CHAPTER I
The fireflies on the Virginia hills were blinking in the dark placesbeneath the trees and a katydid was singing in the rosebush beside theportico at Arlington. The stars began to twinkle in the serene sky. Thelights of Washington flickered across the river. The Capitol buildinggleamed, argus-eyed on the hill. Congress was in session, stillwrangling over the question of Slavery and its extension into theterritories of the West.
The laughter of youth and beauty sifted down from open windows.
Preparations were being hurried for the ball in honor of the departingcadets--Custis Lee, his classmate, Jeb Stuart, and little Phil Sheridanof Ohio whom they had invited in from Washington.
The fact that the whole family was going to West Point with the boys andColonel Robert E. Lee, the new Superintendent, made no difference. Oneexcuse for an old-fashioned dance in a Southern home was as good asanother. The main thing was to bring friends and neighbors, sisters andcousins and aunts together for an evening of joy.
A whippo'will cried his weird call from a rendezvous in the shadows ofthe lawn, as Sam entered the great hall and began to light the hundredsof wax tapers in the chandeliers.
"Move dat furniture back now!" he cried to his assistants. "And mind yo'
p's and q's. Doan yer break nuttin."His sable helpers quietly removed the slender mahogany and rosewoodpieces to the adjoining rooms. They laughed at Sam's new-found note ofdignity and authority.
He was acting butler to-night in Uncle Ben's place. No servant wasallowed to work when ill--no matter how light the tasks to which he wasassigned. Sam was but twenty years old and he had been given the honorof superintending the arrangements for the dance. And, climax of all,he had been made leader of the music with the sole right to call thedances, although he played only the triangle in the orchestra. He was inhigh fettle.
When the first carriage entered the grounds his keen ear caught thecrunch of wheels on the gravel. He hurried to call the mistress andyoung misses to their places at the door. He also summoned the boys fromtheir rooms upstairs. He had seen the flash of spotless white in thecarriage. It meant beauty calling to youth on the hill. Sam knew.
Phil came downstairs with Custis. The spacious sweep of the hall, itswaxed floor clear of furniture, with hundreds of blinking candlesflashing on its polished surface, caught his imagination. It _was_ afairy world--this generous Southern home. In spite of its wide spaces,and its dignity, it was friendly. It caught his boy's heart.
Mrs. Lee was just entering. Custis' eyes danced at the sight of hismother in full dress. He grasped Phil's arm and whispered:
"Isn't my mother the most beautiful woman you ever saw?"He spoke the words half to himself. It was the instinctive worship ofthe true Southern boy, breathed in genuine reverence, with an awe thatwas the expression of a religion.
"I was just thinking the same thing, Custis," was the sober reply.
"I beg your pardon, Phil," he hastened to apologize. "I didn't mean tobrag about my mother to you. It just slipped out. I couldn't help it. Iwas talking to myself.""You needn't apologize. I know how you feel. She's already made me thinkI'm one of you--"He paused and watched Mary Lee enter from the lawn leaning on Stuart'sarm. Stuart's boyish banter was still ringing in her ears as she smiledat him indulgently. She hurried to her mother with an easy, gracefulstep and took her place beside her. She was fine, exquisite, bewitching.
She had never come out in Society. She had been born in it. She had hersweethearts before thirteen and not one had left a shadow on her quiet,beautiful face. She demanded, by her right of birth as a Southern girl,years of devotion. And the Southern boy of the old regime was willing toserve.
Phil stood with Stuart and watched Custis kiss a dozen pretty girls asthey arrived and call each one cousin.
"Is it a joke?" he asked Stuart curiously.
"What?""This cousin business.""Not much. You don't think I'd let him be such a pig if I could helphim, do you?""Are they all kin?""Yes--" Stuart laughed. "Some of it gets pretty thin in the second andthird cousin lines. But it's thick enough for him to get a kiss fromevery one--confound him!"The hall was crowding rapidly. The rustle of silk, the flash of pearlsand diamonds, the hum of soft drawling voices filled the perfumed air.
Phil's eyes were dazzled with the bevies of the younger set, fromsixteen to eighteen, dressed in soft tulle and organdy; slow of speech;their voices low, musical, delicious. He was introduced to so many hishead began to swim. To save his soul he couldn't pick out one moreentrancing than another. The moment they spied his West Point uniform hewas fair game. They made eyes at him. They languished and pretended tobe smitten at first sight. Twice he caught himself about to believe oneof them. They seemed so sincere, so dreadfully in earnest. And then hecaught the faintest twinkle in the corner of a dark eye and blushed tothink himself such a fool.
But the sensation of being lionized was delightful. He was in a whirlof foolish joy when he suddenly realized that Stuart had deserted him,slipped through the crowd and found his way to Mary Lee. He threw aquick glance at the pair and one of the four beauties hovering aroundhim began to whisper:
"Jeb Stuart's just crazy about Mary--""Did you ever see anything like it!""He couldn't stop even to say how-d'y-do.""And she's utterly indifferent--"Sam's voice suddenly rang out with unusual unction and deliberation. Hewas imitating Uncle Ben's most eloquent methods.
"Congress-man and Mrs. Rog-er A. Pry-or!"Mrs. Lee hastened to greet the young editor who had taken high rank inCongress from the day of his entrance.
Mrs. Pryor was evidently as proud of her young Congressman as he was ofher regal beauty.
Colonel Lee joined the group and led the lawmaker into the library for achat on politics.
The first notes of a violin swept the crowd. The hum of conversation andthe ripple of laughter softened into silence. The dusky orchestra is inplace on the little platform. Sam, in all his glory, rises and faces theeager youth.
He was dressed in his young master's last year's suit, immaculate bluebroadcloth and brass buttons, ruffled shirt and black-braided watchguard hanging from his neck. His eyes sparkled with pride and his rich,sonorous voice rang over the crowd like the deep notes of a flute:
"Choose yo' pardners fur de fust cowtillun!"Again the quick rustle of silk and tulle, the low hum of excited, youngvoices and the couples are in place.
A boy cries to the leader:
"We're all ready, Sam."The young caller of the set knew his business better. He lifted his handin a gesture of reverence and silence, as he glanced toward the librarydoor.
"Jes' a minute la-dees, an' gem-mens," he softly drawled. "Marse RobertE. Lee and Missis will lead dis set!"The Colonel briskly entered from the library with his wife on his arm. Aripple of applause swept the room as they took their places with the gayyoungsters.
Sam lifted his hand; the music began--sweet and low, vibrating with thesensuous touch of the negro slave whose soul was free in its joyousmelody.
At the first note of his triangle, loud above the music rang Sam'svoice:
"Honors to yo' pardners!"With graceful courtesies and stately bows the dance began. And over alla glad negro called the numbers:
"Forward Fours!"The caller's eyes rolled and his body swayed with the rhythm ofthe dance as he watched each set with growing pride. They danced aquadrille, a mazurka, another quadrille, a schottische, the lancers,another quadrille, and another and another. They paused for supper atmidnight and then danced them over again.
While the fine young forms swayed to exquisite rhythm and the musicfloated over all, the earnest young Congressman bent close to his hostin a corner of the library.
"I sincerely hope, Colonel Lee, that you can see your way clear to makea reply to this book of Mrs. Stowe which Ruffin has sent you.""I can't see it yet, Mr. Pryor--""Ruffin is a terrible old fire-eater, I know," the Congressman admitted.
"But _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ is the most serious blow the South has receivedfrom the Abolitionists. And what makes it so difficult is that itsappeal is not to reason. It is to sentiment. To the elemental emotionsof the mob. No matter whether its picture is true or false, the resultwill be the same unless the minds who read it can be cured of itspoison. It has become a sensation. Every Northern Congressman has readit. A half million copies have been printed and the presses can't keepup with the demands. This book is storing powder in the souls of themasses who don't know how to think, because they've never been trainedto think. This explosive emotion is the preparation for fanaticism. Weonly wait the coming of the fanatic--the madman who may lift a torchand hurl it into this magazine. The South is asleep. And when we don'tsleep, we dance. There's no use fooling ourselves. We're dancing on thecrust of a volcano."Pryor rose.
"I've a number with Mrs. Pryor. I wish you'd think it over, Colonel.
This message is my big reason for missing a night session to be here."Lee nodded and strolled out on the lawn before the white pillars of theportico to consider the annoying request. He hated controversy.
Yet he was not the type of man to run from danger. The breed of men fromwhich he sprang had always faced the enemy when the challenge came.
In the carriage of his body there was a quiet pride--a feeling not ofvanity, but of instinctive power. It was born in him through generationsof men who had done the creative thinking of a nation in the building.
His face might have been described as a little too regular--a little toohandsome perhaps for true greatness, but for the look of deep thought inhis piercing eyes. And the finely chiseled lines of character, positive,clean-cut, vigorous. He had backbone.
And yet he was not a bitter partisan. He used his brain. He reasoned. Helooked at the world through kindly, conservative eyes. He feared God,only. He believed in his wife, his children, his blood. And he lovedVirginia, counting it the highest honor to be--not seem to be--anold-fashioned Virginia gentleman.
He believed in democracy guided by true leaders. This reservation wasnot a compromise. It was a cardinal principle. He could conceive ofno democracy worth creating or preserving which did not produce thesuperman to lead, shape, inspire and direct its life. The man called ofGod to this work was fulfilling a divine mission. He must be of the verynecessity of his calling a nobleman.
Without vanity he lived daily in the consciousness of his own call tothis exalted ideal. It made his face, in repose, grave. His gravity camefrom the sense of duty and the consciousness of problems to be met andsolved as his fathers before him had met and solved great issues.
His conservatism had its roots in historic achievements and the chillthat crept into his heart as he thought of this book came, not from thefear of the possible clash of forces in the future, but from the dreadof changes which might mean the loss of priceless things in a nation'slife. He believed in every fiber of his being that, in spite of slavery,the old South in her ideals, her love of home, her worship of God, herpatriotism, her joy of living and her passion for beauty stood forthings that are eternal.
And great changes _were_ sweeping over the Republic. He felt this to-dayas never before. The Washington on whose lights he stood gazing wasrapidly approaching the end of the era in which the Nation had evolved asoul. His people had breathed that soul into the Republic. To thishour the mob had never ruled America. Its spirit had never dominated acrisis. The nation had been shaped from its birth through the heart andbrain of its leaders.
But he recalled with a pang that the race of Supermen was passing.
Calhoun had died two years ago. Henry Clay had died within the past twomonths. Daniel Webster lay on his death bed at Mansfield. And therewere none in sight to take their places. We had begun the process ofleveling. We had begun to degrade power, to scatter talent, to pull downour leaders to the level of the mob, in the name of democracy.
He faced this fact with grave misgivings. He believed that the firstrequirement of human society, if it shall live, is the discovery of menfit to command--to lead.
With the passing of Clay, Calhoun and Webster the Washington on whichhe gazed, the Washington of 1852, had ceased to be a forum of greatthought, of high thinking and simple living. It had become the scene ofluxury and extravagance. The two important establishments of the citywere Gautier's, the restaurateur and caterer--the French genius whoprepared the feasts for jeweled youth; and Gait, the jeweler who soldthe precious stones to adorn the visions of beauty at these banquets.
The two political parties had fallen to the lowest depths of grovelingto vote getting by nominating the smallest men ever named forPresidential honors. The Democrats had passed all their real leaders andnamed as standard-bearer an obscure little politician of New Hampshire,Mr. Franklin Pierce. His sole recommendation for the exalted office wasthat he would carry one or two doubtful Northern states and with thesolid South could thus be elected. The Whig convention in Baltimorehad cast but thirty-two votes for Daniel Webster and had nominated amilitary figurehead, General Winfield Scott.
The Nation was without a leader. And the low rumble of the crowd--thegrowl of the primal beast--could be heard in the distance withincreasing distinctness.
The watcher turned from the White City across the Potomac and slowlywalked into his rose garden. Even in September the riot of color wasbeyond description. In the splendor of the full Southern moon could beseen all shades from deep blood red to pale pink. All sizes from thetiniest four-leaf wild flowers to the gorgeous white and yellow massesthat reared their forms like waves of the surf. He breathed the perfumeand smiled again. A mocking bird, dropping from the bough of a holly,was singing the glory of a second blooming.
The scene of entrancing beauty drove the thought of strife from hisheart. He turned back toward the house and its joys of youth.
Sam's sonorous voice was ringing in deliberation the grand call of theevening's festivities:
"Choose-yo-pardners-fer-de-ol-Virginy-Reel!"And then the stir, the rush, the commotion for place in the final dance.
The reel reaches the whole length of the hall with every foot of spacecrowded. There are thirty couples in line when the musicians pause, tunetheir instruments and with a sudden burst play "The Gray Eagle." TheVirginia Reel stirs the blood of these Southern boys and girls. Itsswift, graceful action and the inspiration of the old music seem part ofthe heart beat of the youth and beauty that sway to its cadences.
The master of Arlington smiled at the memory of the young Congressman'seloquence. Surely it was only a flight of rhetoric.
CHAPTER II
Phil had finally reached the boys' room after the dance, his head in awhirl of excitement. Sleep was the last thing he wished. His imaginationwas on fire. He had heard of Southern hospitality. He had never dreamedof such waste of good things, such joy in living, such genuine pleasurein the meeting of friends and kinfolks. Custis had insisted on every boystaying all night. A lot of them had stayed. The wide rooms bulged withthem. There were cots and pallets everywhere. He had seen the housemaidsand the menservants carrying them in after the dance. Their own roomcontained four beds and as many pallets, and they were all full.
He tried to sleep and couldn't. He dozed an hour, waked at dawn andbegan day-dreaming. There was no sense of weariness. His mind was tooalert. The great house, in which he was made to feel as much at homeas in the quiet cottage of his mother in Ohio, fascinated him with itsendless menservants, housemaids, serving boys, cooks, coachmen andhostlers.
He thought of the contrast with the quiet efficiency and simplicity ofhis mother's house. He could see her seated at the little table in thecenter of the room, a snow-white cap on her head. The work of the househad been done without a servant. It had been done so simply and quietly,he had never been conscious of the fact that it was work at all. It hadseemed a ministry of love for her children. Their help had been givenwith equal joy, unconscious of toil, her kitchen floor was alwaysspotless, with every pot and pan and shining dish in its place as if bymagic.
He wondered how Custis' mother could bear the strain of all thesepeople. He wondered how she could manage the army of black servants whohung on her word as the deliverance of an oracle. He could hear the humof the life of the place already awake with the rising sun. Down in theravine behind the house he caught the ring of a hammer on an anvil andcloser in the sweep of a carpenter's plane over a board. A colt wascalling to his mother at the stables and he could hear the chatter andcries of the stable boys busy with the morning feed.
He rose, stepped gingerly beside the sleepers on the floor and stood byan open window. His mind was stirring with a curious desire to see theghost that haunted this house, its spacious grounds and fields. He,too, had read _Uncle Tom's Cabin_, and wondered. The ghost must be herehiding in some dark corner of cabin or field--the ghost of deathlesslonging for freedom--the ghost of cruelty--the ghost of the bloodhound,the lash and the auction block.
Somehow he couldn't realize that such things could be, now that he wasa guest in a Southern home and saw the bright side of their life. Neverhad he seen anything brighter than the smiles of those negro musiciansas they proudly touched their instruments: the violin, the banjo, theflute, the triangle and castanets, and watched the dancers swing througheach number. There could be no mistake about the ring of joy in Sam'svoice. It throbbed with unction. It pulsed with pride. Its joy wascontagious. He caught himself glancing at his rolling eyes and swayingbody. Once he muttered aloud:
"Just look at that fool nigger!"But somewhere in this paradise of flowers and song birds, of music anddance, of rustling silk, of youth and beauty, the Ghost of Slaverycrouched.
In a quiet way he would watch for it to walk. He had to summon all hispride of Section and training in the catch words of the North to keepfrom falling under the charm of the beautiful life he felt enfoldinghim.
He no longer wondered why every Northern man who moved South forgotthe philosophy of the Snows and became a child of the Sun. He felt thesubtle charm of it stealing into his heart and threw off the spell withan effort.
A sparrow chirped under the window. A redbird flashed from a rosebushand a mocking bird from a huge magnolia began to softly sing his morninglove song to his mate.
He heard a yawn, turned and saw Custis rubbing his eyes.
"For heaven's sake, Phil, why don't you sleep?""Tried and can't.""Don't like your bed?""Too much excited.""One of those girls hooked you?""No. I couldn't make up my mind. So many beauties they rattled me.""All right," Custis said briskly. "Let's get up and look around the oldplantation.""Good," Phil cried.
Custis called Jeb Stuart in vain. He refused to answer or to budge.
Phil found his shoes at the door neatly blacked and the moment he beganto stir a grinning black boy was at his heels to take his slightestorder.
"I don't want _any_thing!" he said at last to his dusky tormentor.
"Nuttin tall, sah?""Nuttin tall!"Phil smiled at the eager, rolling eyes.
"Get out--you make me laugh--"The boy ducked.
"Yassah--des call me if ye wants me--I'se right outside de do'."The two cadets ate breakfast alone. The house was yet asleep--except thechildren. Their voices could be heard on the lawn at play. They had beenput to bed early, at eleven o'clock. They were up with the birdsas usual. The sun was an hour high, shining the glory of a perfectSeptember morning. The boys strolled on the lawn. The children wereeverywhere, playing in groups. Little black and white boys mixedindiscriminately. Robbie Lee was playing rooster fight with Sid, hisboon companion. The little black boy born nearest his birthday wasdedicated to be his friend, companion and body servant for life.
Phil paused to see the rooster fight.
The boys folded their arms and flew at each other sideways, using theirelbows as a rooster uses his spurs.
Robbie was pressing Sid against the fence of the rose garden. Sid'sreturn blows lacked strength.
Robbie stamped his foot angrily.
"Come on now--no foolin'--fight! There's no fun in a fight, if you don'tfight!"Sid bucked up and flew at his enemy.
Robbie saw the two older boys watching and gave a star performance. AsSid lunged at him with uplifted arms, and drew back to strike a stunningblow, Robbie suddenly stooped, hurled his elbow under Sid's arm, liftedhim clear of the ground and he fell sprawling.
Robbie stood in triumph over the prostrate figure.
Phil laughed.
"You got him that time, Robbie!"Robbie squared himself, raised his spurs and waited for Sid to rise.
Sid was in no hurry. He had enough. He hadn't cried. But he was close toit.
"Ye needn't put up dem spurs at me no mo'.""Come on again!" Robbie challenged.
"Na, sah. I'se done dead. Ye stick dat spur clean froo me. Hit mightynigh come out on de odder side!""Got enough?"The game was suddenly ended by a barefoot white boy approaching Robbie.
Johnny Doyle carried a dozen teal ducks, six in each hand. They were soheavy for his hands that their heads dragged the ground.
Robbie rushed to meet his friend.
"Oh, John, where'd you get the ducks?""Me and daddy killed 'em this mornin' at sun-up on the river.""Why, the duck season isn't on yet, is it?" Custis asked the boy.
"No, sir, but daddy saw a big raft of teal swingin' into the bend of theriver yesterday and we got up before daylight and got a mess.""You brought 'em to me, John?" Robbie asked eagerly.
"Jes the same, Robbie. Dad sent 'em to Colonel Lee.""That's fine of your daddy, John," Custis said, placing his hand on thelittle bare sunburnt head.
"Yessir, my daddy says Colonel Lee's the greatest man in this county andhe's mighty proud to be his neighbor.""Tell him my father will thank him personally before we leave and sayfor all that he has given us a treat."Custis handed the ducks to Sid.
"Take them to the kitchen and tell Aunt Hannah to have them for dinner,sure."Sid started for the kitchen and Robbie called after him:
"Hurry back, Sid--""Yassah--right away, sah!"Robbie seized John's hand.
"You'll stay all day?""I can't.""We're goin' fishin'--""Honest?""Sure. Uncle Ben's sick. But after dinner he's promised to take us. He'snot too sick to fish.""I can't stay," the barefoot boy sighed.
"Come on. There's three bird's nests in the orchard. The second layin'.
It ain't no harm to break up the second nest. Birds've no businesslayin' twice in one season. We _ought_ to break 'em up.""I'm afraid I can't."His tone grew weaker and Robbie pressed him.
"Come on. We'll get the bird's eggs and chase the calves and colts tillthe dinner bell rings, ride the horses home from the fields, and gofishin' after dinner and stay till dark.""No--""Come on!"John glanced up the road toward the big gate beyond which his mother waswaiting his return. The temptation was more than his boy's soul couldresist. He shook his head--paused--and grinned.
"Come on, Sid, John's goin' with us," Robbie called to his younghenchman as he approached.
"All right," John consented, finally throwing every scruple to thewinds. "Ma'll whip me shore, but, by granny, it'll be worth it!"The aristocrat slipped his arm around his chum and led him to theorchard in triumph.
Custis laughed.
"He'd rather play with that little, poor white rascal than any boy inthe country.""Don't blame him," Phil replied. "He may be dirty and ragged but he's areal boy after a real boy's heart. And the handsomest little beggar Iever saw--who is he?""The boy of a poor white family, the Doyles. They live just outside ourgate on a ten-acre farm. His mother's trying to make him go to school.
His father laughs and lets him go hunting and fishing."They were strolling past the first neat row of houses in the servants'
quarters. Phil thought of them as the slave quarters. Yet he had notheard the word slave spoken since his arrival. These black people were"servants" and some of them were the friends and confidants of theirmaster and his household. Phil paused in front of a cottage. The yardflamed with autumn flowers. Through the open door and windows came thehum of spinning wheels and the low, sweet singing of the dark spinners,spinning wool for the winter clothing of the estate. From the next doorcame the click and crash of the looms weaving the warm cloth.
"You make your own cloth?" the Westerner asked in surprise.
"Of course, for the servants. It takes six spinners and three weaversworking steadily all year to keep up with it, too.""Isn't it expensive?""Maybe. We never thought of it. We just make it. Always have in ourfamily for a hundred years."They passed the blacksmith's shop and saw him shoeing a blooded colt.
Phil touched the horse's nostrils with a gentle hand and the colt nudgedhim.
"It's funny how a horse knows a horseman instinctively--isn't it, Phil?""Yes. He knows I'm going to join the cavalry."They moved down the long row of whitewashed cottages, each with its yardof flowers and each with a huge pile of wood in the rear--wood enoughto keep a sparkling fire through the winter. Chubby-faced babies wereplaying in the sanded walks and smiling young mothers watched them fromthe doors.
Phil started to put a question, stammered and was silent.
"What is it?" Custis asked.
"You'll pardon my asking it, old boy, but are these black folksmarried?"The Southern boy laughed heartily.
"I should say so. A negro wedding is one of the joys of a plantationboy's life.""But isn't it awful when they're separated?""They're not separated.""Never?""Not on this plantation. Nor on any estate whose master and mistress areour friends. It's not done in our set.""You keep them when they're old, lazy and worthless?""If they're married, yes. It's a luxury we never deny ourselves, thissoftening of the rigor of the slave regime. It's not business. Butit's the custom of the country. To separate a husband and wife is anunheard-of thing among our people."The thing that impressed the Westerner in those white rows of littlehomes was the order and quiet of it all. Every yard was swept clean.
There was nowhere a trace of filth or disease-breeding refuse. And birdswere singing in the bushes beside these slave cottages as sweetly asthey sang for the master and mistress in the pillared mansion on thehill. They passed the stables and paused to watch a dozen colts playingin the inclosure. Beyond the stable under the shadows of great oakswas the dog kennel. A pack of fox hounds rushed to the gate with loudwelcome to their young master. He stooped to stroke each head and calleach dog's name. A wagging tail responded briskly to every greeting. Inanother division of the kennel romped a dozen bird-dogs, pointers andsetters. The puppies were nearly grown and eager for the fields. Theyclimbed over Custis in yelping puppy joy that refused all rebuffs.
Phil looked in vain for the bloodhounds. He was afraid to ask about themlest he offend his host. Custis had never seen a bloodhound and couldnot guess the question back of his schoolmate's silence.
Sam entered the inclosure with breakfast for the dogs.
Phil couldn't keep his eyes off the sunlit, ebony face. His smile wascontagious. His voice was music.
The Westerner couldn't resist the temptation to draw him out.
"You were certainly dressed up last night, Sam!""Yer lak dat suit I had on, sah?""It was a great combination.""Yassah, dat's me, sah," the negro laughed. "I'se a greatcombination--yassah!"He paused and threw his head back as if to recall the words. Then in avoice rich and vibrant with care-free joy he burst into song:
"Yassah!"  "When I goes out ter promenade  I dress so fine and gay  I'm bleeged to take my dog along  Ter keep de gals away."Again his laughter rang in peals of sonorous fun. They joined in hislaugh.
A stable boy climbed the fence and called:
"Don't ye want yer hosses, Marse Custis?" He was jealous of Sam'spopularity.
Custis glanced at Phil.
"Sure. Let's ride.""All right, Ned--saddle them."The boy leaped to the ground and in five minutes led two horses to thegate. As they galloped past the house for the long stretch of whiteroadway that led across the river to the city, Phil smiled as he saw JebStuart emerge from the rose garden with Mary Lee. Custis ignored theunimportant incident.
CHAPTER III
Stuart led Mary to a seat beneath an oak, brushed the dust away with hiscap and asked her to honor him. He bowed low over her hand and dared tokiss it.
She passed the gallant act as a matter of course and sat down beside himwith quiet humor. She knew the symptoms. A born flirt, as every trueSouthern girl has always been, she eyed his embarrassment with surprise.
She knew that he was going to speak under the resistless impulse ofyouth and romance, and that no hearts would be broken on either side nomatter what the outcome.
She watched him indulgently. She had to like him. He was the kind of boya girl couldn't help liking. He was vital, magnetic and exceptionallygood looking. He sang and danced and flirted, but beneath the fun andfoolishness slumbered a fine spirit, tender, reverent, deeply religious.
It was this undercurrent of strength that drew the girl. He was alwayshumming a song, his heart bubbling over with joy. He had never utteredan oath or touched a drop of liquor amid all the gaiety of the times inwhich he lived.
"Miss Mary," he began slowly.
"Now Jeb," she interrupted. "You don't _have_ to, you know--"Stuart threw his head back, laughed, and sang a stanza from "AnnieLaurie" in a low, tender voice. He paused and faced his fair tormentor.
"Miss Mary, I've got to!""You don't have to make love to me just because you're my brother'sclassmate--""You know I'm not!" he protested.
"You're about to begin.""But not for that reason, Miss Mary--"He held her gaze so seriously that she blushed before she could recoverher poise. He saw his advantage and pressed it.
"I'm telling you that I love you because you're the most adorable girlI've ever known."His boyish, conventional words broke the spell.
"I appreciate the tribute which you so gallantly pay me, Sir Knight. ButI happen to know that the moonlight, the music of a dance, the song ofbirds this morning and the beauty of the landscape move you, as theyshould. You're young. You're too good looking. You're fine and unspoiledand I like you, Jeb. But you don't know yet what love means.""I do, Miss Mary, I do.""You don't and neither do I. You're in love with love. And so am I. It'sthe morning of life and why shouldn't we be like this?""There's no hope?" he asked dolefully.
"Of course, there's hope. There's something fine in you, and you'll findyourself in the world when you ride forth to play your part. And I'llfollow you with tender pride.""But not with love," he sighed.
"Maybe--who knows?" she smiled.
"Is that all the hope you can give me?""Isn't it enough?"He gazed into her serious eyes a moment and laughed with boyishenthusiasm.
"Yes, it is, Miss Mary! You're glorious. You're wonderful. You make meashamed of my foolishness. You inspire me to do things. And I'm going todo them for your sake.""For your own sake, because God has put the spark in your soul. Yourdeclaration of love has made me very happy. We're too young yet to takeit seriously. We must both live our life in its morning before we settledown to the final things. They'll come too soon.""I'm going to love you always, Miss Mary," he protested.
"I want you to. But you'll probably marry another girl.""Never!""And I know you'll be her loyal knight, her devoted slave. It's a wayour Southern boys have. And it's beautiful."Stuart studied the finely chiseled face with a new reverence.
"Miss Mary, you've let me down so gently. I don't feel hurt at all."A sweet silence fell between them. A breeze blew the ringlets of thegirl's hair across the pink of her cheek. A breeze from the garden ladenwith the mingled perfume of roses. A flock of wild ducks swung acrossthe lawn high in the clear sky and dipped toward the river. Across thefields came a song of slaves at work in the cornfield, harvesting thefirst crop of peas planted between the rows.
Stuart caught her hand, pressed it tenderly and kissed it.
"You're an angel, Miss Mary. And I'm going to worship you, if you won'tlet me love you."The girl returned his earnest look with a smile and slowly answered:
"All right, Beauty Stuart, we'll see--"
CHAPTER IV
The dinner at night was informal. Colonel Lee had invited three personalfriends from Washington. He hoped in the touch of the minds of theseleaders to find some relief from the uneasiness with which the readingof Mrs. Stowe's book had shadowed his imagination.
The man about whom he was curious was Stephen A. Douglas of Illinois,the most brilliant figure in the Senate. In the best sense herepresented the national ideal. A Northern man, he had always viewed theopinions and principles of the South with broad sympathy.
The new Senator from Georgia, on the other hand, had made a sensation inthe house as the radical leader of the South. Lee wondered if he were asdangerous a man as the conservative members of the Whig party thought.
Toombs had voted the Whig ticket, but his speeches on the rights of theSouth on the Slavery issues had set him in a class by himself.
Mr. and Mrs. Pryor had spent the night of the dance at Arlington and hadconsented to stay for dinner.
Douglas had captured the young Virginia congressman. And Mrs. Douglashad become an intimate friend of Mrs. Pryor.
When Douglas entered the library and pressed Lee's hand, the masterof Arlington studied him with keen interest. He was easily the mostimpressive figure in American politics. The death of Calhoun and Clayand the sudden passing of Webster had left but one giant on the floor ofthe Senate. They called him the "Little Giant." He was still a giant.
He had sensed the approaching storm of crowd madness and had sought theage-old method of compromise as the safety valve of the nation.
He had not read history in vain. He knew that all statesmanship is therecord of compromise--that compromise is another name for reason. TheDeclaration of Independence was a compromise between the radicalism ofThomas Jefferson and the conservatism of the colonies. In the originaldraft of the Declaration, Jefferson had written a paragraph arraigningslavery which had been omitted:
"He (the King of Great Britain) has waged cruel war against human natureitself, violating its most sacred rights of life and liberty in thepersons of a distant people who never offended him; capturing andcarrying them into slavery in another hemisphere, or to incur miserabledeath in their transportation thither. This piratical warfare, theopprobrium of infidel powers, is the warfare of the _Christian_ Kingof Great Britain. Determined to keep open a market where men shouldbe bought and sold, he prostituted his negative for suppressing everylegislative attempt to prohibit or restrain this execrable commerce. Andthat this assemblage of horrors might want no fact of distinguished dye,he is now exciting these very people to rise in arms among us, and topurchase that liberty of which he has deprived them, by murdering thepeople on whom he also obtruded them; thus paying off former crimescommitted against the liberties of one people with crimes which he urgesthem to commit against the lives of another."This indictment of Slavery and the Slave trade was stricken from theDeclaration of Independence in deference to the opposition of bothNorthern and Southern slave owners who held that the struggling youngcolonies must have labor at all hazards.
Lee knew that the Constitution also was a compromise of conflictinginterests. But for the spirit of compromise--of reason--this instrumentof human progress could never have been created. The word "Slave" or"Slavery" does not occur within it, and yet three of its most importantprovisions established the institution of chattel slavery as the basisof industrial life. The statesmen who wrote the Constitution did notwish these clauses embodied in it. Yet the union could not have beenestablished without them. Our leaders reasoned, and reasoned wisely,that Slavery must perish in the progress of human society, and,therefore, they accepted the compromise.
There has never been a statesman in the history of the world who hasnot used this method of constructive progress. There will never be astatesman who succeeds who can use any other method in dealing withmasses of his fellow men.
Douglas was the coming constructive statesman of the republic and alleyes were being focused on him. His life at the moment was the feveredcenter of the nation's thought. That his ambitions were boundless noone who knew the man doubted. That his patriotism was as genuine and asgreat all knew at last.
Lee studied every feature of his fine face. No eye could miss him inan assemblage of people, no matter how great the numbers. His compactfigure was erect, aggressive, dominant. A personage, whose sense ofpower came from within, not without. He was master of himself and ofothers. He looked the lion and he was one. The lines of his face werehandsome in the big sense, strong, regular, masculine. He drew youngmen as a magnet. His vitality inspired them. His stature was small inheight, measured by inches, but of such dignity, power and magnetismthat he suggested Napoleon.
He smiled into Colonel Lee's face and his smile lighted the room. Everyman and woman present was warmed by it.
Douglas had scarcely greeted Mrs. Lee and passed into an earnestconversation with the young Congressman when Robert Toombs of Georgiaentered.
Toombs had become within two years the successor of John C. Calhoun. Hehad the genius of Calhoun, eloquence as passionate, as resistless;and he had all of Calhoun's weaknesses. He called a spade a spade.
He loathed compromise. Three years before he had swept the floor andgalleries of the House with a burst of impassioned eloquence that hadmade him a national figure.
Lifting his magnificent head he had cried:
"I do not hesitate to avow before this House and the Country, and inthe presence of the living God, that if by your legislation you seek todrive us from the Territory of California and New Mexico, purchasedby the blood of Southern white people, and to abolish Slavery in theDistrict of Columbia, thereby attempting to fix a national degradationupon half the States of this Confederacy, _I am for disunion_. TheTerritories are the common property of the United States. You are theircommon agents; it is your duty while they are in the Territorial stateto remove all impediments to their free enjoyment by both sections--theslave holder and the non-slave holder!"He was the man of iron will, of passionate convictions. He might lead arevolution. He could not compromise.
His rapidly growing power was an ominous thing in the history of theSouth. Lee studied his face with increasing fascination.
In this gathering no man or woman thought of wealth as the source ofpower or end of life. No one spoke of it. Office, rank, position,talent, beauty, charm, personality--these things alone could count.
These men and women _lived_. They did not merely exist. They were makingthe history of the world and yet they refused to rush through life.
Their souls demanded hours of repose, of thought, of joy and they tookthem.
Toombs' pocket was stuffed with a paper-backed edition of a French play.
It was his habit to read them in the original with keen enjoyment inmoments of leisure. The hum of social life filled the room and strifewas forgotten. Douglas and Toombs were boys again and Lee was theircompanion.
Mary Lee managed to avoid Stuart and took her seat beside PhilSheridan--not to tease her admirer but to give to her Western guestthe warmest welcome of the old South. She knew the dinner would be arevelation to Phil and she would enjoy his appreciation.
The long table groaned under the luxuries of the season. Coursesucceeded course, cooked with a delicate skill unknown to the world ofto-day. The oysters, fresh, fat, luscious, were followed by diamond-backterrapin stew as a soup.
Phil tasted it and whispered to his fair young hostess.
"Miss Mary, what is this I'm eating?""Don't you like it?""I never expected to taste it on earth. I've only dreamed about it onhigh.""It's only terrapin stew. We serve it as a soup.""The angels made it.""No, Aunt Hannah.""I won't take it back. Angels only could brew this soup."The terrapin was followed by old Virginia ham and turnip greens. Andthen came the turkey with chestnut stuffing and jellies. The long table,flashing with old china and silver, held the staples of ham and turkeyas ornaments as well as dainties for the palate. The real delicacieswere served later, the ducks which Doyle had sent the Colonel, and plateafter plate of little, brown, juicy birds called sora, so tender andtoothsome they could be eaten bones and all.
When Phil wound up with cakes and custards, apples, pears and nuts fromthe orchard and fields, his mind was swimming in a dream of luxury. Andover it all the spirit of true hospitality brooded. A sense of home andreality as intimate, as genuine as if he sat beside his mother's chairin the little cottage in Ohio.
"Lord save me," he breathed. "If I stay here long I'll have but onehope, to own a plantation and a home like this--"Toombs sat on Lee's right and Douglas on his left. Mr. and Mrs. Pryoroccupied the places of honor beside Mrs. Lee.
The Colonel's keen eye studied Douglas with untiring patience. To hisrising star, the man who loved the union, was drawn as by a magnet.
Toombs, the Whig, belonged to his own Party, the aristocracy of brainsand the inheritors of the right to leadership. He was studying Toombswith growing misgivings. He dreaded the radicalism within the heart ofthe Southern Whig.
His eye rested on Sam, serving the food as assistant butler in Ben'sabsence. In the kink of his hair, the bulge of his smiling lips, thespread of his nostrils, the whites of his rolling eyes, he sawthe Slave. He saw the mystery, the brooding horror, the bafflinguncertainty, the insoluble problem of such a man within a democracy ofself-governing freemen. He stood bowing and smiling over his guests, inshape a man. And yet in racial development a million years behind thewit and intelligence of the two leaders at his side.
Over this dusky figure, from the dawn of American history our fathershad wrangled and compromised. More than once he had threatened to divideor destroy the union. Reason and the compromises of great minds hadsaved us. In Sam he saw this grinning skeleton at his feast.
He could depend on the genius of Douglas when the supreme crisis came.
He felt the quality of his mind tonight. But could Douglas control themob impulse of the North where such appeals as _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ hadgripped the souls of millions and reason no longer ruled life?
There was the rub.
There was no question of the genius of Douglas. The question was couldany leadership count if the mob, not the man, became our real ruler? Thetask of Douglas was to hold the fanatic of the North while he soothedthe passions of the radical of the South. Henry Clay had succeeded. But_Uncle Tom's Cabin_ had not been written in his day.
Toombs was becoming a firebrand. His eloquence was doing in the Southwhat Mrs. Stowe's novel was doing in the North--preparing the soil forrevolution--planting gunpowder under the foundations of society.
Could these forces yet be controlled or were they already beyondcontrol?
CHAPTER V
After dinner, Jeb Stuart succeeded in separating Mary from Phil andbegan again his adoration. The men adjourned to the library to discussthe Presidential Campaign and weigh the chances of General Scott againstFranklin Pierce. The comment of Toombs was grim in its sarcasm and earlylet him out of the discussion.
"It doesn't matter in the least, gentlemen, who is elected in November,"he observed. "There's nothing before the country as yet. Not even anhonest-to-God man."Lee shook his head gravely.
Toombs parried his protest.
"I know, Colonel Lee, you're fond of the old General. You fought withhim in Mexico. But--" he dropped his voice to a friendly whisper--"allthe same, you know that what I say is true."He took a cigar from the mantel, lighted it and waved to the group.
"I'll take a little stroll and smoke."Custis took Phil to the cottage of the foreman to see a night school insession.
"You mean the overseer's place?" Phil asked eagerly, as visions of SimonLegree flashed through his mind.
"No--I mean Uncle Ike's cottage. He's the foreman of the farm. We haveno white overseer."Phil was shocked. He had supposed every Southern plantation had a whiteoverseer as slave driver with a blacksnake whip in his hand. A negroforeman was incredible. As a matter of fact there were more negroforemen than white overseers in the South.
In Uncle Ike's cottage by the light of many candles the school for boyswas in session. Custis' brother "Rooney," was the teacher. He had sixpupils besides Sam. Not one of them knew his lesson to-night and Rooneywas furious.
As Phil and Custis entered, he was just finishing a wrathful lecture.
His pupils were standing in a row grinning their apologies.
"I've told you boys for the last three weeks that I won't stand this.
You don't have to go to school to me if you don't want to. But if youjoin my school you've got to study. Do you hear me?""Yassah!" came the answer in solid chorus.
"Well, you'll do more than hear me to-night. You're going to heed what Isay. I'm going to thrash the whole school."Sam broke into a loud laugh. And a wail of woe came from every duskyfigure.
"Dar now!""Hear dat, folks--?""I been a tellin' ye chillun--""I lubs my spellin' book--but, oh, dat hickory switch!""Oh, Lordy--""Gib us anudder chance, Marse Rooney!""Not another chance," was the stern answer. "Lay off your coats."They began to peel their coats. Big, strapping, husky fellows nudgingone another and grinning at their fourteen-year-old schoolmaster. It wasno use to protest.
They knew they deserved it. A whipping was one of the minor misfortunesof life. Its application was universal. No other method of disciplinehad yet been dreamed by the advanced thinkers and rulers of the world.
"Spare the rod and spoil the child" was accepted as the Word of God andonly a fool could doubt it. The rod was the emblem of authority forchild, pupil, apprentice and soldier. The negro slave as a workman gotless of it than any other class. It was the rule of a Southern masternever to use the rod on a slave except for crime if it could be avoided.
To flog one for laziness was the exception, not the rule.
The old Virginia gentleman prided himself particularly on the tendernessand care with which he guarded the life of his servants. If the weatherwas cold and his men exposed, he waited to see that they had dry clothesand a warm drink before they went to bed. He never failed to rememberthat his white skin could endure more than their sunburned dark ones.
The young school-teacher had no scruples on applying the rod. Heselected his switches with care, and tested their strength andflexibility while he gave the bunch a piece of his mind.
"What do you think I'm coming down here every night for, anyhow?" hestormed.
"Lordy, Marse Rooney," Sam pleaded, "doan we all pay you fur ourschoolin'?""Yes, you do when I can manage to choke it out of you. One dozen eggs amonth or one pullet every two months. And I don't even ask you where yougot the eggs or the pullet.""Marse Rooney!" protested Sam. "Yer know we gets 'em outen our own yardser buys 'em from de servants.""I hope you do. Though my mother says she don't know how we eat so manychickens and eggs at the house. Anyhow I'm not here because I'm going toget rich on the tuition you pay me. I'm not here for my health. I'm herefrom a sense of duty to you boys--""Yassah, we know dat, sah!""Give us annuder chance an' we sho' study dem lessons--""I gave you another chance the last time. I'll try a little hickory teathis time."He began at the end of the line and belabored each one faithfully. Theyshouted in mockery and roared with laughter, scampered over the room anddodged behind chairs and tables.
Phil fairly split his sides laughing.
When the fun was over, they drew close to their teacher and promisedfaithfully to have every word of the next lesson. They nudged each otherand whispered their jokes about the beating.
"Must er bin er flea bitin' me!""I felt sumfin. Don't 'zactly know what it wuz. Mebbe a chigger!""Must er been a flea. Hit bit me, too!"Sam tried to redeem himself for failing on his lessons in arithmetic.
He had long ago learned to read and write and had asked for a course inhistory. The young teacher had given him a copy of _Gulliver's Travels_.
"Look a here, Marse Rooney, I been a readin' dat book yer gimme--""Well, that's good.""Yer say dat book's history?""Well, it's what we call fiction, but I think fiction's the very besthistory we can read. It may not have happened just that way but it'strue all the same.""Well, ef hit nebber happened, I dunno 'bout dat," Sam objected. "I beensuspicionin' fer a long time dat some o' dem things that Gulliver saynebber happen nohow.""You read it," the teacher ordered.
"Yassah, I sho gwine ter read it, happen er no happen. Glory be ter God.
Just 'cause yer tells me, sah!"

CHAPTER VI

The next morning found Phil walking again between the white, clean rowsof the quarter houses. He was always finding something to interest him.
Every yard had its gorgeous red autumn flowers. Some of them hadroses in bloom. The walks from the gate to the door were edged withwhite-washed bricks or conch shells. The conch shells were souvenirs ofsummer outings at the seashore.
In the corner of the back yard there was the tall pole on which werehung five or six dried gourds with tiny holes cut in the sides for themartins. And every gourd had its black family. The martins were theguardians of the servants' chicken yards. The hawks were numerous andthe woods close to the quarters. Few chickens were lost by hawks. Themartins circled the skies in battalions, watching, chattering, guarding,basking in the southern sun.
At noon the assembly bell rang at the end of the Broadway of thequarters. From every cottage, from field and stable, blacksmith shop,carpenter's shop, the house of the spinners, the weavers, the dairy, thenegroes poured toward the shed beside the bell tower.
"What is it?" Phil asked of Custis.
"Saturday noon. All work stops.""My Lord, it's been raining nearly all morning. The field hands haven'tworked a lick all day. Do they stop, too?""It's the unwritten law of the South. We would no more think of workingon Saturday afternoon than on Sunday.""What are they gathering under that shed for?" Phil inquired.
Custis led him to the shed where Ike, the foreman, stood with Mrs. Leebeside a long table on which were piled the provisions for the week tofollow.
The negroes laughed and chattered like a flock of blackbirds pickinggrain in a wheat field. To each head of a family was given six poundsof meat for each person. A father, mother and two children receivedtwenty-four pounds. Their bread was never rationed. The barrel in eachcottage was filled from the grist mill, a bag full at a time. They hadtheir own garden and flocks of chickens. Sugar, coffee and molasses weregiven on the first of each month.
"Come right back here now all ob you!" Ike shouted, "des ez quick ez yerput yo vittles away. De Missis gwine gib ye yo' winter close now, caseshe gwine ter Wes' Pint next week."The provisions were swept from the long table. Out of the storehousecame huge piles of clothing and blankets. Each package was marked withthe owner's name.
To each pair, man and wife, or two children, was given a new woolblanket. This was, of course, added to the stock each house had already.
A woolen blanket was good for ten years' wear. Many a servant's househad a dozen blankets for each bed. Besides the blankets, to every womanwith a baby was given a quilted comfort.
To each man, woman and child were allotted two complete woolen suits forthe winter, a new pair of shoes and three pairs of stockings. In thespring two suits of cotton would be given for summer. The thrifty oneshad their cedar chests piled with clothes. Many had not worn the suitsgiven out a year ago.
The heads of large families trudged away with six or seven blankets,a comfort, and twenty suits of clothes. It sometimes took the father,mother and two of the children to carry the load.
But the most amazing thing which Phil saw was the sudden transformationof the shed into a market for the sale of slave produce to the mistressof Arlington.
Mrs. Lee had watched the distribution of clothes, blankets, quilts,shoes and stockings for the winter and then became the purchaser of allsorts of little luxuries which the slave had made in his leisure hourson Saturday afternoons and at night. The little boys and girls soldher dried wild fruits. The women had made fine jellies. They all hadchickens and eggs to sell to the big house. Some had become experts inmaking peanut brittle and fudge.
They not only sold their wares here, but they also sold them in themarket in Washington. The old men were expert basket and broom makers.
The slaves made so much extra money on their chickens, peanuts, popcorn,fudge, brittle, molasses cakes, baskets, brooms, mats and taking insewing, that they were able to buy many personal luxuries. Phil observedone dusky belle already arrayed in a silk dress for the Saturdayafternoon outing with her beau. A few of them had their Sunday dressesmade by fashionable mantua makers in Washington.
In addition to the regular distribution of clothing, the householdsupplied to the servants in rapid succession everything worn by master,mistress, son or daughter. Knowing that their clothes were being watchedand guarded by longing eyes, they never wore them very long. Mary Leewas distributing a dozen dresses now to the girls. They had been madewithin the past year.
Phil observed Sam arrayed in a swallowtail coat of immaculate cut strollby with his best girl. She was dressed in silk with full hoop-skirts,ruffles, ribbons and flowers.
Sid annoyed Sam by calling loudly:
"Doan yer stay too late ter dat party. Ef ye do I'll hatter sing furye--  "Run, nigger, run, de patterole ketch you.
  Nigger run, de nigger flew,  De nigger loss his best ole shoe!
  Run, nigger, run. Run, nigger, run. Run, nigger, run."Sam waved his arm in a long laugh.
"Dey won't git me, chile. I'se er conjur man, I is!"Phil had supposed the patrol of the mysterious mounted police of theSouth--the men who rode at night--were to the slave always a tragicterror.
It seemed a thing for joke and ribald song.
After lunch, the negroes entered on the afternoon's fun or work. Theindustrious ones plied their trades to earn money for luxuries. The boyswho loved to fish and hunt rabbits hurried to the river and the fields.
There was always a hound at their service for a rabbit hunt on Saturdayafternoons. Some were pitching horse shoes. Two groups began to playmarbles.
The marketing done for the house, the mistress of Arlington, withmedicine case in hand, started on her round of healing for body andmind. Mary offered to go with her but the mother saw Stuart hoveringabout and quietly answered:
"No. You can comfort poor Jeb. He looks disconsolate."Into every cottage she moved, a quiet, ministering angel. Every hope andfear of ailing young or old found in her an ear to hear, a heart to pityand an arm to save.
If she found a case of serious illness, a doctor was called and a nurseset to watch by the bedside. Every delicacy and luxury the big househeld was at the command of the sufferer and that without stint.
In all these clean flower-set cottages there was not a single crippledservant maimed in the service of his master. No black man or woman wasallowed to do dangerous work. All dangerous tasks were done by hiredwhite laborers. They were hired by the day under contract through theirboss. Even ditches on the farm if they ran through swamp lands infestedby malaria, were dug by white hired labor. The master would not permithis slave to take such risks.
But the most important ministry of the mistress of Arlington was in themedicine for the soul which she brought to the life and character ofeach servant for whose training she had accepted responsibility.
To her even the master proudly and loyally yielded authority. Her swayover the servants was absolute in its spiritual power. Into their soulsin hours of trial she poured the healing and inspiration of a beautifulspirit. The mistress of Arlington was delicate and frail in body. Butout of her physical suffering the spirit rose to greater heights witheach day's duty and service.
This mysterious power caught the warm imagination of the negroes. Theywere "servants" to others. They were her _slaves_ and they rejoicedin the bond that bound them. They knew that her body had no rest frommorning until far into the hours of the night if one of her own neededcare. The master could shift his responsibility to a trained foreman.
No forewoman could take her place. To the whole scheme of life she gavestrength and beauty. The beat of her heart made its wheels go round.
The young Westerner studied her with growing admiration and pity. Shewas the mistress of an historic house. She was the manager of an estate.
She was the counselor of every man, woman and child in happiness or insorrow. She was an accomplished doctor. She was a trained nurse. Shetaught the hearts of men and women with a wisdom more profound andsearching than any preacher or philosopher from his rostrum. She hadmastered the art of dressmaking and the tailor's trade. She was anexpert housekeeper. She lived at the beck and call of all. She wasidolized by her husband. Her life was a supreme act of worship--adevotion to husband, children, friends, the poor, the slave that madeher a high-priestess of humanity.
The thing that struck Phil with terrific force was that this beautifuldelicate woman was the slave of slaves.
As a rule, they died young.
He began to wonder how a people of the intelligence of these proudwhite Southerners could endure such a thing as Slavery. Its waste, itsextravagance, its burdens were beyond belief.
He laughed when he thought of his mother crying over _Uncle Tom'sCabin_. Yet a new edition of a hundred thousand copies had just comefrom the press.
Early Sunday morning Custis asked him to go down to the quarters to seeUncle Ben, the butler, who had not yet resumed his duties. He had sentan urgent message to his young master asking him to be kind enough tocall on Sunday. The message was so formal and reserved Custis knew itwas of more than usual importance.
They found the old man superintending a special breakfast of fried fishfor two little boys, neatly served at a table with spotless cloth.
Robbie and his friend, John Doyle, were eating the fish they had caughtwith Uncle Ben the day before. They were as happy as kings and talked offish and fishing with the unction of veteran sportsmen.
The greeting to Custis was profound in its courtesy and reverence.
He was the first born of the great house. He was, therefore, theprospective head of the estate. Jeffersonian Democrats had long agoabolished the old English law of primogeniture. But the idea was in theblood of the Virginia planter. The servants caught it as quickly as theycaught the other English traits of love of home, family, kin, the cultof leisure, the habit of Church, the love of country. It was not anaccident that the decisions of the courts of the Old South were quotedby English barristers and accepted by English judges as law. The CommonLaw of England was the law of Southern Seaboard States. It always hadbeen and it is to-day.
"How is you dis mornin', Marse Custis?" Ben asked with a stately bow.
"Fine, Uncle Ben. I hope you're better?""Des tolerble, sah, des tolerble--" he paused and bowed to Phil. "An'
dis is you' school-mate at Wes' Pint, dey tells me about?""Yes, Uncle," Phil answered.
"I'se glad ter welcome yer ter Arlington, sah. And I'se powerful sorryI ain't able ter be in de big house ter see dat yer git ebry thing termake yer happy, sah. Dese here young niggers lak Sam do pooty well. Butdey ain't got much sense, sah. And dey ain't got no unction'tall. Dey dode best dey kin an' dat ain't much.""Oh, I'm having a fine time, Uncle Ben," Phil assured him.
"Praise de Lord, sah.""Sam told me you wanted to see me, Uncle Ben," Custis said.
"'Bout sumfin mos' particular, sah--""At your service."The old man waved to his wife to look after the boys' breakfast.
"Pile dem fish up on der plates, Hannah. Fill 'em up--fill'em up!""We're mos' full now!" Robbie shouted.
"No we ain't," John protested. "I jis begun."Ben led the young master and his friend out the back door, past the longpile of cord wood, past the chicken yard to a strong box which he hadbuilt on tall legs under a mulberry tree. It was constructed of oak andthe neatly turned gable roof was covered with old tin carefully paintedwith three coats of red. A heavy hasp, staple and padlock held the soliddoor.
Ben fumbled in his pocket, drew forth his keys and opened it. The boxwas his fireproof and ratproof safe in which the old man kept hisvaluables. His money, his trinkets, his hammer and nails, augur andbits, screwdriver and monkeywrench. From the top shelf he drew a tincan. A heavy piece of linen tied with a string served as a cover.
He carefully untied the string in silence. He shook the can. The boyssaw that it was filled with salt of the coarse kind used to preservemeats.
Ben felt carefully in the salt, drew forth a shriveled piece of darkgristle, and held it up before his young master.
"Yer know what dat is, Marse Custis?"Custis shook his head.
From the old man's tones of deep emotion he knew the matter was serious.
He thought at once of the Hoodoo. But he could make out no meaning tothis bit of preserved flesh.
"Never saw anything like it.""Nasah. I spec yer didn't."Ben pushed the gray hair back from his left ear. He wore his hair drawnlow over the tips of his ears. It was a fad of his, which he neverallowed to lapse.
"See anything funny 'bout de top o' dat year, sah?"Custis looked carefully.
"It looks shorter--""Hit's er lot shorter. De top ob hit's clean gone, sah. Dat's why Iallus combs my ha'r down close over my years--"He paused and held up the piece of dried flesh.
"An' dat's hit, sah.""A piece of your ear?""Hit sho is. Ye see, sah, a long time ergo when I wuz young an' strongez er bull, one er dese here uppish niggers come ter our house drivin'
a carriage frum Westover on de James, an' 'gin ter brag 'bout his folksbein' de bes' blood er ole Virginia. An' man I tells him sumfin. I tellsdat fool nigger dat de folks at Westover wuz des fair ter midlin. Dat_our_ folks wuz, an' allus wuz, de very fust fambly o' Virginy! I tellshim, dat Marse Robert's father was General Light Horse Harry Lee dathelp General Washington wid de Revolution. Dat he wuz de Govenor o' oleVirginy. Dat he speak de piece at de funeral o' George Washington, datwe all knows by heart, now--"'Fust in war, fust in peace and fust in de hearts o' his countrymen.'
"I tells him dat Marse Robert's mother wuz a Carter. I tells him dat hecould count more dan one hundred gemmen his kin. Dat his folks allus hadbeen de very fust fambly in Virginy. I tells him dat he marry my Missis,de gran' daughter o' ole Gineral Washington his-salf--an' en--"He paused.
"An' den, what ye reckon dat fool nigger say ter me?""Couldn't guess.""He say General Washington nebber had no children. And den man, man,when he insult me lak dat, I jump on him lak a wil' cat. We fought an'
we fit. We fit an' we fought. I got him down an' bit one o' his yearsclean off smooth wid his head. In de las' clinch he git hol' er my lefyear a'fo' I could shake him, he bit de top of hit off, sah. I got himby the froat an' choke hit outen his mouf. And dar hit is, sah."He held up the dried piece of his ear reverently.
"And what do you want me to do with it, Uncle Ben?" Custis askedseriously.
"Nuttin right now, sah. But I ain't got long ter live--""Oh, you'll be well in a few days, Uncle Ben.""I mought an' den agin I moughtent. I been lyin' awake at night worryin'
'bout dat year o' mine. Ye see hit wouldn't do tall fur me ter gowalkin' dem golden streets up dar in Heben wid one o' my years loppedoff lake a shoat er a calf dat's been branded. Some o' dem niggersstandin' on dat gol' sidewalk would laugh at me. An' dat would hurt myfeelin's. Some smart Aleck would be sho ter holler, 'Dar come ole Ben.
But he ain't got but one year!' Dat wouldn't do, tall, sah."Phil bit his lips to keep from laughing. He saw the thing was no jokefor the old man. It was a grim tragedy.
"What I wants ter axe, Marse Custis, is dat you promise me faithful, ezmy young master, dat when I die you come to me, get dis year o' mineouten dis salt box an' stick hit back right whar it b'long 'fore deynail me up in de coffin. I des can't 'ford ter walk down dem goldenstreets, 'fore all dat company, wid a piece er my year missin'. Will yepromise me, sah?"Custis grasped the outstretched hand and clasped it.
"I promise you, Uncle Ben, faithfully.""Den hit's all right, sah. When a Lee make a promise, hit's des ez goodez done. I know dat case I know who I'se er talkin' to."He placed the piece of gristle back into the tin can, covered it withsalt, tied the linen cover over it carefully, put it back on the shelf,locked the heavy oak door and handed Custis the key.
"I got annudder key. You keep dat one, please, sah."Custis and Phil left the old man more cheerful than he had been fordays.
CHAPTER VII
As the sun was sinking across the gray waters of the river, reflectingin its silver surface a riot of purple and scarlet, the master ofArlington sat in thoughtful silence holding the fateful Book of theSlave in his hand. He had promised his friend, Edmund Ruffin, to givehim an answer early next week as to a public statement.
He was puzzled as to his duty. To his ready protest that he was not apolitician his friend had instantly replied that his word would have tentimes the weight for that reason. So deep was his brooding he did notnotice the two boys in a heated argument at the corner of the house.
Robbie Lee had drawn his barefoot friend, John, thus far. He had balkedand refused to go farther.
"Come on, John," Robbie pleaded.
"I'm skeered.""Scared of what?""Colonel Lee.""Didn't you come to see him?""I thought I did.""Well, didn't ye?""Yes.""Come on, then!""No--""What you scared of him for?""He's a great man.""But he's my Papa.""He don't want to be bothered with little boys.""Yes, he does, too. He hears everything I've got to say to him.""Ain't you skeered of him?""No!"Robbie seized John's hand again and before he could draw back draggedhim to his father's side.
Lee turned the friendliest smile on John's flushed face and won hisconfidence before a word was spoken.
"Well, Robbie, what's your handsome little friend's name?""John Doyle, Papa.""Your father lives on the farm just outside our gate, doesn't he?""Yessir," the boy answered eagerly.
His embarrassment had gone. But it was hard to begin his story. It hadseemed easy at first, the need was so great. Now it seemed that he hadno right to make the request he had in his heart.
He hung his head and dug his big toe in the gravel.
Robbie hastened to his rescue.
"John wants to tell you something, Papa," he began tenderly.
"All right," Lee cheerfully answered as he drew one boy within each armand hugged them both. "What can I do for you, Johnnie?""I dunno, sir. I hope you can do somethin'.""I will, if I can. I like to do things for boys. I was a little boy oncemyself and I know exactly how it feels. What is it?"Again the child hesitated.
Lee studied the lines of his finely molded face and neck and throat. Ahandsomer boy of ten he had never seen. He pressed his arm closer andheld him a moment until he looked up with a tear glistening in his blueeyes.
"Tell me, sonny--""My Ma's been cryin' all day, sir, and I want to do somethin' to helpher--"He paused and his voice failed.
"What has she been crying about?""We've lost our home, sir, and my daddy's drunk.""You've lost your home?""Yessir. The sheriff come this mornin'. And he's goin' to put us out.
Ma's most crazy. I ain't been a very good boy here lately--""No?""No, sir. I've been runnin' away and goin' fishin' and hurtin' my Ma'sfeelin's and now I wish I hadn't done it. I heard her sayin' thismornin' while she wuz cryin', that you wuz the only man she knowed onearth who could help us. She was afeared to come to see you. And Islipped out to tell ye. I thought if I could get you to come to see us,maybe you could tell Ma what to do and that would make up for my hurtin'
her so when I run away from my lessons this week."The Colonel gently pressed the boys away and rose with quick decision.
"I'll ride right up, sonny, and see your mother.""Will you, Colonel Lee?" the child asked with pathetic eagerness.
"Just as soon as I can have my horse saddled."Lee turned abruptly into the house and left the boy dazed. He threw hisarms around Robbie, hugged him in a flash and was gone. Up the dusty wayto the gate the little bare feet flew to tell glad tidings to a lonelywoman.
She stood beside the window looking out on the wreck of her life in astupor of wordless pain. She saw her boy leap the fence as a hound andrushed from the house in alarm to meet him.
He was breathless, but he managed to gasp his message.
"Ma--Ma--Colonel Lee's comin' to see you!""To see me?""Yes'm. I told him we'd lost our home and he said he'd come right up.
And he's comin', too--"The mother looked into the child's flushed face, saw the love light inhis eyes and caught him to her heart.
"Oh, boy, boy, you're such a fine young one--my baby--as smart as awhip. You'll beat 'em all some day and make your poor old mother proudand happy.""I'm going to try now, Ma--you see if I don't.""I know you will, my son.""I'll never run away again. You see if I do."The boy stopped suddenly at the sight of Colonel Lee swiftlyapproaching.
"Run and wash your face," the mother whispered, "and tell your brothersto put on clean shirts. I want them to see the Colonel, too."The boy darted into the house.
The woman looked about the yard to see if there were any evidences ofcarelessness. She had tried to keep it clean. The row of flowers thatflamed in the beds beside the door was the finest in the county. Sheknew that. She was an expert in the culture of the prolific tall cosmosthat blooms so beautifully in the Indian summers of Old Virginia.
A cur dog barked.
"Get under the house, sir!" she commanded.
The dog continued to look down the road at the coming horseman.
"Get under the house, I say--" she repeated and the dog slowly obeyed.
She advanced to meet her visitor. He hitched his horse to a swinginglimb outside the gate and hurried in.
No introduction was necessary. The Colonel had known her husband foryears and he had often lifted his hat to his wife in passing.
He extended his hand and grasped hers in quick sympathy.
"I'm sorry to learn of your great misfortune from your fine boy, Mrs.
Doyle."The woman's eyes filled with tears in spite of her firm resolution to bedignified.
"He _is_ a fine--boy--isn't he, Colonel?""One of the handsomest little chaps I ever saw. You should be proud ofhim.""I am, sir."She drew her figure a bit higher instinctively. The movement was notlost on the keen observer of character. He had never noticed before thedistinction of her personality. In a simple calico dress, and fortyyears of age, she presented a peculiarly winsome appearance. Herfeatures were regular, and well rounded, the coloring of cheeks andneck and hands the deep pink of perfect health. Her eyes were a brightglowing brown. They were large, soulful eyes that spoke the love of amother. She might scold her husband if provoked. But those eyes couldnever scold a child. They could only love him into obedience andhelpfulness. They were shining mother eyes.
Lee studied her in a quick glance before speaking. He knew instinctivelythat he could trust her word.
"Is there anything I can do, Mrs. Doyle?""Oh, I hope so, sir. My man's gone all to pieces to-day. He'sgood-hearted and kind if I do have to say it myself. But when thesheriff come to put us out, he just flopped and quit. And then he gotdrunk. I don't blame him much. If I hadn't been a woman and the motherof three fine boys and two as pretty little gals as the Lord ever giveto a woman, I reckon I'd a got drunk, too."She stopped, overcome with emotion and Lee hastened to ask:
"How did it happen, Mrs. Doyle?""Well, sir, you see, we hadn't quite paid for the place. You know it'shard with a big family of children on a little farm o' ten acres. It'shard to make a livin' let alone save money to pay for the land. But wewuz doin' it. We didn't have but two more payments to make when my mansigned a note for his brother. His brother got sick and couldn't payand they come down on us and we're turned out o' house and home. Thesheriff's give us till Wednesday to get out and we've nowhere to go--"A sob caught her voice.
"Don't say that, Madame. No neighbor of mine will ever be without a homeso long as I have a house with a roof on it.""Thank you, Colonel Lee," she interrupted, "but you know I can't let myman be a renter and see my husband and my sons workin' other people'sland like nigger slaves. I got pride. I jus' can't do it. I'd ratherstarve.""I understand, Madame," Lee answered.
The two older boys came awkwardly out into the yard. One of them wasfourteen years old and the other sixteen.
The mother beckoned and they came to her with embarrassed step. Her facelighted with pride in their stalwart figures and well-shaped, regularfeatures.
"Here's my oldest boy, William, Colonel Lee."The Colonel took the outstretched hand with cordial grasp.
"I'm glad to know you, young man.""And glad to see you, sir," he stammered, blushing.
"My next boy Drury, sir. He ain't but fourteen but he's a grown man."Drury flushed red but failed to make a sound.
When they had moved away and leaned against the fence watching the sceneout of the corner of an eye, the mother turned to the Colonel and asked:
"Do you blame me if I'm proud of my boys, Colonel?""I do not, Madame.""The Lord made me a mother. All I know is to raise fine children andlove 'em. My little gals is putty as dolls."John suddenly appeared beside her and pulled her skirt.
"What's the matter?" she whispered.
"Pa's waked up. I told him Colonel Lee's here and he's washed his faceand walks straight. Shall I fetch him out, too?""Yes, run tell him to come quick."The boy darted back into the house.
"Johnnie's father wants to see you, Colonel Lee," the woman apologized.
"I'll be glad to talk to him, Madame.""He'll be all right now. Your comin' to see us'll sober him. He'll beawful proud of the honor, sir."Doyle emerged from the house and walked quickly toward the Colonel.
His head was high. He smiled a welcome to his guest and his step wasstraight, light and springing, as if he were not quite sure he couldrest his full weight on one foot and tried to get them both down at thesame time.
Lee's face was a mask of quiet dignity. The tragedy in the woman's heartmade the more pathetic the comedy of the half-drunken husband. Besides,he was philosopher enough to know that more than half the drunkenness ofthe world was the pitiful effort to smother a heartache.
The man's smile was a peculiarly winning one. His face was covered witha full growth of blond beard cut moderately long. He never shaved. Hiswife trimmed his beard in the manner most becoming to the shape of hishead, the poise of his neck and evenly formed shoulders. He wore hishair full long and it curled about his neck in a deep blond wave. Hemight have posed for the model of Hoffman's famous picture of Christ.
His eyes, a clear blue, were the finest feature of his personality. Inspite of his lack of education, in spite of his shabby clothes, in spiteof the smell of liquor he was a personality. His clean, high forehead,his aquiline nose, his straight eyebrows, his fair skin, his tall figurespoke the heritage of the great Nordic race of men. The race whoseleaders achieved the civilization of Rome, conquered Europe and finallydominated civilization.
The difference between this man and the leader who wore the uniform ofa Colonel was not in racial stock. It was purely an accident of theconditions of birth and training. Behind Lee lay two hundred years ofwealth and culture. The poorer man was his kinsman of the centuries. Theworld had not been kind to him. He had lost the way of material success.
Perhaps some kink in his mind, a sense of comedy, a touch of the oldwanderlust of the ages.
Lee wondered what had kept him poor as he looked at the figureapproaching. It was straight and fine in spite of the liquor.
Doyle's brain was just clear enough to realize that he had been highlyhonored in a call from the foremost citizen of Virginia. His politenesswas extreme. And it was true. It was instinctive. It leaped fromcenturies of racial inheritance.
"We're proud of the honor you've done us, Colonel Lee," he announced.
He grasped the extended hand with a cordial, dignified greeting.
"I only hope I can be of some service to you and your family, Mr.
Doyle.""I'm sure you can, sir. Won't you come in, Colonel?""Thank you, it's so pleasant outside, we'll just sit down by the well,if you don't mind.""Yessir. All right, sir."Lee moved slowly toward the platform of the well with its old oakenbucket and tall sweep.
His wife threw a warning at her husband under her breath.
"Don't you say nothin' foolish now--""I won't.""Your tongue's too long when it gets to waggin'.""I'll mind, Ma," he smiled.
The woman called softly to her distinguished guest:
"You'll excuse me, Colonel, while I look after the supper. I'll be backin a minute.""Certainly, Madame."He could not have bowed with graver courtesy to the wife of Stephen A.
Douglas.
"Have a seat here on the well, Colonel," Doyle invited.
Lee took his seat on the weather-beaten oak boards.
Doyle turned his foot on a rounded stone and set down a littleungracefully in spite of his effort to be fully himself. He saw at oncehis misstep and hastened to apologize.
"I'm sorry, Colonel, you've caught me with the smell of liquor, sir--"He paused and looked over his garden in an embarrassed way.
"I know what has happened to you, Mr. Doyle, and you have my deepestsympathy.""Thank you, sir.""I might have done the same thing if I'd been in your position. Though,of course, liquor won't help things for you."Doyle smiled around the corners of his blue eyes.
"No, sir, except while it's a swimmin' in the veins. Then for a littlewhile you're great and rich and you don't care which a way the windblows.""The farm is lost beyond hope?""Yessir, clean gone--world without end.""You had a lawyer?""The best in the county, old Jim Randolph. I didn't have no money to payhim. He said we'd both always voted the Whig ticket and he'd waive hisretainer. I didn't know what he was wavin', but anyhow he tuck my case.
And I will say he put up a nasty fight for me. He made one of thegreatest speeches I ever heared in my life. Hit wuz mighty nigh worthlosin' the farm ter hear him tell how I'd been abused and how fine afeller I wuz. An' when he los' the case, he cussed the Judge, he cussedthe jury, he cussed the lawyers. He swore they was all fools and didn'tknow the first principles er law nohow. I sho enjoyed the fight, ef Idid lose it. I couldn't pay him nothin' yet. But I did manage to get hima gallon of the best apple brandy I ever tasted.""What do you think of doing?""I ain't had time ter think, sir. I don't think fast nohow and the firstthing I had to do when I come home and tole the ole 'oman and she bustout cryin'--wuz ter get drunk. Somehow I couldn't stand it.""You've never learned a trade?""No sir--nothin' 'cept farmin'. I said to myself--what's the use? Thesedamned nigger slaves have learned all the trades. They say in the olddays, they wuz just servants in the house and stables, and field hands.
Now they've learnt _all_ the trades. They're mechanics, blacksmiths,carpenters, wagon makers and everything. What chance has a poor whiteman got agin 'em? They don't have to worry about nothin'. They haveeverything they need before they lift their hands to do anything. Theygot plenty to eat for themselves and their families, no matter how manychildren they have. All they can eat, all they can wear, a warm houseand a big fire in the winter. I have to fight and scratch to keep a roofover my head, wood in my fireplace, clothes on my back and somethin' toeat on my table. How can I beat the slave at a trade? Tain't no use totry. Ef you want to build a house, your own carpenters can do it. And ifyou haven't enough slave carpenters of your own, your neighbors have.
They can hire 'em to you cheaper than I can work and live. They're goin'
to _live_ anyhow. That's settled because they're slaves. They're worthtwelve hundred dollars apiece. Their life is precious. Mine don't count.
I got to look after that myself and I got to look after my wife andchildren, too. Hit ain't right, Colonel, this Slavery business. You knowthat as well as I do. I've heard you say it, too--""I agree with you, Mr. Doyle. But if we set them all free to-morrow, andyou had to compete with their labor, you couldn't live down to theirstandard of wages, could you?""No, I couldn't. They would kill me at that game, too. That's why I hatea free nigger worse than a slave--"He paused and his face knotted with fury.
"Damn 'em all--why are they here anyhow?""Come, come, my friend," Lee protested. "It doesn't help to swear aboutit. They _are_ here. Not by any wish of mine or of yours. We inheritedthis curse from the past. We have clung to old delusions while our smartYankee friends have shifted the responsibilities on others.""What _can_ I do, Colonel?" Doyle asked desperately. "I don't know howto do anything but farm. I can't go into the fields and work with slavesas a field hand. And I couldn't get such work to do if I'd do it. I'lldie before I'll come down to it. I might rent a little farm alongside ofa free nigger. But he can beat me at that game. He can live on less andwork longer hours than I do. He'll underbid me as a cropper. He can liveand pay the owner four-fifths of the crop. I'd starve. What am I goin'
to do?""Had you thought of moving West into one of the new Territories justopening?""Yessir. I'd thought of it. But how am I goin' to get there with a wifeand five children?"Lee rose and looked about the place thoughtfully.
"How much could you realize from the sale of your things?"Doyle scratched his head doubtfully.
"I ain't got no idee, sir. I'm afraid not much. Ye see it's just homestuff. The old 'oman's awful smart. She raises enough chickens andturkeys and ducks and guineas to eat, and she sells a few eggs and youngchickens and turkeys when they brings anything in the market. I got sixsheep, a cow, a calf, a mule, a couple o' pigs in the pen. But theywon't bring much money. Ye see I never felt so poor ez long ez I had a_home_ where I can live independent like. That house ain't much, sir.
But you ain't no idea how deep down in my heart it's got."He paused and looked at it. The Colonel followed his gaze. It was asmall frame structure standing in a yard filled with trees. A one-storyaffair with a sharp, gabled attic. Two dormer windows projected fromthe high roof and a solid brick chimney at each end gave it dignity. Anarrow porch came straight out from the front door. On either side ofthe porch were built wooden benches and behind them on a lattice grewa luxuriant rambler rose. It was still blooming richly in the warmSeptember sun.
"Ye see, sir," Doyle went on, "what we've got that's worth havin' can'tbe sold. I love the smell o' them roses. I wake up in the night and thebreeze brings it in the window and it puts me to sleep like an old songmy mother used to sing when I was a little shaver--"He stopped short.
"I didn't mean to snivel, sir.""I understand, my friend. No apologies are necessary.""And that big scuppernong grape vine out there in the garden--I couldn'tsell that. I planted it fifteen years ago. Folks told us we was too furnorth here fur it to grow good. But I knowed better. You can see itscovered a place as big ez the house. And you can smell them ripe grapesa hundred yards before ye get to the gate. I make a little wine outen'em. We have 'em to eat a whole month. That garden keeps us goin' winterand summer. You see them five rows of flat turnips and the ruttabaggersbeside 'em? I've cabbage enough banked under them pine tops to make afifty-gallon barrel o' kraut and give us cabbage with our bacon allwinter. We've got turnip greens, onions and collards. I've got corn andwheat in my crib and bacon enough to last me till next year. I raisethe finest watermelons and mushmelons in the county and it ain't muchtrouble to live here. I never knowed how well off I wuz till the Sheriffcome and told me I had to go.""You're in the prime of life. You can go to a new country and begin overagain. Why not?""If I could get there. I reckon I could."He stopped short as his wife appeared by his side. She had heard ColonelLee's last question.
"Of course, you can begin over again. Haven't we got three of the finestboys the Lord ever give a mother? They ain't got no chance here nohow.
My baby boy's one o' the smartest youngsters in the county. Ef old AndyJackson wuz a poor boy an' got ter be President, he might do the samething ef we give him a chance--""Yes, I reckon we could, ef we had a chance," Doyle agreed doubtfully.
"But it would be a hard pull to leave my ole Virginy home. You know thatwould pull you, Colonel--now wouldn't it?""Yes, it would," was the earnest answer.
"You see I wuz born in this country an' me daddy before me. I like ithere. I like the feel of the air in the fall. There's a flock o' ducksnow circlin' over that bend o' the river. The geese are comin'. I heard'em honk high up in the sky last night. I like my oysters and terrapin.
I like to shoot ducks and geese, rabbits and quail. I like the smello' the water. I like the smell o' these fields. I like the way the sunshines and the winds blow down here. It's in my blood.""But you'll go if you can get away," his wife interrupted cheerfully.
Two little girls timidly drew near. Their faces were washed clean andtheir shining blonde hair gleamed in circles of golden light as the raysof the setting sun caught it.
Lee smiled, took them both in his arms and kissed them.
A tear softened his eyes as he placed them on the ground.
"You're darling little dolls. No wonder your mother loves you.""Run back in the house now, honeys," the mother said.
The children slowly obeyed, glancing back at the great man who hadkissed them. They wondered why their daddy hadn't kissed them oftener.
"What do you think we ought to do, Colonel Lee?" the woman askedeagerly.
"I can tell you what I would do, Madame, in your place--""What?"The husband and wife spoke the word in chorus.
"I'd go West and begin again.""But how'm I goin' to get away, sir?" the man asked blankly.
"Sell your things for the best price you can get and I'll loan you thebalance of the money you'll need.""Will you, sir?" the woman gasped.
"I ain't got no security for ye, Colonel--" Doyle protested.
"You are my friend and neighbor, Mr. Doyle. You're in distress. Youdon't need security. I'll take your note, sir, without endorsement.""Glory to God!" the mother cried with face uplifted in a prayer ofthanksgiving.
Doyle couldn't speak for a moment. He looked out over the roadway andgot control of his feelings before trying. There was a lump in histhroat which made his speech thick when at last he managed to graspLee's hand.
"I dunno how to thank you, sir.""It will be all right, Mr. Doyle. Look after the sale of your things andI'll find out the best way for you to get there and let you know."He mounted his horse and rode away into the fading sunset as theywatched him through dimmed eyes.
CHAPTER VIII
Lee had promised Edmund Ruffin his answer early in the week. Ruffin hadjust ridden up the hill and dismounted.
Mrs. Marshall, the Colonel's sister, on a visit from Baltimore, fled athis approach.
"Excuse me, Mary," she cried to Mrs. Lee. "I just can't stand theseranting fire-eating politicians. They make me ill. I'll go to my room."She hurried up the stairway and left the frail mistress of the house tomeet her formidable guest.
Ruffin was the product of the fierce Abolition Crusade. Hot-tempered,impulsive, intemperate in his emotions and their expression, he was theperfect counterpart of the men who were working night and day in theNorth to create a condition of mob feeling out of which a civil conflictmight grow. _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ had set him on fire with new hatreds.
His vocabulary of profanity had been enlarged by the addition of everyname in the novel. He had been compelled to invent new expressions tofit these characters. He damned them individually and collectively. Hecursed each trait of each character, good and bad. He cursed the goodpoints with equal unction and equal emphasis. In fact the good traits inMrs. Stowe's people seemed to carry him to greater heights of wrath andprofanity than the bad ones. He dissected each part of each character'sanatomy, damned each part, put the parts together and damned thecollection. And then he damned the whole story, characters, plot andscenes to the lowest pit and cursed the devil for not building a lowerone to which he might consign it. And in a final burst of passion healways ended by damning himself for his utter inability to express_anything_ which he really felt.
With all his ugly language, which he reserved for conversation with men,he was the soul of consideration for a woman. Mrs. Lee had no fear ofany rude expression from his lips. She didn't like him because she feltin his personality the touch of mob insanity which the Slavery questionhad kindled. She dreaded this appeal to blind instinct and belief. Witha woman's intuition she felt the tragic possibility of such leadershipNorth and South.
She saw his leonine head and shaggy hair silhouetted against the redglow of the west with a shiver at its symbolism, but met him with thecordial greeting which every Southern woman gave instinctively to thefriend of her husband.
"Come in, Mr. Ruffin," she welcomed.
He bowed over her hand and spoke in the soft drawl of the Southernplanter.
"Thank you, Madame. I'm greatly honored in having you greet me at thedoor.""Colonel Lee is expecting you."The planter drew himself up with a touch of pride and importance.
"Yes'm. I sent him word I would be here at three. I was detained inWashington. But I succeeded in convincing the editor of _The DailyGlobe_ that my mission was one of grave importance. I not only desire towish Colonel Lee God-speed on his journey to West Point and congratulatehim on the honor conferred on Virginia by his appointment to the commandof our Cadets--but--"He paused, smiled and glanced toward the portico, as if he were holdingback an important secret.
Mrs. Lee hastened to put him at his ease.
"You can trust my discretion in any little surprise you may have for theColonel."Ruffin bowed.
"I'm sure I can, Madame. I'm sure I can."He dropped his voice.
"You know perhaps that I sent him a few days ago a scurrilous attack onthe South by a Yankee woman--a new novel?""He received it.""Has he read it?""Carefully. He has read it twice.""Good!"The planter breathed deeply, squared his shoulders and paced the floorwith a single quick turn. He stopped before Mrs. Lee and spoke in sharpemphasis.
"I'm going to spring a little surprise on the public, Madame! Asensation that will startle the country, and God knows we need a littleshaking just now--"He paused and whispered.
"I'm so sure of what the Colonel will say that I've brought a reporterfrom the Washington _Daily Globe_ with me--"Mrs. Lee lifted her hand in dismay.
"He is here?""He is seated on the lawn just outside, Madame," Ruffin hastened toreassure her. "I thought at the last moment I'd better have him waituntil I received Colonel Lee's consent to the interview.""I'm glad you did.""Oh, it will be all right, I assure you!""He might not wish to see a reporter--""So I told the young man.""I'm afraid--""I'll pave the way, Madame. I'll pave the way. Colonel Lee and I arelife-long friends. Will you kindly announce me?""The Colonel has just ridden up to the stables to give some orders abouthis horses. He'll be here in a moment."Lee stepped briskly into the room and extended his hand.
"It's you, Ruffin. My apologies. I was called out to see a neighbor. Ishould have been here to receive you.""No apologies, Colonel, Mrs. Lee has been most gracious."The mistress of the house smiled.
"Make yourself at home, Mr. Ruffin. I shall hope to see you at dinner."Ruffin stood respectfully until Mrs. Lee had disappeared.
"Pray be seated," Lee invited.
Ruffin seated himself on the couch and watched his host keenly.
Lee took a cigar from the mantel and offered it.
"A cigar, Ruffin?""Thanks.""Now make yourself entirely at home, my good friend."The planter lighted the cigar, blew a long cloud of smoke and settled inhis seat.
"I'm glad to learn from Mrs. Lee that you have read the book I sentyou--the Abolitionist firebrand.""Yes."Lee quietly walked to the mantel and got the volume.
"I have it here."He turned the leaves thoughtfully.
Ruffin laughed.
"And, what do you think of it?"The Colonel was silent a moment.
"Well, for those who like that kind of book--it's the kind of book theywill like.""Exactly!" Ruffin cried, slapping his knee with a blow that bruised it.
"And you're the man in all the South to tell the fool who likes thatsort of book just how big a fool he is!"Lee opened the volume again and turned the pages slowly.
"Ruffin, I don't read many novels--"He paused as if in deep study.
"But this one I have read twice.""I'm glad you did, sir," the planter snapped.
"And I must confess it stunned me.""Stunned you?""Yes.""How?""When I finished reading it, I felt like the overgrown boy who stubbedhis toe. It hurt too bad to laugh. And I'm too big to cry.""You amaze me, sir.""That's the way I feel, my friend."He paused, walked to the window, and gazed out at the first lights thatbegan to flicker in the windows of the Capitol across the river.
"That book," he went on evenly, "is an appeal to the heart of the worldagainst Slavery. It is purely an appeal to sentiment, to the emotions,to passion, if you will--the passions of the mob and the men who leadmobs. And it's terrible. As terrible as an army with banners. I heardthe throb of drums through its pages. It will work the South into afrenzy. It will make millions of Abolitionists in the North who couldnot be reached by the coarser methods of abuse. It will prepare the soilfor a revolution. If the right man appears at the right moment with alighted torch--""That's just why, sir, as the foremost citizen of Virginia, you mustanswer this slander. I have brought a reporter from the _Globe_ with mefor that purpose. Shall I call him,""A reporter from a daily paper with a circulation of fifteen thousand?""Your word, Colonel Lee, will be heard at this moment to the ends of theearth, sir!""In a newspaper interview?""Yes, sir.""Nonsense.""It's your character that will count.""Such an answer would be a straw pitched against a hurricane. I am toldthat this book has already reached a circulation of half a millioncopies and it has only begun. That means already three million readers.
To answer this book my pen should be better trained than my sword--""It is, sir, if you'll only use it.""The South has only trained swords. And not so many of them as we think.
We have no writers. We have no literature. We have no champions in theforum of the world's thought. We are being arraigned at the judgment barof mankind and we are dumb. It's appalling.""That's why you must speak for us. Speak in our defense. Speak with atongue of flame--""I am not trained for speech, Ruffin. And the pen is mightier than thesword. I've never realized it before. The South will soon have thecivilized world arraigned against her. The North with a thousand pens isstirring the faiths, the prejudices and the sentiments of the millions.
This appeal is made in the face of History, Reason and Law. But itsforce will be as the gravitation of the earth, beyond the power ofresistance, unless we can check it in time.""When it comes to resistance," Ruffin snapped, "that's another question.
The Yankees are a race of damned cowards and poltroons, sir. They won'tfight."Lee shook his head gravely.
"I've been in the service more than a quarter of a century, my friend.
I've seen a lot of Yankees under fire. I've seen a lot of them die. AndI know better. Your idea of a Yankee is about as correct as the Northernnotion of Southern fighters. A notion they're beginning to exploit incartoons which show an effeminate lady killer with an umbrella stuck inthe end of his musket and a negro mixing mint juleps for him.""We've got to denounce those slanders. I'm a man of cool judgment and Inever lose my temper--"He leaped to his feet purple with rage.
"But, by God, sir, we can't sit quietly under the assault of thesenarrow-minded bigots. You must give the lie to this infamous book!""How can I, my friend?""Doesn't she make heroes of law breakers?""Surely.""Is there no reverence for law left in this country?""In Courts of Justice, yes. But not in the courts of passion, prejudice,beliefs, sentiment. The writers of sentiment sing the praises of lawbreakers--""But there can be no question of the right or wrong of this book. It isan infamous slander. I deny and impeach it!""I'm afraid that's all we can do, Ruffin--deny and impeach it. When wecome down to brass tacks we can't answer it. From their standpoint theNorth is right. From our standpoint we are right, because our rights areclear under the Constitution. Slavery is not a Southern institution; itis a national inheritance. It is a national calamity. It was writteninto the Constitution by all the States, North and South. And if theNorth is ignorant of our rights under the laws of our fathers, we havefailed to enlighten them--""We won't be dictated to, sir, by a lot of fanatics and hypocrites.""Exactly, we stand on our dignity. We deny and we are ready to fight.
But we will not argue. As an abstract proposition in ethics oreconomics, Slavery does not admit of argument. It is a curse. It's onus and we can't throw it off at once. My quarrel with the North isthat they do not give us their sympathy and their help in our dilemma.
Instead they rave and denounce and insult us. They are even moreresponsible than we for the existence of Slavery, since their ships, notours, brought the negro to our shores. Slavery is an outgrown economicfolly, a bar to progress, a political and social curse to the whiterace. It must die of its own weakness, South, as it died of its ownweakness, North. It is now in the process of dying. The South has freedover three hundred thousand slaves by the voluntary act of the master.
If these appeals of the mob leader to the spirit of the mob can bestopped, a solution will be found.""It will never be found in the ravings of Abolitionists.""Nor in the hot tempers of our Southern partisans, Ruffin. Look inthe mirror, my good friend. Chattel Slavery is doomed because of thesuperior efficiency of the wage system. Morals have nothing to do withit. The Captain of Industry abolished Chattel Slavery in the North, notthe preacher or the agitator. He established the wage system in itsplace because it is a mightier weapon in his hand. It is subject to butone law. The iron law of supply and demand. Labor is a commodity to bebought and sold to the highest bidder. And the highest bidder is atliberty to bid lower than the price of bread, clothes, fuel and shelter,if he chooses. This system is now moving Southward like a glacier fromthe frozen heart of the Northern mountains, eating all in its path. Itis creeping over Maryland, Kentucky, Missouri. It will slowly engulfVirginia, North Carolina and Tennessee and the end is sure. Itspropelling force is not moral. It is soulless. It is purely economic.
The wage earner, driven by hunger and cold, by the fear of the loss oflife itself--is more efficient in his toil than the care-free negroslave of the South, who is assured of bread, of clothes, of fuel andshelter, with or without work. Slavery does not admit of argument, myfriend. To argue about it is to destroy it.""I disagree with you, sir!" Ruffin thundered.
"I know you do. But you can't answer this book.""It can be answered, sir."Lee paced the floor, his arms folded behind his back, paused and watchedRuffin's flushed face. He shook his head again.
"The book is unanswerable, because it is an appeal to emotion based on astudy of Slavery in the abstract. If no allowance be made for the tenderand humane character of the Southern people or the modification ofstatutory law by the growth of public sentiment, its imaginary scenesare within the bounds of the probable. The story is crude, but it istold with singular power without a trace of bitterness. The blindferocity of Garrison, who sees in every slaveholder a fiend, nowhereappears in its pages. On the other hand, Mrs. Stowe has painted oneslaveholder as gentle and generous. Simon Legree, her villain, is aYankee who has moved South and taken advantage of the power of a masterto work evil. Such men have come South. Such things might be done. Itis precisely this possibility that makes Slavery indefensible. You knowthis. And I know it.""You astound me, Colonel.""Yes, I'm afraid I do. I'd like to speak a message to the South aboutthis book. I've a great deal more to say to my own people than to ourcritics."Ruffin rose, thrust his hands in his pockets, walked to the window,turned suddenly and faced his host.
"But look here, Colonel Lee, I'm damned if I can agree with you, sir!
Suppose Slavery _is_ wrong--an economic fallacy and a social evil--Idon't say it is, mind you. Just suppose for the sake of argument that itis. We don't propose to be lectured on this subject by our inferiors inthe North. The children of the men who stole these slaves from Africaand sold them to us at a profit!"Lee laughed softly.
"The sins of an inferior cannot excuse the mistakes of a superior. Theman of superior culture and breeding should lead the world in progress.
What has come over us in the South, Ruffin? Your father and mine neverdefended Slavery. They knew it was to them, their children and thisland, a curse. It was a blessing only to the savage who was being taughtthe rudiments of civilization at a tremendous cost to his teacher. Thefirst Abolition Societies were organized in the South. Washington,Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, Randolph, all the great leaders of theold South, the men whose genius created this republic--all denouncedSlavery. They told us that it is a poison, breeding pride and tyrannyof character, that it corrupts the mind of the child, that it degradeslabor, wears out our land, destroys invention, and saps our ideal ofliberty. And yet we have begun to defend it.""Because we are being hounded, traduced and insulted by the North,yes--""Yes, but also because we must have more land.""We've as much right in the West as the North.""That's not the real reason we demand the right of entry. We areexhausting the soil of the South by our slipshod farming on greatplantations where we use old-fashioned tools and slave labor. We refuseto study history. Ancient empires tried this system and died. TheCarthagenians developed it to perfection and fell before the Romans. TheRomans borrowed it from Carthage. It destroyed the small farms and droveout the individual land owners. It destroyed respect for trades andcrafts. It strangled the development of industrial art. And when thetest came Roman civilization passed. You hot-heads under the goading ofAbolition crusaders now blindly propose to build the whole structure ofSouthern Society on this system.""We've no choice, sir.""Then we must find one. Slowly but surely the clouds gather for thestorm. We catch only the first rumblings now but it's coming."Ruffin flared.
"Now listen to me, Colonel. I'm a man of cool judgment and I never losemy temper, sir--"He choked with passion, recovered and rushed on.
"If they ever dare attack us, we won't need _writers_. We'll draw ourswords and thrash them! The South is growing rich and powerful."Lee lifted his hand in a quick gesture of protest.
"A popular delusion, my friend. Under Slave labor the South is growingpoorer daily. While the Northern States, under the wage system, tentimes more efficient, are draining the blood and treasure of Europe andgrowing richer by leaps and bounds. Norfolk, Richmond and Charlestonshould have been the great cities of the Eastern Seaboard. They are asyet unimportant towns in the world commerce. Boston, Philadelphia andNew York have become the centers of our business life, of our trade, ourculture, our national power. While slavery is scratching the surface ofour soil with old-fashioned plows, while we quit work at twelve o'clockevery Saturday, spend our Sundays at church, and set two negroes tohelp one do nothing Monday morning, the North is sweeping onward in thescience of agriculture. While they invent machines which double theircrops, cut their labor down a hundred per cent, we are fighting for newlands in the West to exhaust by our primitive methods. The treasures ofthe earth yet lie in our mines untouched by pick or spade. Our forestsstand unbroken--vast reaches of wilderness. The slave is slow andwasteful. Wage labor, quick, efficient. Our chief industry is thebreeding of a race of feverish politicians.""You know, Colonel Lee, as well as I do that Slavery in the South hasbeen a blessing to the negro."Lee moved his head in quick assent.
"I admit that Slavery took the negro from the jungle, from a slavery themost cruel known to human history, that it has taught him the use oftools, the science of agriculture, the worship of God, the first lessonsin the alphabet of humanity. But unless we can now close this school, myfriend, somebody is going to try to divide this union some day--"Ruffin struck his hands together savagely.
"The quicker the better, I say! If the children of the men who createdthis republic are denied equal rights under its laws and in itsTerritories, then I say, to your tents, oh, Israel!""And do you know what that may mean?""A Southern and a Northern Nation. Let them come!""The States have been knit together slowly, but inevitably by steam andelectricity. I can conceive of no greater tragedy than an attempt to-dayto divide them.""I can conceive of no greater blessing!" Ruffin fairly shouted.
"So William Lloyd Garrison, the leader of Abolition, is saying in hispaper _The Liberator_. And, Ruffin, unless we can lock up some hot-headsin the South and such fanatics as Garrison in the North, the mob, notthe statesman, is going to determine the laws and the policy of thiscountry. Somebody will try to divide the union. And then comes thedeluge! When I think of it, the words of Thomas Jefferson ring throughmy soul like an alarm bell in the night. 'I tremble for my country whenI reflect that God is just and that His justice cannot sleep forever.
Nothing is more certainly written in the book of fate than these blackpeople shall be free--'"Ruffin lifted his hand in a commanding gesture.
"Don't omit his next sentence, sir--'nor is it less certain, that thetwo races, equally free, cannot live under the same government--'""Exactly," Lee answered solemnly. "And that is the only reason why Ihave ever allowed myself to own a slave for a moment--the insolubleproblem of what to do with him when freed. The one excuse for Slaverywhich the South can plead without fear before the judgment bar of God isthe blacker problem which their emancipation will create. Unless it canbe brought about in a miracle of patience, wisdom and prayer."He paused and smiled at Ruffin's forlorn expression.
"Will you call your reporter now to take my views?""No, sir," the planter growled. "I've changed my mind."The Colonel laughed softly.
"I thought you might."Ruffin gazed in silence through the window at the blinking lights inWashington, turned and looked moodily at his calm host. He spoke in aslow, dreamy monotone, his eyes on space seeing nothing:
"Colonel Lee, this country is hell bent and hell bound. I can see nohope for it."Lee lifted his head with firm faith.
"Ruffin, this country is in God's hands--and He will do what's right--""That's just what I'm afraid, sir!" Ruffin mused. "Oh, no--I--don't meanthat exactly. I mean that we must anticipate--""The wisdom of God?""That we must prepare to meet our enemies, sir.""I agree with you. And I'm going to do it. I've been doing a lot ofthinking and _soul_ searching since you gave me this troublesome book toread--"He stopped short, rose and drew the old-fashioned bell cord.
Ben appeared in full blue cloth and brass buttons, on duty again asbutler.
"Yassah--""I'm glad to see you, Ben. You're feeling yourself again?""Yassah. Praise God, I'se back at my place once mo', sah."The master lifted his hand in warning.
"Take care of yourself now. No more risks. You're not as young as youonce were.""Thankee, sah.""Ask Mrs. Lee to bring me the document on my desk. Find Sam and fetchhim here."Ben bowed.
"Yassah. Right away, sah."Lee turned to his guest genially.
"I'm going to ask you to witness what I'm about to do, Ruffin. Andyou mustn't take offense. We differ about Slavery and politics in theabstract, but whatever our differences on the surface, you are an oldVirginia planter and I trust we shall always be friends."The two men clasped hands and Ruffin spoke with deep emotion.
"I am honored in your friendship, Colonel Lee. However I may differ withyou about the union, we agree on one thing, that the old Dominion is thenoblest state on which the sun has ever shown!"Lee closed his eyes as if in prayer.
"On that we are one. Old Virginia, the mother of Presidents and ofstates, as I leave her soil I humbly pray that God's blessings may everrest upon her!""So say I, sir," Ruffin responded heartily. "And I'll try to do thecussin' for her while you do the praying."Mrs. Lee entered and handed to her husband a folded document, as Bencame from the kitchen with Sam, who bowed and grinned to every one inthe room.
Lee spoke in low tones to his wife.
"Ask the young people to come in for a moment, my dear."Mrs. Lee crossed quickly to the library door and called:
"Come in, children, Colonel Lee wishes to see you all."Mary, Stuart, Custis, Phil, Robbie and Sid pressed into the hall incurious, expectant mood. Mrs. Marshall knew that Ruffin was still there,but her curiosity got the better of her aversion. She followed thechildren, only to run squarely into Ruffin.
He was about to speak in his politest manner when she stiffened andpassed him.
Ruffin's eye twinkled. He knew that she saw him. She hated him forhis political views. She also knew that he hated her husband, JudgeMarshall, with equal cordiality. His pride was too great to feel theslightest hurt at her attempt to ignore him. She was a fanatic on thesubject of the union. All right, he was a fanatic on the idea of anindependent South. They were even. Let it be so.
With a toss of his head, he turned toward Lee who had seated himself atthe table behind the couch.
The children were chatting and laughing as they entered. A sudden hushfell on them as they caught the serious look on the Colonel's face. Hewas writing rapidly. He stopped and fixed a seal on the paper which heheld in his hand. He read it carefully, lifted his eyes to the groupthat had drawn near and said:
"Children, my good friend, Mr. Ruffin, has called to-day to bid usGod-speed on our journey North. And he has asked me to answer _UncleTom's Cabin_. I've called you to witness the only answer I know how tomake at this moment."He paused and turned toward Sam.
"Come here, Sam."The young negro rolled his eyes in excited wonder about the room andlaughed softly at nothing as he approached the table.
"Yassah, Marse Robert.""How old are you, Sam?""Des twenty, sah.""I had meant to wait until you were twenty-one for this, but I havedecided to act to-day. You will arrange to leave here and go with us asfar as New York."The negro bowed gratefully.
"Yassah, thankee sah, I sho did want ter go norf wid you, sah, but Ihated to axe ye."Lee handed Sam the document.
"You will go with me a free man, my boy. You are the only slave I yethold in my own right. I have just given you your deed of emancipation.
From this hour you are your own master. May God bless you and keep youin health and strength and give you long life and much happiness."Sam stared at the paper and then at the kindly eyes of his old master. Asob caught his voice as he stammered:
"May God bless you, Marse Robert--"Ben lifted his hands in benediction and his voice rang in the solemncadence of the prophet and seer:
"And let the glory of His face shine upon him forever!"Mrs. Marshall stooped and kissed her brother.
"You're a true son of Virginia, Robert, in this beautiful answer youmake to-day to all our enemies."She rose and faced Ruffin with square antagonism.
Lee turned to the old butler.
"And Ben, tell all our servants of the estate that, under the will ofMrs. Lee's father I will in due time set them free. I would do so to-dayif the will had not fixed the date."Ben bowed gravely.
"I'se proud to be your servant, Marse Robert and Missis, and whenmy freedom comes frum yo' hands, I'll be prouder still to serve youalways."With head erect Ben proudly led the dazed young freedman from the hallto the kitchen where his reception was one of mixed wonder and pity.
There fell a moment's awkward silence, broken at last by Stuart's clear,boyish voice. He saw Ruffin's embarrassment. He knew the man's fierytemper and wondered at his restraint.
"Well, Mr. Ruffin," Stuart began, "we may not see as clearly as ColonelLee to-day, but he's my commander, sir, and I'll say he's right."Ruffin faced Lee with a look of uncompromising antagonism and fairlyshot his words.
"And for the millions of the South, I say he's wrong. There's a timefor all things. And this is not the time for such an act. From theappearance of this book you can rest assured the emancipation of slavesin the South will cease. We will never be bullied into freeing ourslaves by slander and insult. Colonel Lee's example will not befollowed. The fanatics of the North have begun to spit on our faces.
There's but one answer to an insult--and that's a blow!"Lee stepped close to the planter, laid one hand gently on his shoulder,searched his angry eyes for a moment and slowly said:
"And thrice is he armed, my friend, who hath his quarrel just. I set myhouse in order before the first blow falls."Ruffin smiled and threw off the ugly strain.
"I'm sorry, sir," he said with friendly indifference, "that my missionhas been a failure.""And I'm sorry we can't agree.""I won't be able to stay to dinner, Mrs. Lee, and I bid you all goodevening."With a wave of his hand in a gesture behind which lurked the tingling oftaut nerves, he turned and left.
The beat of his horse's hoof echoed down the road with a sharp, angrycrack.
CHAPTER IX
On Sunday the whole plantation went to Church. The negroes sat in thegallery and listened with rapt attention to the service. They joined itsritual and its songs with their white folks in equal sincerity and moreprofound emotion.
At the crossroads the stream of carriages, carts and buggies andhorseback riders parted. To the right, the way led to the EpiscopalChurch, the old English establishment of the State, long sinceseparated from secular authority, yet still bearing the seal of countyaristocracy. Colonel Lee was a devout member of this church. Mrs. Leewas the inspiration of its charities and the soul of its activities.
A few of the negroes of the estate attended it with the master andmistress of Arlington. By far the larger number turned to the left atthe cross roads and found their way to the Antioch Baptist Church. Thesimplicity of its service, the fervor of its singing, and above allthe emotional call of its revivals which swept the country each summerappealed to the warm-hearted Africans. They took to the Baptist andMethodist churches as ducks to water. The master made no objection tothe exercise of their right to worship God as their consciences called.
He encouraged their own preachers to hold weekly prayer meetings andexhort his people in the assembling places of the servants.
Nor did he object to the dance which Sam, who was an Episcopalian,invariably organized on the nights following prayer and exhortation.
This last Sunday was one of tender farewells to friends and neighbors.
They crowded about the Colonel after the services. They wished himhealth and happiness and success in his new work.
The last greeting he got from an old bent neighbor of ninety years. Itbrought a cloud to his brow. All day and into the night the thoughtpersisted and its shadow chilled the hours of his departure. JamesNelson was his name, of the ancient family of the Nelsons of Yorktown.
He held Lee's hand a long time and blinked at him with a pair of keen,piercing eyes--keen from a spiritual light that burned within. He spokein painful deliberation as if he were translating a message.
"I am glad you are going to West Point, Colonel Lee. You will have timefor thinking. You will have time to study the art of war as great mindsmust study it alone if they lead armies to victory. Generals are notdeveloped in the saddle on our plains fighting savages. Our country isgoing to need a leader of supreme genius. I saw him in a vision, thenight I read in the _Richmond Enquirer_ that you had been called to WestPoint. I shall not see you again. I am walking now into the sunset.
Soon the shadows will enfold me and I shall sleep the long sleep. I amcontent. I have lived. I have loved. I have succeeded and failed. I haveswept the gamut of human passion and human emotion. I have no right tomore. Yet I envy you the glory of manhood in the crisis that is coming.
May the God of our fathers keep you and teach you and bless you is myprayer."Lee was too deeply moved for words to reply. He pressed his old friend'shand, held it in silence and turned away.
The young people rode horseback. Never in his life had Phil seenanything to equal the easy grace with which these Southern girls sattheir horses. Their mothers before them had been born in the saddle.
Their ease, their grace was not an acquirement of the teacher. It wasbred in the bone.
When a boy challenged a girl for a race, the challenge was instantlyaccepted. Their saddles were made of the finest leather which the bestsaddle makers of England and America could find. Their girths were setwith double silver buckles. A saddle never turned.
When the long procession reached the gates of Arlington, it seemed toPhil that half the congregation were going to stop for dinner. A largepart of them did. Every friend and neighbor who pressed Colonel Lee'shand, or the hand of his wife, had been invited.
When they reached the Hall and Library to talk, their conversationcovered a wide range of interest. The one topic tabooed was scandal.
It might be whispered behind closed doors. It was never the subject ofconversation in an assembly of friends and neighbors in the home. Theytalked of the rich harvest. They discussed the changes in the fortunesof their mutual friends. They had begun to demand better roads. Theydiscussed the affairs of the County, the Church, the State. The ladieschatted of fashions, of course. But they also discussed the latestnovels of George Eliot with keen interest and true insight into theirsignificance in the development of English literature. They knew theirDickens, Thackeray and Scott almost by heart--especially Scott. Theyexpressed their opinions of the daring work of the new author withenthusiasm. Some approved; others had doubts. They did not yet know thatGeorge Eliot was a woman.
The chief topic of conversation among the men was politics, State andNational. The problems of the British Empire came in for a share of thediscussion. These men not only read Burke and Hume, Dickens and Scott,they read the newspapers of England and they kept up with the program ofEnglish political parties as their fathers had. And they quoted theiropinions as authority for a younger generation. On the shelves of thelibrary could be seen the classics in sober bindings and sprinkled withthem a few French authors of distinction.
Over all brooded the spirit of a sincere hospitality, gentle, cordial,simple, generous. They did not merely possess homes, they loved theirhomes. The two largest words in the tongue which they spoke were Dutyand Honor. They were not in a hurry. The race for wealth had neverinterested them. They took time to play, to rest, to worship God, tochat with their neighbors, to enjoy a sunset. They came of a raceof world-conquering men and they felt no necessity for hurrying orapologizing for their birthright.
It was precisely this attitude of mind which made the savage attack ofthe Abolitionists so far-reaching in its possible results.
CHAPTER X
The morning of the departure dawned with an overcast sky, the prophecyof winter in the gray clouds that hung over the surface of the river. Achill mist, damp and penetrating, crept up the heights from the water'sedge and veiled the city from view.
Something in the raw air bruised afresh the thought of goodbye to theSouthland. The threat of cold in Virginia meant the piling of ice andsnow in the North. Not a sparrow chirped in the hedges. Only a crow,passing high in the dull sky, called his defiance of wind and weather.
The Colonel made his final round of inspection to see that his peoplewere provided against the winter. Behind each servant's cottage, a hugepile of wood was stacked. The roofs were in perfect order. The chimneyswere pouring columns of smoke. It hung low at first but rolled away atthe touch of the breeze from the North.
With Mrs. Lee he visited the aged and the sick. The thing that broughtthe smile to each withered mouth was the assurance of their love andcare always.
Among the servants Sam held the center of interest. The wonderful,doubtful, yet fascinating thing had come to him. He had been set free.
In each heart was the wish and with it fear of the future. The youngerones laughed and frankly envied him. The older ones wagged their headsdoubtfully.
Old Ben expressed the best feelings of the wiser as he took Sam's handfor a fatherly word. He had finished the packing in an old cowhide trunkwhich Custis had given him.
"We's all gwine ter watch ye, boy, wid good wishes in our hearts and awhole lot er misgivin's a playin' roun' in our min'.""Don't yer worry 'bout me, Uncle Ben. I'se all right."He paused and whispered.
"Ye didn't know dat Marse Robert done gimme five hundred dollars ingol'--did ye?""Five hundred dollars in gol'!" Ben gasped.
Sam drew the shining yellow eagles from the bag in his pocket andjingled them before the old man's eyes.
"Dar it is."Ben touched it reverently.
"Praise God fer de good folks He give us.""I'se er proud nigger, I is. I'se sorry fur dem dat b'longs to po'
folks."Ben looked at him benignly.
"Don't you be too proud, boy. You'se powerful young and foolish. Yer desbarely got sense enough ter git outen a shower er rain. Dat money ain'tgwine ter las yer always.""No, but man, des watch my smoke when I git up North. Yer hear frum me,yer will.""I hopes I hear de right news."Sam replaced his coin with a touch of authority in possession.
"Don't yer worry 'bout me no mo'. I'se a free man now an' I gwine tercome into de Kingdom."The last important task done by the Colonel before taking the train forNew York was the delivery to his lawyers of instructions for the removalof the Doyles and the placing in his hands sufficient funds for theirjourney.
He spent a day in Washington investigating the chances of the newsettler securing a quarter section of land in Miami County, Kansas,the survey of which had been completed. He selected this County on theMissouri border to please Mrs. Doyle. She wished to live as near theline of old Virginia's climate as possible and in a country with trees.
Doyle promised to lose no time in disposing of his goods. The father,mother, three sons and two little girls were at Arlington to bid theColonel and his family goodbye. They were not a demonstrative people buttheir affection for their neighbor and friend could not be mistaken.
The mother's eyes followed him with no attempt to hide her tears. Shewiped them away with her handkerchief. And went right on crying andwiping them again. The boys were too shy to press forward in the crowdand grasp the Colonel's hand.
On arrival in New York the party stopped at the new Hotel Astor onBroadway. Colonel Lee had promised to spend a day at Fort Hamilton,his old command. But it was inconvenient to make the trip until thefollowing morning.
Besides, he had important business to do for Sam. He had sent two of theservants, whom he had emancipated, to Liberia, and he planned the samejourney for Sam. He engaged a reservation for him on a steamer sailingfor Africa, and returned to the hotel at nine o'clock ready to leave forFort Hamilton.
He was compelled to wait for Sam's return from the boarding house forcolored people on Water Street where he had been sent by the proprietorof the Astor. Not even negro servants were quartered in a first-classhotel in New York or any other Northern city.
Sam arrived at half-past nine, and the Colonel strolled down Broadwaywith him to the little park at Bowling Green. He found a seat and badeSam sit down beside him.
The boy watched the expression on his old master's face with dread. Hehad a pretty clear idea what this interview was to be about and he hadmade up his mind on the answer. His uncle, who had been freed five yearsbefore, had written him a glowing letter about Liberia.
He dreaded the subject.
"You know, of course, Sam," the Colonel began, "that your life is now inyour own hands and that I can only advise you as a friend.""An' I sho's glad ter have ye he'p me, Marse Robert.""I'm going to give you the best advice I can. I'm going to advise you todo exactly what I would do if I were in your place.""Yassah.""If I were you, Sam, I wouldn't stay in this country. I'd go back tothe land of my black fathers, to its tropic suns and rich soil. You cannever be a full-grown man here. The North won't have you as such. Thehotel wouldn't let you sleep under its roof, in spite of my protest thatyou were my body-servant. In the South the old shadow of your birth willbe with you. If you wish to lift up your head and be a man it can't behere. No matter what comes in the future. If every black man, woman andchild were set free to-morrow, there are not enough negroes to livealone. The white man will never make you his equal in the world he isbuilding. I've secured your passage to Liberia and I will pay for itwithout touching the money which I gave you. What do you think of it?"Sam scratched his head and looked away embarrassed. He spoke timidly atfirst, but with growing assurance.
"I'se powerful 'fraid dat Liberia's a long way frum home, Marse Robert.""It is. But if you wish to be a full-grown man, it's your chance to-day.
It will be the one chance of your people in the future as well. Can youmake up your mind to face the loneliness and build your home underyour own vine and fig tree? There you can look every man in the face,conscious that you're as good as he is and that the world is yours.""I'se feared I ain't got de spunk, Marse Robert.""The gold in your pocket will build you a house on public lands. Youknow how to farm. Africa has a great future. You've seen our life. We'vetaught you to work, to laugh, to play, to worship God, to love your homeand your people. You're only twenty years old. I envy you the wealth ofyouth. I've reached the hilltop of life. Your way is still upward fora quarter of a century. It's the morning of life, boy, and a new worldcalls you. Will you hear it and go?""I'se skeered, Marse Robert," Sam persisted, shaking his head gravely.
Lee saw the hopelessness of his task and changed his point of appeal.
"What do you think of doing?""Who, me?""Who else? I can't think for you any longer.""Oh, I'll be all right, sah. I foun' er lot er good colored friends inde bordin' house las' night. Wid dat five hundred dollars, I be livin'
in clover here, sah, sho. I done talk wid a feller 'bout goin' inbusiness.""What line of business?""He gwine ter sho me ter-day, sah.""You don't think you might change your mind about Liberia?""Na sah. I don't like my uncle dat's ober dar, nohow.""Then I can't help you any more, Sam?""Na sah, Marse Robert. Y'u been de bes' master any nigger eber had indis worl' an' I ain't nebber gwine ter fergit dat. When I feels dem fivehundred dollars in my pocket I des swells up lak I gwine ter bust. I'sedat proud o' myse'f an' my ole marster dat gimme a start. Lordee, sah,hit's des gwine ter be fun fer me ter git long an' I mak' my fortuneright here. Ye see ef I don't--"Lee smiled indulgently.
"Watch out you don't lose the little one I gave you.""Yassah, I got hit all sewed up in my close."The old master saw that further argument would be useless. He rosewondering if his act of emancipation were not an act of cowardice--theshirking of responsibility for the boy's life. His mouth closed firmly.
That was just the point about the institution of Slavery. No suchresponsibility should be placed on any man's shoulders.
Sam insisted on ministering to the wants of the family until he saw themsafely on the boat for West Point. He waved each member a long goodbye.
And then hurried to his new chum at the boarding house on Water Street.
This dusky friend had won Sam's confidence by his genial ways on thefirst night of their acquaintance. He had learned that Sam had just beenfreed. That this was his first trip to New York though he spoke withcareless ease of his knowledge of Washington.
But the most important fact revealed was that he had lately come intomoney through the generosity of his former master. The sable New Yorkerevinced no curiosity about the amount.
After four days of joy he waked from a sickening stupor. He foundhimself lying in a filthy alley at dawn, bareheaded, his coat torn upthe back, every dollar gone and his friend nowhere to be found.
Colonel Lee had given him the address of three clergymen and told him tocall on them for help if he had any trouble. He looked everywhere forthese cards. They couldn't be found. He had been so cocksure of himselfhe had lost them. He couldn't make up his mind to stoop to blackingboots and cleaning spittoons. He had always lived with aristocrats. Hefelt himself one to his finger tips.
There was but one thing he could do that seemed to be needed up here.
He could handle tobacco. He could stem the leaf. He had learned thatat Arlington in helping Ben superintend the curing of the weed for theservants' use.
He made the rounds of the factories only to find that the larger partof this work was done in tenement homes. He spent a day finding one ofthese workshops.
They offered to take him in as a boarder and give him sixty cents a day.
He could have a pallet beside the six children in the other room and aplace to put his trunk. Sixty cents a day would pay his room rent andgive him barely enough food to keep body and soul together.
He hurried back to his boarding house, threw the little trunk on hisback and trudged to the tobacco tenement. When he arrived no one stoppedwork. The mother waved her hand to the rear. He placed his trunk in adark corner, came out and settled to the task of stemming tobacco.
He did his work with a skill and ease that fascinated the children. Hetook time to show them how to grip the leaf to best advantage and ripthe stem with a quick movement that left scarcely a trace of the weedclinging to it. He worked with a swinging movement of his body and beganto sing in soft, low tones.
The wizened eyes brightened, and when he stopped one of them whispered:
"More, black man. Sing some more!"He sang one more song and choked. His eye caught the look of mortalweariness in the tired face of the little girl of six and his voicewouldn't work.
"Goddermighty!" he muttered, "dese here babies ought not ter be wukkinlak dis!"When lunch time came the six children begged Sam to live in the placeand take his meals with them.
Their mother joined in the plea and offered to board him for thirtycents a day. This would leave him a few cents to spend outside. Hecouldn't yet figure on clothes. It didn't seem right to have to pay forsuch things. Anyhow he had enough to last him awhile.
He decided to accept the offer and live as a boarder with the family.
The lunch was discouraging. A piece of cold bread and a glass of waterfrom the hydrant. Sam volunteered to bring the water.
The hydrant was the only water supply for the six hundred people whosehouses touched the alley. It stood in the center. The only drainagewas a sink in front of it. All the water used had to be carried up thestairs and the slops carried down. The tired people did little carryingdownstairs. Pans and pails full of dishwater were emptied out thewindows with no care for the passer below. Scarcely a day passed withouta fight from this cause. A fight in the quarter was always a pleasure tothe settlement.
Sam munched his bread and sipped his water. He watched the children eattheir pieces ravenously. He couldn't finish his. He handed it to thesmallest one of the children who was staring at him with eyes thatchilled his heart. He knew the child was still hungry. Such a lunch as apiece of bread and a tin cup of water must be an accident, of course.
He had heard of jailers putting prisoners on bread and water to punishthem. He had never known human beings living at home to have such food.
They would have a good dinner steaming hot. He was sure of that.
A sudden commotion broke out in the alley below. Yells, catcalls, oathsand the sound of crashing bricks, coal, pieces of furniture, and thesplash of much water came from the court.
The mother rushed to the window and hurled a stone. There was a pile ofthem in the corner of the room.
Sam tried to look out.
"What's de matter, ma'm? Is dey er fight?""No--nothin' but a rent collector." The woman smiled.
It was the first pleasant thought that had entered her mind since Samhad come.
The dinner was as rude a surprise as the lunch. He watched the womanfumble over lighting the fire in the stove until he could stand it nolonger.
"Lemme start de fire fer ye, ma'm," he offered at last.
"I wish you would," she sighed. "I married when I wuz seventeen and Inever had made a fire before. I don't believe I'll ever learn."The negro was not long in observing that she knew no more about cookingthan she did about lighting a fire. The only cooking utensils in theplace were a pot and a frying pan. The frying pan was in constant use.
For dinner she fried a piece of tough beef without seasoning. She didn'tknow how to make bread. She bought the soggy stuff at the grocer's.
There was no bread for dinner at all. They had boiled potatoes, boiledin plain water without even a grain of salt or pepper. The coffee was soblack and heavy and bitter he couldn't drink it.
The father had a cup of beer with his coffee. A cup of beer was providedfor Sam. The girl of twelve had rushed the growler to the corner saloon.
The negro had never tasted beer before and he couldn't drink it. Thestuff was horrible. It reminded him of a dose of quinine his mistresshad once made him take when he had a chill.
He worked harder than usual next day to forget the fear that hauntedhim. At night he was ill. He had caught cold and had a fever. He droppedon his pallet without dinner and didn't get up for three weeks.
He owed his landlady so much money now, he felt in honor bound to boardwith her and give her all his earnings. He felt himself sinking into anabyss and he didn't have the strength to fight his way out.
The thing that hurt him more than bad food and air when he got to hiswork again was the look of death in the faces of the children. Theireyes haunted him in the dark as they slept on the same floor. He wouldget out of there when he was strong again. But these children wouldnever go except to be hauled in the dead wagon to the Potter's Field.
And he heard the rattle of this black wagon daily.
In a mood of desperation he walked down Water Street past the boardinghouse. In front of the place he met a boarder who had spoken to himthe last day of his stay. He seized Sam by the coat, led him aside andwhispered:
"Has ye heard 'bout de old man, name John Brown, dat come ter lead deniggers ter de promise' lan'?""No, but I'se waitin' fur somebody ter lead me.""Come right on wid me, man. I'se a-goin' to a meetin' to-night an' jinede ban'. Will ye jine us?""I jine anything dat'll lead me to de promise' lan'.""Come on. Hit's over in Brooklyn but a nigger's gwine ter meet me at deferry and take me dar."Sam felt in his pocket for the money for the ferry. Luckily he hadtwenty cents. It was worth while to gamble that much on a trip to thepromised land.
An emissary of the prophet met them on the Brooklyn side and led them toa vacant store with closed wooden shutters. No light could be seen fromthe street. The guide rapped a signal and the door opened. Inside wereabout thirty negroes gathered before a platform. Chairs filled the longspace. A white man was talking to the closely packed group of blacks.
Sam pressed forward and watched him.
He was old until he began to talk. And then there was something strangeand electric in his tones that made him young. His voice was vaultingand metallic and throbbed with an indomitable will. There was contagionin the fierceness of his tones. It caught his hearers and called them ina spell.
His shoulders were stooped. His manner grim and impressive. There wasa quick, wiry movement to his body that gave the idea that he wascrouching to spring. It was uncanny. It persisted as his speechlengthened.
He was talking in cold tones of the injustice being done the black manin the South. Of the crimes against God and humanity which the Southernwhites were daily committing.
The one feature of the strange speaker that fascinated Sam was theglitter of his shifting eyes. He never held them still. He did not tryto bore a man through with them. They were restless, as if moved byhidden forces within. The flash of light from their depths seemed asignal from an unknown world.
Sam watched him with open mouth.
He was finishing his talk now in a desultory way more gripping in itsdeadly calm than the most passionate appeal.
"We are enrolling volunteers," he quietly announced. "Volunteers in theUnited States League of Gileadites. If you sign your names to the rollto-night understand clearly what you are doing. I have written for eachmember _Words of Advice_ which he must memorize as the guide to hisaction."He drew a sheet of paper from his pocket and read:
"No jury can be found in the Northern States, that would convict a manfor defending his rights to the last extremity. This is well understoodby Southern Congressmen, who insist that the right of trial by juryshould not be granted to the fugitive slave. Colored people have morefast friends among the whites than they suppose. Just think of the moneyexpended by individuals in your behalf in the past twenty years! Thinkof the number who have been mobbed and imprisoned on your account. Haveany of you seen the branded hand? Do you remember the names of Lovejoyand Torrey? Should any of your number be arrested, you must collecttogether as quickly as possible so as to outnumber your adversaries whoare taking an active part against you. Let no able-bodied man appear onthe ground unequipped or with his weapons exposed to view; let that beunderstood beforehand. Your plans must be known only to yourself, andwith the understanding that all traitors must die, wherever caught andproven to be guilty.
"'Whosoever is fearful or afraid, let him return and depart early fromMount Gilead' (Judges VII Chapter, 3rd verse; Deuteronomy XX Chapter,8th verse). Give all cowards an opportunity to show it on condition ofholding their peace. Do not delay one moment after you're ready: youwill lose all your resolution if you do. Let the first blow be thesignal for all to engage; and when engaged do not do your work byhalves; but make clean work with your enemies--"It was the slow way in which he spoke the last words that gave themmeaning. Sam could hear in his tones the crash of steel into human fleshand the grating of the blade on the bone. It made him shiver.
Every negro present joined the League.
When the last man had signed, John Brown led in a long prayer toAlmighty God to bless the holy work on which these noble men hadentered. At the close of his prayer he announced that on the followingnight at the People's Hall on the Bowery in New York, the HonorableGerrit Smith, the noblest friend of the colored men in the North, wouldpreside over a mass meeting in behalf of the downtrodden. He asked themall to come and bring their friends.
The ceremony of signing over, Sam turned to the guide with a genialsmile.
"I done jine de League.""That's right. I knew you would.""I'se a full member now, ain't I?""Of course.""When do we eat?" Sam asked eagerly.
"Eat?""Sho.""We ain't organizin' de Gileadites to eat, man.""Ain't we?""No, sah. We'se organizin'--ter kill white men dat come atter runawayslaves.""But ain't dey got nuttin ter eat fer dem dat's here?""You come ter de big meetin' ter-morrow night an' hear sumfin dat's goodfer yo' soul.""I'll be dar," Sam promised. But he hoped to find something at themeeting that was good for his stomach as well as his soul.
CHAPTER XI
The negroes in New York and Brooklyn were not the only people in theNorth falling under the influence of the strange man who answered to thename of John Brown. There was something magnetic about him that drew allsorts and conditions of men.
The statesmen who still used reason as the guiding principle of life hadno use for him. Henry Wilson, the new Senator from Massachusetts, methim and was repelled by the something that drew others. Governor Andrewwas puzzled by his strange personality.
The secret of his power lay in a mystic appeal to the Puritanconscience. He had been from childhood afflicted with this conscience inits most malignant form. He knew instinctively its process of action.
The Puritan had settled New England and fixed the principles both ofeconomic and political life. The civilization he set up was compact andcommercial. He organized it in towns and townships. The Meeting Housewas the center, the source of all power and authority. No dwelling couldbe built further than two miles from a church and attendance on worshipwas made compulsory by law.
The South, against whose life Brown was organizing his militant crusade,was agricultural, scattered, individual. Individualism was a passionwith the Southerner, liberty his battle cry. He scorned the "authority"of the church and worshipped God according to the dictates of his ownconscience. The Court House, not the Meeting House, was his forum,and he rode there through miles of virgin forests to dispute with hisneighbor.
The mental processes of the Puritan, therefore, were distinctlydifferent from that of the Southerner. The Puritan mind was given tohours of grim repression which he called "Conviction of Sin." Resistancebecame the prime law of life. The world was a thing of evil. A morass ofSin to be attacked, to be reformed, to be "abolished." The Southernerperceived the evils of Slavery long before the Puritan, but he made apoor Abolitionist. The Puritan was born an Abolitionist. He should notonly resist and attack the world; he should _hate_ it. He early learnedto love the pleasure of hating. He hated himself if no more promisingvictim loomed on the horizon. He early became the foremost Persecutorand Vice-Crusader of the new world. He made witch-hunting one of thesports of New England.
When not busy with some form of the witch hunt, the Puritan found anoutlet for his repressed instincts in the ferocity with which he foughtthe Indians or worked to achieve the conquest of Nature and lay upworldly goods for himself and his children. Prosperity, therefore,became the second principle of his religion, next to vice crusading.
When he succeeded in business, he praised God for his tender mercies.
His goods and chattels became the visible evidence of His love. The onlyholiday he established or permitted was the day on which he publiclythanked God for the goods which He had delivered. Through him the NewEngland Puritan Thanksgiving Day became a national festival and throughhim a religious reverence for worldly success has become a nationalideal.
The inner life of the Puritan was soul-fear. Driven by fear andrepression he attacked his rock-ribbed country, its thin soil, itssavage enemies and his own fellow competitors with fury.
And he succeeded.
The odds against him sharpened his powers, made keen his mind, toughenedhis muscles.
The Southern planter, on the other hand, represented the sharpestcontrast to this mental and physical attitude toward life. He came ofthe stock of the English Squire. And if he came from Scotland he foundthis English ideal already established and accepted it as his own.
The joy of living, not the horror of life, was the mainspring of hisaction and the secret of his character. The Puritan hated play. TheSoutherner loved to play. He dreamed of a life rich and full ofspiritual and physical leisure. He enjoyed his religion. He did notagonize over it. His character was genial. He hated fear and drove itfrom his soul. He loved a fiddle and a banjo. He was brave. He was loyalto his friends. He loved his home and his kin. He despised trade. Hedisliked hard work.
To this hour in the country's life his ideal had dominated the nation.
The Puritan Abolitionists now challenged this ideal for a fight to thefinish. Slavery was protected by the Constitution. All right, they burnthe Constitution and denounce it as a Covenant with Death, an agreementwith Hell. They begin a propaganda to incite servile insurrection inthe South. They denounce the Southern Slave owner as a fiend. Eventhe greatest writers of the North caught the contagion of this mania.
Longfellow, Lowell, Whittier and Emerson used their pens to blacken thename of the Southern people. From platform, pulpit and forum, throughpamphlet, magazine, weekly and daily newspapers the stream of abusepoured forth in ever-increasing volume.
That the proud Southerner would resent the injustice of this wholesaleindictment was inevitable. Their habit of mind, their born instinct ofleadership, their love of independence, their hatred of dictation, theirsense of historic achievement in the building of the republic wouldresent it. Their critics had not only been Slave holders themselves aslong as it paid commercially, but their skippers were now sailing theseas in violation of Southern laws prohibiting the slave trade. Ourearly Slave traders were nearly all Puritans. When one of their shipscame into port, the minister met her at the wharf, knelt in prayer andthanked Almighty God for one more cargo of heathen saved from hell.
Brown's whole plan of attack was based on the certainty of resentmentfrom the South. He set out to provoke his opponents. This purpose wasnow the inspiration of every act of his life.
A group of six typical Northern minds had fallen completely under hispower: Dr. Samuel G. Howe, Rev. Theodore Parker, Rev. Thomas WentworthHigginson, Frank B. Sanborn, George L. Stearns and the Rev. Hon. GerritSmith.
Gerrit Smith was many times a millionaire, one of the great land ownersof the country, a former partner in business with John Jacob Astor, theelder, and at this time a philanthropist by profession. He had built achurch at Peterboro, New York, and had preached a number of years. Inhis growing zeal as an Abolitionist he had entered politics and had justbeen elected to Congress from his district.
He was a man of gentle, humane impulses and looked out upon the worldwith the kindliest fatherly eyes. It was one of the curious freaks offate that he should fall under the influence of Brown. The stern oldPuritan was his antithesis in every line of face and mental make-up.
Smith was the preacher, the theorist, and the dreamer.
Brown had become the man of Action.
And by Action he meant exactly what the modern Social anarchist meansby _direct action_. The plan he had developed was to come to "closequarters" with Slavery. He had organized the Band of Gileadites to killevery officer of the law who attempted to enforce the provisions of theConstitution of the United States relating to Slavery. His eyes were nowfixed on the Territory of Kansas.
There could be no doubt about the abnormality of the mind of the man whohad constituted himself the Chosen Instrument of Almighty God to destroychattel Slavery in the South.
He was pacing the floor of the parlor of the New Astor House awaitingthe arrival of his friend, Congressman Gerrit Smith, for a conferencebefore the meeting scheduled for eight o'clock. It was a characteristicof Brown that he couldn't sit still. He paced the floor.
The way he walked marked him with distinction, if not eccentricity. Hewalked always with a quick, springing step. He didn't swing his foot. Itworked on springs. And the spring in it had a furtive action not unlikethe movement of a leopard. His muscles, in spite of his fifty-fouryears, were strong and sinewy. He was five feet ten inches in height.
His head was remarkable for its small size. The brain space was limitedand the hair grew low on his forehead, as if a hark back to theprimitive man out of which humanity grew. His chin protruded into anaggressive threat. His mouth was not only stern, it was as inexorable asan oath.
His hair was turning gray and he wore it trimmed close to his smallskull. His nose was an aggressive Roman type. The expression of his facewas shrewd and serious, with a touch always of cunning.
A visitor at his house at North Elba whispered one day to one of hissons:
"Your father looks like an eagle."The boy hesitated and replied in deep seriousness:
"Yes, or some other carnivorous bird."The thing above all others that gave him the look of a bird of prey washis bluish-gray eye. An eye that was never still and always shone with aglitter. The only time this strange light was not noticeable was duringthe moments when he drew the lids down half-way. He was in the habit ofholding his eyes half shut in times of deep thinking. At these momentsif he raised his head, his eyes glowed two pin points of light.
No matter what the impression he made, either of attraction orrepulsion, his personality was a serious proposition. No man looked onceonly. And no man ever attempted undue familiarity or ridicule. His lifeto this time had been a series of tragic failures in everything he hadundertaken. A study of his intense Puritan face revealed at once hisfundamental character. A soul at war with the world. A soul at war withhimself. He was the incarnation of repressed emotions and desires. Hehad married twice and his fierce passions had made him the father oftwenty children before fifty years of age. His first wife had givenbirth to seven in ten years and died a raving maniac during the birth ofher last. Two of his children had already shown the signs of unbalancedmentality.
The grip of his mind on the individuals who allowed themselves to bedrawn within the circle of his influence became absolute.
He was a man of earnest and constant prayer to his God. The God heworshipped was one whose face was not yet revealed to the crowd thathung on his strangely halting words. He spoke in mystic symbols. Hismysticism was always the source of his power over the religious leaderswho had gathered about him. They had not stopped to analyze the meaningof this appeal. They looked once into his shining blue-gray eyes andbecame his followers. He never stopped to reason.
He spoke with authority.
He claimed a divine commission for action and they did not pause toexamine his credentials. He had failed at every enterprise he hadundertaken. And then he suddenly discovered his power over the Puritanimagination.
To Brown's mind, from the day of his devotion to the fixed ideaof destroying Slavery in the South, "Action" had but onemeaning--bloodshed. He knew that revolutionary ideas are matters ofbelief. He asserted beliefs. The elect believed. The damned refused tobelieve.
Long before Smith had entered the room Brown had dropped into a seat bythe window, his eyes two pin points. His abstraction was so deep, hisabsorption in his dreams so complete that when Smith spoke, he leaped tohis feet and put himself in an attitude of defense.
He gazed at his friend a moment and rubbed his eyes in a dazed waybefore he could come back to earth.
In a moment he had clasped hands with the philanthropist. Smith lookedinto his eyes and his will was one with the man of Action. He had notyet grasped the full meaning of the Action. He was to awake later toits tremendous import--primitive, barbaric, animal, linking man throughhundreds of thousands of years to the beast who was his jungle father.
Smith did not know that he was to preside at the meeting until Browntold him. He consented without a moment's hesitation.
CHAPTER XII
On their way to the hall on the Bowery Gerrit Smith and John Brownpassed through dimly lighted streets along which were drifting scores ofboys and girls, ragged, friendless, homeless, shelterless in the chillnight. The strange old man's eyes were fixed on space. He saw nothing,heard nothing of the city's roaring life or the call of its fathomlessmisery.
He saw nothing even when they passed a house with a red light beforewhich little girls of twelve were selling flowers. Neither of the men,living for a single fixed idea, caught the accent of evil in the child'svoice as she stepped squarely in front of them and said:
"What's ye hurry?"When they turned aside she piped again:
"Won't ye come in?"They merely passed on. The infinite pathos of the scene had made noimpression. That this child's presence on the streets was enough todamn the whole system of society to the lowest hell never dawned on thephilanthropist or the man of Action.
The crowd in the hall was not large. The place was about half full andit seated barely five hundred. The masses of the North as yet took nostock in the Abolition Crusade.
They felt the terrific pressure of the problem of life at home tookeenly to go into hysterics over the evils of Negro Slavery in theSouth. William Lloyd Garrison had been preaching his denunciations fortwenty-one years and its fruits were small. The masses of the peoplewere indifferent.
But a man was pushing his way to the platform of the little hallto-night who was destined to do a deed that would accomplish what allthe books and all the magazines and all the newspapers of the Crusadershad tried in vain to do.
Small as the crowd was, there was something sinister in its composition.
Half of them were foreigners. It was the first wave of the flood ofdegradation for our racial stock in the North--the racial stock of JohnAdams and John Hancock.
A few workingmen were scattered among them. Fifty or sixty negroesoccupied the front rows. Sam had secured a seat on the aisle. GerritSmith rose without ceremony and introduced Brown. There were no womenpresent. He used the formal address to the American voter:
"Fellow Citizens:
"I have the honor to present to you to-night a man chosen of God to leadour people out of the darkness of sin, my fellow worker in the Kingdom,the friend of the downtrodden and the oppressed, John Brown."Faint applause greeted the old man as he moved briskly to the littletable with his quick, springing step.
He fixed the people with his brilliant eyes and they were silent. He wasslow of speech, awkward in gesture, and without skill in the building ofideas to hold the imagination of the typical crowd.
It was not a typical crowd of American freemen. It was something newunder the sun in our history. It was the beginning of the coming mobmind destined to use Direct Action in defiance of the Laws on which theRepublic had been built.
There was no mistaking the message Brown bore. He proclaimed that thenegro is the blood brother of the white man. The color of his skin wasan accident. This white man with a black skin was now being beaten andground into the dust by the infamy of his masters. Their crimes criedto God for vengeance. All the negro needed was freedom to transform himinto a white man--your equal and mine. At present, our brothers andsisters are groaning in chains on Southern plantations. His vaultingmetallic tones throbbed with a strange, cold passion as he called forAction.
The vibrant call for bloodshed in this cry melted the crowd into a newpersonality. The mildest spirit among them was merged into the mobmind of the speaker. And every man within the sound of his voice was amurderer.
The final leap of the speaker's soul into an expression of supreme hatefor the Southern white man found its instant echo in the mob whichhe had created. They demanded no facts. They asked no reasons. Theyaccepted his statements as the oracle of God. They were opinions,beliefs, dogmas, the cries of propaganda only--precisely the food neededfor developing the mob mind to its full strength. Envy, jealousy, hatredruled supreme. Liberty was a catchword. Blood lust was the motive powerdriving each heart beat.
Brown suddenly stopped. His speech had reached no climax. It had rambledinto repetition. Its power consisted in the repetition of a fixedthought. He knew the power of this repeated hammering on the mind. Anidea can be repeated until it is believed, true or false. He had poundedhis message into his hearers until they were incapable of resistance. Itwas unnecessary for him to continue. He stopped so suddenly, they waitedin silence for him to go on after he had taken his seat.
A faint applause again swept the front of the house. There was somethinguncanny about the man that hushed applause. They knew that he wasindifferent to it. Hidden fires burned within him that lighted the wayof life. He needed no torches held on high. He asked no honors.
He expected no applause and he got little. What he did demand wassubmission to his will and obedience as followers.
Gerrit Smith rose with this thought gripping his gentle spirit. Hiswords came automatically as if driven by another's mind.
"Our friend and leader has dedicated his life to the service ofsuffering humanity. It is our duty to follow. The first step is tosacrifice our money in his cause."The ushers passed the baskets and Sam's heart warmed as he heard thecoin rattle. His eyes bulged when he saw that one of them had a pile ofbills in it that covered the coin. He heard the great and good man saythat it was for the poor brother in black. He saw visions of a warmroom, of clean food and plenty of it.
He was glad he'd come, although he didn't like the look in John Brown'seyes while he spoke. Their fierce light seemed to bore through him andhurt. Now that he was seated and his eyes half closed, uplifted towardthe ceiling, he wasn't so formidable. He rather liked him sitting down.
The ushers poured the money on the table and counted it. Sam had notseen so much money together since he piled his five hundred dollars ingold in a stack and looked at it. He watched the count with fascination.
There must be a thousand at least.
He was shocked when the head usher leaned over the edge of the platform,and whispered to Smith the total.
"Eighty-five dollars."Sam glanced sadly at the two rows of negroes in front. There wouldn'tbe much for each. He took courage in the thought, however, that some ofthem were well-to-do and wouldn't ask their share. He was sure of thisbecause he had seen three or four put something in the baskets.
Gerrit Smith announced the amount of the collection with someembarrassment and heartily added:
"My check for a hundred and fifteen dollars makes the sum an even twohundred."That was something worth while. Smith and Brown held a conference aboutthe announcement of another meeting as Sam whispered to the head usher:
"Could ye des gimme mine now an' lemme go?""Yours?""Yassah.""Your share of the collection?"The usher eyed him in scorn.
"To be sho," Sam answered confidently. "Yer tuk it up fer de po' blackman. I'se black, an' God knows I'se po'.""You're a poor fool!""What ye take hit up fer den?""To support John Brown, not to feed lazy, good-for-nothing, freenegroes."Sam turned from the man in disgust. He was about to rise and shambleback to his miserable pallet when a sudden craning of necks and movingof feet drew his eye toward the door.
He saw a man stalking down the aisle. He carried on his left arm alittle bundle of filthy rags. He mounted the platform and spoke to theChairman:
"Mr. Smith, may I say just a word to this meeting?"The Philanthropist Congressman recognized him instantly as the mosteloquent orator in the labor movement in America. He had met him at aReform Convention. He rose at once.
"Certainly.""Fellow Citizens, Mr. George Evans, the leading advocate of OrganizedLabor in America, wishes to speak to you. Will you hear him?""Yes! Yes! Yes!" came from all parts of the house.
The man began in quivering tones that held Sam and gripped the unwillingmind of the crowd:
"My friends: Just a few words. I have in my arms the still breathingskeleton of a little girl. I found her in a street behind this buildingwithin the sound of the voice of your speaker."He paused and waved to John Brown.
"She was fighting with a stray cat for a crust of bread in a garbagepail. I hold her on high."With both hands he lifted the dazed thing above his head.
"Look at her. This bundle of rags God made in the form of a woman to bethe mother of the race. She has been thrown into your streets to starve.
Her father is a workingman whom I know. For six months, out of work,he fought with death and hell, and hell won. He is now in prison. Hermother, unable to support herself and child, sought oblivion in drink.
She's in the gutter to-night. Her brother has joined a gang on the EastSide. Her sister is a girl of the streets.
"You talk to me of Negro Slavery in the South? Behold the child of theWhite Wage Slave of the North! Why are you crying over the poor negro?
In the South the master owns the slave. Here the master owns the job.
Down there the master feeds, clothes and houses his man with care. Blackchildren laugh and play. Here the master who owns the job buys labor inthe open market. He can get it from a man for 75 cents a day. From awoman for 30 cents a day. When he has bought the last ounce of strengththey can give, the master of the wage slave kicks him out to freeze orstarve or sink into crime.
"You tell me of the white master's lust down South? I tell you of thewhite master's lust for the daughters of our own race.
"I see a foreman of a factory sitting in this crowd. I've known him forten years. I've talked with a score of his victims. He has the powerto employ or discharge girls of all ages ranging from twelve totwenty-five. Do you think a girl can pass his bead eyes and not pay forthe job the price he sees fit to demand?
"If you think so, you don't know the man. I do!"He paused and the stillness of death followed. Necks were craned to findthe figure of the foreman crouching in the crowd. The speaker was notafter the individual. His soul was aflame with the cause of millions.
"I see also a man in the crowd who owns a row of tenements so filthy,so dark, so reeking with disease that no Southern master would allow abeast to live in them. This hypocrite has given to John Brown to-nighta contribution of money for the downtrodden black man. He coined thismoney out of the blood of white men and women who pay the rent for thedirty holes in which they die."A moment of silence that was pain as he paused and a hundred eyes sweptthe room in search of the man. Again the speaker stood without a sign.
He merely paused to let his message sink in the hearts of his hearers.
"My eyes have found another man in this crowd who is an employer of wageslaves. He is here to denounce Chattel Slavery in the South as the sumof all villainies while he practices a system of wage slavery more cruelwithout a thought morally wrong.
"I say this in justice to the man because I know him. He hasn'tintelligence enough to realize what he is doing. If he had he wouldbegin by abolishing slavery in his own household. This reformer isn'ta bad man at heart. He is simply an honest fool. These same fools inEngland have given millions to abolish black slavery in the Coloniesand leave their own slaves in the Spittalfield slums to breed a race ofpaupers and criminals. Why don't a Buxton or a Wilberforce complainof the White Slavery at home? Because it is indispensable to theircivilization. They lose nothing in freeing negroes in distant Colonies.
They would lose their fortunes if they dared free their own whitebrethren.
"The master of the wage slave employs his victim only when he needs him.
The Southern master supports his man whether he needs him or not. Andcares for him when ill. The Abolitionist proposes to free the blackslave from the whip. Noble work. But to what end if he deprives him offood? He escapes the lash and lands in a felon's cell or climbs thesteps of a gallows.
"Your inspired leader, the speaker of this evening, has found his mostenthusiastic support in New England.
"No doubt.
"In Lowell, Massachusetts, able-bodied men in the cotton mills arereceiving 80 cents a day for ten hours' work. Women are receiving 32cents a day for the same. At no period of the history of this republichas it been possible for a human being to live in a city and reproducehis kind on such wages. What is the result? The racial stock that madethe Commonwealth of Massachusetts a civilized state is perishing. It isbeing replaced from the slums of Europe. The standard of life is draggedlower with each generation.
"The negro, you tell me, must work for others or be flogged. The poorwhite man at your door must work for others or be starved. The negro issubject to a single master. He learns to know him, if not to like him.
There is something human in the touch of their lives. The poor white manhere is the slave of many masters. The negro may lead the life of a farmhorse. Your wage slave is a horse that hasn't even a stable. He roamsthe street in the snows of winter. He is ridden by anybody who wishes aride. He is cared for by nobody. Our rich will do anything for the poorexcept to get off their backs. The negro has a master in sickness andhealth. The wage slave is honored with the privilege of slavery only solong as he can work ten hours a day. He is a pauper when he can toil nomore.
"Your Abolitionist has fixed his eye on Chattel Slavery in the South. Itinvolves but three million five-hundred thousand negroes. The system ofwage slavery involves the lives of twenty-five million white men andwomen.
"Slavery was not abolished in the North on moral grounds, but because,as a system of labor it was old-fashioned, sentimental, extravagant,inefficient. It was abolished by the masters of men, not by the men.
"The North abolished slavery for economy in production. There was nosentiment in it. Wage slavery has proven itself ten times more cruel,more merciless, more efficient. The Captain of Industry has seen thevision of an empire of wealth beyond the dreams of avarice. He has seenthat the master who cares for the aged, the infirm, the sick, the lame,the halt is a fool who must lag behind in the march of the Juggernaut.
Only a fool stops to build a shelter for his slave when he can kick himout in the cold and find hundreds of fresh men to take his place.
"Two years ago the Chief of Police of the City of New York took thecensus of the poor who were compelled to live in cellars. He found thateighteen thousand five hundred and eighty-six white wage slaves lived inthese pest holes under the earth. One-thirteenth of the population ofthe city lives thus underground to-day. Hundreds of these cellars arenear the river. They are not waterproof. Their floors are mud. Whenthe tides rise the water floods these noisome holes. The bedding andfurniture float. Fierce wharf rats, rising from their dens, dispute withmen, women and children the right to the shelves above the water line.
"There are cellars devoted entirely to lodging where working men andwomen can find a bed of straw for two cents a night--the bare dirt forone cent. Black and white men, women and children, are mixed in onedirty mass. These rooms are without light, without air, filled with thedamp vapors of mildewed wood and clothing. They swarm with every speciesof vermin that infest the animal and human body. The scenes of depravitythat nightly occur in these lairs of beasts are beyond words.
"These are the homes provided by the master who has established 'Free'
Labor as the economic weapon with which he has set out to conquer theworld.
"And he is conquering with it. The superior, merciless power of thissystem as an economic weapon is bound to do in America what it has donethroughout the world. The days of Chattel Slavery are numbered. TheAbolitionist is wasting his breath, or worse. He is raising a feud thatmay drench this nation in blood in a senseless war over an issue that issettled before it's raised.
"Long ago the economist discovered that there was no vice under thesystem of Chattel Slavery that could not be more freely gratified underthe new system of wage slavery.
"You weep because the negro slave must serve one master. He has no powerto choose a new one. Do not forget that the power to _choose_ a newmaster carries with it power to discharge the wage slave and hire a newone. This power to discharge is the most merciless and cruel tyrannyever developed in the struggle of man from savagery to civilization.
This awful right places in the hand of the master the power of life anddeath. He can deprive his wage slave of fuel, food, clothes, shelter.
Life is the only right worth having if its exercise is put intoquestion. A starving man has no liberty. The word can have no meaning.
He must live first or he cannot be a man.
"The wage slave is producing more than the chattel slaves ever produced,man for man, and is receiving less than the negro slave of the South isgetting for his labor to-day.
"Your system of wage slavery is the cunning trick by which the cruelmaster finds that he can deny to the worker all rights he ever had as aslave.
"If you doubt its power, look at this bundle of rags in my hands andremember that there are five thousand half-starved children homeless andabandoned in the streets of this city to-night.
"Find for me one ragged, freezing, starving, black baby in the South andI will buy a musket to equip an army for its invasion--"He paused a moment, turned and gazed at the men on the platform and thenfaced the crowd in a final burst of triumphant scorn.
"Fools, liars, hypocrites, clean your own filthy house before you weepover the woes of negroes who are singing while they toil--"A man on an end seat of the middle aisle suddenly sprang to his feet andyelled:
"Put him out!"Before Gerrit Smith could reach Evans with a gift of five dollars forthe sick child which he still held in his arms the crowd had become amob.
They hustled the labor leader into the street and told him to go back tohell where he came from.
Through it all John Brown sat on the platform with his blue-gray eyesfixed in space. He had seen, heard or realized nothing that had passed.
His mind was brooding over the plains of Kansas.
CHAPTER XIII
It was October, 1854, before John Brown's three sons, Owen, Frederickand Salmon, left Ohio for their long journey to Kansas. In April, 1855,they crossed the Missouri river and entered the Territory.
John Brown decided to move his family once more to North Elba beforegoing West. It was June before his people reached this negro settlementin Northern New York. He placed his wife and children in an unplastered,four-roomed house. Through its rough weatherboarding the winds and snowsof winter would howl. It had been hurriedly thrown together by hisson-in-law, Henry Thompson. Brown had never stayed on one of his littlefarms long enough to bring order out of chaos.
His restless spirit left him no peace. He was now in Boston, now inSpringfield, Massachusetts, now in New York, again in Ohio, or Illinois.
He was giving up the work in Ohio to follow his sons into Kansas. He hadplanned to move there two years before and abandoned the idea. He had atlast fully determined to go.
On October the sixth, his party reached the family settlement atOsawatomie. With characteristic queerness the old man did not enter withhis sons, Oliver, Jason and John, Jr., and their caravan. He stoppedalone on the roadside two miles away until next day.
The party on arrival had plenty of guns, swords and ammunition but theirtreasury held but sixty cents.
The family settlement were living in tents around which the chillautumn winds were howling. The poor crops they had raised had not beenharvested. The men were ill and discouraged. There was little meat,except game and that was difficult to kill. Their only bread was madefrom corn meal ground at a hand-turned mill two miles away.
Brown's sons, who had preceded him, had lost all vigor. The old man wasnot slow to see the way out.
The situation called for Action. He determined to get it. He immediatelyplunged into Free Soil Politics without pausing to build his firstshanty against the coming rains and snows of a terrible winter.
CHAPTER XIV
The race for the lands of the new Territories of Kansas and Nebraska wason to the finish. Nebraska was far North. Kansas only interested theSoutherner. The frontiersmen were crossing the boundary lines yearsbefore Congress formally opened them for settlement.
After a brief stop in West Tennessee the Doyles had succeeded inreaching Miami County, just beyond the Missouri border, in 1853. Theyhad settled on a fertile quarter section on the Pottawattomie Creek in asmall group of people of Southern feeling.
The sun of a new world had begun to shine at last for the humble butambitious woman who had borne five strong children to be the athleticsons and daughters of a free country. Her soul rose in a triumphant songthat made her little home the holy of holies of a new religion. Herhusband was the lord of a domain of fertile land. His fields were greenwith wheat. She loved to look over its acres of velvet carpet. In Juneher man and three stalwart boys, now twenty, eighteen and fourteen yearsof age, would swing the reaper into that field and harvest the wavinggold without the aid of a hired laborer. She and her little girls wouldhelp and sing while they toiled.
There was no debt on their books. They had horses, cows, sheep, pigs,chickens, ducks, turkeys. Their crib was bulging with corn. The bins intheir barn were filled with grain.
Their house was still the humble cottage of the prairie pioneer, but hermen had made it snug and warm against the winds and snows of winter.
Their farm had plenty of timber on the Pottawattomie Creek which flowedthrough the center of the tract. They had wood for their fires and logswith which to construct their stable and outhouses.
The house they built four-square with sharp gables patterned after thehome they had lost. There were no dormers in the attic, but two windowspeeped out of the gable beside the stone chimney and gave light and airto the boys' room in the loft. A shed extension in the rear was largeenough for both kitchen and dining room.
The home stood close beside the creek, and the murmur of its waters mademusic for a busy mother's heart.
There was no porch over the front door. But her boys had built a latticework that held a labyrinth of morning glories in the summer. She hadfound the gorgeous wild flowers blooming on the prairies and made ahedge of them for the walks. They were sending their shoots up throughthe soil now to meet the sun of spring. The warm rays had already begunto clothe the prairie world with beauty and fragrance.
The mother never tired of taking her girls on the hill beyond the creekand watching the men at work on the wide sweeping plains that meltedinto the skyline miles beyond. Something in its vast silence, in itsmessage of the infinite, soothed her spirit. All her life in the Eastshe had been fighting against losing odds. These wide breathing plainshad stricken the shackles from her soul.
She was free.
Sometimes she felt like shouting it into the sky. Sometimes she kneltamong the trees and thanked God for His mercy in giving her the newlease of life.
The new lease on life had depth and meaning because she lived andbreathed in her children. Her man had a man's chance at last. Her boyshad a chance.
The one thing that gave her joy day and night was the consciousness ofliving among the men and women of her own race. There was not a negroin the county, bond or free, and she fervently prayed that there neverwould be. Now that they were free from the sickening dread of suchcompetition in life, she had no hatred of the race. As a free whitewoman, the mother of free white men and women, all she asked was freedomfrom the touch of an inferior. She had always felt instinctively thatthis physical contact was poison. She breathed deeply for the firsttime.
There was just one cloud on the horizon which threatened her peace andfuture. Her husband, after the fashion of his kind, in the old world andthe new, had always held political opinions and had dared to expressthem without fear or favor. In Virginia his vote was sought by theleaders of the county. He had been poor but he had influence because hedared to think for himself.
He was a Southern born white man, and he held the convictions of hisbirthright. He had never stopped to analyze these faiths. He believed inthem as he believed in God. They were things not to be questioned.
Doyle had not hesitated to express his opinions in Kansas as inVirginia. The few Southern settlers on the Pottawattomie Creek weresympathetic and no trouble had come. But the keen ears of the woman hadcaught ominous rumors on the plains.
The father and mother sat on a rude board settee which John had built.
The boy had nailed it against a black jack close beside the bend ofthe creek where the ripple of the hurrying waters makes music when thestream is low and swells into a roar when gorged by the rains.
The woman's face was troubled as she listened to the waters. She studiedthe strong lines of her husband's neck, shoulders and head, with a touchof pride and fear. His tongue was long in a political argument. He had afatal gift of speech. He could say witty, bitter things if stung by anopponent.
She spoke with deep seriousness:
"I wish you wouldn't talk so much, John--""And why not?""You'll get in trouble.""Well, I've been in trouble most of my life. There's no use livin' atall, if you live in fear. I ain't never knowed what it is to be afraid.
And I'm too old to learn.""They say, the Northern men that's passin' into the Territory have gotguns and swords. And they say they're goin' to use 'em. They outnumberthe Southerners five to one.""What are they goin' to do with their guns and swords? Cut a man'stongue out because he dares to say who he's goin' to vote for nextelection?""You don't have to talk so loud anyhow," his wife persisted.
"Ole woman, I'm free, white, and twenty-one. I've been a-votin' andwatchin' the elections in this country for twenty odd years. Ef I've gotto tiptoe around, ashamed of my raisin', and ashamed of my principles, Idon't want to live. I wouldn't be fit ter live.""I want ye to live.""You wouldn't want to live with a coward.""A brave man can hold his tongue, John.""I ain't never learnt the habit, Honey.""Won't you begin?""Ye can't learn a old dog new tricks--can they, Jack?"He stroked his dog's friendly nose suddenly thrust against his knee.
"You know, Honey," he went on laughingly, "we brought this yellow pupfrom Old Virginia. He's the best rabbit and squirrel dog in the county.
I've taught him to stalk prairie chickens out here. I'd be ashamed tolook my dog in the face ef I wuz ter tuck my tail between my legs andrun every time a fool blows off his mouth about the South--"He stopped and laughed, his white teeth gleaming through his fine beard.
"Don't you worry, Honey. Those fields are too purty this spring forworrying. We're goin' to send Colonel Lee our last payment this fall andwe'll not owe a cent to any man on earth."

CHAPTER XV
John Brown plunged into politics in Kansas under the impression that hiswill could dominate the rank and file of the Northern party. He quicklyfaced the fact that the frontiersmen had opinions of their own. And theywere not in the habit of taking orders from a master.
His hopes were raised to their highest at the Free State Conventionwhich met at Lawrence on Monday, the twenty-fifth of June, 1855. ThisConvention spoke in tones that stirred Brown's admiration.
It meant Action.
They elected him a vice president of the body. He had expected to bemade president. However, his leadership was recognized. All he neededwas the opportunity to take the Action on which his mind had long beenfixed. The moment blood began to flow, there would be but one leader. Ofthat, he felt sure. He could bide his time.
The Convention urged the people to unite on the one issue of makingKansas a Free Soil State. They called on every member of the ShawneeLegislature who held Free Soil views to resign from that body, althoughit had been recognized by the National Government as the duly authorizedlaw-making assembly of the Territory. They denounced this Legislature asthe creature of settlers from Missouri who had crowded over the borderbefore the Northerners could reach their destination. They urged allpeople to refuse to obey every law passed by the body.
The final resolution was one inspired by Brown himself. It was a bolddeclaration that if their opponents wished to fight, the Northernerswere READY! The challenge was unmistakable. Brown felt that Action wasimminent. Only a set of poltroons would fail to accept the gauge ofbattle thus flung in their faces.
To his amazement the challenge was not received by the rank and file ofthe Free Soil Party with enthusiasm. Most of these Northerners had movedto Kansas as bona fide settlers. They came to build homes for the womenthey had left behind. They came to rush their shacks into shape toreceive their loved ones. They had been furnished arms and ammunition byenthusiastic friends and politicians in the older States. And they hadeagerly accepted the gifts. There were droves of Indians still roamingthe plains. There were dangers to be faced.
The Southern ruffians of whom they had heard so much had notmaterialized. Although the Radical wing of the Northern Party had madeLawrence its Capital and through their paper, the _Herald of Freedom_,issued challenge after challenge to their enemies.
The Northern settlers began to divide into groups whose purposes wereirreconcilable. Six different conventions met in Lawrence on or beforethe fifteenth of August. Each one of these conventions was divided incouncils. In each the cleavage between the Moderates and Radicals becamewider.
Out of the six conventions of Northerners at Lawrence, out of resolutionand counter resolution, finally emerged the accepted plan of a generalconvention at Big Springs.
The gathering was remarkable for the surprise it gave to the Radicals ofwhom Brown was the leader. The Convention adopted the first platform ofthe Free State party and nominated ex-Governor Reeder as its candidatefor delegate to Congress.
For the first time the hard-headed frontiersmen who came to Kansas forhonest purposes spoke in plain language. The first resolution settledthe Slavery issue. It declared that Slavery was a curse and that Kansasshould be free of this curse. But that as a matter of common sense theywould consent to any reasonable adjustment in regard to the few slavesthat had already been brought into the Territory.
Brown and his followers demanded that Slavery should be denounced as acrime, not a curse, as the sum of all villainies and the Southern masteras a vicious and willful criminal. The mild expression of the platformon this issue wrought the old man's anger to white heat. The offer tocompromise with the slave holder already in Kansas he repudiated withscorn. But a more bitter draught was still in store for him.
The platform provided that Kansas should be a Free White State. And inno uncertain words made plain that the accent should be on the wordWHITE. The document demanded the most stringent laws excluding ALLNEGROES, BOND AND FREE, forever from the Territory.
The old man did not hear this resolution when read. So deep was hisbrooding anger, the words made no impression. Their full import did notdawn on him until John Brown, Jr., leaned close and whispered:
"Did you hear that?"The father stirred from his reverie and turned a dazed look on his son.
"Hear what?""The infamous resolution demanding that Kansas be made a white man'scountry and no negro, bond or free, shall ever be allowed to enter it?"The hard mouth twitched with scorn. And his jaws came together with asnap.
"It doesn't matter what they add to their first maudlin plank on theSlavery issue.""Will you sit here and see this vile thing done?"A look of weariness came over the stern face with its deep-cut lines.
"It's a waste of words to talk to politicians."John, Jr. was grasping at the next resolution which was one surpassingbelief. He rubbed his ears to see if he were really hearing correctly.
This resolution denounced the charge that they were Radicals at all. Itdenounced the attempt of any man to interfere by violence with slaves orSlavery where protected by the supreme law of the land. It repudiatedas stale and ridiculous the charge of Abolitionism against them. Anddeclared that such an accusation is without a shadow of truth to supportit.
Charles Stearns, the representative of the New England Society, leapedto his feet and denounced the platform in withering tones. He fairlyshrieked his final sentence:
"All honest anti-slavery men, here and elsewhere, will spit on yourplatform!"He paused and faced the leaders who had drafted it.
"And all pro-slavery men must forever despise the base sycophants whooriginated it!"John Brown, Jr., applauded. The crowd laughed.
Old John Brown had paid no further heed to the proceedings of theConvention. His eyelids were drawn half down. Only pin points ofglittering light remained.
The resolutions were adopted by an overwhelming majority.
In the East, Horace Greeley in the _Tribune_ reluctantly acceptedthe platform: "Why free blacks should be excluded it is difficult tounderstand; but if Slavery can be kept out by compromise of that sort,we shall not complain. An error of this character may be corrected; butlet Slavery obtain a foothold there and it is not so easily removed."Brown's hopes were to be still further dashed by the persistencewith which the leaders of this Convention followed up the program ofestablishing a white man's country on the free plains of the West.
When the Convention met at Topeka on the twenty-third of October, toform a Constitution, the determination to exclude all negroes fromKansas was again sustained. The majority were finally badgered intosubmitting the issue to a separate vote of the people. On the fifteenthof December, the Northern settlers voted on it and the question _was_settled.
Negroes were excluded by a three-fourths majority.
Three-fourths of the Free State settlers were in favor of a white man'scountry and the heaviest vote against the admission of negroes waspolled in Lawrence and Topeka, where the Radicals had from the firstmade the most noise.
The Northern men who had come to Kansas merely to oppose the extensionof Slavery were in a hopeless minority in their own party. The Americanvoters still had too much common sense to be led into a position toprovoke civil war.
John Brown spent long hours in prayer after the final vote on the negroissue had been counted. He denounced the leaders in politics in Kansasas trimmers, time servers, sycophants and liars. He walked beneaththe star-sown skies through the night. He wrestled with his God for avision.
There must be a way to Action.
He rose from prayer at dawn after a sleepless night and called for hissons, Owen, Oliver, Frederick and Salmon, to get ready for a journey. Hehad received a first hint of the will of God. He believed it might leadto the way.
He organized a surveyor's party and disguised himself as a United StatesSurveyor. He had brought to Kansas a complete outfit for surveying land.
He instructed Owen and Frederick to act as chain carriers, Salmon asaxeman and Oliver as marker. He reached the little Southern settlementon the Pottawattomie Creek the fifteenth of May.
He planted his compass on the bank of the creek near the Doyles' houseand proceeded to run a base line.
The father and three boys were in the fields at work beyond the hill.
He raised his compass and followed the chainman to the Doyles' door. Themother and little girl trudged behind, delighted with the diversion ofthe party, so rare on the lonely prairies. Little could they dream thegrim deed that was shaping in the soul of the Surveyor.
When they reached the house she turned to the old man with Southerncourtesy:
"Won't you come in, sir, and rest a few minutes?"The strange, blue-gray eyes glanced restlessly toward the hill and hesignaled his sons:
"Rest awhile, boys."Frederick and Oliver sat down on a pile of logs. Salmon and Owen, ata nod from their father, wandered carelessly toward the stable andouthouses.
Owen found the dog Doyle had brought from Virginia and took pains tomake friends with him.
Brown's keen, restless eyes carefully inspected the door, its fasteningsand the strength of its hinges. The iron of the hinges was flimsy. Thefastening was the old-fashioned wooden shutters hung outside and closedwith a single slide. He noted with a quick glance that there was nocross bar of heavy wood nor any sockets in which such a bar could bedropped.
The windows were small. There was no glass. Solid wooden shutters hungoutside and closed with a single hook and eye for fastenings.
The sun was setting before the surveying party stopped work. Theyhad run a line close to the house of every Southern settler on thePottawattomie Creek, noting carefully every path leading to each house.
They had carefully mapped the settlement and taken a census of everymale inhabitant and every dog attached to each house. They also made aninventory of the horses, saddles and bridles.
Having completed their strange errand, they packed their instruments androde toward Osawatomie.
CHAPTER XVI
With the opening of the Territory of Kansas the first Regiment of UnitedStates Cavalry, commanded by Colonel E.V. Sumner, had been transferredto Fort Leavenworth.
The life of the barracks was young Lieutenant J.E.B. Stuart.
Colonel Lee had been transferred from West Point to the command of theSecond United States Cavalry on the Mexican Border at the same time thatStuart's regiment was moved to Kansas.
The rollicking song-loving, banjo-playing Virginian had earlydistinguished himself as an Indian fighter. He had been dangerouslywounded, but recovered with remarkable rapidity. His perfect health andhis clean habits stood him in good stead on the day an Indian's bulletcrashed through his breast.
He was a favorite with officers and men. As a cadet he had given promiseof the coming soldier. At the Academy he was noted for his strictattendance to every military duty, and his erect, soldierly bearing. Hewas particularly noted for an almost thankful acceptance of a challengeto fight any cadet who might feel himself aggrieved. The boys called hima "Bible Class Man." He was never known to swear or drink. They alsocalled him "Beauty Stuart," in good natured boyish teasing.
He was the best-looking cadet of his class, as he was the best-lookingyoung officer of his regiment. His hair was a reddish brown. His eyes adeep steel blue, his voice clear and ringing.
In his voice the soul of the man spoke to his fellows. He was alwayssinging--always eager for a frolic of innocent fun. Above all, he wasalways eager for a frolic with a pretty girl. He played both the banjoand the guitar and little he cared for the gathering political feudwhich old John Brown and his sons had begun to foment on the frontier.
As a Southerner the struggle did not interest him. It was a foregoneconclusion that the country would be settled by Northern immigrants.
They were pouring into the Territory in endless streams. A colony fromNew Haven, Connecticut, one hundred strong, had just settled sixty milesabove Lawrence on the Kansas River. They knew how to plow and planttheir fields and they had modern machinery with which to do it. Thefew Southerners who came to Kansas were poorly equipped. Lawrence wascrowded with immigrants from every section of the North. The fields werewhite with their tents. A company from Ohio, one from Connecticut, andone from New Hampshire were camping just outside the town. Daily theirexploring committees went forth to look at localities. Daily newcompanies poured in.
Stuart let them pour and asked no questions about their politics. He waskeen on one thing only--the pretty girls that might be among them.
When exploring parties came to Fort Leavenworth, the young Lieutenantinspected them with an eye single to a possible dance for the regiment.
The number of pretty girls was not sufficient to cause excitement amongthe officers as yet. The daughters of the East were not anxious toexplore Kansas at this moment. The Indians were still troublesome attimes.
A rumor spread through the barracks that the prettiest girl in Kansashad just arrived at Fort Riley, sixty-eight miles beyond Topeka. ColonelPhillip St. George Cooke of Virginia commanded the Fort and his daughterFlora had ventured all the way from Harper's Ferry to the plains to seeher beloved daddy.
The news thrilled Stuart. He found an excuse to carry a message fromColonel Sumner to Colonel Cooke.
He expected nothing serious, of course. Every daughter of Virginia knewhow to flirt. She would know that he understood this from the start. Itwould be nip and tuck between the Virginia boy and the Virginia girl.
He had always had such easy sailing in his flirtations he hoped MissFlora would prove a worthy antagonist.
As a matter of course, Colonel Cooke asked the gallant young Virginianto stay as his guest.
"What'll Colonel Sumner say, sir?" Stuart laughed.
"Leave Sumner to me.""You'll guarantee immunity?""Guaranteed.""Thank you, Colonel Cooke, I'll stay."Stuart could hardly wait until the hour of lunch to meet the daughter.
He was impatient to ask where she was. The Colonel guessed his anxietyand hastened to relieve it, or increase it.
"You haven't met my daughter, Lieutenant?" he asked casually.
"I haven't that honor, Colonel, but this gives me the happyopportunity."He said it with such boyish fun in his ringing voice that Cooke laughedin spite of his desire to maintain the strictest dignity. He halfsuspected that the young officer might meet his match in more ways thanone.
"She'll be in at noon," the Commander remarked. "Off riding with one ofthe boys.""Of course," Stuart sighed.
He began to scent a battle and his spirits rose. He went to his room,took his banjo out of its old leather strapped case and tuned itcarefully. He made up his mind to give the young buck out riding withher the fight of his life while there.
He heard the ring of the girl's laughter as she bade her escort goodbyeat the door. He started to go down at once and begin the struggle.
Something in the ring of her young voice stopped him. There was a joyousstrength in it that was disconcerting. A girl who laughed like that hadpoise. She was an individual. He liked, too, the tones of her voicebefore he had seen her.
This struck him as odd. Never in his life before had he liked a girlbefore meeting her just for a tone quality in her voice. This onehaunted him the whole time he was changing his uniform.
He decided to shave again. He had shaved the night before very late. Hedidn't like the suggestion of red stubble on his face. It might put himat a disadvantage.
He resented the name of Beauty Stuart and yet down in his man soul heknew that he was vain.
He began to wonder if she were blonde or brunette, short or tall, petiteor full, blue eyes or brown? She must be pretty. Her father was a man ofdelicate and finely marked features--the type of Scotch-Irish gentlemenwho had made the mountains of Virginia famous for pretty women andbrainy men.
He heard her softly playing a piano and wondered how on earth they hadever moved a piano to this far outpost of civilization. The cost wasenormous. But the motive of her father in making such a sacrifice toplease her was more important. His love for her must be unusual. Itpiqued his interest and roused again his impulse for a battle royal withanother elusive daughter of his native state.
He made up his mind not to wait for the call to lunch. He would walkboldly into the reception room and introduce himself. She knew he wasthere, of course.
At the first sound of his footstep, her hand paused on the keys and sheturned to greet him, rising quickly, and easily.
The vision which greeted Stuart stunned him for a moment. A perfectblonde with laughing blue eyes, exactly the color of his own, slimand graceful, a smile that was sunlight, and a step that was graceincarnate.
And yet her beauty was not the thing that stunned him. He had discountedher good looks from a study of her father's delicate face. It was theglow of a charming personality that disarmed him at the first glance.
She extended a slender hand with a smile.
"I'm so glad to meet you, Lieutenant Stuart."He took it awkwardly, and blushed. He mumbled when he spoke and wasconscious that his voice was thick.
"And I'm so glad to see you, Miss Flora."They had each uttered the most banal greeting. Yet the way in which thewords were spoken was significant.
Never in his life had he heard a voice so gentle, so tender, soappealing in its sincerity. All desire to flirt, to match wit against acharming girl vanished. He felt a resistless impulse to protect herfrom any fool who would dare try to start a flirtation. She was toostraightforward, too earnest, too sincere. She seemed a part of his owninmost thought and life.
It was easy to see that while she was the pet of her father, she wasunspoiled. Stuart caught himself at last staring at her in a dazed,foolish way. He pulled himself together and wondered how long he hadheld her hand.
"Won't you play for me, Miss Flora?" he asked at last.
"If you'll sing," she laughed.
"How do you know I sing?""How do you know I play?""I heard you.""I heard you, too.""Upstairs?""Just before you came down.""I had no idea I was so loud.""Your voice rings. It has carrying power."He started to say: "I hope you like it," and something inside whispered:
"Behave."She took the seat at the piano and touched the keys with an easy,graceful movement. She looked up and smiled. Her eyes blinded him. Theywere so bright and friendly.
"What will you sing?""_Annie Laurie_," he answered promptly.
Stuart sang with deep tenderness and passion. He outdid himself. And heknew it. He never knew before that he could sing so well.
On the last stanza the girl softly joined a low, sweet voice with his.
As the final note died away in Stuart's voice, hers lingered a caress.
The man's heart leaped at its tenderness.
"Why didn't you join me at first?" he asked.
"Nobody axed me, sir!" she said.
"Well, I ask you now--come on--we'll do it together!""All right," was the jolly answer.
They sang it in duet to the soft accompaniment which she played.
Never had he heard such singing by a slip of a girl. Her voice was rich,full of feeling and caressing tenderness. He felt his soul dissolving inits liquid depths.
Throughout the lunch he caught himself staring at her in moments of longsilence. He had for the first time in his life lost his capacity forsilly gaiety.
He roused himself with an effort, and wondered what on earth had comeover him. He was too deeply interested in studying the girl to attemptto analyze his own feelings. It never occurred to him to try. He was toobusy watching the tender light in her eyes.
He wondered if she could be engaged to the fellow she went ridingwith? He resented the idea. Of course not. And when he remembered thecare-free ring to her laughter when she said goodbye, he was reassured.
No girl could laugh a goodbye like that to a man she loved. The tone wastoo poised and impersonal.
He asked her to ride with him that afternoon.
"On one condition," she smiled.
"What?""That you bring your banjo and play for me when I ask you.""How'd you know I had a banjo?""Caught the final twang as you tuned it on my arrival.""I'll bring it if you like.""Please."He hurried to his room, placed the banjo in its case and threw it overhis shoulder. She had promised to be ready in ten minutes and have thehorses at the door.
She was ready in eight minutes, and leaped into the saddle before hecould reach her side. For the life of him he couldn't keep his eye offher exquisite figure.
She rode without effort. She had been born in the saddle.
She led him along the military road to the juncture of the Smoky Hilland Republican rivers. A lover at the Fort had built a seat against ahuge rock that crowned the hill overlooking the fork of the rivers.
Stuart hitched the horses and found the seat. For two hours he playedhis banjo and they sang old songs together.
"I love a banjo--don't you?" she asked enthusiastically.
"It's my favorite music. There's no sorrow in a banjo. You can make itlaugh. You can make it shout. You can make it growl and howl and snarland fight. But you can't make a banjo cry. There are no tears in it. Thejoy of living is all a banjo knows. Why should we try to know anythingelse anyhow?""We shouldn't," she answered soberly. "The other things will comewithout invitation sometime."For an hour they talked of the deep things of life. He told of his highambitions of service for his country in the dark days that might come inthe future. Of the kind of soldier the nation would need, and the idealhe had set for his soul of truth and honor, of high thinking and cleanliving in the temptations that come to a soldier's daily life.
And she applauded his ideals. She told him they were big and fine andshe was proud of him as a true son of Old Virginia.
The sun was sinking behind the dim smoky hills toward the West when sherose.
"We must be going!""I had no idea it was so late," he apologized.
It was not until he reached his room at eleven o'clock after three hoursmore of her in the reception room that he faced the issue squarely.
He stood before the mirror and studied his flushed face. A look of deepseriousness had crept into his jolly blue eyes.
"You're a goner, this time, young man!" he whispered. "You're in love."He paused and repeated it softly.
"_In love_--the big thing this time. Sweeping all life before it.
Blotting out all that's passed and gripping all that lies beyond--Gloryto God!"For hours he lay awake. The world was made anew. The beauty of the newthought filled his soul with gratitude.
He dared not tell her yet. The stake was too big. He was playing for allthat life held worth having. He couldn't rush a girl of that kind. Ablunder would be fatal. He had a reputation as a flirt. She had heardit, no doubt. He must put his house in order. His word must ring true.
She must believe him.
He made up his mind to return to Fort Leavenworth next day and managesomehow to get transferred to Fort Riley for two weeks.

CHAPTER XVII
The Surveyor of the lands of Pottawattomie Creek was shaping theorganization of a band of followers.
To this little group, composed as yet of his own sons in the main, hetalked of his work, his great duty, his mission with mystic elation. Asingle idea was slowly fixing itself in his mind as the purpose of life.
It was fast becoming an obsession.
He slept but little. The night before he had slept but two hours. Whenthe camp supper had been prepared, he stood with bare head in the midstof his followers and thanked God. The meal was eaten to-night in a grimsilence which Brown did not break once. The supper over, he rose andagain returned thanks to the Bountiful Giver.
And then he left the camp without a word. Alone he tramped the prairiebeneath the starlit sky of a beautiful May night. Hour after hour hepaused and prayed. Always the one refrain came from his stern lips:
"Give me, oh, Lord God, the Vision!"And he would wait with eyes set on the stars for its revelation. Hecrouched at last against the trunk of a tree in a little ravine nearthe camp. It was past three o'clock. William Walker, who was acting hissecond in command, was still waiting his orders for the following day.
He saw Brown enter the ravine at one o'clock. Impatient of his endlesswandering, tired and sleepy, he decided to follow his Chief and ask hisorders.
He found him in a sitting posture, leaning against a blackjack, hisrifle across his knees. Walker called softly and received no response.
He approached and laid his hand on his shoulder.
Instantly he leaped to his feet, his rifle at his follower's breast, hisfinger on the trigger.
"My God!" Walker yelled.
His speech was too late to stop the pressure of the finger. Walkerpushed the muzzle up and the ball grazed his shoulder. The leadergripped his follower's arm, stared at him a moment and merely grunted:
"Oh!"When the day dawned a new man was found to act as second in command.
Walker had deserted his queer chieftain.
The old man entered the camp at dawn, the light of determination in hiseyes and a new set to his jaw. His first plan of the Pottawattomie wasright. The turn toward Lawrence had been a waste of time. He selectedsix men to accompany him on his mission, his four sons who had madeup the Surveyor's party, his son-in-law, Henry Thompson, and TheodoreWeiner. Owen, Salmon, Oliver and Frederick Brown knew every foot of theground. They had carried the chain, set the markers and flags and keptthe records.
He called his men in line and issued his first command:
"To the house of James Townsley."Townsley belonged to the Pottawattomie Rifles of which organization hisson, John Jr., was the Captain.
Arrived at the house, Brown drew Townsley aside and spoke in a vague,impersonal manner.
"I hear there is trouble expected on the Pottawattomie.""Is there?""We hear it.""What are you going to do?""March to their rescue. Will you help us?""How?""Harness your team of grays and take our party to Pottawattomie.""All right."The old man found a grindstone and ordered the ugly cutlasses whichhe had brought from Ohio to be sharpened. He stood over the stone andwatched it turned until each edge was as keen as a butcher's blade.
It began to dawn on the two younger sons before the grinding of theswords was finished what their father had determined.
Frederick asked Oliver tremblingly:
"What do you think of this thing?""It looks black to me.""It looks hellish to me.""I'm not going.""Nor am I."They promptly reported the decision to their father.
His eyes flamed.
"It's too late to retreat now!""We're not going," was the sullen answer in chorus.
The father gripped the two with his hard hands and held them as in avise.
"You will not put me to shame now before these men. You will go withme--do you hear?"His tones rang with the quiver of steel and the boys' wills weakened.
Frederick said finally:
"We'll go with you then, but we'll take no part in what you do.""Agreed," was the stern answer.
He turned to Oliver and said:
"Give me your revolver. I may need it.""It's mine," the boy replied. "I'll not give it up."The old man looked the stalwart figure over in a quick glance ofappraisement. Brown had been a man of iron strength in his day buthis shoulders were stooped and he knew he was no match for the fiercestrength of youth. Yet his hesitation was only for an instant.
With the sudden spring of a panther he leaped on the boy and attemptedto take the pistol by force. The son resisted with fury.
Frederick, alarmed lest the pistol should be discharged in the struggle,managed to slip it from his brother's belt.
The match was not equal.
Youth was master in the appeal to brute strength. At North Elba thefather had once thrown thirty lumbermen in a day, one after the other,in a wrestling match. He summoned the last ounce of strength now tosubdue his rebellious son.
Frederick watched the contest with painful anxiety. His own mind was notstrong. He had already given evidences of insanity that had distressedhis brother. If Oliver should kill his father or the old man should killthe brother! He couldn't face the hideous possibility. Yet he couldn'tstop them.
Fortunately there were no other witnesses to the fight. Townsley wasbusy at the stable with the team. Weiner and Thompson had gone into thehouse to complete their packing of provisions for the journey.
In tones of blind anguish Frederick followed the two desperatestruggling men.
"Don't do this, Father!"The old man made no answer save to swing his agile son's frame to oneside in another futile effort to throw him to the ground.
Not a word escaped his lips. His eyes flashed and glittered with theuncertain glare of a maniac in the moments when the iron muscles of theson pinned his arms and held his wiry body rigid.
Again Frederick's low pleading could be heard. This time to his brother:
"Can't you stop it, Oliver?""How can I?""For God's sake stop it--stop it!""I can't stop it. Don't ye see he's got me and I've got to hold him."The consciousness of failing strength drove the father to fury. Hisbreath was coming now in shorter gasps. He knew his chances of successwere fading. He yielded for a moment, and ceased to struggle. A cunninglook crept into his eyes.
The boy relaxed his vigilance. The old man felt the boy's grip ease.
With a sudden thrust of his body he summoned the last ounce of strength,and threw his son to the ground.
The boy laughed a devilish cry of the strong with the weak as he fell.
Before he touched the ground he had deftly turned the father's bodybeneath his and the full weight of his two hundred pounds fairly crushedthe breath from the older man.
A groan of rage and despair was wrung from his stern lips. But no wordescaped him. Frederick rushed to the prostrate figures, seized Oliver bythe shoulders and tore his grip loose.
"This is foolish!" he stormed.
No sooner had Brown risen than he plunged again at his son. The boy hadbeen playing with him to this time. The half of his strength was yet inreserve. A little angry grunt came from his lips, and his father was achild in his hands. With sure, quick movement he pinioned both arms andjammed him against the wheel of the wagon. He held him there for aninstant helpless to resist or move.
The last cry of despairing command came from Brown's soul.
"Let go of me, sir!"The boy merely growled a bulldog's answer.
"Not till you agree to behave yourself."Another desperate contraction of muscles and the order came more feebly.
"Will you let go of me, sir?""Will you behave yourself?""Yes," came the sullen answer.
The boy relaxed his grip and stood ready for action.
"All right, then.""You can keep your pistol.""I intend to.""But you are not to use it, sir, without my orders.""I am not going to use it at all, except in self-defense.""You will not be called upon to defend yourself. I am going on a divinemission. God has shown me the way in a Vision. I wish no man's help whomust be driven.""You'll not get any help, sir. I wouldn't have gone on that survey withyou if I'd known what was in your mind."Brown searched his son's eyes keenly.
"You will not betray me to my enemies?""I can't do that. You're my father."He turned to Frederick.
"Nor you?"The tears were streaming down the boy's face. He was hysterical from thestrain of the fight.
"You heard me, sir," the father stormed.
"What did you say?" Frederick stammered.
Oliver explained.
"He asked if you were going to betray his plans to those people on thePottawattomie."A far-away expression came into his eyes.
"No--no--not that.""Then you'll both follow and keep out of my way until we have finishedthe work and then come back with me?""Yes," Oliver answered.
"Yes," Frederick echoed vaguely.
Townsley and Weiner were coming with the pair of grays to be hitched tothe wagon. Weiner led his own pony already saddled. When they reachedthe wagon all signs of rebellion had passed.
"Are you ready?" Townsley asked.
"Ready." Brown's metallic voice rang.
The horses were hitched to the wagon, the provisions and equipmentloaded. Brown turned to his loyal followers:
"Arm yourselves."Owen, Salmon, Henry Thompson, Theodore Weiner and John Brown eachbuckled a loaded revolver about his waist, and seized a rifle andcutlass.
Weiner mounted his pony as an outpost rider and the others climbed intothe wagon. Oliver and Frederick agreed to follow on foot. The expeditionmoved toward the Southern settlement on Pottawattomie Creek.
Brown crouched low in the wagon as it moved slowly forward and a look ofcunning marked his grim face.
He was the Witch Hunter now. The chase was on. And the game was human.
As the sun was setting behind the Western horizon in a glow of orangeand purple glory the strange expedition drove down to the edge of thetimber between two deep ravines and camped a mile above Dutch Henry'sCrossing of the Pottawattomie.
The scene was one of serene beauty. The month of May--Saturday, thetwenty-third. Nature was smiling in the joy of her happiest hour. Peaceon earth, plenty, good will and happiness breathed from every bud andleaf and song of bird.
The broad prairies of the Territory were fertile and sunny. Theystretched away in unbroken, sublime loveliness until the land kissed theinfinite of the skies. Unless one had the feeling for this suggestion ofan inland sea the view might be depressing and the eye of the travelerweary.
The spot which John Brown picked for his camp was striking in its beautyand picturesque appeal. Winding streams, swelling hills, and steepravines broke the monotony of the plains.
The streams were bordered by the rich foliage of noble trees. Thestreams were called "Creeks." In reality, they were beautiful riversin the month of May--the Marais des Cygnes and the Pottawattomie. Theyunited near Osawatomie to form the Osage River, the largest tributaryto the Missouri below its mountain sources. Each river had its manytributaries winding gracefully along wood-fringed banks.
Beyond these ribbons of beautiful foliage stretched the gorgeous carpetof the grass-matted, flower-strewn prairies.
The wild flowers were in full bloom, pushing their red, white, yellow,blue and pink heads above the grass. The wind was blowing a steadylife-giving gale. The fields of flowers bowed and swayed and rose againat its touch. Their perfume filled the air. The perfume of the near-byfields was mingled with the odor of thousands of miles of prairiegardens to the south and west. A peculiar clearness in the atmospheregave the widest range to vision. Brown climbed the hill alone while hismen were unpacking. From the hilltop, even in the falling twilight, hecould see clearly for thirty or forty miles.
He swept the horizon for signs of the approach of a party which mightinterfere with his plan.
He knelt again and prayed to his God, as the twilight deepened intodarkness. The stars came out one by one and blinked down at his bentfigure still in prayer, his eyes uplifted in an uncanny glare.
As he slowly moved back to his camp he met Townsley.
Frederick and Oliver had reached camp and Townsley had caught a note ofthe sinister in their whispered talk. He didn't like the looks of it.
Brown had told him there was trouble brewing on the Pottawattomie. Hehad supposed, as a matter of course, that it was the long-threatenedattack of enemies on Weiner's store. Weiner, a big, quarrelsomeAustrian, had been in more than one fist fight with his neighbors.
Brown studied Townsley and decided to give him but a hint of his truepurpose. He didn't like this sign of weakness on the eve of greatevents.
Townsley took the hint with a grain of salt, but what he heard wasenough to bring alarm. The thing Brown had hinted was incredible.
But as Townsley looked at the leader he realized that he was not anordinary man. There was something extraordinary about him. He eithercommanded the absolute obedience of men who came near him or he sentthem from him with a repulsion as strong as the attraction to those wholiked him.
He felt the smothering power of this spell over his own mind now andtried to break it.
"Mr. Brown," Townsley began haltingly, "I've brought you here now. Youare snug in camp. I'd like to take my team back home.""To-night?""To-night.""It won't do.""Why not?""I won't allow this party to separate until the work to which God hascalled me is done.""I've done my share.""No. It will not do for you to go yet.""I'm going--""You're not!"Brown faced the man and held him in a silent look of his blue-gray eyes.
Townsley quailed before it.
"Whatever happens, you brought me here. You are equally responsible withme."Townsley surrendered.
The threat was unmistakable. He saw that he was trapped. Whether heliked it or not, he had packed his camp outfit, harnessed his horses anddriven over the trail on a hunting expedition. He knew now that theywere stalking human game. It sent the chills down his spine. But therewas no help for it. He had to stick.
Brown spent the night alone reconnoitering the settlement of thePottawattomie, marking the place of his game and making sure that noalarm could be given. All was still. There was nowhere the rustle of aleaf along a roadway that approached the unsuspecting quarry.
Saturday dawned clear and serene. His plans required that he lieconcealed the entire day. He could stalk his prey with sure success onthe second night. The first he had to use in reconnoitering.
When breakfast had been eaten and Brown had finished his morningprayers, he ordered his men to lie low in the tall grass and give nosign of life until the shadows of night should again fall. They werenot allowed to kindle another fire. The fires of the breakfast had beenextinguished at daylight.
The wind rose with the sun and the tall wild flowers swayed gracefullyover the dusty figures of the men. They lay in a close group with Brownin the center leading the low-pitched conversation which at times becamea debate.
As the winds whispered through the moving masses of flowers, the old manwould sometimes stop his talk suddenly and an ominous silence held thegroup. He had the strange power of thus imposing his will on the menabout him. They watched the queer light in his restless eyes as helistened to the voices within.
Suddenly he awaked from his reverie and began an endless denunciationof both parties in Kansas. Northern and Southern factions had becomeequally vile. The Southerners were always criminals. Their crime was nowfully shared by the time servers, trimmers and liars in the Free Stateparty.
His eyelids suddenly closed halfway and his eyes shone two points oflight as his metallic voice rang without restraint:
"They're all crying peace, peace!"He paused and hissed his words through the grass.
"There shall be no peace!"
CHAPTER XVIII
Brown lay flat on his belly the last hour of the day catching momentsof fitful sleep. At sunset he lifted his small head above the grassand scanned the horizon. There might be the curling smoke of a camp insight. A relief party might be on his trail.
He breathed a sigh of satisfaction. All was well. The sun was fastsinking beneath the hills, the prey was in sight and no hand could belifted to help.
The moment the shadows closed over the ravine he rose, stretched hiscramped body and turned to Thompson.
"Build your fire for supper."Thompson nodded.
"And give our men all they can eat.""Yes, sir.""They'll need their strength to-night.""I understand."The supper ready, Brown gathered his band around the camp fire andoffered thanks to his God. The meal was eaten in silence. The tensionof an imperious mind had gripped the souls of his men. They moved as ifstalking game at close quarters.
And they were doing this exactly.
The last pot and pan had been cleaned and packed. The fire wasextinguished. Brown issued his first order of the deed.
"Lie down flat in the grass now."The men dropped one by one. Brown was the last.
"When I give the word, see that your arms are in trim and march singlefile fifty yards apart and beat the brush as you go. If you come on acabin in our path not marked in our survey, it is important. Do not passit. Report to me immediately."There was no response. He had expected none. The order was final.
The first move in the man hunt was carefully planned.
The instinct to kill is the elemental force, beneath our culture, whichmakes the hunter. The strongest personalities of our world-conqueringrace of Nordic freemen are always hunters. If they do not practicethe chase the fact is due to an accident of position in life. Theopportunity has not been given.
Beneath the skin of the man of the College, the Council Table, theForum, the Sacred Altar, of Home, and the Church slumbers this elementalbeast.
Culture at best is but a few hundred years old and it has probablyskipped several generations in its growth. The Archaic instinct in manto kill reaches back millions of years into the past. The only power onearth to restrain that force is Law. The rules of life, embodied in laware the painful results of experience in killing and the dire effectswhich follow, both to the individual and the race. Law is a force onlyso long as reverence for law is made the first principle of man's socialtraining. The moment he lifts his individual will against the embodiedexperience of humanity, he is once more the elemental beast of theprehistoric jungle--the Hunter.
And when the game is human and the hunter is a man of prayer, we havethe supreme form of the beast, the ancient Witch Hunter. It is a factthat the pleasure of killing is universal in man. Our savage ancestorsfor millions of years had to kill to live. We have long ago outgrownthis necessity in the development of civilization. But the instinctremains.
We are human as we restrain this instinct and bring it under thedominion of Law. We still hunt the most delicate and beautiful animals,stalk and kill them, driven by the passionate secret pleasure of the actof murder. With bated breath and glittering eyes we press our advantageuntil the broken wing ceases to flutter and the splintered bone tocrawl.
This imperious atavism the best of us cannot or will not control in thepursuit of animals. When man has lifted his arm in defiance of Traditionand Law, this impulse is the dominant force which sweeps all else aschaff before it.
John Brown was the apostle of the sternest faith ever developed in theagonies of our history. To him life had always been a horror.
There was no hesitation, no halting, no quiver of maudlin pity, when heslowly rose from his grass-covered lair in the darkness and called hismen at ten o'clock:
"Ready!"Single file, moving silently and swiftly they crept through the night,only the sharpened swords clanking occasionally broke the silence. Theirtread was soft as the claws of panthers. The leader's spirit grippedmind and body of his followers.
They moved northward from the camp in the ravine and crossed theMosquito Creek just above the home of the Doyles. Once over the creek,the hunters again spread out single file fifty yards apart.
They had gone but two hundred yards when the signal to halt waswhispered along the line. Owen Brown reported to his father:
"There's a cabin just ahead.""We haven't charted it in our survey?""No.""It will not do to pass it," said Brown.
"They might give the alarm.""Surround it and do your duty," was the stern command.
Owen called three men, cautiously approached the door and knocked.
Something moved inside and a gun was suddenly rammed through a chink inthe walls. The muzzle line could be seen in the flash of a star's light.
The four men broke and scattered in the brush. They reported to theleader.
"We want no fight with this fool. No gun play if we can avoid it. We'lltake our chances and let him alone. He'll think we're a bunch of sneakthieves. I don't see how we missed this man's place. It can't be fivehundred yards from the Doyles'. Back to your places and swing round hiscabin."Owen quickly gave the order and the hunters passed on. The first one ofthe marked prey had shown teeth and claws and the hunters slipped onunder the cover of the darkness to easier game.
The Doyles were not armed.
At least the chances were the old shotgun was not loaded, as it was usedonly for hunting.
The hunters crouched low and circled the Doyle house, crawling throughthe timber and the brush.
A hundred yards from the stable, a dog barked. Owen had carefully markedthis dog on the day of the survey. He was merely a faithful yellow curwhich Doyle had brought from Virginia. He looked about seven years old.
If crossed he might put up a nasty fight. If approached with friendlyword by a voice he had once heard, the rest would be easy.
The signal was given to halt. The hunters paused and stood still intheir tracks. Owen had taken pains to be friendly with this dog on theday of the survey. He had called him a number of times and had given hima piece of bread from his pocket. He was sure he could manage him.
In a low tone he whistled and called the dog by name. He had carefullyrecalled it.
"Jack!"He listened intently and heard the soft step of a paw rustling theleaves. The plan was working.
The dog pushed his way into an open space in the brush and stopped.
The hunter called softly:
"Jack, old boy!"The dog wagged his tail. The man could see the movement of kindlygreeting in the starlight, and ventured close. He bent low and calledagain:
"Come on, boy!"The dog answered with a whine, wagged his tail, came close and thrusthis nose against the man's arm in a welcome greeting. With his left handthe man stroked the warm, furry head, while his right slowly slipped theugly sharpened cutlass from its scabbard.
Still stroking the dog's head and softly murmuring words of endearment,he straightened his body:
"Bully old dog! Fine old doggie--"The dog's eyes followed the rising form with confidence, wagging histail in protest against his going.
The hand gripped the brass hilt of the cutlass, the polished steelwhizzed through the air and crashed into the yellow mass of flesh andbones.
His aim was bad in the dark. He missed the dog's head and the swordsplit the body lengthwise. To the man's amazement a piercing howl ofagony rang through the woods.
He dropped his sword and gripped the quivering throat and held it in avise of steel until the writhing body was still at last.
Inside the darkened cabin, the mother stirred from an uneasy sleep. Sheshook her husband and listened intently. The only sound that came fromwithout was the chirp of crickets and the distant call of a coyote fromthe hill across the creek.
She held her breath and listened again. The man by her side sleptsoundly. She couldn't understand why her heart persisted in pounding.
There wasn't the rustle of a leaf outside. The wind had died down withthe falling night. It couldn't be more than eleven o'clock.
Her husband's breathing was deep and regular. His perfect rest and thesense of strength in his warm body restored her poise. She felt theslender forms of her little girls in the trundle bed and tried to goback to sleep.
It was useless. In spite of every effort her eyes refused to close.
Again she was sure she had heard the dog's cry in the night. Shebelieved that it was an ugly dream. The dawn of a beautiful Sundaymorning would find all well in the little home and her faithful dogagain wagging his tail at the door asking for breakfast.
She listened to the beating of her foolish heart. Wide awake, she beganto murmur a prayer of thanks to God for all His goodness and mercy inthe new home He had given.
As Owen's hands slowly relaxed from the throat of the lifeless bodyhe seized a handful of leaves and wiped the blood from the blade andreplaced it in the scabbard.
He rose quickly and gave the signal to advance. Again crouching low,moving with the soft tread of beasts of prey, the hunters closed in onthe settler's home.
The keen ears of the mother, still wide awake, caught the crunch of feeton the gravel of the walk. With a heart pounding again in alarm sheraised her head and listened. From the other side of the house came therustle of leaves stirred by another swiftly approaching footstep. Itwas so still she could hear her own heart beat again. There could be nomistake about it this time.
She gripped her husband's arm:
"John!"He moaned drowsily.
"John--John--""What's matter?" he murmured without lifting his head from the pillow.
"Get up quick!""What for?" he groaned.
"There's somebody around the house.""Na.""I tell you--yes!""Hit's the dawgs.""I heard a man's step on the path, I tell you.""Yer dreamin', ole woman--""I'm not, I tell ye.""Go back to sleep."The man settled again and breathed deeply.
The woman remained on her elbow, listening with every nerve strained inagony.
Again she heard a step on the gravel. This time another footfall joinedthe first. She gripped her husband's shoulders and shook him violently.
"John, John!" she whispered.
He had half roused himself this time, shocked into consciousness by hertrembling grip on his shoulders. But above all by the tremor in herwhispered call.
"What is it, Mahala?""For God's sake, get up quick and call the boys down outen the loft.""No!" he growled.
"I tell you, there's somebody outside--"They were both sitting on the edge of the bed now, speaking in whispers.
"You're dreamin', ole 'oman," he persisted.
"I heard 'em. There's more'n one. I heard some on the other side of thehouse. I heard two in front. Call the boys down--""Don't wake the boys up fer nothin--""Is yer gun loaded?""No.""Oh, my God.""I ain't got no powder. I don't kill game in the springtime."They both listened. All was still. They could hear the breathing of thelittle girls in the trundle bed.
The crunch of feet suddenly came to the doorstep. The woman's handgripped her husband's arm in terror. He heard it now.
"That's funny," he mused.
"Call the boys!" the mother pleaded.
"_Wait_ till we find out what it is--"A firm knock on the door echoed through the darkened room.
"God save us!" the woman breathed.
Doyle rose and quietly walked to the door.
"What is it?" he called in friendly tones.
"We're lost in the woods," a voice answered.
His wife had followed and gripped his arm.
"Don't open that door.""Wait, Mother--""We're trying to find the way to Mr. Wilkinson's--can you tell us?""Sure I can."He moved to open the door. Again his wife held him.
"Don't do it!"Doyle brushed her aside.
"Don't be foolish, Mahala," he protested indignantly. "I'm a poor sorto' man if I can't tell a lost traveler the way out of the woods.""They're lyin'!""We'll see."He raised the latch and six men crashed their way through the door. JohnBrown led the assault. He held a dim lantern in his hand which he liftedabove his head, as he surveyed the room. He kept his own face in shadow.
With a smothered cry, the mother backed against the trundle bedinstinctively covering the sleeping figures of the girls.
Brown pointed a cocked revolver at Doyle's breast and said in coldtones:
"Call those three boys down."Doyle hesitated.
Brown's eye glanced down the barrel of his revolver:
"Quick!"The man saw he had no chance.
He mounted the ladder, the revolver following him. The mother'sterror-stricken eyes saw that each man was armed with two revolvers, abowie knife and cutlass.
"Don't you scare 'em," Brown warned.
"I won't.""Tell 'em to come down and show us the way to Wilkinson's.""Boys!" the father called.
There was no answer at first, and the father wondered if they had heardand gotten weapons of some kind. He hoped not. It would be a uselesshorror to try to defend themselves before a mother's eyes, and thoselittle girls screaming beside her.
He hastened to call a second time and reassure their fears.
"Boys!"William, the older one, answered drowsily:
"Yessir--""Come down, all of you. Some travelers are here who've lost the way.
They want you to help them get to Mr. Wilkinson's.""All right, sir."The boys hastily slipped on their trousers and shoes.
"Tell 'em to hurry," Brown ordered.
"Jest slip on yer shoes and britches," Doyle called.
The Surveyor held the lantern behind his body until the three sons hadcome down the ladder and he saw that they were unarmed.
He stepped to the fireplace, took the shotgun from the rack and handedit to Weiner.
The boys, startled at the group of stern armed men, instinctively movedtoward their father, dazed by the assault.
Brown faced the group.
"You four men are my prisoners."The mother left the trundle bed and faced the leader.
"Who are you?"Brown dropped his lantern, fixed her with his eyes.
"I am the leader of the Northern Army.""What are you doing here to-night?""I have come on a divine mission.""Who sent you?""The Lord of Hosts in a Vision--""What are you going to do?""The will of God.""What are you going to do?" she fairly screamed in his face.
"That is not for your ears, woman," was the stern answer. "I haveimportant business with Southern settlers on the Pottawattomieto-night."The woman's intuition saw in a flash the hideous tragedy. With a cry ofanguish she threw her arms around her husband's neck, sobbing.
"Oh, John, John, my man, I told ye not to talk--but ye would tell folkswhat ye believed. Why couldn't ye be still? Oh, my God, my God, it'scome to this!"The man soothed her with tender touch.
"Hush, Mother, hush. You mustn't take on.""I can't help it--I just can't. God have mercy on my poor lost soul--"She paused and looked at her boys.
With a scream she threw herself first on one and then on the other.
"Oh, my big fine boy! I can't let you go! Where is God to-night? Is Hedead? Has He forgotten me?"The father drew her away and shook her sternly.
"Hush, Mother, hush! Yer can't show the white feather like this!""I can't help it. I can't give up my boys!"She paused and looked at Doyle.
"And I can't give you up, my man--I just can't!""Don't, don't--" the husband commanded. "We've got to be men now."She fought hard to control her tears. The little girls began to sob. Sherushed to the trundle bed and soothed them.
"Keep still, babies. They won't hurt you. Keep still!"The children choked into silence and she leaped toward Brown and triedto seize his hand. He repulsed her and she went on frantically.
"Please, for God's sake, man, have mercy on a wife and mother, if youain't got no pity in your heart for my men! Surely you have womenhome. Their hearts can break like mine. My man's only been talkin' aspoliticians talk. It was nothing. Surely it's no crime."Brown drew a notebook from his pocket and held it up.
"I have the record in this book of your husband's words against the menof our party, Madame. He stands convicted of murder in his heart. Hissons are not of age. Their opinions are his."For a moment the mother forgot her pleading and shrieked her defianceinto the stern face before her.
"And who made you a judge o' life and death for my man and my sons? Ibore these boys of the pains of my body. God gave them to me. They aremine, not yours!"Brown brushed her aside.
"That's enough from you. Those men are my prisoners. Bring them on!"He moved toward the door and the guards with drawn swords closed in onthe group.
The mother leaped forward and barred the way to the door. She facedBrown with blanched face. Her breath came in short gasps. She foughtdesperately for control of her voice, failed to make a sound, staggeredto the old man, grasped blindly his body and sank to her knees at hisfeet.
At last she managed to gasp:
"Just one of my boys--then--my baby boy! He's a big boy--but look at hissmooth face--he ain't but fourteen years old. Hit don't seem butyistiday that he wuz just a laughin' baby in my arms! And I've alwaysbeen that proud of him. He's smart. He's always been smart--and Godforgive me--I've loved him better'n all the others--hit--wuzn't--right--fer--a--mother--to--love one of her--children--more--than--the--others--but I couldn't help it! If ye'll just spare him--hit's all I'll ask yenow"--her voice sank into a sob as her face touched the floor.
The dark figure above her did not move and she lifted her head withdesperate courage.
"I'll be all alone here--a broken-hearted woman with two little gals andnobody to help me--or work fer me--ef you'll just spare my baby boy--"She sprang to her feet and threw her arms around the youngest boy'sneck.
"Oh, my baby, my baby, I can't let ye go--I can't--I can't!"She lifted her tear-streaming eyes to the dark face again.
"Please, please, for the love ofGod--you--say--you--believe--in--God--leave me this one!"Brown moved his head in a moment's uncertainty. He turned to Owen.
"Leave him and come on with the others."With a desperate cry, the mother closed her eyes and clung to the boy.
She dared not lift them in prayer for the others as they passed out intothe night.
The armed men had seized her husband and her two older sons, William andDrury, and hustled them through the door. The mother drew the boy backon the trundle bed and held him in her arms. The little girls crouchedclose and began to sob.
"Hush--don't make a noise. They won't hurt you. I want to hear what theydo--maybe--"The mother stopped short, fascinated by the horror of the tragedy sheknew would take place outside her door. The darkness gave no token ofits progress. A cricket was chirping in the chimney just awakened by thenoise.
She held her breath and listened. Not a sound. The silence wasunbearable. She sprang to her feet in a moment's fierce rebellionagainst the crime of such an infamous attack. A roused lioness, sheleaped to the mantel to seize the shotgun.
John followed and caught her.
"The gun's gone, Ma," he cried.
"Yes, yes, I forgot," she gasped. "They took it, the damned fiends!""Ma, Ma, be still!" the boy pleaded. He was horror-stricken at the oathfrom her lips. In all his life he had never heard her use a vulgar word.
"Yes, of course," she faltered. "I mustn't try to do anything. Theymight come back and kill you--my baby boy!"She pressed him again to her heart and held him. She strained her earsfor the first signal of the deed the darkness shrouded.
The huntsmen dragged the father and two sons but a hundred and fiftyyards from the door and halted beside the road. Brown faced the fatherin the dim starlight.
"You are a Southern white man?""I am, sir.""You are pro-Slavery?""I hate the sight and sound of a slave.""But you believe in the institution?""I hate it, I tell you."Brown paused as if his brain had received a shock. The answer had beenutterly unexpected. The man was in earnest. He meant what he said. Andhe was conscious of the solemnity of the trial on which his life hung.
Brown came back to his cross examination, determined to convict him onthe grounds he had fixed beforehand.
"What do you mean when you say that you hate the institution ofSlavery?""Exactly what I say.""You do not believe in owning slaves?""I do not.""Did you ever own one?""No!""And you never expect to own one?""Never.""Why did you rush into this Territory among the first to cross theborder?""I come West to get away from niggers, and bring my children up in awhite man's country."Quick as a flash came the crucial question from lips that had neversmiled. It was the triumphant scream of an eagle poised to strike. Hehad him at last.
"Then you don't believe the negro to be your brother and your equal--doyou?"The poor white man's body suddenly stiffened and his chin rose:
"No, by God, I don't believe that!"John Brown lifted his hand in a quick signal and Owen stepped stealthilybehind Doyle. The sharpened cutlass whistled through the air and crashedinto Doyle's skull. His helpless hands were lifted instinctively as hestaggered. The swift descending blade split the right hand open andsevered the left from the body before he crumpled in a heap on theground. The assassin placed his knee on the prostrate figure and plungedhis knife three times in the breast,--once through the heart and oncethrough each lung. He had learned the art in butchering cattle.
Fifty yards away the mangled bodies of William and Drury Doyle lay onthe ground with the dim figure of the assassin bending low to make surethat no sign of life remained.
John Brown raised the wick of his lantern and walked coolly up tothe body of the elder Doyle. He flashed the lantern on the distortedfeatures. A look of religious ecstasy swept the stern face of thePuritan and his eyes glittered with an unearthly glare.
He uttered a sound that was half a laugh and half a religious shout,snatched his pistol from his belt, placed the muzzle within an inch ofthe dead skull and fired. The brains of the corpse splashed the muzzleof the revolver.
The trembling mother inside the cabin uttered a low cry of horror andcrumpled in the arms of her son.
The boy dragged her to the bed and rushed to the kitchen for a cup ofwater. He dashed it in her face and cried for joy when she breathedagain. He didn't mind the moans and sobs. The thought that she, too,might be dead had stopped his very heartbeat.
He soothed her at last and sat holding her hand in the dark. The girlsnestled against her side. The mother gave no sign that she was consciousof their presence.
Her spirit was outside the cabin now, hovering in the darkness mourningher dead. Through the dread hours of the night she sat motionless,listening, dreaming.
No sounds came from the darkness. The coyote had ceased to call. Thecricket in the chimney slept at last.
CHAPTER XIX
The dark figures secured the horses, bridles and saddles and moved tothe next appointed crime.
The stolen horses were put in charge of the two sons, who had refused totake part in the events of the night. They were ordered to follow thehuntsmen carefully.
Again they crept through the night and approached the home of Wilkinson,the member of the Legislature from the County. Brown had carefullysurveyed his place and felt sure of a successful attack unless the houseshould be alarmed by a surly dog which no member of his surveying partyhad been able to approach.
When they arrived within two hundred yards of the gate, it was oneo'clock. Brown carefully watched the house for ten minutes to see thatno light gleamed through a window or a chink. The wife had been sickwith the measles when the survey was made. There was no sign of a light.
Salmon and Owen Brown were sent by the men on a protest to Brown.
Salmon was spokesman.
"We've got something to say to you, Father, before we take outWilkinson--""Well?" the old man growled.
"You gave every man strict orders to fire no guns or revolver unlessnecessary--didn't you?""I did.""You fired the only shot heard to-night.""I'll not do it again. I didn't intend to. I don't know why I did it.
Stick to my order.""See that _you_ stick to it," the boy persisted.
"I will. Use only your knives and cutlasses. The cutlass first always."The men began to move slowly forward.
Brown called softly.
"Just a minute. This dog of Wilkinson's is sure to bark. Don't stop totry to kill him. Rush the house double quick and pay no attention to hisbarking--""If he bites?" Owen asked.
"Take a chance, don't try to kill him--Wilkinson might wake. Now, alltogether--rush the house!"They rushed the house at two hundred yards. They had taken but tensteps when the dog barked so furiously Brown called a halt. They waited.
Then, minutes later the dog raged, approaching the house and retreating.
His wild cry of alarm rang with sinister echo through the woods. Thefaithful brute was calling his master and mistress to arms.
Still the man inside slept. The Territory of Kansas to this time hadbeen as free from crime as any state on its border. The lawmaker hadnever felt a moment's uneasiness.
Footsteps approached the door. The sick woman saw the shadow of a manpass the window. The starlight sharply silhouetted his face against theblack background.
Some one knocked on the door.
The woman asked:
"Who's that?"No one answered.
"Henry, Henry!" she called tensely.
"Well?" the husband answered.
"There's somebody knocking at the door."Wilkinson half raised in bed.
"Who is that?"A voice replied:
"We've lost the road. We want you to tell us the way to Dutch Henry's."Wilkinson began to call the directions.
"We can't understand--""You can't miss the way.""Come out and show us!"The request was given in tones so sharp there could be no mistake. Itwas a command not a plea.
"I'll have to go and tell them," he said to his wife.
"For God's sake, don't open that door," she whispered.
"It's best."She seized and held him.
"You shall not go!"Wilkinson sought to temporize.
"I'm not dressed," he called. "I can tell you the way as well withoutgoing outdoors."The men stepped back from the door and held a consultation. John Brownat once returned and began his catechism:
"You are Wilkinson, the Member of the Legislature?""I am, sir.""You are opposed to the Free Soil Party?""I am."The answers were sharp to the point of curtness and his daring rousedthe wrath of Brown to instant action.
"You're my prisoner, sir."He waited an instant for an answer and, getting none, asked:
"Do you surrender?""Gentlemen, I do.""Open the door!""In just a minute.""Open it--""When I've made a light.""We've got a light. Open that door or we'll smash it!"Again the sick woman caught his arm.
"Don't do it!""It's better not to resist," he answered, opening the door.
Brown held the lantern in his face.
"Put on your clothes."Wilkinson began to dress.
The men covered him with drawn revolvers. The sick woman sank limply onthe edge of the bed.
"Are there any more men in this house?" Brown asked sharply.
"No.""Have you any arms?""Only a quail gun.""Search the place."The guard searched the rooms, ransacking drawers and chests. They tookeverything of value they could find, including the shotgun and powderflask.
The sick woman at length recovered her power of speech and turned toBrown.
"If you've arrested my husband for anything, he's a law-abiding man. Youcan let him stay here with me until morning.""No!" Brown growled.
"I'm sick and helpless. I can't stay here by myself.""Let me stay with my wife, gentlemen," Wilkinson pleaded, "until I canget some one to wait on her and I'll remain on parole until you returnor I'll meet you anywhere you say."Brown looked at the woman and at the little children trembling by herside and curtly answered:
"You have neighbors.""So I have," Wilkinson agreed, "but they are not here and I cannot gofor them unless you allow me.""It matters not," Brown snapped. "Get ready, sir."Wilkinson took up his boots to pull them on when Brown signaled his mento drag him out.
Without further words they seized him and hurried into the darkness.
They dragged him a few yards from the house into a clump of dead brush.
Weiner was the chosen headsman. He swung his big savage figure beforeWilkinson and his cutlass flashed in the starlight.
The woman inside the darkened house heard the crash of the blade againstthe skull and the dying groan from the lips of the father of her babies.
When the body crumpled, Weiner knelt, plunged his knife into the throat,turned it and severed the jugular vein.
Standing over the body John Brown spoke to one of his men.
"The horses, saddles and bridles from the stable--quick!"The huntsman hurried to the stable and took Wilkinson's horse.
It was two o'clock before they reached the home of James Harris on theother side of the Pottawattomie. Harris lived on the highway and kept arude frontier boarding place where travelers stopped for the night.
With him lived Dutch Henry Sherman and his brother, William.
Brown had no difficulty in entering this humble one-room house. It wasnever locked. The latch string was outside.
Without knocking Brown lifted the latch and sprang into the room withhis son, Owen, and another armed huntsman.
He surveyed the room. In one bed lay Harris, his wife and child. In twoother beds were three men, William Sherman, John Whitman and a strangerwho had stopped for the night and had given no name.
"You are our prisoners," Brown announced. "It is useless for you toresist."The old man stood by one bed with drawn saber and Owen stood by theother while Weiner searched the room. He found two rifles and a bowieknife which he passed through the door to the guard outside.
Brown ordered the stranger out first. He kept him but a few minutes andbrought him back. He next ordered Harris to follow him.
Brown confronted his prisoner in the yard. A swordsman stood close byhis side to catch his nod.
"Where is Dutch Henry Sherman?""On the plains hunting for lost cattle.""You are telling me the truth?" Brown asked, boring him through with histerrible eyes.
"The truth, sir!"He studied Harris by the light of his lantern.
"Have you ever helped a Southern settler to enter the Territory ofKansas?""No.""Did you take any hand in the troubles at Lawrence?""I've never been to Lawrence.""Have you ever done the Free State Party any harm?""No. I don't take no part in politics.""Have you ever intended to do that party any harm?""I don't know nothin' about politics or parties.""What are you doing living here among these Southern settlers?""Because I can get better wages.""Any horses, bridles, or saddles?""I've one horse.""Saddle him and bring him here."A swordsman walked by his side while he caught and saddled his horse anddelivered him to his captors.
Brown went back into the house and brought out William Sherman. Harriswas ordered back to bed, and a new guard was placed inside until theceremony with Sherman should be ended.
It was brief.
Brown had no questions to ask this man. He was the brother of HenrySherman, the most hated member of the settlement. Brown called Thompsonand Weiner and spoke in tones of quick command.
"Take him down to the Pottawattomie Creek. I want this man's blood tomingle with its waters and flow to the sea!"The doomed man did not hear the sentence of his judge. The two huntsmencaught his arms and rushed him to the banks of the creek. He stood for amoment trembling and dazed. Not a word had passed his lips. Not one hadpassed his guards.
They loosed their grip on his arms, stepped back and two cutlasseswhistled through the air in a single stroke. The double blow was soswiftly and evenly delivered that the body stood erect until the secondstroke of the sharpened blades had cut off one hand and split open thebreast.
When the body fell at the feet of the huntsmen they seized the quiveringlimbs and hurled them into the creek.
They reported at once to their Captain. He stood in front of the housewith his restless gaze sweeping the highway for any possible, belatedtraveler. The one hope uppermost in his mind was that Dutch HenrySherman might return with his lost cattle in time.
He raised his lantern and looked at his watch. The men who had butcheredWilliam Sherman stood with red swords for orders.
Brown had not yet uttered a word. He knew that the work on the bankof the Pottawattomie was done. The attitude of his swordsmen wassufficient.
He asked but one question.
"You threw him into the water?""Yes.""Good."He closed his silver watch with a snap.
"It's nearly four o'clock. We have no more time for work to-night. Backto camp."The men turned to repeat his orders.
"Wait!"His order rang like vibrant metal.
The men stopped.
"We'll mount the horses we have taken, and march single file. I'll ridethe horse taken here. Bring him to the door."With quick springing step Brown entered the house where the husband andwife and the two lodgers were still shivering under the eye of the guardwith drawn sword.
The leader's voice rang with a note of triumph.
"You people whose lives have been spared will stay in this house untilsunrise. And the less you say about what's happened to-night the longeryou'll live."He turned to his guard.
"Come on."Brown had just mounted his horse to lead the procession back to the campin the ravine, when the first peal of thunder in a spring shower crashedoverhead.
He glanced up and saw that the sky was being rapidly overcast by swiftlymoving clouds. A few stars still glimmered directly above.
The storm without was an incident of slight importance. The rain wouldgive him a chance to test the men inside. He ordered his followers totake refuge in the long shed under which Harris stabled the horses andvehicles of travelers.
He stationed a sentinel at the door of the house.
His orders were clear.
"Cut down in his tracks without a word, the man who dares to come out."The swordsman threw a saddle blanket around his shoulders and took hisplace at the doorway.
The storm broke in fury. In five minutes the heavens were a sea offlame. The thunder rolled over the ravine, the hills, the plains indeafening peals. Flash after flash, roar after roar, an endless throb ofearth and air from the titanic bombardment from the skies. The flamingsky was sublime--a changing, flashing, trembling splendor.
Townsley was the only coward in the group of stolid figures standingunder the shed. He watched by the lightning the expression of Brown'sface with awe. There was something terrible in the joy that flamed inhis eyes. Never had he seen such a look on human face. He forgot thestorm and forgot his fears of cyclones and lightning strokes in thefascination with which he watched the seamed, weather-beaten featuresof the man who had just committed the foulest deed in the annals ofAmerican frontier life. There was in his shifting eyes no shadow ofdoubt, of fear, of uncertainty. There was only the look of satisfaction,of supreme triumph. The coward caught the spark of red that flashed fromhis soul.
For a moment he regretted that he had not joined the bloody work withhis own hand. He was ashamed of his pity for the stark masses of fleshthat still lay on the deluged earth. In spite of the contagion ofBrown's mind which he felt pulling him with resistless power, his ownweaker intellect kept playing pranks with his memory.
He recalled the position of the bodies which they had left in thedarkness. He had seen them by the light of the lantern which Brown hadflashed each time before leaving. He remembered with a shiver that thetwo Doyle boys had died with their big soft blue eyes wide open, staringupward at the starlit skies. He wondered if the rain had beaten theireyelids down.
A blinding flash filled the sky and lighted every nook and corner of thewoods and fields. He shook at its glare and put his hand over his eyes.
For a moment he could see nothing but the wide staring gaze upwardof those stalwart young bodies. He shivered and turned away from theleader.
The next moment found him again watching the look of victory on theterrible face.
As the lightning played about Brown's form he wondered at the impressionof age he gave with his face turned away and his figure motionless. Hewas barely fifty-seven and yet he looked seventy-five, until he moved.
The moment his wiry body moved there was something uncanny in theimpression he gave of a wild animal caught in human form.
Brown had tired waiting for the shower to pass and had begun to paceback and forth with his swinging, springy step. When he passed, Townsleyinstinctively drew aside. He knew that he was a coward and yet hecouldn't feel the consciousness of cowardice in giving this man room. Itwas common sense.
The storm passed as swiftly as it came.
Without a word the leader gave the signal. His men mounted the stolenhorses. With Townsley's grays and Weiner's pony the huntsmen returned tothe camp in the ravine, a procession of cavalry.
The eastern sky was whitening with the first touch of the coming sunwhen they dismounted.
The leader ordered the fire built and a hearty breakfast cooked for eachman. As was his custom he wandered from the camp alone, his arms grippedbehind his stooped back. He climbed the hill, stood on its crest andwatched the prairie.
The storm had passed from west to east. On the eastern horizon a lowfringe of clouds was still slowly moving. They lay in long ribbons ofdazzling light. The sun's rays flashed through them every color of therainbow. Now they were a deep purple, growing brighter with each moment,until every flower in the waving fields was touched with its glory. Thepurple melted into orange; the waving fields were set with dazzlingbuttercups; the buttercups became poppies. And then the mounting sunkissed the clouds again. They blushed scarlet, and the fields were red.
The grim face gave no sign that he saw the glory and beauty of awonderful Sabbath morning. His figure was rigid. His eyes set. A sweetodor seemed to come from the scarlet rays of the sun. The man lifted hishead in surprise to find the direction from which the perfume came.
He looked at the ground and saw that he was standing in a bed ofripening wild strawberries.
He turned from the sunrise, stooped and ate the fruit. He was ravenouslyhungry. His hunger satisfied, he walked deliberately back to camp as thewhite light of day flooded the clean fields and woods.
He called his men about the fire and searched for marks of the night'swork. As the full rim of the sun crept over the eastern hills and itsfirst rays quivered on the surface of the water, the huntsmen knelt bythe bank of the Pottawattomie and washed the stains from their swords,hands and clothes.
Breakfast finished, the leader divided among his headsmen the goodsstolen from his victims and called his men to Sunday prayers.
With folded hands and head erect in the attitude of victory he read frommemory a passage from the old Hebrew prophet, singing in triumph overthe enemies of the Lord. From the scripture recitation, given in tonesso cold and impersonal that they made Townsley shiver, his voice driftedinto prayer:
"We thank thee, oh, Lord, God of Hosts, for the glorious victory Thouhast given us this night over Thy enemies. We have heard Thy voice. Wehave obeyed Thy commands. The wicked have been laid low. And Thy gloryshines throughout the world on this beautiful Sabbath morning. Makestrong, oh, God, the arms of Thy children for the work that is yetbefore them. Thou art a jealous God. Thou dost rejoice always in bloodofferings on Thy altars. We have this night brought to Thee and laidbefore Thy face the five offerings which the sins of man have demanded.
May this blood seem good in Thy sight, oh, God, as it is glorious in theeyes of Thy servant whom Thou hast anointed to do Thy will. May it be asseed sown in good ground. May it bring forth a harvest whose red gloryshall cover the earth, even as the rays of the sun have baptized ourskies this morning. We wait the coming of Thy Kingdom, oh, Lord, God ofHosts. Speed the day we humbly pray. Amen."Townsley's eyes had gradually opened at the tones of weird, religiousecstasy with which the last sentences of the prayer were spoken. He wasstaring at Brown's face. It was radiant with a strange joy. He had notsmiled; but he was happy for a moment. His happiness was so unusual,so sharply in contrast with his habitual mood, the sight of it chilledTownsley's soul.

CHAPTER XX
Stuart succeeded in securing from Colonel Sumner a leave of absenceof two weeks to visit Fort Riley. The Colonel suspected the truth andteased the gallant youngster until he confessed.
He handed Stuart the order with a hearty laugh.
"It's all right, my boy. I've been young myself. Good luck."Stuart's laughter rang clear and hearty.
"Thank you, Colonel. You had me scared."He had just turned to leave the room when a messenger handed Sumner atelegram.
Stuart paused to hear the message.
"Bad news, Lieutenant.""What, sir?""An attack has been made on the Southern settlement on thePottawattomie.""A drunken fight--""No. Wilkinson, the member of the Legislature from Miami County, wastaken from his house in the night and murdered.""The story's a fake," Stuart ventured.
"The man who sent this message doesn't make such mistakes."He paused and studied the telegram.
"No. This means the beginning of a blood feud. The time's ripe for it.""We'll have better news to-morrow," Stuart hoped.
"We'll have worse. I've been looking for something like this since theday I heard old Brown harangue a mob at Lawrence."He stopped short.
"You'll have to give me back that order, my boy."Stuart's face fell.
"Colonel, I've just got to see that girl, if it's only for a day--"He slowly handed the order back to the Commandant. Sumner watched thered blood mount to Stuart's face with a look of sympathy.
"Is it as bad as that, boy?""It couldn't be worse, sir," Stuart admitted in low tones. "I'm agoner.""All right. You've no time to lose, I'll give you three days--""Thank you!""This regiment will be on the march before a week has passed or I missmy guess.""I'll be here, sir!" was the quick response.
Stuart grasped the leave of absence and hurried out before anothermessenger could arrive.
He reached Fort Riley the following day and had but twenty-four hours inwhich to crowd the most important event of his life.
He paced the floor in Colonel Cooke's reception room awaiting Flora'sappearance with eager impatience. What on earth could be keeping her? Heasked himself the question fifty times and looked at his watch a dozentimes before he heard the rustle of organdy on the stairs.
A vision of radiant youth! She had taken time to make her beauty stillmore radiant with the daintiest touches to her blonde hair.
The simple dress she wore was a poem. The young cavalier was stunnedanew. There was no doubt about the welcome in her smile and voice. Itthrilled him to his fingertips. He held her hand until she drew it awaywith a little self-conscious laugh that was confusing to Stuart's planof direct action.
There was a touch of the Southern girl's conscious poise and coquetry inthe laugh. There was something aloof in it that meant trouble. He feltit with positive terror. He didn't have time to fence for position. Hewas in no mood for a flirtation. He had come to speak the deep things.
She led him to a seat with an air of dignity and reserve that alarmedhim still more. He had taken too much for granted perhaps. There mightbe another man. Conceited fool! He hadn't thought it possible. Hermanner had been so frank, so utterly sincere.
She sat by his side smiling at him in the bewitching way so many prettygirls had done before, when they merely wished to play with love.
He spoke in commonplaces and studied her with increasing panic. Hertactics baffled him. Until at last he believed he had solved the riddle!
She had suddenly waked to the fact, as he had, that she had met herfate. She was drawing back for a moment in fright at the seriousness ofsurrender.
"Yes, that's it!" he murmured half aloud.
"What did you say?" she asked archly.
And his heart sank again. She asked the question with a tone of teasingthat made him blush in spite of himself.
With sudden resolution he decided to make the plunge. He seized herhand and spoke with a queer hitch of awkwardness in his voice.
"Miss Flora, I've just twenty-four hours to be here. Every one of themis precious. I want to make them count. Don't you know that I love you?"The little mouth twitched with a smile.
"I've heard that you're very fickle, Mr. Jeb Stuart. Isn't this allvery, very sudden, to be so serious?"She was still smiling and her eyes were twinkling, but her hand wasnot trembling. She was complete mistress of her emotions.
Stuart felt his heart pounding. He couldn't keep his hand fromtrembling, nor his voice from quivering slightly.
"I know I've been a little quick on the trigger, Miss Flora. But itcame to me in a flash, the moment I saw you. I've had a good time withpretty girls--yes. But I never felt that way when I met one of theothers. And now I'm stammering and trembling and I don't know how totalk to you. I can't rattle on like I've done so many times.
You--you've got me, dear honey girl, for life, if you wantme--please--be good to me."She laughed a joyous, girlish peal that disconcerted him completely.
"My daddy's been warning me against you, sir!"Stuart suddenly caught a note in her laughter that gave him courage.
She was not laughing at him but with him.
"He did not," he protested solemnly. "Colonel Cooke was just as niceto me as he could be--""Certainly. He's an Old Virginia gentleman. Behind your back he toldme confidentially what he thought of you.""All right. I dare you to cross your heart and tell me what he said.""Dare me?""Dee double dare you.""He said that you're a sad product of Sir Walter Scott's novels, asinging, rollicking, flirting, lazy young cavalier.""Didn't say lazy.""No.""I thought not.""I added that for good measure.""I thought so.""And he warned me that there might be a streak of the old Stuart purpleblood in your veins that might make you silly for life--""Didn't say silly.""No, I added that, too."Stuart again seized the hand she had deftly withdrawn. He pressed ittenderly and sought the depths of her blue eyes.
"Ah, honey girl," he cried passionately, "don't tease me any more,please! I've got to leave you in a few hours. My regiment is going tomarch. It may be a serious business. You're a brave soldier's daughterand you're going to be a soldier's bride."The girl's lips quivered for the first time and her voice trembled theslightest bit as she fought for self-control.
"I'll never marry a soldier.""You will!""My daddy's never at home. I promised my mother never to look at asoldier.""You're looking at me, dear heart!"She turned quickly.
"I won't--"Stuart drew her suddenly into his arms and kissed her.
"I love you, Flora! And you're mine."She looked into his eyes, smiled, slipped both arms around his neck andkissed him.
"And I love you, my foolish, singing, laughing boy!""Always?""Always.""And you'll marry me?""You couldn't get away from me if you tried."She drew him down and kissed him again.
"The shadow will always be in my heart, dear soldier man. The shadow ofthe day I shall lose you! But it's life. I'll face it with a smile."Through the long, sweet hours of the day and deep into the night theyheld each other's hand, and talked and laughed and dreamed and planned.
What mattered the shadow that was slowly moving across the sunlit earth?
It _was_ the morning of life!
CHAPTER XXI
The eight men engaged in the remarkable enterprise on the Pottawattomie,led by their indomitable Captain, mounted their stolen horses and boldlyrode to the camp of the military company commanded by John Brown, Jr.
The father planned to make his stand behind these guns if pursued byformidable foes.
Brown reached the camp of the Rifles near Ottawa Jones' farm atmidnight. The fires still burned brightly. To his surprise he found thatthe news of the murders had traveled faster than the stolen horses.
The camp was demoralized.
John Brown, Jr., had been forced to resign as Captain and H. H. Williamshad been elected in his stead.
The reception which the County was giving his inspired deed stunned theleader. He had expected a reign of terror. But the terror had seized hisown people. He was compelled to lie and deny his guilt except to hisown flesh and blood. Even before his sons he was arraigned with fiercecondemnation.
On the outer edge of the panic-stricken camp his sons, Jason and John,Jr., faced him with trembling and horror in their voices.
Jason had denounced the first hint of the plan when the surveyor'sscheme was broached. John, Jr. had refused to move a step on theexpedition. The two sons confronted their father with determinedquestions. He shifted and evaded the issue.
Jason squared himself and demanded:
"Did you kill those men?""I did not," was the sharp answer.
The son held his shifting eye by the glare of the camp fire.
"Did you have _anything_ to do with the killing of those men?"To his own he would not lie longer. It wasn't necessary. His reply wasquick and unequivocal.
"I did not do it. But I approved it.""It was the work of a beast.""You cannot speak to me like that, sir!" the old man growled.
"And why not?""I am your father, sir!""That's why I tell you to your face that you have disgraced every childwho bears your name--now--and for all time. What right had you to putthis curse upon me? The devils in hell would blush to do what you havedone!"The father lifted his hand as if to ward a blow and bored his sonthrough with a steady stare.
"God is my judge--not you, sir!"John Brown, Jr., sided with his brother in the attack but with lessviolence. His feebler mind was already trembling on the verge ofcollapse.
"It cuts me to the quick," the old man finally answered, "that my ownpeople should not understand that I had to make an example of thesemen--"Jason finally shrieked into his ears:
"Who gave you the authority of Almighty God to sit in judgment upon yourfellow man, condemn him without trial and slay without mercy?"The father threw up both hands in a gesture of disgust and walked fromthe scene. He spent the night without sleep, wandering through the woodsand fields.
Three days later while Brown and his huntsmen were still hiding in thetimber, the people of his own settlement at Osawatomie held a publicmeeting which was attended by the entire male population. Theyunanimously adopted resolutions condemning in the bitterest terms thedeed.
When the old man heard of these resolutions he ground his teeth in rage.
He had thought to sweep the Territory with a Holy War in a Sacred Cause.
He expected the men who hated Slavery to applaud his Blood Offering tothe God of Freedom. Instead they had hastened to array themselves withhis foes.
Something had gone wrong in the execution of his divine vision. Hismind was stunned for the moment. But he was wrestling again with God inprayer, while the avengers were riding to demand an eye for an eye and atooth for a tooth.
When the true history of man is written it will be the record of mindnot the story of the physical acts which follow the mental process.
The dangers of society are psychological, not physical. The crucialmoments of human history are not found in the hours in which armiescharge. They are found in the still small voices that whisper in thesilence of the night to a lone watcher by the fireside. They are foundin the words of will that follow hours of silent thought behind lockeddoors or under the stars.
The story of man's progress, his relapses to barbarism, his victories,his failures, his years of savage cruelties, his eras of happiness andsorrow, must be written at last in terms of mental states.
John Brown's mind had conceived and executed the series of murders thatshocked even a Western frontier. His mind enacted the tragedy daysbefore the actual happening.
And it was the state of mind created by the deed that upset all hiscalculations. The reaction was overwhelming. He was correct in his faiththat a blood feud once raised, all appeal to reason and common sense,all appeal to law, order, tradition, religion would be vain babble. Buthe had failed to gauge the moral sense of his own party. They had notyet accepted the theory which he held with such passionate conviction.
Brown's moral code was summed up in one passage from the Bible which hequoted and brooded over daily:
"WITHOUT THE SHEDDING OF BLOOD THERE IS NO REMISSION OF SINS."But he had made a mistake in the spot chosen for rousing the Blood Feud.
Men had instantly seen red. They sprang to their arms. They leaped astigers leap on their prey. But his own people were the prey. He hadmiscalculated the conditions of frontier life, though he had not yetrealized it. His stubborn, restless mind clung to the idea that thestark horror of the crimes which he had committed in the name of Libertywould call at last all men who stood for Freedom.
He held his armed band in camp under the sternest discipline to awaitthis call of the blood.
The Southern avengers who swarmed across the Missouri border into theregion of Osawatomie accepted Brown's standards of justice and mercywithout question. A few men of education among them were the onlyrestraining influence.
Through these exciting days the old man would show himself at daylightin different places removed from his camp in the woods. While squadronsof avengers were scouring the ravines, the river bottoms and the tangledunderbrush, he was lying quietly on his arms. Sometimes his pursuerscamped within hearing and got their water from the same spring.
With all his indomitable courage he was unable to rally sufficient mento afford protection to his people. He was a fugitive from justicewith a price on his head. Yet, armed and surrounded by a small band offaithful followers, he led a charmed life.
His deed on the Pottawattomie made murder the chief sport of the unhappyTerritory. The life of the frontier was reduced to anarchy. Outragesbecame so common it was impossible to record them. Murder was a dailyincident. Many of them passed in secret. Many were not revealed for daysand weeks after they had been committed--then, only by the discovery ofthe moldering remains of the dead. Two men were found hanging on a treenear Westport. They were ill-fated Free State partisans who had fallenby the hand of the avengers. The troops buried them in a grave soshallow that the prairie wolves had half devoured them before they wereagain found and re-buried.
The Free Soil men organized guerrilla bands for retaliation. John E.
Cook, a daring young adventurer, the brother-in-law of Governor Willardof Indiana, early distinguished himself in this work. He put himselfat the head of a group of twenty young "Cavalry Scouts" who ranged thecountry, asking no quarter and giving none.
A squadron of avengers invaded Brown's settlement at Osawatomie, sackedand partly destroyed it, and killed his son, Frederick, whose mindhad been in a state of collapse since the night of the murders on thePottawattomie.
John Brown rallied a group of sympathizers and fought a pitched battlewith the invaders but was defeated with bloody losses and compelled toretreat.
He was followed by Deputy United States Marshal, Henry C. Pate. Brownturned and boldly attacked Pate's camp and another battle ensued. TheDeputy Marshal, wishing to avoid useless bloodshed, sent out a flagof truce and asked an interview with the guerrilla commander. Brownanswered promptly, advanced and sent for Pate.
Pate, trusting the flag of truce, approached the old man.
"I am addressing the Captain in command?" Pate asked.
"You are, sir.""Then let me announce that I am a Deputy United States Marshal.""And why are you fighting us?""I have no desire for bloodshed, sir. I am acting under the orders ofthe Marshal of the Territory.""And what does the Marshal demand?""The arrest of the men for whom I have warrants."Pate had never seen John Brown and had no idea that he was talking tothe old man himself.
"I have a proposition to make," he went on.
"I'll have no proposals from you, sir," Brown announced shortly. "Idemand your surrender.""I am an officer of the law. I cannot surrender to armed outlaws."Brown's metallic voice quivered.
"I demand your immediate and unconditional surrender!""I have the right to retire under a flag of truce and consider yourproposition with my men--"Pate started to go and Brown stood in front of him.
"You're not going.""You will violate a flag of truce?"Brown signaled his men to advance and surround Pate.
"You're not going, sir," he repeated.
"I claim my rights under a flag of truce accepted by you for thisparley. An Indian respects that flag."Brown pointed to his men who were standing within the sound of theirvoices.
"Order those men to surrender."Pate folded his arms and remained silent.
Brown placed his revolver at the Deputy Marshal's breast and shouted.
"Tell your men to lay down their arms!"Pate refused to speak. There was a moment's deadly silence and theMarshal's posse, to save the life of their Captain, threw down theirguns and the whole party were made prisoners.
The United States Cavalry at Fort Leavenworth were ordered to the sceneto rescue the Deputy Marshal and his men.
CHAPTER XXII
The bugles at Fort Leavenworth sounded Boots and Saddles for the marchon Brown and his guerrillas. The barracks were early astir with theexcitement. Stern work might be ahead. Outlaws who would dare violate aflag of truce, to take a United States Marshal and his posse wouldhave no more respect for cavalry. The men and officers were tired ofdisorder. They were eager for a stand up and knock down fight. Theyexpected it and they were ready for it.
Stuart's bride was crying. In spite of her young husband's gay banter,she persisted in being serious.
"There's no danger, honey girl!" he laughed.
She touched the big cavalry pistol in its holster, her lips stilltrembling.
"No--you're just galloping off on a picnic.""That's all it will be--""Then you can take me with you."Stuart's brow clouded.
"Well, no, not just that kind of a picnic.""There may be a nasty fight and you know it.""Nonsense.""It may, too.""Don't be silly, little bride," he pleaded. "You're a soldier's wifenow. The bullet hasn't been molded that's going to get me. I feel it. Iknow it."She threw her arms around his neck and held him in a long silence. Onlya sob broke the stillness. He let her cry. His arms merely tightenedtheir tender hold, as he caressed her fair head and kissed it.
"There, there, now. That's enough. It's hard, this first parting. It'shard for me. You mustn't make it harder.""We've just begun to live, dearest," she faltered. "I can't let you go.
I can't stand it for an hour and you'll be gone for days and days--"She paused and sobbed.
"Why did I marry a soldier-man?""You had to, honey. It was fate. God willed it."He spoke with deep reverence. She lifted her lips for his goodbye kiss.
He turned quickly to go and she caught him again and smothered him withkisses.
"I can't help it, darling man," she sobbed. "I didn't mean to make ithard for you--but--I've an awful presentiment that I shall lose you--"Her voice died again in a pathetic whisper.
Stuart laughed softly and kissed the tears from her eyes.
"So has every soldier's wife, honey girl. The silly old presentiment isoverworked. It will pass bye and bye--when you see me coming home somany, many times to play that old banjo for you and sing our songs overagain."She shook her head and smiled.
"Go now--quick," she said, "before I break down again."He swung out the door, his sword clanking and his arm waving. Shewatched him from the window, crying. She saw him mount his horse with agraceful swing. His figure on horseback was superb. Horse and man seemedone.
He looked over his shoulder, saw her at the window and waved again. Sheran to her room, closed the door, took his picture to bed with her andcried herself to sleep.
The thing that had so worried her was that Colonel Sumner was takingMajor Sedgwick with him for conference and a single squadron of fiftymen under Stuart's command. The little bride had found out that he wasthe sole leader of the fifty fighting men and her quick wit had sensedthe danger of the possible extermination of such a force in a battlewith desperadoes. She was ashamed of her breakdown. But she knew her manwas brave and that he loved a fight. She would count the hours until hisreturn.
Brown rallied a hundred and fifty men when the squadron of cavalry wasordered to the rescue of Pate and his posse. He entrenched himself on anisland in Middle Ottawa Creek and from this stronghold raided and robbedthe stores within range of his guerrillas. On June 3rd, he successfullylooted the store of J. M. Bernard at Centropolis and secured manyvaluables, particularly clothing.
The raiding party was returning from the looted store as Stuart'scavalry troop was approaching Brown's camp.
The cavalry arrived in the nick of time. A battle was imminent thatmight have ended in a massacre. Within striking distance of Brown'sisland Colonel Sumner encountered General Whitfield, a Southern Memberof Congress, at the head of a squadron of avengers, two hundred andfifty strong, heavily armed and well mounted.
Sumner acted with quick decision. He confronted Whitfield and spoke witha quiet emphasis not to be mistaken:
"By order of the President of the United States and the Governor of theTerritory, I am here to disperse all armed bodies assembled withoutauthority.""May I see the order of the President, sir?" Whitfield asked.
"You may."The telegraphic order was handed to the leader. He read it in silenceand handed it back without a word.
Colonel Sumner continued:
"My duty is plain and I'll do it."He signaled Stuart to draw up his company for action. The Lieutenantpromptly obeyed. Fifty regulars wheeled and faced two hundred and fiftyrugged horsemen of the plains.
Whitfield consulted his second in command and while they talked ColonelSumner again addressed him:
"Ask your people to assemble. I wish to read to them the President'sorder and the Governor's proclamation."Whitfield called his men. In solemn tones Sumner read the documents.
Whitfield saw that his men were impressed.
"I shall not resist the authority of the General Government. My partywill disperse."He promptly ordered them to disband. In five minutes they haddisappeared.
On the approach of the company of cavalry, John Brown, with a singleguard, walked boldly forward to meet them.
Colonel Sumner heard his amazing request with rising wrath. He spoke asone commanding a body of coordinate power.
"I have come to suggest the arrangement of terms between our forces,"Brown coolly suggested.
"No officer of law, sir," Sumner sternly replied, "can make terms withlawless, armed men. I am here to execute the orders of the President.
You will surrender your prisoners immediately, disarm your men anddisperse or take the consequences."Brown turned without a word and slowly walked back to his camp. TheUnited States cavalry followed close at his heels with drawn sabers,Stuart at their head.
Colonel Sumner summoned Brown before Sedgwick and Stuart and made to himan announcement which he thought but fair.
"I must tell you now that there is with my company a Deputy UnitedStates Marshal, who holds warrants for several men in your camp. Thosewarrants will be served in my presence."Brown's glittering eye rested on the Deputy Marshal. He moved uneasilyand finally said in a low tone:
"I don't recognize any one for whom I have warrants."The grim face of the man of visions never relaxed a muscle.
Sumner turned to the Deputy indignantly.
"Then what are you here for?"He made no answer. And Stuart laughed in derision.
During this tense moment the keen blue eyes of the Lieutenant of cavalrystudied John Brown with the interest of a soldier in the man who knowsnot fear.
At first glance he was a sorry figure. He was lean and gaunt and lookedtaller than he was for that reason. His face was deeply sun tanned andseamed. He looked a rough, hard-working old farmer. The decided stoopof his shoulders gave the exaggerated impression of age. His face wasshaved. He wore a coarse cotton shirt, a clean one that had just beenstolen from Bernard's store. It was partly covered by a vest. His hatwas an old slouched felt, well worn. In general appearance he wasdilapidated, dusty, and soiled.
The young officer was too keen a judge of character to be deceivedby clothes on a Western frontier. The dusty clothes and worn hat hescarcely saw. It was the terrible mouth that caught and held hisimagination. It was the mouth of a relentless foe. It was the mouth of aman who might speak the words of surrender when cornered. But he couldno more surrender than he could jump out of his skin.
Stuart was willing to risk his life on a wager that if he consented tolay down his arms, he had more concealed and that he would sleep on themthat night in the brush.
The low forehead and square, projecting chin caught and held his fancy.
It was the jaw and chin of the fighting animal. No man who studied thatjaw would care to meet it in the dark.
But the thing that had put the Deputy out of commission as warrantofficer of the Government was the old man's strange, restless eyes.
Stuart caught their steel glitter with a sense of the uncanny. Hehad never seen a human eye that threw at an enemy a look quite sodisconcerting. He had laughed at the Deputy's fear to move with fiftydragoons to back him. There was some excuse for it. Back of thosepiercing points of steel-blue light were one hundred and fifty armedfollowers. What would happen if he should turn to these men and tellthem to fight the cavalry of the United States? It was an open question.
The old man walked toward his men with wiry, springing step.
The prisoners were released.
Stuart shook hands with Pate, who was a Virginian and a former studentof the University.
Brown's men laid down their arms and dispersed.
True to Stuart's surmise he did not move far from his entrenched camp.
He anticipated a fake surrender to the troops. He had concealed weaponsfor the faithful but half a mile away. With Weiner he built a new campfire before Stuart's cavalry had moved two miles.
CHAPTER XXIII
The man with the slouched hat and coarse cotton shirt lost no time ingrieving over the dispersal of his one hundred and fifty men. It was thelargest force he had ever assembled. His experience in the three daysin which he had acted as their commander had greatly angered him. Thefrontiersman who failed to come under the spell of Brown's personalityby direct contact generally refused to obey his orders.
The crowd of free rangers which his fight with Pate had gathered provedthemselves beyond control. They raided the surrounding country withoutBrown's knowledge.
They stole from friend and foe with equal impartiality. There was oneconsolation in his surrender to the United States troops. He got rid ofthese troublesome followers. They had already robbed him of thespoils of his own successful raids and not one of them had shown anyinclination to bring in the enemies' goods for common use.
He began to choose the most faithful among them for a scheme of widerscope and more tragic daring. He was not yet sure of his plan. But Godwould reveal it clearly.
He spent a week at his new camp in the woods wandering alone, dreaming,praying, weighing this new scheme from every point of view.
His mind came back again and again to the puzzle of the failure to raisea National Blood Feud.
For a moment his indomitable Puritan soul was discouraged. He had obeyedthe command of his God. He could not have been mistaken in the voicewhich spoke from Heaven:
"WITHOUT THE SHEDDING OF BLOOD THERE IS NO REMISSION OF SINS."He had laid the Blood Offering on God's altar counting his own life asof no account in the reckoning and from that hour he had been a fugitivefrom justice, hiding in the woods. He had escaped arrest only by theaccidental assembling of a mob of a hundred and fifty disorderly foolswho had stolen his own goods before they had been dispersed.
Instead of the heroic acclaim to which the deed entitled him, his ownflesh and blood had cursed him, one of his sons had been shot andanother was lying in prison a jibbering lunatic.
Would future generations agree with the men who had met in his own townand denounced his deed as cruel, gruesome and revolting?
His stolid mind refused to believe it. Through hours of agonizingprayer the new plan, based squarely on the vision that sent him toPottawattomie, began to fix itself in his soul.
This time he would chose his disciples from the elect. Only men tried inthe fires of Action could be trusted. Of five men he was sure. His son,Owen, he knew could be depended on without the shadow of turning. YetOliver was the second disciple chosen. He had forgiven the boy forthe fight over the pistol and had taken pains to regain his completesubmission. John Henry Kagi was the third chosen disciple, a youngnewspaper reporter of excellent mind and trained pen. He had beencaptured by United States troops in Kansas as a guerrilla raider and wasimprisoned first at Lecompton and then at Tecumseh. The fourth discipleselected was Aaron Dwight Stevens, an ex-convict from the penitentiaryat Fort Leavenworth. Stevens was by far the most daring and interestingfigure in the group. His knowledge of military tactics was destined tomake him an invaluable aide. The uncanny in Brown's spirit had appealedto his imagination from the day he made his escape from the penitentiaryand met the old man. The fifth disciple chosen was John E. Cook, a mandestined to play the most important role in the new divine mission withthe poorest qualification for the task. Born of a well-to-do family inHaddon, Connecticut, he had studied law in Brooklyn and New York. Hedropped his studies against the protest of his people in 1855, and,driven by the spirit of adventure, found his way into Kansas and atlast led his band of twenty guerrillas into John Brown's camp. Brown'sattention was riveted on him from the day they met. He was a man ofpleasing personality and the finest rifle shot in Kansas. He was genial;he was always generous; He was brave to the point of recklessness; andhe was impulsive, indiscreet and utterly reckless when once bent on apurpose. His sister had married Willard, the Governor of Indiana.
Brown's new plan required a large sum of money. With the prestigehis fighting in Kansas had given him, he believed the Abolitionphilanthropists of the East would give this sum. He left his disciplesto drill and returned East to get the money.
In Boston his success was genuine, although the large amount which heasked was slow in coming.
The old man succeeded in deceiving his New England friends completely asto the Pottawattomie murders. On this event he early became a cheerful,consistent and successful liar. This trait of his character had beenfully developed in his youth. Everywhere he was acclaimed by the piousas, "Captain Brown, the old partisan hero of Kansas warfare."His magnetic, uncanny personality rarely failed to capture the dreamerand the sentimentalist. Sanborn, Howe, Theodore Parker, Thomas WentworthHigginson, George L. Stearns and Gerrit Smith became his devotedfollowers. He even made Wendell Phillips and William Lloyd Garrison hisfriends.
Garrison met him at Theodore Parker's. The two men were one ondestroying Slavery: Garrison, the pacifist; Brown, the man who believedin bloodshed as the only possible solution of all the great issues ofNational life. Brown quoted the Old Testament; Garrison, the New.
He captured the imagination of Thoreau and Ralph Waldo Emerson.
He was raising funds for another armed attack on Slavery in Kansas. Thesentimentalists asked no questions. And if hard-headed business mentried to pry too closely into his plans, they found him a past master inthe art of keeping his own counsel.
He struck a snag when he appealed to the National Kansas Committee for agift of rifles and an appropriation of five thousand dollars. They votedthe rifles on conditions. But a violent opposition developed againstgiving five thousand dollars to a man about whose real mind they knew solittle.
H. B. Hurd, the Chairman of the Committee, had suspected the purposeback of his pretended scheme for operations in Kansas. He put to Brownthe pointblank question and demanded a straight answer.
"If you get these guns and the money you desire, will you invadeMissouri or any slave territory?"The old man's reply was characteristic. He spoke with a quiet scorn.
"I am no adventurer. You all know me. You are acquainted with myhistory. You know what I have done in Kansas. I do not expose myplans. No one knows them but myself, except perhaps one. I will not beinterrogated. If you wish to give me anything, I want you to give itfreely. I have no other purpose but to serve the cause of Liberty."His answer was not illuminating. It contained nothing the Committeewished to know. The statement that they knew him was a figure of speech.
They had read partisan reports of his fighting and his suffering inKansas--through his own letters, principally. How much truth theseletters contained was something they wished very much to find out. Hehad given no light.
He declared that they knew what he had done in Kansas. This was the onepoint on which they needed most light.
The biggest event in the history of Kansas was the deed on thePottawattomie. In the fierce political campaign that was in progress itseffects had been neutralized by denials. Brown had denied his guilt onevery occasion.
Yet as they studied his strange personality more than one member of theCommittee began to suspect him as the only man in the West capable ofthe act.
The Committee refused to vote the rifles and compromised on the moneyby making a qualification that would make the gift of no service.
They voted the appropriation, "in aid of Captain John Brown in any_defensive_ measures that may become necessary." He was authorized todraw five hundred dollars when he needed it for this purpose.
The failure rankled in the old man's heart and he once more poured outthe vials of his wrath on all politicians,--North and South.
For months he became an incessant and restless wanderer throughout NewYork and the New England States.
He finally issued a general appeal for help through the _New YorkTribune_ and other friendly papers.
The contributions came slowly. The invitations to speak came slower. AtCollinsville, Connecticut, however, after his lecture he placed withCharles Blair, a blacksmith and forge-master, an important secret orderfor a thousand iron pikes. Blair pledged his loyalty. He received hisfirst payment on account, for a stand of weapons destined to becomesouvenirs in marking the progress of civilization in the new world.
In the midst of his disappointing canvas for funds he received a letterfrom his son, Jason, that a Deputy United States Marshal had passedthrough Cleveland on the way East with a warrant for his arrest for thePottawattomie murders.
On the receipt of this news he wrote his friend, Eli Thayer:
"One of the U. S. hounds is on my track: and I have kept myself hid fora few days to let my track get cold. I have no idea of being taken: _andintend_ (if God _will_) to go back with Irons _in_ rather than _upon_ myhands. I got a _fine lift_ in Boston the other day; and hope Worcesterwill not be _entirely behind_. I do not mean _you_; or _Mr. Alien &Company_."So dangerous was the advent of the U. S. Marshal from Kansas that Browntook refuge in an upper room in the house of Judge Russell in Bostonand remained in hiding an entire week. Mrs. Russell acted as maid andallowed no one to open the front door except herself during the time ofhis stay.
The Judge's house was on a quiet street and his connection with theAbolition movement had been kept secret for political reasons. Hisservices to their cause were in this way made doubly valuable.
Brown daily barricaded his door and told his hostess that he would notbe taken alive. He added with the nearest approach to a smile ever seenon his face:
"I should hate to spoil your carpet, Madame."While in hiding at Judge Russell's he composed a sarcastic farewell toNew England. It is in his best style and true character as a poseur:
"Old Brown's _Farewell_: to the Plymouth Rock; Bunker Hill Monument;Charter Oaks; and _Uncle Tom's Cabins_.
"Has left for Kansas. Was trying since he came out of the Territory tosecure an outfit; or, in other words, the means of arming and equippingthoroughly, his regular minute men, who are mixed up _with the People ofKansas_: and _he leaves the States_, with a _deep feeling of sadness_:
that after exhausting _his own_ small means: and with his _family andhis brave men_: suffered hunger, nakedness, cold, sickness, (and some ofthem) imprisonment, with most barbarous and cruel treatment: _woundsand death_: that after laying on the ground for months; in the mostunwholesome _and_ sickly as well as uncomfortable places: with sick andwounded destitute of any shelter part of the time; dependent in part onthe care, and hospitality of the Indians: and hunted like Wolves: thatafter all this; in order to sustain a cause, which _every Citizen_ ofthis _Glorious Republic_, is under equal moral obligation to do: (_andfor the neglect of which HE WILL be held accountable TO GOD:) in whichevery Man, Woman and Child of the human family;_ has a deep and awfulinterest; and that _no wages are asked or expected:_ he cannot secure(amidst all the wealth, luxury and extravagance of this _'Heavenexalted'_ people) even the necessary supplies for a common soldier. HOWARE THE MIGHTY FALLEN?
"JOHN BROWN."Following his usual tactics of interminable delays and restless, aimlesswandering, it was the 7th of August before he reached Tabor, Iowa, theappointed rendezvous of his disciples.
Two days after his arrival the Free State election of the ninth ofAugust was held in Kansas and the heavy vote polled was a completetriumph of the men of peace within the party. Kansas, in his absence,had settled down to the tried American plan of the ballot box for thedecision of political disputes. Brown wrote Stearns a despairing letter.
He was discouraged and utterly without funds. He begged for five hundredto one thousand dollars immediately for secret service and no questionsasked. He promised interesting times in Kansas if he could secure thismoney. Of his disciples for the great coming deed but one had arrivedat Tabor, his faithful son Owen. The old man lingered at Tabor with hisreligious friends until November before starting for Kansas.
Higginson, his chief backer in Massachusetts, was growing angry over hisrepeated delays and senseless inaction. Sanborn, always Brown's staunchdefender, wrote Higginson a letter begging patience:
"You do not understand Brown's circumstances. He is as ready forrevolution as any other man, and is now on the border of Kansas safefrom arrest, prepared for action. But he needs money for his presentexpenses and active support.
"I believe that he is the best Dis-union champion you can find, and withhis hundred men, when he is put where he can raise them and drill them(for he has an expert drill officer with him) WILL DO MORE TO SPLIT THEunion than a list of 50,000 names for your Convention, good as that is.
"What I am trying to hint at is that the friends of Kansas are lookingwith strange apathy at a movement which has all the elements of fitnessand success--a good plan, a tried leader, and a radical purpose. If youcan do anything for it _now_, in God's name do it--and the ill resultsof the new policy in Kansas may be prevented."The new policy in Kansas must be smashed at all hazards, of course. Tothe men who believed in bloodshed as the only rational way to settlepolitical issues, the ballot box and the council table were theinventions of the Devil. It was the duty of the children of Light tosend the Lord's Anointed with the Sword of Gideon to raise anew theBlood Feud.
It is evident from this letter of F. B. Sanborn to Higginson that evenSanborn had not penetrated the veil of the old Puritan's soul. The oneto whom he had revealed his true plan was his faithful son in Kansas.
The Territory was not the objective of this mission. It was only a feintto deceive friend and foe.
And he succeeded in doing it.
That his purpose was the disruption of the union in a deluge of blood,Sanborn, of course, understood and approved. He was utterly mistaken asto the time and place and method which the Man of Visions had chosen forthe deed.
On entering the Territory, now as peaceful as any State in the union,Brown gathered his disciples, Oliver, Kagi, Stevens, and Cook anddespatched them to Tabor, Iowa. Here they were informed for the firsttime of the real purpose of their organization--the invasion of Virginiaand the raising of a servile insurrection in which her soil would bedrenched in blood within sight of the Capitol at Washington. WithStevens, as drill master, they began the study of military tactics. Theymoved to Springdale and established their camp for the winter.
CHAPTER XXIV
Suddenly the old man left Springdale. He ordered his disciples tocontinue their drill until he should instruct them as to their nextmarch.
Two weeks later he was in Rochester, New York, with Frederick Douglas.
In a room in this negro's house Brown composed a remarkable document asa substitute for the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution ofthe United States.
He hurried with his finished manuscript to the home of Gerrit Smith atPeterboro for a consultation with Smith, Sanborn, Higginson and Stearns.
Only Sanborn and Smith appeared. Brown outlined to them in brief hisplan of precipitating a conflict by the invasion of the Black Belt ofthe South and the establishment of a negro empire. Its details were asyet locked in his own breast.
Smith and Sanborn discussed his plans and his Constitution for theGovernment of the new power. In spite of its absurdities they agreedto support him in the venture. Smith gave the first contribution whichenabled him to call the convention of negroes and radicals at Chatham,Canada, to adopt the "Constitution."Brown went all the way to Springdale, Iowa, to escort the entire body ofhis disciples to this convention. And they came across a continentwith him--Stevens, Kagi, Cook, Owen Brown, and six new men whom he hadadded--Leeman, Tidd, Gill, Taylor, Parsons, Moffit and Realf.
Thirty-four negroes gathered with them. Among the negroes were RichardO. P. Anderson and James H. Harris of North Carolina.
The presiding officer was William C. Monroe, pastor of a negro church inDetroit. Kagi, the stenographer, was made Secretary of the Convention.
Brown addressed the gathering in an unique speech:
"For thirty years, my friends, a single passion has pursued my soul--toset at liberty the slaves of the South. I went to Europe in 1851 toinspect fortifications and study the methods of guerrilla warfare whichhave been successfully used in the old world. I have pondered theuprisings of the slaves of Rome, the deeds of Spartacus, the successesof Schamyl, the Circassian Chief, of Touissant L'Overture in Haiti, ofthe negro Nat Turner who cut the throats of sixty Virginians in a singlenight in 1831.
"I have developed a plan of my own to sweep the South. You must trustme with its details. I shall depend on the blacks for the body of mysoldiers. And I expect every freedman in the North to flock to mystandard when the blow has fallen. I know that every slave in the Southwill answer my call. The slaveholders we will not massacre unlesswe must. We will hold them as hostages for our protection and theprotection of any prisoners who may fall into their hands."The men listened in rapt attention and when he read his "Constitutionand Preamble," it was unanimously adopted.
The Constitution which they adopted was a piece of insanity in theliteral sense of the word, a confused medley of absurd, inapplicableforms.
The Preamble, however, which contained the keynote of Brown's philosophyof life, was expressed in clear-cut, logical ideas.
He read it in a cold, vibrant voice:
"Whereas, Slavery, throughout its entire existence in the United Statesis none other than a most barbarous, unprovoked and unjustifiable war ofone portion of its citizens upon another portion: the only conditionsof which are perpetual imprisonment, and hopeless servitude or absoluteextermination, in utter disregard and violation of those eternal andself-evident truths set forth in our Declaration of Independence:
_Therefore_, we CITIZENS OF the UNITED STATES, and the OPPRESSED PEOPLEwho by a RECENT DECISION of the SUPREME COURT ARE DECLARED to have NORIGHTS WHICH the WHITE MAN is BOUND to RESPECT; TOGETHER WITH ALL OTHERPEOPLE DEGRADED by the LAWS THEREOF, DO, for the TIME BEING ORDAIN andESTABLISH for OURSELVES, the FOLLOWING PROVISIONAL CONSTITUTION andORDINANCES the BETTER to protect, our PERSONS, PROPERTY, LIVES andLIBERTIES: and to GOVERN our ACTION."The first result of his Radical Convention was the exhaustion of histreasury. He had used his last dollar to bring his men on from the Westand no money had been collected to pay even their return fares.
They were compelled to go to work at various trades to earn their bread.
Brown determined to return to Kansas and create a sensation that wouldagain stir the East and bring the money into his treasury. He would atthe same time test the first principle of his plan by an actual raidinto a neighboring Southern State. In the meantime, he issued his firstorder of the Great Deed. He selected John E. Cook as his scout and spyand dispatched him to Harper's Ferry, Virginia, to map its roads, studyits people and reconnoiter the surrounding territory.
He raised the money to pay Cook's fare and saw him on the train forVirginia before he started for Kansas to spring his second nationalsensation.
CHAPTER XXV
Brown's scout reached the town of Harper's Ferry on June 5, 1858. Themagnificent view which greeted his vision as he stepped from thetrain took his breath. The music of trembling waters seemed a grandaccompaniment to an Oratorio of Nature.
The sensitive mind of the young Westerner responded to its soul appeal.
He stood for half an hour enraptured with its grandeur. Two greatrivers, the Potomac and the Shenandoah, rushing through rock-hewn gorgesto the sea, unite here to hurl their tons of foaming waters against thelast granite wall of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
Beyond the gorge, through which the roaring tide has cut its path, liesthe City of Washington on the banks of the Potomac, but sixty milesaway--a day's journey on a swift horse; an hour and a half by rail.
Cook at first had sharply criticized Brown's selection of such a placefor the scene of the Great Deed. As he stood surveying in wonder thesublimity of its scenery he muttered softly:
"The old man's a wizard!"The rugged hills and the rush of mighty waters called the soul to greatdeeds. There was something electric in the air. The town, the rivers,the mountains summoned the spirit to adventure. The tall chimneys of theUnited States Arsenal and Rifle Works called to war. The lines of hillswere made for the emplacement of guns. The roaring waters challenged theskill of generals.
The scout felt his heart beat in quick response. The more he studied thehills that led to High Knob, a peak two thousand four hundred feet inheight, the more canny seemed the choice of Brown. From the top of thispeak stretches the county of Fauquier, the beginning of the Black Beltof the South. Fauquier County contained more than ten thousand Slavesand seven hundred freed negroes. There were but nine thousand eighthundred whites. From this county to the sea lay a series of adjoiningcounties in which the blacks outnumbered the whites. These countiescontained more than two hundred and sixty thousand negroes.
The Black Belt of Virginia touched the Black Belts of North Carolina,South Carolina and Georgia--an unbroken stretch of overwhelming blackmajority. In some counties they outnumbered the whites, five to one.
This mountain gorge, hewn out of the rocks by the waters of the rivers,was the gateway into the heart of the Slave System of the South. And itcould be made the highroad of escape to the North if once the way wereopened.
Another fact had influenced the mind of Brown. The majority of theworkmen of Harper's Ferry were mechanics from the North. They would notbe enthusiastic defenders of Slavery. They were not slave owners. In afight to a finish they would be indifferent. Their indifference wouldmake the conquest of the few white masters in town a simple matter.
Cook felt again the spell of Brown's imperious will. He had thought theold man's chief reason for selecting Harper's Ferry as the scene was hisquixotic desire to be dramatic. He knew the history of the village.
It had been named for Robert Harper, an Englishman. Lord Fairfax, thefriend of George Washington, had given the millwright a grant of it in1748. Washington, himself, had made the first survey of the place andselected the Ferry, in 1794, as the site of a National Armory.
Colonel Lewis Washington, the great-grandson of Washington's brother,lived on the lordly plantation of Bellair, four miles in the country.
Brown had learned that the sword which Frederick the Great had given toWashington, and the pistols which Lafayette had given him hung on thewalls of the Colonel's library.
He had instructed Cook to become acquainted with Colonel Washington,and locate these treasures. He had determined to lead his negro army ofinsurrection with these pistols and sword buckled around his waist.
Cook was an adventurer but he had no trace of eccentricity in hischaracter. He thought this idea a dangerous absurdity. And he believedat first that it was the one thing that had led his Chief to selectthis spot. He changed his mind in the first thirty minutes, as he stoodstudying the mountain peak that stood sentinel at the gateway of theBlack Belt.
With a new sense of the importance of his mission he sought a boardinghouse. He was directed by the watchman at the railroad station, agood-looking freedman, an employee of the Mayor of the town, to thewidow Kennedy's. Her house was situated on a quiet street just outsidethe enclosure of the United States Arsenal.
Cook was a man of pleasing address, twenty-eight years old, blue-eyed,blond, handsome, affable, genial in manner and a good mixer. Withintwenty-four hours he had made friends with the widow and every boarderin the house.
They introduced him to their friends and in a week he had won the goodopinion of the leading citizens of the place. A few days later thewidow's pretty daughter arrived from boarding school and the youngadventurer faced the first problem of his mission.
She was a slender, dark-eyed, sensitive creature of eighteen. Shy,romantic, and all eyes for the great adventure of every Southern girl'slife--the coming of the Prince Charming who would some day ride up toher door, doff his plumed hat, kiss her hand and kneel at her feet?
Cook read the eagerness in her brown eyes the first hour of theirmeeting. And what was more serious he felt the first throb of emotionthat had ever distressed him in the presence of a woman.
He had never made love. He had tried all other adventures. He had nevermet the type that appealed to his impulsive mind. He was angry withhimself for the almost resistless impulse that came, to flirt with thisgirl.
It could only be a flirtation at best and, it could only end inbitterness and hatred and tragedy in the end. He had done dark deeds onthe Western plains. But they were man deeds. No delicate woman had beeninvolved in their tangled ethics.
There was something serious in his nature that said no to a flirtationof any kind with a lovely girl. He had always intended to take womenseriously. He did take them seriously. He wouldn't hesitate to kill aman if he were cornered. But a woman--that was different. He triedto avoid the eyes of Virginia. He couldn't. In spite of all, seatedopposite at the table, he found himself looking into their brown liquiddepths. They were big, soulful eyes, full of tenderness and faith andwonder and joy. And they kept saying to him:
"Come here, stranger man, and tell me who you are, where you came from,where you're going, and what's your hurry."There was nothing immodest or forward in them. They just kept callinghim.
She was exactly the type of girl he had dreamed he would like to marrysome day when life had quieted down. She was of the spirit, not theflesh. Yet she was beautiful to look upon. Her hair was a dark, curlingbrown, full of delicate waves even on the top of her head. Her handswere dainty. Her body was a slender poem in willowy, graceful lines. Hervoice was the softest Southern drawl.
The Kennedys were not slave holders. The pretty daughter joyfully helpedher mother when she came home from school. Her sentiments were Southernwithout the over emphasis sometimes heard among the prouder daughtersof the old regime. These Southern sentiments formed another impassablebarrier. Cook said this a hundred times to himself and sought to makethe barrier more formidable by repeating aloud his own creed when in hisroom alone.
The fight was vain. He drifted into seeing her a few minutes alone eachday. She had liked him from the first. He felt it. He knew it. He hadliked her from the first, and she knew it.
Each night he swore he'd go to bed without seeing her and each night helaughed and said:
"Just this once more and it won't count."He felt himself drifting into a tragedy. Yet to save his life hecouldn't lay hold of anything that would stand the strain of the sweetinvitation in those brown eyes.
To avoid her he spent days tramping over the hills. And always he cameback more charmed than ever. The spell she was weaving about his heartwas resistless.
CHAPTER XXVI
Brown returned to Kansas with Stevens and Kagi, his two bravest and mostintelligent disciples.
If he could make the tryout of his plan sufficiently sensational, hisprestige would be restored, his chief disciples become trained veteransand his treasury be filled.
When he arrived, the Free State forces had again completely triumphed atthe ballot box. They had swept the Territory by a majority of three toone in the final test vote on the new Constitution. The issue of Slaveryin Kansas was dead. It had been settled for all time.
Such an inglorious end for all his dreams of bloodshed did not depressthe man of visions. Kansas no longer interested him except as arehearsal ground for the coming drama of the Great Deed.
He had carefully grown a long gray beard for the make-up of his newrole. It completely changed his appearance. He not only changed hismake-up, but he also changed his name. The title he gave to the newcharacter which he had come to play was, "Shubel Morgan."The revelation of his identity would be all the more dramatic when itcame.
When his men and weapons had been selected, he built his camp fire onthe Missouri Border. His raid was carefully planned in consultation withStevens, Kagi and Tidd. With these trusted followers he had rallied adozen recruits who could be depended on to obey orders. Among them was anotorious horse thief and bandit known in the Territory by the title of"Pickles."As they entered the State of Missouri on the night of the twenty-fifthof January, Brown divided his forces. Keeping the main division underhis personal command, he despatched Stevens with a smaller force toraid the territory surrounding the two plantations against which he wasmoving.
Between eleven and twelve o'clock Brown reached the home of Harvey G.
Hicklin, the first victim marked on his list.
Without the formality of a knock he smashed his door down and spranginside with drawn revolver.
Hicklin surrendered.
"We have come to take your slaves and such property as we need," the oldman curtly answered.
"I am at your mercy, gentlemen," Hicklin replied.
Gill was placed in charge of the robbers who ransacked the bureaudrawers, closets and chests for valuables.
Brown collected the slaves and assured them of protection. When everywatch, gun, pistol, and every piece of plate worth carrying had beencollected, and the stables stripped of every horse and piece of leather,the old man turned to his victim and coolly remarked:
"Now get your property back if you can. I dare you and the whole UnitedStates Army to follow me to-night. And you tell this to your neighborsto-morrow morning."Hicklin kept silent.
Brown knew that his tongue would be busy with the rising sun. He alsoknew that his message would be hot on the wires to the East before thesun would set. He could feel the thrill it would give his sentimentalfriends in Boston. And he could see them reaching for their purses.
The men were still emptying drawers on the floor in a vain search forcash. Hicklin never kept cash over night in his house. He lived too nearthe border.
Brown called his men from their looting and ordered them to the nexthouse which he had marked for assault--the house of James Lane,three-quarters of a mile away.
They smashed Lane's door and took him a prisoner with Dr. Erwin, a guestof the family.
From Hicklin he had secured considerable booty and his men were keen forricher spoils. The first attack had netted the raiders two fine horses,a yoke of oxen, a wagon, harness, saddles, watches, a fine collectionof jewelry, bacon, flour, meal, coffee, sugar, bedding, clothing, ashotgun, boots, shoes, an overcoat and many odds and ends dumped intothe wagon.
From Lane they expected more. They were sore over the results. They gotsix good horses, their harness and wagons, a lot of bedding, clothingand provisions, but no jewelry except two plain silver watches.
Brown added five negroes to his party and told them he would take themto Canada. Thus far no blood had been shed. The attacks had been madewith such quiet skill, the surprise was complete. In spite of all thetalk and bluster of frontier politicians no sane man in the State ofMissouri could conceive of the possibility of such a daring crime. Thevictims were utterly unprepared for the assault. And no defense had beenattempted.
Stevens had better luck. His party had encountered David Cruise, aman who was rash enough to resist. He was an old man, too, of quiet,peaceable habits and exemplary character. He proved to be the man whodidn't know how to submit to personal insult.
He owned but one slave who did the cooking for his family. When Stevensbroke into his house and demanded the woman, he indignantly refused tosurrender his cook to a gang of burglars.
The ex-convict, who had served his term for an assault with intent tokill, didn't pause to ask Cruise any questions.
His revolver clicked, a single shot rang out and the old man dropped onthe floor with a bullet through his heart.
Passing the body, Stevens looted the house. He made the largest haul ofthe night. He secured four oxen, eleven mules, two horses, and a wagonload of provisions. Incidentally he picked up a valuable mule from aneighbor of Cruise as they passed his house on the way to join Brown.
When Stevens reported the murder and gave the inventory of the valuablegoods stolen, "Shubel Morgan" stroked his long gray beard and spoke butone word:
"Good."In his grim soul he knew that the blood stain left on Cruise's floorwould be worth more to his cause than all the stolen jewelry, horses andwagons. Its appeal to the East would be the one secret force needed torouse the archaic instincts of his pious backers. They would deny withindignation the accusation of murder against his men. They would inventthe excuse of self-defense. He did not need to make it. From the deepsof their souls would come the shout of the ancient head-hunter returningwith the bloody scalp of a foe in his hand. Brown felt this. He knew it,because he felt it in his own heart. He was a Puritan of Puritans.
With deliberate daring the caravan moved back into the Territory. Forthe moment the audacity of the crime stunned the frontier. He hadfigured on this hour of uncertainty and amazement to make good hisescape. He knew that he could depend on the people along the way to Iowato protect the ten slaves which he had brought out of Missouri.
The press of Kansas unanimously condemned the outrage. Brown knew theywould. He could spit in their faces now. He was done with Kansas. Hiscaravan was moving toward the North; his eyes were fixed on the hills ofVirginia.
His experiment had been a success.
The President of the United States, James Buchanan, offered a rewardof $250 for his arrest. The Governor of Missouri raised the reward to$3,000. The press flashed the news of the daring rescue of ten slaves byold John Brown. He regained in a day his lost prestige. The stories ofthe robberies which accompanied the rescue were denied as Border Ruffianlies, as "Shubel Morgan" knew they would be denied.
His enterprise had met every test. He got his slaves safely through toCanada and started a reign of terror. The effect of the raid into aSlave State had tested his theory of direct, bloodstained action as thesolution and the only solution of the problem.
The occasional frowns of pious people on his methods caused him nouneasiness or doubt. He was a man of daily prayer. He was on moreintimate terms with God than his critics.
The one fly in the ointment of his triumph was the cold reception givenhim by the religious settlement at Tabor, Iowa. These good people hadtreated him as a prophet of God in times past and his caravan had headedfor Tabor as their first resting place.
He entered the village with a song of triumph. He would exhibit hisfreed slaves before the Church and join with the congregation in a hymnof praise to God.
But the news of his coming had reached Tabor before his arrival. Theyhad heard of the stealing of the oxen, the horses, the mules, thewagons.
They had also heard of the murder of David Cruise. Brown had denied thePottawattomie crimes and they had believed him. This murder he couldnot deny. They had not yet reached the point of justifying murder in anunlawful rescue. These pious folks also had a decided prejudice againsta horse thief, however religious his training and eloquent his prayers.
When his caravan of stolen wagons, horses and provisions, moved slowlyinto the village, a curious but cold crowd gazed in silence. He placedthe negroes in the little school house and parked his teams on theCommon.
The next day was Sunday and the old Puritan hastened to church with hisfaithful disciples. Amazed that he had received from the Rev. JohnTodd no invitation to take part in the services, he handed Stevens ascribbled note:
"Give it to the preacher when he comes in."Stevens gave the minister the bit of paper without a word and resumedhis seat in the House of God.
The Rev. John Todd read the scrawl with a frown:
"John Brown respectfully requests the church at Tabor to offer publicthanksgiving to Almighty God in behalf of himself and company: _and oftheir rescued captives, in particular_, for His gracious preservationof their lives and health: and His signal deliverance of all out of thehands of the wicked. 'Oh, give thanks unto the Lord; for He is good: forHis mercy endureth forever.'"The Rev. Dr. King was in the pulpit with the militant preacher Todd thatday and the perplexed man handed the note to King.
The two servants of Christ were not impressed with the appeal. The wordsBrown had marked in italics and his use of the Psalms failed to rousethe religious fervor of the preachers. They knew that somewhere in thecrowd sat the man who had murdered Cruise and stolen those horses. Theyalso knew that John Brown had approved the deeds of his followers.
Todd rose and announced that he had received a petition which he couldnot grant. He announced a public meeting of the citizens of the town inthe church the following day to take such action as they might see fit.
When Brown faced this meeting on Monday he felt its hostility from themoment he rose. He made an excuse for not speaking by refusing to go onwhen a distinguished physician from Missouri entered the church.
Brown demanded that the man from Missouri be expelled. The citizens ofTabor refused. And the old man sullenly took his seat.
Stevens, the murderer, sprang to his feet and in his superb bass voiceshouted:
"So help me, God, I'll not sit in council with one who buys and sellshuman flesh."Stevens led the disciples out of the church.
At the close of the discussion the citizens of Tabor unanimously adoptedthe resolution:
"_Resolved_, That while we sympathize with the oppressed and will do allthat we conscientiously can to help them in their efforts for freedom,nevertheless we have no sympathy with those who go to slave states toentice away slaves and take property or life, when necessary, to attainthis end.
"J. SMITH, _Sec. of Meeting._" Tabor, Feb. 7, 1857.
John Brown shook the dust of Tabor from his feet after a long prayer tohis God which he took pains to make himself.
At Grinnell, Iowa, his reception was cordial and he began to feel theconfidence which his exploit would excite in the still more remote East.
His caravan had moved Eastward but fourteen days' journey from Taborand he had been received with open arms. The farther from the scene ofaction Brown moved, the more heroic his rugged patriarchal figure withits flowing beard loomed.
On reaching Boston his triumph was complete. Every doubt and fear hadvanished. Sanborn, Higginson, Stearns, Howe, and Gerrit Smith, in ashort time, secured for him more than four thousand dollars and theGreat Deed was assured.
CHAPTER XXVII
While Brown was at work in the North collecting money, arms andammunition, Cook was quietly completing his work at the Ferry. Hefought the temptation to take Virginia with him on his trips and thensuccumbed.
The thing that decided it was the fact that she knew Colonel LouisWashington and had been to Bellair. She promised to introduce him.
To make sure of Brown's quixotic instructions about the sword andpistols he must make the trip. The drive in the snug little buggy alongthe river bank was a red letter experience in the young Westerner'slife.
Seated beside the modest slip of a Southern girl chatting with vivacityand a happiness she couldn't conceal, the man forgot that he was aconspirator in a plot to deluge a nation in blood. He forgot the longnights of hiding in woods and ravines. He forgot dark deeds of sackingand robbery. He was just a boy again. The sun was shining in the gloryof a sweet spring morning in the mountains. The flowers were blooming inthe hedges. He smelled the wild cherry, blackberry and dewberry bushes.
Birds were singing. The new green of the leaves was dazzling in itssplendor. The air was pure and sweet and sent the blood bounding to thetips of his fingers.
He glanced at the soft red cheeks of the girl beside him and a greatyearning for a home and babies and peace overwhelmed him. His lipstrembled and his eyes filled with tears. He rebelled against the task towhich he had put his hand.
"Why so pensive?" she asked with a laugh.
"Am I?""You haven't spoken for a mile.""I'm just so happy, I reckon," he answered seriously.
He remembered his grim task and threw off the spell. He must keep acool head and a strong hand. He remembered the strange old man to whose"Constitution" he had sworn allegiance in Canada and began to talk incommonplaces.
To the girl's romantic ears they had meaning. Every tone of his voicefascinated her. The mystery about him held her imagination. She was sureit was full of thrilling adventure. He would tell her some day. Shewondered why he had waited so long. He had been on the point of tellinghis love again and again and always stopped with an ugly frown. Shewondered sometimes if his life had been spoiled by some tragedy. Athousand times she asked herself the question whether he might bemarried and separated from a wife. He had lived in the North. He hadtold her many places he had seen. People were divorced sometimes in theNorth. She dismissed the thought as absurd and resigned herself again tothe charms of his companionship.
Colonel Washington was delighted to see again the daughter of an oldfriend. Her father had been his companion on many a hunting and fishingtrip.
Virginia introduced her companion.
"My friend, Mr. John Cook, Colonel Washington."The colonel extended his hand cordially.
"Glad to meet you, young man. A friend of Virginia's is a friend ofmine, sir.""Thank you.""Walk right in, children, sit down and make yourselves at home. I'llfind that damned old lazy butler of mine and get you some refreshments.""Let's sit outside," Virginia whispered.
"No," Cook protested. "I want to see the inside of a Washington home."The Colonel waved his arm toward the house.
"With you in a minute, children. Walk right in.""Of course, if you wish it," the girl said softly.
They entered the fine old house, and sat down in the hall. Cook smiledat the easy fulfillment of his task. Directly in front of the door, setin a deep panel, was the portrait of the first President. On the rightin a smaller panel hung the sword which Frederick the Great had givenhim. On the other side, the pistols from the hands of Lafayette. A tiny,gold plate, delicately engraved, marked each treasure.
Virginia showed him these souvenirs of her country's history. She spokeof them with breathless awe. She laughed with girlish pride.
"Aren't they just grand?"Cook nodded.
He felt guilty of treachery. A betrayal of Southern hospitality inthis sweet girl's presence! He ground his teeth at the thought of hisweakness the next moment.
Colonel Washington appeared through the door from the dining room. Hewas followed by his ancient butler, bearing a tray filled with drinks.
The Colonel served them with his own hand. The negro grinned his welcometo the guests. At the sight of a slave, Cook was himself again. His jawclosed and his eye flashed. He was once more the disciple of the Man ofthe Blood-Feud.
Washington handed a tall glass to Virginia.
"Your lemonade, young lady. I know your taste and approve."He bowed low and gave her the drink.
He took two glasses of mint juleps, one in each hand.
"Mr. Cook, the favorite drink of these mountains, sir, as pure as itsdews, as refreshing as its air--the favorite drink of old Virginia. Toyour good health, sir!"Cook's head barely moved and he drank in silence.
He held his mood of reserve on the drive home. In vain the girl smiledand coaxed his dreary spirits. He refused to respond. They passed thesame wonderful views, the same birds were singing, the same watersfoaming and laughing over the rocks below. The man heard nothing, sawnothing, save a vision inside his raging soul. He saw men riding throughthe night to that house. He saw black hands grip iron pikes and knock atthe door of its great hall.
There was a far-away look in his keen eyes--eyes that could sight arifle with deadly aim.
The slender girl nestled closer in wonder at the veil that had suddenlydropped between them. The fires of youth and passion responded for amoment to this instinctive stir of his mate. Resistance was agony. Hisarm moved to encircle her waist. He turned in an impulse to kiss herlips and whisper the mad things his heart was saying.
He caught himself in time.
What had he to do with this eternal call of the human heart to love andbe loved? It meant home, it meant tenderness. It meant peace and goodwill to every living thing. He had come to kill, not to love; todestroy, not build homes.
Again he rebelled against his hideous task. And then he remembered JohnBrown and all for which he stood. His oath crashed through his memory.
He resolved to put every thought of tenderness, beauty, and love underhis feet and trample them. It was the only way to save himself and thisgirl.
It would be hard--but he would do it. For an entire week he did notspeak to her except in monosyllables. He made no effort to hide hisdecision. He wanted her to see and know the firm purpose within hisheart.
Her eyes followed him with a look of dumb anguish. If she had spoken inreproaches he would have fought and withstood her. Her silence was morethan he could bear.
On the sixth day of his resolution he saw that she had been crying. Shesmiled and tried to hide it, but he knew. He would go for a walk to theHeights and cheer her up a bit. It wasn't necessary to be brutal.
Her brown eyes began to smile again. They walked over the Heights anddown a steep pathway among the rocks to the river's edge and sat down ona boulder worn smooth by the waters of the spring floods.
The ripple of the current made soft music. They were silent for a longtime and then she turned toward him a tender, questioning gaze. In spiteof her effort to be strong a tear stole down the firm young cheek.
"What have I done to make you angry?""Nothing," he answered in a whisper.
"What's the matter, then?"He took her hand and held it in a cruel grip before he spoke. His wordscame at last in passionate pleading.
"Oh, dear little girl, can't you see how I've been fighting this thingfor months--how I've tried to keep away from you and couldn't?""Why?"She breathed the question leaning so close that her lips framed a kiss.
"I can't tell you," he said.
"But you must! You must!" she pleaded.
Tears were in his eyes now. He looked away.
"A gulf separates us, child.""How can it?" she whispered tenderly.
"It's just there!""Can't you cross it?""No."She drew her slender body erect with an effort. She tried to speak twicebefore she succeeded.
"You--are--married--then?""Oh--no--no--not that--no!"She bent close again, a sweet smile breaking through her tears.
"Then you can tell me what it is.""I couldn't tell it, even to my wife."Her brow contracted in a puzzled look.
"It's nothing low or dishonorable?""No. And it belongs to the big things of life-and death.""And I cannot know this secret?""You cannot know. I have taken an oath.""And it separates us?""Yes.""But why--if--you--love--me--and I love--you--"She paused and blushed scarlet. She had told a man her love before hehad spoken. But he _had_ spoken! His voice, his tears, his tones hadtold her.
He looked at her a moment, trembling. He spoke one word at a time as ifhe had no breath to finish the sentence.
"It's--sweet--to--hear--your--dear--lips--say--that--you--love--me--Godknows I love you--you-dear-little-angel-sent-from heaven! I'm not worthyto touch your hand and yet I'm crushing it--I can't help it--I can't-Ican't."She slipped into his arms and he crushed her to his heart.
"I love you," she whispered. "I can trust you. I'll never ask yoursecret until you wish to tell me. Just love me, forever. That's all Iask.""I can do that, and I will!" he answered solemnly.
They were married the next night in the parsonage of the MethodistChurch of which she was a member. And the foundation was laid for atragedy involving more lives than one.
CHAPTER XXVIII
From an old log farmhouse on the hills of Maryland,--overlooking thetown of Harper's Ferry, the panther was crouching to spring.
For four months in various disguises Brown had reconnoitered themountains around the gorge of the two rivers. He had climbed thepeak and looked into the county of Fauquier with its swarming slavepopulation. Each week he piloted his wagon to the town of Chambersburg,Pennsylvania, thirty-five miles back in the hills.
The Humanitarians through their agents were shipping there, day by day,the powder, lead, guns, knives, torches and iron pikes the Chosen Onehad asked.
These pious men met him for a final conference in the home of GerritSmith, the preacher philanthropist of Peterboro.
The canny old huntsman revealed to them just enough to excite theunconscious archaic impulse beneath the skin of culture. He told themthat he was going to make a daring raid into the heart of the Old Southand rescue as many of the "oppressed" as possible. They knew that theraid into Missouri had resulted in murder and that he rode back intoKansas with the red stains on his hands.
Brown gained their support by this carefully concealed appeal to theirsubconscious natures. As the crowd of eager faces bent close to catch,the details of his scheme, the burning eyes of the leader were suddenlyhalf closed. Silence followed and they watched the two pin points oflight in vain.
Each pious man present caught the smell of human blood. Yet each piousman carefully concealed this from himself and his neighbor until itwould be approved by all. Had the bald facts behind the enterprise beentold in plain English, religion and culture would have called ahalt. The elemental impulse of the Beast must therefore be carefullyconcealed.
Every man present knew that they were sending Brown on a man-hunt. Theyknew that the results might mean bloodshed. They knew, as individuals,exactly what was being said and what was being planned. Its detailsthey did not wish to know. The moral significance--the _big_ moralsignificance of the deed was something apart from the bloody details.
The Great Deed could be justified by the Higher Law, the Greater Gloryof God. They were twisting the moral universe into accord with theelemental impulse of the brute that sleeps beneath every human skin.
The Great Deed about to be done would be glorious, its actors heroes andmartyrs of a Divine Cause. They knelt in prayer and their Chosen Leaderinvoked the blessings of the Lord of Hosts upon them and upon hisdisciples in the Divine Cause.
The hour of Action was now swiftly approaching. Cook had become a bookagent. With his pretty Virginia wife his figure became familiar to everyfarm, in the county. He visited every house where a slave was to befound. He sold maps as well as books. He also sketched maps in secretwhen he reached the quiet of his home while his happy little bride sangat her work.
He carefully compiled a census of slaves at the Ferry and in thesurrounding country. So sure had he become of the success of the blowwhen it should fall, that he begged his Chief to permit him to beginto whisper the promise of the uprising to a few chosen men among theslaves.
The old man's eyes; flamed with anger.
"You have not done this already?" he growled.
"No--no.""You swear it?"Brown had seized Cook by both arms and searched his eyes for the truth.
The younger man was amazed at the volcanic outburst of anger.
"A hundred times I've told you, Cook, that you talk too much," he wenton tensely. "You mean well, boy, but your marriage may prove a tragedyin more ways than one.""It has proven my greatest weapon.""If you're careful, if you're discreet, if you can control your foolishimpulses. I've warned you again and again and yet you've been writingletters--"Cook's eyes wavered.
"I only wrote one to an old girl friend in Tabor.""Exactly. You told of your marriage, your happiness, your hopes of agreat career--and I got a copy of the letter.""How?""No matter. If I got it, somebody else could get one. Now will you swearto me again to obey my orders?"The burning eyes pierced his soul and he was wax.
"Yes. I swear!""Good. I want a report from you daily from now on. Stop your excursionsinto the country, except to meet me in broad daylight in the woods thisside of our headquarters. You understand?""Yes. You can depend on me."Brown watched him with grave misgivings. He was the one man on whomhe depended least and yet his life and the life of every one in hisenterprise was in his hands. There were more reasons than one why hemust hasten the final preparations for the Deed.
The suspicions of the neighbors had been roused in spite of the utmostvigilance. He had increased his disciples to twenty men. He had inducedhis younger son, Watson, to leave North Elba and join them. His owndaughter, Annie, and Oliver's wife had come with Watson, and the twowomen were doing the work for his band--cooking, washing, and scrubbingwithout a murmur.
The men were becoming restless in their close confinement. Five of themwere negroes. Brown's disciples made no objections to living, eatingand sleeping with these blacks. Such equality was one of the cardinalprinciples of their creed.
But the danger of the discovery of the presence of freed negroesliving in this farmhouse with two white women and a group of white menincreased each day.
The headquarters had a garrulous old woman for a neighbor. Gradually,Mrs. Huffmeister became curious about the doings at the farm. She beganto invent daily excuses for a visit. They might be real, of course, butthe old man's daughter became uneasy. As she cleaned the table, washedthe dishes and swept the floors of the rooms and the porch, she wasconstantly on the lookout for this woman.
The thing that had fascinated her was the man whom this girl calledfather. His name was "Smith," but it didn't seem to fit him. She was anilliterate German and knew nothing of the stirring events in Kansas. Buther eyes followed the head huntsman with fascinated curiosity.
At this time his personal appearance was startling in its impressivepower, when not on guard or in disguise. His brilliant eyes, his flowingwhite beard and stooped shoulders arrested attention instantly and heldit. He was sixty years old by the calendar and looked older. And yetalways the curious thing about him was that the impression of age was onthe surface. It was given only when he was still. The moment he movedin the quick, wiry, catlike way that was his habit, age vanished. Theobserver got the impression of a wild beast crouching to spring.
It was little wonder that Mrs. Huffmeister made excuses to catch aglimpse of his figure. It was little wonder that she had begun to talkto her friends about "Mr. Smith" and his curious ways.
She had talked to him only once. She was glad that he didn't talk much.
There was an expression to his set jaw and lips that was repulsive.
Especially there was something chill in the tones of his voice. Theynever suggested tenderness or love, or hope or happiness--only theimpersonal ring of metal. The agile and alert body of a man of his agewas an uncanny thing, too. The woman's curiosity was roused anew witheach glimpse she got of him until her coming at last became a terror tothe daughter.
She warned her father and he hastened his preparations. If the worldbelow once got a hint of what was going on behind those rough logs therewould be short shrift for the men who were stalking human game.
It became necessary for the entire party of twenty men to lie concealedin the low attic room the entire day. Not more than two of them could beseen at one time.
The strange assortment of ex-convicts, dreamers, theorists, adventurersand freed negroes were kept busy by their leader until the eve of theGreat Deed. They whittled into smooth shape the stout hickory handlesfor a thousand iron pikes, which Blair, the blacksmith of Collinsville,Connecticut, had finally delivered. To these rude weapons the fondesthopes of the head-huntsman had been pinned from the first. The slavewas not familiar with the use of firearms. His strong, black arm couldthrust these sharp pieces of iron into human breasts with deadlyaccuracy. Brown saw that every nail was securely set in the handles.
Each day he required the first stand of rifles to be burnished anew.
The swords and knives were ground and whetted until their blades wereperfect.
There was not work enough to stop discussion toward the end. Cook hadfinally whispered to Tidd that the leader intended to assault and takethe United States Arsenal and Rifle Works. Cook's study of law revealedthe fact that this act would be high treason against the Republic.
The men had all sworn allegiance to Brown under his Constitution but therank and file of the little provisional army did not understand that heintended to attack the National authority by a direct assault.
A violent discussion broke out in the attack led by Tidd. At the end ofthe argument Tidd became so infuriated by Brown's imperious orders forsubmission to his will that he left the place in a rage, went down tothe Ferry and spent the week with Cook.
Brown tendered his resignation as Commander in Chief. There was no otherman among them who would dare to lead. A frank discussion disclosed thisfact and the disciples were compelled to submit. They voted submissionand authorized Owen to put it in writing which he did briefly but to thepoint:
Harper's Ferry, Aug. 18, 1859.
DEAR SIR,We have all agreed to sustain your decisions, until you have _provedincompetent_, and many of us will adhere to your decisions as long asyou will.
Your friend, OWEN SMITH.
The rebellion was suppressed within the ranks and the leader's authorityrestored. But the task of watching and guarding became more and moretrying and dangerous.
One of the women remained on guard every moment from dawn to dusk. Whenwashing dishes she stood at the end of the table where she could see theapproach to the house. The meals over, she took her place on the porchor just inside the door. Always she was reading or sewing. She not onlyhad to watch for foes from without, but she was also the guard set overthe restless "invisible" upstairs. In spite of her vigilance, Hazlettand Leeman would slip off into the woods and wander for hours. Hazlettwas a fine-looking young fellow, overflowing with good nature and socialfeelings. The prison life was appalling to him. Leeman was a boy fromSaco, Maine, the youngest man among the disciples. He smoked and drankoccasionally and chafed under restraint.
In spite of the women's keen watch these two fellows more than oncebroke the rules by slipping into Harper's Ferry in broad daylight andspending the time at Cook's house. They loved to watch the slender,joyous, little wife at her work. They envied Cook, and, while theywatched, wondered at the strange spell that had bound their souls andbodies to the old man crouching on the hill to strike the sleepingvillage.
The reports of these excursions reached Brown's ears and increased hisuneasiness. The thing that hastened the date for the Great Deed to itsfinal place on the calendar was the fact that a traitor from ambush hadwritten a letter to the Secretary of War, John B. Floyd, revealing thewhole plot and naming John Brown of Kansas as the leader.
The Secretary of War was at the time in the mountains of Virginia ona vacation. The idea of any sane human being organizing a secretassociation to liberate the slaves of the South by a generalinsurrection was too absurd for belief--too puerile for attention. Theletter was tossed aside.
If this were not enough, his friend and benefactor, Gerrit Smith, hadmade an unfortunate speech before a negro audience in which he hadbroadly hinted of his hope of an early slave insurrection.
It was the last straw. He was awaiting recruits but he dare not delay.
He summoned his friend, Frederick Douglas, from Rochester to meet him atChambersburg. If he could persuade Douglas to take his place by his sideon the night the blow would be struck, he would need no other recruits.
Brown knew this negro to be the foremost leader of his race and that thefreedmen of the North would follow him.
The old man arranged through his agent in Chambersburg that the meetingshould take place in an abandoned stone quarry just outside of town.
The watcher on the hill over Harper's Ferry was disguised as afisherman. His slouch hat, and also rod and reel, rough clothes, madehim a typical farmer fisherman of the neighborhood. He reached the stonequarry unchallenged.
With eager eloquence he begged for the negro's help.
Douglas asked the details of his attack.
Brown bared it, in all its daring. He did not omit the Armory or theRifle Works.
Douglas was shocked.
With his vivid eloquence as a negro orator, he possessed far more commonsense than the old Puritan before whom he stood. He opposed his pleaas the acme of absurdity. The attack on the Federal Arsenal would betreason. It would array the whole Nation against him. It would hurl thearmy of the United States with the militia of Virginia on his back in aninstant.
Brown; boldly faced this possibility and declared that with it he couldstill triumph, if once he crossed the line of Farquier county and thrusthis pikes into the heart of the Black Belt.
All day Saturday and half the day on Sunday the argument between the twomen continued. At noon on Sunday the old man slipped his arm around thenegro and pressed it close. His voice was softer than Douglas had everheard it and it sent the cold chills down his spine in spite of his firmdetermination never to yield.
"Come with me, Douglas, for God's sake," he begged. "I'll defend youwith my life. I want you for a special purpose. I'll capture Harper'sFerry in two hours. They'll be asleep. When I cross the line on themountain top and call the ten thousand slaves in Fauquier County--thebees will swarm, man! Can't you see them? Can't you hear the roar whenI've placed these pikes in their hands?--_I want you_ to hive them."Douglas hesitated for only a moment. His vivid imagination had seen theflash of the hell-lit vision of the slave insurrection and his soulanswered with a savage cry. But he slipped from Brown's arms, rubbed hiseyes and flung off the spell.
"My good friend," he said at last, "you're walking into a steel trap.
You can't come out alive."He turned to Shields Green, the negro guard who was now one of the oldman's disciples. Green had been a friend of Douglas' in Rochester. Hehad introduced him to the Crusader. He felt responsible for his life. Hehad a duty to perform to this ignorant black man and he did it, painfulas it was.
"Green, you have heard what I've just said to my friend. He has changedhis plans since you volunteered. You understand, now. You can go withhim or come home with me to Rochester. What will you do?"His answer was coolly deliberate.
"I b'lieve I go wid de ole man!"With a heavy heart Brown saw Douglas leave. It was the shattering of hismost dramatic dream of the execution of the Great Deed. When the blackbees should swarm he had seen himself at the head of the dark, roaringtide of avengers, their pikes and rifles flashing in the Southern sun.
Around his waist was the sword of George Washington and the pistols ofLafayette. His Aide of Honor would ride, this negro, once a fugitiveslave. Side by side they would sweep the South with fire and sword.
On arrival at his headquarters on the hill he learned that a revivalof religion was going on in the town below and he fixed Sunday, theseventeenth of October, as the day of the Deed. Harper's Ferry would notonly be asleep that night--every foe would be lulled in songs of praiseto God.
CHAPTER XXIX
At eight o'clock on Sunday night, the sixteenth of October, 1859, JohnBrown drove his one-horse wagon to the door of the rude log house inwhich he had hidden with his disciples for four months.
It was a damp, chill evening of mid fall. Heavy rain clouds obscured thestars and not a traveler ventured along the wind-swept roads. From theattic were loaded into the wagon crowbars, sledge hammers, iron pikesand oil-soaked faggots.
The crowbars and sledge hammers might be used on the gates or doors.
There could be no doubt about the use to which the leader intended toput the pikes and torches.
When the wagon had been loaded the old man summoned his faithful son,Owen.
"Captain Owen Brown," the steel voice rang, "you will take privateBarclay Coppoc and F.J. Merriam and establish a guard over this houseas the headquarters of our expedition. Hold it at all hazards. You areguarding the written records of our work, the names of associates, thereserves of our arms and ammunition. We will send you reinforcements indue time."Owen saluted his commander and the two privates under his command tooktheir places beside him.
Brown waved to the eighteen men standing around the wagon.
"Get on your arms, and to the Ferry!"They had been ready for hours, eager for the Deed. Not one among them inhis heart believed in the wisdom of this assault, yet so grim was thepower of Brown's mind over the wills of his followers, there was not alaggard among them.
Brown drove the wagon and led the procession down the pitch-black roadtoward the town. The men fell in line two abreast and slowly marchedbehind the team.
Cook and Tidd, raised to the rank of Captains, their commissionsduly signed, led the tramping men. There were many captains in thisremarkable army of twenty-one. There were more officers than privates.
The officers were commissioned to recruit their black companies when thefirst blow had been struck.
The enterprise on which these twenty-one veteran rangers had started inthe chill night was by no means so foolhardy as appears on the surface.
The leader was leaving his base of supplies with a rear guard of butthree men. Yet the army on the march consisted of but eighteen. He knewthat the United States Arsenal had but one guarded gate and that theold watchman had not fired a gun in twenty-five years. It would be thesimplest thing to force this gate and the Arsenal was in their hands.
The Rifle Works had but a single guard. They could be taken in fiveminutes. Once inside these enclosures, he had unlimited guns andammunition at his command.
The town would be asleep at ten o'clock when he arrived at the Marylandend of the covered bridge across the Potomac. Eighteen armed men were anample force to capture the unsuspecting town. Not a single policeman wason duty after ten. The people were not in the habit of locking theirdoors.
The one principle of military law which the leader was apparentlyviolating was the failure to provide a plan of retreat. But retreat wasthe last thing he intended to face.
The one thing on which he had staked his life and the success of hisdaring undertaking was the swarming of the black bees. His theory wasreasonable from the Abolitionist's point of view. He believed that negroChattel Slavery as practiced in the South was the sum of all villainies.
And the Southern slave holders were the arch criminals and oppressors ofhuman history. In his Preamble of the new "Constitution" to which hismen had sworn allegiance, he had described this condition as oneof "perpetual imprisonment, and hopeless servitude or absoluteextermination." If the negroes of the South were held in the chains ofsuch a system, if they were being beaten and exterminated, the blackbees _would_ swarm at the first call of a master leader and deluge thesoil in blood.
John Brown believed this as he believed in the God to whom he prayedbefore he loaded his pikes and torches on the wagon. These black legionswould swarm to-night! He could hear their shouts of joy and revengeas they gripped their pikes and swung into line under his God imposedleadership.
The whole scheme was based on this faith. If Garrison's words were true,if the Southern slave holder was a fiend, if Mrs. Stowe's arraignment ofSlavery on the grounds of its inhuman cruelty was a true indictment, hisfaith was well grounded.
His thousand pikes in the hands of a thousand determined blacks led bythe trained Captains whom he had commissioned was a force adequate tohold the town of Harper's Ferry and invade the Black Belt beyond thePeak.
The moment these black legions swarmed and weapons were placed in theirhands the insurrection would spread with lightning rapidity. The weaponswere in the Arsenal. The massacres would be sweeping through Virginia,North and South Carolina before an adequate force could reach thismountain pass. And when they reached it, he would be at the head of ablack, savage army moving southward with resistless power.
The only question was the swarming of this dark army. Cook, who hadspent nearly a year among the people and knew these slaves best, was theone man who held a doubt. For this reason he had begged Brown a secondtime to let him sound the strongest men among the slaves and try theirspirit. Brown refused. He knew a negro. He was simply a white man in ablack skin by an accident of climate. He knew exactly what he would dowhen put to the test. To discuss the subject was a waste of words. Andso with faith serene in the success of the Deed, he paused but a momentat the entrance of the bridge.
He ordered Captains Kagi and Stevens to advance and take as prisonerWilliam Williams, the watchman. The two rangers captured Williamswithout a struggle.
"A good joke, boys," he laughed.
"You'll find it a good one before the night's over," Stevens answered.
When he attempted to move, a revolver at his breast still failed toconvince him.
"Go 'way, you boys, with your foolishness. It's a dark night, but I'mused to being scared!"It was not until Kagi gave him a rap over the head with his rifle thathe sat down in amazement and wiped the sweat from his brow. He forgotthe chill of the night air. His brain was suddenly on fire.
Brown waited at the entrance of the bridge until the watchman had beencaptured and Cook and Tidd had cut the line on the Maryland side of theriver.
He then advanced across the covered way to the gate of the Arsenal hut afew yards beyond the Virginia entrance.
He captured Daniel Whelan, the watchman at the Arsenal entrance.
Dumbfounded but stubborn, he refused to betray his trust by surrenderingthe keys.
"Open the gate!" Brown commanded.
"To hell wid yez!"A half dozen rifles were thrust at his head.
He folded his arms and stood his ground.
They pushed a lantern into his face and Brown studied him a moment. Hedidn't wish a gun fired yet. The town was asleep and he wanted it tosleep.
"Get a crowbar," he ordered.
They got a crowbar from the wagon, jammed it into the chain which heldthe wagon gate and twisted the chain until it snapped. He drove thewagon inside, closed the gate and the United States Arsenal was in hishands.
Brown placed the two watchmen in charge of his men, Jerry Anderson andDauphin Thompson.
He spoke to the prisoners in sharp command.
"Behave yourselves, now. I've come here to free all the negroes in thisState. If I'm interfered with I'll burn the town and have blood."Every man who passed through the dark streets was accosted, madeprisoner and placed under guard.
Hazlett and Edwin Coppoc were ordered to hold the Armory. Oliver Brownand William Thompson were sent to seize the Shenandoah bridge, thedirect line of march into the slave-thronged lower valley.
Stevens was sent to capture the Rifle Works which was accomplished intwo minutes.
The program had worked exactly as Brown had predicted. Not a shot hadbeen fired and they were masters of the town, its two bridges, theUnited States Arsenal, Armory and Rifle Works.
The men were now despatched through the town for the real work of thenight--the arming of the black legion with pikes and torches.
It was one o'clock before the first accident happened. Patrick Higgins,the second night watchman, came to relieve Williams on the Marylandbridge.
Oliver Brown, on guard, cried:
"You're my prisoner, sir."The Irishman grinned.
"Yez don't till me!"Without another word he struck Oliver a blow. The crack of a rifle wasthe answer. In his rage young Brown was too quick with the shot. Thebullet plowed a furrow in Higgins' skull but failed to pierce it.
He ran into the shadows.
Once inside the Wager House, he gave the alarm. The train from the Westpulled into the station and was about to start across the bridge whenHiggins, his face still streaked with blood, rushed up to the conductorand told him what had happened. He went forward to investigate, wasfired on and backed his train out to the next station.
As the train pulled out Shepherd Haywood, a freedman, the baggage masterof the station, walked toward the bridge to find the missing watchman.
The raiders shot him through the breast and he fell mortally wounded.
The first victim was a faithful colored employee of Mayor Beekham, thestation master of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad Company.
The shot that killed him roused a man of action. Dr. John D. Starrylived but a stone's throw from the spot where Haywood had fallen.
Hearing the shot and the groans of the wounded man, the doctor hastenedto his rescue and carried him into the station. He could give nocoherent account of what had happened and was already in a dyingcondition.
The doctor investigated. He approached two groups of the raiders, waschallenged and retreated. Satisfied of the seriousness of the attackwhen he saw two armed white men lead three negroes holding pikes intheir hands into the Armory gate, he saddled his horse and rode to hisneighbors in town and country and gave the alarm.
While this dangerous messenger was on his foam-flecked horse, Brown,true to his quixotic sense of the dramatic, sent a raiding party ofpicked men to capture Colonel Washington and bring to his headquartersin the Arsenal the sword and pistols. On this foolish mission hedespatched Captains Stevens, Cook and Tidd, with three negro privates,Leary, Anderson and Green. He gave positive orders that ColonelWashington should be forced to surrender the sword of the firstPresident into the hands of a negro.
Day was dawning as the strange procession on its return passed throughthe Armory gate. In his own carriage was seated Colonel Washington andhis neighbor, John H. Allstead. Their slaves and valuables were packedin the stolen wagons drawn by stolen horses.
Brown stood rifle in hand to receive them.
"This," said Stevens to Washington, "is John Brown.""Osawatomie Brown of Kansas," the old man added with a stiffening of hisfigure.
He then handed a pike to each of the slaves captured at Bellair andAllstead's:
"Stand guard over these white men."The negroes took the pikes and held them gingerly.
At sunrise Kagi sent an urgent message to his Chief advising him thatthe Rifle Works could not be held in the face of an assault. He beggedhim to retreat across the Potomac at the earliest possible moment.
Retreat was a word not in the old man's vocabulary. He sent Leary toreinforce him, with orders to hold the works.
He buckled the sword and pistols of Washington about his gaunt waistand counted his prisoners. He had forty whites within the enclosure. Hecounted the slaves whom he had armed with pikes. He had enrolled underhis banner less than fifty. They stood in huddled groups of wonder andfear.
The black bees had failed to swarm.
He scanned the horizon and not a single burning home lighted the skies.
It had begun to drizzle rain. Not a torch had been used.
He had lost four precious hours in his quixotic expedition to captureColonel Washington, his sword and slaves. He could not believe this amistake. God had shown him the dramatic power of the act. He held aWashington in his possession. He was being guarded by his own slaves,armed. The scene would make him famous. It would stir the millions ofthe North. It would drive the South to desperation.
The thing that stunned him was the failure of the black legions tomobilize under the Captains whom he had appointed to lead them.
It was incredible.
He paced the enclosure, feverishly recalling the histories of mobs whichhe had studied, especially the fury of the French populace when therestraints of Law and Tradition had been lifted by the tocsin of theRevolution. The moment the beast beneath the skin of religion andculture was unchained, the massacres began. Every cruelty known to manhad been their pastime.
And these beasts were white men. How much more should he expect of theBlacks? Haiti had given him assurance of darker deeds. The world wasshivering with the horrors of the Black uprising in Haiti when he wasborn. He had drunk the story from his Puritan mother's breast. Fromchildhood he had brooded with secret joy over its bloody details.
The Black Bees had swarmed there and Toussaint L'Overture had hived themas he had asked Frederick Douglas to hive them here. They seized therudest weapons and wiped out the white population. They butchered tenthousand French men, women and children. And not a cry of pity or mercyfound an echo in a savage breast.
What was wrong here?
He had proclaimed the slave a freeman. He had placed an iron pike in hisright hand and a torch in his left. Why had they not answered with ashout of triumph?
His somber mind refused to believe that they would not rise. Even now hewas sure they were mobilizing in a sheltered mountain gorge. Before noonhe would hear the roar of their coming and see the terror-stricken facesof the whites fleeing before their rush.
He had repeated to his Northern crowds the fable of negro suffering inthe South until he believed the lie himself. He believed it with everybeat of his stern Puritan heart. And he had repeated and shouted ituntil the gathering Abolitionist mob believed it as a message from God.
The fact that the system of African slavery, as actually practiced inthe South, was the mildest and most humane form of labor ever fixedby the masters of men, they refused to consider. The mob leader neverallows his followers to consider facts.
He knows that his crowd prefers dreams to facts. Dreams are the motivesof crowd action. The dream, the illusion, the unreality have ever beenthe forces that have shaped human history in its hours of crisis whenFate has placed the future in the hands of the mob.
The fact that Slavery in the South had lifted millions of blacksavages--half of them from cannibal tribes--into the light of humancivilization--that it had been their school, their teacher, theirchurch, their inspiration--did not exist, because it was a fact. Theydid not deal in facts.
And so again Brown lifted his burning eyes toward the hills reflectedin the mirror of the rivers. Down one of those rocky slopes the BlackLegion would sweep before the day was done!
He had boldly despatched Cook across the Potomac bridge with the wagons,horses and treasures stolen from Colonel Washington's house to be storedat headquarters. There was still no doubt or shadow of turning in hisimperious soul.
With each passing moment the swift feet of the avengers were closing thetrap into which he had walked.
By ten o'clock the terror-stricken people of the town and county hadseized their weapons and the fight began. Bullets were whistling fromevery street corner and every window commanding a glimpse of the Arsenaland Armory.
Brown's handful of men began to fall. The Rifle Works surrendered firstand his guard of three men were all dead or wounded. By three o'clockhis forces had been cut to pieces and he had taken refuge in the EngineHouse of the Armory. The bridges were held by the people. Owen, Cook andhis guard at the old log house on the Maryland side were cut off andcould not come to his rescue.
The amazing news of an Abolition invasion of Virginia and the captureof the United States Arsenal and Rifle Works had shaken the nation.
President Buchanan hastily summoned from Arlington the foremost soldierof the Republic and despatched Colonel Robert E. Lee to the scenewith the only troops available at the Capital, a company of marines.
Lieutenant J. E. B. Stuart volunteered to act as his aide. The youngcavalier was in the East celebrating the birth of a baby boy.
CHAPTER XXX
When the marines arrived from Washington it was past midnight. The townswarmed with armed men from every farm and fireside. Five companies ofmilitia from Maryland and Virginia were on the ground and Henry Wise,the Governor of Virginia, was hurrying to take command.
Stuart had established Colonel Lee's headquarters behind the brick wallof the Arsenal enclosure. Not more than fifty yards from the gate stoodthe Engine House in which Brown had barricaded himself with his twosons, Oliver and Watson, and four of his men. He held forty whitehostages.
A sentinel of marines covered the entrance to the enclosure. The militiahad yielded command to the United States troops.
As Stuart stood awaiting Colonel Lee's arrival, Lieutenant Green, incommand of the marines, stepped briskly to the aide's side to report thepreliminary work.
As yet no one in the excited town knew the identity of the mysteriouscommander "John Smith" who led the invasion. No one could guess thenumber of men he had in his army nor how many he held in reserve on theMaryland hills.
Stuart's blue eyes flashed with excitement.
"The marines have the Arsenal completely surrounded?" he asked.
"A rat couldn't get through, Lieutenant Stuart.""The bridges leading into Harper's Ferry guarded?""Three picked men at each end, sir.""Any signs of the Abolitionists on the hills at dawn?""A shot from a sniper on the Maryland side nipped one of the guards--""Then their headquarters and the reserves are back in those hills.""I'm sure of it. I've sent a squad to get the sniper.""All right, it's daylight. Keep your marines away from the Arsenal gate.
It's barely fifty yards to the Engine House. We've got the Abolitionistspenned inside. But they're good shots.""I've warned them, sir.""No fighting now until Colonel Lee takes command. His train has justpulled in.""Why the devil didn't he come with us?" Green asked suddenly.
"Called to the White House for a conference with President Buchanan, insuch haste that he couldn't stop to put on his uniform. The Capital'sagog over this affair. The wildest rumors are afloat.""Nothing to the rumors afloat here among these militiamen and dazedcitizens.""Colonel Lee will straighten them out in short order--"Stuart suddenly stiffened to attention as he saw the soldierly figure ofthe Colonel approaching from the station with quick, firm step. Over hiscivilian suit he had hastily thrown an army overcoat and looked what hewas, the bronzed veteran commander of the Texas plains.
He saluted the two young officers and quickly turned to his aide.
"No sign of a slave uprising, of course?""The invaders did their best to bring it on. They've taken about fiftynegroes from their masters.""Armed them?""With pikes and rifles.""The invaders have robbed houses as reported?""Taken everything they could get their hands on. They forced their wayinto Colonel Washington's home, dragged him from bed, stole his watch,silver, wagons, horses, saddles and harness. They hold him a prisonerwith four of his slaves.""Colonel Washington is now their prisoner?""With others they are holding as hostages.""Hostages?""They swear to murder them all at the first sign of an attack.""They won't!" he answered sharply.
"I think they will, sir. They shot an unarmed negro porter at the depotand murdered the Mayor to-day as he was passing through the streets.
They are expecting reinforcements at any minute.""The militia are ready for duty?""Some are. Some are drinking."Lee turned to Lieutenant Green.
"Close every barroom in town."Green saluted.
"At once, sir."Green turned to execute the order. The only problem that gave Leeconcern was the use the invaders might make of the prisoners they held.
That they would not hesitate to expose them to death as a protectionto their own lives he couldn't doubt. Men who would dare the crime ofraising a slave insurrection would not hesitate to violate the code ofmilitary honor.
He saw Stuart was restless. There was something on his mind. He halfguessed the trouble and paused.
"Well, Lieutenant?"Stuart laughed.
"I suppose, Colonel, you couldn't possibly let me lead the assault onthe Engine House, could you?"Lee's eyes twinkled at the eager look. The Colonel was a man as well asa soldier. And he was a father. He loved the shouts of children morethan he loved the shouts of armies. In the pause he saw a vision. Alittle blue-eyed mother crooning over a baby which she had named for hersweetheart. The great heart forgot the daring soldier before him eagerfor a fight. He saw only the handsome husband and a wife at home prayingGod for his safe return. He could see her pressing the pink bundle offlesh to her heart, singing a lullaby that was a prayer. There would beno glory in such an assault. There was only the possibility of a bloodytragedy before a handful of desperadoes could be overcome. He faced hisaide with a frown.
"Lieutenant Green is in command of the marines, sir. You are only myvoluntary aide. You will act strictly within the rules of war."Stuart saluted. He knew that his commander was a stern disciplinarian.
Argument was out of the question. He made up his mind, however, to watchfor a chance to join in the attack, once it was begun.
Green returned from his errand leading an old negro who held one ofBrown's iron pikes.
The lieutenant thrust the trembling figure before the Colonel.
Lee studied him, and suppressed the smile that began to play about hislips.
"Well, uncle, this looks bad for you," he said finally.
"Lordee, Master, don't you blame me!" the old negro protested.
"They found him hiding in the bushes," Green explained.
"Yassah," the old man broke in. "I wuz kivered up in de leaves!""That's right, sir," Green agreed. "The pike was standing beside a tree.
They raked the leaves and found him in a hole.""An' I tried ter git under de hole, too.""The raiders took you by force?" Lee asked.
"Yassah! Dey pulls me outen bed, make me put on my close, gimme dis herehan' spike, an' tells me I kin kill my ole marster an' missis when Ifeels like it--""Did you try to kill them?" Lee asked seriously.
"Who? Me?""Yes.""Man! I drawed dat han' spike on dem Abolishioners an' I says: 'You lowdoun stinkin' po' white trash. Des try ter lay de weight er yo' han' onmy marster er missis,--an' I'll lan' yo' in de middle of er spell ersickness'--""And they took you prisoner.""Yassah.""I see.""Dey starts ter shoot me fust! But den dey say I wuzn't wuf de powderan' lead hit'ud take ter kill me.""And you escaped?""Na sah, not den. Dey make me go wid 'em, wher er no. But I git loosebyme bye an' crawl inter dat patch er trees doun dar by de ribber--""We found him there," Green nodded.
"Yassah, I mak' up my min' dat dey's have ter burn de woods an' sif deashes for' dey ebber see me ergin."Stuart's boyish laughter rang without restraint.
"All right, uncle," Lee responded cordially. "You can leave that pikewith me.""Yassah, you kin sho have it. God knows I ain't got no use fur it."He threw the pike down and brushed his hands as if to get rid of thecontagion of its touch.
"You're safe," Lee added. "The United States Marines are in command ofHarper's Ferry now.""Yassah. De Lawd knows I doan wanter 'sociate wid no slu-footed,knock-kneed po' whites. I'se er ristercrat, I is. Yassah, dat's me!""I'm glad to help you, uncle.""Thankee, sah.""Hurry back to your home now and help your people in their troubles.""Yassah, right away, sah--right away!"The old man hurried home, bowing right and left to his white friends andmuttering curses on the heads of the Abolitionists, who had dragged himfrom his bed and caused him to lose four square meals.
Lee examined the pike carefully. He measured its long stiletto-likeblade, projecting nine inches from its fastenings in the hickory handle.
He observed the skill and care with which the rivets had been set.
"An ugly piece of iron," he said at last.
"I'll bet they've thousands of them somewhere back in these hills,"Stuart added.
"And not a negro has lifted his hand against his master?""Not one."Lee ran his fingers along the edges of the blade and a dreamy look cameinto his thoughtful eyes.
"My boy, such people deserve their freedom. But not this way--not thisway! God save us from the horrors of the mob and the fanatic who leadsthem! Slavery is surely and swiftly dying. It cannot survive theeconomic pressure of the century. If only we can be saved from suchmadness."His voice died away as in a troubled dream. He looked up suddenly andturned to his aide.
"I must summon their leader to surrender. You have not yet learned hisname?""He calls himself John Smith, sir. They've been here all summer in anold farmhouse on the Maryland side.""Strange that their purpose should not have been discovered. Their workhas been carefully and secretly planned.""Beyond a doubt.""They could not have done it without big backing somewhere.""They've had it. They've had plenty of money. They have rifles of thefinest make. And they're not the type made in this Arsenal.""They expected to use the rifles in the Armory, of course. And theyexpect reinforcements. Any sign of their reserves?""Not yet, sir. We have the roads guarded for ten miles.""We'll settle it before they can get help," Lee said sharply.
He hastily wrote a summons to surrender and handed it to Stuart.
"Approach the Engine House under a flag of truce. Ask for a parley withtheir leader and give him this."Stuart saluted.
"At once, sir."He attached his handkerchief to his sword and entered the gate. A loudmurmur rose from the crowd of excited people who had pressed close tosee the famous commander of the Marines.
Lee turned to the sentinel.
"Push that crowd back."The crowd had pressed closer, watching Stuart with increasingexcitement.
The sentinel clubbed his musket and pressed against the front mensavagely.
"Stand back!"The people slowly retreated. Lee turned to Lieutenant Green.
"Your men are ready for action?""They await your orders, sir.""I suppose you wish the honor of leading the troops in taking these menout of the Engine House?"Green smiled and bowed.
"Thank you, Colonel!""Pick a detail of only twelve men, with a reserve of twelve more. WhenLieutenant Stuart gives you the signal, assault the Engine House andbatter down the doors with sledge hammers--"Green saluted.
"Yes, sir."Lee spoke his next command in sharp emphasis.
"The citizens inside whom the raiders are holding must not be harmed.
See to this when you gain an entrance. Once inside, pick your enemies.
You understand?""Perfectly, sir.""Hold your men in check until the signal to attack. I hope it will notbe necessary to give it. I shall do my best to avoid further bloodshed.""All right, sir."Green saluted and stood at attention awaiting the arrival of Stuart.
Lee's aide had approached the Engine House, watched in breathlesssuspense by a crowd of more than two thousand people. In spite of theefforts of the sentinels they had jammed every inch of space commandinga view of the enclosure.
When Stuart reached the bullet-marked door he called:
"For Mr. Smith, the commander of the invaders, I have a communicationfrom Colonel Lee!"Brown opened the door about four inches and placed his body against thecrack. Stuart could see through the opening his hand gripping a rifle.
He refused to open it further and the parley was held with the doorajar.
He at last allowed Stuart to enter.
His first look at the man's face startled him. The full gray beard couldnot mask the terrible mouth which he had studied one day in Kansas. Andnothing could dim the flame that burned in his blue-gray eyes.
He recognized him instantly.
"Why, aren't you old Osawatomie Brown of Kansas, whom I once held thereas my prisoner?""Yes, but you didn't keep me.""I have a written communication from Colonel Lee.""Read it."Stuart drew the sheet of paper from his pocket and read in his clear,ringing voice:
"Headquarters Harper's Ferry,October 18, 1859.
Colonel Lee, United States Army, commanding the troops sent by thePresident of the United States to suppress the insurrection at thisplace, demands the surrender of the people in the Armory buildings.""If they will peaceably surrender themselves and return the pillagedproperty, they shall be kept in safety to await the orders of thePresident. Colonel Lee reports to them, in all frankness, that it isimpossible for them to escape, that the Armory is surrounded by troops,and that if he is compelled to take them by force he cannot answer fortheir safety.
R. E. LEE, _Colonel Commanding U. S. Troops_."Stuart waited and Brown made no reply.
"You will surrender?""I will not," was the prompt answer.
In vain the young officer tried to persuade the stubborn old man tosubmit without further loss of life.
"I advise you to trust to the clemency of the Government," Stuart urged.
"I know what that means, sir. A rope for my men and myself. I prefer todie just here.""I'll give you a short time to think it over and return for your finalanswer."Brown at once began to barricade the doors and windows. And Stuartreported to his commander.
Lee met him at the gate.
"Well?""A little surprise for us, Colonel--""He refuses to surrender?""Absolutely. Captain 'John Smith' turns out to be Old John Brown ofOsawatomie, Kansas, sir.""You're sure?""I couldn't be mistaken. I had him a prisoner on the plains once whenour troops were ordered out to quell the disturbances.""That man's been here all summer planning this attack?""And not a soul knew him."Lee was silent a moment and spoke slowly:
"It can only mean a conspiracy of wide scope to drench the South inblood--""Of course.""He refuses to yield without a fight?"Stuart laughed.
"He don't know how to surrender. I left him with two pistols and a bowieknife in his belt and a rifle in each hand.""How many men were with him?""I saw but six besides the prisoners he holds as hostages. The prisonersbegged for an interview with you, sir. I told them to be quiet--that youknew what you were doing.""It's incredible!" Lee exclaimed.
He paused in deep thought and went on as if talking to himself.
"Strange old man--I must see him.""I wouldn't, Colonel. He's a tough customer.""I hate to order an assault on six men. He must be insane.""No more than you are, unless the pursuit of a fixed idea for a lifetimemakes a man insane."Lee turned suddenly to his aide.
"Press that crowd back into the next street and ask him to come hereunder a flag of truce.""I warn you, Colonel," Stuart protested. "He violated a flag of truce inKansas. He won't hesitate to shoot you on sight if he takes a notion."Lee smiled.
"He didn't try to shoot you on sight, did he?""No--""Go back and bring him here. I must find out some things from him if Ican. He may not survive the assault."Stuart again fixed his flag of truce and returned to the Engine House.
This time the Colonel called a cordon of marines and pressed the crowdinto the next street.
He beckoned to a sentinel.
"Ask Lieutenant Green to step here."The sentinel called a marine to take his place and went in search of thecommander of the company.
Lee lifted his eyes to the hills of Maryland. But a few miles beyond thefirst range lay the town of Sharpsburg, where Destiny was setting thestage for the bloodiest battle in the history of the republic. A littlefarther on lay the town of Gettysburg, over whose ragged hills Death washovering in search of camping ground.
Did his prophetic soul pierce the future? Never had he been moreprofoundly depressed. The event he was witnessing was but the prelude toa tragedy he felt to be from this hour inevitable.
Green saluted in answer to his summons.
"I want you to witness an interview which I will have with John Brown,and receive my final orders!""The leader is old John Brown?""Lieutenant Stuart has identified him."A shout from a crowd of boys who had climbed the trees of the nextstreet caused Lee to turn toward the gate as the invader and Stuartpassed through.
As Lee confronted Brown no more startling contrast could be presented bytwo men born under the same flag. John Brown with his bristling, unkemptbeard, his two revolvers and sword hanging and dangling on his gauntframe, his eyes glittering and red from the loss of two nights' sleep,the incarnation of Lawlessness; Lee, the trained soldier, the inheritorof centuries of constructive genius, the aristocrat in taste, thehumblest and gentlest Christian in spirit, the lover of Peace, of Order.
The commander of the forces of Law spoke in friendly tones.
"You are John Brown of Osawatomie, Kansas?""Yes!""You are in command of the invaders who have killed four citizens ofHarper's Ferry and seized the United States Arsenal?""I am in command.""Would you mind telling me why you have invaded Virginia?""To free your slaves.""How many men were under your command when you entered?""Seventeen white men and five colored freedmen.""With an armed force of twenty-two you have invaded the South to freethree million slaves?""I expected help--" He paused and his burning eyes flashed toward thehills. "And I still expect it!""From whom could you expect it?""From here and elsewhere.""From blacks as well as whites?""From both.""You have been disappointed in not getting it from either?""Thus far--yes."Lee studied him with increasing wonder. There was a quiet daring in hisattitude, an utter disregard of the tragic forces that had closed in onhis ill-fated venture that was astounding. What could be its secret?
It was something more than the coolness and poise of a brave Ulan. Hismanner was not cool. His mind was not poised.
There was a vibrant ring to his metallic voice which betrayed theprofoundest emotion. His daring came from some mysterious source within.
It was a daring that was the contradiction of reason and experience. Itwas uncanny.
Lee asked his questions in measured tones.
"You were disappointed, I take it, particularly in the conduct of theblacks?""Yes.""Exactly. If negro Slavery in the South were to-day the beastly thingwhich you and Garrison have so long proclaimed, you could not have beendisappointed. Had your illusion of abuse and cruelty been true thenegroes _would_ have risen to a man, put their masters to death, andburned their homes. Yet, not a black man has lifted his hand. There mustbe something wrong in your facts--"Brown lifted his head solemnly.
"There can be nothing wrong in my faith, Colonel Lee. It comes fromGod.""I didn't say your faith, my friend. I said your facts--" He paused andpicked up the pike.
"These unused pikes bear witness to your error. This is an ugly weapon,Mr. Brown!""It was meant to kill.""We found it in the hands of a negro.""I wish to conceal nothing, sir--" The old man paused, lifted hisstooped shoulders and drew a deep breath. "I armed fifty blacks withthem and I had many more which I hoped to use."Lee touched the point of the two-edged blade,"This piece of iron, then, placed in the hands of a negro was meant forthe breasts of Southern white men, women and children?""I came to proclaim your slaves free and give them the weapons to makegood my orders.""Who gave you the authority to issue orders of life and death?" Leeasked with slow, steady emphasis.
Brown's eyes flashed.
"I gave it to myself, sir. By the authority of my conscience and what Ibelieve to be right.""Suppose all took the same orders? Every man who differs with hisneighbor, gets his gun, proclaims himself the mouthpiece of God andkills those who disagree with him. Civilization is built on an agreementnot to do this thing. We have placed in the hands of the officer of thelaw the task of executing justice. The moment we dare as individuals totake this into our own hands, the world becomes a den of wild beasts--""The world's already a den of wild beasts," Brown interrupted sharply.
"They have snarled and snapped long enough. It's time to clinch andfight it out."There could be no doubt of the savage earnestness of the man who spoke.
There was the ring of steel in every word. Lee looked at him curiously.
"May I ask how many people you know in the North who feel that waytoward the South?""Millions, sir.""And they back you in this attack?""A few chosen prophets--yes--thank God.""And these prophets of the coming mob of millions have furnished you themoney to arm and equip this expedition?""They have.""It's amazing--""The millions are yet asleep," Brown admitted. He shook his gray locksas his terrible mouth closed with a deep intake of breath. "But I'llawake them! The thunderbolt which I have launched over Harper's Ferrywill call them. And they will follow me. I hope to hear the throb oftheir drums over the hills before you have finished with me to-day!"Lee was silent again, looking at the face with flaming eyes in a newwonder.
"And you invade to rob and murder at will?""I have not robbed!""No?""I have confiscated the property of slaveholders for use in a divinecause.""Who gave you the right to confiscate the property of others in anycause?""Again I answer, my conscience.""So a common thief can say.""I am no common thief.""Yet when you forced your way into Colonel Washington's home at nightyou committed a felony, known as burglary.""I did it in a holy crusade, sir.""The highwayman on the plains might plead the same necessity.""You know, Colonel Lee, that I am neither felon, nor highwayman. I am anAbolitionist. My sole aim in the invasion of the South is to free theslave--""At any cost?""At any cost. I see, feel, know but one thing-that you are guilty of agreat wrong against God and humanity. I have the right to interfere withyou. To free those whom you hold in bondage.""Even though you deluge the world in blood?""Yes. That is why I am here. I have no personal hate. No spirit ofrevenge. I have killed only when I thought I had to. I have protectedyour citizens whom hold as prisoners.""You had no right to take those men prisoners."Brown ignored the interruption.
"I ordered my men to fire only on those who were trying to stop ourwork.""And yet you placed these pikes in the hands of negroes and gave themoil-soaked torches?"Brown threw his hand high over his head as if to waive an irrelevantremark.
"I am here, sir, to aid those suffering a great wrong.""And you begin by doing a greater wrong!"The old man pursued his one idea without a break in thought. Lee's wordsmade not the slightest impression.
"This question of the negro, Colonel Lee, you must face. You may disposeof me now easily. But this question is still to be settled. The end ofthat is not yet!""I, too, believe that Slavery is wrong, my friend. Yet surely this isnot the way to bring to the slave his freedom. On pikes to be driveninto the breasts of unoffending men and women! Two wrongs have never yetmade a right."The old man lifted his head towards the hills and a look of religiousrapture overspread his furrowed face. His soul's deepest faith breathedin his words:
"Moral suasion is a vain thing, sir. This issue can be settled in bloodalone."The Colonel watched him with a growing feeling of futility.
"I have taken pains in this interview, Mr. Brown, to clear the way foryour surrender without bloodshed. I cannot persuade you?""Upon what terms?""Terms?""I said so, sir."The Colonel marveled at his audacity. Yet he was in dead earnest. Hissuggestion was not bravado.
"The only possible terms I can offer I suggested in my first message. Iwill protect you and your men from this infuriated crowd and guaranteeyou a fair trial by the civil authorities.""I can't accept," Brown answered curtly. "You must allow me to leavethis place with my men and the prisoners I hold as hostages until Ireach the canal locks on the Maryland side. There I will release yourcitizens, and as soon as this is done your troops may fire on us, andpursue us.""Such an offer is a waste of words. You must see that further resistanceis useless.""You have the numbers on us, sir," Brown answered defiantly. "But we arenot afraid of death. I'd as lief die by a bullet as on the gallows. Ican do more now by dying than by living. I came here to destroy theinstitution of Slavery by the sword--"Lee's answer came with clean-cut emphasis.
"The law which protects Slavery is going to be repealed in God's owntime. I am, myself, working toward that end as well as you, sir, and theend is sure. But at this moment the Constitution of the United Statesto which we owe liberty, justice, order, progress, wealth and power,guarantees this institution. Until its repeal it is my duty and it isyour duty to obey the law. Will you submit?"Brown's answer came like the crack of a rifle.
"The laws of the United States I have burned in a public square, sir.
The Constitution is a covenant with Death, an agreement with Hell. Iloathe it. I despise it. I spit upon it--"Lee lifted his hand in gesture of command.
"That will do, sir!"He faced Stuart with quick decision.
"Take him back to his men and give the signal of assault.""Good!"Stuart turned to Green.
"I'll wave my cap."Stuart led Brown through the gate to the Engine House.
Lee summoned Green.
"Your troops are raw men, I understand.""They have never been under fire, sir. But they're soldiers--neverfear.""All right. We'll put them to the test. Assault and take the EngineHouse without firing a shot. No matter how severe the fire on you, wemust protect our citizens held inside. Use the bayonet only. Give eachof your twelve men careful instructions. When fired on, they must notreturn that fire!"Green saluted and passed to the head of his detail of twelve men. Ashout from the boys in the tree tops was the signal of Stuart's return.
"Watch that crowd," Lee ordered the sentinel. "Use the reserves to holdthem out of range."Stuart returned with his eyes flashing.
"Ready, sir!""Give your signal."Stuart stepped into the open, and waved his cap.
Green's detail of twelve men, the commander at their head, rushed to theEngine House with a shout. The crowd of two thousand people answeredwith a roar.
A volley rang from the besieged and a moment's silence followed. Theirfirst shots had gone wild and not a marine had fallen. They had reachedthe door and their sledge hammers were raining blows on its solidtimbers. An incessant fire poured from the portholes which Brown had cutthrough the walls. The men were so close to the door his shots were noteffective.
Brown ordered one of his prisoners, Captain Dangerfield, a clerk of theArmory Staff, to secure the fastenings. Dangerfield slipped the bolts totheir limit and stood watching his chance to throw them and admit themarines.
Brown ordered him back. He retreated a few feet and watched the bolts,as the blows rained on the door.
Stuart had slipped into the fight. He called to Green.
"The hammers are too light. There's a big ladder outside. Get it and useit as a battering ram."With a shout the marines seized the ladder, five men on a side, anddrove it with tremendous force against the door. The first blow shivereda panel.
Brown ordered the fire engine rolled against the door. Dangerfieldsprang to assist. He slipped the bolt out instead of in! The next rushof the ladder drove the door against the engine, rolled it back a footand made a small opening through which Lieutenant Green forced his way.
The marines crowded in behind him. Green sprang on the engine with drawnsword and looked for Brown. A shower of bullets greeted him. Yet themiracle happened. Not one touched him. He recognized Colonel Washington,leaped from the engine and rushed to his side.
On one knee, a few feet to his left, knelt a man with a carbine in hishand pulling the lever to reload.
Colonel Washington waved his arm.
"That's Osawatomie."The Lieutenant sprang twelve feet at him. He gave a quick underthrustof his sword, struck him midway of the body and raised the old mancompletely from the ground. He fell forward with his head between hisknees. Green clubbed his sword and rained blow after blow on his head.
The men who watched the scene supposed that he had split the skull. Yethe survived. Green's first sword thrust had struck the heavy leatherbelt and did not enter the body. The sword was bent double. The clubbedblade was too light. It had made only superficial wounds.
As the marines pressed through the opening the first man was shot dead.
The second was wounded in the face. The men who followed made shortwork of the fight. They bayoneted a raider under the engine and pinnedanother to the wall.
The fight had lasted but three minutes.
Brown lay on the ground wounded. His son, Oliver, was dead. His son,Watson, was mortally wounded. All the rest were dead or prisoners, saveseven who made good their escape with Cook and Owen Brown into the hillsof Pennsylvania.
Colonel Lee entered the Engine House and greeted Washington.
"You are all right, sir?""Sound as a dollar, Colonel Lee. The damned old fool's had me pennedup here for two days. I'm dry as a powder horn and hungry as awolf. Nothing to eat, and nothing to drink, but _water out of ahorse-bucket_!"Green faced his Colonel and saluted. He glanced at the prostrateprisoners.
"See that their wounds are dressed immediately. Give them good food, andtake them as quickly as possible to the jail at Charlestown under heavyguard. See that they are not harmed or insulted by the people."Lee turned sadly to his friend.
"Colonel Washington, the thing we have dreaded has come. The first blowhas been struck. The Blood Feud has been raised."

CHAPTER XXXI
On the surface only was the Great Deed a failure. Not a single pike hadbeen thrust into a white man's breast by his slave. Not a single torchhad been applied to a Southern home. His chosen Captains never passedthe sentinel peak into Fauquier county. The Black Bees had not swarmed.
But the keen ear of the old man had heard the rumble of the swarming oftwenty million white hornets in the North.
The moment he had lifted his head a prisoner in the hands of hiscourteous captor, he foresaw the power which the role of martyrdom wouldgive to his cause. Instantly he assumed the part and played it withgenius to the last breath of his indomitable body.
He had stained the soil of Virginia with the blood of innocent andunoffending citizens. He had raised the Blood Feud at the right moment,a few months before a Presidential campaign. He had raised it at theright spot in a mountain gorge that looked southward to the Capitol atWashington and northward to the beating hearts of the millions, who hadbeen prepared for this event by the long years of the Abolition Crusadewhich had culminated in _Uncle Tom's Cabin_.
A wave of horror for a moment swept the nation, North and South.
Frederick Douglas fled to Europe. Sanborn, the treasurer and manager ofthe conspiracy, hurried across the border into Canada. Howe and Stearnshid. Theodore Parker was already in Europe.
Poor, old, gentle, generous Gerrit Smith collapsed and was led to theinsane asylum at Ithaca, New York.
Two men alone of the conspirators realized the tremendous thing thathad been done--John Brown in jail at Charlestown, and Thomas WentworthHigginson, the militant preacher of Massachusetts.
To Brown, life had been an unbroken horror. His tragic Puritan soul hadever faced it with scorn--scorn for himself and the world. He was usedto failure and disaster. They had been his meat and drink. Bankruptcy,imprisonment, flight from justice and the death of half his children hadbeen mere incidents of life.
He had cast scarcely a glance at his dying sons in the Engine House. Hehad not tried to minister to them. His hand was tightly gripped on hiscarbine.
His grim soul now rose to its first long flight of religious ecstasy.
He saw that the Southerner's reverence for Law and Order would make hisexecution inevitable. His dark spirit shouted for joy. His own blood, ifhe could succeed in playing the role of martyr, would raise the BloodFeud to its highest power. No statesman, no leader, no poet, no seercould calm the spirit of the archaic beast in man, which this martyrdomwould raise if skillfully played. He was sure he could play the rolewith success.
The one man in the North who saw with clear vision the thing whichBrown's failure had done was the Worcester clergyman.
Higginson was a preacher by accident. He was a born soldier. From thefirst meeting with Brown his fighting spirit had answered his cry forblood with a shout of approval. Higginson not only refused to run, butalso groaned with shame at the fears of his fellow conspirators. Hisfirst utterance was characteristic of his spirit.
"I am overwhelmed with remorse that the men who gave him money and armscould not have been by his side when he fell."He stood his ground in Worcester and dared arrest. He did not proclaimhis guilt from the housetop. But his friends and neighbors knew and hewalked the streets with head erect.
He did more. He joined with John W. LeBarnes and immediately organized aplot to liberate Brown by force. He raised the money and engaged GeorgeH. Hoyt to go to Harper's Ferry, ostensibly to appear as his attorney atthe trial, in reality to act as a spy, discover the strength of thejail and find whether it could be stormed and taken by a company ofdetermined men.
At his first interview with Brown the spy revealed his purpose.
"I have come from Boston to rescue you," he whispered.
The old man's face was convulsed with anger. He spoke in the tones offinal command which had always closed argument with friend or foe.
"Never will I consent to such a scheme.""But listen--""You listen to me, young man. The bare mention of this thing again and Ishall refuse to see or speak to you. Do you accept my decision, sir?"Hoyt agreed at once. Only in this way could he keep in touch with theman whom he had come to save.
"The last thing on this earth I would ask," Brown continued sternly, "isto be taken from this jail except by the State of Virginia when I shallascend the scaffold."Hoyt looked longingly at the old-fashioned fireplace in his prison room.
Two men could have crawled up its flue at the same time.
His refusal did not stop Higginson's efforts. He appealed to the forlornwife at North Elba, New York, to go to Harper's Ferry, ask to see herhusband and whisper her plan into his ear. He sent the money and gotMrs. Brown as far as Baltimore on her journey when Brown heard of it andstopped her with a peremptory command.
The determined conspirator then worked up the proposition to buy a steamtug which could make 18 knots an hour, steam up the James River toRichmond, kidnap the Governor of the Commonwealth, Henry Wise, and holdhim for ransom until Brown was released. The scheme only failed for thelack of money.
Higginson had seen one thing. Brown saw a bigger thing.
Higginson's refusal to flee was based on sound psychology. He knew thatfrom the day John Brown struck his brutal blow at the heart of the Southand blood had begun to flow, the Blood Feud would be the biggest livingfact in the Nation's history.
He knew that he could remain in Worcester with impunity. The strength ofa revolution lies in the fact that its first bloodletting releases theinstincts of the animal in man hitherto restrained by law. He knew thatBrown's cry of Liberty for the slave would become for millions the cloakto hide the archaic impulse to kill. He knew that while the purpose ofcivilization is to restrain and control these instincts of the beast inman--it was too late for the forces of Law and Order to rally in theNorth. The first outbursts of indignation against Brown would quicklypass. They would be futile.
He read them with a smile. The _New York Herald_ said: "He has met witha fate which he courted, but his death and the punishment of all hiscriminal associates will be as a feather in the balance against themischievous consequences which will probably follow from the rekindlingof the slavery excitement in the South."The _Tribune_ took the lead in dismissing the act as the deed of amadman. The Hartford _Evening News_ declared:
"Brown is a poor, demented, old man. The calamity would never haveoccurred had there been no lawless and criminal invasion of Kansas."But the most significant utterance in the North came from the Pacifistleader of Abolition, William Lloyd Garrison, himself. Higginson read itwith a cry of joy.
_The Liberator's_ words of comment were brief but significant of thecoming mob mind:
"The particulars of a misguided, wild, and apparently insane, throughdisinterested and well-intended effort by insurrection, to emancipatethe slaves in Virginia, under the leadership of Captain John, alias'Osawatomie' Brown, may be found on our third page. Our views of warand bloodshed even in the best of causes, are too well known to need,repeating here; _but let no one who glories in the revolutionarystruggle of 1776, deny the right of slaves to imitate the example of ourfathers._"Even the leader of the movement for Abolition by peaceful means hadsuccumbed to the poison of the smell of human blood.
Higginson knew that the process of a revolution was always in the orderof Ideas, Leaders, The Mob, The Tread of Armies. For thirty yearsGarrison and the Abolition Crusaders had spread the Ideas. The InspiredLeader had at last appeared. His right arm had struck the first blow. Hecould hear the roar of the coming mob whose impulse to murder had beenroused. It would call their ancestral soul. The answer was a certainty.
He could see no necessity for Brown's blood to be spilled in martyrdom.
The old man, walking with burning eyes toward his trial, knew better.
His vision was clear. God had revealed His full purpose at last. Hewould climb a Virginia gallows and drag millions down, from thatscaffold into the grave with him.
CHAPTER XXXII
Never in the history of an American commonwealth was a trial conductedwith more reverence for Law than the arraignment of John Brown and hisfollowers in the stately old Court House at Charlestown, Virginia.
The people whom he had assaulted with intent to kill, the people againstwhom he had incited slaves to rise in bloody insurrection, the kinsmenof the dead whom his rifles had slain, stood in line on the street andwatched him pass into the building manacled to one of his disciples.
They did not hoot, nor hiss, nor curse. They watched him walk in silencebetween the tall granite pillars of the House of Justice.
The behavior of this crowd was highwater mark in the development ofSouthern character. The structure of their society rested on thesanctity of Law. It was being put to the supreme test.
A Northern crowd under similar conditions, had they followed theprinciples which John Brown preached, would have torn those prisoners topieces without the formality of a trial.
It was precisely this trait of character in his enemies on which Brownrelied for the martyrdom he so passionately desired. When the witnessesat the preliminary hearing had testified to his guilt and the Court hadordered the trial set, he was asked if he had counsel.
He rose from his seat and addressed the nation, not the Court:
"Virginians, I did not ask for any quarter at the time I was taken.
I did not ask to have my life spared. The Governor of the State ofVirginia tenders me his assurance that I shall have a fair trial, butunder no circumstances whatever will I be able to have a fair trial. Ifyou seek my blood, you can have it at any moment, without this mockeryof a trial. I have no counsel. I am ready for my fate. I do not wish atrial. I have now little further to ask, other than that I may not befoolishly insulted, as cowardly barbarians insult those who fall intotheir power."The posing martyr was courting insults which had not been offeredhim. He was grieved that he could not bring the charge of barbaroustreatment. He had been treated by Colonel Lee with the utmostconsideration. His wounds had been dressed. He had received the bestmedical care. He had eaten wholesome food. His jailer had provenfriendly and sympathetic.
He went out of his way to insult the Court and the people and inviteabuse. He demanded that he be executed without trial.
The Court calmly assigned him two of the ablest lawyers in the county,and ordered the trial to proceed.
At noon the following day the Grand Jury returned a true bill againsteach of the prisoners for treason to the commonwealth, and forconspiring with slaves to commit both treason and murder, and formurder.
Captain Avis, the kindly jailer, was ordered to bring his prisoners intoCourt. He found old Brown in bed, pretending to be ill. He refused torise. He was determined to get the effect of an arraignment of hisprostrate body in the court room. He had foreseen the effect of thispicture on the imagination of the North. The crowd of eager reporters atthe preliminary hearing had given him the cue.
He was carried into the court room exactly as he had desired, on a cot.
While the hearing proceeded he lay with his eyes closed as if in deepsuffering. He had carefully prepared a plea for delay which he knewwould not be granted. Its effect on the mob mind of the North was whathe sought. The press would give it wings.
He lifted himself on his elbow and asked Judge Parker to allow him tomake a protest:
"I have been promised a fair trial. I am not now in circumstances thatenable me to attend a trial, owing to the state of my health. I have asevere wound in the back, or rather in one kidney which enfeebles mevery much. But I am doing well, and I only ask for a very short delayof my trial, that I may be able to listen to it! And I merely ask thisthat, as the saying is, the devil may have his dues, no more. I wish tosay further that my hearing is impaired by wounds I have about my head.
I could not hear what the Court said this morning. I would be glad tohear what is said at my trial. Any short delay would be all I would ask.
I do not presume to ask more than a very short delay so that I may insome degree recover and be able at least to listen to my trial."Dr. Mason the attending physician, swore that he had examined Brown,and that his wounds had effected neither his hearing nor his mind. Hefurther swore that he was not seriously disabled.
Brown knew that this was true, but he had entered his plea. His wordswould flash over the nation. The effect was what he foresaw. Although hehad defied the laws of God and man, he dared demand more than justiceunder the laws which he had spit upon. And, however inconsistent hisposition, he knew that as the poison of the Blood Feud which he wasraising filled the souls of the people through the press, he would beglorified from day to day and new power given to every word he mightutter.
He had already composed his last message destined to sway the minds ofmillions. The response of the radical press to his pose of illness wasquick and sharp. The Lawrence, Kansas, _Republican_ voiced the feelingsof thousands:
"We defy an instance to be shown in any civilized community where aprisoner has been forced to trial for his life, when so disabled bysickness or ghastly wounds as to be unable even to sit up during theproceedings, and compelled to be carried to the judgment hall upon alitter. Such a proceeding shames the name of Justice, and only finds acongenial place amid the records of the bloody Inquisition."Even so conservative a paper as the Boston _Transcript_ said:
"Whatever may be his guilt or folly, a man convicted under suchcircumstances, and, especially, a man executed after such a trial, willbe the most terrible fruit that Slavery has ever borne, and will excitethe execration of the civilized world."The canny old poseur was on his way to an immortal martyrdom. He knewthat every article of the Virginia Code was being scrupulously obeyed.
He knew that the Grand Jury was in session and that the trial was setat the first term of the court following the crime. There had been nohaste. He also knew that the impartial Judge who was presiding was thesoul of justice in his dealings both with the clamorous people, theprosecution and the counsel appointed for the defense. But he also knewthat the mob mind to whom he was appealing would not believe that heknew this. In appeals to the crowd he was a past master. In this appealhe knew that facts would count for nothing--beliefs, illusions foreverything.
He played each opportunity for all it was worth.
When the Court opened the following morning, his counsel, Mr. Botts,amazed the prisoner and the prosecution by reading a telegram from Ohioasking a delay on the ground that important affidavits were on the wayto prove legally that John Brown was insane. Before the old man couldstop him he gave to the Court the substance of these sworn statements.
His friends and relatives in Ohio had sworn that Brown had been alwaysa monomaniac and had been intermittently insane for twenty years. Oneswore that he had been plainly insane for a quarter of a century. On thefamily record of insanity the affidavits all agreed. His grandmother washopelessly insane for six years and died insane. His uncles and aunts,two sons and two daughters had been intermittently insane for years,while one of his daughters had died a hopeless maniac. His only sister,her daughter and one of his brothers were insane at intervals. Two ofhis first cousins were occasionally mad. Two had been committed to theState Insane Asylum repeatedly and two others were at that time in closerestraint.
Brown refused to allow this plea to be entered. He bitterly denouncedthe counsel assigned to him as traitors, and at their request thefollowing day they were allowed to withdraw from the case. No sooner hadhe finished his denunciation of his counsel than Hoyt, the young allegedattorney, sent by Higginson to defend him, sprang to his feet and askeda delay, as he was unprepared to proceed without assistance.
The Judge adjourned the Court until the following morning at teno'clock.
The young spy knew nothing of law but he bluffed it through until thearrival of two able attorneys, Samuel Chilton of Washington, and HiramGrismer of Cleveland.
Botts, the dismissed counsel, who had sought to save Brown's life by theplea of insanity, put his notes and his office at the disposal of Hoytand sat up all night with him preparing his work for the following day.
When the new lawyers appeared the old man made another play at illnessto gain delay. The Court ordered him to be brought in on his cot. Again,the physician swore he was lying, that he was gaining in strength daily.
The Judge, however, granted a delay of two days.
The moment the order was issued for an adjournment Brown deliberatelyrose from his cot and walked back to jail.
The trial was closed on Monday by the speeches of the prosecution andthe defense. The judge charged the jury and in three-quarters of an hourthey filed back into the jury box.
The crowd jammed every inch of space in the old Court House, the wideentrance hall, and overflowed into the street.
The foreman solemnly pronounced him guilty.
The old man merely pulled the covers of his cot up and stretched hislegs, as if he had no interest in the verdict. Entirely recovered fromevery effect of his wounds, as able to walk as ever, he had refused towalk and had been carried again into the court room. He had determinedto receive his sentence on a bed. He knew the effect of this picture onthe gathering mob.
The silence of death fell on the crowded room. Not a single cry oftriumph from the kindred of the dead. Not a single cheer from the menwhose wives and children had been saved from the horrors of massacre.
Chilton made his motion for an arrest of judgment and the judge orderedthe motion to stand over until the next day. Brown heard the argumentsthe following day again lying on his cot. The judge reserved hisdecision and the final scene of the drama was enacted on Novembersecond.
The clerk asked John Brown if he had anything to say concerning whysentence should not be pronounced upon him.
The crowd stared as they saw the wiry figure of the old man quicklyrise. He fixed his eagle eye on them, not on the judge.
Over their heads he talked to the gathering mob of his countrymen. Brownhad been a habitual liar from boyhood. In this speech, made on the eveof the sentence of death, he lied in every paragraph. He lied as he hadwhen he grew a beard to play the role of "Shubel Morgan." He lied as hehad lied to his victims when posing as a surveyor on the Pottawattomie.
He lied as he had done when he crept through the darkness of the nighton his sleeping prey. He lied as he had a hundred times about thosegruesome murders. He lied for his Sacred Cause.
He lied without stint and without reservation. He lied with suchconviction that he convinced himself in the end that he was a hero--amartyr of human liberty and progress. And that he was telling the solemntruth.
"I have, may it please the court, a few words to say:
"In the first place I deny everything but what I have already admitted:
of a design on my part to free slaves. I intended certainly to have madea clean thing of that matter, as I did last winter when I went intoMissouri and there took slaves without the snapping of a gun on eitherside, moving them through the country and finally leading them intoCanada. I designed to have done the thing again on a larger scale.
That was all I intended. I never did intend murder or treason, or thedestruction of property, or to excite or to incite slaves to rebellion,or to make insurrection.
"Now, if it is deemed necessary that I should forfeit my life for thefurtherance of the ends of justice, and mingle my blood further withthe blood of my children--and with the blood of millions in this slavecountry whose rights are disregarded by wicked, cruel and unjusttreatment--I say let it be done."David Cruise was not there to tell of the bullet that crashed throughhis heart in Missouri. Frederick Douglas was not there to tell that heabandoned Brown in the old stone quarry outside Chambersburg, preciselybecause he had changed the plan of carrying off slaves as in Missouri toa scheme of treason, wholesale murders and insurrection.
Cruise was in his grave and Douglas on his way to Europe. There was noone to contradict his statements. The mob mind never asks for facts. Itasks only for assertions. John Brown gave them what he knew they wishedto hear and believe.
They heard and they believed.
With due solemnity, the Judge pronounced the sentence of death and fixedthe date on December the second, thirty days in the future.
The old man's eyes flamed with hidden fires at the unexpected grant of amonth in which to complete the raising of the Blood Feud so gloriouslybegun. He was a master in the coming of mystic phrases in letters. Hegloried in religious symbols. Within thirty days he could work with hispen the miracle that would transform a nation into the puppets of hiswill.
He walked beside the jailer, his eyes glittering, his head uplifted.
The Judge ordered the crowd to keep their seats until the prisoner wasremoved. In silence he marched through the throng without a hiss or ataunt.
CHAPTER XXXIII
The day of the Great Deed was one never to be forgotten by Cook's littlebride. They had been married six months. Each hour had bound the girl'sheart in closer and sweeter bonds. The love that kindled for thehandsome blond the day of their first meeting had grown into thedeathless passion of the woman for her mate.
He was restless Saturday night. Through the long hours she held herbreath to catch his regular breathing. He did not sleep.
At last the terror of it gripped her. Her hand touched his brow andbrushed the hair back from his forehead.
"What's the matter, John dear?""Restless.""What is it?""Oh, nothing much. Just got to thinking about something and can't sleep.
That's all. Go to sleep now, like a good girl. I'm all right."The little fingers sought his hand and gripped it.
"I'll try."She rose at dawn. He had asked an early breakfast to make a long tripinto the country.
At the table she watched him furtively. She had asked to go with him andhe told her he couldn't take her. She wondered why. A great fear beganto steal into her soul. It was the first time she had dared to look intothe gulf. She would never ask his secret. He must tell her of his ownfree will. Her eyes searched his. And he turned away without an answer.
He fought for self-control when he kissed her goodbye. A mad desireswept his heart to take her in his arms, perhaps for the last time.
It would be a confession at the moment the blow was about to fall. Hewould betray the lives of his associates. He gripped himself and lefther with a careless smile.
All day she brooded over the odd parting, the constraint, the silence,the sleepless night.
She went to the services of the revival and sought solace in the songsand prayers of the people. At night the minister preached a sermonthat soothed her. A warm glow filled her heart. If God is love as thepreacher said, he must know the secrets of his heart and life. He mustwatch over and bring her lover safely back to her arms.
She reached home at a quarter to ten and went to bed humming an old songCook had taught her. The tired body was ready for sleep. She didnot expect her husband to return that night. He had gone as far asChambersburg. He promised to come on Monday afternoon.
Through the early hours of the fatal night she slept as soundly as achild.
The firing at the Arsenal between three and four o'clock waked her. Shesprang to her feet and looked out the window. The street lamps flickeredfitfully in the drizzling rain. No one was passing. There were noshouts, no disturbances.
She wondered about the shots. A crowd of drunken fools were stillhanging around the Galt House bar perhaps. She went back to bed andslept again.
It was eight o'clock before the crash of a volley from the Arsenalenclosure roused her. She leaped to her feet, rushed to the window andstood trembling as volley followed volley in a long rattle of rifle andshotgun and pistol.
A neighbor hurried past with a gun in his hand. She asked him what thefighting meant.
"Armed Abolitionists have invaded Virginia," he shouted.
Still it meant nothing to her personally. Her husband was not anAbolitionist. She had known him for more than a year. She had been withhim day and night for six months in the sweet intimacy of home and love.
And then the hideous truth came crashing on her terror-stricken soul.
Cook had been recognized by a neighbor as he drove Colonel Washington'swagon across the Maryland bridge at dawn. A committee of citizens cameto cross-examine her.
She faced them with blanched cheeks.
"My husband, an Abolitionist!" she gasped.
"He's with those murderers and robbers."She turned on the men like a young tigress.
"You're lying--I tell you!"For an hour they tried to drag from her a confession of his plans. Theyleft at last convinced that she knew nothing, that she suspected nothingof his real life. She had fought them bravely to the last. In her soulof souls she knew the hideous truth. She recalled the strange yearningwith which he had looked at her as he left Sunday morning. She saw thebottom of the gulf at last.
With a cry of anguish and despair she sank to the floor in a faint.
She stirred with one thought tearing at her heart. Had they killed orcaptured him? She rose, dressed and joined the crowd that surged throughthe streets. The Rifle Works had been captured, Kagi was dead, the othertwo wounded, one fatally, the other a prisoner. No trace of her husbandhad been found. He had not reentered the town from the Maryland side.
She walked to the bridge and found it guarded by armed citizens. Tearsof joy filled her eyes.
"He can't get back now!" she breathed.
She hurried to her room, fell on her knees and prayed:
"Oh, dear Lord Jesus, I've tried to be a good and faithful wife. My manhas loved me tenderly and truly. Save him, oh, Lord! Don't let him comeback now into this den of howling beasts. They'll tear him to pieces.
And I can't endure it. I can't. I can't. Have pity, Lord. I'm just apoor, heart-broken wife!"Through six days of terror and excitement, of surging crowds andmarching soldiers, the shivering figure watched through her window--andsilently prayed. A guard had been set at her house to catch her husbandif he dared to return. She laughed softly.
He would not return! She had asked God not to let him. She was askinghim now with every breath she breathed. God would not forget her. Hewould answer her prayers. She knew it. God is love.
She had begun to sleep again at night. Her man was safe in the mountainsof Pennsylvania. The Governor of Virginia had set a price on his head.
Men were scouring the hills hunting, as they hunt wild beasts, but Godwould save him. She had seen His shining face in prayer and He hadpromised.
And then the blow fell.
Far down the street she caught the roar of a mob. Its cries came faintlyat first and then they grew to fierce oaths and brutal shouts.
A man stopped in front of her house and spoke to the guard.
"They've got him!""Who?""Cook!""The damned beast, the spy, the traitor!""Where are they takin' him?""To the jail at Charlestown."She had no time to lose. She must see him. Bareheaded she rushed intothe street and fought her way to his side. His hands were manacled buthis fair head was held erect until he saw the white face of his bride.
And then his eyes fell.
Would she, too, turn and curse him?
He asked himself the hideous question once and dared not lift his head.
He felt her coming nearer. The guard halted. His eyes were blurred. Hecould see nothing.
He only felt two soft arms slip round his neck. His own movedinstinctively to clasp her but the manacles held them. She kissed hislips before the staring crowd and murmured inarticulate sounds of loveand tenderness. She smoothed his blond hair back from his forehead andcrooned over him as a mother over a babe.
"My little wife--my poor little girlie--my baby!" he murmured. "Forgiveme--I tried to save you from this. But I couldn't. Love would have itso. Now you can forget me!"The arms tightened about his neck, and gave the answer lips could notframe.
When his trial came she moved to Charlestown to sit by his side in theprison dock, touch his manacled hands and look into his eyes.
The trial moved to its certain end with remorseless certainty. Cook'ssister, the wife of Governor Willard, sat beside her doomed brother, andcheered the desolate heart of the girl he had married. Governor Willardgave the full weight of his position and his sterling manhood to hiswife in her grief.
He had employed the best lawyer in his state to defend Cook--Daniel W.
Vorhees, whose eloquence had given him the title of "The Tall Sycamoreof the Wabash."When the great advocate rose, his towering figure commanded a painfulsilence in the crowded court room. The people, who packed every inch ofits space, hated the man who had lived among them for more than a yearas a spy. But he had a wife, he had a sister. And in this solemn hour heshould have his day in court. The crowd listened to Vorhees' speech withrapt attention.
His appeal was not based on the letter of the law. He took broader,higher grounds. He sketched the dark days of blood-cursed Kansas. He sawa handsome prodigal son, lured by the spirit of adventure, drawn intoits vortex of blind passions. He pictured the sinister figure of thegrim Puritan leader condemned to death. He told of the spell this evilmind had thrown over a sensitive boy's soul. He pleaded for mercyand forgiveness, for charity and divine love. He pictured the littleVirginia girl at his side drawn into the tragedy by a deathless love. Hesketched in words that burned into the souls of his hearers the love ofhis sister, a love big and tender and strong, a love that had followedhim in the far frontiers with prayers, a love that encircled him in thedarkness of deeds of violence against the forms of law and order. Hepleaded for her and the distinguished Governor of a great state, notbecause of their high position in life but because they had hearts thatcould ache and break.
When he had finished his remarkable speech, strong men who hated Cookwere sobbing. The room was bathed in tears. The stern visaged judge madeno effort to hide his.
The court charged the jury to do impartial justice under the laws of thecommonwealth.
There could be but one verdict. It was solemnly given by the foreman andthe judge pronounced the sentence of death.
Two soft arms stole around the doomed man's neck, and then, before thecourt, crowd and God as witnesses, the little wife tenderly cried:
"My lover--my sweetheart--my husband--through evil report andthrough good report, through life, through death, through alleternity--I--love--you!"Again strong men wept and turned from one another to hide the signs oftheir weakness.
The wife walked beside her doomed lover back to the jail. As they wentthrough the narrow passage to his cell, the tall, rough-looking prisonguard who accompanied them brushed close, caught her hand and pressedit.
His eyes met hers in a quick look that said more plainly than words:
"I must see you alone."She waited outside the jail until he reappeared.
He approached her boldly and spoke as if he were delivering a casualmessage.
"Keep your courage, young woman. And don't you be surprised at anythingI'm going to say to you. There's people lookin' at us now. I'm justtellin' you a message your husband's told me--you understand.""Yes--yes--go on--I understand," she answered quickly.
"I'm from Kansas. I'm a friend of John Cook's. I come all the way hereto help him. I joined these guards to get to him. I'm goin' to get himout of here if I can.""Thank God--thank God," she murmured.
"Keep a stiff upper lip and get your hand on some money to follow us.""I will."Another guard approached.
"Leave me now. My name's Charles Lenhart. Don't try to talk to me again.
Just watch and wait."She nodded, brushed the tears from her eyes and left quickly.
He was on the job without delay. Cook and Edwin Coppoc, condemned to dieon the same day, occupied the same room in jail. They borrowed a knifefrom Lenhart as soon as he came on duty and "forgot" to return it. Withthis knife they worked at night for a week cutting a hole through thebrick wall. Under their clothes in a corner they concealed the fragmentsof bricks.
When the opening had been completed, they cut teeth in the knife bladeand made a small saw strong and keen enough to eat through a link intheir shackles.
On the night fixed, Lenhart was on guard waiting in breathless suspensefor the men to drop the few feet into the prison yard. A brick wallfifteen feet high could he scaled from his shoulders and the last man upcould give him a lift.
Through the long, chill hours he paced his beat on the wall and waitedto hear the crunching of the bodies slipping through the walls.
What had happened?
Something had gone wrong in the impulsive mind of the blue-eyedadventurer inside. The hole was open, the saw in his hand to cut themanacles, when he suddenly stopped.
"What's the matter?" Coppoc asked.
"We can't do this to-night.""For God's sake, why?""My sister's in town with Governor Willard to tell me goodbye. Theywill put the blame of this on them. My sister might be imprisoned. TheGovernor would be in bad. I've caused them trouble enough--God knows--""When are they going?""To-morrow. We'll wait until to-morrow night--after they've gone.""But Lenhart may not be on guard.""That's so," Cook agreed. "Coppoc, you can go alone. You'd better doit.""No.""You'd better.""I'm not made out of that sort of goods," the boy answered.
"You've got a good old Quaker mother out in Springdale praying for you.
It's your chance--go--I can't tonight."Nothing could induce Coppoc to desert his comrade and leave him tocertain death when his escape should be known.
They replaced the bricks, covered the debris and waited until thefollowing night.
At eleven o'clock they cut the manacles and Coppoc crawled out first. Hehad barely touched the ground when Cook followed. They glanced aboutthe yard and it was deserted. They strained their eyes to make out thefigure of the guard who passed the brick wall. He was not in sight. Itwas a good omen. Lenhart had no doubt foreseen their escape and droppedto the street outside.
They saw that the timbers of the gallows on which they were to die hadnot all been fastened.
They secured two pieces of scantling and reached the top of the wall.
Suddenly the dark figure of a guard moved toward them. Cook called thesignal to Lenhart. But a loyal son of Virginia stood sentinel thatnight. The answer was a rifle shot. They started to leap and caught theflash of a bayonet below.
They walked back into the jail and surrendered to Captain Avis, theirfriendly keeper.
The little wife waited and watched in vain.
CHAPTER XXXIV
All uncertainty at an end to his execution, John Brown set his hand tofinish the work of his life in a supreme triumph. He entered upon thetask with religious joy. The old Puritan had always been an habitualwriter of letters. The authorities of Virginia allowed him to writedaily to his friends and relatives. He quickly took advantage of thispower. The sword of Washington which he grasped on that fatal Sundaynight had proven a feeble weapon. He seized a pen destined to slay amillion human beings.
His soul on fire with the fixed idea that he had been ordained by God todrench a nation in blood, he joyfully began the task of creating the mobmind.
No man in history had a keener appreciation of the power of the dailypress in the propaganda of crowd ideas. The daily newspaper had justblossomed into its full radiance in the modern world. No invention inthe history of the race has equaled the cylinder printing press as anengine for creating crowd movements.
The daily newspaper of 1859 spoke only in the language of crowds. Theywere, in fact, so many mob orators haranguing their subscribers. Theywrote down to the standards of the mob. They were molders of publicopinion and they were always the creatures of public opinion. They wrotefor the masses. Their columns were filled with their own peculiar brandof propaganda, illusions, dreams, assertions, prejudices, sensations,with always a cheap smear of moral platitude. Our people had grown toobusy to do their own thinking. The daily newspapers now did it for them.
There was as little originality in them as in the machines which printedthe editions. Yet they were repeated by the crowd as God-inspired truth.
We no longer needed to seek for the mob in the streets. We had it at thebreakfast table, in the office, in the counting room. The process ofcrowd thinking became the habit of daily life.
John Brown hastened to use this engine of propaganda. From hiscomfortable room in the jail at Charlestown there poured a daily streamof letters which found their way into print.
A perfect specimen of his art was the concluding paragraph of a letterto his friend and fellow conspirator, George L. Stearns of Boston.
"I have asked to be _spared_ from having any _mock or hypocriticalprayers made over me_ when I am publicly _murdered_; and that my only_religious attendants_ be poor, _little, dirty, ragged, bareheadedand barefooted slave boys and girls_, led by old, _gray-headed slavemothers_,"This message he knew would reach the heart of every Abolitionist ofthe North, of every reader of _Uncle Tom's Cabin_. On the day of histransfiguration on the scaffold he would deliver the final word thatwould sweep these millions into the whirlpool of the Blood Feud.
To his wife and children he wrote a message which hammered again hisfixed idea into a dogma of faith:
"John Rogers wrote to his children, 'Abhor the arrant whore of Rome.'
John Brown writes to his children to abhor with _undying hatred_ alsothe 'sum of all villainies,' slavery."Not only did these daily letters find their way into the hands ofmillions through the press, but the newspapers maintained a staff ofreporters at Charlestown to catch every whisper from the prisoner. Sobrilliantly did these reports visualize his daily life that the crowdswho read them could hear the clanking of the chains as he walked and thegroans that came from his wounded body.
Thousands of letters began to pour into the office of the Governor ofVirginia, threatening, imploring, pleading for his life. The leadingpoliticians of all parties of the North were at length swept into thishowling mob by the press. To every plea the Governor of the Commonwealthreplied:
"Southern Society is built on Reverence for Law. The Law has beenoutraged by this man. It shall be vindicated, though the heavens fall."In this stand he was immovable and the South backed him to a man. Forexciting servile insurrection the King of Great Britain was held upto everlasting scorn by our fathers who wrote the Declaration ofIndependence. For this crime among others we rebelled and establishedthe American Republic. Should John Brown be canonized for the sameinfamy? The Southern people asked this question in dumb amazement at theclamor from the North.
And so the Day of Transfiguration on the scaffold dawned.
Judge Thomas Russell and his good wife journeyed all the way from Bostonto minister to the wants of their strange guest. There was in thedistinguished jurist's mind a question which he must ask Brown beforethe rope should strangle him forever. His martyrdom had cleared everydoubt and cloud from the mind of his friend save one. His fascinatingletters, filled with the praise of God and the glory of a martyr'scause, had exalted him.
The judge had heard his speech in court on the day he was sentenced todeath and had believed that each word was inspired. But the old man, whowas now to die in glory, had spent a week in Judge Russell's house inBoston hiding from a deputy sheriff in whose hands was a warrant forplain murder--one of the foulest murders in the records of crime. Thejudge was a student of character, as well as Abolitionist.
He asked Brown for his last confidential statement as to these crimes onthe Pottawattomie. There was no hesitation in his bold reply. Standingbeneath the shadow of the gallows, the white hand of Death on hisstooped shoulders, one foot on earth and the other pressing the shoresof eternity, he lied as brazenly as he had lied a hundred times before.
He assured his friend and his wife that he had nothing to do with thosekillings.
Mrs. Russell, weeping, kissed him.
And Brown said calmly: "Now, go."As he ascended the scaffold he handed to one who stood near his finalmessage, the supreme utterance over which he had prayed day and night tohis God. Despatched from the scaffold, and sealed by his blood, he knewthat its magic words would spread by contagion the Red Thought.
His face shone with the glory of his hope as his feet climbed thescaffold steps. On the scrap of paper he had written:
"I, JOHN BROWN, AM NOW QUITE CERTAIN THAT THE CRIMES OF THIS GUILTY LANDWILL NEVER BE PURGED AWAY BUT WITH BLOOD."The trap fell, his darkened soul swung into eternity and the deedwas done. He had raised the Blood Feud to the nth power. His messagethrilled the world.
Bells were tolling in the North while crowds of weeping men and womenknelt in prayer to his God. Had they but lifted the veil and looked,they would have seen the face of a fiend. But their eyes were nowblinded with the madness which had driven him to his death.
In Cleveland, Melodeon Hall was draped in mourning at a meeting wherethousands wept and cursed and prayed. Mammoth gatherings were held inNew York, in Rochester and Syracuse. In Boston a crowd, so dense theywere lifted from their feet by the pressure of thousands behind,clamoring for entrance, rushed into Tremont Temple.
William Lloyd Garrison, the Pacifist, declared the meeting was called towitness John Brown's resurrection. He flung the last shred of principleto the winds and joined the mob of the Blood Feud without reservation.
"As a peace man--an ultra peace man--I am prepared to say: 'Success toevery Slave Insurrection in the South and in every Slave Country!'"Wendell Phillips, believing Judge Russell's report of Brown's denial ofthe Pottawattomie murders, declared to the thousands who crowded Cooperunion that John Brown was a Saint--that he was not on the PottawattomieCreek on that fateful night, that he was not within twenty-five miles ofthe spot!
Ralph Waldo Emerson, ignorant of the truth of Pottawattomie, hailedBrown as "the new Saint, than whom none purer or more brave was ever ledby love of men into conflict and death--the new Saint who has achievedhis martyrdom and will make the gallows glorious as the cross."One great spirit among the anti-slavery forces refused to be swept inthe current of insanity. Abraham Lincoln at Troy, Kansas, said on theday of Brown's death:
"Old John Brown has been executed for treason against a State. We cannotobject, even though he agreed with us in thinking Slavery wrong. Thatcannot excuse violence, bloodshed and treason. It could avail himnothing that he might _think_ himself right."Lincoln's voice was drowned in the roar of the mob.
John Brown from the scaffold had set in motion forces of mind beyondcontrol. Never before had men so little grasped the present, so stupidlyignored the past, so poorly divined the future. Reason had been hurledfrom her throne. Man had ceased to think.
Had Lieutenant Green's sword pierced Brown's heart he would havedied the death of a mad dog. His imprisonment, his carefully stagedmartyrdom, his message of blood, and final, just execution by Lawcreated the mob mind which destroyed reverence for Law.
As he swung from the gallows and his body swayed for a moment betweenheaven and earth Colonel Preston, standing beside the steps, solemnlycried:
"So perish all such enemies of Virginia! All such enemies of the union!
All such foes of the human race!"Yet even as the trap was sprung, in the Capitol of the greatest Stateof the North, the leaders of the crowd were firing a hundred guns as adirge for their martyr hero.
A criminal paranoiac had become the leader of twenty millions of people.
The mob mind had caught the disease of his insanity and a nation beganto go mad.
Robert E. Lee, in command of the forces of Law and Order, watched theswaying ghostly figure with a sense of deep foreboding for the future.
CHAPTER XXXV
John Brown's body lay molderingin the grave but his soul was marchingon. And his soul was a thousand times mightier than his body had everbeen.
While living, his abnormal mind repelled men of strong personality.
He had never been able to control more than two dozen people in anyenterprise which he undertook. And in these small bands rebellionsalways broke out.
The paranoiac had been transfigured now into the Hero and the Saintthrough the worship of the mob which his insanity had created. Hisapparent strength of character was in reality weakness, an incapacity tomaster himself or control his criminal impulses. But the Jacobin mind ofhis followers did not consider realities. They only cherished dreams,illusions, assertions. The mob never reasons. It only believes. Reasonis submerged in passion.
John Brown was a typical Jacobin leader. He was first and last a Puritanmystic. The God he worshipped was a fiend, but he worshipped Him withall the more passionate devotion for that reason. When he committedmurder on the Pottawattomie he stalked his prey as a panther. He sangpraises to his God as he paused in the brush before he sprang. Hisnarrow mind, with a single fixed idea, was inaccessible to anyinfluences save those which fed his mania. Nothing could loose the gripof his soul on this dream. He closed his glittering eyes and refused toconsider anything that might contradict his faith.
He acted without reason, driven blindly forward by an impulse. When hiscunning mind used reason it was never for the purpose of finding truth.
It was only for the purpose of confounding his enemies. He never used itas a guide to conduct.
By the magic of mental contagion he had transferred from the scaffoldthis Jacobin mind to the soul of a nation. The contact of persons is notnecessary to transfer this disease. Its contagion is electric. It movesin subtle thought waves, as a mysterious pestilence spreads in thenight. The mob mind, once formed, is a new creation and becomes withamazing rapidity a resistless force. The reason for its uncannypower lies in the fact that when once formed it is dominated by theunconscious, not the conscious forces, of man's nature. Its credulity isboundless. Its passions dominate all life. The records of history are asealed book. Experience does not exist.
Impulse rules the universe.
And this mob mind moves always as a unit. It devours individuality. Menwho as individuals may be gentle and humane are swept into accord withthe most beastly cry of the crowd. This mental unity grows out of thecrushing power of contagion. Gestures, cries, deeds of hate and fury arecaught, approved, repeated.
Any lie can be built into a religion if repeated often enough to a crowdby a mind on fire with its passions. Pirates have died as bravely asJohn Brown. The glorification of the manner of his dying was merely aphenomenon of the unity of the crowd mind. It was precisely the gripof his Puritan mysticism, his worship of the Devil, that gave to hisinsanity its most dangerous appeal.
For the first time in the history of the republic the mob mind hadmastered the collective soul of its people. The contagion had spreadboth North and South. In the North by sympathy, in the South by aprocess of reaction even more violent and destructive of reason.
John Brown had realized his vision of the Plains. He had raised aNational Blood Feud.
No hand could stay the scourge. The Red Thought burst into a flame thatswept North and South, as a prairie fire sweeps the stubble of autumn.
_Uncle Tom's Cabin_ had prepared the stubble.
From the Northern press began to pour a stream of vindictive abuse. Afair specimen of this insanity appeared in the New York _Independent_:
"The mass of the population of the Atlantic Coast of the slave region ofthe South are descended from the transported convicts and outcasts ofGreat Britain. Oh, glorious chivalry and hereditary aristocracy of theSouth! Peerless first families of Virginia and Carolina! Progeny of thehighwaymen, the horse thieves and sheep stealers and pickpockets of OldEngland!"The fact that this paper was a religious publication, the outgrowth ofthe New England conscience, gave its columns a peculiar power over theNorthern mind.
The South retorted in kind. _De Bow's Review_ declared:
"The basic framework and controlling inference of Northern sentiment isPuritanic, the old Roundhead rebel refuse of England, which has everbeen an unruly sect of Pharisees, the worst bigots on earth and themeanest tyrants when they have the power to exercise it."When the Conventions met a few months later to name candidates for thePresidency and make a declaration of principles, leaders had ceased tolead and there were no principles to declare.
The mob mind was supreme.
The Democratic Convention met at Charleston, South Carolina, to namethe successor of James Buchanan. Their constituents commanded a vastmajority of the voters of the Nation. The Convention became a mob. Theone man, the one giant leader left in the republic, the one constructivemind, the one man of political genius who could have saved the nationfrom the holocaust toward which it was plunging was Stephen A. Douglasof Illinois. He could have been elected President by an overwhelmingmajority had he been nominated by this united convention. He wasentitled to the nomination. He had proven himself a statesman of thehighest rank. He had proven himself impervious to sectional hatred orsectional appeal. He was a Northern man, but a friend of the South aswell as the North. He was an American of the noblest type.
But the radical wing of his party in the South were seeing Red. OldBrown's words to them meant the spirit of the North. They heard echoingand reechoing from every newspaper and pulpit:
"I, JOHN BROWN, AM NOW QUITE CERTAIN THAT THE CRIMES OF THIS GUILTY LANDWILL NEVER BE PURGED AWAY BUT WITH BLOOD."If the hour for bloodshed had come they demanded that the South preparewithout further words. And they believed that the hour had come. Theyheard the tread of swarming hosts. They were eager to meet them.
Reason was flung to the winds. Passion ruled. Compromise was a thingbeyond discussion. Douglas was a Northern man and they would have noneof him. He was hooted and catcalled until he was compelled to withdrawfrom the Convention.
The radical South named their own candidate for President. He couldn'tbe elected. No matter. War was inevitable.
Let it come.
The Northern Democratic Convention named Douglas for President. Hecouldn't be elected. No matter. War was inevitable. Let it come.
In dumb amazement at the tragedy approaching--the tragedy of a dividedunion and a bloody civil war--the union men of the party nominated athird ticket, Bell of Tennessee and Everett of Massachusetts. Theycouldn't be elected. No matter. War was inevitable. It had to come. Theywould stand by their principles and go down with them.
When the new Republican party met at Chicago they were sobered by theresponsibility suddenly thrust upon them of naming the next President ofthe United States. Fremont, a mere figurehead as their candidate, hadpolled a million votes in the campaign before. With three Democratictickets in the field, success was sure.
They wrote a conservative platform and named for their candidate AbrahamLincoln, the one man in their party who had denounced John Brown'sdeeds, the man who had declared in his debates with Douglas that he didnot believe in making negroes voters or jurors, that he did not believein the equality of the races, that he did not believe that two suchraces could ever live together in a Democracy on terms of political orsocial equality.
Their candidate was the gentlest, broadest, sanest man within theirranks. Unless the nation had already gone mad they felt that in histriumph they would be safe from the Red Menace which stalked throughtheir crowded hall. Their radical leaders were furious. But they werecompelled to submit and fight for his election. The life of their partydepended on it. Their own life was bound up in their party.
There was really but one issue before the nation--peace or war. The newparty, both in its candidate and its platform, sought with all its powerto stem the Red Tide of the Blood Feud which John Brown had raised.
Their well-meant efforts came too late.
War is a condition of mind primarily. Its causes are alwayspsychological--not physical. The result of this state of mind is anabnormal condition of the nervous system, in which the thoughts and actsof men are controlled by the collective mind--the mob mind. Indiansexecute their war dances for days and nights to produce this mentalstate. Once it had been created, the war cry alone can be heard.
This mind, once formed, deliberative bodies cease to exist. The Congressof the United States ceased to exist as a deliberative body at thesession which followed John Brown's execution.
The atmosphere of both the Senate and the House was electric with hatredand passion. Men who met at the last session as friends, now glared intoeach other's faces, mortal enemies.
L. Q. C. Lamar, the young statesman from Mississippi, threw a firebrandinto the House on the day of its opening.
"The Republicans of this House are not guiltless of the blood of JohnBrown, his conspirators, and the innocent victims of his ruthlessvengeance."Keitt of South Carolina shouted:
"The South asks nothing but her rights. I would have no more, but asGod is my judge I would shatter this republic from turret to foundationstone before I would take a little less!"Old Thaddeus Stevens of Pennsylvania scrambled up on his club foot andwith a face flaming with scorn replied:
"I do not blame gentlemen of the South for using this threat of rendingGod's creation from foundation to turret. They have tried it fiftytimes, and fifty times they have found weak and recreant tremblers inthe North who have been affected by it, and who have retreated beforethese intimidations."He turned to the group of conservative members of his own party with alook of triumphant taunting. He wanted war. He courted it. He saw itscoming with a shout of joy.
The House was in an uproar. Members leaped from their seats and jammedthe aisles, shouting, cheering, hissing, catcalling. The clerk waspowerless to preserve order.
For two months the bedlam continued while they voted in vain to electa Speaker. The new party was determined to have John Sherman. Theopposition was divided but finally chose Mr. Pennington, a moderate ofmediocre ability.
During these eight weeks of senseless wrangling the members began to armthemselves with revolvers. One of the weapons dropped from the pocket ofa member from New York and he was accused of attempting to draw it foruse against an opponent.
The sergeant at arms was summoned and pandemonium broke loose. For amoment it seemed that a pitched battle before the dais of the Speakerwas inevitable.
John Sherman rose and made a remarkable statement--remarkable in showinghow the mob mind will inevitably destroy the mind of the individualuntil its unity is undisputed. He spoke in tones of reconciliation.
"When I came here I did not believe that the Slavery question would comeup; and but for the unfortunate affair of Brown's at Harper's Ferry Ido not believe that there would have been any feeling on the subject.
Northern members came here with kindly feelings, no man approving of thedeed of John Brown, and every man willing to say so, every man willingto admit it an act of lawless violence."It was true. And yet before that mad session closed they were Brown'sdisciples and he had become their martyr here. The mob mind devoursindividuality, and reduces all to the common denominator of the archaicimpulse.
In the fierce conflict for Speaker four years before, when Banks hadbeen chosen, Slavery was then the issue. Good humor, courtesy and reasonruled the contest which lasted three days longer than the fight overSherman. Instead of courtesy and reason--hatred, passion, defiance,assertion were now the order of the day. Four years before a threat ofdisunion was made on the floor. The House received it with shouts ofderision and laughter. Keitt's dramatic threat had thrown the House intoan uproar which had to be quelled by the sergeant at arms. Envy, hate,jealousy, spite, passion were supreme. The favorite epithets hurledacross the Chamber were:
"Slave driver!""Nigger thief!"The newspapers no longer reported speeches as delivered. They wererevised and raised to greater powers of vituperation and abuse. Insteadof a convincing, logical speech, their champion hurled a "torrent ofscathing denunciation," "withering sarcasm," and "crushing invective!"At this historic session appeared the first suit of Confederate Gray,worn by Roger A. Pryor, the brilliant young member from Virginia.
Immediately a Northern member leaped to his feet. He had caught thesignificance of the Southern emblem. He gave a moment's silent surveyto the gray suit and opened his address on the State of the Country bysaying:
"Virginia, instead of clothing herself in sheep's wool, had better donher appropriate garb of sackcloth and ashes!"The nation was already at war before Abraham Lincoln left Springfieldfor Washington to take his seat as President. It was deemed wise that heshould enter the city practically in disguise.
In vain the great heart that beat within his lonely breast tried to stemthe Red Tide in his first inaugural. With infinite pathos he turnedtoward the South and spoke his words of peace, reconciliation andassurance:
"I have no purpose directly or indirectly to interfere with theinstitution of Slavery in the States where it exists. I believe I haveno lawful right to do so, and I have no inclination to do so."His closing sentences were spoken with his deep eyes swimming in tears.
"I am loath to close. We are not enemies but friends. We must not beenemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bondsof affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from everybattlefield and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearthstone allover this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the union when againtouched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature."The noblest men of North and South joined with the new President,pleading for peace. They knew by the light of reason that a war ofbrothers would be a wanton crime. They proved by irresistible logic thatevery issue dividing the nation could be settled at the Council Table.
They pleaded in vain. They pitched straws against a hurricane. From thedeep, subconscious nature of man, the lair of the beast, came only thegrowl of challenge to mortal combat.
The new President is but a leaf tossed by the wind. The union of whichour fathers dreamed is rent in twain. With tumult and shout, the armiesgather, blue and gray, brother against brother. A madman's soul nowrides the storm and leads the serried lines as they sweep to the redrendezvous with Death.
CHAPTER XXXVI
A little mother with a laughing boy two years old and baby in her armswas awaiting at a crowded hotel in Washington the coming of her fatherfrom the Western plains. Her men were going in opposite directions inthese tragic days that were trying the souls of men. Colonel PhillipSt. George Cooke was a Virginian. Lieutenant J. E. B. Stuart was aVirginian. The soul of the little mother was worn out with the questionthat had no answer. Why should her lover-husband and her fine old daddyfight each other?
She stood appalled before such a conflict. She had written to her fathera letter so gentle, so full of tender appeal, he could not resist itscall. She had asked that he come to see her babies and her husband and,face to face, say the things that were in his heart.
Her own sympathies were with her husband. He had breathed his soul intohers. She thought as he thought and felt as he felt. But her dear olddaddy must have deep reasons for refusing to follow Virginia, if sheshould go with the South in Secession. She must hear these reasons.
Stuart must hear them. If he could convince them, they would go withhim.
In her girl's soul she didn't care which way they went, as long as theydid not fight each other. She had watched the shadow of this war deepenwith growing anguish. If her father should meet her husband in battleand one should kill the other! How could she live? The thought was toohorrible to frame in, words, but it haunted her dreams. She couldn'tshake it off.
That her rollicking soldier man would come out alive she felt suresomehow. No other thought was possible. To think that he might be killedin the pride and glory of his youth was nonsense. Her mind refused nowto dwell on the idea. She dismissed it with a laugh. He was so vital.
He lived to his finger tips. His voice rang with the joy of living.
The spirit of eternal youth danced in his blue eyes. He was justtwenty-eight years old. He was the father of a darling boy who bore hisname and a baby that nestled in her arms to whom they had given hers.
Life in its morning of glory was his--wife, babies, love, youth, health,strength, clean living and high thinking. No, it was the thought of harmto her father that was eating her heart out. He has passed the noon-tideof life. His slender, graceful form lacked the sturdy power of youth.
His chances were not so good.
The thing that sickened her was the certainty that both these men,father and husband, would organize the cavalry service and fight onhorseback. They had spent their honeymoon on the plains. She had riddenover them with her joyous lover.
He would be a cavalry commander. She knew that he would be a general.
Her father was a master of cavalry tactics and was at work on the Manuelfor the United States Army.
The two men were born under the same skies. Their tastes were similar.
Their clean habits of life were alike. Their ideals were equally highand noble. How could two such men fight each other to the death over anissue of politics when some wife or sister or mother must look on a deadface when the smoke has cleared?
Her soul rose in rebellion against it all. She summoned every power ofher mind to the struggle with her father.
She brought them together at last in the room with her babies, asleep intheir cradles. She sat down between the two and held a hand in each ofhers.
"Now, daddy dear, you must tell me why you're going to fight Virginia ifshe secedes from the union."The gentle face smiled sadly.
"How can I make you understand, dear baby? It's foolish to argue suchthings. We follow our hearts--that's all.""But you must tell me," she pleaded.
"There's nothing to tell, child. We must each decide these big things oflife for himself. I'll never draw my sword against the union. My fatherscreated it. I've fought for it. I've lived for it. And I've got to diefor it, if must be, that's all--"He paused, withdrew his hand from hers, rose and put it on Stuart'sshoulder.
"You've chosen a fine boy for your husband, my daughter. I love him. I'mproud of him. I shall always be proud that your children bear his name.
He must fight this battle of his allegiance in his own soul and answerto God, not to me. I would not dare to try to influence him."Stuart rose and grasped the Colonel's hand. His eyes were moist.
"Thank you, Colonel. I shall always remember this hour with you andmy Flora. And I shall always love and respect you, in life or death,success or failure."The older man held Stuart's hand in a strong grip.
"It grieves me to feel that you may fight the union, my son. I have seenthe end in a vision already. The union is indissoluble. The stars intheir courses have said it.""It may be, sir," Stuart slowly answered. "Who knows? We must do eachwhat we believe to be right, as God gives us to see the right."The little mother was softly crying. Her hopes had faded. There was thenote of finality in each word her men had uttered. She was crushed.
For an hour she talked in tender commonplaces. She tried to be cheerfulfor her father's sake. She saw that he was suffering cruelly at thethought of saying a goodbye that might be the last.
She broke down in a flood of bitter tears. The father took her into hisarms and soothed her with tender words. But something deep and strangehad stirred in the mother heart within her.
She drew away from his arms and cried in anguish.
"It's wrong. It's wrong. It's all wrong--this feud of blood! And Godwill yet save the world from it. I must believe that or I'd go mad!"The two men looked at each other in wonder for a moment and then at themother's convulsed face. Into the older man's features slowly crept alook of awe, as if he had heard that voice before somewhere in the stillhours of his soul.
Stuart bent and kissed her tenderly.
"There, dear, you're overwrought. Don't worry. Your work God has givenyou in these cradles.""Yes, that's why I feel this way," she whispered on his breast.
CHAPTER XXXVII
If reason had ruled, the Gulf States of the South would never haveordered their representatives to leave Washington on the election ofAbraham Lincoln. The new administration could have done nothing with theCongress chosen. The President had been elected on a fluke becauseof the division of the opposition into three tickets. Lincoln was aminority President and was powerless except in the use of the veto.
If the Gulf States had paused for a moment they could have seen thatsuch an administration, whatever its views about Slavery, would havefailed, and the next election would have been theirs. The moment theywithdrew their members of Congress, however, the new party had amajority and could shape the nation's laws.
The crowd mind acts on blind impulse, never on reason.
In spite of the President's humane purpose to keep peace when hedelivered his first inaugural, he had scarcely taken his seat at thehead of his Cabinet when the mob mind swept him from his moorings and hewas caught in the torrent of the war mania.
The firing on Fort Sumter was not the first shot by the Secessionists.
They had fired on the _Star of the West_, a ship sent to the reliefof the Fort, weeks before. They had driven her back to sea. But thePresident at that moment had sufficient power to withstand the cry forblood. At the next shot he succumbed to the inevitable and called for75,000 volunteers to invade the South. This act of war was a violationof his powers under Constitutional law. Congress alone could declarewar. But Congress was not in session.
The mob had, in fact, declared war. The President and his Cabinet wereforced to bow to its will and risk their necks on the outcome of thestruggle.
So long as Virginia, North Carolina and Tennessee refused to secede andstood with the Border States of Maryland, Missouri and Kentucky insidethe union, the Confederacy organized at Montgomery, Alabama, must remaina mere political feint.
The call of the President on Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee,Kentucky, Missouri and Maryland, all slave States, to furnish theirquota of troops to fight the seceders, was in effect a declaration ofwar by a united North upon the South.
Virginia had refused to join the Confederacy before by an overwhelmingmajority. All eyes were again turned on the Old Dominion. Would sheaccept the President's command and send her quota of troops to fight hersisters of the South, or would she withdraw from the union?
The darkest day of its history was dawning on Arlington. Lee had spent asleepless night watching the flickering lights of the Capitol, waiting,hoping, praying for a message from the Convention at Richmond. On thatmessage hung the present, the future, and the sacred glory of the past.
The lamp on the table in the hall was still burning dimly at dawn whenMary Lee came downstairs and pulled the old-fashioned bell cord whichsummoned the butler.
Ben entered with a bow.
"You ring for me, Missy?""Yes. You sent to town to see if an Extra had been issued?""Yassam. De boy come back more'n a hour ago.""There was none?""Nomum.""And he couldn't find Lieutenant Stuart?""Nomum. He look fur him in de telegraph office an' everywhar.""Why don't he come--why don't he come?" she sighed.
"I spec dem wires is done down, an' de news 'bout Secesum come froo decountry fum Richmon' by horseback, M'am."The girl sighed again wearily.
"The coffee and sandwiches ready, Ben?""Yassam. All on de table waitin'. De coffee gittin' cold.""I'll bring Papa down, if I can get him to come.""Yassam. I hopes ye bring him. He sho must be wore out.""It's daylight," she said, "open the windows and put out the lamp."Mary climbed the stairs again to get her father to eat. Ben drew thecurtains and the full light of a beautiful spring morning flooded theroom. A mocking bird was singing in the holly. A catbird cried froma rosebush, a redbird flashed and chirped from the hedge and a coltwhinnied for his mother.
The old negro lowered the lamp, blew it out and began to straighten theroom. A soft knock sounded on the front door.
He stopped and listened. That was queer. No guest could be coming toArlington at dawn. Lieutenant Stuart would come on horseback and thering of his horse's hoofs could be heard for half a mile.
He turned back to his work and the knock was repeated, this time louder.
He cautiously approached the door.
"Who's dar?""Hit's me.""Me who?""Hit's me--Sam.""'Tain't no Sam nuther--""'Tis me.""Sam's bin free mos' ten year now an' he's livin' in New York--""I done come back. Lemme come in a minute!"Ben was not sure. He picked up a heavy cane, held it in his right handand cautiously opened the door with his left, as Sam entered.
The old man dropped the cane and stepped back in dumb amazement. It wassome time before he spoke.
"Name er Gawd, Sam--hit is you.""Sho, hit's me!""What yer doin' here?""I come to see my old marster when I hears all dis talk 'bout war. Wharis he?"Ben lifted his eyes to the ceiling and spoke in a solemn tone:
"Up dar in his room all night trampin' back an' forth lak er lion inde cage, waitin' fur Marse Stuart ter fetch de news fum Richmond 'boutsecessun--""Secessun?"Ben nodded--and raised his eyes in a dreamy look.
"Some say Ole Virginy gwine ter stay in de union. Some say she's a gwineter secede. De Convenshun in Richmon' wuz votin' on hit yestiddy. MarseStuart gone ter town ter fetch de news ter Arlington."Sam stepped close and searched Ben's face.
"What's my ole marster dat set me free gwine ter do?""Dat's what everybody's axin. He bin prayin' up dar all night."Sam glanced toward the stairway and held his silence for a while. Hespoke finally with firm conviction.
"Well, I'se gwine wid him. Ef he go wid de union, I goes. Ef he go widole Virginy, I go wid ole Virginy. Whichever way _he_ go, dat's de_right_ way--""Dat's so, too!" Ben responded fervently.
Sam advanced to the old butler with the quick step of the days when hewas his efficient helper.
"What ye want me ter do?"Ben led him to the portico and pointed down the white graveled way toWashington.
"Run doun de road ter de rise er dat hill an' stay dar. De minute yersee a hoss cross dat bridge--hit's Marse Stuart. Yer fly back here an'
tell me--"Sam nodded and disappeared. Ben hurried back into the hall, as Mary andher mother came down the stairs.
Mrs. Lee was struggling to control her fears.
"No sign of Lieutenant Stuart yet, Ben?""Nomum. I'se er watchin'.""Look again and see if there's any dust on that long stretch beyond theriver--"Ben shook his head.
"Yassam, I look."He passed out the front door still wagging his head in deep sympathy forthe stricken mistress of the great house.
Mary slipped her arm around her mother, and used the pet name she spokein moments of great joy and sorrow.
"Oh, Mim dear, you mustn't worry so!"Her mother's lips trembled. She tried to be strong and failed. The tearscame at last streaming down her cheeks.
"I can't help it, darling. Life hangs on this message--our home--"She paused and her eyes wandered about the familiar room and itsfurnishings.
"You know how I love this home. It's woven into the very fiber of myheart. Our future--all that we have on earth--it's more than I canbear--"The daughter drew the dear face to her lips.
"But why try to take it all on our shoulders, dearest? We must leavePapa to fight this out alone. We can't decide it for him."The mother brushed her tears away and responded cheerfully.
"Yes, I know, dear. Your father didn't leave his room all day yesterday.
He ate no dinner. No supper. All night the tramp of his feet overheadhas only been broken when he fell on his knees to pray--"Her voice wandered off as in a half dream. She paused, and then rushedon impetuously.
"Why, why can't we hear from Richmond? The Convention should have votedbefore noon yesterday. And we've waited all night--""The authorities may be holding back the news.""But why should they suppress _such_ news? The world must know."She stopped suddenly--as if stunned by the thought that oppressed her.
She seized Mary's hand, and asked tensely:
"What do you think, dear? Has Virginia left the union?"A quick answer was on the young lips. She had a very clear opinion. Shehad talked to Stuart. And his keen mind had seen the inevitable. Shedidn't have the heart to tell her mother. She feigned a mind blank fromweariness.
"I can't think, honey. I'm too tired."Ben came back shaking his gray head.
"Nomum. Dey ain't no sign on de road yet."The waiting wife and mother cried in an anguish she could not control.
"Why--why--why?"Ben sought to distract her thoughts with the habit of house control. Hespoke in his old voice of friendly scolding.
"Ain't Marse Robert comin' doun to his coffee, M'am?""Not yet, Ben. I couldn't persuade him." The mistress caught the effortof her faithful servant to help in his humble way and it touched her.
She was making a firm resolution to regain her self-control when adistant cry was heard from the roadway.
"Uncle Ben!""What's dat?" the old man asked.
"He's coming?" Mrs. Lee gasped.
"I dunno, M'am. I hears sumfin!"Sam's cry echoed near the house now in growing excitement.
"Uncle Ben--Uncle Ben!""See, Ben, see quick--" Mary cried.
"Yassam. He's comin', sho. He's seed him."The mother's face was uplifted in prayer.
"God's will be done!"The words came in a bare whisper. And then as if in answer to the cry ofher heart she caught new hope and turned to her daughter.
"You know, dear, the first Convention voted against Secession!"Sam reached the door and met Ben.
"Uncle Ben--he's a comin'--Marse Stuart's horse! I seen him 'way 'crossde ribber fust--des one long, white streak er dust ez fur ez de eye canreach!"The mother gripped Mary's arm with cruel force. The strain was againmore than she could bear.
"Oh, dear, oh, dear, what have they done? What have they done?"Ben entered the hall holding himself erect with the dignity of one whomust bear great sorrows with his people. The mistress called to himweakly:
"Tell Colonel Lee, Ben."The old man bowed gravely.
"Yassam. Right away, M'am."Ben hurried to call his master as Sam edged into the front door andsmiled at his mistress.
Mrs. Lee saw and recognized him for the first time. His loyalty touchedher deeply in the hour of trial. She extended her hand in warm greeting.
"Why, _Sam_, you've come home!""Yassam. I come back ter stan' by my folks when dey needs me."Mary's eyes were misty as she smiled her welcome.
"You're a good boy, Sam.""Yassam. Marse Robert teach me."The echo of Stuart's horse's hoof rang under the portico and Sam hurriedto meet him.
His clear voice called:
"Don't put 'im up, boy!"Mary's heart began to pound. She knew he would be galloping down thewhite graveled way again in a few minutes. His next order confirmed herfear.
"Just give him some water!""Yassah!"The two women stood huddled close in tense anxiety.
Lee hurried down the stairs and met Stuart at the door. Before thefamiliarity of a handshake or word of welcome he asked:
"What news, Lieutenant?"Stuart spoke with deep emotion. On every word the man and the woman hungbreathlessly.
"It has come, sir. Virginia has answered to the President's call to sendtroops against her own people. She has sacrificed all save honor. Thevote of the Convention was overwhelming. She has withdrawn from theunion--"A moment's deathly silence. And the cry of pain from a woman's whitelips. Mary caught her mother in her arms and held her firmly. The crywrung her young heart.
"Oh, dear God, have mercy on us--and give us strength to bear it--"Stuart hurried to her side and tried to break the blow with cheerfulwords.
"Don't worry, Mrs. Lee. The South is right."Lee had not spoken. His brilliant eyes had the look of a man who walksin his sleep. They were in the world but not of it. The deep things ofeternity were in their brooding. He waked at last and turned to Stuartsadly.
"God save our country, my boy."He paused and looked out the doorway on the beautiful green of the lawn.
The perfume from the rose garden stole in on the fresh breeze thatstirred from the river.
"A frightful blow," he went on dreamily, "this news you bring."Stuart's young body stiffened.
"You're the foremost citizen of Virginia, sir. Others may doubt andwaver and be confused. I think I know what you're going to do, in theend--""It's hard--it's hard," the strong man cried bitterly.
The mother and daughter studied his face in eager, anxious waiting. Onhis word life hung. Stuart glanced at their tense faces and couldn'tfind speech. He turned and spoke briskly.
"I must hurry, sir. I'll be in Richmond before sunset."The sound of carriage wheels grated on the road and a foaming pair ofhorses drew under the portico. A woman sprang out.
Mrs. Lee turned to the Colonel.
"It's your sister, Annie, Colonel.""Yes," Stuart added, "I passed her on the way--"Mrs. Marshall hurried to greet Mrs. Lee. The two women embraced and weptin silence.
"Mary!""Annie!"The names were barely breathed.
Mary silently kissed her aunt as she turned from her mother. TheColonel's sister raised her eyes and saw Stuart. Her tones were sharpwith the ring of a commander giving orders:
"Our army is marching, Lieutenant Stuart! You here in civilian clothes?"The strong, young body stiffened.
"I have resigned my commission in the United States Army, Mrs.
Marshall--"Her finger rose in an imperious gesture.
"You will live to regret it, sir!"Lee frowned and laid his hand on his sister's arm in a gesture ofappeal.
"Annie, dear, please."She regained her poise at the touch of his hand and turned to Mrs. Lee.
Stuart extended his hand briskly.
"Goodbye, sir. I hope to see you in Richmond soon--"Lee's answer was gravely spoken.
"Goodbye, my boy. I honor you in your quick decision, with the clearvision of youth. We, older men, must halt and pray, and feel our way."With a laugh in his blue eyes Stuart paused at the door half embarrassedat Mrs. Marshall's presence. He waved his hat to the group.
"Well, goodbye, everybody! I'm off to join the Cavalry!"Outside as he hurried to his horse he waved again.
"Goodbye--!"There was a moment's painful silence. They listened to the beat of hishorse's hoof on the white roadway toward Washington. As the tall soldierlistened he heard the roar of the hoofs of coming legions. And awarrior's soul leaped to the saddle. But the soul of the man, of thefather and brother uttered a cry of mortal pain. He looked about thehall in a dazed way as if unconscious of the presence of the women ofhis home.
Mrs. Lee saw his deep anxiety and whispered to Mrs. Marshall.
"Come to my room, Annie, and rest before you say anything to Robert--"She shook her head.
"No--no, my dear. I can't. My heart's too full. I can't rest. It's nouse trying."The wife took both her hands.
"Then remember, that his heart is even fuller than yours.""Yes, I know.""And you cannot possibly be suffering as he is.""I'll not forget, dear."Mrs. Lee pressed her hands firmly.
"And say nothing that you'll live to regret?""I promise, Mary.""Please!"With a lingering look of sympathy for brother and sister, Mrs. Leesoftly left the room.
Lee stood gazing through the window across the shining waters of theriver whose mirror but a few months ago had reflected the distortedfaces of John Brown and his men at Harper's Ferry. It had come, thevision he had seen as he looked on the dark stains that fateful morning.
He dreaded this interview with his sister. He knew the views of JudgeMarshall, her husband. He knew her own love for the union.
She was struggling for control of Her emotions and her voice wasstrained.
"You've--you've heard this awful news from Richmond?""Yes," he answered quietly. "And I've long felt it coming. The firstthunderbolt struck us at Harper's Ferry. The storm has broken now--""What are you going to do?"She asked the question as if half afraid to pronounce the words. Leeturned away in silence. She followed him and laid a hand on his arm.
"You'll let me tell you all that's in my heart, my brother?"The soldier was a boy again. He took his sister's hand and stroked it ashe had in the old days at Stratford.
"Of course, my dear.""And remember that we _are_ brother and sister?""Always."She clung to his hand and made no effort now to keep back the tears.
"And that I shall always believe in you and be proud of you--"A sob caught her voice and she could not go on. He pressed her hand.
"It's sweet to hear you say this, Annie, in the darkest hour of mylife--"She interrupted him in quick, passionate appeal.
"Why should it be the darkest hour, Robert? What have you or I, or ourpeople, to do with the madmen who are driving the South over the brinkof this precipice?"Lee shook his head.
"The people of the South are not being driven now, my dear--"He stopped. His eyes flashed as his words quickened.
"They are rushing with a fierce shout as one man. The North thinks thatonly a small part of the Southern people are in this revolution, misledby politicians. The truth is, the masses are sweeping their leadersbefore them, as leaves driven by a storm. The cotton states areunanimous. Virginia has seceded. North Carolina and Tennessee willfollow her to-morrow, and the South a Unit, the union is divided."The sister drew herself up with pride, and squarely faced him. She spokewith deliberation.
"Our families, Robert, from the beginning have stood for the glory ofthe union. It is unthinkable that you should leave it. Such men asEdmund Ruffin--yes--the impulsive old firebrand has already volunteeredas a private and gone to South Carolina. He pulled the lanyard thatfired the first shot against Fort Sumter. We have nothing in common withsuch men--"Lee lifted his hand in protest.
"Yes, we have, my dear. We are both sons of Virginia, our mother and themother of this Republic.""All the more reason why I'm begging to-day that you dedicate yourgenius, your soul and body to fight the men who would destroy theunion!"Lee raised his eyes as if in prayer and drew a deep breath.
"There's but one thing for me to decide, Annie--my duty."His sister clasped her hands nervously and glanced about the room. Hereyes rested on the portraits of Washington, and his wife and she turnedquickly.
"Your wife is the grand-daughter of Martha Washington. Can you look onthat portrait of the father of this country, handed down to the motherof your children, and dare draw your sword to destroy his work?""I've tried to put him in my place and ask what he would do--"He stopped suddenly.
"What would Washington do if he stood in my place to-day?""My dear brother!""Remember now that you are appealing to me as my sister. Did Washingtonallow the ties of blood to swerve him from his duty? His own mother wasa loyal subject of the King of Great Britain and died so--""Washington led an army of patriots in a sacred cause," she interrupted.
"Surely. But he won his first victories as a soldier fighting theFrench, under the British flag. He denounced that flag, joined with theFrench and forced Cornwallis to surrender to the armies of France andthe Colonies of America. He was equally right when he fought under theBritish flag against the French, and when he fought with Lafayette andRochambeau and won our independence. Each time he fought for his rightsunder law. Each time with mind and conscience clear, he answered thecall of duty. The man who does that is always right, my sister, nomatter what flag flies above him!""Oh, Robert, there is but one flag--the flag of Washington, and yourfather, Henry Lee--"The brother broke in quickly.
"And yet, the first blood in this conflict was drawn by a man who cursedthat flag, who again and again defied its authority, and gloried in thefact that he had trampled it beneath his feet. The North has proclaimedhim a Saint. Their soldiers are now marching on the South singing a songof glory to John Brown and all for which he stood. What would Washingtondo if he were living, and these men were marching to invade Virginia,put his home at Mount Vernon to the torch, and place pikes in the handsof his slaves--"Lee searched his sister's eyes and drove his question home.
"What would he do?"The woman was too downright in her honesty to quibble or fence. Shecouldn't answer. She flushed and hesitated.
"I don't know--I don't know. I only know," she hastened to add, "that hecouldn't be a traitor.""Even so. Who is the traitor, my dear? The man who defies theConstitution and the laws of the union? Or the man who defends the lawand the rights of his fathers under it?"Again she couldn't answer. She would not acknowledge defeat. She simplyrefused to face such a problem. It led the wrong way. With quick witshe changed her point of attack. She drew close and asked in passionatetenderness:
"Have you counted the cost? The frightful cost which you and yours mustpay if you dare defend Virginia?"Lee nodded his head sorrowfully.
"On my knees, I've tried to reckon it." He looked longingly over thewide lawn that rolled in green splendor toward the river.
"I know that if I cast my lot with Virginia, this home, handed down tous from Washington, will be lost, and its fields trampled under thefeet of hostile armies. That my wife and children may wander homeless,dependent on the charity or courtesy of friends. The thought of it tearsmy heart!"His voice sank to a whisper. And then he lifted his head firmly.
"But I must not allow this to swerve me an inch from my duty--"The sound of horses' hoofs again echoed on the roadway, as Ben enteredfrom the dining room to announce breakfast.
Lee listened.
"See who that is, Ben.""Yassah."As Ben passed out the door, Lee continued:
"I will not say one word to influence my three sons. I will not evenwrite to them. They must fight this battle out alone, as I am fightingit out to-day."His sister smiled wanly.
"Your sons will follow you, Robert. And so will thousands of the bestmen in Virginia. Your responsibility is terrible."Ben announced from the door.
"Mr. Francis Preston Blair, ter see you, sir."Lee waved the butler from the room.
"I'll receive him, Ben. You can go.""Thank God!" Mrs. Marshall breathed. "He's the most influential manin Washington. He is in close touch with the President, and he is aSoutherner--"She looked at her brother pleadingly.
"You'll give him the most careful hearing, Robert?""I don't know the object of his visit, but I'll gladly see him.""He's a staunch union man. He can have but one object in coming!" shecried with elation.
With courtesy Lee met his distinguished visitor at the door and graspedhis hand.
"Walk in, Mr. Blair. You know my sister, Mrs. Marshall of Baltimore?"Blair smiled.
"I am happy to say that Mrs. Marshall and I are the best of friends.
We have often met at the house of my son, Montgomery Blair, of Mr.
Lincoln's Cabinet.""Let me take your hat, sir," Lee said with an answering smile.
"Thank you."The Colonel crossed the room to place it on a table.
Mrs. Marshall took advantage of the moment to whisper to Blair.
"I've done my best. I'm afraid I haven't convinced him. May God give youthe word to speak to my brother to-day!"Blair rubbed his hands and a look of triumph overspread his rugged face.
"He has, Madame. I have a message for him!""A message?""From the highest authority!""May I be present at your conference?" she pleaded eagerly.
"By all means, Madame. Stay and hear my announcement. He cannot refuseme."Lee sought at once to put Blair at ease on his mission.
"From my sister's remark a moment ago, I may guess the purpose of yourcoming, Mr. Blair?"His guest surveyed Lee with an expression of deep pleasure in theunfolding of his message.
"In part, yes, you may have guessed my purpose. But I have something tosay that even your keen mind has not surmised--""I am honored, sir, in your call and I shall be glad to hear you."Blair drew himself erect as if on military duty.
"Colonel Lee, I have come after a conference with President Lincoln, toask you to throw the power of your great name into this fight now to putan end to chaos--""You have come from the President?""Unofficially--""Oh--""But with his full knowledge and consent.""And what is his suggestion?"Blair hesitated.
"He cannot make it until he first knows that you will accept his offer.""His offer?"Blair waited until the thought had been fully grasped and then utteredeach word with solemn emphasis.
"His offer, sir, of the supreme command of the armies of the union--"A cry of joy and pride came resistlessly from the sister's lips.
"Oh, Robert--Robert!"Lee was surprised and deeply moved. He rose from his seat, walked to thewindow, looked out, flushed and slowly said:
"You--you--cannot mean this--?"Blair hastened to assure him.
"I am straight from the White House. General Scott has eagerly endorsedyour name.""But I cannot realize this to me--from Abraham Lincoln?""From Abraham Lincoln, whose simple common sense is the greatestasset to-day which the union possesses. His position is one of frankconciliation toward the South.""Yet he said once that this Republic cannot endure half slave and halffree and the South interpreted that to mean--war--""Exactly. Crowds do not reason. They refuse to think. They refuse,therefore, to hear his explanation of those words. He hates Slaveryas you hate Slavery. He knows, as you know, that it is doomed by theprocess of time. To make this so clear that he who runs may read, hewrote in his inaugural address in so many words his solemn pledge torespect every right now possessed by the masters of the South under law.
_"'I have no purpose to interfere with the institution of Slavery in theStates where it exists.'"_"His sole purpose now is to save the union, Slavery or no Slavery--""Surely, Robert," his sister cried, "you can endorse that stand!""Mr. Lincoln," Blair went on eagerly, "is a leader whose common senseamounts to genius. No threats or bluster, inside his own party oroutside of it, can swerve him from his high aim. He is going to savethis union first and let all other questions bide their time."Lee searched Blair with his keen eyes.
"But Mr. Lincoln, without the authority of Congress, has practicallydeclared war. He has called on Virginia to furnish troops to fighta sister State. My State has decided that he had no power under theConstitution to issue such a call. It is, therefore, illegal. Theorganic law of the republic makes no provision for raising troops tofight a sister State."Blair lifted both hands in a persuasive gesture.
"Let us grant, Colonel Lee, that in law you are right. The States aresovereign. The Constitution gives the General Government no power tocoerce a State. Our fathers, as a matter of fact, never faced such apossibility. Grant all that in law. Even so, a mighty, united nationhas grown through the years. It is now a living thing, immutable,indissoluble. It commands your obedience and mine."Lee was silent and Mrs. Marshall cried:
"Surely this is true, Robert!""My dear Mr. Blair," Lee slowly began, "your claim is the beginning ofthe end of law--the beginning of anarchy. If under the law, Virginiais right, is it not my duty to defend her? Obedience to law is thecornerstone on which all nations are built if they endure. Reverence forlaw is to-day the force driving the South into revolution--""A revolution doomed to certain failure," Blair quickly interrupted.
"The border slave states of Maryland, Kentucky and Missouri, under Mr.
Lincoln's conservative leadership, will never secede. Without them theSouth must fail. You have served under the flag of the union for thirtyyears. You know the North. You know the South. And you know that such arevolution based on a division of the union without these border Statesis madness--""It is madness, Robert," Mrs. Marshall joined, "utter madness!""Right and duty, Mr. Blair, have nothing to do with success or failure,"Lee responded. "I know the fearful odds against the South. I know theindomitable will, the energy, the fertile resources, the pride ofopinion of the North, once set in motion. I know that the South has nomoney, no army, no organized government, no standing in the Court ofNations. She will have a white population of barely five millionsagainst twenty-two millions--and her ports will be closed by our Navy--"Blair interrupted and leaned close.
"And let me add, that as our leader _you_ will not only command thegreatest army ever assembled under the American flag, backed by a greatNavy--but that your victory will be but the beginning of a career. Fromyour window you see the White House and the Capitol. The man who leadsthe union armies will succeed Mr. Lincoln as President."Lee's protest was emphatic.
"I aspire to no office, Mr. Blair. I'm fifty-four years of age. I am onthe hilltop of life. The way leads down a gentle slope, I trust, to avalley of peace, love and happiness. Ambition does not lure me; I havelived. I have played my part as well as I know how. I am content. I lovemy Country, North and South, East and West. I am a trained soldier--Iknow nothing else.""The highest honor of this Nation, Colonel Lee, is something no man bornunder our flag dares to decline. Few men in history have been so wellequipped as you for such an honor, both by birth and culture. You mustalso remember that the President of the United States is Commander inChief of the Army and Navy. You are proud of your profession. You wouldhonor it in the highest office of the Republic. You are held in thehighest esteem by every soldier in the army. The President calls you.
The Nation calls you. All eyes are upon you."Blair studied the effect of his appeal. He saw that Lee was profoundlymoved. Yet his courteous manner gave no hint of the trend of hisemotions. He did not reply for a moment and then spoke with tenderness.
"My dear friend, you must not think that I am deaf to such calls. Theymove me to the depths. But no honor can reconcile me to this awful war.
It is madness. It is absolutely unnecessary. But for John Brown's insaneact it could have been avoided. But it has come. Its glory does nottempt me. I wish peace on earth and good will to all men. I am asoldier, but a Christian soldier--"His voice broke.
"I am one of the humblest followers of Jesus Christ. There is but asingle question for me to decide--my duty--"A horseman dashed under the portico, threw his reins to Sam and enteredwithout announcement.
"Colonel Lee?" he asked.
"Yes."He handed Lee a folded paper bearing the great seal of the State.
"A message, sir, from Richmond."Lee's hand trembled as he broke the seal. He stared at its words as in adream.
"You have important news?" Blair asked.
"Most important. I am summoned to Richmond by the Governor in obedienceto a resolution of the Legislature."Mrs. Marshall advanced on the dusty, young messenger, her eyes aflamewith anger.
"How dare you enter this house unannounced, sir?"The boy did not answer. He turned away with a smile. She repented herwords immediately. They had sounded undignified, if not positively rude.
But she had been so sure that Blair could not fail. This call fromRichmond, coming in the moment of crisis, drove her to desperation. Shelooked at Blair helplessly and he rallied to the attack with reneweddetermination.
"A Nation is calling you. The union your fathers created is calling you,Colonel Lee!"Lee's figure stiffened the least bit, though his words were uttered inthe friendliest tones.
"Virginia is also calling me, Mr. Blair. Your own State of Maryland hasnot seceded. For that reason you cannot feel this tragedy as I feel it.
Put yourself in my place. I ask you the question, is not the command ofa State that of a mother to a child? We are citizens of the State, notof the union. There is no such thing as citizenship in the union. Wevote only as citizens of a State. We enlist as soldiers by States. I wassent to West Point as a cadet by the State of Virginia. Even PresidentLincoln's proclamation calling for volunteers to coerce a State,revolutionary as it is, is addressed, not to individual men, but to theStates. He must call on each to furnish her quota of soldiers--""Yet the call is to every citizen of the Nation!"Lee's hand was raised in a gesture of imperious affirmation.
"There is no such thing as citizenship of the Nation! We don't pay taxesto the Nation. We may yet become a Nation. We are as yet a union ofSovereign States. Virginia has refused to furnish the troops called forby the President and has withdrawn from the union. She reserved in hervote to enter, the right to withdraw. I am a Virginian. What is myduty?""To fight for the union, Robert--always!" Mrs. Marshall answered.
"I love the union, my dear sister, my heart aches at the thought of itsdivision--"He turned sharply to Blair.
"But is not the South to-day in taking her stand for the rights of theState asserting a principle as vital as the union itself? All the greatminds of the North have recognized that these rights are fundamentalto our life. Bancroft declares that the State is the guardian of thesecurity and happiness of the individual. Hamilton declares that, ifthe States shall lose their powers, the people will be robbed of theirliberties. George Clinton says that the States are our _only_ securityfor the liberties of the people against a centralized tyranny. Theserights once surrendered, and I solemnly warn you, my friend, that yourchildren and mine may live to see in Washington a centralized power thatwill dare to say what you shall eat, what you shall drink, and what youshall wear!"Blair laughed incredulously.
"Surely it's a far cry to that, Colonel--""I'm not so sure, Mr. Blair. And the cry from Virginia rings through myheart. I see her in mortal peril. My father was three times Governorof the Commonwealth. Virginia gave America the immortal words of theDeclaration of Independence. She gave us something greater. She gave usGeorge Washington, a Southern slaveholder, whose iron will alone carriedour despairing people through ten years of hopeless revolution and wonat last our right to live. Madison wrote the Constitution. John Marshallof Virginia, as Chief Judge of the Supreme Court, established its poweron the foundations of Justice and Law. Jefferson doubled our area in theLouisiana Territory. Scott and Taylor extended it to the Pacific Oceanfrom Oregon to the Gulf of California. Virginia in the generosity of hergreat heart gave the Northwest to the union and forbade the extension ofslavery within it--"Blair leaped to make a point.
"Surely these proud recollections, of her gifts to the union should formbonds too strong to be broken!""So say I, sir! Surely they should place the people of all sectionsunder obligations too deep to permit the invasion of her sacred soil!
Can I stand by as her loyal son and see this invasion begun? I regretthat Virginia has withdrawn. But the deed is done. Her people throughtheir Governor and their Legislature call me--command me to come to herdefense. They may be wrong. They may be blinded by passion. They arestill my people, my neighbors, my friends, my children--and I cannot--"He drew a deep breath and rose to his full height.
"_I will not draw my sword against them!_""Glory to God!" the messenger exulted.
Blair spoke with despair.
"This is your final decision?""Final."The messenger slipped close to Lee and spoke hurriedly.
"I came by special train, sir--an engine and coach. They wait you ona siding just outside of town. We're afraid the line may be cut. TheNorthern troops are bivouacing on the Capitol hill. They may stop us.
We've no time to lose. I hope you can come at once."The messenger walked quickly through the door and seized his horse'sreins.
Lee turned to Blair.
"Troops are on the Capitol Hill?""A regiment of Pennsylvanians has just arrived, I believe."Sam had edged through the door and stood smiling at his old master. TheColonel had not seen him to this moment.
"You here, Sam?" he said with feeling.
"Yassah. I come home ter stan' by you, Marse Robert.""Saddle my horse, you can go with me!""Yassah. Thankee, sah!""Bring Sid to fetch our horses back from the train.""Yassah, glory hallelujah!" Sam shouted as he darted for the stable.
The anxious mother, praying in her room upstairs, heard Sam's shout andhurried down with Mary. The other children happily were on the Pamunkeyat the home of Custis.
The mother's heart was pounding. There was war in Sam's shout. She feltits savage thrill. She gripped herself for the ordeal. There shouldbe no vain regrets, no foolish words. Her soul rose in the glory ofsacrificial love.
"What is it, my dear?" she asked softly.
"I go to Richmond immediately. Northern troops are pouring intoWashington. Send my things to me if you can."His eyes wandered about the room he loved. He would never see it again.
He felt this in his inmost soul. It would be but the work of an hourfor the troops to sweep across the bridge, sack its rooms and leave itsbeautiful lawn a sodden waste.
The wife saw the anguish in his gaze and her words rang with exaltation.
"Then it is God's will. And I shall try to smile. You have reached thisdecision in deepest thought and prayer. And I know that you are right!"Lee took her in his arms and held her in silence. Those who saw, wept.
At last he kissed her tenderly and turned to the others.
His sister walked blindly toward him.
"Oh, Robert, you have broken my heart--""I know, Annie, that you'll blame me," he answered, gently.
She slipped her arms about his neck.
"No, I shall not blame you. I understand now. I only grieve--"Her voice broke. She struggled to control herself.
"How handsome you are in this solemn hour, my glorious,soldier-brother--" Again her voice failed.
"The pity and horror of it all! My husband and my son will fightyou--and--I--shall--pray--for--their--success--oh--how can God permitit!--Goodbye, Robert!"Her arms tightened and his responded. His hand touched her hair and hesaid slowly:
"If dark hours come to us, my sister, we are children again roaming thefields hand in hand. We'll just remember that."She kissed him tenderly.
"And success or failure, dear Annie," he continued, "shall be in God'shands--not ours. I go to lead a forlorn hope perhaps. But I must sharethe miseries of my people."He slipped from her arms and silently embraced his daughter, and againher mother.
"Say goodbye to the other children for me when you see them, dear."Blair took his extended hand.
"I know what you feel, Colonel Lee," he said solemnly. "I'm only sorry Icould not hold you.""Thank you, my friend. My people believe, and I believe that we haverights to defend. And we must do our best--even if we perish."He strode quickly to the door, and paused. A sudden pain caught hisheart as he crossed its threshold for the last time. He looked back,lifted his head as in prayer and passed out.
He mounted his horse and rode swiftly through the beautiful springmorning toward Richmond--and Immortality. The women stood weeping. ThePresident's messenger watched in sorrow.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
When John Brown cunningly surveyed the lines around those houses inKansas, observed the fastenings of their doors, marked the strength ofthe shutters, learned the names of their dogs, crept under the coverof darkness on his prey as a wild beast creeps through the jungle andhacked his innocent victims to pieces, we know that he was a criminalparanoiac pursuing a fixed idea under the delusion that God had senthim.
Yet on the eighteenth of July, 1861, Colonel Fletcher Webster'sregiment, the Twelfth Massachusetts, marched through the streets ofBoston singing a song of glory to John Brown which one of its memberscomposed. They were also marching Southward to kill. The only differencewas they had a Commission.
War had been declared.
Why did the war crowd on the streets and in the ranks burst into song asthey marched to kill their fellow men?
To find the answer we must go back to the dawn of human history and seeman, as yet a savage beast, with but one impulse the dominant force inlife, the archaic impulse to slay.
All wars are not begun in this elemental fashion. There are wars ofdefense forced on innocent nations by brutal aggressors. But the joythat thrills the soul of the crowd on the declaration of war is alwaysthe simple thing. It is the roar of the lion as he springs on his prey.
In this Song to the Soul of John Brown there was no thought of freeinga slave. War was not declared on that ground. The President who calledthem had no such purpose. The men who marched had no such idea. Theysang "Glory, Glory Hallelujah! Glory, Glory Hallelujah!" because theysaw Red.
The restraints of Law, Religion and Tradition had been lifted. Theprimitive beast that had been held in check by civilization, rose witha shout and leaped to its ancient task. The homicidal wish--fancywith which the human mind had toyed in times of peace in dreams andreveries--was now a living reality.
Not one in a thousand knew what the war was about. And this one in athousand who thought he knew was mistaken. It had been made legal tokill. They were marching to kill. They shouted. They sang.
They were marching to the most utterly senseless and unnecessarystruggle in the history of our race. The North in the hours of sanitywhich preceded the outburst did not wish war. The South in her sanemoments never believed it possible. Yet the hell-lit tragedy of brothersmarching to slay their brothers had come. Nothing could dampen theenthusiasm of this first joyous mob.
On the night of the twentieth of July the Army of the North was encampedabout seven miles from Beaureguard's lines at Bull Run. The volunteerswere singing, shouting, girding their loins for the fray. They had heardthe firing on the first skirmish line. Fifteen or twenty men had beenkilled it was reported.
The Red Thought leaped!
At two o'clock before day on Sunday morning, the order came to advanceagainst the foe. The deep thrill of the elemental man swept the crowd.
They had come loaded down with baggage. They hurled it aside and gottheir guns.
What many of them were afraid of was that the whole rebel army wouldescape before they could get into the thick of it. Many had broughthandcuffs and ropes along with which to manacle their prisoners and havesport with them after the fight, another ancient pastime of our half-apeancestors. They threw down some of their blankets but held on to theirhandcuffs.
When the first crash of battle came these raw recruits on both sidesfought with desperate bravery for nine terrible hours. They fought fromdawn until three o'clock in the afternoon under the broiling Southernsun of July. Charge and counter charge left their toll of the dead andthen the tired archaic muscles began to wonder when it would end. Whyhadn't victory come? Where were the prisoners they were to manacle?
Both sides were sick with hunger and weariness. The Southerners wereexpecting reinforcements from Manassas Junction. The Northerners wereexpecting reinforcements. Their eyes were turned toward the same roadwhich led from the Shenandoah Valley.
A dust cloud suddenly rose over the hill. A fresh army was marching onthe scene. North and South looked with straining eyes. They were notlong in doubt. The first troops suddenly swung in on the right flank ofthe Southern army and began to form their lines to charge the North.
Suddenly from this fresh Southern line rose a new cry. From two thousandthroats came the shrill, elemental, savage shout of the hunter in sightof his game--the fierce Rebel Yell.
They charged the Northern lines and then pandemonium--blind, unreasoningwolf-panic seized the army that had marched with songs and shouts tokill. They broke and fled. They cut the traces of their horses, left theguns, mounted and rode for life.
The mob engulfed the buggies and carriages of Congressmen and picnickerswho had come out from Washington to see the fun. A rebellion crushed ata blow!
Stuart at the head of his Black Horse Cavalry, his saber flashing, cuthis way through this mob again and again.
When the smoke of battle lifted, the dazed, ill-organized ambulancecorps searched the field for the first toll of the Blood Feud. Theyfound only nine hundred boys slain and two thousand six hundred wounded.
They lay weltering in their blood in the smothering heat and dust anddirt.
The details of men were busy burying the dead, some of their bodies yetwarm.
The morning after dawned black and lowering and the rain began to pourin torrents. Through the streets of Washington the stragglers streamed.
The plumes which waved as they sang were soaked and drooping. Theirgorgeous, new uniforms were wrinkled and mud-smeared.
The President called for five hundred thousand men this time. The joyand glory of war had gone.
But war remained.
War grim, gaunt, stark, hideous--as remorseless as death.
CHAPTER XXXIX
In a foliage-embowered house on a hill near Washington Colonel JebStuart, Commander of the Confederate Cavalry, had made his headquarters.
Neighing horses were hitched to the swaying limbs. They pawed theground, wheeled and whinnied their impatience at inaction. Every man whosat in one of those saddles owned his mount. These boys were the flowerof Southern manhood. The Confederate Government was too poor to furnishhorses for the Cavalry. Every man, volunteering for this branch of theservice, must bring his own horse and equipment complete. The South onlyfurnished a revolver and carbine. At the first battle of Bull Run theydidn't have enough of them even for the regiments Stuart commanded.
Whole companies were armed only with the pikes which John Brown had madefor the swarming of the Black Bees at Harper's Ferry. They used thesepikes as lances.
The thing that gave the Confederate Cavalry its impetuous dash, its fireand efficiency was the fact that every man on horseback had been bornin the saddle and had known his horse from a colt. From the moment theyswung into line they were veterans.
The North had no such riders in the field as yet. Brigadier-GeneralPhillip St. George Cooke was organizing this branch of the service. Itwould take weary months to train new riders and break in strange horses.
Until these born riders, mounted on their favorites, could be killed ortheir horses shot from under them, there would be tough work ahead forthe union Cavalry.
A farmer approached at sunset. He gazed on the array with pride.
He lifted his gray head and shouted:
"Hurrah for our boys! Old Virginia'll show 'em before we're through withthis!"A sentinel saluted the old man.
"I've come for Colonel Stuart. His wife and babies are at my house.
He'll understand. Tell him."The farmer watched the spectacle. Straight in front of the littleportico on its tall staff fluttered the Commander's new, blood-redbattle flag with its blue St. Andrew's cross and white stars ripplingin the wind. Spurs were clanking, sabers rattling. A courier dashed up,dismounted and entered the house. Young officers in their new uniformswere laughing and chatting in groups before the door.
An escort brought in a Federal Cavalry prisoner on his mount. The boysgathered around him and roared with laughter. He was a good-naturedIrishman who could take a joke. His horse was loaded down with a hundredpounds of extra equipment. The Irishman had half of it strapped on hisown back.
A boy shouted:
"For the Lord's sake, did you take him with all that freight?"An escort roared:
"That's why we took him. He couldn't run."The boy looked at the solemn face of the prisoner and chaffed:
"And why have ye got that load on your own back, man?"Without cracking a smile the Irishman replied:
"An' I thought me old horse had all he could carry!"The boys roared, pulled him down, took off his trappings and told him tomake himself at home.
Inside the house could be heard the hum of conversation, with anoccasional boom of laughter that could come from but one throat.
Work for the day completed, he came to the door to greet his visitor.
The farmer's eyes flashed at the sight of his handsome figure. He wasonly twenty-eight years old, of medium height, with a long, silken,bronzed beard and curling mustache.
He waved his hand and cried:
"With you in a minute!"His voice was ringing music. He wore a new suit of Confederate graywhich his wife had just sent him. His gauntlets extended nine inchesabove the wrists. His cavalry boots were high above the knee. Hisbroad-brimmed felt hat was caught up on one side with a black ostrichplume. His cavalry coat fitted tightly--a "fighting jacket." It wascircled with a black belt from which hung his revolver and over whichwas tied a splendid yellow sash. His spurs were gold.
A first glance would give the impression of a gay youngster over fondof dress. But the moment his blue eyes flashed there came the glint ofsteel. The man behind the uniform was seen, the bravest of the brave,the flower of Southern chivalry.
For all his gay dress he was from the crown of his head to the soles ofhis feet, every inch the soldier--the soldier with the big brain andgenerous, fun-loving heart. His forehead was extraordinary in heightand breadth, bronzed by sun and wind. His nose was large and nostrilsmobile. His eyes were clear, piercing, intense. His laughing mouth wascompletely covered by the curling mustache and long beard.
He had darted around the house on waving to his visitor and in a minutereappeared, followed by three negroes. He was taking his minstrels withhim on the trip to see his wife.
The cavalcade mounted. He waved his aides aside.
"No escort, boys. See you at sunrise."The farmer's house was only half a mile inside his lines. When the armyof the North was hurled back into Washington he had sent for his wifeand babies and arranged for their board at the nearest farmhouse.
The little mother's heart was fluttering with love and pride. Richmondwas already ringing with the praises of her soldier man. Theywere recruiting the first brigade of Cavalry. He was slated forBrigadier-General of the mounted forces. And he was only twenty-eight!
Stuart sprang from his horse and rushed to meet his wife. She waswaiting in the glow of the sunset, her eyes misty with joyous tears.
It was a long time as she nestled in his arms before she could speak.
Her voice was barely a whisper.
"You've passed through your first baptism of blood safely, my own!""Baptism of blood--nothing!" He laughed. "It wasn't a fight at all. Wehad nothing to do till the blue birds flew. And then we flew after 'em.
Oh, honey girl, it was just a lark. I laughed till I cried--"She raised her eyes to his.
"And you didn't see my dear old daddy anywhere?""No. I wish I had! I'd have taken the loyal old rascal prisoner and madeyou keep him till the war's over.""It _is_ over, isn't it, dear?""No.""Why, you've driven the army back in a panic on Washington. They'll askfor peace, won't they?""They won't, honey. I know 'em too well. They'll more than likely askfor a million volunteers.""It's not over, then?""No, dear little mother. I'll be honest with you. Don't believe sillytalk. We're in for a long, desperate fight--""And I've been so happy thinking you'd come home--""Your home will be with me, won't it?""Always.""All right. This is the beginning of my scheme for the duration of thewar. I'm going to get you a map of Virginia, showing the roads. I'll getyou a compass. There'll always be a little farmhouse somewhere behind myheadquarters. Our home will be in the field and saddle for a while."He kissed his babies and ate his supper laughing and joking like aboy of nineteen. The table cleared, he ordered a concert for theirentertainment.
Bob, the leader of his minstrels, was a dandified mulatto who played theguitar, the second was a whistler and the third a master of the negrodance, the back step and the breakdown.
Bob tuned his guitar, picked his strings and gazed at the ceiling. Hewas apparently selecting the first piece. It, was always the same, hisfavorite, "Listen to the Mocking Bird." He played with a plaintive,swaying melody that charmed his hearers. The whistler amazed them withhis marvelous imitation of birds and bird calls. The room throbbed withevery note of the garden, field and wood.
The mother's face was wreathed in smiles. The boy shouted. The babycrooned. The first piece done, the audience burst into a round ofapplause.
Bob gave them "Alabama" next, accompanied by the whistler and his birdchorus.
Stuart laughed and called for the breakdown. Bob begins a jig on hisguitar, the whistler claps and the sable dancer edges his way to thecenter of the floor in little spasmodic shuffles. He begins with hisheel tap, then the toe, then in leaps and whirls. The guitar swelledto a steady roar. The whistler quickens his claps. And Stuart's boyishlaughter rang above the din.
"Go it, boy! Go it!"The dancer's eyes roll. His step quickens. He cuts the wildest figuresin a frenzy of abandoned joy. With a leap through the door he is gone.
The guitar stops with a sudden twang and Stuart's laughter roars.
And then he gave an hour to play with his children before a mother'slullaby should put them to sleep. He got down on his all fours andlittle Jeb mounted and rode round the room to the baby's scream of joy.
He lay flat on the floor with the baby on his breast and let her pullhis beard and mustache until her strength failed.
The children were still sound asleep when they sat down and atebreakfast before day.
At the first streak of dawn he was standing beside his horse ready forthe dash back to his headquarters and the work of the day.
The shadow had fallen across the woman's heart again. He saw andunderstood. He put his hand under her chin and lifted it.
"No more tears now, my sweetheart.""I'll try.""We may be here for weeks.""There'll be another fight soon?""I think not.""For a month?""Not for a long time.""Thank God!"A far-off look stole into his eyes.
"It will be a good one though when it comes, I reckon.""There can be no _good_ one--if my boy's in it.""Well, I'll be in it!""Yes. I know."She kissed him and turned back into the house, with the old feargripping her heart.
CHAPTER XL
The early months of the war were but skirmishes. The real work ofkilling and maiming the flower of the race had not begun.
The defeat had given the sad-eyed President unlimited power to drawon the resources of the nation for men and money. His call for halfa million soldiers met with instant response. The fighting spirit oftwenty-two million Northern people had been roused. They felt thedisgrace of Bull Run and determined to wipe it out in blood.
Three Northern armies were hurled on the South in a well-planned,concerted movement to take Richmond. McDowell marched straight down toFredericksburg with forty thousand. Fermont, with Milroy, Banks andShields, was sweeping through the Shenandoah Valley. McClellan, withhis grand army of one hundred and twenty thousand men, had moved upthe Peninsula in resistless force until he lay on the banks of theChickahominy within sight of the spires of Richmond.
To meet these three armies aggregating a quarter of a million men, theSouth could marshall barely seventy thousand. Jackson was despatchedwith eighteen thousand to baffle the armies of McDowell, Fremont,Milroy, Shields and Banks in the Valley and prevent their union withMcClellan.
The war really began on Sunday, the second of June, 1862, when RobertE. Lee was sent to the front to take command of the combined army ofseventy thousand men of the South.
The new commander with consummate genius planned his attack and flunghis gray lines on McClellan with savage power. The two armies fought indense thickets often less than fifty yards apart. Their muskets flashedsheets of yellow flame. The sound of ripping canvas, the fire of smallarms in volleys, could no longer be distinguished. The sullen roar wasendless, deafening, appalling. Over the tops of oak, pine, beech, ashand tangled undergrowth came the flaming thunder of two great armiesequally fearless, the flower of American manhood in their front ranks,daring, scorning death, fighting hand to hand, man to man.
The people in the churches of Richmond as they prayed could hear theawful roar. They turned their startled faces toward the battle. It rangabove the sob of organ and the chant of choir.
The hosts in blue and gray charged again and again through the tangleof mud and muck and blood and smoke and death. Bayonet rang on bayonet.
They fought hand to hand, as naked savages once fought with bare hands.
The roar died slowly with the shadows of the night, until only the crackof a rifle here and there broke the stillness.
And then above the low moans of the wounded and dying came the distantnotes of the church bells in Richmond calling men and women again to thehouse of God.
There was no shout of triumph--no cheering hosts--only the low moan ofdeath and the sharp cry of a boy in pain. The men in blue could havemoved in and bivouaced on the ground they had lost. The men in gray hadno strength left.
The dead and the dying were everywhere. The wounded were crawlingthrough the mud and brush, like stricken animals; some with their legsbroken; some with arms dangling by a thread; some with hideous holestorn in their faces.
The front was lighted with the unclouded splendor of a full Southernmoon. Down every dim aisle of the woods they lay in awful, dark heaps.
In the fields they lay with faces buried in the dirt or eyes staring upat the stars, twisted, torn, mangled. The blue and the gray lay sideby side in death, as they had fought in life. The pride and glory of amighty race of freemen.
The shadows of the details moved in the moonlight. They were opening thefirst of those long, deep trenches. They were careful in these earlydays of war. They turned each face downward as they packed them in. Thegrave diggers could not then throw the wet dirt into their eyes andmouths. Aching hearts in far-off homes couldn't see; but these boysstill had hearts within their breasts.
The fog-rimmed lanterns flickered over the fields peering into the faceson the ground.
The ambulance corps did its best at the new trade. It was utterlyinadequate on either side. It's always so in war. The work of war is tomaim, to murder--not to heal or save.
The long line of creaking wagons began to move into Richmond over themud-cut roads. Every hospital was filled. The empty wagons rolled backin haste over the cobble stones and out on the muddy roads to the frontagain.
At the hospital doors the women stood in huddled groups--wives,sweethearts, mothers, sisters, praying, hoping, fearing, shivering. Faraway in the field hospitals, the young doctors with bare, bloody armswere busy with saw and knife. Boys who had faced death in battle withouta tremor stood waiting their turn trembling, crying, cursing. They couldsee the piles of legs and arms rising higher as the doctors hurledthem from the quivering bodies. They stretched out their hands in thedarkness to feel the touch of loved ones. They must face this horroralone, and then battle through life, maimed wrecks. They peered throughthe shadows under the trees where the dead were piled and envied themtheir sleep.
The armies paused next day to gird their loins for the crucial test.
Jackson was still in the Shenandoah Valley holding three armies at bay,defeating them in detail. His swift marches had so paralyzed his enemiesthat McDowell's forty thousand men lay at Fredericksburg unable to move.
Lee summoned Stuart.
When the conference ended the young Cavalry Commander threw himself intothe saddle and started Northward with a song. Determined to learn thestrength of McClellan's right wing and confuse his opponent, Lee hadsent Stuart on the most daring adventure in the history of cavalrywarfare. Stuart had told him that he could ride around McClellan's wholearmy, cut his communications and strike terror in his rear.
With twelve hundred picked horsemen, fighting, singing, dare-devilriders, Stuart slipped from Lee's lines and started towardFredericksburg.
On the second day he surprised and captured the Federal pickets withouta shot. He dreaded a meeting with the Cavalry. His father-in-law,General Cooke, was in command of a brigade of blue riders. He thoughtwith a moment's pang of the little wife at home praying that they shouldnever meet. Let her pray. God would help her. He couldn't let such athing happen.
He suddenly confronted a squadron of Federal Cavalry. With a yell histroops charged and cleared the field. They must ride now with swifterhoofbeat than ever. The news would spread and avengers would be on theirheels. They were now far in the rear of McClellan's grand army. They hadfelt out his right wing and knew to a mile where its lines ended.
They dashed toward the York River Railroad which supplied the Northernarmy, surprised the company holding Tunstall's Station, took themprisoners, cut the wires and tore up the tracks.
On his turn toward Richmond when he reached the Chickahominy River, itswaters were swollen and he couldn't cross. He built a bridge out of thetimbers of a barn, took his last horse over and destroyed it, as theshout of a division of Federal Cavalry was heard in the distance.
With twelve hundred men he had made a raid which added a new rule tocavalry tactics. He had ridden around a great army, covering ninetymiles in fifty-six hours with the loss of but one man. He hadestablished the position of the enemy, destroyed enormous quantitiesof war material, captured a hundred and sixty-five prisoners and twohundred horses. He had struck terror to the hearts of a sturdy foe, andthrilled the South with new courage.
Jackson's victorious little army joined Lee at Gaines' Mill on thetwenty-seventh of June, and on the following day McClellan was in fullretreat.
On the first of July it ended at Malvern Hill on the banks of the James.
Of the one hundred and ten thousand men who marched in battle line onRichmond, eighty-six thousand only reached the shelter of his gunboats.
The first great battle of the war had raged from the first of June untilthe first of July. Fifty thousand brave boys were killed or mangled onthe red fields of death. Washington was in gloom. The Grand Army of morethan two hundred thousand had gone down in defeat. It was incredible.
Richmond had been saved. The glory of Lee, Jackson and Stuart filled theSouth with a new radiance. But the celebration of victory was in minorkey. Every home was in mourning.
Six days later Stuart once more clasped his wife to his heart. It hadbeen a month since he had seen her. The thunder of guns she had heardwithout pause. She knew that both her father and her lover weresomewhere in the roaring hell below the city. Stuart never told her howclose they had come to a charge and counter charge at the battle ofGaines' Mill.
The old, tremulous question she couldn't keep back:
"You didn't see my daddy, did you, dear?"Stuart shouted in derision at the idea.
"Of course not, honey girl. It's not written in the book of life. Forgetthe silly old fear.""And they didn't even scratch my soldier man?""Never a scratch!"She kissed him again.
"You know I've a little woman praying for me every day. I lead a charmedlife!"She gazed at his handsome, bronzed face.
"I believe you do, dearest!"
CHAPTER XLI
McClellan fell before the genius of Lee, and Pope was put in his place.
They met at Second Manassas. The new general ended his brief campaign ina disaster so complete, so appalling that it struck terror to the heartof the Nation. Lee had crushed him with an ease so amazing that Lincolnwas compelled to recall McClellan to supreme command. When the toll ofthe Blood Feud was again reckoned twenty-five thousand more of our braveboys lay dead or wounded beneath the blazing sun of the South.
The Confederate Government now believed its army invincible, led by Lee.
In spite of poor equipment, with the men half clad and half barefooted,Lee was ordered to invade Maryland. It was a political move, undertakenwithout the approval of the Commander.
As the gray lines swept Northward to cross the Potomac into Maryland,Lincoln was jubilant. To Hay, his young secretary, he whispered:
"We've got them now, boy. We've got them! The war must speedily end. Leecan never get into Maryland with fifty thousand effective men. The riverwill be behind them. I'll have McClellan on him with a hundred thousandwell-shod, well-fed, well-armed soldiers and the finest equipment ofartillery that ever thundered into battle.
"McClellan's on his mettle. His army will fight like tigers to show theirfaith in him. They were all against me when I removed him. Now they'llshow me something. Mark my words."Luck was with McClellan. By an accident Lee's plan of campaign hadfallen into his hands. Yet it was too late to forestall his first masterstroke. In the face of a hostile army of twice his numbers Lee dividedhis forces, threw Jackson's corps on Harper's Ferry, captured the town,Arsenal and Rifle Works, twelve thousand five hundred prisoners and vaststores of war material. Among the booty taken were new blue uniformswith which Jackson promptly clothed his men.
Lee met McClellan at Antietam and waited for Jackson to arrive fromHarper's Ferry.
When McClellan's artillery opened in the gray dawn, more than sixteenthousand of Lee's footsore men had fallen along the line of march unableto reach the battlefield. The union Commander was massing eighty-seventhousand men behind his flaming batteries. Lee could count on butthirty-seven thousand. He gave McClellan battle with his little armyhemmed in on one side by Antietam Creek and on the other by the sweepingPotomac.
The President in Washington received the news of the positions of thearmies and their chances of success with exultation. As the sun rosea glowing dull red ball of fire breaking through the smoke of theartillery, Hooker's division swept into action and drove the first lineof Lee's men into the woods. Here they rallied and began to mow down thecharging masses with deadly aim. For two hours the sullen fight raged inthe woods without yielding an inch on either side. Hooker fell wounded.
He called for aid. Mansfield answered and fell dead as he deployed hismen. Sedgwick's Corps charged and were caught in a trap between twoConfederate brigades concealed and massed to meet them. Sedgwick waswounded and his command barely saved from annihilation.
While this struggle raged on the union right, the center saw a bloodiertragedy. French and Richardson charged the Confederate position. Asunken road crossed the field over which they marched. For four tragichours the men in gray held this sunken road until it was piled withtheir bodies. When the final charge of massed blue took it, they foundto their amazement that but three hundred living men had been holding itfor an hour against the assaults of five thousand. So perfect was thefaith of those gray soldiers in Robert E. Lee they died as if it werethe order of the day. It was simply fate. Their Commander could make nomistake.
Burnsides swung his reinforced division around the woods and pushed upthe heights against Sharpsburg to cut Lee's only line of retreat. Heforced the thin, gray lines before him through the streets of thevillage. On its outer edge he suddenly confronted a mass of men clad intheir own blue uniform.
How had these men gotten here?
He was not long in doubt. The blue line suddenly flashed a red wavesquarely in their faces. It was Jackson's Corps from Harper's Ferry intheir new uniforms. The shock threw the union men into confusion, adesperate charge drove them out of Sharpsburg, and Lee's army camped onthe field with the dead.
For fourteen hours five hundred guns and a hundred thousand musketsthundered and hissed their message of blood. When night fell more thantwenty thousand of our noblest men lay dead and wounded on the field.
Lee skillfully withdrew his army across the Potomac. Safe in Virginia herallied his shattered forces while he sent Stuart once more in a daringride around McClellan's army.
Again McClellan fell before the genius of Lee. Burnsides was put in hisplace.
They met at Fredericksburg. Burnsides, the courtly, polished gentleman,crossed the Rappahannock River and charged the hills on which Lee'sgrim, gray men had entrenched. His magnificent army marched into a deathtrap. Lee's batteries had been trained to rake the field from threedirections.
Five times the union hosts charged these crescent hills and five timesthey were rolled back in waves of blood. A fierce freezing wind sprangup from the North. The desperate union Commander thought still to turndefeat into victory and ordered the sixth charge.
The men in blue pulled down their caps and charged once more into thejaws of death. The lines as they advanced snatched up the frozen bodiesof their comrades, carried them to the front, stacked the corpses intolong piles for bulwarks, dropped low and fought behind them. In vain.
The gray hills roared and blazed, roared and blazed with increasingfury. Darkness came at last and drew a mantle of mercy over the scene.
The men in blue planted the frozen bodies of their dead along the outerline as dummy sentinels and crept through the shadows across the rivershattered, broken, crushed. They left their wounded. Through the longhours of the freezing night the pitiful cries came to the boys in grayon the wings of the fierce North winds. They crawled out into thedarkness here and there and held a canteen to the lips of a dying foe.
At dawn they looked and saw the piles of the slain wrapped in whiteshrouds of snow. The shivering, ragged, gray figures, thinly clad, sweptdown the hill, stripped the dead and shook the frost from the warmclothes.
Burnsides fell before the genius of Lee and Hooker was put in his place.
Fighting Joe Hooker they called him. At Chancellorsville a few monthslater he led his reorganized army across the same river and threw iton Lee with supreme confidence in the results. He led an army of onehundred and thirty thousand men in seven grand divisions backed by fourhundred and forty-eight great guns.
Lee, still on the hills behind Fredericksburg, had sixty-two thousandmen and one hundred and seventy guns. He had sent Longstreet's corpsinto Tennessee.
Hooker threw the flower of his army across the river seven miles aboveFredericksburg to flank Lee and strike him from the rear while theremainder of his army crossed in front and between the two he wouldcrush the Confederate army as an eggshell.
But the unexpected happened. Lee was not only a stark fighter. He was asupreme master of the art of war. He understood Hooker's move from themoment it began. His gray army had already slipped out of his trenchesand were feeling their way through the tangled vines and underbrush withsure, ominous tread. In this wilderness Hooker's four hundred guns wouldbe as useless as his own hundred and seventy. It would be a hand-to-handfight in the tangled brush. The gray veteran was a dead shot and he wascreeping through his own native woods. On this beautiful May morning,Lee, Jackson, and Stuart met in conference before the battle opened.
The plan was chosen. Lee would open the battle and hold Hooker at closerange. Jackson would "retreat." Out of sight, he would turn, marchswiftly ten miles around their right wing and smash it before sundown.
At five o'clock in the afternoon while Lee held Hooker's front,Jackson's corps crept into position in Hooker's rear. The shrill note ofa bugle rang from the woods and the yelling gray lines of death sweptdown on their unsuspecting foe. Without support the shattered right wingwas crushed, crumpled and rolled back in confusion.
At eight o'clock Jackson, pressing forward in the twilight, was mortallywounded by his own men and Stuart took his command. The gay, youngcavalier placed himself at the head of Jackson's corps and chargedHooker's disorganized army. Waving his black plumed hat above hishandsome, bearded face, he chanted with boyish gaiety an improvisedbattle song:
  "Old Joe Hooker,  Won't you come out o' the Wilderness?"His men swept the field and as Hooker's army retreated Lee rode tothe front to congratulate Stuart. At sight of his magnificent figurewreathed in smoke his soldiers went wild. Above the roar of battle rangtheir cheers:
"Lee! Lee! Lee!"From line to line, division to division, the word leaped until thewounded and the dying joined its chorus.
The picket lines were so close that night in the woods they could talkto one another. The Southerners were chaffing the Yanks over their manydefeats, when a Yankee voice called through the night his defense of thewar to date:
"Ah, Johnnie, shut up--you make me tired. You're not such fighters as yethink ye are. Swap generals with us and we'll come over and lick hellout of you!"There was silence for a while and then a Confederate chuckled to hismate:
"I'm damned if they mightn't, too!"The morning dawned at last after the battle and they began to bury thedead and care for the wounded. Their agonies had been horrible. Somehad fallen on Friday, thousands on Saturday. It was now Monday. Throughmiles of dark, tangled woods in the pouring rain they still lay groaningand dying.
And over all the wings of buzzards hovered.
The keen eyes of the vultures had watched them fall, poised high as thebattle raged. The woods had been swept again and again by fire. Many ofthe bodies were black and charred. Some of the wounded had been burnedto death. Their twisted bodies and distorted features told the story.
The sickening odor of roasted human flesh yet filled the air.
It was late at night on the day after, before the wounded had all beenmoved. The surgeons with sleeves rolled high, their arms red, theirshirts soaked, bent over their task through every hour of the blacknight until legs and arms were piled in heaps ten feet high beside eachoperating table.
Thirty thousand magnificent men had been killed and mangled.
The report from Chancellorsville drifted slowly and ominously northward.
The White House was still. The dead were walking beside the lonely, tallfigure who paced the floor in dumb anguish, pausing now and then at thewindow to look toward the hills of Virginia.
Lee's fame now filled the world and the North shivered at the sound ofit.
Volunteering had ceased. But the cannon were still calling for fodder.
The draft was applied. And when it was resisted in fierce riots, thesoldiers trained their guns on their own people. The draft wheel wasturned by bayonets and the ranks of the army filled with fresh youngbodies to be mangled.
Hooker fell before Lee's genius and Meade took his place.
The Confederate Government, flushed with its costly victories, once moresought a political sensation by the invasion of the North. Lee marchedhis army of veterans into Pennsylvania.
At Gettysburg he met Meade.
The first day the Confederates won. They drove the blue army backthrough the streets of the village and their gallant General, John F.
Reynolds, was killed.
The second day was one of frightful slaughter. The union army at itsclose had lost twenty thousand men, the Confederate fifteen thousand.
The moon rose and flooded the rocky field of blood and death with silentglory. From every shadow and from every open space through the hotbreath of the night came the moans of thousands and high above theirchorus rang the cries for water.
No succor could be given. The Confederates were massing their artilleryon Seminary Ridge. The union legions were burrowing and planting newbatteries.
Fifteen thousand helpless, wounded men lay on the field through the longhours of the night.
At ten o'clock a wounded man began to sing one of the old hymns of Zionwhose words had come down the ages wet with tears and winged with humanhopes. In five minutes ten thousand voices, from blue and gray, hadjoined. Some of them quivered with agony. Some of them trembled with adying breath. For two hours the hills echoed with the unearthly music.
At a council of war Longstreet begged Lee to withdraw from Gettysburgand pick more favorable ground. Reinforced by the arrival of Pickett'sdivision of fifteen thousand fresh men and Stuart's Cavalry, he decidedto renew the battle at dawn.
The guns opened at the crack of day. For seven hours the waves of bloodebbed and flowed.
At noon there was a lull.
At one o'clock a puff of white smoke flashed from Seminary Ridge. Thesignal of the men in gray had pealed its death call. Along two miles onthis crest they had planted a hundred and fifty guns. Suddenly two milesof flame burst from the hills in a single fiery wreath. The Federal gunsanswered until the heavens were a hell of bursting, screaming, roaringshells.
At three o'clock the storm died away and the smoke lifted.
Pickett's men were deploying in the plain to charge the heights ofCemetery Ridge. Fifteen thousand heroic men were forming their line torush a hill on whose crest lay seventy-five thousand entrenched soldiersbacked by four hundred guns.
Pickett's bands played as on parade. The gray ranks dressed on theircolors. And then across the plain, with banners flying, they swept andclimbed the hill. The ranks closed as men fell in wide gaps. Not a manfaltered. They fell and lay when they fell. Those who stood moved on andon. A handful reached the union lines on the heights. Armistead with ahundred men broke through, lifted his red battle flag and fell mortallywounded. The gray wave in sprays of blood ebbed down the hill, and thebattle ended. Meade had lost twenty-three thousand men and seventeengenerals. Lee had lost twenty thousand men and fourteen generals.
The swollen Potomac was behind Lee and his defeated army. So sure wasStanton of the end that he declared to the President:
"If a single regiment of Lee's army ever gets back into Virginia inan organized condition it will prove that I am totally unfit to beSecretary of War."The impossible happened.
Lee got back into Virginia with every regiment marching to quick stepand undaunted spirit. He crossed the swollen Potomac, his army infighting trim, every gun intact, carrying thousands of fat Pennsylvaniacattle and four thousand prisoners of war taken on the bloody hills ofGettysburg.
The rejoicing in Washington was brief. Meade fell before the genius ofLee, and Grant, the stark fighter of the West, took his place.
The new Commander was granted full authority over all the armies of theunion. He placed Sherman at Chattanooga in command of a hundred thousandmen and ordered him to invade Georgia. He sent Butler with an armyof fifty thousand up the Peninsula against Richmond on the line ofMcClellan's old march. He raised the army of the Potomac to a hundredand forty thousand effective fighting soldiers, placed Phil Sheridan incommand of his cavalry, put himself at the head of this magnificent armyand faced Lee on the banks of the Rapidan. He was but a few miles fromChancellorsville where Hooker's men had baptized the earth in blood theyear before.
A new draft of five hundred thousand had given Grant unlimited men forthe coming whirlwind. His army was the flower of Northern manhood. Hecommanded the best-equipped body of soldiers ever assembled under theflag of the union. His baggage train was sixty miles long and wouldhave stretched the entire distance from his crossing at the Rapidan toRichmond.
Lee's army had been recruited to its normal strength of sixty-twothousand. Again the wily Southerner anticipated the march of his foeand crept into the tangled wilderness to meet him where his superioritywould be of no avail.
Confident of his resistless power Grant threw his army across theRapidan and plunged into the wilderness. From the dawn of the first dayuntil far into the night the conflict raged. As darkness fell Lee hadpushed the blue lines back a hundred yards, captured four guns anda number of prisoners. At daylight they were at it again. As theConfederate right wing crumpled and rolled back, Long-street arrived onthe scene and threw his corps into the breach.
Lee himself rode forward to lead the charge and restore his line. Atsight of him, from thousands of parched throats rose the cries:
"Lee to the rear!""Go back, General Lee!""We'll settle this!"They refused to move until their leader had withdrawn. And then with asavage yell they charged and took the field.
Lee sent Longstreet to turn Grant's left as Jackson had done atChancellorsville. The movement was executed with brilliant success.
Hancock's line was smashed and driven back on his second defenses.
Wardsworth at the head of his division was mortally wounded and fellinto Longstreet's hands. At the height of his triumph in a movement thatmust crumple Grant's army back on the banks of the river, Longstreetfell, shot by his own men. In the change of commanders the stratagemfailed in its big purpose.
In two days Grant lost sixteen thousand six hundred men, a greater tollthan Hooker paid when he retreated in despair.
Grant merely chewed the end of his big cigar, turned to his lieutenantand said:
"It's all right, Wilson. We'll fight again."The two armies lay in their trenches watching each other in grimsilence.
CHAPTER XLII
In Lee's simple tent on the battlefield amid the ghostly trees of thewilderness his Adjutant-General, Walter Taylor, sat writing rapidly.
Sam, his ebony face shining, stood behind trying to look over hisshoulder. He couldn't make it out and his curiosity got the better ofhim.
"What dat yer writin' so hard, Gin'l Taylor?"Without lifting his head the Adjutant continued to write.
"Orders of promotion for gallantry in battle, Sam.""Is yer gwine ter write one fer my young Marse Robbie?"Taylor paused and looked up. The light of admiration overspread hisface.
"General Lee never promotes his sons or allows them on his staff, Sam.
General Custis Lee, General Rooney Lee, and Captain Robbie won theirspurs without a word from him. They won by fighting.""Yassah! Dey sho's been some fightin' in dis here wilderness. Hopes terGod we git outen here pretty quick. Gitten too close tergedder ter suitme."The clatter of a horse's hoofs rang out in the little clearing in frontof the tent.
Taylor looked up again.
"See if that's Stuart. General Lee's expecting him."Sam peered out the door of the tent.
"Dey ain't no plume in his hat an' dey ain't no banjo man wid him.
Nasah. Tain't Gin'l Stuart.""All right. Pull up a stool.""Yassah!"Sam unfolded a camp stool and placed it at the table. A sentinelapproached and called:
"Senator William C. Rives of the Confederate Congress to see GeneralLee."Taylor rose.
"Show him in."The Senator entered with a quick, nervous excitement he could notconceal.
"Colonel Taylor--""Senator."The men clasped hands and Taylor continued to watch the nervous mannerof his caller.
"My coming from Richmond is no doubt a surprise?""Naturally. We're in pretty close quarters with Grant here to-night--"Rives raised his hand in a gesture of despair.
"No closer than our Government in Richmond is with the end at thismoment, in my judgment. I couldn't wait. I had to come to-night. Youhave called an informal council as I requested?""The moment I got your message an hour ago."Taylor caught his excitement and bent close.
"What is it, Senator?"Rives hesitated, glanced at the doors of the tent and answered rapidly.
"The Confederate Congress has just held a secret session without theknowledge of President Davis--"He drew from his pocket a letter and handed it to the Adjutant.
"You will see from this letter of the presiding officer my credentials.
They have sent me as their agent on an important mission to GeneralLee."He paused as Taylor carefully read the letter.
"How soon can I see him?""I'm expecting him in a few minutes," Taylor answered. "He's riding onthe front lines trying to feel out Grant's next move. He is very anxiousover it.""This battle was desperate?" Rives asked nervously.
"Terrific.""Our losses in the two days?""More than ten thousand.""Merciful God--""Grant's losses were far greater," Taylor added briskly.
"No matter, Taylor, no matter!" he cried in anguish, springing to hisfeet. He fought for control of his emotions and hurried on.
"The maws of those cannon now are insatiate! We can't afford to lose tenthousand men from our thin ranks in two days. If your army suspectedfor one moment the real situation in Richmond, they'd quit and we'd belost.""They only ask for General Lee's orders, Senator. Their faith in ourleader is sublime.""And that's our only hope," Rives hastened to add. "General Lee may saveus. And he is the only man who can do it."He stopped and studied Taylor closely. He spoke with some diffidence.
"The faith of his officers in him remains absolutely unshaken?""They worship him.""My appeal will be solely to him. But I may need help.""I've asked Alexander and Gordon to come. General Gordon did greatwork to-day. It was his command that broke Hancock's lines and tookprisoners. I've just slated him for further promotion. Stuart is alreadyon the way here to report the situation on the right where his cavalryis operating."The ring of two horses' hoofs echoed.
"If Stuart will only back me!" Rives breathed.
Outside the Cavalry Commander was having trouble with Sweeney, hisminstrel follower, an expert banjo player.
Stuart laughed heartily at his fears.
"Come on, Sweeney. Don't be a fool."The minstrel man still held back and Stuart continued to urge.
"Come on in, Sweeney. Don't be bashful. I promised you shall see GeneralLee and you shall. Come on!"Taylor and Rives stood in the door of the tent watching the conflict.
"Never be afraid of a great man, Sweeney!" Stuart went on. "The greaterthe man the easier it is to get along with him. General Lee wears noscarlet in his coat, no plume in his hat, no gold braid on his uniform.
He's as plain as a gray mouse--"Stuart laughed and whispered:
"He's too great to need anything to mark his rank. But he never frownson my gay colors.""He knows," Taylor rejoined, "that it's your way of telling the glory ofthe cause.""Sure! He just laughs at my foolishness and gives me an order to lick acrowd that outnumbers me, three to one."He took hold of Sweeney's arm.
"Don't be afraid, old boy. Marse Robert won't frown on your banjo.
He'll just smile as he recalls what the cavalry did in our last battle.
Minstrel man, make yourself at home."Sweeney timidly touched the strings, and Stuart wheeled toward Rives.
"Well, Senator, how goes it in Richmond?"Rives answered with eager anxiety. His words were not spoken in despairbut with an undertone of desperate appeal.
"Dark days have come, General Stuart. And great events are pending.
Events of the utmost importance to the army, to the country, to GeneralLee.""Just say General Lee and let it go at that," Stuart laughed. "He _is_the army _and_ the country."He turned to Taylor.
"Where's Marse Robert?""Inspecting the lines. He fears a movement to turn our flank atSpottsylvania Court House.""My men are right there, watching like owls. They'll catch the firstrustle of a leaf by Sheridan's cavalry.""I hope so.""Never fear. Well, Sweeney, while we wait for General Lee, Senator Rivesneeds a little cheer. We've medicine in that box for every ill that manis heir to. Things look black in Richmond, he tells us. All right. Giveus the old familiar tune--_Hard Times and Wuss Er Comin'!_--Go it!"Sweeney touched his strings sharply.
"You don't mind, sir?" he asked Taylor.
"Certainly not. I like it."Sentinels, orderlies, aides and scouts gathered around the door asSweeney played and sang with Stuart. The Cavalryman's spirit wascontagious. Before the song had died away, they were all singing thechorus in subdued tones. Sweeney ended with Stuart's favorite--_Rock ofAges_.
General John B. Gordon joined the group, followed by General E.P.
Alexander.
Taylor called the generals together.
"Senator Rives, gentlemen, is the bearer of an important message fromthe Confederate Congress to General Lee. I have asked you informally tojoin him in this meeting."Rives entered his appeal.
"I am going to ask you to help me to-night in paying the highest tributeto General Lee in our power."Gordon responded promptly.
"We shall honor ourselves in honoring him, sir.""Always," Alexander agreed.
Rives plunged into the heart of his mission.
"Gentlemen, so desperate is the situation of the South that our onlyhope lies in our great Commander. The Confederate Congress has sent meto offer him the Dictatorship--""You don't mean it?" Stuart exploded.
"Will you back me?"The Cavalry leader grasped his hand.
"Yours to count on, sir!""Yes," Gordon joined.
"We'll back you!" Alexander cried.
Rives' face brightened.
"If he will only accept. The question is how to approach him?""It must be done with the utmost care," Alexander warned.
"Exactly." Rives nodded. "Shall I announce to him it once the vote ofCongress conferring on him the supreme power?""Not if you can approach him more carefully," Alexander cautioned.
"I can first propose that as Commanding General he might acceptthe peace proposals which Francis Preston Blair has brought fromWashington--""What kind of peace proposals?" Gorden asked sharply.
"He proposes to end the war immediately by an armistice, and arrange forthe joint invasion of Mexico by the combined armies of the North andSouth under the command of General Lee."Alexander snapped at the suggestion.
"By all means suggest the armistice first. General Lee won his spurs inMexico. The plan might fire his imagination--as it would have fired thesoul of Caesar or Napoleon. If he refuses to go over the head of Davis,you can then announce the vote of Congress giving him supreme power."The general suddenly paused at the familiar sound of Traveler'shoofbeat.
The officers stood and saluted as Lee entered. He was dressed in hisfull field gray uniform of immaculate cut and without spot. He wore hissword, high boots and spurs and his field glasses were thrown across hisbroad shoulders.
He glanced at the group in slight surprise and drew Stuart aside.
"I sent for you, General Stuart, to say that I am expecting a courier atany moment who may report that General Grant will move on SpottsylvaniaCourt House."He paused in deep thought.
"If so, Sheridan will throw the full force of his cavalry on your lines,to turn our right and circle Richmond."Stuart's body stiffened.
"I'm ready, sir. He may reach Yellow Tavern. He'll never go past it."In low, tense words Lee said:
"I'm depending on you, sir."Stuart saluted in silence.
Lee turned back into the group and Taylor explained:
"I have called an informal meeting at the request of Senator Rives."Lee smiled.
"Oh, I see. A council of both War and State."Rives came forward and the Commander grasped his hand.
"Always glad to see _you_, Senator. What can we do for you?""Everything, sir. Can we enter at once into our conference?""The quicker the better. General Grant may drop in on us at any momentwithout an invitation."Rives smiled wanly.
"General Lee, we face the gravest crisis of the war.""No argument is needed to convince me of that, sir. Grant's men havegripped us with a ferocity never known before.""And our boys," Alexander added, "in all the struggle have never beensuch stark fighters as to-day.""I agree with you," Lee nodded. "But Grant is getting ready to fightagain to-morrow morning--not next month. His policy is new, and it'sclear. He plans to pound us to death in a series of quick, successiveblows. His man power is exhaustless. We can't afford to lose many men.
He can. An endless blue line is streaming to the front.""And that's why I'm here to-night, General," Rives said gravely.
"Grant is now in supreme command of all the Armies of the union. Whilehe moves on Richmond, Butler is sweeping up the James and Sherman ispressing on Atlanta. We have lost ten thousand men in two-days' battle.
In the next we'll lose ten thousand more. In the next ten thousandmore--""We must fight, sir. I have invaded the North twice. But I stand on thedefense now. I have no choice.""That remains to be seen, General Lee," Rives said with a piercing look.
"What do you mean?""A few days ago, your old friend, Francis Preston Blair, entered ourlines and came to Richmond on a mission of peace. He has now before Mr.
Davis and his Cabinet a plan to end the war. He proposes that we stopfighting, unite and invade Mexico to defend the Monroe Doctrine.
Maximilian of Austria has just been proclaimed Emperor in a conspiracybacked by Napoleon. The suggestion is that we join armies under yourcommand, dethrone Maximilian, push the soldiers of Napoleon into thesea, and restore the rule of the people on the American Continent."Lee looked at him steadily.
"Mr. Davis refuses to listen to this proposal?""Only on the basis of the continued division of our country. Lincolnnaturally demands that we come back into the union first, and march onMexico afterwards. Mr. Davis refuses to come back into the union first.
And so we end where we began--unless we can get help from you, GeneralLee--""Well?""The Confederate Congress has sent me as their spokesman to make aproposition to you."He handed Lee the letter from the Congress.
"Will you issue as Commanding General an order for an armistice toarrange the joint invasion of Mexico?""You mean take it on myself to go over the head of Mr. Davis, and issuethis order without his knowledge?""Exactly. We could not take him into our confidence.""But Mr. Davis is my superior officer and he is faithfully executing thelaws.""You will not proclaim an armistice, then?"Lee spoke with irritation.
"How can you ask me to go over the head of my Chief with such an order?"Alexander pressed forward.
"But you might consider a proclamation looking to peace under thisplan--if you were in a position of supreme power?""I have no such power. I advised our people to make peace before Iinvaded Pennsylvania. I have urged it more than once, but they cannotsee it. And I must do the work given me from day to day.""We now propose to give to you the sole decision as to what that workshall be.""How, sir?""I am here to-night, General, as the agent of our Government, to conferon you this power. The Congress has unanimously chosen you as Dictatorof the Confederacy with supreme power over both the civil and militarybranches of the Government.""And well done!" cried Gordon.
"We back them!" echoed Alexander.
"Hurrah for the Confederate Congress," shouted Stuart--"the first signsof brains they've shown in many a day--"He caught himself at a glance from Rives.
"Excuse me, Senator--I didn't mean quite that."Lee fixed Rives with his brilliant eyes.
"The Confederate Congress has no authority to declare & Dictatorship.""We have.""By what law?""By the law of necessity, sir. The civil government in Richmond hasbecome a farce. I acknowledge it sorrowfully. Your soldiers are illclothed, half starved, and the power to recruit your ranks is gone. Thepeople have lost faith in their civil leaders. Disloyalty is rampant. Inthe name of ultra State Sovereignty, treason is everywhere threatening.
Soldiers are taken from your army by State authorities on the eve ofbattle. Men are deserting in droves and defy arrest. You have justlydemanded the death penalty for desertion. It has been denied. Bands ofdeserters now plunder, burn and rob as they please. You are our onlyhope. You are the idol of our people. At your call they will rally. Menwill pour into your ranks, and we can yet crush our enemies, or invadeMexico as you may decide.""He's right, General," Gordon agreed. "The South will stand by you to aman."Alexander added with deep reverence:
"The people believe in you, General Lee, as they believe in God."A dreamy look overspread Lee's face.
"Their faith is misplaced, sir! God alone decides the fate of nations.
And God, not your commanding General, will decide the fate of the South.
The thing that appalls me is that we have no luck. For in spite ofnumbers, resources, generalship--the unknown factor in war is luck. TheNorth has had it all. At Shiloh at the moment of a victory that wouldhave ended Grant's career, Albert Sydney Johnson, our ablest general,was shot and Grant escaped. At the battle of Chancellorsville in thesevery woods, Jackson at the moment of his triumph-Jackson my rightarm--was shot by his own men. To-day Longstreet falls in the same waywhen he is about to repeat his immortal deed--"He paused.
"The South has had no luck!"Alexander eagerly protested.
"I don't agree with you, sir. God has given the South Lee as herCommander. Your genius is equal to a hundred thousand men. And in allour terrible battles, at the head of your men, again and again, as youwere to-day, with bullets whistling around you, you've lived a charmedlife. You're here to-night strong in body and mind, without a scratch.
Don't tell me, sir, that we haven't had luck!"Stuart broke in.
"You're the biggest piece of luck that ever befell an army."Lee rose.
"I appreciate your confidence and your love, gentlemen. But I've mademany tragic mistakes, and tried to find an abler man to take my place.""There's no such man!" Stuart boomed. "Give the word to-night and everysoldier in this army would follow you into the jaws of hell!"Lee's eyes were lifted dreamily.
"And you ask me to blot out the liberties of our people by a single actof usurpation?"Alexander lifted his hand.
"Only for a moment, General, that we may restore them in greater glory.
The truth is the Confederate Government is not fitted for revolution.
Let's win this war and fix it afterwards.""I do not believe either in military statesmen or political generals.
The military should be subordinate always to the civil power--""But Congress," Rives broke in, "speaking for the people, offers yousupreme power. Mr. Davis has not proven himself strong enough for thegreat office he holds."Lee flared at this assertion.
"And if he has not, sir, who gave _me_ the right to sit in judgment uponmy superior officer and condemn him without trial? Mr. Davis is thevictim of this unhappy war. I say this, though, that he differs with meon vital issues. I urged the abolition of Slavery. He opposed it. So didyour Congress. I urged the uncovering of Richmond and the concentrationof our forces into one great army for an offensive--"Rives interrupted.
"We ask you to take the supreme power and decide these questions."Lee replied with a touch of anger.
"But I may be wrong in my policies. Mr. Davis is a man of the highestcharacter, devoted soul and body to the principles to which he haspledged his life. He is a statesman of the foremost rank. He isa trained soldier, a West Point graduate. He is a man of noblespirit--courageous, frank, positive. A great soul throbs within hisbreast. He has done as well in his high office as any other man couldhave done--"He looked straight at Rives.
"We left the union, sir, because our rights had been invaded. Ourrevolution is justified by this fact alone. You ask me to do the thingthat caused us to revolt. To brush aside the laws which our people haveordained and set up a Dictatorship with the power of life and death overevery man, woman and child. For three years we have poured out our bloodin a sacred cause. We are fighting for our liberties under law, or weare traitors, not revolutionists. We are fighting for order, justice,principles, or we are fighting for nothing--"A courier dashed to the door of the tent and handed Lee a message whichhe read with a frown.
"This discussion is closed, gentlemen. General Grant is moving onSpottsylvania Court House. My business is to get there first. My work isnot to jockey for place or power. It is to fight. Move your forces atonce!"
CHAPTER XLIII
Lee hurried to Spottsylvania Court House and was entrenched before Grantarrived. The two armies again flew at each other's throat. True to Lee'sprediction the union Commander hurled Sheridan's full force of tenthousand cavalry in a desperate effort to turn the right and strikeRichmond while the Confederate infantry were held in a grip of death.
From a hilltop Stuart saw the coming blue legions of Sheridan. They rodefour abreast and made a column of flashing sabers and fluttering guidonsthirteen miles long.
The young Cavalier waved his plumed hat and gave a shout. It wasmagnificent. He envied them the endless line of fine horses. He had butthree small brigades to oppose them. But his spirits rose.
He ordered his generals to harass the advancing host at every point ofvantage, delay them as long as possible and draw up their forces atYellow Tavern for the battle.
He took time to dash across the country from Beaver Dam Station to seehis wife and babies. He had left them at the house of Edmund Fontaine.
He feared that the Federal Cavalry might have raided the section.
To his joy he found them well and happy, unconscious of the impendingfight.
For the first time in his joyous life of song and play and war he wasworried.
His wife was in high spirits. She cheered him.
"Don't worry about us, my soldier man! We're all right. No harm hasever befallen us. We've had three glorious years playing lovers'
hide-and-seek. I've ceased to worry about you. Your life is charmed. Godhas heard my prayers. You're coming home soon to play with me and thebabies always!"She was too happy for Stuart to describe the host of ten thousand riderswhich he had just seen. Their lives were in God's hands. It was enough.
He held her in his arms longer than was his wont at parting. And thenwith a laugh and a shout to the children he was gone.
At Jerrold's Mill, Wickham's brigade suddenly fell on Sheridan's rearguard and captured a company. Sheridan refused to stop to fight.
At Mitchell's Shop, Wickham again dashed on the rear guard and wasforced back by a counter charge. As he retreated, fighting a desperatehand-to-hand saber engagement, Fitzhugh Lee and Stuart rushed to his aidand the blue river rolled on again toward Richmond.
At Hanover Junction Stuart allowed his men to sleep until one o'clockand then rode with desperate speed to Yellow Tavern. He reached hischosen battle ground at ten o'clock the following morning. He had wonthe race and at once deployed his forces to meet the coming avalanche.
Wickham he stationed on the right of the road, Lomax on the left. Heplaced two guns in the road, one on the left to rake it at an angle.
He dismounted his men and ordered them to fight as infantry. A reserveof mounted men were held in his rear.
He sent his aide into Richmond to inquire of its defenses and warnGeneral Bragg of the sweeping legions. The Commandant at the ConfederateCapital replied that he could hold his trenches. He would call onPetersburg for reinforcements. He asked Stuart to hold Sheridan back aslong as possible.
On the morning of the eleventh of May, at 6:30, he wrote his dispatch toLee:
"Fighting against immense odds of Sheridan. My men and horses are tired,hungry and jaded, _but all right!_"It was four o'clock before Sheridan struck Yellow Tavern. With skill anddash he threw an entire brigade on Stuart's left, broke his line, rolledit up and captured his two guns. Stuart ordered at once a reservesquadron to charge the advancing Federals. With desperate courage theydrove them back in a hand-to-hand combat, saber ringing on saber to theshout and yell of savages.
As the struggling, surging mass of blue riders rolled back in confusion,Stuart rode into the scene cheering his men. A man in blue, whose horsehad been shot from under him, fired his revolver pointblank at Stuart.
The shot entered his body just above the belt and the magnificent headwith the waving plume drooped on his breast.
Captain Dorsey hurried to his assistance. There were but a handful ofhis men between him and the Federal line, The wounded Commander was indanger of being captured by a sudden dash of reserves. He was lifted offhis horse and he leaned against a tree.
Stuart raised his head.
"Go back now, Dorsey, to your men.""Not until you're safe, sir."As the ambulance passed through his broken ranks in the rear, he liftedhimself on his elbow and rallied his men with a brave shout:
"Go back! Go back to your duty, men! And our country will be safe. Goback! Go back! I'd rather die than be whipped."The men rallied and rushed to the firing line. They fought so well thatSheridan lost the way to Richmond and the Capital of the Confederacy wassaved.
The wounded Commander was taken to the home of his brother-in-law,Dr. Charles Brewer, in Richmond. He had suffered agonies on the roughjourney but bore his pain with grim cheerfulness.
He had sent a swift messenger to his wife. He knew she would reachRichmond the next day.
The following morning Major McClellan, his aide, rode in from thebattlefield to report to General Bragg. Having delivered his message hehurried to the bedside of his beloved Chief.
The doctor shook his head gravely.
"Inflammation has set in, Major--""My God, is there no hope?""None."The singing, rollicking, daring young Cavalier felt the hand of death onhis shoulder. He was calm and cheerful. His bright words were broken byparoxysms of suffering. He would merely close his shining blue eyes andwait.
He directed his aide to dispose of his official papers.
He touched McClellan's hand and the Major's closed over it.
"I wish you to have one of my horses and Venable the other."McClellan nodded.
"Which of you is the heavier?""Venable, sir.""All right, give him the gray. You take the bay."The pain choked him into silence again. At last he opened his eyes.
"You'll find in my hat a small Confederate flag which a lady inColumbia, South Carolina, sent me with the request that I wear it on myhorse in a battle and return it to her. Send it."Again the agony stilled the musical voice.
"My spurs," he went on, "which I have always worn in battle, I promisedto Mrs. Lilly Lee of Shepherdstown, Virginia--"He paused.
"My sword--I leave--to--my--son."A cannon roared outside the city. With quick eagerness he asked:
"What's that?""Gracey's brigade has moved out against Sheridan's rear as he retreats.
Fitz Lee is fighting them still at Meadow Bridge."He turned his blue eyes upward and prayed:
"God grant they may win--"He moved his head aside and said:
"I must prepare for another world."He listened to the roar of the guns for a moment and signaled to hisaide:
"Major, Fitz Lee may need you."McClellan pressed his hand and hurried to the front.
As he passed out the tall figure of the President of the Confederacyentered. Jefferson Davis sat by his side and held his hand. He lovedhis daring young Cavalry Commander. He had made him a Major-General atthirty. He was dying now at thirty-one. The tragedy found the heart ofthe sorrowful leader of all the South.
When the Reverend Dr. Peterkin entered he said:
"Now I want you to sing for me the old song I love best--  "'Rock of Ages cleft for me,  Let me hide myself in thee--'"With failing breath he joined in the song.
A paroxysm of pain gripped him and he asked the doctor:
"Can I survive the night?""No, General. The end is near."He was silent. And then slowly said:
"I am resigned if it be God's will.
But--I--would--like--to--see--my--wife--"The beautiful voice sank into eternal silence.
So passed the greatest cavalry leader our country has produced. A manwhose joyous life was a long wish of good will toward all of his fellowmen.
The little mother heard the news as she rode in hot haste over the roughroads to Richmond. The hideous thing was beyond belief, but it had come.
She had heard the roar of battle for three years and after each bloodyday he had come with a smile on his lips and a stronger love in hisbrave heart. She had ceased to fear his death in battle. God hadpromised her in prayer to spare him. Only once had a bullet cut hisclothes.
And now he was dead.
But yesterday he dashed across the country from his line of march, and,even while the conflict raged, held her in his arms and crooned overher.
The tears had flowed for two hours before she reached the house ofdeath. She could weep no longer.
A sister's arm encircled her waist and led her unseeing eyes into theroom. There was no wild outburst of grief at the sight of his cold body.
She stooped to kiss the loved lips, placed her hand on the high foreheadand drew back at its chill. She stood in dumb anguish until her sisterin alarm said:
"Come, dear, to my room."The set, blue eyes never moved from the face of her dead.
"It's wrong. It's wrong. It's all wrong--this hideous murder of ourloved ones! Why must they send my husband to kill my father? Why mustthey send my father to kill the father of my babies? Why didn't theystop this a year ago? It must end some time. Why did they ever begin it?
Why must brother kill his brother? My father, thank God, didn't killhim. But little Phil Sheridan, his schoolmate, did. And he never spokean unkind word about him in his life! His heart was overflowing with joyand love. He sang when he rode into battle--"She paused and a tear stole down her cheeks at last.
"Poor boy, he loved its wild din and roar. It was play to his daringspirit."A sob caught her voice and then it rose in fierce rebellion:
"Where was God when he fell? He was thirty-one years old, in the gloryof a beautiful life--"Her sister spoke in gentle sympathy.
"His fame fills the world, dear.""Fame? Fame? What is that to me, now? I stretch out my hand, and it'sashes. My arms are empty. My heart is broken. Life isn't worth theliving."Her voice drifted into a dreamy silence as the tears streamed down hercheeks. She stood for half an hour staring through blurred eyes at thecold clay.
She turned at last and seized her sister's hands both in hers, and gazedwith a strange, set look that saw something beyond time and the thingsof sense.
"My dear sister, God will yet give to the mothers of men the power tostop this murder. There's a better way. There's a better way,"
CHAPTER XLIV
While Sheridan rode against Richmond, Lee and Grant were struggling ina pool of red at the "Bloody Angle" of Spottsylvania. The musketry fireagainst the trees came in a low undertone, like the rattle of a hailstorm on the roofs of houses.
A company of blue soldiers were cut off by a wave of charging gray. Themen were trying to surrender. Their officers drew their revolvers andordered them to break through. A sullen private shouted:
"Shoot your officers!"Every commander dropped in his tracks. And the men were marched to therear. Hour after hour the flames of hell swirled in endless waves aboutthis angle of the Southern trenches. Line after line of blue brokeagainst it and eddied down its sides in slimy pools.
Color bearers waved their flags in each other's faces, clinched andfought, hand to hand, like devils. Two soldiers on top of the trench,their ammunition spent, choked each other to death and rolled down theembankment among the mangled bodies that filled the ditch.
In this mass of struggling maniacs men were fighting with guns, swords,handspikes, clubbed muskets, stones and fists. Night brought no pause tosave the wounded or bury the dead.
For five days Grant circled his blue hosts in a whirlpool of deathtrying in vain to break Lee's trenches. He gave it up. The stolid,silent man of iron nerves watched the stream of wagons bearing thewounded, groaning and shrieking, from the field. Lee's forces had beenhandled with such skill the impact of numbers had made but littleimpression.
Thirty thousand dead and mangled lay on the field.
The stark fighter of the West was facing a new problem. The devotion ofLee's men was a mania. He was unconquerable in a square hand-to-handfight in the woods.
A truce to bury the dead followed. They found them piled six layers deepin the trenches, blue and gray locked in the last embrace. Black wingswere flapping over them unafraid of the living. Their red beaks weretearing at eyes and lips, while deep below yet groaned and moved thewounded.
Again Grant sought to flank his wily foe. This time he beat Lee to thespot. The two armies rushed for Cold Harbor in parallel columns flashingat each other deadly volleys as they marched. Lee took second choice ofground and entrenched on a gently sloping line of hills. They swung increscent as at Fredericksburg.
With consummate skill he placed his guns and infantry to catch bothflanks and front of the coming foe. And then he waited for Grant tocharge. Thousands of men in the blue ranks were busy now sewing theirnames in their underclothing.
With the first streak of dawn, at 4:30, they charged. They walked intothe mouth of a volcano flaming tons of steel and lead in their faces.
The scene was sickening. Nothing like it had, to this time, happened inthe history of man.
_Ten thousand men in blue fell in twenty minutes._Meade ordered Smith to renew the assault. Daring a court martial, Smithflatly refused.
The story of the next seventy-two hours our historians have refused torecord. Through the smothering heat of summer for three days and nightsthe shrieks and groans of the wounded rose in endless waves of horror.
No hand could be lifted to save. With their last breath they begged,wept, cried, prayed for water. No man dared move in the storm-sweptspace. Here and there a heroic boy in blue caught the cry of a woundedcomrade and crawled on his belly to try a rescue only to die in theembrace of his friend.
When the truce was called to clear the shambles every man of the tenthousand who had fallen was dead--save two. The salvage corps walked ina muck of blood. They slipped and stumbled and fell in its festeringpools. The flies and vultures were busy. Dead horses, dead men, smashedguns, legs, arms, mangled bodies disemboweled, the earth torn into anashen crater.
In the thirty days since Grant had met Lee in the wilderness, theNorthern army had lost sixty thousand men, the bravest of our race.
Lee's losses were not so great but they were tragic. They were as greatin proportion to the number he commanded.
Grant paused to change his plan of campaign. The procession ofambulances into Washington had stunned the Nation. Every city, town,village, hamlet and country home was in mourning. A stream of protestagainst the new Commander swept the North. Lincoln refused to removehim. And on his head was heaped the blame for all the anguish of thebitter years of failure.
His answer to his critics was remorseless.
"We must fight to win. Grant is the ablest general we have. His lossesare appalling. But the struggle is now on to the bitter end. Ourresources of men and money are exhaustless. The South cannot replace herfallen sons. Her losses, therefore, are fatal!"War had revealed to all at last that the Abolition crusade had beenbuilt on a lie. The negro had proven a bulwark of strength to the South.
Had their theories been true, had the slaves been beaten and abused theBlack Bees would surely have swarmed. A single Southern village put tothe torch by black hands would have done for Lee's army what no opponenthad been able to do. It would have been destroyed in a night. TheConfederacy would have gone down in hopeless ruin.
Not a black hand had been raised against a Southern man or woman inall the raging hell. This fact is the South's vindication against theslanders of the Abolitionists. The negroes stood by their old masters.
They worked his fields; they guarded his women and children; theymourned over the graves of their fallen sons.
And now in the supreme hour of gathering darkness came the last act ofthe tragedy--the arming of the Northern blacks and the training of theirhands to slay a superior race.
In the first year of the war Lincoln had firmly refused the prayer ofThomas Wentworth Higginson that he be allowed to arm and drill the BlackLegions of the North. Later the pressure could not be resisted. Thedaily murder of the flower of the race had lowered its morale. It hadlowered the value set on racial trait and character. The Cavalier andPuritan, with a thousand years of inspiring history throbbing in theirveins, had become mere cannon fodder. The cry for men and still more menwas endless. And this cry must be heard, or the war would end.
Men of the white breed were clasping hands at last across the linesunder the friendly cover of the night. They spoke softly through theirtears of home and loved ones. The tumult and the shout had passed. Thejeer and taunt, blind passion and sordid hate lay buried in the long,deep graves of a hundred fields of blood.
Grant's new plan of campaign resulted in the deadlock of Petersburg.
The two armies now lay behind thirty-five miles of deep trenches with astretch of volcano-torn, desolate earth between them.
The Black Legions were massed for a dramatic ending of the war. Grant,Meade, and Burnside had developed a plan. Hundreds of sappers and minersburrowed under the shell-torn ground for months, digging a tunnel underLee's fortress immediately before Petersburg.
The tunnel was not complete before Lee's ears had caught the sound. Acounter tunnel was hastily begun but Grant's men had reached the spotunder the center of Elliot's salient before the Confederates couldintercept them.
Grant skillfully threw a division of his army on the north side of theJames and made a fierce frontal attack on Richmond while he gatheredthe flower of his army, sixty-five thousand men with his Black Legions,before the tunnel that would open the way into Petersburg.
Lee was not misled by the assault on Richmond. But it was absolutelynecessary to meet it, or the Capital would have fallen. He wascompelled, in the face of the threatened explosion and assault, todivide his forces and weaken his lines before the tunnel.
His men were on the ground beyond the James to intercept the columnmoving toward Richmond. When the assault failed, Hancock and Sheridanimmediately recrossed the river to take part in the capture ofPetersburg and witness the end of the Confederacy.
The tons of powder were stored under the fort and the fuse set. TheBlack battalions stood ready to lead the attack and enter Petersburgfirst.
At the final council of war, the plan was changed. A division of NewEnglanders, the sons of Puritan fathers and mothers, were set to thisgrim task and the negroes were ordered to follow.
High words had been used at the Council. The whole problem of race andracial values was put to the test of the science of anthropology and ofmathematics. The fuse would be set before daylight. The charge must bemade in darkness with hundreds of great guns flaming, shrieking, shakingthe earth. The negro could not be trusted to lead in this work. He hadfollowed white officers in the daylight and under their inspiration hadfought bravely. But he was afraid of the dark. It was useless to mincematters. The council faced the issue. He could not stand the terrors ofthe night in such a charge.
The decision was an ominous one for the future of America--ominousbecause merciless in its scientific logic. The same power which hadgiven the white man his mastery of science and progress in the centuriesof human history gave him the mastery of his brain and nerves in thedark. For a thousand years superstition had been trained out of hisbrain fiber. He could hold a firing line day or night. The darkness washis friend, not his enemy.
The New Englanders were pushed forward for the attack. The grimpreparations were hurried. The pioneers were marshaled with axes andentrenching tools. A train pulled in from City Point with crowds ofextra surgeons, their amputating tables and bandages ready. The wagonswere loaded with picks and shovels to bury the dead quickly in thescorching heat of July.
The men waited in impatience for the explosion. It had been set for twoo'clock. For two hours they stood listening. Their hearts were beatinghigh at first. The delay took the soul out of them. They were angry,weary, cursing, complaining.
The fuse had gone out. Another had to be trained and set. As the Maineregiments gripped their muskets waiting for the explosion of the mine, anegro preacher in the second line behind them was haranguing the BlackBattalions. His drooning, voodoo voice rang through the woods in weirdechoes:
"Oh, my men! Dis here's gwine ter be er great fight. De greatest fightin all de war. We gwine ter take ole Petersburg dis day. De day erJuberlee is come. Yes, Lawd! An' den we take Richmon', 'stroy Lee'sarmy an' en' dis war. Yas, Lawd, an' 'member dat Gen'l Grant an' Gen'lBurnside, an' Gen'l Meade's is all right here a-watch-in' ye! An' memberdat I'se er watchin' ye. I'se er sargint in dis here comp'ny. Any youtries ter be a skulker, you'se gwine ter git a beyonet run clean frooye--yas, Lawd! You hear me!"He had scarcely finished his harangue when a smothering peal of thundershook the world. The ground rocked beneath the feet of the men. Somewere thrown backwards. Some staggered and caught a comrade's shoulder.
A pillar of blinding flame shot to the stars. A cloud of smoke rolledupward and spread its pall over the trembling earth. A shower of humanflesh and bones spattered the smoking ground.
The men in front shivered as they brushed the pieces of red meat fromtheir hands and clothes.
The artillery opened. Hundreds of guns were pouring shells from theirflaming mouths. The people of Petersburg leaped from their beds andpressed into the streets stunned by the appalling shock and the storm ofartillery which followed.
The ground in front of the tunnel had been cleared of the abatis.
Burnside's New England veterans rushed the crater. A huge hole had beentorn in Lee's fortifications one hundred yards long and sixty feet wideand twenty-five feet in depth.
The hole proved a grave. The charging troops floundered in its spongy,blood-soaked sides. They stumbled and fell into its pit. The regimentsin the rear, rushing through the smoke and stumbling over the mangledpieces of flesh of Elliott's three hundred men who had been torn topieces, were on top of the line in front before they could clear thecrumbling walls.
When the charging hosts at last reached the firm ground inside theConfederate lines, the men in gray were rallying. Their guns had beentrained on the yawning chasm now a struggling, squirming, cursing massof blue. Slowly order came out of chaos and Burnside's men swung to theright and to the left and swept Lee's trenches for three hundred yardsin each direction. The charging regiments poured into them and found thesecond Confederate line. Elliott's men who yet lived, driven from theirouter line by the resistless rush of the attack, retreated to a deepravine, rallied and held this third line.
Lee reached the field and took command. Mahone's men came to the rescuemarching with swift, steady tread. They took their position on the crestwhich commanded the open space toward the captured trenches.
As Wright's brigade moved into position, the Black Battalions wereordered to charge. They had been hurried through the crater and intothe trenches on the right and left. At the signal they swarmed over theworks, with a voodoo yell, and in serried black waves, charged the menin gray. In broad daylight the Southerners saw for the first time theplan of the dramatic attack.
The white men of the South shrieked an answer and gripped their muskets.
The cry they gave came down the centuries from three thousand years ofhistory. It came from the hearts of a conquering race of men. They hadheard the Call of the Blood of the Race that rules the world.
Without an order from their commanders, with a single impulse, the wholeSouthern line leaped from their cover and dashed on the advancing BlackLegions in a counter charge so swift, so terrible, there was but asingle crash and the yell of white victory rang over the field. TheBlacks broke and piled pell mell into the trenches and on into the hellhole of the crater.
Fifty of Lee's guns were now pouring a steady stream of shells into thispit of the damned.
The charging gray lines rolled over the captured trenches. They ringedthe edge of the crater with a circle of flaming muskets. The writhingmass of dead, dying, wounded and living, scrambling blacks and whites,was a thing for devil's joy. At the bottom of the pit the heap was tenfeet deep in moving flesh. In vain the terror-stricken blacks scrambledup the slippery sides through clouds of smoke. They fell backward androlled down the crumbling walls.
Young John Doyle stood on the brink of this crater, his eyes aflamewith revenge. His musket was so hot at last he threw it down, tore acartridge belt from the body of a dead negro trooper, seized his rifleand went back to his task.
Sickened at last by the holocaust, the officers of the South orderedtheir men to cease firing. They had charged without orders. They refusedto take orders. The officers began to strike them with their swords!
"Cease firing!""Damn you, stop it!"Their orders rang around the flaming curve in vain. They seized the menby their collars and dragged them back. The gray soldiers tore away,rushed to the smoking rim and fired as long as they had a cartridge intheir belts.
It was the poor white man who got beyond control at the sight of theseyelling black troops wearing the uniform of the Republic. Had theirsouls leaped the years and seen in a vision dark-skinned hosts chargingthe ranks of white civilization in a battle for supremacy of the world?
CHAPTER XLV
When the smoke had lifted from the field of the Black Battalions,Lee stood in Richmond before a secret meeting of the leaders of theConfederacy. Jefferson Davis presided. The meeting was called by requestof the Commander. He had an important announcement to make.
Facing the anxious group gathered around the Cabinet table he spoke withunusual emphasis:
"Gentlemen, the end is in sight unless I can have more men. So long asI can burrow underground my half-clothed and half-starved soldiers willhold Grant at bay. I may hold him until next spring. Not longer. TheNorth is using negro troops. They have enrolled nearly two hundredthousand. Their man power counts. We can arm our negroes to meet them.
They will fight under the leadership of their masters. I speak as amathematician and a soldier. I do not discuss the sentimental side. Imust have men and I must have them before spring or your cause is lost."Robert Toombs of Georgia leaped to his feet. His words came slowly,throbbing with emotion.
"Any suggestion from General Lee deserves the immediate attention ofthis Government. He speaks to-night as an engineer and mathematician. Hehas told us the worst. It was his duty. I honor him for it.
"But I differ with him. He can see but one angle of this question. Heis a soldier in field. It is our duty to see both the soldier's and thestatesman's point of view. And our cause is not so desperate as thescience of engineering and mathematics would tell us.
"The war of the revolution was won by Washington in spite ofmathematics. The odds were all against him. We have our chance. This waris now in its fourth year. The outlook seems dark in Richmond. It isdarker in Washington. What have they accomplished in these years ofblood and tears? Nothing. Not a slave has been freed. Not a question atissue has found its solution. The millions of the North are in despairand they are crying for peace--peace at any price. The Presidentialelection is but a few weeks off. They have nominated Abraham Lincolnagain for President. They had to, although he is the most unpopular manwho ever sat in the White House. All the mistakes, all the agony, allthe horrors of this war, they have unjustly heaped on his droopingshoulders.
"McClellan is his opponent _on a peace platform_.
"The Republican Party is split as ours was before the war. John C.
Fremont is running on the Radical ticket against Lincoln. Unless amiracle happens General George B. McClellan will be elected the nextPresident. If he is, the war ends in a draw.
"It's a fair chance. We can take it.
"But our chance of success is not the real question before us. It isa bigger one. The question before you is bigger than the South. Itis bigger than the Republic. It is bigger than the Continent. It mayinvolve the future of civilization.
"The employment of these negro troops, clothed in the uniform of theunion, marks the lowest tide mud to which its citizenship has ever sunk.
The profoundest word in history is _race_. The ancestral soul of apeople rules its destiny. What is the ancestral soul of the negro? Themeasurement of the skull of the Egyptian is exactly the shape and sizeof six thousand years ago. Has the negro moved upward? This republicwas born of the soul of a race of pioneer white freemen who settled ourcontinent and built an altar within its Forest Cathedral to Liberty andProgress. In the record of man has a negro ever dreamed this dream?
"The Roman Republic fell and Rome became a degenerate Empire. Why?
Because of the lowering of her racial stock by slaves. The declineof the Roman spirit was due to a mixture of races. The flower of hermanhood died on her far-flung battle lines. Slaves and degenerates athome bred her future citizens.
"Have we also placed our feet on the path of oblivion? History islittered with the wrecks of civilization. And always the secret is foundin racial degeneracy--the lowering of the standard of racial values.
Civilization is a name--an effect. Race is the cause. If a racemaintains its soul, it must remain itself and it must breed its best.
Race is the result of thousands of years of this selection. One drop ofnegro blood makes a negro. The inferior can always blot out the superiorif granted equality.
"This uniform is the first step toward racial oblivion for the whiteman in America. It is the first step toward equality. A people of halfbreeds have no soul. They are always ungovernable. The negro is thelowest species of man. Through Slavery he has been disciplined into thefamily of humanity. We cannot yet grant him equality. Abraham Lincolnwho has consented to arm these blacks against us has himself said:
_"'There is a physical difference between the white and black raceswhich will forever forbid them living together on terms of political orsocial equality.'_"How can he prevent social and political equality once these black menare clothed with the dignity of the uniform of a Nation? He has declaredhis intention of colonizing the negro race. General Lee also holds thisas the solution. If Slavery falls, it _is_ the _only_ solution.
"In the meantime we hold fast to the faith within us. Dare to arm anegro, drill and teach him to kill white men, and we are traitors tocountry, traitors to humanity, traitors to civilization. Robert E. Leehimself is the supreme contradiction of the sentimental mush involved inthe dogma of equality. His genius and character is a racial product.
"The man in gray stands for two things, Reverence for Law and the RacialSupremacy of the White Man.
"If we must clothe negroes in gray to save the Confederacy, let it godown in blood and ashes. We'll stand for this. And hand our ideal downto our children. If defeat shall come, we may yet live to save theRepublic. We hold a message for Humanity."There was no further discussion. The South chose death before racialtreason.
CHAPTER XLVI
The miracle which Toombs feared came to pass. In the blackest hour ofthe Lincoln administration, his own party despaired of his election. TheNational Republican Committee came to Washington and demanded that hewithdraw from the ticket and allow them to name a candidate who mighthave a chance against General McClellan and his peace platform.
And then it happened.
Sherman suddenly took Atlanta and swung his legions toward the sea. Ablack pall of smoke marked his trail. The North leaped once more withthe elemental impulse. A wave of war enthusiasm swept Lincoln back intothe White House. And a new line of blue soldiers streamed to Grant'sfront.
The ragged men in gray were living on parched corn. Grant edged his bluelegions farther and farther southward until he saw the end of the mortaltrenches Lee's genius had built. The lion sprang on his exposed flankand Petersburg was doomed.
The Southern Commander sent his fated message to Richmond that hemust uncover the Capital of the Confederacy, and staggered out of histrenches to attempt a union of forces with Johnston's army in NorthCarolina.
Grant's host were on his heels, his guns thundering, his cavalrydestroying.
A negro regiment entered Richmond as the flames of the burning citylicked the skies.
Lee paused at Appomattox to await the coming of his provision train. Hisheadquarters were fixed beneath an apple tree in full bloom.
He bent anxiously over a field map with his Adjutant. His face wasclouded with deep anxiety.
"Why doesn't Gordon report?" he cried. "We've sent three couriers. Theyhaven't returned. Grant has not only closed the road to Lynchburg, hehas pushed a wedge into our lines and cut Gordon off. If he has, we'rein a trap--""It couldn't have happened in an hour!" Taylor protested.
"Order Fitzhugh Lee to concentrate every horse for Gordon's support andcall in Alexander for a conference."Taylor hastened to execute the command and Lee sat down under theflower-draped tree.
Sam approached bearing a tray.
"De coffee's all ready, Marse Robert--'ceptin' dey ain't no coffee init. Does ye want a cup? Hit's good, hot black water, sah!"Lee's eyes were not lifted.
"No, Sam, thank you."The faithful negro shook his head and walked back to his sorry kitchen.
Taylor handed his order to a dust-covered courier.
"Take this to Fitz Lee."The courier scratched his head.
"I don't know General Fitz Lee, sir.""The devil you don't. What division are you from?""Dunno, sir. Been cut to pieces so many times and changed commanders somuch I dunno who the hell I belong to--""How'd you get here?""Detailed for the day.""You know General John B. Gordon?"The dusty figure stiffened.
"I'm from Georgia.""Take this to him."Taylor handed the man his order as the thunder of a line of artilleryopened on the left.
"Which way is General Gordon?" the courier asked.
"That's what I want to know. Get to him. Follow the line of that firing.
You'll find him where it's hottest. Get back here quick if you have tokill your horse."Sam came back with his tray.
"I got yo' breakfus' an' dinner both now, Marse Robert."Lee looked up with a smile.
"Too tired now. Eat it for me, Sam--"Sam turned quickly.
"Yassah. I do de bes' I kin fur ye."As Sam went back to the kitchen he motioned to a ragged soldier whostood with his wife and little girl gazing at the General.
"Dar he is. Go right up an' tell him."Sweeney approached Lee timidly. The wife and girl hung back.
He tried to bow and salute at the same time.
"Excuse me for coming, General Lee, but my company's halted there in thewoods. You've stopped in a few yards of my house, sir. Won't you come inand make it your headquarters?""No, my good friend. I won't disturb your home."The wife edged near.
"It's no trouble at all, sir. We'd be so proud to have you.""Thank you. I always use my tent, Madame. I'll not be here long.""Please come, sir!" the man urged.
Lee studied his face.
"Haven't I seen you before, my friend?""Yes, sir. I'm the man who brought the news that General Stuart hadfallen at Yellow Tavern."Lee grasped his hand.
"Oh, I remember. You're Sweeney--Sweeney whose banjo he loved so well.
And this is your wife and little girl?""Yes, sir," Mrs. Sweeney answered.
The Commander pressed her hand cordially.
"I'm glad to know you, Mrs. Sweeney. Your husband's music was a greatjoy to General Stuart."The little girl handed him a bunch of violets. He stooped, kissed herand took her in his arms.
"You'd like your papa to come back home from the war and stay with youalways, wouldn't you, dear?""Yes, sir," she breathed.
"Maybe he will, soon.""You see, General," Sweeney said, "when my Chief fell, I threw my banjoaway and got a musket.""If I only had Stuart here to-day!" Lee sighed.
"He'd cut his way through, sir, with a shout and a laugh," Sweeneyboasted.
A courier handed Lee a dispatch and Sweeney edged away. The Commanderread the message with a frown and crumpled the paper in his hand. Thewagons at Appomattox had been cut to pieces. His army had nothing toeat. They had been hungry for two days and nights.
"It's more than flesh can bear, Taylor--and yet listen to those guns!
They're still fighting this morning. Fighting like tigers. Grant'sclosing in with a hundred thousand men. Unless Gordon breaks throughwithin an hour--he's got us--"Lee gazed toward the sound of the guns on the left. His face was calmbut his carriage was no longer quite erect. The agony of sleeplessnights had plowed furrows in his forehead. His eyes were red. His cheekswere sunken and haggard. His face was colorless. And yet he was calmlydeliberate in every movement.
An old man, flushed with excitement, staggered up to him.
Lee started.
"Ruffin--you here?""General Lee," he began, "will you hear me for just one moment?""Certainly."Lee sprang to his feet.
"But how did you get into my lines--I thought I was surrounded?""I came out of Richmond with General Alexander's rear guard, sir, sixdays ago.""Oh, I see.""Ten years ago, General Lee, in your house, I predicted this war. Lastweek I saw the city in flames and I hope to God every house was in ashesbefore that regiment of negro cavalry galloped through its streets.""I trust not, Ruffin. I left my wife and children there.""I hope they're safe, sir.""They're in God's hands."A courier handed Lee a dispatch which he read aloud.
"President Davis has been forced to flee from Danville and allcommunication with him has been cut.""General Lee," Ruffin cried excitedly, "this country is now in yourhands.""What would you have me do?""Fight until the last city is in ashes and the last man falls in histracks. Fools at your headquarters have been talking for two days ofsurrender. It can't be done. It can't be done. If you surrender do youknow what will happen?""I've tried to think.""I'll tell you, sir. Thaddeus Stevens, the Radical Leader of Congress,has already prepared the bill to take the ballot from the Southern whiteman and give it to the negro. The property of the whites he proposed toconfiscate and give to their slaves. He will clothe the negro with allpower and set him to rule over his former masters."Lee answered roughly.
"Nonsense, Ruffin. I am better informed. Senator Washburn, Mr. Lincoln'sspokesman, entered Richmond with the Federal army. He says that thePresident will remove the negro troops from the United States as soonas peace is declared. He has a bill in Congress to colonize the negrorace.""Stevens is the master of Congress.""If the North wins, Lincoln will be the master of Congress. We need fearno scheme of insane vengeance."Lee took from Taylor two despatches.
"General Mahone has taken a thousand prisoners--""Glory to God!" Ruffin shouted. "Such men don't know how to surrender!""And our cavalry has captured. General Gregg and a squadron of hismen--""Surrender!" the old man roared. "They'll never surrender, sir, unlessyou say so. Our wives, our daughters, our children, our homes, ourcause, our lives, are in your hands. For God's sake, don't listen tofools. Don't give up, General Lee--don't--"General Alexander sprang from his horse and approached his Commander.
Lee spoke in low, strained tones.
"I'm afraid we're caught."He turned to the old man.
"Excuse me, Ruffin, I must confer with General Alexander."Ruffin's reply came feebly.
"With your permission I will--stay--at--your headquarters for a littlewhile.""Certainly."Taylor led the old man toward his baggage wagon.
"Come with me, sir. I'll find you a cot.""Thank you. Thank you." His eyes were dim and he walked stumblingly.
"Surrender, Taylor! Surrender? Why, there's no such word--there's nosuch word--"Lee and Alexander moved down to the little field table.
"We must decide," the Commander began, "what to do in case Gordon can'tbreak through. How many guns in your command?""More than forty, sir. We've just captured a section of Federalartillery in perfect order.""Forty guns! And Grant is circling us with five hundred--""We have fought big odds before. We have ammunition. The artillery hasdone little on this retreat. They're eager for a fight, if you wish togive battle.""I can rally but eight thousand men for a final charge. They are tiredand hungry. What have we got to do?""This means but one thing, then--""Well, sir?""Order the army to scatter--each man for himself. They can slip throughthe brush to-night like quail, and reach Johnston's army.""You think this best?""It's the only thing to do, sir. Surrender--never. Scatter. And whenGrant closes in to-morrow his hands will be empty. He'll find a fewbroken guns and wagons. Our men will be safe beyond his lines and readyto fight again.""That's the plan!" Taylor joined.
"We can beat Grant that way, General. The Confederacy may win by delay.
At least by delay we can give the State Governments time to make theirown terms as States. If you surrender, it's all over.""I do not think the North will acknowledge the sovereignty of the Statesat this late day.""It is reported that Lincoln has offered to accept the surrender ofStates and make terms--""This would, of course," Lee slowly answered, "prolong the war as longas one held out--""And don't forget, sir," Alexander urged stoutly, "that the single Stateof Texas is three times larger than France. She has countless head ofcattle and horses on her plains. She can equip armies. Her warlike sons,with you to lead them, would laugh at conquest for the next ten years.
The territory of the South is too vast to be held except at a cost theNorth cannot afford to pay--""Armies may march across it," Taylor interrupted, "a million soldierscould not hold it _unless you surrender!_""Guerrilla warfare is a desperate resort," Lee answered sadly.
"There are things worse," Alexander cried passionately. "This army isready to die to a man before we will submit to unconditional surrender.
The men who have fought under you for these three tragic years have theright to demand that you spare us this shame!""General Grant will not ask unconditional surrender. I have been incorrespondence with him for two days. He has already put his terms inwriting. They are generous. All officers may retain their swords andevery horse go home for the spring plowing. He merely requires ourparole not to take up arms again.""He would offer no such terms," Alexander argued, "unless he knew youyet had a chance to win--"Lee waved his hand.
"Our only chance is to continue the struggle by a fierce guerrillawar--""For God's sake, let's do it, sir!""Can we," the calm voice went on, "as Christian soldiers, choose sucha course? We've fought bravely for what we believed to be right. If Ienter a guerrilla struggle, what will be the result? Years of bloodysavagery. Our own men, demoralized by war, would supply their wantsby violence and plunder. I could not control them. And so raid andcounter-raid. Houses pillaged and burned by friend and foe. Cropsdestroyed. All industry paralyzed. Women violated. We might force theFederal Government at last to make some sort of compromise. But at whata cost--what a cost!""You can control our men," Alexander maintained. "Your name is magic.
The South will obey you."Lee gazed earnestly into the face of his gallant young Commander ofArtillery and said:
"If I wield such power over our people, is it not a sacred trust? Is itnot my duty now to use it for their healing, and not their ruin?"General John B. Gordon suddenly rode up and sprang from his horse.
Lee eagerly turned.
"General Gordon--you have cut through?""I have secured a temporary truce to report to you in person, I havefought my corps to a frazzle. The road is still blocked and I cannotmove.""What is your advice?" Lee asked.
"Your decision settles it, sir."A courier plunged toward the group on a foaming horse.
"Fitzhugh Lee's cavalry's broken through!" he shouted. "The way'sopened. The whole army can pass!""I don't believe it," Gordon growled.
"It's too good to be true," Taylor said.
"It's true!" Alexander exclaimed, "of course it's true!""You come from Longstreet?" Lee inquired.
"Yes, sir. He asks instructions.""Tell him to use his discretion. He's on the spot."The courier wheeled and rode back as the crash of a musket rang outbeside the baggage wagon.
"What's that?" Taylor asked sharply.
"It can't be an attack," Gordon wondered. "A truce is in force."Sam rushed to Lee.
"Hit's Marse Ruffin, sah," he whispered. "He put de muzzle er de gun inhis mouf an' done blow his own head clean off!""See to him, Taylor," Lee ordered. "The old ones will quit, I'm afraid."A courier rode up and handed him another dispatch. He read it slowly.
"Fitzhugh Lee says the message was a mistake, the road is still blocked.
Only a company of raiders broke through.""It's too bad," Gordon said.
"It's hell," Alexander groaned. "Let's scatter, sir! It's the only way.
Issue the order at once--"A sentinel saluted.
"Colonel Babcock, aide to General U.S. Grant, has come for your answer,sir."All eyes were fixed on Lee.
"Tell Babcock I'll see him in a moment."An ominous silence fell. Lee lifted his head and spoke firmly.
"We've played our parts, gentlemen, in a hopeless tragedy, pitiful,terrible. At least eight hundred thousand of our noblest sons are deadand mangled. A million more will die of poverty and disease. Every issuecould have been settled and better settled without the loss of a dropof blood. The slaves are freed by an accident. An accident of war'snecessity--not on principle. The manner of their sudden emancipation,unless they are removed, will bring a calamity more appalling than thewar itself. It must create a Race Problem destined to grow each day morethreatening and insoluble. Yet if I had to live it all over again Icould only do exactly what I have done--"He paused.
"And now I'll go at once to General Grant."He took two steps to cross the stile over the fence, and turned as a cryof pain burst from Alexander's lips. He sank to a seat, bowed his facein his hands and groaned:
"Oh, my God, I can't believe it! I can't believe it. After all theseyears of blood. I can't believe it--my God--to think that this is theend!""I know, General Alexander," Lee spoke gently, "that my surrender meansthe end. It has come and we must face it. We must accept the resultsin good faith and turn our faces toward the east. Yesterday is dead.
To-morrow is ours--"His voice softened.
"I don't mind telling you now, that I had rather die a thousand deathsthan go to General Grant. Dying is the easiest thing that I could do atthis moment. I could ride out front along the lines for five minutes andit would be all over. But the men who know how to die must do harderthings. I call you, sir, to this battle grimmer than death--to thisnobler task--we've got to live now!"Alexander slowly rose with Gordon and both men saluted.
Within an hour he was returning from the meeting with his brave andgenerous conqueror. A loud cheer rang over the Confederate lines.
"It's Lee returning along the road crowded with his men," Gordonexplained.
Another cheer echoed through the forests.
Gordon smiled.
"Alexander the Great, when he conquered a world, never got the tributewhich Lee is receiving from those men. There's not one in their rankswho wouldn't die for him."Louder and louder rolled the cheers mingled now with the pet name hissoldiers loved.
"Marse Robert! Marse Robert!"Alexander's eyes flashed.
"The hour of his surrender, the supreme triumph of his life."Lee rode slowly into view on Traveler's gray back. The men were crowdingclose. They cried softly. They touched his saddle, his horse and triedto reach his hands.
He lifted his right arm over their heads and they were still.
"My heart's too full for speech, my men. I have done for you all thatwas in my power. You have done your duty. We leave the rest to God. Goquietly to your homes now and work to build up our ruined country. Obeythe laws and be as good citizens as you have been soldiers. I'm going totry to do this. Will you help me?""That we will!""Yes.""Yes.""Goodbye.""Goodbye, Marse Robert!"Grizzled veterans were sobbing like children.
The war had ended--the most futile and ferocious of human follies. Whenit shall cease on earth at last, then, and not until then, will the soulof man leap to its final triumph, for the energy of the universe willflow through the fingers of workmen, artists, authors, inventors andhealers. On this issue the saving of a world awaits the word of themothers of men.

THE END