MRS. GASTON’S recovery from the brain fever which followed her prostration was slow and painful. For days she would be quite herself as she would sit up in bed and smile at the wistful face of the boy who sat tenderly gazing into her eyes, or with swift feet was running to do her slightest wish.
Then days of relapse would follow when the child’s heart would ache and ache with a dumb sense of despair as he listened to her incoherent talk, and heard her meaningless laughter. When at length he could endure it no longer, he would call Aunt Eve, run from the house, as fast as his little legs could carry him, and in the woods lie down in the shadows and cry for hours.
“I wonder if God is dead?” he said one day as he lay and gazed at the clouds sweeping past the openings in the green foliage above.
“I pray every day and every night, but she don’t get well. Why does He leave her like that, when she’s so good!” and then his voice choked into sobs, and he buried his face in the leaves.
He was suddenly roused by the voice of Nelse who stood looking down on his forlorn figure with tenderness.
“What you doin’ out in dese woods, honey, by yo’ se’f?”
“Nothin’, Nelse.”
“I knows. You’se er crying ’bout yo Ma.”
The boy nodded without looking up.
“Doan do dat way, honey. You’se too little ter cry lak dat. Yer Ma’s gittin’ better ev’ry day, de doctor done tole me so.”
“Do you think so, Nelse?” There was an eagerness and yearning in the child’s voice, that would have moved the heart of a stone.
“Cose I does. She be strong en well in little while when cole wedder comes. Fros ’ll soon be here. I see whar er ole rabbit been er eatin’ on my turnip tops. Dat’s er sho sign. I gwine make you er rabbit box ter-morrer ter ketch dat rabbit.”
“Will you, Nelse?”
“Sho’s you bawn. Now des lemme pick you er chune on dis banjer ’fo I goes ter my wuk.”
Of all the music he had ever heard, the boy thought Nelse’s banjo was the sweetest. He accompanied the music in a deep bass voice which he kept soft and soothing. The boy sat entranced. With wide open eyes and half parted lips he dreamed his mother was well, and then that he had grown to be a man, a great man, rich and powerful. Now he was the Governor of the state, living in the Governor’s palace, and his mother was presiding at a banquet in his honour. He was bending proudly over her and whispering to her that she was the most beautiful mother in the world. And he could hear her say with a smile, “You dear boy!”
Suddenly the banjo stopped, and Nelse railed with mock severity, “Now look at ’im er cryin’ ergin, en me er pickin’ de eens er my fingers off fur ’im!”
“No, I aint cryin’. I am just listenin’ to the music. Nelse, you’re the greatest banjo player in the world!”
“Na, honey, hits de banjer. Dats de Jo-bloin’est banjer! En des ter t’ink—er Yankee gin’er to me in de wah! Dat wuz the fus’ Yankee I ebber seed hab sense enuf ter own er banjer. I kinder hate ter fight dem Yankees atter dat.”
“But Nelse, if you were fighting with our men how did you get close to any Yankees?”
“Lawd child, we’s allers slippin’ out twixt de lines atter night er carryin’ on wid dem Yankees. We trade ’em terbaccer fur coffee en sugar, en play cyards, en talk twell mos’ day sometime. I slip out fust in er patch er woods twix’ de lines, en make my banjer talk. En den yere dey come! De Yankees fum one way en our boys de yudder. I make out lak I doan see ’em tall, des playin’ ter myself. Den I make dat banjer moan en cry en talk about de folks way down in Dixie. De boys creep up closer en closer twell dey right at my elbow en I see ’em cryin’, some un ’em—den I gin’er a juk! en way she go pluckety plunck! en dey gin ter dance and laugh! Sometime dey cuss me lak dey mad en lam me on de back. When dey hit me hard den I know dey ready ter gimme all dey got.”
“But how did you get this banjo, Nelse?”
“Yankee gin’er ter me one night ter try’er, en when he hear me des fairly pull de insides outen ’er, he ’low dat hit ’ed be er sin ter ebber sep’rate us. Say he nebber know what ’uz in er banjer.”
Nelse rose to go.
“Now, honey, doan you cry no mo, en I make you dat rabbit box sho, en erlong ’bout Chris’mas I gwine larn you how ter shoot.”
“Will you let me hold the gun?” the boy eagerly asked.
“I des sho you how ter poke yo gun in de crack er de fence en whisper ter de trigger. Den look out birds en rabbits!”
The boy’s face was one great smile.
It was late in September before his mother was strong enough to venture out of the house—six terrible months from the day she was stricken. What an age it seemed to a sensitive boy’s soul. To him the days were weeks, the weeks months, the months, long weary years. It seemed to him he had lived a life-time, died, and was born again the day he saw her first walking on the soft grass that grew under the big trees at the back of the house. He was gently holding her by the hand.
“Now, Mama dear, sit here on this seat—you mustn’t get in the sun.”
“But, Charlie, I want to see the flowers on the front lawn.”
“No, no, Mama, the sun is shinin’ awful on that side of the house!”
A great fear caught the boy’s heart. The lawn had grown up a mass of weeds and grass during the long hot summer and he was afraid his mother would cry when she saw the ruin of those flowers she loved so well.
How impossible for his child’s mind to foresee the gathering black hurricane of tragedy and ruin soon to burst over that lawn!
Skillfully and firmly he kept her on the seat in the rear where she could not see the lawn. He said everything he could think of to please her. She would smile and kiss him in her old sweet way until his heart was full to bursting.
“Do you remember, Mama, how many times when you were so sick I used to slip up close and kiss your mouth and eyes?”
“I often dreamed you were kissing me.”
“I thought you would know. I’ll soon be a man. I’m going to be rich, and build a great house and you are going to live in it with me, and I am to take care of you as long as you live.”
“I expect you will marry some pretty girl, and almost forget your old Mama who will be getting grey.”
“But I’ll never love anybody like I love you, Mama dear!”
His little arms slipped around her neck, held her close for a moment, and then he tenderly kissed her.
After supper he sought Nelse.
“Nelse, we must work out the flowers in the lawn. Mama wants to see them. It was all I could do to keep her from going out there to-day.”
“Lawd chile, hit’ll take two niggers er week ter clean out dat lawn. Hits gone fur dis year. Yer Ma’ll know dat, honey.”
The next morning after breakfast the boy found a hoe, and in the piercing sun began manfully to work at those flowers. He had worked perhaps, a half hour. His face was red with heat and wet with sweat. He was tired already and seemed to make no impression on the wilderness of weeds and grass.
Suddenly he looked up and saw his mother smiling at him.
“Come here, Charlie!” she called.
He dropped his hoe and hurried to her side. She caught him in her arms and kissed the sweat drops from his eyes and mouth.
“You are the sweetest boy in the world!”
What music to his soul these words to the last day of his life!
“I was afraid when you saw all these weeds you would cry about your flowers, Mama.”
“It does hurt me, dear, to see them, but it’s worth all their loss to see you out there in the broiling sun working so hard to please me. I’ve seen the most beautiful flower this morning that ever blossomed on my lawn!—and its perfume will make sweet my whole life. I am going to be brave and live for you now.”
And she kissed him fondly again.
NELSE was informed by the Agent of the Freedman’s Bureau when summoned before that tribunal that he must pay a fee of one dollar for a marriage license and be married over again.
“What’s dat? Dis yer war bust up me en Eve’s marryin’?”
“Yes,” said the Agent. “You must be legally married.”
Nelse chucked on a brilliant scheme that flashed through his mind.
“Den I see you ergin ’bout dat,” he said as he hastily took his leave.
He made his way homeward revolving his brilliant scheme. “But won’t I fetch dat nigger Eve down er peg er two! I gwine ter make her t’ink I won’ marry her nohow. I make’er ax my pardon fur all dem little disergreements. She got ter talk mighty putty now sho nuf!” And he smiled over his coming triumph.
It was four o’clock in the afternoon when he reached his cabin door on the lot back of Mrs. Gaston’s home. Eve was busy mending some clothes for their little boy now nearly five years old.
“Good evenin’, Miss Eve!”
Eve looked up at him with a sudden flash of her eye. “What de matter wid you nigger?”
“Nuttin’ tall. Des drapped in lak ter pass de time er day, en ax how’s you en yer son stallin’ dis hot wedder!” Nelse bowed and smiled.
“What ail you, you big black baboon?”
“Nuttin’ tall M’am, des callin’ roun’ ter see my frien’s.” Still smiling Nelse walked in and sat down.
Eve put down her sewing, stood up before him, her arms akimbo, and gazed at him steadily till the whites of her eyes began to shine like two moons.
“You wants me ter whale you ober de head wid dat poker?”
“Not dis evenin’, M’am.”
“Den what ail you?”
“De Buro des inform me, dat es I’se er young han’some man en you’se er gittin’ kinder ole en fat, dat we aint married nohow. En dey gimme er paper fur er dollar dat allow me ter marry de young lady er my choice. Dat sho is er great Buro!”
“We aint married?”
“Nob-um.”
“Atter we stan’ up dar befo’ Marse John Durham en say des what all dem white folks say?”
“Nob-um.”
Eve slowly took her seat and gazed down the road thoughtfully.
“I t’ink I drap eroun’ ter see you en gin you er chance wid de odder gals fo’ I steps off,” explained Nelse with a grin.
No answer.
“You ’member dat night I say sumfin’ ’bout er gal I know once, en you riz en grab er poun’ er wool outen my head fo’ I kin move?”
No answer yet.
“Min’ dat time, you bust de biscuit bode ober my head, en lam me wid de fire-shovel, en hit me in de burr er de year wid er flatiron es I wuz makin’ fur de do’?”
“Yas, I min’s dat sho!” said Eve with evident satisfaction.
“Doan you wish you nebber done dat?”
“You black debbil!”
“Dat’s hit! I’se er bad nigger, M’am,—bad nigger fo’ de war. En I’se gittin’ wuss en wuss,” Nelse chuckled.
She looked at him with gathering rage and contempt.
“En den fudder mo, M’am, I doan lak de way you talk ter me sometimes. Yo voice des kinder takes de skin off same’s er file. I laks ter hear er ’oman’s voice lak my Missy’s, des es sof’ es wool. Sometime one word from her keep me warm all winter. De way you talk sometime make me cole in de summer time.”
Nelse rose while Eve sat motionless.
“I des call, M’am, ter drap er little intent inter dem years er yourn, dat’ll percerlate froo you min’, en when I calls ergin I hopes ter be welcome wid smiles.”
Nelse bowed himself out the door in grandiloquent style.
All the afternoon he was laughing to himself over his triumph, and imagining the welcome when he returned that evening with his marriage license and the officer to perform the ceremony. At supper in the kitchen he was polite and formal in his manners to Eve. She eyed him in a contemptuous sort of way and never spoke unless it was absolutely necessary.
It was about half past eight when Nelse arrived at home with the license duly issued and the officer of the Bureau ready to perform the ceremony.
“Des wait er minute here at de corner, sah, twell I kinder breaks de news to ’em,” said Nelse to the officer. He approached the cabin door and knocked.
It was shut and fastened. He got no response.
He knocked loudly again.
Eve thrust her head out the window.
“Who’s dat?”
“Hits me, M’am, Mister Nelson Gaston, I’se call ter see you.”
“Den you hump yo’se’f en git away from dat do, you rascal.”
“De Lawd, honey, I’se des been er foolin’ you ter day. I’se got dem licenses en de Buro man right out dar now ready ter marry us. You know yo ole man nebber gwine back on you—I des been er foolin’.”
“Den you been er foolin’ wid de wrong nigger!”
“Lawd, honey, doan keep de bridegroom er waitin’.”
“Git er way from dat do!”
“G’long chile, en quit yer projeckin’.” Nelse was using his softest and most persuasive tones now.
“G’way from dat do!”
“Come on, Eve, de man waitin’ out dar fur us!”
“Git away I tells you er I scald you wid er kittle er hot water!”
Nelse drew back slightly from the door.
“But, honey, whar yo ole man gwine ter sleep?”
“Dey’s straw in de barn, en pine shatters in de dog house!” she shouted slamming the window.
“Eve, honey!”—
“Doan you come honeyin’ me, I’se er spec’able ’oman I is. Ef you wants ter marry me you got ter come cotin’ me in de day time fust, en bring me candy, en ribbins en flowers and sich, en you got ter talk purtier’n you ebber talk in all yo born days. Lots er likely lookin’ niggers come settin up ter me while you gone in dat wah, en I keep studin’ ’bout you, you big black rascal. Now you got ter hump yo’se’f ef you eber see de inside er dis cabin ergin.”
Crestfallen Nelse returned to the officer.
“Wall sah, deys er kinder hitch in de perceedins.”
“What’s the matter?”
“She ’low I got ter come cotin’ her fust. En I spec I is.”
The officer laughed and returned to his home. She made Nelse sleep in the barn for three weeks, court her an hour every day, and bring her five cents worth of red stick candy and a bouquet of flowers as a peace offering at every visit. Finally she made him write her a note and ask her to take a ride with him. Nelse got Charlie to write it for him, and made his own boy carry it to his mother. After three weeks of humility and attention to her wishes, she gave her consent, and they were duly married again.
THE first Monday in October was court day at Hambright, and from every nook and corner of Campbell county, the people flocked to town.
The court house had not yet been transformed into the farce-tragedy hall where jail birds and drunken loafers were soon to sit on judge’s bench and in attorney’s chair instead of standing in the prisoner’s dock. The merciful stay laws enacted by the Legislature had silenced the cry of the auctioneer until the people might have a moment to gird themselves for a new life struggle.
But the black cloud was already seen on the horizon. The people were restless and discouraged by the wild rumours set afloat by the Freedman’s Bureau, of coming confiscation, revolution and revenge. A greater crowd than usual had come to town on the first day. The streets were black with negroes.
A shout was heard from the crowd in the square, as the stalwart figure of General Daniel Worth, the brigade commander of Colonel Gaston’s regiment was seen shaking hands with the men of his old army.
The General was a man to command instant attention in any crowd. An expert in anthropology would have selected his face from among a thousand as the typical man of the Caucasian race. He was above the average height, a strong muscular and well-rounded body, crowned by a heavy shock of what had once been raven black hair, now iron grey. His face was ruddy with the glow of perfect health and his full round lips and the twinkle of his eye showed him to be a lover of the good things of life. He wore a heavy moustache which seemed a fitting ballast for the lower part of his face against the heavy projecting straight eyebrows and bushy hair.
As he shook hands with his old soldiers his face was wreathed in smiles, his eyes flashed with something like tears and he had a pleasant word for all.
Tom Camp was one of the first to spy the General and hobble to him as fast as his peg-leg would carry him.
“Howdy, General, howdy do! Lordy it’s good for sore eyes ter see ye!” Tom held fast to his hand and turning to the crowd said, “Boys, here’s the best General that ever led a brigade, and there wasn’t a man in it that wouldn’t a died for him. Now three times three cheers!” And they gave it with a will.
“Ah! Tom you’re still at your old tricks,” said the General. “What are you after now?”
“A speech General!”—“A speech! A speech!” the crowd echoed.
The General slapped Tom on the back and said, “What sort of a job is this you’re putting up on me—I’m no orator! But I’ll just say to you, boys, that this old peg-leg here was the finest soldier that I ever saw carry a musket and the men who stood beside him were the most patient, the most obedient, the bravest men that ever charged a foe and crowned their General with glory while he safely stood in the rear.”
Again a cheer broke forth. The General was hurrying toward the court house, when he was suddenly surrounded by a crowd of negroes. In the front ranks were a hundred of his old slaves who had worked on his Campbell county plantation. They seized his hands and laughed and cried and pleaded for recognition like a crowd of children. Most of them he knew. Some of their faces he had forgotten.
“Hi dar, Marse Dan’l, you knows me! Lordy, I’se your boy Joe dat used ter ketch yo hoss down at the plantation!”
“Of course, Joe! Of course.”
“I know Marse Dan’l aint forget old Uncle Rube,” said an aged negro pushing his way to the front.
“That I haven’t Reuben! and how’s Aunt Julie Ann?
“She des tollable, Marse Dan’l. We’se bof un us had de plumbago. How is you all sence de wah?”
“Oh! first rate, Reuben. We manage somehow to get enough to eat and if we do that nowadays we can’t complain.”
“Dats de God’s truf, Marster sho! En now Marse Dan’l, we all wants you ter make us er speech en ’splain erbout dis freedom ter us. Dey’s so many dese yere Buroers en Leaguers round here tellin’ us niggers what’s er coming’, twell we des doan know nuttin’ fur sho.”
“Yassir dat’s hit! You tell us er speech Marse Dan’l!”
The white men crowded up nearer and joined in the cry. There was no escape. In a few moments the court house was filled with a crowd.
When he arose a cheer shook the building, and strange as it may seem to-day, it came with almost equal enthusiasm from white and black.
“I thank you, my friends,” said the General, “for this evidence of your confidence. I was a Whig in politics. I reckon I hated a Democrat as God hates sin. I was a Union man and fought Secession. My opponents won. My state asked me to defend her soil. As an obedient son I gave my life in loyal service.
“I need not tell you as a Union man that I am glad this war is over. I have always felt as a business man, a cotton manufacturer as well as farmer, in touch with the free labour of the North as well as the slave labour of the South, that free labour was the most economical and efficient. I believe that terrible as the loss of four billions of dollars in slaves will be to the South, if the South is only let alone by the politicians and allowed to develop her resources, she will become what God meant her to be, the garden of the world. I say it calmly and deliberately, I thank God that slavery is a thing of the past.”
A whirlwind of applause arose from the negroes. Uncle Reuben’s voice could be heard above the din.
“Hear dat! You niggers! Dat’s my ole Marster talkin’ now!”
“Let me say to the negroes here to-day, this war was not fought for your freedom by the North, and yet in its terrific struggle, God saw fit to give you freedom. Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness are now yours and the birthright of your children.
“We need your labour. Be honest, humble, patient, industrious and every white man in the South will be your friend. What you need now is to go to work with all your might, build a roof over your head, get a few acres of land under your feet that is your own, put decent clothes on your back, and some money in the bank, and you will become indispensable to the people of the South. They will be your best friends and give you every right and privilege you are prepared to receive.
“The man who tells you that your old Master’s land will be divided among you, is a criminal, or a fool, or both. If you ever own land, you will earn it in the sweat of your brow like I got mine.”
“Hear dat now, niggers!” cried old Reuben.
“The man who tells you that you are going to be given the ballot indiscriminately with which you can rule your old masters is a criminal or a fool, or both. It is insanity to talk about the enfranchisement of a million slaves who can not read their ballots. Mr. Lincoln who set you free was opposed to any such measure.
“Let me read an extract from a letter Mr. Lincoln wrote me just before the war.”
The General drew from his pocket a letter in the handwriting of the President and read:—
“My Dear Worth:—You must hold the Union men of the South together at all hazards. The one passion of my soul is to save the Union. In answer to the question you ask me about the equality of the races I enclose you a newspaper clipping reporting my reply to Judge Douglas at Charleston, Sept. 18, 1858. I could not express myself more plainly. Have this extract published in every paper in the South you can get to print it.”
The General paused and turning toward the negroes said, “Now listen carefully to every word. Says Mr. Lincoln, I am not, nor ever have been in favour of bringing about in any way the social and political equality of the white and black races! (here is marked applause from a Northern audience.) I am not, nor ever have been in favour of making voters or jurors of negroes, nor of qualifying them to hold office, nor to intermarry with white people. I will say in addition to this that there is a physical difference between the white and black races which I believe will forever forbid the two races living together on terms of social and political equality: and inasmuch as they can not so live, while they do remain together, there must be the position of the inferior and superior, and I am, as much as any other man, in favour of having the superior position assigned to the white race.
“This was Lincoln’s position and is the position of nine-tenths of the voters of his party. It is insanity to believe that the Anglo-Saxon race at the North can ever be so blinded by passion that they can assume any other position.
“Slavery is dead for all time. It would have been destroyed whatever the end of the war. I know some of the secrets of the diplomatic history of the Confederacy. General Lee asked the government at Richmond to enlist 200,000 negroes to defend the South, which he declared was their country as well as ours, and grant them freedom on enlistment. General Lee’s request was ultimately accepted as the policy of the Confederacy though too late to save its waning fortunes. Not only this, but the Confederate government sent a special ambassador to England and France and offered them the pledge of the South to emancipate every slave in return for the recognition of the independence of the Confederacy. But when the ambassador arrived in Europe, the lines of our army had been so broken, the governments were afraid to interfere.
“The man who tells you that your old masters are your enemies and may try to reinslave you is a wilful and malicious liar.”
“Hear dat, folks!” yelled old Reuben as he waved his arm grandly toward the crowd.
“To the white people here to-day, I say be of good cheer. Let politics alone for awhile and build up your ruined homes. You have boundless wealth in your soil. God will not forget to send the rain and the dew and the sun. You showed yourselves on a hundred fields ready to die for your country. Now I ask you to do something braver and harder. Live for her when it is hard to live. Let cowards run, but let the brave stand shoulder to shoulder and build up the waste places till our country is once more clothed in wealth and beauty.”
The General bowed in closing to a round of applause. His soldiers were delighted with his speech and his old slaves revelled In it with personal pride. But the rank and file of the negroes were puzzled. He did not preach the kind of doctrine they wished to hear. They had hoped freedom meant eternal rest, not work. They had dreamed of a life of ease with government rations three times a day, and old army clothes to last till they put on the white robes above and struck their golden harps in paradise. This message the General brought was painful to their newly awakened imaginations.
As the General passed through the crowd he met the Ex-Provisional Governor, Amos Hogg, busy with the organising work of his Leagues.
“Glad to see you General,” said Hogg extending his hand with a smile on his leathery face.
“Well, how are you, Amos, since Macon pulled your wool?”
“Never felt better in my life, General. I want a few minutes’ talk with you.”
“All right, what is it?”
“General, you’re a progressive man. Come, you’re flirting with the enemy. The truly loyal men must get together to rescue the state from the rebels who have it again under their heel.”
“So Macon’s a rebel because he licked you?”
“You know the rebel crowd are running this state,” said Hogg.
“Why, Hogg you were the biggest fool Secessionist I ever saw, and Macon and I were staunch Union men. We had to fight you tooth and nail. You talk about the truly loyal!”
“Yes but, General, I’ve repented. I’ve got my face turned toward the light.”
“Yes, I see,—the light that shines in the Governor’s Mansion.”
“I don’t deny it. ‘Great men choose greater sins, ambition’s mine.’ Come into this Union movement with me, Worth, and I’ll make you the next Governor.”
“I’ll see you in hell first. No, Amos, we don’t belong to the same breed. You were a Secessionist as long as it paid. When the people you had misled were being overwhelmed with ruin, and it no longer paid, you deserted and became ‘loyal’ to get an office. Now you’re organising the negroes, deserters, and criminals into your secret oath-bound societies. Union men when the war came fought on one side or the other, because a Union man was a man, not a coward. If he felt his state claimed his first love, he fought for his native soil. The gang of plugs you are getting together now as ‘truly loyal’ are simply cowards, deserters, and common criminals who claim they were persecuted as Union men. It’s a weak lie.”
“We’ll win,” urged Hogg.
“Never!” the General snorted, and angrily turned on his heel. Before leaving he wheeled suddenly, faced Hogg and said, “Go on with your fool societies. You are sowing the wind. There’ll be a lively harvest. I am organising too. I’m organising a cotton mill, rebuilding our burned factory, borrowing money from the Yankees who licked us to buy machinery and give employment to thousands of our poor people. That’s the way to save the state. We’ve got water power enough to turn the wheels of the world.”
“You’ll need our protection in the fight that’s coming,” replied Hogg, with a straight look that meant much.
The General was silent a moment. Then he shook his fist in Hogg’s face and slowly said, “Let me tell you something. When I need protection I’ll go to headquarters. I’ve got Yankee money in my mills and I can get more if I need it. You lay your dirty claws on them and I’ll break your neck.”
TWO months later General Worth, while busy rebuilding his mills at Independence, had served on him a summons to appear before the Agent of the Freedman’s Bureau at Hambright and answer the charge of using “abusive language” to a freedman.
The particular freedman who desired to have his feelings soothed by law was a lazy young negro about sixteen years old whom the General had ordered whipped and sent from the stables into the fields on one occasion during the war while on a visit to his farm. Evidently the boy had a long memory.
“Now don’t that beat the devil!” exclaimed the General.
“What is it?” asked his foreman.
“I’ve got to leave my work, ride on an old freight train thirty miles, pull through twenty more miles of red mud in a buggy to get to Hambright, and lose four days, to answer such a charge as that before some little wizeneyed skunk of a Bureau Agent. My God, it’s enough to make a Union man remember Secession with regrets!”
“My stars, General, we can’t get along without you now when we are getting this machinery in place. Send a lawyer,” growled the foreman.
“Can’t do it, John—I’m charged with a crime.”
“Well, I’ll swear!”
“Do the best you can, I’ll be back in four days, if I don’t kill a nigger!” said the General with a smile. “I’ve got a settlement to make with the farm hands anyhow.”
There was no help for it. When the court convened, and the young negro saw the face of his old master red with wrath, his heart failed him. He fled the town and there was no accusing witness.
The General gazed at the Agent with cold contempt and never opened his mouth in answer to expressions of regret at the fiasco.
A few moments later he rode up to the gate of his farm house on the river hills about a mile out of town. A strapping young fellow of fifteen hastened to open the gate.
“Well, Allan, my boy, how are you?”
“First rate, General. We’re glad to see you! but we didn’t make a half crop, sir, the niggers were always in town loafing around that Freedman’s Bureau, holding meetings all night and going to sleep in the fields.”
“Well, show me the books,” said the General as they entered the house.
The General examined the accounts with care and then looked at young Allan McLeod for a moment as though he had made a discovery.
“Young man, you’ve done this work well.”
“I tried to, sir. If the niggers dispute anything, I fixed that by making the store-keepers charge each item in two books, one on your account, and one on an account kept separate for every nigger.”
“Good enough. They’ll get up early to get ahead of you.”
“I’m afraid they are going to make trouble at the Bureau, sir. That Agent’s been here holding Union League meetings two or three nights every week, and he’s got every nigger under his thumb.”
“The dirty whelp!” growled the General.
“If you can see me out of the trouble, General, I’d like to jump on him and beat the life out of him next time he comes out here!”
The General frowned.
“Don’t you touch him,—any more than you would a pole cat. I’ve trouble enough just now.”
“I could knock the mud out of him in two minutes, if you say the word,” said Allan eagerly.
“Yes, I’ve no doubt of it.” The General looked at him thoughtfully.
He was a well knit powerful youth just turned his fifteenth birthday. He had red hair, a freckled face, and florid complexion. His features were regular and pleasing, and his stalwart muscular figure gave him a handsome look that impressed one with indomitable physical energy. His lips were full and sensuous, his eyebrows straight, and his high forehead spoke of brain power as well as horse power.
He had a habit of licking his lips and running his tongue around inside of his cheeks when he saw anything or heard anything that pleased him that was far from intellectual in its suggestiveness. When he did this one could not help feeling that he was looking at a young well fed tiger. There was no doubt about his being alive and that he enjoyed it. His boisterous voice and ready laughter emphasised this impression.
“Allan, my boy,” said the General when he had examined his accounts, “if you do everything in life as well as you did these books, you’ll make a success.”
“I’m going to do my best to succeed, General. I’ll not be a poor white man. I’ll promise you that.”
“Do you go to church anywhere?”
“No sir, Maw’s not a member of any church, and it’s so far to town I don’t go.”
“Well, you must go. You must go to the Sunday School too, and get acquainted with all the young folks. I’ll speak to Mrs. Durham and get her to look after you.”
“All right, sir, I’ll start next Sunday.” Allan was feeling just then in a good humour with himself and all the world. The compliment of his employer had so elated him, he felt fully prepared to enter the ministry if the General had only suggested it.
The following day was appointed for a settlement of the annual contract with the negroes. The Agent of the Freedman’s Bureau was the judge before whom the General, his overseer, and clerk of account, and all the negroes assembled.
If the devil himself had devised an instrument for creating race antagonism and strife he could not have improved on this Bureau in its actual workings. Had clean handed, competent agents been possible it might have accomplished good. These agents were as a rule the riff-raff and trash of the North. It was the supreme opportunity of army cooks, teamsters, fakirs, and broken down preachers who had turned insurance agents. They were lifted from penury to affluence and power. The possibility of corruption and downright theft were practically limitless.
The Agent at Hambright had been a preacher in Michigan who lost his church because of unsavory rumours about his character. He had eked out a living as a book agent, and then insurance agent. He was a man of some education and had a glib tongue which the negroes readily mistook for inspired eloquence. He assumed great dignity and an extraordinary judicial tone of voice when adjusting accounts.
General Worth submitted his accounts and they showed that all but six of the fifty negroes employed had a little overdrawn their wages in provisions and clothing.
“I think there is a mistake, General, in these accounts,” said the Rev. Ezra Perkins the Agent.
“What?” thundered the General.
“A mistake in your view of the contracts,” answered Ezra in his oiliest tone.
The negroes began to grin and nudge one another, amid exclamations of “Dar now!”
“Hear dat!”
“What do you mean? The contracts are plain. There can be but one interpretation. I agreed to furnish the men their supplies in advance and wait until the end of the year for adjustment after the crops were gathered. As it is, I will lose over five hundred dollars on the farm.” The General paused and looked at the Agent with rising wrath.
“It’s useless to talk. I decide that under this contract you are to furnish supplies yourself and pay your people their monthly wages besides. I have figured it out that you owe them a little over fifteen hundred dollars.”
“Fifteen hundred dollars! You thief!”——
“Softly, softly!—I’ll commit you for contempt of court!”
The General turned on his heel without a word, sprang on his horse, and in a few minutes alighted at the hotel. He encountered the assistant agent of the Bureau on the steps.