John March, Southerner. Cable George Washington

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СКАЧАТЬ papers. He cast them upon the fire. One, under a chair, he overlooked. Barbara got it later – just the thing to carry in her reticule when she went calling on herself. She could not read its bad writing, but it served all the better for that.

      Next evening, at tea – back again from Suez – "Wife, did you see a letter in blue ink in your room this morning, with some pencil figures of my own across the face? If it was with those papers I burned it's all right, but I'd like to know." His unconcern was overdone.

      Barbara was silent. She had battered the reticule's inner latch with a stone. To get the paper out, the latch would have to be broken. Silence saved it.

      The election was over, but the turmoil only grew. Mere chemicals, did Fannie call these incidents and conditions? But they were corrosives and caustics dropped blazing hot upon white men's bare hands and black men's bare feet. The ex-master spurned political fellowship with his slave at every cost; the ex-slave laid taxes, stole them, and was murdered.

      "Make way for robbery, he cries," drawled Ravenel; "makes way for robbery and dies."

      "Mr. Ravenel," said Judge March, "I find no place for me, sir. I lament one policy and loathe the other. I need not say what distress of mind I suffer. I doubt not we are all doing that, sir."

      "No," said Jeff-Jack, whittling a straw.

      "I'll tell you what it is, Mr. Ravenel," said Fannie Halliday; "it's a war between decency in the wrong, and vulgarity in the right."

      "No," said Jeff-Jack again, and her liking for him grew.

      Cornelius's explanation in the House was more elaborate.

      "This, Mr. Speaker, are that great wahfare predicated in the New Testament, betwix the Republicans an' sinnehs on one side an' the Phair-i-sees on the other. The white-liners, they is the Phair-i-sees! They is the whited sculptors befo' which, notinstan'in' all they chiselin', the Republicans an' sinnehs enters fust into the kingdom!"

      So, for two more years, and John was fifteen.

      Then the Judge decided to explain to him, confidentially, their long poverty.

      "Daphne, dear" – he was going down into Blackland – "if you see no objection I'll take son with me. – Why, no, dear, not both on one hoss, you're quite right; that wouldn't be kind to son."

      "A merciful man, Powhatan, is merciful to – "

      "Yes, deah; Oh, I had the hoss in mind too; indeed I had! Do you know, my deah, I can tend to business betteh when I have ow son along? I'm gett'n' to feel like as if I'd left myself behind when he's not with me."

      "You've always been so, Judge March." Her smile was sad. "Oh! no, I mustn't advise. Take him along if you're determined to."

      XII.

      JOHN THINKS HE IS NOT AFRAID

      "Son," said the father as they rode, "I reckon you've often wondered why, owning ow hund'ed thousand an' sixty acres, we should appeah so sawt o' reduced; haven't you?"

      "Sir?"

      The father repeated the question, and John said, dreamily:

      "No, sir."

      "Well, son, I'll tell you, though I'd rather you'd not mention it – in school, faw instance – if we can eveh raise money to send you to school.

      "It's because, in a sense, we a-got so much lan'. Many's the time I could a-sole pahts of it, an' refused, only because that particulah sale wouldn't a-met the object fo' which the whole tract has always been held. It was yo' dear grandfather's ambition, an' his father's befo' him, to fill these lan's with a great population, p'osp'ous an' happy. We neveh sole an acre, but we neveh hel' one back in a spirit o' lan' speculation, you understan'?"

      "Sir? – I – yes, sir."

      "The plan wa'n't adapted to a slave State. I see that now. I don't say slavery was wrong, but slave an' free labor couldn't thrive side by side. But, now, son, you know, all labor's free an' the time's come faw a change.

      "You see, son, that's where Gen'l Halliday's village projec' is bad. His villages are boun' han' an' foot to cotton fahmin' an' can't bring forth the higher industries; but now, without concealin' anything fum him or anybody – of co'se we don't want to do that – if we can get enough of his best village residenters fum Leggettstown an' Libbetyville to come up an' take lan' in Widewood – faw we can give it to 'em an' gain by it, you know; an' a site or two faw a church aw school – why, then, you know, when capitalists come up an' look at ow minin' lan's – why, first thing you know, we'll have mines an' mills an' sto'es ev'y which away!"

      They met and passed three horsemen armed to the teeth and very tipsy.

      "Why, if to-morrow ain't election-day ag'in! Why, I quite fo'gotten that!"

      At the edge of the town two more armed riders met them.

      "Judge March, good mawnin', seh." All stopped. "Goin' to Suez?"

      "We goin' on through into Blackland."

      "I don't think you can, seh. Our pickets hold Swanee River bridge. Yes, sah, ow pickets. Why ow pickets, they're there. 'Twould be strange if they wa'n't – three hund'ed Blackland county niggehs marchin' on the town to burn it."

      "Is that really the news?"

      "That's the latest, seh. We after reinfo'cements." They moved on.

      Judge March rode slowly toward Suez. John rode beside him. In a moment the Judge halted again, lifted his head, and listened. A long cheer floated to them, attenuated by the distance.

      "I thought it was a charge, but I reckon it's on'y a meet'n of ow people in the square." He glanced at his son, who was listening, ashy pale.

      "Son, we ain't goin' into town. I'm going, but you needn't. You can ride back a piece an' wait faw me; aw faw further news which'll show you what to do. On'y don't in any case come into town. This ain't yo' fight, son, an' you no need to get mixed in with it. You hear, son?"

      "I" – the lad tried twice before he could speak – "I want to go with you."

      "Why, no, son, you no need to go. You ain't fitt'n' to go. Yo' too young. You a-trembling now fum head to foot. Ain't you got a chill?"

      "N-no, sir." The boy shivered visibly. "I've got a pain in my side, but it don't – don't hurt. I want to go with you."

      "But, son, there's goin' to be fight'n'. I'm goin' to try to p'vent it, but I shan't be able to. Why, if you was to get hurt, who'd eveh tell yo' po' deah mother? I couldn't. I jest couldn't! You betteh go 'long home, son."

      "I c-c-can't do it, father."

      "Why, air you that sick, son?"

      "No, sir, but I don't feel well enough to go home – Father – I – I – t-t-told – I told – an awful lie, one time, about you, and – "

      "Why, son!"

      "Yes, sir. I've been tryin' for seven years to – k – own up, and – "

      "Sev – O Law, son, I don't believe you eveh done it at all. You neveh so much as told a fib in yo' life. You jest imagine you done it."

      "Yes, СКАЧАТЬ