had been done toward abbreviating and annulling thepowers, rights, and opportunities of the recent slaves might yetbecome verities if these people were deprived of such incentives.She remembered how deeply-rooted in the Southern mind was the ideathat slavery was a social necessity. She did not believe, as somany had insisted, that it was founded merely in greed. She believedthat it was with sincere conviction that a leading journal haddeclared: "The evils of free society are insufferable. Free societymust fail and give way to a class society—a social systemold as the world, universal as man."

She knew that the leader of a would-be nation had declared: "Athousand must die as slaves or paupers in order that one gentlemanmay live. Yet they are cheap to any nation, even at that price."

So she feared that the victors in the post-bellum strifewhich was raging around her would succeed, for a time at least, inestablishing this ideal "class society." While the Nation slumberedin indifference, she feared that these men, still full of the spiritof slavery, in the very name of law and order, under the pretenseof decency and justice, would re-bind those whose feet had justbegun to tread the path of liberty with shackles only less onerousthan those which had been dashed from their limbs by red-handedwar. As she thought of these things she read the following wordsfrom the pen of one who had carefully watched the process of"redemption," and had noted its results and tendency—not bitterlyand angrily, as she had done, but coolly and approvingly:

"We would like to engrave a prophecy on stone, to be read of generationsin the future. The Negro, in these [the Southern] States, will beslave again or cease to be. His sole refuge from extinction willbe in slavery to the white man." [Footnote: Out of the numerousdeclarations of this conviction which have been made by theSouthern press every year since the war, I have selected one fromthe Meridian (Miss.) Mercury of July 31st, 1880. I have donethis simply to show that the sentiment is not yet dead.]

She remembered to have heard a great man say, on a memorableoccasion, that "the forms of law have always been the graves of buriedliberties." She feared that, under the "forms" of subvertedlaws, the liberties of a helpless people would indeed be buried.She had little care for the Nation. It was of those she had servedand whose future she regarded with such engrossing interest that shethought. She did not dream of remedying the evil. That was beyondher power. She only thought she might save some from its scath. Tothat she devoted herself.

The day before, she had visited the cemetery where her brother'sashes reposed. She had long ago put a neat monument over his grave,and had herself supplemented the national appropriation for itscare. It was a beautiful inclosure, walled with stone, verdantwith soft turf, and ornamented with rare shrubbery. Across it rana little stream, with green banks sloping either way. A single greatelm drooped over its bubbling waters. A pleasant drive ran witheasy grade and graceful curves down one low hill and up another.The iron gate opened upon a dusty highway. Beside it stood thekeeper's neat brick lodge. In front, and a little to the right,lay a sleepy Southern town half hidden in embowering trees. Acrossthe little ravine within the cemetery, upon the level plateau, werethe graves, marked, in some cases, by little square white monumentsof polished marble, on which was but the single word, "Unknown." Afew bore the names of those who slept below. But on one side therewere five long mounds, stretching away, side by side, as wide asthe graves were long, and as long as four score graves. Smoothlyrounded from end to end, without a break or a sign, they seemed afit emblem of silence. Where they began, a granite pillar rose high,decked with symbols of glory interspersed with emblems of mourning.Cannon, battered and grim, the worn-out dogs of war, gaped withsilent jaws up at the silent sky. No name was carved on base orcapital, nor on the marble shield upon the shaft. Only, "Sacred tothe memory of the unknown heroes who died—."

How quick the memory fills out the rest! There had been a militaryprison of the Confederacy just over the hill yonder, where thecorn now grew so rank and thick. Twelve thousand men died thereand were thrown into those long trenches where are now heaped-upmounds that look like giants' graves—not buried one by one, withcoffin, shroud, and funeral rite, but one upon another heaped andpiled, until the yawning pit would hold no more. No name was kept,no grave was marked, but in each trench was heaped one undistinguishablemass of dead humanity!

Mollie Ainslie, when she had bidden farewell to her brother's grave,looked on these piled-up trenches, scanned the silent shaft, andgoing into the keeper's office just at hand, read for herself themournful record:

Known 94
Unknown 12,032
———
Total 12,126
Died in Prison 11,700

As she wandered back to the town, she gleaned from what she hadseen a lesson of charity for the people toward whom her heart hadbeen full of hardness.

"It was thus," she said to herself, "that they treated brave foemenof their own race and people, who died, not on the battle-field,but of lingering disease in crowded prison pens, in the midst ofpleasant homes and within hearing of the Sabbath chimes. None caredenough to give to each a grave, put up a simple board to mark thespot where love might come and weep—nay, not enough even to makeentry of the name of the dead some heart must mourn. And if theydid this to their dead foemen and kinsmen, their equals, why shouldwe wonder that they manifest equal barbarity toward the livingfreedman—their recent slave, now suddenly exalted. It is thelesson and the fruitage of slavery!"

And so she made excuse both for the barbarity of war and thesavagery which followed it by tracing both to their origin. Shedid not believe that human nature changed in an hour, but thatcenturies past bore fruit in centuries to come. She thought thatthe former master must be healed by the slow medicament of timebefore he could be able to recognize in all men the sanctity ofmanhood; as well as that the freedman must be taught to know andto defend his rights.

When she left the cemetery, she mounted Midnight for a farewellride. The next morning, before he arose, Hesden Le Moyne heard theneigh of his old war-horse, and, springing from his bed, he ranout and found him hitched at his gate. A note was tied with a blueribbon to his jetty forelock. He removed it, and read:

"I return your noble horse with many thanks for the long loan. May
I hope that he will be known henceforth only as Midnight?

"MOLLIE."

He thought he recognized the ribbon as one which he had often seenencircling the neck of the writer, and foolishly treasured it uponhis heart as a keepsake.

The train bore away the teacher, and with her the wife and childrenwho fled, not knowing their father's fate, and the lawyer whosought an owner for an estate whose heir was too honorable to holdit wrongfully.

CHAPTER LII.

REDEEMED OUT OF THE HOUSE OF BONDAGE.

Three months passed peacefully away in Horsford. In the "redeemed"county its "natural rulers" bore sway once more. The crops whichNimbus had cultivated were harvested by a Receiver of the Court.The families that dwelt at Red Wing awaited in sullen silence theoutcome of the suits which had been instituted. Of Nimbus and Eliabnot a word had been heard. Some thought they had been killed; othersthat they had fled. The family of Berry Lawson had disappeared fromthe new home which he had made near "Bre'er Rufe Patterson's," inHanson County. Some said that they had gone South; others that theyhad gone East. "Bre'er Rufe" declared that he did not know wherethey had gone. All he knew was that he was "ober dar ob a Saturdaynight, an' dar dey was, Sally an' de chillen; an' den he went daragin ob a Monday mornin' arly, an' dar dey wasn't, nary one ob'em."

The excitement with regard to the will, and her fear that Hesdenwas infected with the horrible virus of "Radicalism," had mostalarmingly prostrated the invalid of Mulberry Hill. For a long timeit was feared that her life of sufferirig was near its end. Hesdendid not leave home at all, except once or twice to attend to somebusiness as the trustee for the fugitive Jackson. Cousin Hetty hadbecome a regular inmate of the house. All the invalid's affectionfor her dead daughter-in-law seemed to have been transferred toHetty Lomax. No one could serve her so well. Even Hesden's attentionswere less grateful. She spoke freely of the time when she shouldsee Hetty in her sister's place, the mistress of Mulberry Hill.She had given up all fear of the property being claimed by others,since she had heard how small were the chances of discovering anheir whose claims were not barred; and though she had consentedto forego her legal rights, she trusted that a way would be foundto satisfy any who might be discovered. At any rate, she was surethat her promise would not bind her successor, and, with the usualstubbornness of the chronic invalid, she determined that the estateshould not pass out of the family. In any event, she did not expectto live until the finding of an heir, should there chance to beone.

One of the good citizens of the county began to show himself inpublic for the first time since the raid on Red Wing. An ugly scarstretched from his forehead down along his nose and across hislips and chin. At the least excitement it became red and angry,and gave him at all times a ghastly and malevolent appearance. Hewas a great hero with the best citizens; was feted, admired,and praised; and was at once made a deputy sheriff under the newregime. Another most worthy citizen, the superintendent ofa Sabbath-school, and altogether one of the most estimable citizensof the county, had been so seriously affected with a malignantbrain-fever since that bloody night that he had not yet left hisbed.

The colored men, most of whom from a foolish apprehension hadslept in the woods until the election, now began to perceive thatthe nights were wholesome, and remained in their cabins. They seemedsullen and discontented, and sometimes whispered among themselvesof ill-usage and unfair treatment; but they were not noisyand clamorous, as they had been before the work of "redemption."It was especially noted that they were much more respectful andcomplaisant to their superiors than they had been at any time sincethe Surrender. The old time "Marse" was now almost universally used,and few "nigg*rs" presumed to speak to a white man in the countrydistricts without removing their hats. In the towns the improvementwas not so perceptible. The "sassy" ones seemed to take couragefrom their numbers, and there they were still sometimes "boisterous"and "obstreperous." On the whole, however, the result seemed eminentlysatisfactory, with a prospect of growing better every day. Laborwas more manageable, and there were much fewer appeals to the lawby lazy, impudent, and dissatisfied laborers. The master's word wasrarely disputed upon the day of settlement, and there was everyprospect of reviving hope and continued prosperity on the part of menwho worked their plantations by proxy, and who had been previouslyvery greatly annoyed and discouraged by the persistent clamor oftheir "hands" for payment.

There had been some ill-natured criticism of the course of HesdenLe Moyne. It was said that he had made some very imprudent remarks,both in regard to the treatment of Jordan Jackson and the affairat Red Wing. There were some, indeed, who openly declared that hehad upheld and encouraged the nigg*rs at Red Wing in their insolentand outrageous course, and had used language unworthy of a "Southerngentleman" concerning those patriotic men who had felt called upon,for the protection of their homes and property, to administer thesomewhat severe lesson which had no doubt nipped disorder in thebud, saved them from the war of races which had imminently impended,and brought "redemption" to the county. Several of Hesden's personalfriends called upon him and remonstrated with him upon his course.Many thought he should be "visited," and "Radicalism in the countystamped out" at once, root and branch. He received warning from theKlan to the effect that he was considered a dangerous character, andmust change his tone and take heed to his footsteps. As, however,his inclination to the dangerous doctrines was generally attributedin a great measure to his unfortunate infatuation for the little"nigg*r-teacher," it was hoped that her absence would effect acure. Especially was this opinion entertained when it became knownthat his mother was bitterly opposed to his course, and was fullydetermined to root the seeds of "Radicalism" from his mind. Hisattachment for her was well known, and it was generally believedthat she might be trusted to turn him from the error of his ways,particularly as she was the owner of Red Wing, and had freelydeclared her intention not to leave him a foot of it unless heabandoned his absurd and vicious notions. Hesden himself, thoughhe went abroad but little, saw that his friends had grown cool andthat his enemies had greatly multiplied.

This was the situation of affairs in the good County of Horsfordwhen, one bright morning in December—the morning of "that daywhereon our Saviour's birth is celebrate"—Hesden Le Moyne rode tothe depot nearest to his home, purchased two tickets to a Northerncity, and, when the morning train came in, assisted his "boy"Charles to lift from a covered wagon which stood near by, the weakand pallid form of the long-lost "nigg*r preacher," Eliab Hill,and place him upon the train. It was noticed by the loungers aboutthe depot that Hesden carried but half concealed a navy revolverwhich seemed to have seen service. There was some excitement inthe little crowd over the reappearance of Eliab Hill, but he wasnot interfered with. In fact, the cars moved off so quickly afterhe was first seen that there was no time to recover from the surpriseproduced by the unexpected apparition. It was not until the smokeof the engine had disappeared in the distance that the wrath ofthe bystanders clothed itself in words.

Then the air reeked with expletives. What ought to have been donewas discussed with great freedom. An excited crowd gathered aroundCharles as he was preparing to return home, and plied him withquestions. His ignorance was phenomenal, but the look of stupefiedwonder with which he regarded his questioners confirmed his words.It was not until he had proceeded a mile on his homeward way, withMidnight in leading behind the tail-board, that, having satisfiedhimself that there was no one within hearing, by peeping frombeneath the canvas covering of the wagon, both before and behind,he tied the reins to one of the bows which upheld the cover,abandoned the mule to his own guidance, and throwing himself uponthe mattress on which Eliab had lain, gave vent to roars of laughter.

"Yah, yah, yah!" he cried, as the tears rolled down his black face."It du take Marse Hesden to wax dem fellers! Dar he war, jest ezcool an' keerless ez yer please, a'standin' roun' an' waitin' ferde train an' payin' no 'tention at all ter me an' de wagon by deplatform, dar. Swar, but I war skeered nigh 'bout ter death, tillI got dar an' seed him so quiet and keerless; an' Bre'er 'Liab, hewar jest a-prayin' all de time—but dat's no wonder. Den, when detrain whistle, Marse Hesden turn quick an' sharp an' I seed him gibdat ole pistol a jerk roun' in front, an' he come back an' sed,jest ez cool an' quiet, 'Now, Charles!' I declar' it stiddied me upjes ter hear him, an' den up comes Bre'er 'Liab in my arms. MarseHesden helps a bit an' goes fru de crowd wid his mouf shet like asteel trap. We takes him on de cars. All aboard! Whoo-oop—puff,puff! Off she goes! an' dat crowd stan's dar a-cussin' allcurration an' demselves to boot! Yah, yah, yah! 'Rah for MarseHesden!"

CHAPTER LIII.

IN THE CYCLONE.

Then the storm burst. Every possible story was set afloat. The moreabsurd it seemed the more generally was it credited. Men talkedand women chattered of nothing but Hesden Le Moyne, his infamous"negro-loving Radicalism," his infatuation with the "Yankeeschool-marm," the anger of his mother, his ill-treatment of hiscousin, Hetty Lomax; his hiding of the "nigg*r preacher" in the loftof the dining-room, his alliance with the Red Wing desperadoes to"burn every white house on that side of the river"—in short, histreachery, his hypocrisy, his infamy.

On the street, in the stores, at the churches—wherever men met—thiswas the one unfailing theme of conversation. None but those who haveseen a Southern community excited over one subject or one man canimagine how much can be said about a little matter. The newspapersof that and the adjoining counties were full of it. Colored menwere catechized in regard to it. His friends vied with his enemiesin vituperation, lest they should be suspected of a like offense.He was accounted a monster by many, and an enemy by all who had beenhis former associates, and, strangely enough, was at once lookedupon as a friend and ally by every colored man, and by the fewwhite men of the county who secretly or silently held with the"Radicals." It was the baptism of fire which every Southern manmust face who presumes to differ from his fellows upon politicalquestions.

Nothing that he had previously done or said or been could excuse orpalliate his conduct. The fact that he was of a good family onlyrendered his alliance with "nigg*rs" against his own race andclass the more infamous. The fact that he was a man of substantialmeans, and had sought no office or aggrandizement by the votes ofcolored men, made his offence the more heinous, because he couldnot even plead the poor excuse of self-interest. The fact that hehad served the Confederacy well, and bore on his person the indubitableproof of gallant conduct on the field of battle, was a still furtheraggravation of his act, because it marked him as a renegade anda traitor to the cause for which he had fought. Compared with aNorthern Republican he was accounted far more infamous, because ofhis desertion of his family, friends, comrades, and "the cause ofthe South"—a vague something which no man can define, but which"fires the Southern heart" with wonderful facility. Comparisonwith the negro was still more to his disadvantage, since he had"sinned against light and knowledge," while they did not even knowtheir own "best friends." And so the tide of detraction ebbed andflowed while Hesden was absent, his destination unknown, his returna matter of conjecture, and his purpose a mystery.

The most generally-accepted theory was that he had gone to Washingtonfor the purpose of maliciously misrepresenting and maligning the goodpeople of Horsford, in order to secure the stationing of soldiersin that vicinity, and their aid in arresting and bringing to trial,for various offences against the peace and persons of the coloredpeople, some of the leading citizens of the county. In support ofthis they cited his intimate relations with Jordan Jackson, as wellas with Nimbus and Eliab. It was soon reported that Jackson hadmet him at Washington; that Nimbus Desmit had also arrived there;that the whole party had been closeted with this and that leading"Radical"; and that the poor, stricken, down-trodden South—theland fairest and richest and poorest and most peaceful and mostchivalric, the most submissive and the most defiant; in short, themost contradictory in its self-conferred superlatives—that thisland of antipodal excellences must now look for new forms of tyrannyand new measures of oppression.

The secrecy which had been preserved for three months in regard toEliab's place of concealment made a most profound impression uponHesden's neighbors of the County of Horsford. They spoke of it inlow, horrified tones, which showed that they felt deeply in regardto it. It was ascertained that no one in his family knew of thepresence of Eliab until the morning of his removal. Miss Hettymade haste to declare that in her two months and more of attendanceupon the invalid she had never dreamed of such a thing. The servantsstoutly denied all knowledge of it, except Charles, who could notget out of having cut the door through into the other room. It wasbelieved that Hesden had himself taken all the care of the injuredman, whose condition was not at all understood. How badly he hadbeen hurt, or in what manner, none could tell. Many visited thehouse to view the place of concealment. Only the closed doors couldbe seen, for Hesden had taken the key with him. Some suggestedthat Nimbus was still concealed there, and several advised Mrs.Le Moyne to get some one to go into the room. However, as no onevolunteered to go, nothing came of this advice. It was rumored,too, that Hesden had brought into the county several detectives, whohad stolen into the hearts of the unsuspecting people of Horsford,and had gone Northward loaded down with information that would maketrouble for some of the "best men."

It was generally believed that the old attic over the dining-roomhad long been a place where "Radicals" had been wont to meet insolemn conclave to "plot against the whites." A thousand thingswere remembered which confirmed this view. It was here that Hesdenhad harbored the detectives, as Rahab had hidden the spies. It wasquite evident that he had for a long time been an emissary of theGovernment at Washington, and no one could guess what tales ofoutrage he might not fabricate in order to glut his appetite forinhuman revenge. The Southern man is always self-conscious. Hethinks the world has him in its eye, and that he about fills theeye. This does not result from comparative depreciation of othersso much as from a habit of magnifying his own image. He always posesfor effect. He walks, talks, and acts "as if he felt the eyes ofEurope on his tail," almost as much as the peaco*ck.

There are times, however, when even he does not care to be seen, andit was observed that about this time there were a goodly number ofthe citizens of Horsford who modestly retired from the public gaze,some of them even going into remote States with some precipitationand an apparent desire to remain for a time unknown. It was evenrumored that Hesden was with Nimbus, disguised as a negro, in theattack made on the Klan during the raid on Red Wing, and that, bymeans of the detectives, he had discovered every man engaged inthat patriotic affair, as well as those concerned in others of likecharacter. The disappearance of these men was, of course, in noway connected with this rumor. Since the "Southern people" havebecome the great jesters of the world, their conduct is not at allto be judged by the ordinary rules of cause and effect as appliedto human action. It might have been mere buffoonery, quite as wellas modesty, that possessed some of the "best citizens of Horsford"with an irrepressible desire to view the Falls of Niagara from theCanadian side in mid-winter. There is no accounting for the actsof a nation of masqueraders!

But perhaps the most generally-accepted version of Hesden's journeywas that he had run away to espouse Mollie Ainslie. To her wastraced his whole bias toward the colored population and "Radical"principles. Nothing evil was said of her character. She was admitted tobe as good as anybody of her class could be—intelligent, bigoted,plucky, pretty, and malicious. It was a great pity that a manbelonging to a good family should become infatuated by one in herstation. He could never bring her home, and she would never giveup her "nigg*r-equality notions." She had already dragged him downto what he was. Such a man as he, it was strenuously asserted, wouldnot degrade himself to stand up for such a man as Jordan Jacksonor to associate with "nigg*rs," without some powerful extraneousinfluence. That influence was Mollie Ainslie, who, having inveigledhim into "Radicalism," had now drawn him after her into the Northand matrimony.

But nowhere did the conduct of Hesden cause more intense orconflicting feelings than at Mulberry Hill. His achievement insuccoring, hiding, and finally rescuing Eliab Hill was a source ofnever-ending wonder, applause, and mirth in the kitchen. But MissHetty could not find words to express her anger and chagrin. Withoutbeing at all forward or immodest, she had desired to succeed herdead sister in the good graces of Hesden Le Moyne, as well as inthe position of mistress of the Hill. It was a very natural andproper feeling. They were cousins, had always been neighbors, andHesden's mother had encouraged the idea, almost from the time ofhis first wife's death. It was no wonder that she was jealous ofthe Yankee school-marm. Love is keen-eyed, and she really lovedher cousin. She had become satisfied, during her stay at the Hill,that he was deeply attached to Mollie Ainslie, and knew him too wellto hope that he would change; and such a conviction was, of course,not pleasant to her vanity. But when she was convinced that he haddegraded himself and her by espousing "Radicalism" and associatingwith "nigg*rs," her wrath knew no bounds. It seemed an especialinsult to her that the man whom she had honored with her affectionshould have so demeaned himself.

Mrs. Le Moyne was at first astonished, then grieved, and finallyangry. She especially sympathized with Hetty, the wreck of whosehope she saw in this revelation. If Mollie Ainslie had been "oneof our people," instead of "a Northern nigg*r school-teacher,"there would have been nothing so very bad about it. He had neverprofessed any especial regard or tenderness for Miss Hetty, andhad never given her any reason to expect a nearer relation than shehad always sustained toward him. Mollie was good enough in her way,bright and pretty and—but faugh! the idea! She would not believeit! Hesden was not and could not be a "Radical." He might havesheltered Eliab—ought to have done so; that she would say.He had been a slave of the family, and had a right to look to herson for protection. But to be a "Radical!" She would not believeit. There was no use in talking to her. She remained stubbornlysilent after she had gotten to the conclusive denial: "He couldnot do it!"

Nevertheless, she thought it well to use her power while she had any.If he was indeed a "Radical," she would never forgive him—never!So she determined to make her will. A man learned in the law wasbrought to the Hill, and Hester Le Moyne, in due form, by her lastwill and testament devised the plantation to her beloved son HesdenLe Moyne, and her affectionate cousin Hetty Lomax, jointly, andto their heirs forever, on condition that the said devisees shouldintermarry with each other within one year from the death of thedevisor; and in case either of the said devisees should refuse tointermarry with the other, then the part of such devisee was togo to the other, who should thereafter hold the fee in severalty,free of all claim from the other.

The New York and Boston papers contained, day after day, this"personal:"

"The heirs of James Richards, deceased, formerly of Marblehead,
Massachusetts, will learn something to their advantage by addressing
Theron Pardee, care of James & Jones, Attorneys, at No. — Broadway,
N. Y."

Mrs. Le Moyne was well aware of this, and also remembered herpromise to surrender the estate, should an heir be found. But thatpromise had been made under the influence of Hesden's ardent zealfor the right, and she found by indirection many excuses for avoidingits performance. "Of course," she said to herself, "if heirs shouldbe found in my lifetime, I would revoke this testament; but it isnot right that I should bind those who come after me for all timeto yield to his Quixotic notions. Besides, why should I be justerthan the law? This property has been in the family for a long time,and ought to remain there."

Her anger at Hesden burned very fiercely, and she even talked ofrefusing to see him, should he return, as she had no real doubt hewould. The excitement, however, prostrated her as usual, and heranger turned into querulous complainings as she grew weaker.

The return of Hesden, hardly a week after his departure, broughthim to face this tide of vituperation at its flood. All that hadbeen said and written and done in regard to himself came forthwithto his knowledge. He was amazed, astounded for a time, at therevelation. He had not expected it. He had expected anger, and wasprepared to meet it with forbearance and gentleness; but he was notprepared for detraction and calumny and insult. He had not been sovery much surprised at the odium which had been heaped upon JordanJackson. He belonged to that class of white people at the Southto whom the better class owed little duty or regard. It was not sostrange that they should slander that man. He could understand,too, how it was that they attributed to the colored people suchincredible depravity, such capacity for evil, such impossibledesigns, as well as the reason why they invented for every Northernman that came among them with ideas different from their own afictitious past, reeking with infamy.

He could sympathize in some degree with all of this. He had notthought, himself, that it was altogether the proper thing for theilliterate "poor-white" man, Jordan Jackson, to lead the negroesof the county in political hostility to the whites. He had feltnaturally the distrust of the man of Northern birth which a centuryof hostility and suspicion had bred in the air of the South. He hadgrown up in it. He had been taught to regard the "Yankees" (whichmeant all Northerners) as a distinct people—sometimes generousand brave, but normally envious, mean, low-spirited, treacherous,and malignant. He admitted the exceptions, but they only proved therule. As a class he considered them cold, calculating, selfish,greedy of power and wealth, and regardless of the means by whichthese were acquired. Above all things, he had been taught to regardthem as animated by hatred of the South. Knowing that this had beenhis own bias, he could readily excuse his neighbors for the same.

But in his own case it was different. He was one ofthemselves. They knew him to be brave, honorable, of good family,of conservative instincts, fond of justice and fair play, and governedin his actions only by the sincerest conviction. That they shouldaccuse him of every mean and low impossibility of act and motive,and befoul his holiest purposes and thoughts, was to him a mosthorrible thing. His anger grew hotter and hotter, as he listenedto each new tale of infamy which a week had sufficed to set afloat.Then he heard his mother's reproaches, and saw that even her lovewas not proof against a mere change of political sentiment on hispart. These things set him to thinking as he had never thoughtbefore. The scales fell from his eyes, and from the kindly gentleSouthern man of knightly instincts and gallant achievements wasborn—the "pestiferous Radical." He did not hesitate to avow hisconviction, and from that moment there was around him a wall offire. He had lost his rank, degraded his caste, and fallen fromhis high estate. From and after that moment he was held unworthyto wear the proud appellation, "A Southern Gentleman."

However, as he took no active part in political life, and dependedin no degree upon the patronage or good will of his neighbors fora livelihood, he felt the force of this feeling only in his socialrelations. Unaware, as yet, of the disherison which his motherhad visited upon him in his absence, he continued to manage theplantation and conduct all the business pertaining to it in his ownname, as he had done ever since the close of the war. At first heentertained a hope that the feeling against him would die out. Butas time rolled on, and it continued still potent and virulent, hecame to analyze it more closely, judging his fellows by himself,and saw that it was the natural fruit of that intolerance whichslavery made necessary—which was essential to its existence. Thenhe no longer wondered at them, but at himself. It did not seemstrange that they should feel as they did, but rather that he shouldso soon have escaped from the tyrannical bias of mental habit. Hesaw that the struggle against it must be long and bitter, and hedetermined not to yield his convictions to the prejudices of others.

It was a strange thing. In one part of the country—and that thegreater in numbers, in wealth, in enterprise and vigor, in averageintelligence and intellectual achievements—the sentiments he hadespoused were professed and believed by a great party which prideditself upon its intelligence, purity, respectability, and devotionto principle. In two thirds of the country his sentiments were heldto be honorable, wise, and patriotic. Every act he had performed,every principle he had reluctantly avowed, would there havebeen applauded of all men. Nay, the people of that portion of thecountry were unable to believe that any one could seriously denythose principles. Yet in the other portion, where he lived, theywere esteemed an ineffaceable brand of shame, which no merit of aspotless life could hide.

The Southern Clarion, a newspaper of the County of Horsford,in referring to his conduct, said:

"Of all such an example should be made. Inaugurate social ostracismagainst every white man who gives any support to the Radical Party.Every true Southern man or woman should refuse to recognize as agentleman any man belonging to that party, or having any dealingswith it. Hesden Le Moyne has chosen to degrade an honored name.He has elected to go with nigg*rs, nigg*r teachers, and nigg*rpreachers; but let him forever be an outcast among the respectableand high minded white people of Horsford, whom he has betrayed anddisgraced!"

A week later, it contained another paragraph:

"We understand that the purpose of Hesden Le Moyne in going to theNorth was not entirely to stir up Northern prejudice and hostilityagainst our people. At least, that is what he claims. He only went,we are informed he says, to take the half-monkey negro preacherwho calls himself Eliab Hill to a so-called college in the North tocomplete his education. We shall no doubt soon have this misshapen,malicious hypocrite paraded through the North as an evidence ofSouthern barbarity.

"The truth is, as we are credibly informed, that what injurieshe received on the night of the raid upon Red Wing were purelyaccidental. There were some in the company, it seems, who weredisappointed at not finding the black desperado, Nimbus Desmit, whowas organizing his depraved followers to burn, kill, and ravish,and proposed to administer a moderate whipping to the fellow Eliab,who was really supposed to be at the bottom of all the other'srascality. These few hot-heads burst in the door of his cabin, butone of the oldest and coolest of the crowd rushed in and, at theimminent risk of his own life, rescued him from them. In order tobring him out into the light where he could be protected, he caughtthe baboon-like creature by his foot, and he was somewhat injuredthereby. He is said to have been shot also, but we are assuredthat not a shot was fired, except by some person with a repeatingrifle, who fired upon the company of white men from the woods beyondthe school-house. It is probable that some of these shots struckthe preacher, and it is generally believed that they were fired byHesden Le Moyne. Several who were there have expressed the opinionthat, from the manner in which the shooting was done, it must havebeen by a man with one arm. However, Eliab will make a good Radicalshow, and we shall have another dose of Puritanical, hypocriticalcant about Southern barbarity. Well, we can bear it. We havegot the power in Horsford, and we mean to hold it. nigg*rs andnigg*r-worshippers must take care of themselves. This is a whiteman's country, and white men are going to rule it, no matter whetherthe North whines or not."

The report given in this account of the purpose of Hesden's journeyto the North was the correct one. In the three months in which thedeformed man had been under his care, he had learned that a noblesoul and a rare mind were shut up in that crippled form, and haddetermined to atone for his former coolness and doubt, as well asmark his approval of the course of this hunted victim, by givinghim an opportunity to develop his powers. He accordingly placed himin a Northern college, and became responsible for the expenses ofhis education.

CHAPTER LIV.

A BOLT OUT OF THE CLOUD.

A year had passed, and there had been no important change in therelations of the personages of our story. The teacher and her"obstreperous" pupils had disappeared from Horsford and had beenalmost forgotten. Hesden, his mother, and Cousin Hetty still ledtheir accustomed life at Red Wing. Detraction had worn itselfout upon the former, for want of a new occasion. He was still madeto feel, in the little society which he saw, that he was a blacksheep in an otherwise spotless fold. He did not complain. He didnot account himself "ostracized," nor wonder at this treatment.He saw how natural it was, how consistent with the training anddevelopment his neighbors had received. He simply said to himself,and to the few friends who still met him kindly, "I can do withoutthe society of others as long as they can do without mine. I canwait. This thing must end some time—if not in my day, then afterward.Our people must come out of it and rise above it. They must learnthat to be Americans is better than to be 'Southern.' Then theywill see that the interests and safety of the whole nation demandthe freedom and political co-equality of all."

These same friends comforted him much as did those who argued withthe man of Uz.

Mrs. Le Moyne's life had gone back to its old channel. Shut outfrom the world, she saw only the fringes of the feeling that hadset so strongly against her son. Indeed, she received perhaps moreattention than usual in the way of calls and short visits, sinceshe was understood to have manifested a proper spirit of resentmentat his conduct. Hesden himself was almost the only one who did notknow of her will. It was thought, of course, that she was holdingit over him in terrorem.

Yet he was just as tender and considerate of her as formerly, andshe was apparently just as fond of him. She had not yet given upher plan of a matrimonial alliance for him with Cousin Hetty, butthat young lady herself had quite abandoned the notion. In the yearshe had been at Mulberry Hill she had come to know Hesden better,and to esteem him more highly than ever before. She knew that heregarded her with none of the feeling his mother desired to seebetween them, but they had become good friends, and after a short timeshe was almost the only one of his relatives that had not allowedhis political views to sunder their social relations. Living inthe same house, it was of course impossible to maintain a constantstate of siege; but she had gone farther, and had held out a flagof truce, and declared her conviction of the honesty of his viewsand the honorableness of his intention. She did not thinkas he did, but she had finally become willing to let him think forhimself. People said she was in love with Hesden, and that withhis mother's aid she would yet conquer his indifference. She didnot think so. She sighed when she confessed the fact to herself.She did indeed hope that he had forgotten Mollie Ainslie. She couldnever live to see her mistress at the dear old Hill!

The term of the court was coming on at which the suits that hadbeen brought by Winburn against the occupants of Red Wing must betried. Many had left the place, and it was noticed that from all whodesired to leave, Theron Pardee had purchased, at the full value,the titles which they held under Nimbus, and that they had all goneoff somewhere out West. Others had elected to remain, with a sortof blind faith that all would come out right after a while, or frommere disinclination to leave familiar scenes—that feeling whichis always so strong in the African race.

It was at this time that Pardee came one day to Mulberry Hill andannounced his readiness to make report in the matter intrusted tohis charge concerning the will of J. Richards.

"Well," said Hesden, "have you found the heirs?"

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Le Moyne," said Pardee; "I have assumeda somewhat complicated relation to this matter, acting under thespirit of my instructions, which makes it desirable, perhaps almostnecessary, that I should confer directly with the present owner ofthis plantation, and that is—?"

"My mother," said Hesden, as he paused. "I suppose it will be minesome time," he continued laughing, "but I have no present interestin it."

"Yes," said the lawyer. "And is Mrs. Le Moyne's health such as topermit her considering this matter now?"

"Oh, I think so," said Hesden. "I will see her and ascertain."

In a short time the attorney was ushered into the invalid's room,where Mrs. Le Moyne, reclining on her beautifully decorated couch,received him pleasantly, exclaiming,

"You will see how badly off I am for company, Captain Pardee, when Iassure you that I am glad to see even a lawyer with such a bundleof papers as you have brought. I have literally nobody but these twochildren," glancing at Hesden and Hetty, "and I declare I believeI am younger and more cheerful than either of them."

"Your cheerfulness, madam," replied Pardee, "is an object of universalremark and wonder. I sincerely trust that nothing in these paperswill at all affect your equanimity."

"But what have you in that bundle, Captain?" she asked. "I assureyou that I am dying to know why you should insist on assailing asick woman with such a formidable array of documents."

"Before proceeding to satisfy your very natural curiosity, madam,"answered Pardee, with a glance at Miss Hetty, "permit me to saythat my communication is of great moment to you as the owner ofthis plantation, and to your son as your heir, and is of such acharacter that you might desire to consider it carefully before itshould come to the knowledge of other parties."

"Oh, never mind Cousin Hetty," said Mrs. Le Moyne quickly. "Shehas just as much interest in the matter as any one."

The lawyer glanced at Hesden, who hastened to say, "I am sure therecan be nothing of interest to me which I would not be willing thatmy cousin should know."

The young lady rose to go, but both Hesden and Mrs. Le Moyneinsisted on her remaining.

"Certainly," said Pardee, "there can be no objection on my part.I merely called your attention to the fact as a part of my duty asyour legal adviser."

So Miss Hetty remained sitting upon the side of the bed, holdingone of the invalid's hands. Pardee seated himself at a small tablenear the bed, and, having arranged his papers so that they wouldbe convenient for reference, began:

"You will recollect, madam, that the task intrusted to me wastwofold: first, to verify this will found by your son and ascertainwhose testament it was, its validity or invalidity; and, in case Itwas valid, its effect and force. Secondly, I was directed to makeall reasonable effort, in case of its validity being established,to ascertain the existence of any one entitled to take under itsprovisions. In this book," said he, holding up a small volume, "Ihave kept a diary of all that I have done in regard to the matter,with dates and places. It will give you in detail what I shall nowstate briefly.

"I went to Lancaster, where the will purports to have been executed,and ascertained its genuineness by proving the signatures of theattesting witnesses, and established also the fact of their death.These affidavits'—holding up a bundle of papers—"show that I alsoinquired as to the testator's identity; but I could learn nothingexcept that the descendants of one of the witnesses who had boughtyour ancestor's farm, upon his removal to the South, still hadhis deed in possession. I copied it, and took a tracing of thesignature, which is identical with that which he subsequently used—James Richards, written in a heavy and somewhat sloping hand,for that time. I could learn nothing more in regard to him or hisfamily.

"Proceeding then to Marblehead, I learned these facts. There weretwo parties named James Richards. They were cousins; and in orderto distinguish them from each other they were called by the familyand neighbors, 'Red Jim' and 'Black Jim' respectively—the onehaving red hair and blue eyes, and the other dark hair and blackeyes."

"Yes," interrupted Mrs. Le Moyne, "I was the only blonde in myfamily, and I have often heard my father say that I got it from someancestral strain, perhaps the Whidbys, and resembled his cousins."

"Yes," answered Pardee, "a Whidby was a common ancestress of yourfather and his cousin, 'Red Jim.' It is strange how family traitsreproduce themselves in widely-separated strains of blood."

"Well," said Hesden, "did you connect him with this will?"

"Most conclusively," was the reply. "In the first place, his wife'sname was Edna—Edna Goddard—before marriage, and he left an onlydaughter, Alice. He was older than his cousin, 'Black Jim,' towhom he was greatly attached. The latter removed to Lancaster, whenabout twenty-five years of age, having inherited a considerableestate in that vicinity. I had not thought of examining the recordof wills while in Lancaster, but on my return I went to theProthonotary's office, and verified this also. So there is no doubtabout the 'Black Jim' of the Marblehead family being your ancestor."

"Stop! stop! Captain Pardee!" interrupted Mrs. Le Moyne quickly.
"Isn't Marblehead near Cape Cod?"

"Yes, madam."

"And Buzzard's Bay?"

"Certainly."

"No wonder," said she, laughing, "that you wanted Hetty to leavebefore you opened your budget. Do pray run away, child, beforeyou hear any more to our discredit. Hesden, do please escort yourcousin out of the room," she added, in assumed distress.

"No indeed," laughed Miss Hetty; "I am getting interested, and asyou would not let me go when I wished to, I have now determined tostay till the last horror is revealed."

"It is too late, mother," said Hesden ruefully; "fortunately, Cousin
Hetty is not attainted, except collaterally, thus far."

"Well, go on, Captain," said Mrs. Le Moyne gayly. "What else?Pray what was the family occupation—'calling' I believe they sayin New England. I suppose they had some calling, as they never haveany 'gentlemen' in that country."

Pardee's face flushed hotly. He was born among the New Hampshirehills himself. However, he answered calmly, but with a slightemphasis,

"They were seafaring men, madam."

"Oh, my!" cried the invalid, clapping her hands. "Codfish! codfish!I knew it, Hetty! I knew it! Why didn't you go out of the roomwhen I begged you to? Do you hear it, Hesden? That is where you getyour Radicalism from. My! my!" she laughed, almost hysterically,"what a family! Codfish at one end and Radical at the other! 'Andthe last state of that man was worse than the first!' What wouldnot the newspapers give to know that of you, Hesden?"

She laughed until the tears came, and her auditors laughed withher. Yet, despite her mirth, it was easy to detect the evidence ofstrong feeling in her manner. She carried it off bravely, however,and said,

"But, perhaps, Captain Pardee, you can relieve us a little. Perhapsthey were not cod-fishers but mackerelers. I remember a song Ihave heard my father sing, beginning,

"When Jake came home from mack'reling, He sought his Sary Ann, Andfound that she, the heartless thing, Had found another man!"

"Do please say that they were mackerelers!"

"I am sorry I cannot relieve your anxiety on that point," said
Pardee, but I can assure you they were a very respectable family."

"No doubt, as families go 'there," she answered, with somebitterness. "They doubtless sold good fish, and gave a hundredpounds for a quintal, or whatever it is they sell the filthy truckby."

"They were very successful and somewhat noted privateers duringthe Revolution," said Pardee.

"Worse and worse!" said Mrs. Le Moyne. Better they were fishermenthan pirates! I wonder if they didn't bring over nigg*rs too?"

"I should not be at all surprised," answered Pardee coolly. "This'Red Jim' was master and owner of a vessel of some kind, and wason his way back from Charleston, where it seems he had sold bothhis vessel and cargo, when he executed this will."

"But how do you know that it is his will?" asked Hesden.

"Oh, there is no doubt," said Pardee. "Being a shipmaster, hissignature was necessarily affixed to many papers. I have found notless than twenty of these, all identical with the signature of thewill."

"That would certainly seem to be conclusive," said Hesden.

"Taken with other things, it is," answered Pardee. "Among otherthings is a letter from your grandfather, which was found pastedinside the cover of a Bible that belonged to Mrs. Edna Richards, inregard to the death of her husband. In it he says that his cousinvisited him on his way home; went from there to Philadelphia, andwas taken sick; your grandfather was notified and went on, but deathhad taken place before he arrived. The letter states that he hadbut little money and no valuable papers except such as he sent.Out of the money he had paid the funeral expenses, and would remitthe balance as soon as he could make an opportunity. The traditionin 'Red Jim's' family is that he died of yellow fever in Philadelphia,on his way home with the proceeds of his sale, and was robbed ofhis money before the arrival of his cousin. No suspicion seems everto have fallen on "Black Jim."

"Thank God for that!" ejacul*ted Hesden fervently.

"I suppose you took care to awaken none," said Mrs. Le Moyne.

"I spoke of it to but one person, to whom it became absolutelynecessary to reveal it. However, it is perfectly safe, and will gono farther."

"Well, did you find any descendants of this 'Red Jim' living?"asked Mrs. Le Moyne.

"One," answered Pardee.

"Only one?" said she. "I declare. Hesden, the Richards family isnot numerous if it is strong."

"Why do you say 'strong,' mother?"

"Oh, codfish and Radicals, you know!"

"Now, mother—"

"Oh, if you hate to hear about it, why don't you quit the dirtycrowd and be a gentleman again. Or is it your new-found cousin youfeel so bad for? By the way, Captain, is it a boy or girl, and isit old or young?"

"It is a lady, madam, some twenty years of age or thereabout."

"A lady? Well, I suppose that is what they call them there. Marriedor single?"

"Single."

"What a pity you are getting so old, Hesden! You might make a matchand settle her claim in that way. Though I don't suppose she hasany in law."

"On the contrary, madam," said Pardee, "her title is perfect. Shecan recover not only this plantation but every rood of the originaltract."

"You don't say!" exclaimed the invalid. "It would make her one ofthe richest women in the State!"

"Undoubtedly."

"Oh, it cannot be, Captain Pardee!" exclaimed Miss Hetty. "It cannotbe!"

"There can be no doubt about it," said Pardee. "She is thegreat-grand-daughter of 'Red Jim,' and his only lineal descendant.His daughter Alice, to whom this is bequeathed, married beforearriving at the age of eighteen, and died in wedlock, leaving anonly daughter, who also married before she became of age, and alsodied in wedlock, leaving a son and daughter surviving. The son diedwithout heirs of his body, and only the daughter is left. There hasnever been an hour when the action of the statute was not barred."

"Have you seen her?" asked Mrs. Le Moyne.

"Yes."

"Does she know her good luck?"

"She is fully informed of her rights."

"Indeed? You told her, I suppose?"

"I found her already aware of them."

"Why, how could that be?"

"I am sure I do not know," said Pardee, glancing sharply at Hesden.

"What," said Hesden, with a start; "what did you say is the nameof the heir?"

"I did not say," said Pardee coolly. Hesden sprang to his feet,and going across the room stood gazing out of the window.

"Why don't you tell us the name of the heir, Captain? You must
know we are dying to hear all about our new cousin," said Mrs. Le
Moyne bitterly. "Is she long or short, fat or lean, dark or fair?
Do tell us all about her?"

"In appearance, madam," said Pardee carelessly, "I should say shemuch resembled yourself at her age."

"Oh, Captain, you flatter me, I'm sure," she answered, with justa hint of a sneer. "Well, what is her name, and when does she wishto take possession?"

"Her name, madam, you must excuse me if I withhold for the present.I am the bearer of a proposition of compromise from her, which,if accepted, will, I hope, avoid all trouble. If not accepted, Ishall find myself under the necessity of asking to be relieved fromfurther responsibility in this matter."

"Come here, Hesden," said his mother, "and hear what terms yournew cousin wants for Mulberry Hill. I hope we won't have to moveout till spring. It would be mighty bad to be out of doors allwinter. Go on, Captain Pardee, Hesden is ready now. This is whatcomes of your silly idea about doing justice to some low-down Yankee.It's a pity you hadn't sense enough to burn the will up. It wouldhave been better all round. The wealth will turn the girl's head,and the loss of my home will kill me," she continued fiercely toher son.

"As to the young lady, you need have no fear," said Pardee. "Sheis not one of the kind that lose their heads.

"Ah, you seem to be quite an admirer of her?"

"I am, madam."

"If we do not accept her proposal, you will no doubt become herattorney?"

"I am such already."

"You don't say so? Well, you are making good speed. I should thinkyou might have waited till you had dropped us before picking herup. But then, it will be a good thing to be the attorney of suchan heiress, and we shall be poor indeed after she gets her own—asyou say it is."

"Madam," said Pardee seriously, "I shall expect you to apologizeboth to me and to my client when you have heard her proposition."

"I shall be very likely to, Mr. Pardee," she said, with a drylaugh. "I come of an apologetic race. Old Jim Richards was fullof apologies. He liked to have died of them, numberless times. Butwhat is your proposal?"

"As I said," remarked Pardee, "my client—I beg pardon—thegreat-grand-daughter of 'Red Jim' Richards, instructs me to say thatshe does not desire to stain her family name or injure your feelingsby exposing the fraud of your ancestor, 'Black Jim' Richards.

"What, sir!" said Mrs. Le Moyne sharply. "Fraud! You had bettermeasure your words, sir, when you speak of my father. Do you hearthat, Hesden? Have you lost all spirit since you became a Radical?"she continued, while her eyes flashed angrily.

"I am sorry to say that I do not see what milder term could beused," said Hesden calmly. "Go on with your proposition, sir."

"Well, as I said," continued the lawyer, "this young lady, desiringto save the family name and your feelings from the shock of exposure,has instructed me to say: First, that she does not wish to disturbany of those rights which have been obtained by purchase from yourancestor; and second, that she understands that there is a disputein regard to the title of a portion of it—the tract generallyknown as Red Wing—neither of the parties claiming which have anytitle as against her. She understands that the title held by Winburnis technically good against that of the colored man, Nimbus Desmit,providing hers is not set up.

"Now she proposes that if you will satisfy Winburn and obtain aquit-claim from him to Desmit, she will make a deed in fee to Mrs.Le Moyne of the whole tract; and as you hold by inheritance fromone who purported to convey the fee, the title will thereafter beestopped, and all rights held under the deeds of 'Black Jim' Richardswill be confirmed."

"Well, what else?" asked Mrs. Le Moyne breathlessly, as he paused.

"There is nothing more."

"Nothing more! Why, does the girl propose to give away all thismagnificent property for nothing?" she asked in astonishment.

"Absolutely nothing to her own comfort or advantage," answered theattorney.

"Well, now, that is kind—that is kind!" said the invalid. "I amsorry for what I have said of her, Captain Pardee."

"I thought you would be, madam," he replied.

"You must attend to that Red Wing matter immediately, Hesden," shesaid, thoughtfully.

"You accept the proposal then?" asked Pardee.

"Accept, man? Of course we do!" said Mrs. Le Moyne.

"Stop, mother!" said Hesden. "You may accept for yourself, but notfor me. Is this woman able to give away such a fortune?" he askedof Pardee.

"She is not rich. She has been a teacher, and has some property—enough,she insists, for comfort," was the answer.

"If she had offered to sell, I would have bought at any possibleprice, but I cannot take such a gift!"

"Do you accept the terms?" asked Pardee of Mrs. Le Moyne.

"I do," she answered doggedly, but with a face flushing with shame.

"Then, madam, let me say that I have already shown the proofs inconfidence to Winburn's attorney. He agrees that they have no chance,and is willing to sell the interest he represents for five hundreddollars. That I have already paid, and have taken a quit-claimto Desmit. Upon the payment of that, and my bill for services, Istand ready to deliver to you the title."

The whole amount was soon ascertained and a check given to Pardeefor the sum. Thereupon he handed over to Mrs. Le Moyne a deed infee-simple, duly executed, covering the entire tract, except thatabout Red Wing, which was conveyed to Nimbus in a deed directlyto him. Mrs. Le Moyne unfolded the deed, and turning quickly tothe last page read the name of the donor:

"MOLLIE AINSLIE!"

"What!" she exclaimed, "not the little nigg*r teacher at Red Wing?"

"The same, madam," said Pardee, with a smile and a bow.

The announcement was too much for the long-excited invalid. Shefell back fainting upon her pillow, and while Cousin Hetty devotedherself to restoring her relative to consciousness, Pardee gatheredup his papers and withdrew. Hesden followed him, presently, andasked where Miss Ainslie was.

"I am directed," said Pardee, "not to disclose her residence, butwill at any time forward any communication you may desire to make."

CHAPTER LV.

AN UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER.

The next day Mr. Pardee received a note from Mrs. Le Moyne,requesting him to come to Mulberry Hill at his earliest convenience.Being at the time disengaged, he returned with the messenger. Uponbeing ushered again into the invalid's room, he found Miss HettyLomax with a flushed face standing by the bedside. Both the ladiesgreeted him with some appearance of embarrassment.

"Cousin Hetty," said the invalid, "will you ask Hesden to come herefor a moment?"

Miss Hetty left the room, and returned a moment afterward in companywith Hesden.

"Hesden," said Mrs. Le Moyne, "were you in earnest in what you saidyesterday in regard to receiving any benefits under this deed?"

"Certainly, mother," replied Hesden; "I could never consent to doso."

"Very well, my son," said the invalid; "you are perhaps right; butI wish you to know that I had heretofore made my will, giving toyou and Cousin Hetty a joint interest in my estate. You know thefeeling which induced me to do so. I am in the confessional to-day,and may as well admit that I was hasty and perhaps unjust in sodoing. In justice to Cousin Hetty I wish also to say—"

"Oh, please, Mrs. Le Moyne," interrupted Hetty, blushing deeply.

"Hush, my child," said the invalid tenderly; "I must be just toyou as well as to others. Hetty," she continued, turning her eyesupon Hesden, who stood looking in wonder from one to the other,"has long tried to persuade me to revoke that instrument. I haveat length determined to cancel and destroy it, and shall proceedto make a new one, which I desire that both of you shall witnesswhen it has been drawn."

Being thus dismissed, Hesden and his cousin withdrew, whilePardee seated himself at the little table by the bedside, on whichwriting materials had already been placed, and proceeded to receiveinstructions and prepare the will as she directed. When it had beencompleted and read over to her, she said, wearily,

"That is right."

The attorney called Hesden and his cousin, who, having witnessedthe will by her request, again withdrew.

"Now Mr. Pardee," said Mrs. Le Moyne sadly, "I believe that I havedone my duty as well as Hesden has done his. It is hard, very hard,for me to give up projects which I have cherished so long. As Ihave constituted you my executor, I desire that you will keep thiswill, and allow no person to know its contents unless directed byme to do so, until my death."

"Your wishes shall be strictly complied with, madam," said Pardee,as he folded the instrument and placed it in his pocket.

"I have still another favor to request of you, Mr. Pardee," shesaid. "I have written this note to Miss Ainslie, which I wish youto read and then transmit to her. No, no," she continued, as shesaw him about to seal the letter which she had given him, withoutreading it; "you must read it. You know something of what it hascost me to write it, and will be a better judge than I as to whetherit contains all that I should say."

Thus adjured, Pardee opened the letter and read:

"MULBERRY HILL Saturday, Oct. 8, 1871.

"MY DEAR MISS AINSLIE:

"Captain Pardee informed us yesterday of your nobly disinterestedaction in regard to the estate rightfully belonging to you. Wordscannot express my gratitude for the consideration you have shown toour feelings in thus shielding the memory of the dead. Mr. Pardeewill transmit to you with this the papers, showing that we havecomplied with your request. Pardon me if I do not write as warmlyas I ought. One as old and proud as I cannot easily adapt herselfto so new and strange a role. I hope that time will enable me tothink more calmly and speak more freely of this matter.

"Hoping you will forgive my constraint, and believe that it arisesfrom no lack of appreciation of your magnanimity, but only springsfrom my own weakness; and asking your pardon for all unkindness ofthought, word, or act in the past, I remain,

"Yours gratefully,

"HESTER RICHARDS LE MOYNE."

"My dear Mrs. Le Moyne," said Pardee, as he extended his hand andgrasped that of the suffering woman, "I am sure Miss Ainslie wouldnever require any such painful acknowledgment at your hands."

"I know she would not," was the reply; "it is not she that requires it,but myself—my honor, Mr. Pardee. You must not suppose, nor mustshe believe, that the wife of a Le Moyne can forget the obligationsof justice, though her father may have unfortunately done so."

"But I am sure it will cause her pain," said Pardee.

"Would it cause her less were I to refuse what she has so delicatelygiven?"

"No, indeed," said the attorney.

"Then I see no other way."

"Perhaps there is none," said Pardee thoughtfully.

"You think I have said enough?" she asked.

"You could not say more," was the reply. After a moment's pausehe continued, "Are you willing that I should give Miss Ainslie anystatement I may choose of this matter?"

"I should prefer," she answered, "that nothing more be said; unless,"she added, with a smile, "you conceive that your duty imperativelydemands it."

"And Hesden?" he began.

"Pardon me, sir," she said, with dignity; "I will not conceal fromyou that my son's course has given me great pain; indeed, you arealready aware of that fact. Since yesterday, I have for the firsttime admitted to myself that in abandoning the cause of the Southernpeople he has acted from a sense of duty. My own inclination, aftersober second thought," she added, as a slight flush overspread herpale face, "would have been to refuse, as he has done, this bountyfrom the hands of a stranger; more particularly from one in theposition which Miss Ainslie has occupied; but I feel also that herunexpected delicacy demands the fullest recognition at our hands.Hesden will take such course as his own sense of honor may dictate."

"Am I at liberty to inform him of the nature of the testament whichyou have made?"

"I prefer not."

"Well," said Pardee, "if there is nothing more to be done I willbid you good-evening, hoping that time may yet bring a pleasantresult out of these painful circ*mstances."

After the lawyer had retired, Mrs. Le Moyne summoned her son toher bedside and said,

"I hope you will forgive me, Hesden, for all—"

"Stop, mother," said he, playfully laying his hand over her mouth;"I can listen to no such language from you. When I was a boy youused to stop my confessions of wrong-doing with a kiss; how muchmore ought silence to be sufficient between us now."

He knelt by her side and pressed his lips to hers.

"Oh, my son, my son!" said the weeping woman, as she pushed backthe hair above his forehead and looked into his eyes; "only giveyour mother time—you know it is so hard—so hard. I am trying,Hesden; and you must be very kind to me, very gentle. It will notbe for long, but we must be alone—all alone—as we were before allthese things came about. Only," she added sobbingly, "only littleHildreth is not here now."

"Believe me, mother," said he, and the tears fell upon the gentleface over which he bent, "I will do nothing to cause you pain. Myopinions I cannot renounce, because I believe them right."

"I know, I know, my son," she said; "but it is so hard—so hard—tothink that we must lose the place which we have always held in theesteem of—all those about us."

There was silence for a time, and then she continued, "Hetty thinksit is best—that—that she—should—not remain here longer at thistime. She is perhaps right, my son. You must not blame her foranything that has occurred; indeed—indeed she is not at fault. Infact," she added, "she has done much toward showing me my duty. Ofcourse it is hard for her, as it is for me, to be under obligationsto—to—such a one as Miss Ainslie. It is very hard to believe thatshe could have done as she has without some—some unworthy motive."

"Mother!" said Hesden earnestly, raising his head and gazingreproachfully at her.

"Don't—don't, my son! I am trying—believe me, I am trying; butit is so hard. Why should she give up all this for our sakes?"

"Not for ours mother—not for ours alone; for her own as well."

"Oh, my son, what does she know of family pride?"

"Mother," said he gravely, "she is prouder than we ever were.Oh, I know it,"—seeing the look of incredulity upon herface;—"prouder than any Richards or Le Moyne that ever lived; onlyit is a different kind of pride. She would starve, mother,"he continued impetuously; "she would work her fingers to the bonerather than touch one penny of that estate."

"Oh, why—why, Hesden, should she do that? Just to shield my father'sname?"

"Not alone for that," said Hesden. "Partly to show that she cangive you pride for pride, mother."

"Do you think so, Hesden?"

"I am sure of it."

"Will you promise me one thing?"

"Whatever you shall ask."

"Do not write to her, nor in any way communicate with her, exceptat my request."

"As you wish."

CHAPTER LVI.

SOME OLD LETTERS.

I.

"RED WING, Saturday, Feb. 15, 1873.

"MISS MOLLIE AINSLIE:

"I avail myself of your kind permission to address you a letterthrough Captain Pardee, to whom I will forward this to-morrow. Iwould have written to you before, because I knew you must be anxiousto learn how things are at this place, where you labored so long;but I was very busy—and, to tell you the truth, I felt somewhat hurtthat you should withhold from me for so long a time the knowledgeeven of where you were. It is true, I have known that you weresomewhere in Kansas; but I could see no reason why you should notwish it to be known exactly where; nor can I now. I was so foolishas to think, at first, that it was because you did not wish thepeople where you now live to know that you had ever been a teacherin a colored school.

"When I returned here, however, and learned something of yourkindness to our people—how you had saved the property of my dearlost brother Nimbus, and provided for his wife and children, andthe wife and children of poor Berry, and so many others of thosewho once lived at Red Wing; and when I heard Captain Pardee readone of your letters to our people, saying that you had not forgottenus, I was ashamed that I had ever had such a thought. I know thatyou must have some good reason, and will never seek to know morethan you may choose to tell me in regard to it. You may think itstrange that I should have had this feeling at all; but you mustremember that people afflicted as I am become very sensitive—morbid,perhaps—and are very apt to be influenced by mere imaginationrather than by reason.

"After completing my course at the college, for which I can neverbe sufficiently grateful to Mr. Hesden, I thought at first that Iwould write to you and see if I could not obtain work among someof my people in the West. Before I concluded to do so, however, thePresident of the college showed me a letter asking him to recommendsome one for a colored school in one of the Northern States. He saidhe would be willing to recommend me for that position. Of courseI felt very grateful to him, and very proud of the confidencehe showed in my poor ability. Before I had accepted, however, Ireceived a letter from Mr. Hesden, saying that he had rebuilt theschool-house at Red Wing, that the same kind people who furnishedit before had furnished it again, and that he wished the schoolto be re-opened, and desired me to come back and teach here. Atfirst I thought I could not come; for the memory of that terriblenight—the last night that I was here—came before me whenever Ithought of it; and I was so weak as to think I could not ever comehere again. Then I thought of Mr. Hesden, and all that he had donefor me, and felt that I would be making a very bad return for hiskindness should I refuse any request he might make. So I came,and am very glad that I did.

"It does not seem like the old Red Wing, Miss Mollie. There arenot near so many people here, and the school is small in comparisonwith what it used to be. Somehow the life and hope seem to havegone out of our people, and they do not look forward to the futurewith that confident expectation which they used to have. It remindsme very much of the dull, plodding hopelessness of the old slavetime. It is true, they are no longer subject to the terriblecruelties which were for a while visited upon them; but they feel,as they did in the old time, that their rights are withheld fromthem, and they see no hope of regaining them. With their own povertyand ignorance and the prejudices of the white people to contendwith, it does indeed seem a hopeless task for them to attempt tobe anything more, or anything better, than they are now. I am evensurprised that they do not go backward instead of forward underthe difficulties they have to encounter.

"I am learning to be more charitable than I used to be, Miss Mollie,or ever would have been had I not returned here. It seems to menow that the white people are not so much to be blamed for what hasbeen done and suffered since the war, as pitied for that prejudicewhich has made them unconsciously almost as much slaves asmy people were before the war. I see, too, that these things cannotbe remedied at once. It will be a long, sad time of waiting, whichI fear our people will not endure as well as they did the tiresomewaiting for freedom. I used to think that the law could give us ourrights and make us free. I now see, more clearly than ever before,that we must not only make ourselves free, but must overcomeall that prejudice which slavery created against our race in thehearts of the white people. It is a long way to look ahead, and Idon't wonder that so many despair of its ever being accomplished.I know it can only be done through the attainment of knowledge andthe power which that gives.

"I do not blame for giving way to despair those who are laboringfor a mere pittance, and perhaps not receiving that; who have wivesand children to support, and see their children growing up as poorand ignorant as themselves. If I were one of those, Miss Mollie,and whole and sound, I wouldn't stay in this country another day.I would go somewhere where my children would have a chance to learnwhat it is to be free, whatever hardship I might have to face indoing so, for their sake. But I know that they cannot go—at leastnot all of them, nor many of them; and I think the Lord has dealtwith me as he has in order that I might be willing to stay hereand help them, and share with them the blessed knowledge which kindfriends have given to me.

"Mr. Hesden comes over to see the school very often, and is verymuch interested in it. I have been over to Mulberry Hill once,and saw the dear old 'Mistress.' She has failed a great deal, MissMollie, and it does seem as if her life of pain was drawing to anend. She was very kind to me, asked all about my studies, how I wasgetting on, and inquired very kindly of you. She seemed very muchsurprised when I told her that I did not know where you were, onlythat you were in the West. It is no wonder that she looks worn andtroubled, for Mr. Hesden has certainly had a hard time. I do notthink it is as bad now as it has been, and some of the white people,even, say that he has been badly treated. But, Miss Mollie, youcan't imagine the abuse he has had to suffer because he befriendedme, and is what they call a 'Radical.'

"There is one thing that I cannot understand. I can see why thewhite people of the South should be so angry about colored peoplebeing allowed to vote. I can understand, too, why they should abuseMr. Hesden, and the few like him, because they wish to see thecolored people have their rights and become capable of exercisingthem. It is because they have always believed that we are an inferiorrace, and think that the attempt to elevate us is intended to dragthem down. But I cannot see why the people of the North shouldthink so ill of such men as Mr. Hesden. It would be a disgrace forany man there to say that he was opposed to the colored man havingthe rights of a citizen, or having a fair show in any manner. Butthey seem to think that if a man living at the South advocatesthose rights, or says a word in our favor, he is a low-down, meanman. If we had a few men like Mr, Hesden in every county, I thinkit would soon be better; but if it takes as long to get each oneas it has to get him, I am afraid a good many generations will liveand die before that good time will come.

"I meant to have said more about the school, Miss Mollie; but Ihave written so much that I will wait until the next time for that.Hoping that you will have time to write to me, I remain

"Your very grateful pupil,

"ELIAB HILL."

II.

"MULBERRY HILL, Wednesday, March 5, 1873.

"Miss MOLLIE AINSLIE:

"Through the kindness of our good friend, Captain Pardee, I sendyou this letter, together with an instrument, the date of whichyou will observe is the same as that of my former letter. You willsee that I have regarded myself only as a trustee and a beneficiary,during life, of your self-denying generosity. The day after Ireceived your gift, I gave the plantation back to you, reservingonly the pleasing privilege of holding it as my own while I lived.The opportunity which I then hoped might some time come has nowarrived. I can write to you now without constraint or bitterness.My pride has not gone; but I am proud of you, as a relative proudas myself, and far braver and more resolute than I have ever been.

"My end is near, and I am anxious to see you once more. The dearold plantation is just putting on its spring garment of beauty.Will you not come and look upon your gift in its glory, and gladdenthe heart of an old woman whose eyes long to look upon your facebefore they see the brightness of the upper world?

"Come, and let me say to the people of Horsford that you are oneof us—a Richards worthier than the worthiest they have known!

"Yours, with sincerest love,

"HESTER RICHARDS LE MOYNE.

"P. S.—I ought to say that, although Hesden is one of the witnessesto my will, he knows nothing of its contents. He does not knowthat I have written to you, but I am sure he will be glad to seeyou.

"H. R. LE M."

III.

Mrs. Le Moyne received the following letter in reply: "March 15,1873.

"MY DEAR MRS. LE MOYNB:

"Your letter gave me far greater pleasure than you can imagine.But you give me much more credit for doing what I did than I haveany right to receive. While I know that I would do the same now,to give you pleasure and save you pain, as readily as I did it thenfrom a worse motive, I must confess to you that I did it, almostsolely I fear, to show you that a Yankee girl, even though a teacherof a colored school, could be as proud as a Southern lady. I did itto humiliate you. Please forgive me; but it is true, and Icannot bear to receive your praise for what really deserves censure.I have been ashamed of myself very many times for this unworthymotive for an act which was in itself a good one, but which I amglad to have done, even so unworthily.

"I thank you for your love, which I hope I may better deservehereafter. I inclose the paper which you sent me, and hope youwill destroy it at once. I could not take the property you have sokindly devised to me, and you can readily see what trouble I shouldhave in bestowing it where it should descend as an inheritance.

"Do not think that I need it at all. I had a few thousands whichI invested in the great West when I left the South, three yearsago, in order to aid those poor colored people at Red Wing, whosesufferings appealed so strongly to my sympathies. By good fortunea railroad has come near me, a town has been built up near by andgrown into a city, as in a moment, so that my venture has beenblessed; and though I have given away some, the remainder hasincreased in value until I feel myself almost rich. My life hasbeen very pleasant, and I hope not altogether useless to others."I am sorry that I cannot do as you wish. I know that you willbelieve that I do not now act from any un-worthy motive, of fromany lack of appreciation of your kindness, or doubt of your sincerity.Thanking you again for your kind words and hearty though undeservedpraises, I remain,

"Yours very truly,

"MOLLIE AINSLIE."

"Hesden," said Mrs. Le Moyne to her son, as he sat by her bedsidewhile she read this letter, "will you not write to Miss Ainslie?"

"What!" said he, looking up from his book in surprise. "Do you meanit?"

"Indeed I do, my son," she answered, with a glance of tenderness."I tried to prepare you a surprise, and wrote for her to come andvisit us; but she will not come at my request. I am afraid you arethe only one who can overcome her stubbornness.

"I fear that I should have no better success," he answered.

Nevertheless, he went to his desk, and, laying out some paper, heplaced upon it, to hold it in place while he wrote, a great blackhoof with a silver shoe, bearing on the band about its crown theword "Midnight." After many attempts he wrote as follows:

"Miss MOLLIE AINSLIE:

"Will you permit me to come and see you, upon the conditions imposedwhen I saw you last?

"HESDEN LE MOYNE."

IV.

While Hesden waited for an answer to this letter, which had beenforwarded through Captain Pardee, he received one from JordanJackson. It was somewhat badly spelled, but he made it out to beas follows:

"EUPOLIA, KANSAS, Sunday, March 23, 1873.

"MY DEAR LE MOYNE:

"I have been intending to write to you for a long time, but havebeen too busy. You never saw such a busy country as this. It justtook me off my legs when I first came out here. I thought I knewwhat it meant to 'git up and git.' Nobody ever counted me hard tostart or slow to move, down in that country; but here—God blessyou, Le Moyne, I found I wasn't half awake! Work? Lord! Lord! howthese folks do work and tear around! It don't seem so very hardeither, because when they have anything to do they don't do nothingelse, and when have nothing to do they make a business of that,too.

"Then, they use all sorts of machinery, and never do anything byhand-power that a horse can be made to do, in any possible way.The horses do all the ploughing, sowing, hoeing, harvesting, and,in fact, pretty much all the farm-work; while the man sits up on asulky-seat and fans himself with a palm-leaf hat. So that, accordingto my reckoning, one man here counts for about as much as four inour country.

"I have moved from where I first settled, which was in a countyadjoining this. I found that my notion of just getting a plantationto settle down on, where I could make a living and be out of harm'sway, wasn't the thing for this country, nohow. A man who comeshere must pitch in and count for all he's worth. It's a regularground-scuffle, open to all, and everybody choosing his own hold.Morning, noon, and night the world is awake and alive; and if aman isn't awake too, it tramps on right over him and wipes him out,just as a stampeded buffalo herd goes over a hunter's camp.

"Everybody is good-natured and in dead earnest. Every one thatcomes is welcome, and no questions asked. Kin and kin-in-law don'tcount worth a cuss. Nobody stops to ask where you come from, what'syour politics, or whether you've got any religion. They don't care,if you only mean 'business.' They don't make no fuss over nobody.There ain't much of what we call 'hospitality' at the South, making agrand flourish and a big lay-out over anybody; but they just takeit, as a matter of course, that you are all right and square andhonest, and as good as anybody till you show up diferent. Thereain't any big folks nor any little ones. Of course, there are richfolks and poor ones, but the poor are just as respectable as therich, feel just as big, and take up just as much of the road. Thereain't any crawling nor cringing here. Everybody stands up straight,and don't give nor take any sass from anybody else. The West takesright hold of every one that comes into it and makes him a part ofitself, instead of keeping him outside in the cold to all eternity,as the South does the strangers who go there.

"I don't know as you'd like it; but if any one who has been keptdown and put on, as poor men are at the South, can muster pluckenough to get away and come here, he'll think he's been born overagain, or I'm mistaken. Nobody asks your politics. I don't reckonanybody knew mine for a year. The fact is, we're all too busy tofuss with our neighbors or cuss them about their opinions. I'veheard more politics in a country store in Horsford in a day thanI've heard here in Eupolia in a year—and we've got ten thousandpeople here, too. I moved here last year, and am doing well. Iwouldn't go back and live in that d—d hornet's nest that I feltso bad about leaving—not for the whole State, with a slice of thenext one throwed in.

"I've meant to tell you, a half dozen times, about that littleYankee gal that used to be at Red Wing; but I've been half afraidto, for fear you would get mad about it. My wife said that when shecame away there was a heap of talk about you being sorter 'sweet'on the 'nigg*r-school-marm.' I knew that she was sick at your housewhen I was there, and so, putting the two together, I 'llowed thatfor once there might be some truth in a Horsford rumor. I reckon itmust have been a lie, though; or else she 'kicked' you, which shewouldn't stand a speck about doing, even if you were the President,if you didn't come up to her notion. It's a mighty high notion, too,let me tell you; and the man that gits up to it'll have to climb.Bet your life on that!

"But that's all no matter. I reckon you'll be glad to know howshe's gettin' on out here, anyhow. She come here not a great whileafter I did; but, bless your stars, she wasn't as green as I, notby any manner of means. She didn't want to hide out in a quietpart of the country, where the world didn't turn around but oncein two days. No, sir! She was keen—just as keen as a razor-blade.She run her eye over the map and got inside the railroad projectssomehow, blessed if I know how; and then she just went off fiftymiles out of the track others was taking, and bought up all theland she could pay for, and got trusted for all the credit thatthat brought her; and here she is now, with Eupolia building rightup on her land, and just a-busting up her quarter-sections intocity lots, day after day, till you can't rest.

"Just think on't, Moyne! It's only three years ago and she wasteaching a nigg*r school, there in Red Wing; and now, God blessyou, here she is, just a queen in a city that wasn't nowhere then.I tell you, she's a team! Just as proud as Lucifer, and as wide-awakeas a hornet in July. She beats anything I ever did see. She's givenaway enough to make two or three, and I'll be hanged if it don'tseem to me that every cent she gives just brings her in a dollar.The people here just worship her, as they have a good right to; butshe ain't a bit stuck up. She's got a whole lot of them Red Wingnigg*rs here, and has settled them down and put them to work,and made them get on past all expectation. She just tells rightout about her having taught a nigg*r school down in Horsford, andnobody seems to think a word on't. In fact, I b'lieve they ratherlike her better for it.

"I heard about her soon after she came here, but, to tell the truth,I thought I was a little better than a 'nigg*r-teacher,' if I wasin Kansas. So I didn't mind anything about her till Eupolia beganto grow, and I came to think about going into trading again. ThenI came over, just to look around, you know. I went to see the littlelady, feeling mighty 'shamed, you may bet, and more than half ofthe notion that she wouldn't care about owning that she'd ever seenme before. But, Lord love you! I needn't have had any fear aboutthat. Nobody ever had a heartier welcome than she gave me, untilshe found that I had been living only fifty miles away for a yearand hadn't let her know. Then she come down on me—Whew! I thoughtthere was going to be a blizzard, sure enough.

"'Jordan Jackson,' said she, 'you just go home and bring that wifeand them children here, where they can see something and have arest.'

"I had to do it, and they just took to staying in Eupolia herenigh about all the time. So I thought I might as well come too;and here I am, doing right well, and would be mighty glad to seean old friend if you could make up your mind to come this way. Weare all well, and remember you as the kindest of all old friendsin our time of need.

"I never wrote as long a letter as this before, and never 'llow todo it again.

"Your true friend,

"JORDAN JACKSON."

V.

In due time there came to Hesden Le Moyne an envelope, containingonly a quaintly-shaped card, which looked as if it had been cutfrom the bark of a brown-birch tree. On one side was printed, indelicate script characters,

"Miss Mollie Ainslie,
Eupolia,
Kansas."

On the other was written one word: "Come."

A bride came to Mulberry Hill with the May roses, and when Mrs.Le Moyne had kissed her who knelt beside her chair for a maternalbenison, she placed a hand on either burning cheek, and, holding theface at arm's length, said, with that archness which never forsookher, "What am I to do about the old plantation? Hesden refuses tobe my heir, and you refuse to be my devisee; must I give it to thepoor?"

The summer bloomed and fruited; the autumn glowed and faded; andpeace and happiness dwelt at Red Wing. But when the Christmascame, wreaths of immortelles lay upon a coffin in "Mother'sRoom," and Hesden and Mollie dropped their tears upon the sweet,pale face within.

So Hesden and Mollie dwelt at Red Wing. The heirs of "Red Jim" hadtheir own, and the children of "Black Jim" were not dispossessed.

CHAPTER LVII.

A SWEET AND BITTER FRUITAGE.

The charms of the soft, luxurious climate were peculiarly gratefulto Mollie after the harshness of the Kansas winter and the sultrysummer winds that swept over the heated plains. There was something,too, very pleasant in renewing her associations with that regionin a relation so different from that under which she had formerlyknown it. As the teacher at Red Wing, her life had not been whollyunpleasant; but that which had made it pleasant had proceededfrom herself and not from others. The associations which she thenformed had been those of kindly charity—the affection which onehas for the objects of sympathetic care. So far as the world inwhich she now lived was concerned—the white world and white peopleof Horsford—she had known nothing of them, nor they of her, butas each had regarded the other as a curious study. Their life hadbeen shut out from her, and her life had been a matter that did notinterest them. She had wondered that they did not think and feelas she did with regard to the colored people; and they, that anyone having a white skin and the form of woman should come a thousandmiles to become a servant of servants. The most charitable amongthem had deemed her a fool; the less charitable, a monster.

In the few points of contact which she had with them personally,she had found them pleasant. In the few relations which they heldtoward the colored people, and toward her as their friend, she hadfound them brutal and hateful beyond her power to conceive. Then,her life had been with those for whom she labored, so far as itwas in or of the South at all. They had been the objects of herthought, her interest, and her care. Their wrongs had entered intoher life, and had been the motive of her removal to the West. Outof these conditions, by a curious evolution, had grown a new life,which she vainly tried to graft upon the old without apparentdisjointure.

Now, by kinship and by marriage, she belonged to one of the mostrespectable families of the region. It was true that Hesden. hadsullied his family name by becoming a Radical; but as he had neversought official position, nor taken any active part in enforcing orpromulgating the opinions which he held; had, in fact, identifiedhimself with the party of odious principles only for the protectionof the victims of persecution or the assertion of the rights ofthe weak—he was regarded with much more toleration and forbearancethan would otherwise have been displayed toward him.

In addition to this, extravagant rumors came into the good countyof Horsford respecting the wealth which Mollie Ainslie had acquired,and of the pluck and enterprise which she had displayed in the farWest. It was thought very characteristic of the brave young teacherof Red Wing, only her courage was displayed there in a differentmanner. So they took a sort of pride in her, as if she had beenone of themselves; and as they told to each other the story of hersuccess, they said, "Ah, I knew she would make her mark! Any girlthat had her pluck was too good to remain a nigg*r-teacher long.It was lucky for Hesden, though. By George! he made his Radicalismpay, didn't he? Well, well; as long as he don't trouble anybody,I don't see why we should not be friends with him—if he isa Radical." So they determined that they would patronize andencourage Hesden Le Moyne and his wife, in the hope that he mightbe won back to his original excellence, and that she might becharmed with the attractions of Southern society and forget thebias of her Yankee origin.

The occupants of Mulberry Hill, therefore, received much attention,and before the death of Hesden's mother had become prime favoritesin the society of Horsford. It is true that now and then they metwith some exhibition of the spirit which had existed before, butin the main their social life was pleasant; and, for a considerabletime, Hesden felt that he had quite regained his original status asa "Southern gentleman," while Mollie wondered if it were possiblethat the people whom she now met upon such pleasant terms werethose who had, by their acts of violence, painted upon her memorysuch horrible and vivid pictures. She began to feel as if she haddone them wrong, and sought by every means in her power to identifyherself with their pleasures and their interests.

At the same time, she did not forget those for whom she had beforelabored, and who had shown for her such true and devoted friendship.The school at Red Wing was an especial object of her care andattention. Rarely did a week pass that her carriage did not showitself in the little hamlet, and her bright face and cheerful tonesbrought encouragement and hope to all that dwelt there. Having learnedfrom Hesden and Eliab the facts with regard to the disappearance ofNimbus, she for a long time shared Lugena's faith in regard to herhusband, and had not yet given up hope that he was alive. Indeed,she had taken measures to discover his whereabouts; but all thesehad failed. Still, she would not abandon the hope that he would sometime reappear, knowing how difficult it was to trace one altogetherunnoted by any except his own race, who were not accustomed to becareful or inquisitive with regard to the previous life of theirfellows.

Acting as his trustee, not by any specific authority, but throughmere good-will, Hesden had managed the property, since the conclusionof the Winburn suit, so as to yield a revenue, which Lugena hadcarefully applied to secure a home in the West, in anticipation ofher husband's return. This had necessarily brought him into closerelations with the people of Red Wing, who had welcomed Molliewith an interest half proprietary in its character. Was she nottheir Miss Mollie? Had she not lived in the old "Or'nary,"taught in their school, advised, encouraged, and helped them? Theyflocked around her, each reminding her of his identity by recallingsome scene or incident of her past life, or saying, with evidentpride, "Miss Mollie, I was one of your scholars—I was."

She did not repel their approaches, nor deny their claim to herattention. She recognized it as a duty that she should still ministerto their wants, and do what she could for their elevation. And,strangely enough, the good people of Horsford did not rebel nor casther off for so doing. The rich wife of Hesden Le Moyne, the queenof the growing Kansas town, driving in her carriage to the coloredschool-house, and sitting as lady patroness upon the platform, wasan entirely different personage, in their eyes, from the Yankee girlwho rode Midnight up and down the narrow streets, and who wieldedthe pedagogic sceptre in the log school-house that Nimbus had built.She could be allowed to patronize the colored school; indeed, theyrather admired her for doing so, and a few of them now and then wentwith her, especially on occasions of public interest, and wonderedat the progress that had been made by that race whose capacity theyhad always denied.

Every autumn Hesden and Mollie went to visit her Kansas home, tolook after her interests there, help and advise her colored proteges,breathe the free air, and gather into their lives something of thebusy, bustling spirit of the great North. The contrast did themgood. Hesden's ideas were made broader and fuller; her heart wasreinvigorated; and both returned to their Southern home full ofhope and aspiration for its future.

So time wore on, and they almost forgot that they held their placesin the life which was about them by sufferance and not of right;that they were allowed the privilege of associating with the "bestpeople of Horsford," not because they were of them, or entitled tosuch privilege, but solely upon condition that they should submitthemselves willingly to its views, and do nothing or attempt nothingto subvert its prejudices.

Since the county had been "redeemed" it had been at peace. The vastcolored majority, once overcome, had been easily held in subjection.There was no longer any violence, and little show of coercion,so far as their political rights were concerned. At first it wasthought necessary to discourage the eagerness with which they soughtto exercise the elective franchise, by frequent reference to theevils which had already resulted therefrom. Now and then, whensome ambitious colored man had endeavored to organize his peopleand to secure political advancement through their suffrages, hehad been politely cautioned in regard to the danger, and the fatewhich had overwhelmed others was gently recalled to his memory.For a while, too, employers thought it necessary to exercise thepower which their relations with dependent laborers gave them, toprevent the neglect of agricultural interests for the pursuit ofpolitical knowledge, and especially to prevent absence from theplantation upon the day of election. After a time, however, itwas found that such care was unnecessary. The laws of the State,carefully revised by legislators wisely chosen for that purpose,had taken the power from the irresponsible hands of the masses, andplaced it in the hands of the few, who had been wont to exerciseit in the olden time.

That vicious idea which had first grown up on the inclement shoresof Massachusetts Bay, and had been nourished and protected andspread abroad throughout the North and West as the richest heritagewhich sterile New England could give to the states her sons hadplanted; that outgrowth of absurd and fanatical ideas which had madethe North free, and whose absence had enabled the South to remain"slave"—the township system, with its free discussion of all matters,even of the most trivial interest to the inhabitants; that nurseryof political virtue and individual independence of character,comporting, as it did, very badly with the social and politicalideas of the South—this system was swept away, or, if retained inname, was deprived of all its characteristic elements.

In the foolish fever of the reconstruction era this system hadbeen spread over the South as the safeguard of the new ideas andnew institutions then introduced. It was foolishly believed thatit would produce upon the soil of the South the same beneficentresults as had crowned its career at the North. So the counties weresubdivided into small self-governing communities, every residentin which was entitled to a voice in the management of its domesticinterests. Trustees and school commissioners and justices of thepeace and constables were elected in these townships by the vote ofthe inhabitants. The roads and bridges and other matters of municipalfinance were put directly under the control of the inhabitants ofthese miniature boroughs. Massachusetts was superimposed upon SouthCarolina. That system which had contributed more than all else tothe prosperity, freedom, and intelligence of the Northern communitywas invoked by the political theorists of the reconstruction eraas a means of like improvement there. It did not seem a dangerousexperiment. One would naturally expect similar results from thesame system in different sections, even though it had not beenspecifically calculated for both latitudes. Especially did thisview seem natural, when it was remembered that wherever the townshipsystem had existed in any fullness or perfection, there slaveryhad withered and died without the scath of war; that wherever inall our bright land the township system had obtained a footholdand reached mature development, there intelligence and prosperitygrew side by side; and that wherever this system had not prevailed,slavery had grown rank and luxuriant, ignorance had settled uponthe people, and poverty had brought its gaunt hand to crush thespirit of free men and establish the dominion of class.

The astute politicians of the South saw at once the insane follyof this project. They knew that the system adapted to New England,the mainspring of Western prosperity, the safeguard of intelligenceand freedom at the North, could not be adapted to the social andpolitical elements of the South. They knew that the South had grownup a peculiar people; that for its government, in the changed stateof affairs, must be devised a new and untried system of politicalorganization, assimilated in every possible respect to the institutionswhich had formerly existed. It is true, those institutions andthat form of government had been designed especially to promote andprotect the interests of slavery and the power of caste. But theybelieved that the mere fact of emancipation did not at all changethe necessary and essential relations between the various classesof her population, so far as her future development and prosperitywere concerned.

Therefore, immediately upon the "redemption" of these states fromthe enforced and sporadic political ideas of the reconstructionera, they set themselves earnestly at work to root out and destroyall the pernicious elements of the township system, and to restorethat organization by which the South had formerly achieved powerand control in the national councils, had suppressed free thoughtand free speech, had degraded labor, encouraged ignorance,and established aristocracy. The first step in this measure ofcounter-revolution and reform was to take from the inhabitants ofthe township the power of electing the officers, and to greatlycurtail, where they did not destroy, the power of such officers.It had been observed by these sagacious statesmen that in not a fewinstances incapable men had been chosen to administer the laws, asjustices of the peace and as trustees of the various townships. Veryoften, no doubt, it happened that there was no one of sufficientcapacity who would consent to act in such positions as therepresentatives of the majority. Sometimes, perhaps, incompetentand corrupt men had sought these places for their own advantage.School commissioners may have been chosen who were themselvesunable to read. There may have been township trustees who hadnever yet shown sufficient enterprise to become the owners of land,and legislators whose knowledge of law had been chiefly gained byfrequent occupancy of the prisoner's dock.

Such evils were not to be endured by a proud people, accustomednot only to self-control, but to the control of others. They didnot stop to inquire whether there was more than one remedy for theseevils. The system itself was attainted with the odor of Puritanism.It was communistic in its character, and struck at the very deepestroots of the social and political organization which had previouslyprevailed at the South.

So it was changed. From and after that date it was solemnly enactedthat either the Governor of the State or the prevailing party inthe Legislature should appoint all the justices of the peace inand for the various counties; that these in turn should appoint ineach of the subdivisions which had once been denominated townships,or which had been clothed with the power of townships, schoolcommissioners and trustees, judges of election and registrarsof voters; and that in the various counties these chosen few, orthe State Executive in their stead, should appoint the boards ofcommissioners, who were to control the county finances and havedirection of all municipal affairs.

Of course, in this counter-revolution there was not any idea ofpropagating or confirming the power of the political party institutingit! It was done simply to protect the State against incompetentofficials! The people were not wise enough to govern themselves,and could only become so by being wisely and beneficently governedby others, as in the ante-bellum era. From it, however, by a curiousaccident, resulted that complete control of the ballot and theballot-box by a dominant minority so frequently observed in thosestates. Observe that the Legislature or the Executive appointedthe justices of the peace; they in turn met in solemn conclave, abody of electors, taken wholly or in a great majority from the sameparty, and chose the commissioners of the county. These, again, astill more select body of electors, chose with the utmost care thetrustees of the townships, the judges of election, and the registrarsof voters. So that the utmost care was taken to secure entireharmony throughout the state. It mattered not how great the majorityof the opposition in this county or in that; its governing officerswere invariably chosen from the body of the minority.

By these means a peculiar safeguard was also extended tothe ballot. All the inspectors throughout the state being appointedby the same political power, were carefully chosen to secure theresults of good government. Either all or a majority of everyboard were of the same political complexion, and, if need be,the remaining members, placed there in order that there should beno just ground of complaint upon the part of the opposition, wereunfitted by nature or education for the performance of their duty.If not blind, they were usually profound strangers to the Cadmeanmystery. Thus the registration of voters and the elections werecarefully devised to secure for all time the beneficent resultsof "redemption." It was found to be a very easy matter to allowthe freedman to indulge, without let or hindrance, his wonderfuleagerness for the exercise of ballotorial power, without injury tothe public good.

From and after that time elections became simply a harmless amusem*nt.There was no longer any need of violence. The peaceful paths oflegislation were found much more pleasant and agreeable, as wellas less obnoxious to the moral feelings of that portion of mankindwho were so unfortunate as to dwell without the boundaries of thesestates.

In order, however, to secure entire immunity from trouble orcomplaint, it was in many instances provided that the ballots shouldbe destroyed as soon as counted, and the inspectors were sworn toexecute this law. In other instances, it was provided, with tendercare for the rights of the citizen, that if by any chance thereshould be found within the ballot-box at the close of an electionany excess of votes over and above the number the tally-sheet shouldshow to have exercised that privilege at that precinct, insteadof the whole result being corrupted, and the voice of the peoplethereby stifled, one member of the board of inspectors shouldbe blindfolded, and in that condition should draw from the box somany ballots as were in excess of the number of voters, and thatthe result, whatever it might be, should be regarded and held asthe voice of the people. By this means formal fraud was avoided,and the voice of the people declared free from all legal objection.It is true that when the ticket was printed upon very thin paper,in very small characters, and was very closely folded and the boxduly shaken, the smaller ballots found their way to the bottom,while the larger ones remained upon the top; so that the blindfoldedinspector very naturally removed these and allowed the tissue ballotsto remain and be counted. It is true, also, that the actual will ofthe majority thus voting was thus not unfrequently overwhelminglynegatived. Yet this was the course prescribed by the law, and theinspectors of elections were necessarily guiltless of fraud.

So it had been in Horsford. The colored majority had voted whenthey chose. The ballots had been carefully counted and the resultscrupulously ascertained and declared. Strangely enough, it wasfound that, whatever the number of votes cast, the majorities werequite different from those which the same voters had given in thedays before the "redemption," while there did not seem to havebeen any great change in political sentiment. Perhaps half a dozencolored voters in the county professed allegiance to the partywhich they had formerly opposed; but in the main the same line stillseparated the races. It was all, without question, the result ofwise and patriotic legislatioa!

CHAPTER LVIII.

COMING TO THE FRONT.

In an evil hour Hesden Le Moyne yielded to the solicitations ofthose whom he had befriended, and whose rights he honestly believedhad been unlawfully subverted, and became a candidate in his county.It had been so long since he had experienced the bitterness ofpersecution on account of his political proclivities, and the socialrelations of his family had been so pleasant, that he had almostforgotten what he had once passed through; or rather, he had cometo believe that the time had gone by when such weapons would beemployed against one of his social grade.

The years of silence which had been imposed on him by a desireto avoid unnecessarily distressing his mother, had been years ofthought, perhaps the richer and riper from the fact that he hadrefrained from active participation in political life. Like allhis class at the South, he was, if not a politician by instinct,at least familiar from early boyhood with the subtle discussion ofpolitical subjects which is ever heard at the table and the firesideof the Southern gentleman. He had regarded the experiment ofreconstruction, as he believed, with calm, unprejudiced sincerity;he had buried the past, and looked only to the future. It was notfor his own sake or interest that he became a candidate; he wascontent always to be what he was—a quiet country gentleman. Heloved his home and his plantation; he thoroughly enjoyed the pursuitsof agriculture, and had no desire to be or do any great thing. Hismother's long illness had given him a love for a quiet life, hisbooks and his fireside; and it was only because he thought thathe could do something to reconcile the jarring factions and bringharmony out of discord, and lead his people to see that The Nationwas greater and better than The South; that its interests andprosperity were also their interest, their prosperity, and theirhope—that Hesden Le Moyne consented to forego the pleasant lifewhich he was leading and undertake a brief voyage upon the stormysea of politics.

He did not expect that all would agree with him, but he believedthat they would listen to him without prejudice and without anger.And he so fully believed in the conclusions he had arrived at thathe thought no reasonable man could resist their force or avoidreaching a like result. His platform, as he called it, when hecame to announce himself as a candidate at the Court House on thesecond day of the term of court, in accordance with immemorialcustom in that county, was simply one of plain common-sense. Hewas not an office-holder or a politician. He did not come of anoffice-holding family, nor did he seek position or emolument. Heoffered himself for the suffrages of his fellow-citizens simplybecause no other man among them seemed willing to stand forth andadvocate those principles which he believed to be right, expedient,and patriotic.

He was a white man, he said, and had the prejudices and feelings thatwere common to the white people of the South. He had not believedin the right or the policy of secession, in which he differed fromsome of his neighbors; but when it came to the decision of thatquestion by force of arms he had yielded his conviction and stoodside by side upon the field of battle with the fiercest fire-eaters ofthe land. No man could accuse him of being remiss in any duty whichhe owed his State or section. But all that he insisted was past.There was no longer any distinct sectional interest or principle tobe maintained. The sword had decided that, whether right or wrongas an abstraction, the doctrine of secession should never bepractically asserted in the government. The result of the strugglehad been to establish, beyond a peradventure, what had before beenan unsettled question: that the Nation had the power and the willto protect itself against any disintegrating movement. It might nothave decided what was the meaning of the Constitution, and so notdetermined upon which side of this question lay the better reasoning;but it had settled the practical fact. This decision he accepted;he believed that they all accepted it—with only this difference,perhaps, that he believed it rendered necessary a change in manyof the previous convictions of the Southern people. They had beenaccustomed to call themselves Southern men; after that, Americans.Hereafter it became their duty and their interest to be no longerSouthern men, but Americans only.

"Having these views," he continued, "it is my sincere convictionthat we ought to accept, in spirit as well as in form, the resultsof this struggle; not in part, but fully." The first result hadbeen the freeing in the slave. In the main he believed that hadbeen accepted, if not cheerfully, at least finally. The next hadbeen the enfranchisem*nt of the colored man. This he insisted hadnot been honestly accepted by the mass of the white people of theSouth. Every means, lawful and unlawful, had been resorted to toprevent the due operation of these laws. He did not speak of thisin anger or to blame. Knowing their prejudices and feelings, hecould well excuse what had been done; but he insisted that it wasnot, and could not be, the part of an honest, brave and intelligentpeople to nullify or evade any portion of the law of the land.He did not mean that it was the duty of any man to submit withoutopposition to a law which he believed to be wrong; but that oppositionshould never be manifested by unlawful violence, unmanly evasion,or cowardly fraud.

He realized that, at first, anger might over-bear both patriotismand honor, under the sting of what was regarded as unparalleledwrong, insult, and outrage; but there had been time enough for angerto cool, and for his people to look with calmness to the futurethat lay before, and let its hopes and duties overbalance thedisappointments of the past. He freely admitted that had the questionof reconstruction been submitted to him for determination, he wouldnot have adopted the plan which had prevailed; but since it hadbeen adopted and become an integral part of the law of the land,he believed that whoever sought to evade its fair and unhinderedoperation placed himself in the position of a law-breaker. Theyhad the right, undoubtedly, by fair and open opposition to defeatany party, and to secure the amendment or repeal of any law orsystem of laws. But they had no right to resist law with violence,or to evade law by fraud.

The right of the colored man to exercise freely and openly hiselective franchise, without threat, intimidation, or fear, was thesame as that of the whitest man he addressed; and the violation ofthat right, or the deprivation of that privilege, was, really anassault upon the right and liberty of the white voter also. Norights were safe unless the people had that regard for law whichwould secure to the weakest and the humblest citizen the free anduntrammeled enjoyment and exercise of every privilege which thelaw conferred. He characterized the laws that had been enactedin regard to the conduct of elections and the selection of localofficers as unmanly and shuffling—an assertion of the right tonullify national law by fraud, which the South had failed to maintainby the sword, and had by her surrender virtually acknowledgedherself in honor bound to abandon.

He did not believe, he would not believe, that his countrymenof the South, his white fellow-citizens of the good old county ofHorsford, had fairly and honestly considered the position in whichrecent events and legislation had placed them, not only before theeyes of the country, but of the civilized world. It had always beenclaimed, he said, that a white man is by nature, and not merely bythe adventitious circ*mstances of the past, innately and inherently,and he would almost add infinitely, the superior of the coloredman. In intellectual culture, experience, habits of self-governmentand command, this was unquestionably true. Whether it were trueas a natural and scientific fact was, perhaps, yet to be decided.But could it be possible that a people, a race priding itself uponits superiority, should be unwilling or afraid to see the experimentfairly tried? "Have we," he asked, "so little confidence inour moral and intellectual superiority that we dare not give thecolored man an equal right with us to exercise the privilege whichthe Nation has conferred upon him? Are the white people of theSouth so poor in intellectual resources that they must resort tofraud or open violence to defeat the ignorant and weak colored manof even the least of his law-given rights?

"We claim," he continued, "that he is ignorant. It is true. Are weafraid that he will grow wiser than we? We claim that he has notthe capacity to acquire or receive a like intellectual developmentwith ourselves. Are we afraid to give him a chance to do so?Could not intelligence cope with ignorance without fraud? Boastingthat we could outrun our adversary, would we hamstring him at thestarting-post? It was accounted by all men, in all ages, an unmanlything to steal, and a yet more unmanly thing to steal from the weak;so that it has passed into a proverb, 'Only a dog would steal theblind man's dinner.' And yet," he said, "we are willing to stealthe vote of the ignorant, the blind, the helpless colored man!"

It was not for the sake of the colored man, he said in conclusion,that he appealed to them to pause and think. It was because thehonor, the nobility, the intelligence of the white man was beingdegraded by the course which passion and resentment, and not reasonor patriotism, had dictated. He appealed to his hearers as whitemen, not so much to give to the colored man the right toexpress his sentiments at the ballot-box, as to regard that rightas sacred because it rested upon the law, which constituted thefoundation and safeguard of their own rights. He would not appealto them as Southern men, for he hoped the day was at hand when therewould no more be any such distinction. But he would appeal to themas men—honest men, honorable men—and as American citizens, tohonor the law and thereby honor themselves.

It had been said that the best and surest way to secure the repealof a bad law was first to secure its unhindered operation. Especiallywas this true of a people who had boasted of unparalleled devotionto principle, of unbounded honor, and of the highest chivalry. Howone of them, or all of them, could claim any of these attributesof which they had so long boasted, and yet be privy to deprivingeven a single colored man of the right which the Nation had givenhim, or to making the exercise of that right a mockery, he couldnot conceive; and he would not believe that they would do it whenonce the scales of prejudice and resentment had fallen from theireyes. If they had been wronged and outraged as a people, theironly fit revenge was to display a manhood and a magnanimity whichshould attest the superiority upon which they prided themselves.

This address was received by his white hearers with surprised silence;by the colored men with half-appreciative cheers. They recognizedthat the speaker was their friend, and in favor of their beingallowed the free exercise of the rights of citizenship. His whiteauditors saw that he was assailing with some bitterness and earnestindignation both their conduct and what they had been accustomed toterm their principles. There was no immediate display of hostilityor anger; and Hesden Le Moyne returned to his home full of hopethat the time was at hand for which he had so long yearned, when thepeople of his native South should abandon the career of prejudiceand violence into which they had been betrayed by resentment andpassion.

Early the next morning some of his friends waited upon him and adjuredhim, for his own sake, for the sake of his family and friends, towithdraw from the canvass. This he refused to do. He said that whathe advocated was the result of earnest conviction, and he shouldalways despise himself should he abandon the course he had calmlydecided to take. Whatever the result, he would continue to the end.Then they cautiously intimated to him that his course was fraughtwith personal danger. "What!" he cried, "do you expect me to flinchat the thought of danger? I offered my life and gave an arm for acause in which I did not believe; shall I not brave as much in theendeavor to serve my country in a manner which my mind and conscienceapprove? I seek for difficulty with no one; but it may as well beunderstood that Hesden Le Moyne does not turn in his tracks becauseof any man's anger. I say to you plainly that I shall neither offerpersonal insult nor submit to it in this canvass."

His friends left him with heavy hearts, for they foreboded ill.It was not many days before he found that the storm of detractionand contumely through which he had once passed was but a gentleshower compared with the tornado which now came down upon his head.The newspapers overflowed with threat, denunciation, and abuse.One of them declared:

"The man who thinks that he can lead an opposition against theorganized Democracy of Horsford County is not only very presumptuous,but extremely bold. Such a man will require a bodyguard of Democrats inhis canvass and a Gibraltar in his rear on the day of the election."

Another said:

"The Radical candidate would do well to take advice. The white menof the State desire a peaceful summer and autumn. They are weariedof heated political strife. If they are forced to vigorous actionit will be exceedingly vigorous, perhaps unpleasantly so. Thosewho cause the trouble will suffer most from it. Bear that in mind,persons colored and white-skinned. We reiterate our advice to thereflective and argumentative Radical leader, to be careful how hegoes, and not stir up the animals too freely; they have teeth andclaws."

Still another said:

"Will our people suffer a covert danger to rankle in their midstuntil it gains strength to burst into an open enemy? Will theytamely submit while Hesden Le Moyne rallies the colored men tohis standard and hands over Horsford to the enemy? Will they standidly and supinely, and witness the consummation of such an infamousconspiracy? No! a thousand times, No! Awake! stir up your clubs;let the shout go up; put on your red shirts and let the ride begin.Let the young men take the van, or we shall be sold into politicalslavery."

Another sounded the key-note of hostility in these words:

"Every white man who dares to avow himself a Radical should bepromptly branded as the bitter and malignant enemy of the South;every man who presumes to aspire to office through Republican votesshould be saturated with stench. As for the negroes, let them amusethemselves, if they will, by voting the Radical ticket. We havethe count. We have a thousand good and true men in Horsford whosebrave ballots will be found equal to those of five thousand vileRadicals."

One of his opponents, in a most virulent speech, called attentionto the example of a celebrated Confederate general. "He, too,"said the impassioned orator, "served the Confederacy as bravely asHesden Le Moyne, and far more ably. But he became impregnated withthe virus of Radicalism; he abandoned and betrayed the cause forwhich he fought; he deserted the Southern people in the hour ofneed and joined their enemies. He was begged and implored not topersevere in his course, but he drifted on and on, and floundereddeeper and deeper into the mire, until he landed fast in the sloughwhere he sticks to-day. And what has he gained? Scorn, ostracism,odiurn, ill-will—worse than all, the contempt of the men who stoodby him in the shower of death and destruction. Let Hesden Le Moynetake warning by his example."

And so it went on, day after day. Personal affront was studiouslyavoided, but in general terms he was held up to the scorn andcontempt of all honest men as a renegade and a traitor. Those whohad seemed his friends fell away from him; the home which had beencrowded with pleasant associates was desolate, or frequented onlyby those who came to remonstrate or to threaten. He saw his mistake,but he knew that anger was worse than useless. He did not seek toenrage, but to convince. Failing in this, he simply performed theduty which he had undertaken, as he said he would do it—fearlessly,openly, and faithfully.

The election came, and the result—was what he should have beenwise enough to foresee. Nevertheless, it was a great and grievousdisappointment to Hesden Le Moyne. Not that he cared about a seatin the Legislature; but it was a demonstration to him that in hisestimate of the people of whom he had been so proud he had erredupon the side of charity. He had believed them better than they hadshown themselves. The fair future which he had hoped was so nearat hand seemed more remote than ever. His hope for his people andhis State was crushed, and apprehension of unspeakable evil in thefuture forced itself upon his heart.

CHAPTER LIX.

THE SHUTTLEco*ck OF FATE.

"Marse Hesden, Marse Hesden!" There was a timorous rap upon thewindow of Hesden Le Moyne's sleeping-room in the middle of the night,and, waking, he heard his name called in a low, cautious voice.

"Who is there?" he asked.

"Sh—sh! Don't talk so loud, Marse Hesden. Please come out h'yera minnit, won't yer?"

The voice was evidently that of a colored man, and Hesden had noapprehension or hesitancy in complying with the request. In fact,his position as a recognized friend of the colored race had madesuch appeals to his kindness and protection by no means unusual.He rose at once, and stepped out upon the porch. He was absent fora little while, and when he returned his voice was full of emotionas he said to his wife,

"Mollie, there is a man here who is hungry and weary. I do not wishthe servants to know of his presence. Can you get him something toeat without making any stir?"

"Why, what—" began Mollie.

"It will be best not to stop for any questions," said Hesdenhurriedly, as he lighted a lamp and, pouring some liquor into aglass, started to return. "Get whatever you can at once, and bringit to the room above. I will go and make up a fire."

Mollie rose, and, throwing on a wrapper, proceeded to comply withher husband's request. But a few moments had elapsed when she wentup the stairs bearing a well-laden tray. Her slippered feet madeno noise, and when she reached the chamber-door she saw her husbandkneeling before the fire, which was just beginning to burn brightly.The light shone also upon a colored man of powerful frame who satupon a chair a little way back, his hat upon the floor beside him,his gray head inclined upon his breast, and his whole attitudeindicating exhaustion.

"Here it is, Hesden," she said quietly, as she stepped into theroom.

The colored man raised his head wearily as she spoke, and turnedtoward her a gaunt face half hidden by a gray, scraggly beard. Nosooner did his eyes rest upon her than they opened wide in amazement.He sprang from his chair, put his hand to his head, as if to assurehimself that he was not dreaming, and said,

"What!—yer ain't—'fore God it must be—Miss Mollie!"

"Oh, Nimbus!" cried Mollie, with a shriek. Her face was pale asashes, and she would have fallen had not Hesden sprang to her sideand supported her with his arm, while he said,

"Hush! hush! You must not speak so loud. I did not expect you sosoon or I would have told you."

The colored man fell upon his knees, and gazed in wonder on thescene.

"Oh, Marse Hesden!" he cried, "is it—can it be our Miss Mollie,or has Nimbus gone clean crazy wid de rest ob his misfortins?"

"No, indeed!" said Hesden. "It is really Miss Mollie, only I havestolen her away from her old friends and made her mine."

"There is no mistake about it, Nimbus," said Mollie, as she extendedher hand, which the colored man clasped in both his own and coveredwith tears and kisses, while he said, between his sobs,

"Tank God! T'ank God! Nimbus don't keer now! He ain't afeared obnuffin' no mo', now he's seen de little angel dat use ter watchober him, an' dat he's been a-dreamin' on all dese yeahs! BressGod, she's alive! Dar ain't no need ter ax fer 'Gena ner de littleones now; I knows dey's all right! Miss Mollie's done tuk keer o'dem, else she wouldn't be h'yer now. Bress de Lord, I sees de deahlittle lamb once mo'."

"There, there!" said Mollie gently. "You must not talk any morenow. I have brought you something to eat. You are tired and hungry.You must eat now. Everything is all right. 'Gena and the childrenare well, and have been looking for you every day since you wentaway."

"Bress God! Bress God! I don't want nuffin' mo' !" said Nimbus. Hewould have gone on, in a wild rhapsody of delight, but both Hesdenand Mollie interposed and compelled him to desist and eat. Ah!it was a royal meal that the poor fugitive had spread before him.Mollie brought some milk. A coffee-pot was placed upon the fire,and while he ate they told him of some of the changes that had takenplace. When at length Hesden took him into the room where Eliabhad remained concealed so long, and closed the door and locked itupon him, they could still hear the low tones of thankful prayercoming from within. Hesden knocked upon the door to enjoin silence,and they returned to their room, wondering at the Providence whichhad justified the faith of the long-widowed colored wife.

The next day Hesden went to the Court House to ascertain whatcharges there were against Nimbus. He found there were none. Theold prosecution for seducing the laborers of Mr. Sykes had long agobeen discontinued. Strangely enough, no others had been institutedagainst him. For some reason the law had not been appealed to toavenge the injuries of the marauders who had devastated Red Wing.On his return, Hesden came by way of Red Wing and brought Eliabhome with him.

The meeting between the two old friends was very affecting. Sincethe disappearance of Nimbus, Eliab had grown more self-reliant. Histwo years and more of attendance at a Northern school had widenedand deepened his manhood as well as increased his knowledge, andthe charge of the school at Red Wing had completed the work therebegun. His self-consciousness had diminished, and it no longerrequired the spur of intense excitement to make him forget hisaffliction. His last injuries had made him even more helpless, whenseparated from his rolling-chair, but his life had been too fullto enable him to dwell upon his weakness so constantly as formerly.

In Nimbus there was a change even more apparent. Gray hairs,a bowed form, a furrowed face, and that sort of furtive wildnesswhich characterizes the man long hunted by his enemies, had takenthe place of his former unfearing, bull-fronted ruggedness. Hisspirit was broken. He no longer looked to the future with aboundinghope, careless of its dangers.

"Yer's growed away from me, Bre'er 'Liab," he said at length, whenthey had held each other's hands and looked into each other's facesfor a long time. "Yer wouldn't know how ter take a holt o' Nimbuster hev him tote yer roun', now. Yer's growed away from him—cleanaway," he added sadly.

"You, too, have changed, Brother Nimbus," said Eliab soothingly.

"Yes, I'se changed, ob co'se; but not as you hez, Bre'er 'Liab. Dish'yer ole shell hez changed. Nimbus couldn't tote yer roun' likehe used. I'se hed a hard time—a hard time, 'Liab, an' I ain'tnuffin' like de man, I used ter be; but I hain't changed insidelike you hez. I'se jes de same ole Nimbus dat I allus wuz—jesde same, only kinder broke down in sperrit, Bre'er 'Liab. I hain'tgrowed ez you hev. I hain't no mo' man dan I was den—not so much,in fac'. I don't keer now no mo' 'bout what's a-gwine ter be. I'sean' ole man, 'Liab—an' ole man, of I is young."

That night he told his story to a breathless auditory.

"Yes, Bre'er 'Liab, dar's a heap o' t'ings happened sence dat armornin' I lef' you h'yer wid Marse Hesden. Yer see, I went backfust whar I'd lef Berry, an' we tuk an' druv de mule an' carry-allinter a big pine thicket, down by de ribber, an' dar we stays allday mighty close; only once, when I went out by de road an' seesMiss Mollie ridin' by. I calls out to her jest ez loudez I daredto; but, la sakes! she didn't h'year me."

"Was that you, Nimbus?" asked Mollie, turning from a bright-eyedsuccessor to little Hildreth, whom she had been proudly caressing."I thought I heard some one call me, but did not think of its beingyou. I am so sorry! I stopped and looked, but could see nothing."

"No, you didn't see me, Miss Mollie, but it done me a power o'good ter see you. I knowed yer was gwine ter Red Wing, an'yer'd take keer on an' advise dem ez wuz left dar. Wal, dat nightwe went back an' got the 'backer out o' de barn. I tuk a lookroun' de house, an' went ter de smoke-house, an' got a ham of meatan' some other t'ings. I 'llowed dat 'Gena'd know I'd been dar,but didn't dare ter say nuffin' ter nobody, fer fear de sheriff'sfolks mout be a watchin' roun'. I 'llowed dey'd hev out a warrantfor me, an' p'raps fer Berry too, on account o' what we'd done denight afo'."

"They never did," said Hesden.

"Yer don't tell me!" exclaimed Nimbus, in surprise.

"No. There has never been any criminal process against you, exceptfor enticing Berry away from old Granville Sykes," said Hesden.

"Wal," responded Nimbus, "t'was all de same. I t'ought dey would.De udder wuz 'nough, dough. Ef dey could once cotch me on dat, Ireckon dey could hev hung me fer nuffin', fer dat matter."

"It was a very wise thing in you to leave the country," said Hesden.
"There is no doubt of that."

"T'ank ye, Marse Hesden, t'ank ye," said Nimbus. "I'se glad terknow I hain't been a fool allus, ef I is now. But now I t'inks on't,Marse Hesden, I'd like ter know what come of dem men dat 'Gena an'me put our marks on dat night."

"One of them died a year or two afterward—was never well afterthat night—and the other is here, alive and well, with a queerseam down the middle of his face," said Hesden.

"Died, yer say?" said Nimbus. "Wal, I'se right sorry, but he liveda heap longer nor Bre'er 'Liab would, ef I hadn't come in jestabout dat time."

"Yes, indeed," said Eliab, as he extended his hand to his oldfriend.

"Wal," continued Nimbus, "we went on ter Wellsboro, an' dar wesold de 'backer. Den we kinder divided up. I tuk most o' de moneyan' went on South, an' Berry tuk de mule an' carry-all an' startedfer his home in Hanson County. I tuk de cars an' went on, a-stoppin'at one place an' anodder, an' a wukkin' a little h'yer an' dar,but jest a-'spectin' ebbery minnit ter be gobbled up by a officeran' brought back h'yer. I'd heard dat Texas wuz a good place ferdem ter go ter dat didn't want nobody ter find 'em; so I sot outter go dar. When I got ez fur ez Fairfax, in Louisiana, I was tukdown wid de fever, an' fer nigh 'bout six month I wa'ant ob no accountwhatebber. An' who yer tink tuk keer ob me den, Marse Hesden?"

"I am sure I don't know," was the reply.

"No, yer wouldn't nebber guess," said Nimbus; "but twa'n't nobodyelse but my old mammy, Lorency."

"You don't say! Well, that was strange," said Hesden.

"It was quare, Marse Hesden. She was gittin' on to be a old womanden. She's dead sence. Yer see, she knowed me by my name, an' shetuk keer on me, else I'd nebber been here ter tell on't. Atter I gotbetter like, she sorter persuaded me ter stay dar. I wuz powerfulhomesick, an' wanted ter h'year from 'Gena an' de chillen, an'ef I'd hed money 'nough left, I'd a come straight back h'yer; butwhat with travellin' an' doctors' bills, an' de like, I hadn't narycent. Den I couldn't leave my ole mammy, nuther. She'd hed a hardtime sence de wah, a-wukkin' fer herself all alone, an' I wuz boun'ter help her all I could. I got a man to write ter Miss Mollie;but de letter come back sayin' she wa'n't h'yer no mo'. Den I gothim to write ter whar she'd been afo' she come South; but that comeback too."

"Why did you not write to me?" said Hesden.

"Wal," said Nimbus, with some confusion, "I wuz afeared ter do it,Marse Hesden. I wuz afeared yer mout hev turned agin me. I dunnowhy 'twuz, but I wuz mighty skeered ob enny white folks, 'ceptin'Miss Mollie h'yer. So I made it up wid mammy, dat we should wukon till we'd got 'nough ter come back; an' den we'd come, an' I'dstop at some place whar I wa'n't knowed, an' let her come h'yeran' see how t'ings wuz.

"I'd jest about got ter dat pint, when I hed anodder pull-back. Yersee, dar wuz two men, both claimed ter be sheriff o' dat parish.Dat was—let me see, dat was jes de tenth yeah atter de S'render,fo' years alter I left h'yer. One on 'em, ez near ez I could makeout, was app'inted by de Guv'ner, an' t'odder by a man dat claimedter be Guv'ner. De fust one called on de cullu'd men ter help himhold de Court House an' keep t'ings a-gwine on right; an' de t'odder,he raised a little army an' come agin' us. I'd been a sojer, yerknow, an' I t'ought I wuz bound ter stan' up fer de guv'ment. SoI went in ter fight wid de rest. We t'rew up some bres'wuks, an'when dey druv us outen dem we fell back inter de Court House. Dendar come a boat load o' white folks down from Sweevepo't, an' wehed a hard time a-fightin' on 'em. Lots ob us got killed, an' someo' dem. We hadn't many guns ner much ammunition. It war powerfulhot, an' water wuz skeerce.

"So, atter a while, we sent a flag o' truce, an' 'greed ter s'renderebberyting, on condition dat dey wouldn't hurt us no mo'. Jest ezquick ez we gib up dey tuk us all pris'ners. Dar was twenty-sebbenin de squad I wuz wid. 'Long a while atter dark, dey tuk us outan' marched us off, wid a guard on each side. We hadn't gone more'ntwo or t'ree hundred yards afo' de guard begun ter shoot at us. Deyhit me in t'ree places, an' I fell down an' rolled inter a ditchby de roadside, kinder under de weeds like. Atter a while I sortercome ter myself an' crawled off fru de weeds ter de bushes. Nex'day I got a chance ter send word ter mammy, an' she come an' nussedme till we managed ter slip away from dar."

"Poor Nimbus!" said Mollie, weeping. "You have had a hard timeindeed!"

"Not so bad as de odders," was the reply. "Dar wuz only two on usdat got away at all. The rest wuz all killed."

"Yes," said Hesden, "I remember that affair. It was a horriblething. When will our Southern people learn wisdom!"

"I dunno dat, Marse Hesden," said Nimbus, "but I do know dat decullu'd folks is larnin' enough ter git outen dat. You jes mark mywords, ef dese t'ings keep a-gwine on, nigg*rs'll be skeerce indis kentry purty soon. We can't be worse off, go whar we will, an'I jes count a cullu'd man a fool dat don't pole out an' git awayjest ez soon ez he finds a road cut out dat he kin trabbel on."

"But that was three years ago, Nimbus," said Hesden. "Where haveyou been since?"

"Wal, yer see, atter dat," said Nimbus, "we wuz afeared ter staydar any mo'. So we went ober inter Miss'ippi, mammy an' me, an'went ter wuk agin. I wasn't berry strong, but we wukked hard an'libbed hard ter git money ter come back wid. Mammy wuz powerfulanxious ter git back h'yer afo' she died. We got along tollable-like,till de cotting wuz about all picked, an' hadn't drawed no wagesat all, to speak on. Den, one day, de boss man on de plantation,he picked a quarrel wid mammy 'bout de wuk, an' presently hit herober her ole gray head wid his cane. I couldn't stan' dat, nohow,so I struck him, an' we hed a fight. I warn't nuffin' ter what Iwar once, but dar war a power o' strength in me yet, ez he foundout.

"Dey tuk me up an' carried me ter jail, an' when de court come on,my ole mammy wuz dead; so I couldn't prove she war my mammy, an'I don't 'llow 'twould hev made enny difference ef I had. The jurysaid I war guilty, an' de judge fined me a hundred dollars an' decosts, an' sed I wuz ter be hired out at auction ter pay de fine,an' costs, an' sech like. So I wuz auctioned off, an' broughttwenty-five cents a day. 'Cordin' ter de law, I hed ter wuk twodays ter make up my keep fer ebbery one I lost. I war sick an'low-sperrited, an' hadn't no heart ter wuk, so I lost a heap o'days. Den I run away once or twice, but dey cotch me, an' broughtme back. So I kep' losin' time, an' didn't git clean away till 'boutfour months ago. Sence den I'se been wukkin' my way back, jes datskeery dat I dassent hardly walk de roads fer fear I'd be tuk upagin. But I felt jes like my ole mammy dat wanted ter come backh'yer ter die."

"But you are not going to die," said Mollie, smiling through hertears. "Your plantation is all right. We will send for 'Gena andthe children, and you and Eliab can live again at Red Wing and behappy."

"I don't want ter lib dar, Miss Mollie," said Nimbus. "I ain'ta-gwine ter die, ez you say; but I don't want ter lib h'yer, nerdon't want my chillen ter. I want 'em ter lib whar dey kin be free,an' hev 'bout half a white man's chance, ennyhow."

"But what about Red Wing?" asked Hesden.

"I'd like ter see it once mo'," said the broken-hearted man, whilethe tears ran down his face. "I 'llowed once that I'd hab a heapo' comfort dar in my ole days. But dat's all passed an' gone,now—passed an' gone! I'll tell yer what, Marse Hesden, I allus'llowed fer Bre'er 'Liab ter hev half o' dat plantation. Now yerjes makes out de papers an' let him hev de whole on't, an' I goester Kansas wid 'Gena."

"No, no, Nimbus," said Eliab; "I could not consent—"

"Yes yer kin, 'Liab," said Nimbus quickly, with some of his old-timearrogance. "Yer kin an' yer will. You kin use dat er trac' o'lan' an' make it wuth sunthin' ter our people, an' I can't. So, yersees, I'll jes be a-doin' my sheer, an' I'll allus t'ink, when Ihears how yer's gittin' along an' a-doin' good, dat I'se a pardnerwid ye in de wuk o' gibbin' light ter our people, so dat dey'llknow how ter be free an' keep free forebber an' ebber. Amen!"

The listeners echoed his "amen," and Eliab, flinging himself intothe arms of Nimbus, by whom he had been sitting, and whose handhe had held during the entire narrative, buried his face upon hisbreast and wept.

CHAPTER LX.

THE EXODIAN.

Hesden and Mollie were on their way homeward from Eupolia, wherethey had inspected their property and had seen Nimbus united withhis family and settled for a new and more hopeful start in life.They had reached that wonderful young city of seventy-seven hillswhich faces toward free Kansas and reluctantly bears the ban whichslavery put upon Missouri. While they waited for their train inthe crowded depot in which the great ever-welcoming far West meetsand first shakes hands with ever-swarming East, they strolled aboutamong the shifting crowd.

Soon they came upon a dusky group whose bags and bundles, variegatedattire, and unmistakable speech showed that they were a party ofthose misguided creatures who were abandoning the delights of theSouth for the untried horrors of a life upon the plains of Kansas.These were of all ages, from the infant in arms to the decrepitpatriarch, and of every shade of color, from Saxon fairness withblue eyes and brown hair to ebon blackness. They were tellingtheir stories to a circle of curious listeners. There was no lackof variety of incident, but a wonderful similarity of motive assignedfor the exodus they had undertaken.

There were ninety-four of them, and they came from five differentStates—Alabama, Georgia, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas. Theyhad started without preconcert, and were unacquainted with eachother until they had collected into one body as the lines of travelconverged on the route to Kansas. A few of the younger ones saidthat they had come because they had heard that Kansas was a countrywhere there was plenty of work and good wages, and where a coloredman could get pay for what he did. Others told strange talesof injustice and privation. Some, in explanation of their evidentpoverty, showed the contracts under which they had labored. Sometold of personal outrage, of rights withheld, and of law curiouslydiverted from the ends of justice to the promotion of wrong. By farthe greater number of them, however, declared their purpose to beto find a place where their children could grow up free, receiveeducation, and have "a white man's chance" in the struggle of life.They did not expect ease or affluence themselves, but for theiroffspring they craved liberty, knowledge, and a fair start.

While Hesden and Mollie stood watching this group, with the interestone always feels in that which reminds him of home, seeing inthese people the forerunners of a movement which promised to assumeastounding proportions in the near future, they were startled byan exclamation from one of the party:

"Wall, I declar'! Ef dar ain't Miss Mollie—an' 'fore God, MarseHesden, too!" Stumbling over the scattered bundles in his way, andpushing aside those who stood around, Berry Lawson scrambled intothe presence of the travelers, bowing and scraping, and chucklingwith delight; a battered wool hat in one hand, a shocking assortmentof dilapidated clothing upon his person, but his face glowing withhonest good-nature, and his tones resonant of fun, as if care andhe had always been strangers.

"How d'ye, Miss Mollie—sah'vent, Marse Hesden. I 'llow I must begittin' putty nigh ter de promised lan' when I sees you once mo'.Yah, yah! Yer hain't done forgot Berry, I s'pose? Kase ef yer hez,I'll jes hev ter whistle a chune ter call myself ter mind. Jes,fer instance now, like dis h'yer."

Then raising his hands and swaying his body in easy accompaniment,he began to imitate the mocking-bird in his mimicry of his featheredcompanions. He was very proud of this accomplishment, and hisperformance soon drew attention from all parts of the crowded depot.Noticing this, Hesden said,

"There, there, Berry; that will do. There is no doubt as to youridentity. We both believe that nobody but Berry Lawson could dothat, and are very glad to see you." Mollie smiled assent.

"T'ank ye, sah. Much obleeged fer de compliment. Hope I see yerwell, an' Miss Mollie de same. Yer do me proud, both on yer," saidBerry, bowing and scraping again, making a ball of his old hat,sidling restlessly back and forth, and displaying all the limpsylitheness of his figure, in his embarrassed attempts to show hisenjoyment. "'Pears like yer's trabblin' in company," he added, witha glance at Mollie's hand resting on Hesden's arm.

"Yes," said Hesden good-naturedly; "Miss Mollie is Mrs. Le Moynenow."

"Yer don't say!" said Berry, in surprise. "Der Lo'd an' der nation,what will happen next? Miss Mollie an' Marse Hesden done marriedan' a-meetin' up wid Berry out h'yer on de berry edge o' de kingdom!Jest ez soon hab expected to a' seen de vanguard o' de resurrection.Yer orter be mighty proud, Marse Hesden. We used ter t'ink, 'boutRed Wing, dat dar wa'n't nary man dat ebber cast a shadder good'nough fer Miss Mollie."

"And so there isn't," said Hesden, laughing, "But we can't standhere and talk all day. Where are you from?"

"Whar's I frum? Ebbery place on de green yairth, Marse Hesden,'ceptin' dis one, whar dey hez ter shoe de goats fer ter help 'emclimb de bluffs; an' please de Lo'd I'll be from h'yer jest es soonez de train come's 'long dat's 'boun' fer de happy land of Canaan.'"

"We shall have to stop over, dear," said Hesden to his wife."There's no doing anything with Berry in the time we have betweenthe trains. Have you any baggage?" he asked of Berry,

"Baggage? Dat I hab—a whole handkercher full o' clean clo'es—jestez soon ez dey's been washed, yer know. Yah, yah!"

"Where are you going?"

"Whar's I gwine? Gwine West, ter grow up wid de kentry, Marse
Hesden." "There, there, take your bundle and come along."

"All right, Marse Hesden. Jest ez soon wuk fer you ez ennybody.Good-by, folkses," said he, waving his hat to his late travelingcompanions. "I'se mighty sorry to leave yer, but biz is biz, yerknow, an' I'se got a job. Wish yer good luck, all on yer. Jes let'em know I'm on der way, will yer?

Ef yo' gits dar afo' I do,
Jes tell 'em I'se a-comin' too,"

he sang, as he followed Hesden and Mollie out of the depot, amidthe laughter of the crowd which had gathered about them. Theirbaggage was soon removed from the platform, and, with Berry on theseat with the driver, they went to the hotel. Then, taking him downthe busy street that winds around between the sharp hills as thoughit had crawled up, inch by inch, from the river-bottom below, Hesdenprocured him some new clothes and a valise, which Berry persistedin calling a "have'em-bag," and took him back to the hotel as hisservant. As Hesden started to his room, the rejuvenated fugitiveinquired,

"Please, Marse Hesden, does yer know ennyt'ing what's a come ob—obmy Sally an' de chillen. It's been a powerful time sence I seed'em, Marse Hesden. I 'llow ter send fer 'em jest ez quick ez Ifind whar dey is, an' gits de money, yer know."

"They are all right, Berry. You may come to my room in half anhour, and we will tell you all about them," answered Hesden.

Hardly had he reached his room when he heard the footsteps of Berrywithout. Going to the door he was met by Berry with the explanation,

"Beg parding, Marse Hesden. I knowed 'twa'n't de time fer me tercome yit, but somehow I'llowed it would git on pearter ef I wuzsomewhar nigh you an' Miss Mollie. I'se half afeared I'se ies beendreamin' ennyhow."

"Well, come in," said Hesden. Berry entered the room, and sat inunwonted silence while Mollie and her husband told him what thereader already knows about his family and friends. The poor fellow'stears flowed freely, but he did not interrupt, save to ask now andthen a question. When they had concluded, he sat a while in silence,and then said,

"Bress de Lo'd! Berry won't nebber hab no mo' doubt 'bout de Lo'dtakin' keer ob ebberybody—speshully nigg*s an' fools. H'yer I'sebeen a-feelin' mighty hard kase de Ole Marster 'llowed Berry terbe boxed roun', h'yer an' dar, fus' dis way an' now dat, an' lethim be run off from his wife an' chillen dat he t'ought der couldn'tnobody take keer on but hissef; an' h'yer all de time de good Lo'dhez been a-lookin' atter 'em an' a-nussin' 'em like little lambs,widout my knowin' ennyt'ing about it, er even axin' fer him ter doit. Berry!" he continued, speaking to himself, "yer's jest a gran'rascal, an' desarve ter be whacked roun' an' go hungry fer—"

"Berry," interrupted Mollie, "have you had your breakfast?"

"Brekfas', Miss Mollie?" said Berry, "what Berry want ob any brekfas'?Ain't what yer's been a-tellin' on him brekfas' an' dinner an'supper ter him? Brekfas' don't matter ter him now. He's jes datfull o' good t'ings dat he won't need no mo' for a week at de berryleast."

"Tell the truth, Berry; when did you eat last?"

"Wal, I 'clar, Miss Mollie, ef Berry don't make no mistake, he beda squar meal night afo' las', afo' we leave Saint Lewy. De yemergranttrain runs mighty slow, an' Berry wa'n't patronizin' none o' demcheap shops 'long de way—not much; yah, yah!"

Hesden soon arranged to relieve his discomfort, and that night hetold them where he had been and what had befallen him in the meantime.

BERRY'S STORY.

"Yer see, atter I lef Bre'er Nimbus, I went back down inter HansonCounty; but I wuz jes dat bad skeered dat I darn't show myse'fin de daytime at all. So I jes' tuk Sally an' de chillen in decarry-all dat Nimbus lent me wid de mule, an' started on furder downeast. 'Clar, I jes hev ter pay Nimbus fer dat mule an' carry-all,de berry fus' money I gits out h'yer in Kansas. It certain war agret help ter Berry. Jest as long ez I hed dat tertrabbel wid, Iknowed I war safe; kase nobody wouldn't nebber'spect I was runnin'away in dat sort ob style. Wal, I went way down east, an' denex'spring went ter crappin' on sheers on a cotting plantation. Sally'n' me we jes made up ourminds dat we wouldn't draw no rationsfrom de boss man. ner ax him fer ary cent ob money de whole yeah,an' den, yer know, dar wouldn't be nary 'count agin us when de yearwuz ober. So Sally, she 'llowed dat she'd wuk fer de bread an' meatan' take keer ob de chillen, wid de few days' help I might spar'outen de crap. De boss man, he war boun' by de writin's ter feedde mule. Dat's de way we sot in.

"We got 'long mighty peart like till some time atter de crap wuzlaid by, 'long bout roastin'-ear-time. Den Sally tuk sick, an' defus' dat I knowed we wuz out o' meat. Sally wuz powerful sot aginmy goih' ter de boss man fer enny orders on destore, kase we knowedhow dat wukked afo'. Den I sez, 'See h'yer, Sally, I'se done gotit. Dar's dat piece ob corn dar, below de house, is jest a-gittin'good fer roastin-yeahs, Now, we'll jes pick offen de outside rows,an' I'll be dod-dinged ef we can't git 'long wid dat till de crapcomes off; an' I'll jes tell Maise Hooper—dat wuz de name o' de manwhat owned de plantation—dat I'll take dem rows inter my sheer.'So it went on fer a week er two, an' I t'ought I wuz jes gittin' onlike a quarter hoss. Sally wuz nigh 'bout well, an' 'llowed she'dbe ready ter go ter wuk de nex' week; when one mo'nin' I tuk thebasket an' went down ter pick some corn. Jest ez I'd got de basketnigh 'bout full, who should start up dar, outen de bushes, on'yjes Marse Hooper; an' he sez, mighty brisk-like, 'So? I 'llowedI'd cotch yer 'fore I got fru! Stealin' corn, is yer?'

"Den I jes larfed right out, an' sez I, 'Dat's de fus' time I ebberheerd ob ennybody a-stealin' corn out ob his own field! Yah! yah!'Jes so-like. 'Ain't dis yer my crap, Marse Hooper? Didn't I makeit, jest a-payin' ter you one third on't for de rent?' T'ought Ihed him, yer know. But, law sakes, he didn't hev no sech notion,not much. So he sez, sez he:

"'No yer don't! Dat mout a' done once, when de Radikils wuz inpower, but de legislatur las' winter dey made a diff'rent sort oba law, slightually. Dey sed dat ef a renter tuk away enny o' decrap afo' it wuz all harvested an' diwided, widout de leave o' deowner, got afo' hand, he was guilty o' stealin' '—larsininy, hecalled it, but its all de same. An' he sed, sez he, 'Dar ain't nouse now, Berry Lawson. Yer's jes got yer choice. Yer kin jes gitup an' git, er else I hez yer 'dicted an' sent ter State prisonfer not less ner one year nor more'n twenty—dat's 'cordin' ter delaw.' "Den I begun ter be skeered-like, an' I sez, sez I, 'Arn'tyer gwine ter let me stay an' gether my crap?'

"'Damn de crap,' sez he (axin' yer parding, Miss Mollie, fer usin'cuss-words), 'I'll take keer o' de crap; don't yer be afeared o'dat. Yer t'ought yer was damn smart, didn't yer, not takin' ennystore orders, an' a-tryin' to fo'ce me ter pay yer cash in de lump?But now I'se got yer. Dis Lan'lo'd an' Tenant Act war made fer jessech cussed smart nigg*rs ez you is.'

"'Marse Hooper,' sez I, 'is dat de law?'

"'Sartin,' sez he, 'jes you come long wid me ober ter Squar Tice's,an' ef he don't say so I'll quit—dat's all.'

"So we went ober ter Squar Tice's, an' he sed Marse Hooper warright—dat it war stealin' all de same, even ef it war my own crap.Den I seed dat Marse Hooper hed me close, an' I begun ter beg off,kase I knowed it war a heap easier ter feed him soft corn dan terfight him in de law, when I wuz boun' ter git whipped. De Squar wara good sort ob man, an' he kinder 'suaded Marse Hooper ter 'comp'de matter wid me; an' dat's what we did finally. He gin me twentydollahs an' I signed away all my right ter de crap. Den he turnedin an' wanted ter hire me fer de nex yeah; but de Squar, he tukme out an' sed I'd better git away from dar, kase ennybody couldbring de matter up agin me an' git me put in de penitentiary ferit, atter all dat hed been sed an' done. So we geared up, an' movedon. Sally felt mighty bad, an' it did seem hard; but I tried terchirk her up, yer know, an' tole her dat, rough ez it war, it warbetter nor we'd ebber done afo', kase we hed twenty dollahs an'didn't owe nuffin'.

"I 'llowed we'd git clean away dat time, an' we didn't stop tillwe'd got inter anodder State."

"Wal, dar I sot in ter wuk a cotting crap agin. Dis time I 'llowedI'd jes take de odder way; an' so I tuk up all de orders on desto' dat de boss man would let me hev, kase I 'llowed ter git whatI could ez I went 'long, yer know. So, atter de cotting wuz allpicked, an' de 'counts all settled up, dar warn't only jest onelittle bag ob lint a comin' ter Berry. I tuk dat inter de town oneSaturday in de ebenin', an' went roun' h'yer an' dar, a-tryin' tergit de biggest price 'mong de buyers dat I could.

"It happened dat I done forgot al 'bout it's comin' on late, an'jest a little atter sun-down, I struck on a man dat offered me'bout a cent a poun' more'n ennybody else hed done, an' I tradedwid him. Den I druv de mule roun', an' hed jes got de cotting outob de carry-all an' inter de sto', when, fust I knowed, 'long comea p'liceman an' tuk me up for selling cotting atter sun-down. Itole him dat it was my own cotting, what I'd done raised myself,but he sed ez how it didn't make no sort of diff'rence at all. He'clared dat de law sed ez how ennybody ez sold er offered fer saleany cotting atter sundown an' afore sun-up, should be sent ter jailjes de same ez ef he'd done stole it. Den I axed de man dat boughtde cotting ter gib it back ter me, but he wouldn't do dat, nohow,nor de money for it nuther. So dey jes' toted me off ter jail.

"I knowed der warn't no use in savin' nuffin' den. So when Sallycome in I tole her ter jes take dat ar mule an' carry-all an' sell'em off jest ez quick ez she could, so dat nobody wouldn't git holdob dem. But when she tried ter do it, de boss man stopped her fromit, kase he hed a mortgage on 'em fer de contract; an' he sed ezhow I hedn't kep' my bargain kase I'd gone an' got put in jail afo'de yeah was out. So she couldn't git no money ter pay a lawyer,an' I don't s'pose 'twould hev done enny good ef she hed. I toleher not ter mind no mo' 'bout me, but jes ter come back ter RedWing an' see ef Miss Mollie couldn't help her out enny, Yer see Iwas jes shore dey'd put me in de chain-gang, an' I didn't want herner de chillen ter be whar dey'd see me a totin' 'roun' a ball an'chain.

"Shore 'nough, when de court come on, dey tried me an' fotch me inguilty o' sellin' cotting alter sundown. De jedge, he lectured mepowerful fer a while, an' den he ax me what I'd got ter say 'boutit. Dat's de way I understood him ter say, ennyhow. So, ez he wuzdat kind ez ter ax me ter speak in meetin', I 'llowed twa'n't nomo' dan polite fer me ter say a few words, yer know. I told himsquar out dat I t'ought 'twas a mighty quare law an' a mighty meanone, too, dat put a man in de chain-gang jes kase he sold his owncotting atter sundown, when dey let ennybody buy it an' not payfer it at all. I tole him dat dey let 'em sell whisky an' terbackeran' calico and sto' clo'es an' ebbery t'ing dat a nigg*r hed ter buy,jest all times o' day an' night; an' I jest bleeved dat de wholet'ing war jest a white man's trick ter git nigg*s in de chain-gang.Den de jedge he tried ter set down on me an' tole me ter stop, butI wuz dat mad dat when I got a-gwine dar warn't no stoppin' me tillde sheriff he jes grabbed me by de scruff o' de neck, an' sot medown jest ennyway—all in a heap, yer know. Den de jedge passedsentence, yer know, an' he sed dat he gib me one year fer de stealin'an' one year fer sassin' de Court.

"So dey tuk me back ter jail, but, Lor' bress ye, dey didn't gitme inter de chain-gang, nohow. 'Fore de mo'nin' come I'd jes bidgood-by ter dat jail an' was a pintin' outen dat kentry, in myweak way, ez de ministers say, jest ez fast ez I could git ober degroun'.

"Den I jes clean gib up. I couldn't take my back trac nowhar, ferfear I'd be tuk up. I t'ought it all ober while I wuz a trabblin''long; an' I swar ter God, Marse Hesden, I jes did peg out ob allhope. I couldn't go back ter Sallie an' de chillen, ner couldn'tdo 'em enny good ef I did; ner I couldn't send fer dem ter cometer me, kase I hedn't nuffin' ter fotch 'em wid. So I jes kindergin out, an' went a-sloshin' roun', not a-keerin' what I done er whatwas ter come on me. I kep' a'sendin' letters ter Sally h'yer an'dar, but, bress yer soul, I nebber heard nuffin' on 'em atterwards.Den I t'ought I'd try an' git money ter go an' hunt 'em up, but itwas jes' ez it was afo'. I dunno how, but de harder I wuk de porerI got, till finally I jes started off afoot an' alone ter go terKansas; an' h'yer I is, ready ter grow up wid de kentry, MarseHesden, jest ez soon ez I gits ter Sally an' de chillen."

"I'm glad you have not had any political trouble," said Hesden.

"P'litical trouble?" said Berry. "Wal, Marse Hesden, yer knows datBerry is jes too good-natered ter do ennyt'ing but wuk an' larf,an' do a little whistlin' an banjo-pickin' by way ob a change; butI be dinged ef it don't 'pear ter me dat it's all p'litical trouble.Who's Berry ebber hurt? What's he ebber done, I'd like ter know,ter be debbled roun' dis yer way? I use ter vote, ob co'se. T'oughtI hed a right ter, an' dat it war my duty ter de kentry dat hedgib me so much. But I don't do dat no mo'. Two year ago I quit datsort o' foolishness. What's de use? I see'd 'em count de votes,Marse Hesden, an' den I knowed dar warn't no mo' use ob votin' gindat. Yer know, dey 'pints all de jedges ob de 'lection derselves,an' so count de votes jest ez dey wants 'em. Dar in our precinctwar two right good white men, but dey 'pinted nary one o' demter count de votes. Oh no, not ter speak on! Dey puts on de Boarda good-'nough old cullu'd man dat didn't know 'B' from a bull'sfoot. Wal, our white men 'ranges de t'ing so dat dey counts our menez dey goes up ter de box an' dey gibs out de tickets dereselves.Now, dar wuz six hundred an' odd ob our tickets went inter dat box.Dat's shore. But dar wa'n't t'ree hundred come out. I pertendedter be drunk, an' laid down by de chimbly whar dar was a peep-holeinter dat room, an' seed dat countin' done. When dey fust openedde box one on 'em sez, sez he,

"'Lord God! what a lot o' votes!' Den dey all look an' 'llowed darwar a heap mo' votes than dey'd got names. So they all turned inter count de votes. Dar wuz two kinds on 'em. One wuz little bitsob slick, shiny fellers, and de odders jes common big ones. Whendey'd got 'em all counted they done some figurin,' an' sed dey'dhev ter draw out 'bout t'ree hundred an' fifty votes. So dey put'em all back in de box, all folded up jest ez dey wuz at de start,an' den dey shuck it an' shuck it an' shuck it, till it seemed terme 'em little fellers wuz boun' ter slip fru de bottom. Den oneon 'em wuz blindfolded, an' he drew outen de box till he got outde right number—mostly all on 'em de big tickets, mind ye, kasedey wuz on top, yer know. Den dey count de rest an' make up depapers, an' burns all de tickets.

"Now what's de use o' votin' agin dat? I can't see what fer deyput de tickets in de box at all. 'Tain't half ez fa'r ez a lotteryI seed one time in Melton; kase dar dey kep turnin' ober de wheel,an' all de tickets hed a fa'r show. No, Marse Hesden, I nebberdoes no mo' votin' till I t'inks dar's a leetle chance o' habbin'my vote counted jest ez I drops it inter de box, 'long wid de rest.I don't see no use in it."

"You are quite right, Berry," said Hesden; "but what do yousay is the reason you have come away from the South?"

"Jest kase a poor man dat hain't got no larnin' is wuss off dardan a cat in hell widout claws; he can't fight ner he can't climb.I'se wukked hard an' been honest ebber sence de S'render an' I hedter walk an' beg my rations ter git h'yer. [Footnote: The actualwords used by a colored man well-known to the writer in giving hisreason for joining the "exodus," in a conversation in the depotat Kansas City, in February last.] Dat's de reason!" said Berry,springing to his feet and speaking excitedly.

"Yes, Berry, you have been unfortunate, but I know all are not sobadly off."

"T'ank God fer dat!" said Berry. "Yer see I'd a' got' long well'nough ef I'd hed a fa'r shake an' hed knowd' all 'bout de law,er ef de law hadn't been made ter cotch jes sech ez me. I didn'tebber 'spect nuffin' but jest a tollable libbin', only a bit oblarnin, fer my chillen. I tried mighty hard, an' dis is jes what'scome on't. I don't pertend ter say what's de matter, but sunthin'is wrong, or else sunthin' hez been wrong, an' dis that we heznow is jest de fruits on't—I dunno which. I can't understand it,nohow. I don't hate nobody, an' I don't know ez dar's enny wayout, but only jes ter wait an' wait ez we did in slave times ferde good time ter come. I wuz jes dat tuckered out a-tryin,' dat It'ought I'd come out h'yer an' wait an' see ef I couldn't grow upwid de kentry, yer know. Yah, yah!"

The next morning the light-hearted exodian departed, with a ticketfor Eupolia and a note to his white fellow-fugitive from the evilswhich a dark past has bequeathed to the South—Jordan Jackson, nowthe agent of Hesden and Mollie in the management of their interestsat that place. Hesden and Mollie continued their homeward journey,stopping for a few days in Washington on their way.

CHAPTER LXI.

WHAT SHALL THE END BE?

Two men sat upon one of the benches in the shade of a spreading elmin the shadow of the National Capitol, as the sun declined towardhis setting. They had been walking and talking as only earnest,thoughtful men are wont to talk. They had forgotten each other andthemselves in the endeavor to forecast the future of the countryafter a consideration of its past.

One was tall, broad, and of full habit, with a clear blue eye,high, noble forehead, and brown beard and hair just beginningto be flecked with gray, and of a light complexion inclining tofloridness. He was a magnificent type of the Northern man. He hadbeen the shaper of his own destiny, and had risen to high position,with the aid only of that self-reliant manhood which constitutesthe life and glory of the great free North. He was the child ofthe North-west, but his ancestral roots struck deep into the ruggedhills of New England. The West had made him broader and fuller andfreer than the stock from which he sprang, without impairing hisearnestness of purpose or intensity of conviction.

The other, more slender, dark, with something of sallowness in hissedate features, with hair and beard of dark brown clinging closeto the finely-chiseled head and face, with an empty sleeve pinnedacross his breast, showed more of litheness and subtlety, andscarcely less of strength, than the one on whom he gazed, and wasan equally perfect type of the Southern-born American. The one wasthe Honorable Washington Goodspeed, M.C., and the other was HesdenLe Moyne.

"Well, Mr. Le Moyne," said the former, after a long and thoughtfulpause, "is there any remedy for these things? Can the South and theNorth ever be made one people in thought, spirit, and purpose? Itis evident that they have not been in the past; can they becomeso in the future? Wisdom and patriotism have thus far developed nocure for this evil; they seem, indeed, to have proved inadequateto the elucidation of the problem. Have you any solution to offer?"

"I think," replied Le Moyne, speaking slowly and thoughtfully, "thatthere is a solution lying just at our hand, the very simplicity ofwhich, perhaps, has hitherto prevented us from fully appreciatingits effectiveness."

"Ah!" said Goodspeed, with some eagerness, "and what may that be?"

"Education!" was the reply.

"Oh, yes," said the other, with a smile. "You have adopted, then,the Fourth of July remedy for all national ills?"

"If you mean by 'Fourth of July remedy,'" replied Hesdeu with sometartness, "that it is an idea born of patriotic feeling alone, Ican most sincerely answer, Yes. You will please to recollect thatevery bias of my mind and life has been toward the Southern viewof all things. I doubt if any man of the North can appreciate thefull force and effect of that bias upon the minds and hearts ofthose exposed to its operation. When the war ended I had no reasonor motive for considering the question of rebuilding the nationalprosperity and power upon a firmer and broader basis than before.That was left entirely to you gentlemen of the North. It was notuntil you, the representatives of the national power, had acted—ay,it was not until your action had resulted in apparent failure—thatI began to consider this question at all. I did so without anyselfish bias or hope, beyond that which every man ought to have inbehalf of the Nation which he is a part, and in which he expectshis children to remain. So that I think I may safely say that myidea of the remedy does spring from a patriotism as deep and earnestas ever finds expression upon the national holiday."

"Oh, I did not mean that," was the half-apologetic rejoinder; "Idid not mean to question your sincerity at all; but the truth is,there has been so much impracticable theorizing upon this subjectthat one who looks for results can scarcely restrain an expressionof impatience when that answer is dogmatically given to such aninquiry."

"Without entirely indorsing your view as to the impracticalityof what has been said and written upon this subject," answered LeMoyne, "I must confess that I have never yet seen it formulatedin a manner entirely satisfactory to myself. For my part, I amthoroughly satisfied that it is not only practicable, but is alsothe sole practicable method of curing the ills of which we havebeen speaking. It seems to me also perfectly apparent why the remedyhas not previously been applied—why the patriotism and wisdom ofthe past has failed to hit upon this simple remedy."

"Well, why was it?"

"The difference between the North and the South before the war,"said Le Moyne, "was twofold; both the political and the socialorganizations of the South were utterly different from those of theNorth, and could not be harmonized with them. The characteristicsof the social organization you, in common with the intelligentmasses of the North, no doubt comprehend as fully and clearly as ispossible for one who has not personally investigated its phenomena.Your Northern social system was builded upon the idea of inherentequality—that is, of equality and opportunity; so that the onlyinequality which could exist was that which resulted from theaccident of wealth or difference of capacity in the individual.

"The social system of the South was opposed to this in its veryelements. At the very outset it was based upon a wide distinction,never overlooked or forgotten for a single moment. Under nocirc*mstances could a colored man, of whatever rank or grade ofintellectual power, in any respect, for a single instant overstepthe gulf which separated him from the Caucasian, however humble,impoverished, or degraded the latter might be. This rendered easyand natural the establishment of other social grades and ideas,which tended to separate still farther the Northern from the Southernsocial system. The very fact of the African being thus degradedled, by natural association, to the degradation of those forms oflabor most frequently delegated to the slave. By this means freelabor became gradually to be considered more and more disreputable,and self-support to be considered less and less honorable. Thenecessities of slavery, as well as the constantly growing pride ofclass, tended very rapidly toward the subversion of free thoughtand free speech; so that, even with the white man of any and everyclass, the right to hold and express opinions different from thoseentertained by the bulk of the master-class with reference to allthose subjects related to the social system of the South soon cameto be questioned, and eventually utterly denied. All these facts theNorth—that is, the Northern people, Northern statesmen, Northernthinkers—have comprehended as facts. Their influence andbearings, I may be allowed to say, they have little understood,because they have not sufficiently realized their influence uponthe minds of those subjected, generation after generation, to theirsway.

"On the other hand, the wide difference between the politicalsystems of the North and the South seems never to have affected theNorthern mind at all. The Northern statesmen and political writersseem always to have proceeded upon the assumption that the removalof slavery, the changing of the legal status of the African,resulting in the withdrawal of one of the props which supportedthe social system of the South, would of itself overthrownot only that system, but the political system which had grown upalong with it, and which was skillfully designed for its maintenanceand support. Of the absolute difference between the politicalsystems of the South and the North, and of the fact that the socialand political systems stood to each other in the mutual relationof cause and effect, the North seems ever to have been profoundlyignorant."

"Well," said Mr. Goodspeed, "I must confess that I cannot understandwhat difference there is, except what arose out of slavery."

"The questien is not," said Le Moyne, "whether it aroseout of slavery, but whether it would of necessity fall with theextinction of slavery as a legal status. It is, perhaps,impossible for any one to say exactly how much of the politicalsystem of the South grew out of slavery, and how much of slaveryand its consequences were due to the Southern political system."

"I do not catch your meaning," said Goodspeed. "Except for thesystem of slavery and the exclusion of the blacks from the exerciseand enjoyment of poitical rights and privileges, I cannot see thatthe political system of the South differed materially from that ofthe North."

"Precisely so," said Le Moyne. "Your inability to perceive my meaningvery clearly illustrates to my mind the fact which I am endeavoringto impress upon you. If you will consider for a moment the historyof the country, you will observe that a system prevailed in thenou-slaveholding States which was unknown, either in name or essentialattributes, throughout the slaveholding part of the country."

"Yes?" said the other inquiringly. "What may that have been?"

"In one word," said Le Moyne—"the 'township' system."

"Oh, yes," laughed the Congressman lightly; "the Yankee town-meeting."

"Exactly," responded Le Moyne; "yet I venture to say that thepresence and absence of the town-meeting—the township system or itsequivalent—in the North and in the South, constituted a differencenot less vital and important than that of slavery itself. In fact,sir, I sincerely believe that it is to the township system that theNorth owes the fact that it is not to-day as much slave territoryas the South was before the war."

"What!" said the Northerner, with surprise, "you do not meanto say that the North owes its freedom, its prosperity, and itsintelligence—the three things in which it differs from the Southmost materially—entirely to the Yankee town-meeting?"

"Perhaps not entirely," said Le Moyne; "but in the main I thinkit does. And there are certain facts connected with our historywhich I think, when you consider them carefully, will incline youto the same belief."

"Indeed; I should be glad to know them."

"The first of these," continued Le Moyne, "is the fact that inevery state in which the township system really prevailed, slaverywas abolished without recourse to arms, without civil discord orperceptible evil results. The next is that in the states in whichthe township system did not prevail in fact as well as name, thepublic school system did not exist, or had only a nominal existence;and the proportion of illiteracy in those states as a consequencewas, among the whites alone, something like four times asgreat as in those states in which the township system flourished.And this, too, notwithstanding almost the entire bulk of the ignorantimmigration from the old world entered into the composition ofthe Northern populations. And, thirdly, there resulted a differencewhich I admit to be composite in its causes—that is, the differencein average wealth. Leaving out of consideration the capital investedin slaves, the per capita valuation of the states having thetownship system was something more than three times the average inthose where it was unknown."

"But what reason can you give for this belief?" said Goodspeed."How do you connect with the consequences, which cannot be doubted,the cause you assign? The differences between the South and theNorth have hitherto been attributed entirely to slavery; why doyou say that they are in so great a measure due to differences ofpolitical organization?"

"I can very well see," was the reply, "that one reared as you wereshould fail to understand at once the potency of the system whichhas always been to you as much a matter of course as the atmosphereby which you are surrounded. It was not until Harvey's time—indeed,it was not until a much later period—that we knew in what way andmanner animal life was maintained by the inhalation of atmosphericair. The fact of its necessity was apparent to every child, but howit operated was unknown. I do not now profess to be able to giveall of those particulars which have made the township system, orits equivalent, an essential concomitant of political equality,and, as I think, the vital element of American liberty. But I canillustrate it so that you will get the drift of my thought."

"I should be glad if you would," said Goodspeed.

"The township system," continued Le Moyne, "may, for the presentpurpose, be denned to be the division of the entire territory ofthe state into small municipalises, the inhabitants of which controland manage for themselves, directly and immediately, their ownlocal affairs. Each township is in itself a miniature republic,every citizen of which exercises in its affairs equal power withevery other citizen. Each of these miniature republics becomes aconstituent element of the higher representative republic—namely,a county, which is itself a component of the still larger representativerepublic, the State. It is patterned upon and no doubt grew out ofthe less perfect borough systems of Europe, and those inchoate communesof our Saxon forefathers which were denominated 'Hundreds.'It is the slow growth of centuries of political experience; theripe fruit of ages of liberty-seeking thought.

"The township is the shield and nursery of individual freedom ofthought and action. The young citizen who has never dreamed of apolitical career becomes interested in some local question affectinghis individual interests. A bridge is out of repair; a roadmasterhas failed to perform his duty; a constable has been remiss in hisoffice; a justice of the peace has failed to hold the scales witheven balance between rich and poor; a school has not been properlycared for; the funds of the township have been squandered; or theassumption of a liability is proposed by the township trustees, thepolicy of which he doubts. He has the remedy in his own hands. Hegoes to the township meeting, or he appears at the town-house uponelection day, and appeals to his own neighbors—those having likeinterests with himself. He engages in the struggle, hand to handand foot to foot with his equals; he learns confidence in himself;he begins to measure his own power, and fits himself for the higherduties and responsibilities of statesmanship."

"Well, well," laughed Goodspeed, "there is something in that. Iremember that iny first political experience was in trying to defeata supervisor who did not properly work the roads of his district;but I had never thought that in so doing I was illustrating sucha doctrine as you have put forth."

"No; the doctrine is not mine," said Le Moyne. "Others, andespecially that noted French political philosopher who so calmlyand faithfully investigated our political system—the author of'Democracy in America'—clearly pointed out, many years ago, theexceptional value of this institution, and attributed to it thesuperior intelligence and prosperity of the North."

"Then," was the good-natured reply, "your prescription for thepolitical regeneration of the South is the same as that which weall laughed at as coming from Horace Greeley immediately upon thedownfall of the Confederacy—that the Government should send anarmy of surveyors to the South to lay off the land in sections andquarter-sections, establish parallel roads, and enforce topographicuniformity upon the nation?

"Not at all," said Le Moyne. "I think that the use of theterm 'township' in a double sense has misled our politicalthinkers in estimating its value. It is by no means necessary thatthe township of the United States survey should be arbitrarilyestablished in every state. In fact, the township system reallyfinds its fullest development where such a land division does notprevail, as in New England, Pennsylvania, and other states. It isthe people that require to be laid off in townships, notthe land. Arkansas, Missouri, Alabama, all have their lands laidoff in the parallelograms prescribed by the laws regulating UnitedStates surveys; but their people are not organized intoself-governing communes."

"But was there no equivalent system of local self-government inthose states?"

"No; and there is not to-day. In some cases there are lameapproaches to it; but in none of the former slave States were thecounties made up of self-governing subdivisions. The South is to-dayand always has been a stranger to local self-government. In many ofthose states every justice of the peace, every school committeeman,every inspector of elections is appointed by some central power inthe county, which is in turn itself appointed either by the ChiefExecutive of the State or by the dominant party in the Legislature.There may be the form of townships, but the differential characteristicis lacking—the self-governing element of the township."

"I don't know that I fully comprehend you," said Goodspeed. "Pleaseillustrate."

"Well, take one state for an example, where the constitutionadopted during the reconstruction period introduced the townshipsystem, and authorized the electors of each township to choosetheir justices of the peace, constables, school-cominitteemen, andother local officials. It permitted the people of the county tochoose a board of commissioners, who should administer the financialmatters of the county, and, in some instances, exeicise a limitedjudicial authority. But now they have, in effect, returned to theold system. The dominant party in the Legislature appoints everyjustice of the peace in the state. The justices of the peace ofeach county elect from their number the county commissioners; thecounty commissioners appoint the school-committeemen, the roadmasters,the registrars of election and the judges of election; so thatevery local interest throughout the entire state is placed underthe immediate power and control of the dominant party, althoughnot a tenth part of the voters of any particular township or countymay belong to that party. In another state all this power, and evenmore, is exercised by the Chief Executive; and in all of them youwill find that the county—or its equivalent, the parish—is thesmallest political unit having a municipal character."

CHAPTER LXII.

HOW?

There was a moment of silence, after which the Northern man saidthoughtfully.

"I think I understand your views, Mr. Le Moyne, and must admit thatboth the facts and the deductions which you make from them are veryinteresting, full of food for earnest reflection, and, for aught Iknow, may fully bear out your view of their effects. Still, I cannotsee that your remedy for this state of affairs differs materiallyin its practicability from that of the departed philosopherof Chappaqua. He prescribed a division of the lands, while, if Iunderstand you, you would have the Government in some way prescribeand control the municipal organisations of the people of thevarious states. I cannot see what power the National Governmenthas, or any branch of it, which could effectuate that result."

"It can only be done as it was done at the North," said Le Moynequietly.

"Well, I declare!" said Goodspeed, with an outburst of laughter,"your riddle grows worse and worse—more and more insoluble tomy mind. How, pray, was it done at the North? I always thought wegot it from colonial times. I am sure the New England town-meetingcame over in the Mayflower."

"So it did!" responded Hesden, springing to his feet; "so it did;it came over in the hearts of men who demanded, and were willing togive up everything else to secure the right of local self-government.The little colony upon the Mayflower was a township, and every manof its passengers carried the seed of the ideal township systemin his heart."

"Admitted, admitted, Mr. Le Moyne," said the other, smiling at hisearnestness. "But how shall we repeat the experiment? Would youimport men into every township of the South, in order that theymight carry the seeds of civil liberty with them, and build up thetownship system there?"

"By no means. I would make the men on the spot. I would so moldthe minds of every class of the Southern people that all should beindoctrinated with the spirit of local self-government."

"But how would you do it?"

"With spelling-books!" answered Hesden sententiously.

"There we are," laughed the other, "at the very point we startedfrom. Like the poet of the Western bar-room, you may well say, myfriend, 'And so I end as I did begin.'"

"Yes," said Le Moyne, "we have considered the desirabilityof education, and you have continually cried, with good-naturedincredulity, 'How shall it be done?' Are you not making that inquirytoo soon?"

"Not at all," said the Congressman earnestly; "I see how desirableis the result, and I am willing to do anything in my power toattain it, if there is any means by which it can be accomplished."

"That is it," said Le Moyne; "you are willing; you recognizethat it would be a good thing; you wish it might be done; you haveno desire to stand in the way of its accomplishment. That is notthe spirit which achieves results. Nothing is accomplished by mereassent. The American people must first be thoroughly satisfiedthat it is a necessity. The French may shout over a red cap, andoverturn existing systems for a vague idea; but American conservatismconsists in doing nothing until it is absolutely necessary. Wenever move until the fifty-ninth minute of the eleventh hour.

"Only think of it! You fought a rebellion, based professedly uponslavery as a corner-stone, for almost two years before you couldbring yourselves to disturb that corner-stone. You knew the structurewould fall if that were done; but the American people waited andwaited until every man was fully satisfied that there was no otherpossible road to success. It is just so in this matter. I feel itsnecessity. You do not.'

"There I think you do me injustice," said Goodspeed, "I feel thenecessity of educating every citizen of the Republic, as well asyou."

"No doubt, in a certain vague way," was the reply; "but you do notfeel it as the only safety to the Republic to-day; and I do."

"I confess I do not see, as you seem to, the immediate advantage,or the immediate danger, more than that which has always threatenedus," answered the Congressman.

"This, after all, is the real danger, I think," said Le Moyne."The states containing only one third of the population of thisUnion contain also more than two thirds of its entire illiteracy.Twenty-five out of every hundred—one out of every four—of thewhite voters of the former slave states cannot read theballots which they cast; forty-five per cent of the entire votingstrength of those sixteen states are unable to read or write."

"Well?" said the other calmly, seeing Le Moyne look at him as thoughexpecting him to show surprise.

"Well!" said Le Moyne. "I declare your Northern phlegm ispast my comprehension.—'Well,' indeed! it seems to me as bad asbad can be. Only think of it—only six per cent of intelligenceunited with this illiterate vote makes a majority!"

"Well?" was the response again, still inquiringly.

"And that majority," continued Le Moyne, "would choose seventy-twoper cent of the electoral votes necessary to name a President ofthe United States!"

"Well," said the other, with grim humor, "they are not very likelyto do it at present, anyhow."

"That is true," replied Le Moyne. "But there is still the otherdanger, and the greater evil. That same forty-five per cent are ofcourse easily made the subjects of fraud or violence, and we facethis dilemma: they may either use their power wrongfully, or bewrongfully deprived of the exercise of their ballotorial rights.Either alternative is alike dangerous. If we suppose the illiteratevoter to be either misled or intimidated, or prevented from exercisinghis judgment and his equality of right with others in the controlof our government, then we have the voice of this forty-five percent silenced—whether by intimidation or by fraud matters not.Then a majority of the remaining fifty-four per cent, or, say,twenty-eight per cent of one third of the population of the Nationin a little more than one third of the States, might exerciseseventy-two per cent of the electoral power necessary to choose aPresident, and a like proportion of the legislative power necessaryto enact laws. Will the time ever come, my friend, when it willbe safe to put in the way of any party such a temptation as ispresented by this opportunity to acquire power?"

"No, no, no," said the Northern man, with impatience. "But whatcan you do? Education will not make men honest, or patriotic, ormoral."

"True enough," was the reply. "Nor will the knowledge of toxicologyprevent the physician from being a poisoner, or skill in handwritingkeep a man from becoming a forger. But the study of toxicology willenable the physician to save life, and the study of handwriting isa valuable means of preventing the results of wrongful acts. So,while education does not make the voter honest, it enables him toprotect himself against the frauds of others, and not only increaseshis power but inspires him to resist violence. So that, in theaggregate, you Northerners are right in the boast which you makethat intelligence makes a people stronger and braver and freer."

"So your remedy is—" began the other.

"Not my remedy, but the only remedy, is to educatethe people until they shall be wise enough to know what they oughtto do, and brave enough and strong enough to do it."

"Oh, that is all well enough, if it could be done," said Goodspeed.

"Therefore it is," returned Hesden, "that it must be done."

"But how?" said the other querulously. "You know that the
Constitution gives the control of such matters entirely to the
States. The Nation cannot interfere with it. It is the duty of the
States to educate their citizens—a clear and imperative duty;
but if they will not do it the Nation cannot compel them."

"Yes," said Hesden, "I know. For almost a century you said thatabout slavery; and you have been trying to hunt a way of escapefrom your enforced denial of it ever since. But as a matter offact, when you came to the last ditch and found no bridge across,you simply made one. When it became an unavoidable question whetherthe Union or slavery should live, you chose the Union. The choicemay come between the Union and ignorance; and if it does, I haveno fear as to which the people will choose. The doctrine of StateRights is a beautiful thing to expatiate upon, but it has been theroot of nearly all the evil the country has suffered. However,I believe that this remedy can at once be applied without seriousinconvenience from that source."

"How?" asked the other; "that is what I want to know."

"Understand me," said Le Moyne; "I do not consider the meansso important as the end. When the necessity is fully realized themeans will be discovered; but I believe that we hold the clue evennow in our hands."

"Well, what is it?" was the impatient inquiry.

"A fund of about a million dollars," said Le Moyne, "has alreadybeen distributed to free public schools in the South, upon a systemwhich does not seriously interfere with the jealously-guardedrights of those states."

"You mean the Peabody Fund?"

"Yes; I do refer to that act of unparalleled beneficence andwisdom."

"But that was not the act of the Nation."

"Very true; but why should not the Nation distribute a like bountyupon the same system? It is admitted, beyond serious controversy,that the Nation may raise and appropriate funds for such purposesamong the different states, provided it be not for the exclusivebenefit of any in particular. It is perhaps past controversy thatthe Government might distribute a fund to the different statesin the proportion of illiteracy. This, it is true, wouldgive greater amounts to certain states than to others, but onlygreater in proportion to the evil to be remedied."

"Yes," said the other; "but the experience of the Nation indistributing lands and funds for educational purposes has not beenencouraging. The results have hardly been commensurate with theinvestment."

"That is true," said Hesden, "and this is why I instance thePeabody Fund. That is not given into the hands of the officers ofthe various states, but when a school is organized and fulfillsthe requirements laid down for the distribution of that fund, inregard to numbers and average attendance—in other words, is shownto be an efficient institution of learning—then the managers ofthe fund give to it a sum sufficient to defray a certain proportionof its expenses."

"And you think such a system might be applied to a Governmentappropriation?"

"Certainly. The amount to which the county, township, or schooldistrict would be entitled might be easily ascertained, andupon the organization and maintenance of a school complying withthe reasonable requirements of a well-drawn statute in regard toattendance and instruction, such amount might be paid over."

"Yes," was the reply, after a thoughtful pause; "but would not thatnecessitate a National supervision of State schools?"

"To a certain extent, yes. Yet there would be nothing compulsoryabout it. It would only be such inspection as would be necessaryto determine whether the applicant had entitled himself to sharethe Nation's bounty. Surely the Nation may condition its ownbounty."

"But suppose these states should refuse to submit to such inspection,or accept such appropriation?"

"That is the point, exactly, to which I desire to bring yourattention," said Le Moyne. "Ignorance, unless biased by religiousbigotry, always clamors for knowledge. You could well count uponthe forty-five per cent of ignorant voters insisting upon thereception of that bounty. The number of those that recognize thenecessity of instructing the ignorant voter, even in those states,is hourly increasing, and but a brief time would elapse untilno party would dare to risk opposition to such a course. I doubtwhether any party would venture upon it, even now."

"But are not its results too remote, Mr. Le Moyne, to make such ameasure of present interest in the cure of present evils?"

"Not at all," answered Hesden. "By such a measure you bring thepurest men of the South into close and intimate relations withthe Government. You cut off the sap which nourishes the yet livingroot of the State Rights dogma. You bring every man to feel as youfeel, that there is something greater and grander than his Stateand section. Besides that, you draw the poison from the sting whichrankles deeper than you think. The Southern white man feels, andjustly feels, that the burden of educating the colored man oughtnot to be laid upon the South alone. He says truly, 'The Nationfostered and encouraged slavery; it gave it greater protection andthrew greater safeguards around it than any other kind of property;it encouraged my ancestors and myself to invest the proceeds ofgenerations of care and skill and growth in slaves. When the warended it not only at one stroke dissipated all these accumulations,but it also gave to these men the ballot, and would now drive me,for my own protection, to provide for their education. This isunjust and oppressive. I will not do it, nor consent that it shallbe done by my people or by our section alone.' To such a man—andthere are many thousands of them—such a measure would come as anact of justice. It would be a grateful balm to his outraged feelings,and would incline him to forget, much more readily than he otherwisewould, what he regards to be the injustice of emancipation. It willlead him to consider whether he has not been wrong in supposingthat the emancipation and enfranchisem*nt of the blacks proceededfrom a feeling of resentment, and was intended as a punishmentmerely. It will incline him to consider whether the people of theNorth, the controlling power of the Government at that time, didnot act from a better motive than he has given them credit for.But even if this plan should meet with disapproval, instead ofapproval, from the white voters of the South, it would still bethe true and wise policy for the Nation to pursue."

"So you really think," said the Northerner dubiously, "that sucha measure would produce good results even in the present generation?"

"Unquestionably," was the reply. "Perhaps the chief incentive tothe acts which have disgraced our civilization—which have madethe white people of the South almost a unit in opposing by everymeans, lawful and unlawful, the course of the Government inreconstruction, has been a deep and bitter conviction that hatred,envy, and resentment against them on the part of the North, werethe motives which prompted those acts. Such a measure, planned upona liberal scale, would be a vindication of the manhood of the North;an assertion of its sense of right as well as its determination todevelop at the South the same intelligence, the same freedom ofthought and action, the same equality of individual right, thathave made the North prosperous and free and strong, while the lackof them has made the South poor and ignorant and weak."

"Well, well," said the Congressman seriously, "you may be right.I had never thought of it quite in that light before. It isworth thinking about, my friend; it is worth thinking about."

"That it is!" said Le Moyne, joyfully extending his hand. "Think!If you will only think—if the free people of the North willonly think of this matter, I have no fears but a solution will befound. Mine may not be the right one. That is no matter. As I said,the question of method is entirely subordinate to the result. Butlet the people think, and they will think rightly. Don't think ofit as a politician in the little sense of that word, but in the greatone. Don't try to compel the Nation to accept your view or mine;but spur the national thought by every possible means to considerthe evil, to demand its cure, and to devise a remedy."

So, day by day, the "irrepressible conflict" is renewed. The Pastbequeaths to the Present its wondrous legacy of good and ill. Namesare changed, but truths remain. The soil which slavery claimed,baptized with blood becomes the Promised Land of the freedman andpoor white. The late master wonders at the mockery of Fate. Ignorancemarvels at the power of Knowledge. Love overleaps the barriers ofprejudice, and Faith laughs at the Impossible.

"The world goes up and the world goes down,
The sunshine follows the rain;
And yesterday's sneer and yesterday's frown
Can never come over again."

On the trestle-board of the Present, Liberty forever sets before
the Future some new query. The Wise-man sweats drops of blood.
The Greatheart abides in his strength. The King makes commandment.
The Fool laughs.