“Of all such an example should be made. Inaugurate social ostracism against every white man who gives any support to the Radical Party. Every true Southern man or woman should refuse to recognize as a gentleman any man belonging to that party, or having any dealings with it. Hesden Le Moyne has chosen to degrade an honored name. He has elected to go with niggers, nigger teachers, and nigger preachers; but let him forever be an outcast among the respectable and high minded white people of Horsford, whom he has betrayed and disgraced!”
A week later, it contained another paragraph:
“We understand that the purpose of Hesden Le Moyne in going to the North was not entirely to stir up Northern prejudice and hostility against our people. At least, that is what he claims. He only went, we are informed he says, to take the half-monkey negro preacher who calls himself Eliab Hill to a so-called college in the North to complete his education. We shall no doubt soon have this misshapen, malicious hypocrite paraded through the North as an evidence of Southern barbarity.
“The truth is, as we are credibly informed, that what injuries he received on the night of the raid upon Red Wing were purely accidental. There were some in the company, it seems, who were disappointed at not finding the black desperado, Nimbus Desmit, who was organizing his depraved followers to burn, kill, and ravish, and proposed to administer a moderate whipping to the fellow Eliab, who was really supposed to be at the bottom of all the other’s rascality. These few hot-heads burst in the door of his cabin, but one of the oldest and coolest of the crowd rushed in and, at the imminent risk of his own life, rescued him from them. In order to bring him out into the light where he could be protected, he caught the baboon-like creature by his foot, and he was somewhat injured thereby. He is said to have been shot also, but we are assured that not a shot was fired, except by some person with a repeating rifle, who fired upon the company of white men from the woods beyond the school-house. It is probable that some of these shots struck the preacher, and it is generally believed that they were fired by Hesden Le Moyne. Several who were there have expressed the opinion that, from the manner in which the shooting was done, it must have been by a man with one arm. However, Eliab will make a good Radical show, and we shall have another dose of Puritanical, hypocritical cant about Southern barbarity. Well, we can bear it. We have got the power in Horsford, and we mean to hold it. Niggers and nigger-worshippers must take care of themselves. This is a white man’s country, and white men are going to rule it, no matter whether the North whines or not.”
The report given in this account of the purpose of Hesden’s journey to the North was the correct one. In the three months in which the deformed man had been under his care, he had learned that a noble soul and a rare mind were shut up in that crippled form, and had determined to atone for his former coolness and doubt, as well as mark his approval of the course of this hunted victim, by giving him an opportunity to develop his powers. He accordingly placed him in a Northern college, and became responsible for the expenses of his education.
CHAPTER LIV.
A BOLT OUT OF THE CLOUD.
A year had passed, and there had been no important change in the relations of the personages of our story. The teacher and her “obstreperous” pupils had disappeared from Horsford and had been almost forgotten. Hesden, his mother, and Cousin Hetty still led their accustomed life at Red Wing. Detraction had worn itself out upon the former, for want of a new occasion. He was still made to feel, in the little society which he saw, that he was a black sheep in an otherwise spotless fold. He did not complain. He did not account himself “ostracized,” nor wonder at this treatment. He saw how natural it was, how consistent with the training and development his neighbors had received. He simply said to himself, and to the few friends who still met him kindly, “I can do without the society of others as long as they can do without mine. I can wait. This thing must end some time–if not in my day, then afterward. Our people must come out of it and rise above it. They must learn that to be Americans is better than to be ‘Southern.’ Then they will see that the interests and safety of the whole nation demand the freedom and political co-equality of all.”
These same friends comforted him much as did those who argued with the man of Uz.
Mrs. Le Moyne’s life had gone back to its old channel. Shut out from the world, she saw only the fringes of the feeling that had set so strongly against her son. Indeed, she received perhaps more attention than usual in the way of calls and short visits, since she was understood to have manifested a proper spirit of resentment at his conduct. Hesden himself was almost the only one who did not know of her will. It was thought, of course, that she was holding it over him _in terrorem_.
Yet he was just as tender and considerate of her as formerly, and she was apparently just as fond of him. She had not yet given up her plan of a matrimonial alliance for him with Cousin Hetty, but that young lady herself had quite abandoned the notion. In the year she had been at Mulberry Hill she had come to know Hesden better, and to esteem him more highly than ever before. She knew that he regarded her with none of the feeling his mother desired to see between them, but they had become good friends, and after a short time she was almost the only one of his relatives that had not allowed his political views to sunder their social relations. Living in the same house, it was of course impossible to maintain a constant state of siege; but she had gone farther, and had held out a flag of truce, and declared her conviction of the honesty of his views and the honorableness of his _intention_. She did not think as he did, but she had finally become willing to let him think for himself. People said she was in love with Hesden, and that with his mother’s aid she would yet conquer his indifference. She did not think so. She sighed when she confessed the fact to herself. She did indeed hope that he had forgotten Mollie Ainslie. She could never live to see her mistress at the dear old Hill!
The term of the court was coming on at which the suits that had been brought by Winburn against the occupants of Red Wing must be tried. Many had left the place, and it was noticed that from all who desired to leave, Theron Pardee had purchased, at the full value, the titles which they held under Nimbus, and that they had all gone off somewhere out West. Others had elected to remain, with a sort of blind faith that all would come out right after a while, or from mere disinclination to leave familiar scenes–that feeling which is always so strong in the African race.
It was at this time that Pardee came one day to Mulberry Hill and announced his readiness to make report in the matter intrusted to his charge concerning the will of J. Richards.
“Well,” said Hesden, “have you found the heirs?”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Le Moyne,” said Pardee; “I have assumed a somewhat complicated relation to this matter, acting under the spirit of my instructions, which makes it desirable, perhaps almost necessary, that I should confer directly with the present owner of this plantation, and that is–?”
“My mother,” said Hesden, as he paused. “I suppose it will be mine some time,” he continued laughing, “but I have no present interest in it.”
“Yes,” said the lawyer. “And is Mrs. Le Moyne’s health such as to permit her considering this matter now?”
“Oh, I think so,” said Hesden. “I will see her and ascertain.”
In a short time the attorney was ushered into the invalid’s room, where Mrs. Le Moyne, reclining on her beautifully decorated couch, received him pleasantly, exclaiming,
“You will see how badly off I am for company, Captain Pardee, when I assure you that I am glad to see even a lawyer with such a bundle of papers as you have brought. I have literally nobody but these two children,” glancing at Hesden and Hetty, “and I declare I believe I am younger and more cheerful than either of them.”
“Your cheerfulness, madam,” replied Pardee, “is an object of universal remark and wonder. I sincerely trust that nothing in these papers will at all affect your equanimity.”
“But what have you in that bundle, Captain?” she asked. “I assure you that I am dying to know why you should insist on assailing a sick woman with such a formidable array of documents.”
“Before proceeding to satisfy your very natural curiosity, madam,” answered Pardee, with a glance at Miss Hetty, “permit me to say that my communication is of great moment to you as the owner of this plantation, and to your son as your heir, and is of such a character that you might desire to consider it carefully before it should come to the knowledge of other parties.”
“Oh, never mind Cousin Hetty,” said Mrs. Le Moyne quickly. “She has just as much interest in the matter as any one.”
The lawyer glanced at Hesden, who hastened to say, “I am sure there can be nothing of interest to me which I would not be willing that my cousin should know.”
The young lady rose to go, but both Hesden and Mrs. Le Moyne insisted on her remaining.
“Certainly,” said Pardee, “there can be no objection on my part. I merely called your attention to the fact as a part of my duty as your legal adviser.”
So Miss Hetty remained sitting upon the side of the bed, holding one of the invalid’s hands. Pardee seated himself at a small table near the bed, and, having arranged his papers so that they would be convenient for reference, began:
“You will recollect, madam, that the task intrusted to me was twofold: first, to verify this will found by your son and ascertain whose testament it was, its validity or invalidity; and, in case It was valid, its effect and force. Secondly, I was directed to make all reasonable effort, in case of its validity being established, to ascertain the existence of any one entitled to take under its provisions. In this book,” said he, holding up a small volume, “I have kept a diary of all that I have done in regard to the matter, with dates and places. It will give you in detail what I shall now state briefly.
“I went to Lancaster, where the will purports to have been executed, and ascertained its genuineness by proving the signatures of the attesting witnesses, and established also the fact of their death. These affidavits’–holding up a bundle of papers–“show that I also inquired as to the testator’s identity; but I could learn nothing except that the descendants of one of the witnesses who had bought your ancestor’s farm, upon his removal to the South, still had his deed in possession. I copied it, and took a tracing of the signature, which is identical with that which he subsequently used –James Richards, written in a heavy and somewhat sloping hand, for that time. I could learn nothing more in regard to him or his family.
“Proceeding then to Marblehead, I learned these facts. There were two parties named James Richards. They were cousins; and in order to distinguish them from each other they were called by the family and neighbors, ‘Red Jim’ and ‘Black Jim’ respectively–the one having red hair and blue eyes, and the other dark hair and black eyes.”
“Yes,” interrupted Mrs. Le Moyne, “I was the only blonde in my family, and I have often heard my father say that I got it from some ancestral strain, perhaps the Whidbys, and resembled his cousins.”
“Yes,” answered Pardee, “a Whidby was a common ancestress of your father and his cousin, ‘Red Jim.’ It is strange how family traits reproduce themselves in widely-separated strains of blood.”
“Well,” said Hesden, “did you connect him with this will?”
“Most conclusively,” was the reply. “In the first place, his wife’s name was Edna–Edna Goddard–before marriage, and he left an only daughter, Alice. He was older than his cousin, ‘Black Jim,’ to whom he was greatly attached. The latter removed to Lancaster, when about twenty-five years of age, having inherited a considerable estate in that vicinity. I had not thought of examining the record of wills while in Lancaster, but on my return I went to the Prothonotary’s office, and verified this also. So there is no doubt about the ‘Black Jim’ of the Marblehead family being your ancestor.”
“Stop! stop! Captain Pardee!” interrupted Mrs. Le Moyne quickly. “Isn’t Marblehead near Cape Cod?”
“Yes, madam.”
“And Buzzard’s Bay?”
“Certainly.”
“No wonder,” said she, laughing, “that you wanted Hetty to leave before you opened your budget. Do pray run away, child, before you hear any more to our discredit. Hesden, do please escort your cousin out of the room,” she added, in assumed distress.
“No indeed,” laughed Miss Hetty; “I am getting interested, and as you would not let me go when I wished to, I have now determined to stay till the last horror is revealed.”
“It is too late, mother,” said Hesden ruefully; “fortunately, Cousin Hetty is not attainted, except collaterally, thus far.”
“Well, go on, Captain,” said Mrs. Le Moyne gayly. “What else? Pray what was the family occupation–‘calling’ I believe they say in New England. I suppose they had some calling, as they never have any ‘gentlemen’ in that country.”
Pardee’s face flushed hotly. He was born among the New Hampshire hills himself. However, he answered calmly, but with a slight emphasis,
“They were seafaring men, madam.”
“Oh, my!” cried the invalid, clapping her hands. “Codfish! codfish! I knew it, Hetty! I knew it! Why didn’t you go out of the room when I begged you to? Do you hear it, Hesden? That is where you get your Radicalism from. My! my!” she laughed, almost hysterically, “what a family! Codfish at one end and Radical at the other! ‘And the last state of that man was worse than the first!’ What would not the newspapers give to know that of you, Hesden?”
She laughed until the tears came, and her auditors laughed with her. Yet, despite her mirth, it was easy to detect the evidence of strong feeling in her manner. She carried it off bravely, however, and said,
“But, perhaps, Captain Pardee, you can relieve us a little. Perhaps they were not cod-fishers but mackerelers. I remember a song I have heard my father sing, beginning,
“When Jake came home from mack’reling, He sought his Sary Ann, And found that she, the heartless thing, Had found another man!”
“Do please say that they were mackerelers!”
“I am sorry I cannot relieve your anxiety on that point,” said Pardee, but I can assure you they were a very respectable family.”
“No doubt, as families _go_ ‘there,” she answered, with some bitterness. “They doubtless sold good fish, and gave a hundred pounds for a quintal, or whatever it is they sell the filthy truck by.”
“They were very successful and somewhat noted privateers during the Revolution,” said Pardee.
“Worse and worse!” said Mrs. Le Moyne. Better they were fishermen than pirates! I wonder if they didn’t bring over niggers too?”
“I should not be at all surprised,” answered Pardee coolly. “This ‘Red Jim’ was master and owner of a vessel of some kind, and was on his way back from Charleston, where it seems he had sold both his vessel and cargo, when he executed this will.”
“But how do you know that it _is_ his will?” asked Hesden.
“Oh, there is no doubt,” said Pardee. “Being a shipmaster, his signature was necessarily affixed to many papers. I have found not less than twenty of these, all identical with the signature of the will.”
“That would certainly seem to be conclusive,” said Hesden.
“Taken with other things, it is,” answered Pardee. “Among other things is a letter from your grandfather, which was found pasted inside the cover of a Bible that belonged to Mrs. Edna Richards, in regard to the death of her husband. In it he says that his cousin visited him on his way home; went from there to Philadelphia, and was taken sick; your grandfather was notified and went on, but death had taken place before he arrived. The letter states that he had but little money and no valuable papers except such as he sent. Out of the money he had paid the funeral expenses, and would remit the balance as soon as he could make an opportunity. The tradition in ‘Red Jim’s’ family is that he died of yellow fever in Philadelphia, on his way home with the proceeds of his sale, and was robbed of his money before the arrival of his cousin. No suspicion seems ever to have fallen on “Black Jim.”
“Thank God for that!” ejaculated Hesden fervently.
“I suppose you took care to awaken none,” said Mrs. Le Moyne.
“I spoke of it to but one person, to whom it became absolutely necessary to reveal it. However, it is perfectly safe, and will go no farther.”
“Well, did you find any descendants of this ‘Red Jim’ living?” asked Mrs. Le Moyne.
“One,” answered Pardee.
“Only one?” said she. “I declare. Hesden, the Richards family is not numerous if it is strong.”
“Why do you say ‘strong,’ mother?”
“Oh, codfish and Radicals, you know!”
“Now, mother–“
“Oh, if you hate to hear about it, why don’t you quit the dirty crowd and be a gentleman again. Or is it your new-found cousin you feel so bad for? By the way, Captain, is it a boy or girl, and is it old or young?”
“It is a lady, madam, some twenty years of age or thereabout.”
“A lady? Well, I suppose that is what they call them there. Married or single?”
“Single.”
“What a pity you are getting so old, Hesden! You might make a match and settle her claim in that way. Though I don’t suppose she has any in law.”
“On the contrary, madam,” said Pardee, “her title is perfect. She can recover not only this plantation but every rood of the original tract.”
“You don’t say!” exclaimed the invalid. “It would make her one of the richest women in the State!”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Oh, it cannot be, Captain Pardee!” exclaimed Miss Hetty. “It cannot be!”
“There can be no doubt about it,” said Pardee. “She is the great-grand-daughter of ‘Red Jim,’ and his only lineal descendant. His daughter Alice, to whom this is bequeathed, married before arriving at the age of eighteen, and died in wedlock, leaving an only daughter, who also married before she became of age, and also died in wedlock, leaving a son and daughter surviving. The son died without heirs of his body, and only the daughter is left. There has never been an hour when the action of the statute was not barred.”
“Have you seen her?” asked Mrs. Le Moyne.
“Yes.”
“Does she know her good luck?”
“She is fully informed of her rights.”
“Indeed? You told her, I suppose?”
“I found her already aware of them.”
“Why, how could that be?”
“I am sure I do not know,” said Pardee, glancing sharply at Hesden.
“What,” said Hesden, with a start; “what did you say is the name of the heir?”
“I did not say,” said Pardee coolly. Hesden sprang to his feet, and going across the room stood gazing out of the window.
“Why don’t you tell us the name of the heir, Captain? You must know we are dying to hear all about our new cousin,” said Mrs. Le Moyne bitterly. “Is she long or short, fat or lean, dark or fair? Do tell us all about her?”
“In appearance, madam,” said Pardee carelessly, “I should say she much resembled yourself at her age.”
“Oh, Captain, you flatter me, I’m sure,” she answered, with just a hint of a sneer. “Well, what is her name, and when does she wish to take possession?”
“Her name, madam, you must excuse me if I withhold for the present. I am the bearer of a proposition of compromise from her, which, if accepted, will, I hope, avoid all trouble. If not accepted, I shall find myself under the necessity of asking to be relieved from further responsibility in this matter.”
“Come here, Hesden,” said his mother, “and hear what terms your new cousin wants for Mulberry Hill. I hope we won’t have to move out till spring. It would be mighty bad to be out of doors all winter. Go on, Captain Pardee, Hesden is ready now. This is what comes of your silly idea about doing justice to some low-down Yankee. It’s a pity you hadn’t sense enough to burn the will up. It would have been better all round. The wealth will turn the girl’s head, and the loss of my home will kill me,” she continued fiercely to her son.
“As to the young lady, you need have no fear,” said Pardee. “She is not one of the kind that lose their heads.
“Ah, you seem to be quite an admirer of her?”
“I am, madam.”
“If we do not accept her proposal, you will no doubt become her attorney?”
“I am such already.”
“You don’t say so? Well, you are making good speed. I should think you might have waited till you had dropped us before picking her up. But then, it will be a good thing to be the attorney of such an heiress, and we shall be poor indeed after she gets her own–as you say it is.”
“Madam,” said Pardee seriously, “I shall expect you to apologize both to me and to my client when you have heard her proposition.”
“I shall be very likely to, Mr. Pardee,” she said, with a dry laugh. “I come of an apologetic race. Old Jim Richards was full of apologies. He liked to have died of them, numberless times. But what is your proposal?”
“As I said,” remarked Pardee, “my client–I beg pardon–the great-grand-daughter of ‘Red Jim’ Richards, instructs me to say that she does not desire to stain her family name or injure your feelings by exposing the fraud of your ancestor, ‘Black Jim’ Richards.
“What, sir!” said Mrs. Le Moyne sharply. “Fraud! You had better measure your words, sir, when you speak of my father. Do you hear that, Hesden? Have you lost all spirit since you became a Radical?” she continued, while her eyes flashed angrily.
“I am sorry to say that I do not see what milder term could be used,” said Hesden calmly. “Go on with your proposition, sir.”
“Well, as I said,” continued the lawyer, “this young lady, desiring to save the family name and your feelings from the shock of exposure, has instructed me to say: First, that she does not wish to disturb any of those rights which have been obtained by purchase from your ancestor; and second, that she understands that there is a dispute in regard to the title of a portion of it–the tract generally known as Red Wing–neither of the parties claiming which have any title as against her. She understands that the title held by Winburn is technically good against that of the colored man, Nimbus Desmit, providing hers is not set up.
“Now she proposes that if you will satisfy Winburn and obtain a quit-claim from him to Desmit, she will make a deed in fee to Mrs. Le Moyne of the whole tract; and as you hold by inheritance from one who purported to convey the fee, the title will thereafter be estopped, and all rights held under the deeds of ‘Black Jim’ Richards will be confirmed.”
“Well, what else?” asked Mrs. Le Moyne breathlessly, as he paused.
“There is nothing more.”
“Nothing more! Why, does the girl propose to give away all this magnificent property for nothing?” she asked in astonishment.
“Absolutely nothing to her own comfort or advantage,” answered the attorney.
“Well, now, that is kind–that is kind!” said the invalid. “I am sorry for what I have said of her, Captain Pardee.”
“I thought you would be, madam,” he replied.
“You must attend to that Red Wing matter immediately, Hesden,” she said, thoughtfully.
“You accept the proposal then?” asked Pardee.
“Accept, man? Of course we do!” said Mrs. Le Moyne.
“Stop, mother!” said Hesden. “You may accept for yourself, but not for me. Is this woman able to give away such a fortune?” he asked of Pardee.
“She is not rich. She has been a teacher, and has some property–enough, she insists, for comfort,” was the answer.
“If she had offered to sell, I would have bought at any possible price, but I cannot take such a gift!”
“Do you accept the terms?” asked Pardee of Mrs. Le Moyne.
“I do,” she answered doggedly, but with a face flushing with shame.
“Then, madam, let me say that I have already shown the proofs in confidence to Winburn’s attorney. He agrees that they have no chance, and is willing to sell the interest he represents for five hundred dollars. That I have already paid, and have taken a quit-claim to Desmit. Upon the payment of that, and my bill for services, I stand ready to deliver to you the title.”
The whole amount was soon ascertained and a check given to Pardee for the sum. Thereupon he handed over to Mrs. Le Moyne a deed in fee-simple, duly executed, covering the entire tract, except that about Red Wing, which was conveyed to Nimbus in a deed directly to him. Mrs. Le Moyne unfolded the deed, and turning quickly to the last page read the name of the donor:
“MOLLIE AINSLIE!”
“What!” she exclaimed, “not the little nigger teacher at Red Wing?”
“The same, madam,” said Pardee, with a smile and a bow.
The announcement was too much for the long-excited invalid. She fell back fainting upon her pillow, and while Cousin Hetty devoted herself to restoring her relative to consciousness, Pardee gathered up his papers and withdrew. Hesden followed him, presently, and asked where Miss Ainslie was.
“I am directed,” said Pardee, “not to disclose her residence, but will at any time forward any communication you may desire to make.”
CHAPTER LV.
AN UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER.
The next day Mr. Pardee received a note from Mrs. Le Moyne, requesting him to come to Mulberry Hill at his earliest convenience. Being at the time disengaged, he returned with the messenger. Upon being ushered again into the invalid’s room, he found Miss Hetty Lomax with a flushed face standing by the bedside. Both the ladies greeted him with some appearance of embarrassment.
“Cousin Hetty,” said the invalid, “will you ask Hesden to come here for a moment?”
Miss Hetty left the room, and returned a moment afterward in company with Hesden.
“Hesden,” said Mrs. Le Moyne, “were you in earnest in what you said yesterday in regard to receiving any benefits under this deed?”
“Certainly, mother,” replied Hesden; “I could never consent to do so.”
“Very well, my son,” said the invalid; “you are perhaps right; but I wish you to know that I had heretofore made my will, giving to you and Cousin Hetty a joint interest in my estate. You know the feeling which induced me to do so. I am in the confessional to-day, and may as well admit that I was hasty and perhaps unjust in so doing. In justice to Cousin Hetty I wish also to say–“
“Oh, please, Mrs. Le Moyne,” interrupted Hetty, blushing deeply.
“Hush, my child,” said the invalid tenderly; “I must be just to you as well as to others. Hetty,” she continued, turning her eyes upon Hesden, who stood looking in wonder from one to the other, “has long tried to persuade me to revoke that instrument. I have at length determined to cancel and destroy it, and shall proceed to make a new one, which I desire that both of you shall witness when it has been drawn.”
Being thus dismissed, Hesden and his cousin withdrew, while Pardee seated himself at the little table by the bedside, on which writing materials had already been placed, and proceeded to receive instructions and prepare the will as she directed. When it had been completed and read over to her, she said, wearily,
“That is right.”
The attorney called Hesden and his cousin, who, having witnessed the will by her request, again withdrew.
“Now Mr. Pardee,” said Mrs. Le Moyne sadly, “I believe that I have done my duty as well as Hesden has done his. It is hard, very hard, for me to give up projects which I have cherished so long. As I have constituted you my executor, I desire that you will keep this will, and allow no person to know its contents unless directed by me to do so, until my death.”
“Your wishes shall be strictly complied with, madam,” said Pardee, as he folded the instrument and placed it in his pocket.
“I have still another favor to request of you, Mr. Pardee,” she said. “I have written this note to Miss Ainslie, which I wish you to read and then transmit to her. No, no,” she continued, as she saw him about to seal the letter which she had given him, without reading it; “you must read it. You know something of what it has cost me to write it, and will be a better judge than I as to whether it contains all that I should say.”
Thus adjured, Pardee opened the letter and read:
“MULBERRY HILL Saturday, Oct. 8, 1871.
“MY DEAR MISS AINSLIE:
“Captain Pardee informed us yesterday of your nobly disinterested action in regard to the estate rightfully belonging to you. Words cannot express my gratitude for the consideration you have shown to our feelings in thus shielding the memory of the dead. Mr. Pardee will transmit to you with this the papers, showing that we have complied with your request. Pardon me if I do not write as warmly as I ought. One as old and proud as I cannot easily adapt herself to so new and strange a role. I hope that time will enable me to think more calmly and speak more freely of this matter.
“Hoping you will forgive my constraint, and believe that it arises from no lack of appreciation of your magnanimity, but only springs from my own weakness; and asking your pardon for all unkindness of thought, word, or act in the past, I remain,
“Yours gratefully,
“HESTER RICHARDS LE MOYNE.”
“My dear Mrs. Le Moyne,” said Pardee, as he extended his hand and grasped that of the suffering woman, “I am sure Miss Ainslie would never require any such painful acknowledgment at your hands.”
“I know she would not,” was the reply; “it is not she that requires it, but myself–my honor, Mr. Pardee. You must not suppose, nor must she believe, that the wife of a Le Moyne can forget the obligations of justice, though her father may have unfortunately done so.”
“But I am sure it will cause her pain,” said Pardee.
“Would it cause her less were I to refuse what she has so delicately given?”
“No, indeed,” said the attorney.
“Then I see no other way.”
“Perhaps there is none,” said Pardee thoughtfully.
“You think I have said enough?” she asked.
“You could not say more,” was the reply. After a moment’s pause he continued, “Are you willing that I should give Miss Ainslie any statement I may choose of this matter?”
“I should prefer,” she answered, “that nothing more be said; unless,” she added, with a smile, “you conceive that your duty imperatively demands it.”
“And Hesden?” he began.
“Pardon me, sir,” she said, with dignity; “I will not conceal from you that my son’s course has given me great pain; indeed, you are already aware of that fact. Since yesterday, I have for the first time admitted to myself that in abandoning the cause of the Southern people he has acted from a sense of duty. My own inclination, after sober second thought,” she added, as a slight flush overspread her pale face, “would have been to refuse, as he has done, this bounty from the hands of a stranger; more particularly from one in the position which Miss Ainslie has occupied; but I feel also that her unexpected delicacy demands the fullest recognition at our hands. Hesden will take such course as his own sense of honor may dictate.”
“Am I at liberty to inform him of the nature of the testament which you have made?”
“I prefer not.”
“Well,” said Pardee, “if there is nothing more to be done I will bid you good-evening, hoping that time may yet bring a pleasant result out of these painful circumstances.”
After the lawyer had retired, Mrs. Le Moyne summoned her son to her bedside and said,
“I hope you will forgive me, Hesden, for all–“
“Stop, mother,” said he, playfully laying his hand over her mouth; “I can listen to no such language from you. When I was a boy you used to stop my confessions of wrong-doing with a kiss; how much more ought silence to be sufficient between us now.”
He knelt by her side and pressed his lips to hers.
“Oh, my son, my son!” said the weeping woman, as she pushed back the hair above his forehead and looked into his eyes; “only give your mother time–you know it is so hard–so hard. I am trying, Hesden; and you must be very kind to me, very gentle. It will not be for long, but we must be alone–all alone–as we were before all these things came about. Only,” she added sobbingly, “only little Hildreth is not here now.”
“Believe me, mother,” said he, and the tears fell upon the gentle face over which he bent, “I will do nothing to cause you pain. My opinions I cannot renounce, because I believe them right.”
“I know, I know, my son,” she said; “but it is so hard–so hard–to think that we must lose the place which we have always held in the esteem of–all those about us.”
There was silence for a time, and then she continued, “Hetty thinks it is best–that–that she–should–not remain here longer at this time. She is perhaps right, my son. You must not blame her for anything that has occurred; indeed–indeed she is not at fault. In fact,” she added, “she has done much toward showing me my duty. Of course it is hard for her, as it is for me, to be under obligations to–to–such a one as Miss Ainslie. It is very hard to believe that she could have done as she has without some–some unworthy motive.”
“Mother!” said Hesden earnestly, raising his head and gazing reproachfully at her.
“Don’t–don’t, my son! I am trying–believe me, I am trying; but it is so hard. Why should she give up all this for our sakes?”
“Not for ours mother–not for ours alone; for her own as well.”
“Oh, my son, what does she know of family pride?”
“Mother,” said he gravely, “she is prouder than we ever were. Oh, I _know_ it,”–seeing the look of incredulity upon her face;–“prouder than any Richards or Le Moyne that ever lived; only it is a different kind of pride. She would _starve_, mother,” he continued impetuously; “she would work her fingers to the bone rather than touch one penny of that estate.”
“Oh, why–why, Hesden, should she do that? Just to shield my father’s name?”
“Not alone for that,” said Hesden. “Partly to show that she can give you pride for pride, mother.”
“Do you think so, Hesden?”
“I am sure of it.”
“Will you promise me one thing?”
“Whatever you shall ask.”
“Do not write to her, nor in any way communicate with her, except at my request.”
“As you wish.”
CHAPTER LVI.
SOME OLD LETTERS.
I.
“RED WING, Saturday, Feb. 15, 1873.
“MISS MOLLIE AINSLIE:
“I avail myself of your kind permission to address you a letter through Captain Pardee, to whom I will forward this to-morrow. I would have written to you before, because I knew you must be anxious to learn how things are at this place, where you labored so long; but I was very busy–and, to tell you the truth, I felt somewhat hurt that you should withhold from me for so long a time the knowledge even of where you were. It is true, I have known that you were somewhere in Kansas; but I could see no reason why you should not wish it to be known exactly where; nor can I now. I was so foolish as to think, at first, that it was because you did not wish the people where you now live to know that you had ever been a teacher in a colored school.
“When I returned here, however, and learned something of your kindness to our people–how you had saved the property of my dear lost brother Nimbus, and provided for his wife and children, and the wife and children of poor Berry, and so many others of those who once lived at Red Wing; and when I heard Captain Pardee read one of your letters to our people, saying that you had not forgotten us, I was ashamed that I had ever had such a thought. I know that you must have some good reason, and will never seek to know more than you may choose to tell me in regard to it. You may think it strange that I should have had this feeling at all; but you must remember that people afflicted as I am become very sensitive–morbid, perhaps–and are very apt to be influenced by mere imagination rather than by reason.
“After completing my course at the college, for which I can never be sufficiently grateful to Mr. Hesden, I thought at first that I would write to you and see if I could not obtain work among some of my people in the West. Before I concluded to do so, however, the President of the college showed me a letter asking him to recommend some one for a colored school in one of the Northern States. He said he would be willing to recommend me for that position. Of course I felt very grateful to him, and very proud of the confidence he showed in my poor ability. Before I had accepted, however, I received a letter from Mr. Hesden, saying that he had rebuilt the school-house at Red Wing, that the same kind people who furnished it before had furnished it again, and that he wished the school to be re-opened, and desired me to come back and teach here. At first I thought I could not come; for the memory of that terrible night–the last night that I was here–came before me whenever I thought of it; and I was so weak as to think I could not ever come here again. Then I thought of Mr. Hesden, and all that he had done for me, and felt that I would be making a very bad return for his kindness should I refuse any request he might make. So I came, and am very glad that I did.
“It does not seem like the old Red Wing, Miss Mollie. There are not near so many people here, and the school is small in comparison with what it used to be. Somehow the life and hope seem to have gone out of our people, and they do not look forward to the future with that confident expectation which they used to have. It reminds me very much of the dull, plodding hopelessness of the old slave time. It is true, they are no longer subject to the terrible cruelties which were for a while visited upon them; but they feel, as they did in the old time, that their rights are withheld from them, and they see no hope of regaining them. With their own poverty and ignorance and the prejudices of the white people to contend with, it does indeed seem a hopeless task for them to attempt to be anything more, or anything better, than they are now. I am even surprised that they do not go backward instead of forward under the difficulties they have to encounter.
“I am learning to be more charitable than I used to be, Miss Mollie, or ever would have been had I not returned here. It seems to me now that the white people are not so much to be blamed for what has been done and suffered since the war, as pitied for that prejudice which has made them unconsciously almost as much _slaves_ as my people were before the war. I see, too, that these things cannot be remedied at once. It will be a long, sad time of waiting, which I fear our people will not endure as well as they did the tiresome waiting for freedom. I used to think that the law could give us our rights and make us free. I now see, more clearly than ever before, that we must not only make _ourselves_ free, but must overcome all that prejudice which slavery created against our race in the hearts of the white people. It is a long way to look ahead, and I don’t wonder that so many despair of its ever being accomplished. I know it can only be done through the attainment of knowledge and the power which that gives.
“I do not blame for giving way to despair those who are laboring for a mere pittance, and perhaps not receiving that; who have wives and children to support, and see their children growing up as poor and ignorant as themselves. If I were one of those, Miss Mollie, and whole and sound, I wouldn’t stay in this country another day. I would go somewhere where my children would have a chance to learn what it is to be free, whatever hardship I might have to face in doing so, for their sake. But I know that they cannot go–at least not all of them, nor many of them; and I think the Lord has dealt with me as he has in order that I might be willing to stay here and help them, and share with them the blessed knowledge which kind friends have given to me.
“Mr. Hesden comes over to see the school very often, and is very much interested in it. I have been over to Mulberry Hill once, and saw the dear old ‘Mistress.’ She has failed a great deal, Miss Mollie, and it does seem as if her life of pain was drawing to an end. She was very kind to me, asked all about my studies, how I was getting on, and inquired very kindly of you. She seemed very much surprised when I told her that I did not know where you were, only that you were in the West. It is no wonder that she looks worn and troubled, for Mr. Hesden has certainly had a hard time. I do not think it is as bad now as it has been, and some of the white people, even, say that he has been badly treated. But, Miss Mollie, you can’t imagine the abuse he has had to suffer because he befriended me, and is what they call a ‘Radical.’
“There is one thing that I cannot understand. I can see why the white people of the South should be so angry about colored people being allowed to vote. I can understand, too, why they should abuse Mr. Hesden, and the few like him, because they wish to see the colored people have their rights and become capable of exercising them. It is because they have always believed that we are an inferior race, and think that the attempt to elevate us is intended to drag them down. But I cannot see why the people of the _North_ should think so ill of such men as Mr. Hesden. It would be a disgrace for any man there to say that he was opposed to the colored man having the rights of a citizen, or having a fair show in any manner. But they seem to think that if a man living at the South advocates those rights, or says a word in our favor, he is a low-down, mean man. If we had a few men like Mr, Hesden in every county, I think it would soon be better; but if it takes as long to get each one as it has to get him, I am afraid a good many generations will live and die before that good time will come.
“I meant to have said more about the school, Miss Mollie; but I have written so much that I will wait until the next time for that. Hoping that you will have time to write to me, I remain
“Your very grateful pupil,
“ELIAB HILL.”
II.
“MULBERRY HILL, Wednesday, March 5, 1873.
“Miss MOLLIE AINSLIE:
“Through the kindness of our good friend, Captain Pardee, I send you this letter, together with an instrument, the date of which you will observe is the same as that of my former letter. You will see that I have regarded myself only as a trustee and a beneficiary, during life, of your self-denying generosity. The day after I received your gift, I gave the plantation back to you, reserving only the pleasing privilege of holding it as my own while I lived. The opportunity which I then hoped might some time come has now arrived. I can write to you now without constraint or bitterness. My pride has not gone; but I am proud of you, as a relative proud as myself, and far braver and more resolute than I have ever been.
“My end is near, and I am anxious to see you once more. The dear old plantation is just putting on its spring garment of beauty. Will you not come and look upon your gift in its glory, and gladden the heart of an old woman whose eyes long to look upon your face before they see the brightness of the upper world?
“Come, and let me say to the people of Horsford that you are one of us–a Richards worthier than the worthiest they have known!
“Yours, with sincerest love,
“HESTER RICHARDS LE MOYNE.
“P. S.–I ought to say that, although Hesden is one of the witnesses to my will, he knows nothing of its contents. He does not know that I have written to you, but I am sure he will be glad to see you.
“H. R. LE M.”
III.
Mrs. Le Moyne received the following letter in reply: “March 15, 1873.
“MY DEAR MRS. LE MOYNB:
“Your letter gave me far greater pleasure than you can imagine. But you give me much more credit for doing what I did than I have any right to receive. While I know that I would do the same now, to give you pleasure and save you pain, as readily as I did it then from a worse motive, I must confess to you that I did it, almost solely I fear, to show you that a Yankee girl, even though a teacher of a colored school, could be as proud as a Southern lady. I did it to humiliate _you._ Please forgive me; but it is true, and I cannot bear to receive your praise for what really deserves censure. I have been ashamed of myself very many times for this unworthy motive for an act which was in itself a good one, but which I am glad to have done, even so unworthily.
“I thank you for your love, which I hope I may better deserve hereafter. I inclose the paper which you sent me, and hope you will destroy it at once. I could not take the property you have so kindly devised to me, and you can readily see what trouble I should have in bestowing it where it should descend as an inheritance.
“Do not think that I need it at all. I had a few thousands which I invested in the great West when I left the South, three years ago, in order to aid those poor colored people at Red Wing, whose sufferings appealed so strongly to my sympathies. By good fortune a railroad has come near me, a town has been built up near by and grown into a city, as in a moment, so that my venture has been blessed; and though I have given away some, the remainder has increased in value until I feel myself almost rich. My life has been very pleasant, and I hope not altogether useless to others. “I am sorry that I cannot do as you wish. I know that you will believe that I do not now act from any un-worthy motive, of from any lack of appreciation of your kindness, or doubt of your sincerity. Thanking you again for your kind words and hearty though undeserved praises, I remain,
“Yours very truly,
“MOLLIE AINSLIE.”
“Hesden,” said Mrs. Le Moyne to her son, as he sat by her bedside while she read this letter, “will you not write to Miss Ainslie?”
“What!” said he, looking up from his book in surprise. “Do you mean it?”
“Indeed I do, my son,” she answered, with a glance of tenderness. “I tried to prepare you a surprise, and wrote for her to come and visit us; but she will not come at my request. I am afraid you are the only one who can overcome her stubbornness.
“I fear that I should have no better success,” he answered.
Nevertheless, he went to his desk, and, laying out some paper, he placed upon it, to hold it in place while he wrote, a great black hoof with a silver shoe, bearing on the band about its crown the word “Midnight.” After many attempts he wrote as follows:
“Miss MOLLIE AINSLIE:
“Will you permit me to come and see you, upon the conditions imposed when I saw you last?
“HESDEN LE MOYNE.”
IV.
While Hesden waited for an answer to this letter, which had been forwarded through Captain Pardee, he received one from Jordan Jackson. It was somewhat badly spelled, but he made it out to be as follows:
“EUPOLIA, KANSAS, Sunday, March 23, 1873.
“MY DEAR LE MOYNE:
“I have been intending to write to you for a long time, but have been too busy. You never saw such a busy country as this. It just took me off my legs when I first came out here. I thought I knew what it meant to ‘git up and git.’ Nobody ever counted me hard to start or slow to move, down in that country; but here–God bless you, Le Moyne, I found I wasn’t half awake! Work? Lord! Lord! how these folks do work and tear around! It don’t seem so very hard either, because when they have anything to do they don’t do nothing else, and when have nothing to do they make a business of that, too.
“Then, they use all sorts of machinery, and never do anything by hand-power that a horse can be made to do, in any possible way. The horses do all the ploughing, sowing, hoeing, harvesting, and, in fact, pretty much all the farm-work; while the man sits up on a sulky-seat and fans himself with a palm-leaf hat. So that, according to my reckoning, one man here counts for about as much as four in our country.
“I have moved from where I first settled, which was in a county adjoining this. I found that my notion of just getting a plantation to settle down on, where I could make a living and be out of harm’s way, wasn’t the thing for this country, nohow. A man who comes here must pitch in and count for all he’s worth. It’s a regular ground-scuffle, open to all, and everybody choosing his own hold. Morning, noon, and night the world is awake and alive; and if a man isn’t awake too, it tramps on right over him and wipes him out, just as a stampeded buffalo herd goes over a hunter’s camp.
“Everybody is good-natured and in dead earnest. Every one that comes is welcome, and no questions asked. Kin and kin-in-law don’t count worth a cuss. Nobody stops to ask where you come from, what’s your politics, or whether you’ve got any religion. They don’t care, if you only mean ‘business.’ They don’t make no fuss over nobody. There ain’t much of what we call ‘hospitality’ at the South, making a grand flourish and a big lay-out over anybody; but they just take it, as a matter of course, that you are all right and square and honest, and as good as anybody till you show up diferent. There ain’t any big folks nor any little ones. Of course, there are rich folks and poor ones, but the poor are just as respectable as the rich, feel just as big, and take up just as much of the road. There ain’t any crawling nor cringing here. Everybody stands up straight, and don’t give nor take any sass from anybody else. The West takes right hold of every one that comes into it and makes him a part of itself, instead of keeping him outside in the cold to all eternity, as the South does the strangers who go there.
“I don’t know as you’d like it; but if any one who has been kept down and put on, as poor men are at the South, can muster pluck enough to get away and come here, he’ll think he’s been born over again, or I’m mistaken. Nobody asks your politics. I don’t reckon anybody knew mine for a year. The fact is, we’re all too busy to fuss with our neighbors or cuss them about their opinions. I’ve heard more politics in a country store in Horsford in a day than I’ve heard here in Eupolia in a year–and we’ve got ten thousand people here, too. I moved here last year, and am doing well. I wouldn’t go back and live in that d–d hornet’s nest that I felt so bad about leaving–not for the whole State, with a slice of the next one throwed in.
“I’ve meant to tell you, a half dozen times, about that little Yankee gal that used to be at Red Wing; but I’ve been half afraid to, for fear you would get mad about it. My wife said that when she came away there was a heap of talk about you being sorter ‘sweet’ on the ‘nigger-school-marm.’ I knew that she was sick at your house when I was there, and so, putting the two together, I ‘llowed that for once there might be some truth in a Horsford rumor. I reckon it must have been a lie, though; or else she ‘kicked’ you, which she wouldn’t stand a speck about doing, even if you were the President, if you didn’t come up to her notion. It’s a mighty high notion, too, let me tell you; and the man that gits up to it’ll have to climb. Bet your life on that!
“But that’s all no matter. I reckon you’ll be glad to know how she’s gettin’ on out here, anyhow. She come here not a great while after I did; but, bless your stars, she wasn’t as green as I, not by any manner of means. She didn’t want to hide out in a quiet part of the country, where the world didn’t turn around but once in two days. No, sir! She was keen–just as keen as a razor-blade. She run her eye over the map and got inside the railroad projects somehow, blessed if I know how; and then she just went off fifty miles out of the track others was taking, and bought up all the land she could pay for, and got trusted for all the credit that that brought her; and here she is now, with Eupolia building right up on her land, and just a-busting up her quarter-sections into city lots, day after day, till you can’t rest.
“Just think on’t, Moyne! It’s only three years ago and she was teaching a nigger school, there in Red Wing; and now, God bless you, here she is, just a queen in a city that wasn’t nowhere then. I tell you, she’s a team! Just as proud as Lucifer, and as wide-awake as a hornet in July. She beats anything I ever did see. She’s given away enough to make two or three, and I’ll be hanged if it don’t seem to me that every cent she gives just brings her in a dollar. The people here just worship her, as they have a good right to; but she ain’t a bit stuck up. She’s got a whole lot of them Red Wing niggers here, and has settled them down and put them to work, and made them get on past all expectation. She just tells right out about her having taught a nigger school down in Horsford, and nobody seems to think a word on’t. In fact, I b’lieve they rather like her better for it.
“I heard about her soon after she came here, but, to tell the truth, I thought I was a little better than a ‘nigger-teacher,’ if I was in Kansas. So I didn’t mind anything about her till Eupolia began to grow, and I came to think about going into trading again. Then I came over, just to look around, you know. I went to see the little lady, feeling mighty ‘shamed, you may bet, and more than half of the notion that she wouldn’t care about owning that she’d ever seen me before. But, Lord love you! I needn’t have had any fear about that. Nobody ever had a heartier welcome than she gave me, until she found that I had been living only fifty miles away for a year and hadn’t let her know. Then she come down on me–Whew! I thought there was going to be a blizzard, sure enough.
“‘Jordan Jackson,’ said she, ‘you just go home and bring that wife and them children here, where they can see something and have a rest.’
“I had to do it, and they just took to staying in Eupolia here nigh about all the time. So I thought I might as well come too; and here I am, doing right well, and would be mighty glad to see an old friend if you could make up your mind to come this way. We are all well, and remember you as the kindest of all old friends in our time of need.
“I never wrote as long a letter as this before, and never ‘llow to do it again.
“Your true friend,
“JORDAN JACKSON.”
V.
In due time there came to Hesden Le Moyne an envelope, containing only a quaintly-shaped card, which looked as if it had been cut from the bark of a brown-birch tree. On one side was printed, in delicate script characters,
“Miss Mollie Ainslie,
Eupolia,
Kansas.”
On the other was written one word: “Come.”
A bride came to Mulberry Hill with the May roses, and when Mrs. Le Moyne had kissed her who knelt beside her chair for a maternal benison, she placed a hand on either burning cheek, and, holding the face at arm’s length, said, with that archness which never forsook her, “What am I to do about the old plantation? Hesden refuses to be my heir, and you refuse to be my devisee; must I give it to the poor?”
The summer bloomed and fruited; the autumn glowed and faded; and peace and happiness dwelt at Red Wing. But when the Christmas came, wreaths of _immortelles_ lay upon a coffin in “Mother’s Room,” and Hesden and Mollie dropped their tears upon the sweet, pale face within.
So Hesden and Mollie dwelt at Red Wing. The heirs of “Red Jim” had their own, and the children of “Black Jim” were not dispossessed.
CHAPTER LVII.
A SWEET AND BITTER FRUITAGE.
The charms of the soft, luxurious climate were peculiarly grateful to Mollie after the harshness of the Kansas winter and the sultry summer winds that swept over the heated plains. There was something, too, very pleasant in renewing her associations with that region in a relation so different from that under which she had formerly known it. As the teacher at Red Wing, her life had not been wholly unpleasant; but that which had made it pleasant had proceeded from herself and not from others. The associations which she then formed had been those of kindly charity–the affection which one has for the objects of sympathetic care. So far as the world in which she now lived was concerned–the white world and white people of Horsford–she had known nothing of them, nor they of her, but as each had regarded the other as a curious study. Their life had been shut out from her, and her life had been a matter that did not interest them. She had wondered that they did not think and feel as she did with regard to the colored people; and they, that any one having a white skin and the form of woman should come a thousand miles to become a servant of servants. The most charitable among them had deemed her a fool; the less charitable, a monster.
In the few points of contact which she had with them personally, she had found them pleasant. In the few relations which they held toward the colored people, and toward her as their friend, she had found them brutal and hateful beyond her power to conceive. Then, her life had been with those for whom she labored, so far as it was in or of the South at all. They had been the objects of her thought, her interest, and her care. Their wrongs had entered into her life, and had been the motive of her removal to the West. Out of these conditions, by a curious evolution, had grown a new life, which she vainly tried to graft upon the old without apparent disjointure.
Now, by kinship and by marriage, she belonged to one of the most respectable families of the region. It was true that Hesden. had sullied his family name by becoming a Radical; but as he had never sought official position, nor taken any active part in enforcing or promulgating the opinions which he held; had, in fact, identified himself with the party of odious principles only for the protection of the victims of persecution or the assertion of the rights of the weak–he was regarded with much more toleration and forbearance than would otherwise have been displayed toward him.
In addition to this, extravagant rumors came into the good county of Horsford respecting the wealth which Mollie Ainslie had acquired, and of the pluck and enterprise which she had displayed in the far West. It was thought very characteristic of the brave young teacher of Red Wing, only her courage was displayed there in a different manner. So they took a sort of pride in her, as if she had been one of themselves; and as they told to each other the story of her success, they said, “Ah, I knew she would make her mark! Any girl that had her pluck was too good to remain a nigger-teacher long. It was lucky for Hesden, though. By George! he made his Radicalism pay, didn’t he? Well, well; as long as he don’t trouble anybody, I don’t see why we should not be friends with him–if he _is_ a Radical.” So they determined that they would patronize and encourage Hesden Le Moyne and his wife, in the hope that he might be won back to his original excellence, and that she might be charmed with the attractions of Southern society and forget the bias of her Yankee origin.
The occupants of Mulberry Hill, therefore, received much attention, and before the death of Hesden’s mother had become prime favorites in the society of Horsford. It is true that now and then they met with some exhibition of the spirit which had existed before, but in the main their social life was pleasant; and, for a considerable time, Hesden felt that he had quite regained his original status as a “Southern gentleman,” while Mollie wondered if it were possible that the people whom she now met upon such pleasant terms were those who had, by their acts of violence, painted upon her memory such horrible and vivid pictures. She began to feel as if she had done them wrong, and sought by every means in her power to identify herself with their pleasures and their interests.
At the same time, she did not forget those for whom she had before labored, and who had shown for her such true and devoted friendship. The school at Red Wing was an especial object of her care and attention. Rarely did a week pass that her carriage did not show itself in the little hamlet, and her bright face and cheerful tones brought encouragement and hope to all that dwelt there. Having learned from Hesden and Eliab the facts with regard to the disappearance of Nimbus, she for a long time shared Lugena’s faith in regard to her husband, and had not yet given up hope that he was alive. Indeed, she had taken measures to discover his whereabouts; but all these had failed. Still, she would not abandon the hope that he would some time reappear, knowing how difficult it was to trace one altogether unnoted by any except his own race, who were not accustomed to be careful or inquisitive with regard to the previous life of their fellows.
Acting as his trustee, not by any specific authority, but through mere good-will, Hesden had managed the property, since the conclusion of the Winburn suit, so as to yield a revenue, which Lugena had carefully applied to secure a home in the West, in anticipation of her husband’s return. This had necessarily brought him into close relations with the people of Red Wing, who had welcomed Mollie with an interest half proprietary in its character. Was she not _their_ Miss Mollie? Had she not lived in the old “Or’nary,” taught in their school, advised, encouraged, and helped them? They flocked around her, each reminding her of his identity by recalling some scene or incident of her past life, or saying, with evident pride, “Miss Mollie, I was one of your scholars–I was.”
She did not repel their approaches, nor deny their claim to her attention. She recognized it as a duty that she should still minister to their wants, and do what she could for their elevation. And, strangely enough, the good people of Horsford did not rebel nor cast her off for so doing. The rich wife of Hesden Le Moyne, the queen of the growing Kansas town, driving in her carriage to the colored school-house, and sitting as lady patroness upon the platform, was an entirely different personage, in their eyes, from the Yankee girl who rode Midnight up and down the narrow streets, and who wielded the pedagogic sceptre in the log school-house that Nimbus had built. She could be allowed to patronize the colored school; indeed, they rather admired her for doing so, and a few of them now and then went with her, especially on occasions of public interest, and wondered at the progress that had been made by that race whose capacity they had always denied.
Every autumn Hesden and Mollie went to visit her Kansas home, to look after her interests there, help and advise her colored proteges, breathe the free air, and gather into their lives something of the busy, bustling spirit of the great North. The contrast did them good. Hesden’s ideas were made broader and fuller; her heart was reinvigorated; and both returned to their Southern home full of hope and aspiration for its future.
So time wore on, and they almost forgot that they held their places in the life which was about them by sufferance and not of right; that they were allowed the privilege of associating with the “best people of Horsford,” not because they were of them, or entitled to such privilege, but solely upon condition that they should submit themselves willingly to its views, and do nothing or attempt nothing to subvert its prejudices.
Since the county had been “redeemed” it had been at peace. The vast colored majority, once overcome, had been easily held in subjection. There was no longer any violence, and little show of coercion, so far as their political rights were concerned. At first it was thought necessary to discourage the eagerness with which they sought to exercise the elective franchise, by frequent reference to the evils which had already resulted therefrom. Now and then, when some ambitious colored man had endeavored to organize his people and to secure political advancement through their suffrages, he had been politely cautioned in regard to the danger, and the fate which had overwhelmed others was gently recalled to his memory. For a while, too, employers thought it necessary to exercise the power which their relations with dependent laborers gave them, to prevent the neglect of agricultural interests for the pursuit of political knowledge, and especially to prevent absence from the plantation upon the day of election. After a time, however, it was found that such care was unnecessary. The laws of the State, carefully revised by legislators wisely chosen for that purpose, had taken the power from the irresponsible hands of the masses, and placed it in the hands of the few, who had been wont to exercise it in the olden time.
That vicious idea which had first grown up on the inclement shores of Massachusetts Bay, and had been nourished and protected and spread abroad throughout the North and West as the richest heritage which sterile New England could give to the states her sons had planted; that outgrowth of absurd and fanatical ideas which had made the North free, and whose absence had enabled the South to remain “slave”–the township system, with its free discussion of all matters, even of the most trivial interest to the inhabitants; that nursery of political virtue and individual independence of character, comporting, as it did, very badly with the social and political ideas of the South–this system was swept away, or, if retained in name, was deprived of all its characteristic elements.
In the foolish fever of the reconstruction era this system had been spread over the South as the safeguard of the new ideas and new institutions then introduced. It was foolishly believed that it would produce upon the soil of the South the same beneficent results as had crowned its career at the North. So the counties were subdivided into small self-governing communities, every resident in which was entitled to a voice in the management of its domestic interests. Trustees and school commissioners and justices of the peace and constables were elected in these townships by the vote of the inhabitants. The roads and bridges and other matters of municipal finance were put directly under the control of the inhabitants of these miniature boroughs. Massachusetts was superimposed upon South Carolina. That system which had contributed more than all else to the prosperity, freedom, and intelligence of the Northern community was invoked by the political theorists of the reconstruction era as a means of like improvement there. It did not seem a dangerous experiment. One would naturally expect similar results from the same system in different sections, even though it had not been specifically calculated for both latitudes. Especially did this view seem natural, when it was remembered that wherever the township system had existed in any fullness or perfection, there slavery had withered and died without the scath of war; that wherever in all our bright land the township system had obtained a foothold and reached mature development, there intelligence and prosperity grew side by side; and that wherever this system had not prevailed, slavery had grown rank and luxuriant, ignorance had settled upon the people, and poverty had brought its gaunt hand to crush the spirit of free men and establish the dominion of class.
The astute politicians of the South saw at once the insane folly of this project. They knew that the system adapted to New England, the mainspring of Western prosperity, the safeguard of intelligence and freedom at the North, could not be adapted to the social and political elements of the South. They knew that the South had grown up a peculiar people; that for its government, in the changed state of affairs, must be devised a new and untried system of political organization, assimilated in every possible respect to the institutions which had formerly existed. It is true, those institutions and that form of government had been designed especially to promote and protect the interests of slavery and the power of caste. But they believed that the mere fact of emancipation did not at all change the necessary and essential relations between the various classes of her population, so far as her future development and prosperity were concerned.
Therefore, immediately upon the “redemption” of these states from the enforced and sporadic political ideas of the reconstruction era, they set themselves earnestly at work to root out and destroy all the pernicious elements of the township system, and to restore that organization by which the South had formerly achieved power and control in the national councils, had suppressed free thought and free speech, had degraded labor, encouraged ignorance, and established aristocracy. The first step in this measure of counter-revolution and reform was to take from the inhabitants of the township the power of electing the officers, and to greatly curtail, where they did not destroy, the power of such officers. It had been observed by these sagacious statesmen that in not a few instances incapable men had been chosen to administer the laws, as justices of the peace and as trustees of the various townships. Very often, no doubt, it happened that there was no one of sufficient capacity who would consent to act in such positions as the representatives of the majority. Sometimes, perhaps, incompetent and corrupt men had sought these places for their own advantage. School commissioners may have been chosen who were themselves unable to read. There may have been township trustees who had never yet shown sufficient enterprise to become the owners of land, and legislators whose knowledge of law had been chiefly gained by frequent occupancy of the prisoner’s dock.
Such evils were not to be endured by a proud people, accustomed not only to self-control, but to the control of others. They did not stop to inquire whether there was more than one remedy for these evils. The system itself was attainted with the odor of Puritanism. It was communistic in its character, and struck at the very deepest roots of the social and political organization which had previously prevailed at the South.
So it was changed. From and after that date it was solemnly enacted that either the Governor of the State or the prevailing party in the Legislature should appoint all the justices of the peace in and for the various counties; that these in turn should appoint in each of the subdivisions which had once been denominated townships, or which had been clothed with the power of townships, school commissioners and trustees, judges of election and registrars of voters; and that in the various counties these chosen few, or the State Executive in their stead, should appoint the boards of commissioners, who were to control the county finances and have direction of all municipal affairs.
Of course, in this counter-revolution there was not any idea of propagating or confirming the power of the political party instituting it! It was done simply to protect the State against incompetent officials! The people were not wise enough to govern themselves, and could only become so by being wisely and beneficently governed by others, as in the ante-bellum era. From it, however, by a _curious accident_, resulted that complete control of the ballot and the ballot-box by a dominant minority so frequently observed in those states. Observe that the Legislature or the Executive appointed the justices of the peace; they in turn met in solemn conclave, a body of electors, taken wholly or in a great majority from the same party, and chose the commissioners of the county. These, again, a still more select body of electors, chose with the utmost care the trustees of the townships, the judges of election, and the registrars of voters. So that the utmost care was taken to secure entire harmony throughout the state. It mattered not how great the majority of the opposition in this county or in that; its governing officers were invariably chosen from the body of the minority.
By these means a _peculiar safeguard_ was also extended to the ballot. All the inspectors throughout the state being appointed by the same political power, were carefully chosen to secure the results of good government. Either all or a majority of every board were of the same political complexion, and, if need be, the remaining members, placed there in order that there should be no just ground of complaint upon the part of the opposition, were unfitted by nature or education for the performance of their duty. If not blind, they were usually profound strangers to the Cadmean mystery. Thus the registration of voters and the elections were carefully devised to secure for all time the beneficent results of “redemption.” It was found to be a very easy matter to allow the freedman to indulge, without let or hindrance, his wonderful eagerness for the exercise of ballotorial power, without injury to the public good.
From and after that time elections became simply a harmless amusement. There was no longer any need of violence. The peaceful paths of legislation were found much more pleasant and agreeable, as well as less obnoxious to the moral feelings of that portion of mankind who were so unfortunate as to dwell without the boundaries of these states.
In order, however, to secure entire immunity from trouble or complaint, it was in many instances provided that the ballots should be destroyed as soon as counted, and the inspectors were sworn to execute this law. In other instances, it was provided, with tender care for the rights of the citizen, that if by any chance there should be found within the ballot-box at the close of an election any excess of votes over and above the number the tally-sheet should show to have exercised that privilege at that precinct, instead of the whole result being corrupted, and the voice of the people thereby stifled, one member of the board of inspectors should be blindfolded, and in that condition should draw from the box so many ballots as were in excess of the number of voters, and that the result, whatever it might be, should be regarded and held as the voice of the people. By this means formal fraud was avoided, and the voice of the people declared free from all legal objection. It is true that when the ticket was printed upon very thin paper, in very small characters, and was very closely folded and the box duly shaken, the smaller ballots found their way to the bottom, while the larger ones remained upon the top; so that the blindfolded inspector very naturally removed these and allowed the tissue ballots to remain and be counted. It is true, also, that the actual will of the majority thus voting was thus not unfrequently overwhelmingly negatived. Yet this was the course prescribed by the law, and the inspectors of elections were necessarily guiltless of fraud.
So it had been in Horsford. The colored majority had voted when they chose. The ballots had been carefully counted and the result scrupulously ascertained and declared. Strangely enough, it was found that, whatever the number of votes cast, the majorities were quite different from those which the same voters had given in the days before the “redemption,” while there did not seem to have been any great change in political sentiment. Perhaps half a dozen colored voters in the county professed allegiance to the party which they had formerly opposed; but in the main the same line still separated the races. It was all, without question, the result of wise and patriotic legislatioa!
CHAPTER LVIII.
COMING TO THE FRONT.
In an evil hour Hesden Le Moyne yielded to the solicitations of those whom he had befriended, and whose rights he honestly believed had been unlawfully subverted, and became a candidate in his county. It had been so long since he had experienced the bitterness of persecution on account of his political proclivities, and the social relations of his family had been so pleasant, that he had almost forgotten what he had once passed through; or rather, he had come to believe that the time had gone by when such weapons would be employed against one of his social grade.
The years of silence which had been imposed on him by a desire to avoid unnecessarily distressing his mother, had been years of thought, perhaps the richer and riper from the fact that he had refrained from active participation in political life. Like all his class at the South, he was, if not a politician by instinct, at least familiar from early boyhood with the subtle discussion of political subjects which is ever heard at the table and the fireside of the Southern gentleman. He had regarded the experiment of reconstruction, as he believed, with calm, unprejudiced sincerity; he had buried the past, and looked only to the future. It was not for his own sake or interest that he became a candidate; he was content always to be what he was–a quiet country gentleman. He loved his home and his plantation; he thoroughly enjoyed the pursuits of agriculture, and had no desire to be or do any great thing. His mother’s long illness had given him a love for a quiet life, his books and his fireside; and it was only because he thought that he could do something to reconcile the jarring factions and bring harmony out of discord, and lead his people to see that The Nation was greater and better than The South; that its interests and prosperity were also their interest, their prosperity, and their hope–that Hesden Le Moyne consented to forego the pleasant life which he was leading and undertake a brief voyage upon the stormy sea of politics.
He did not expect that all would agree with him, but he believed that they would listen to him without prejudice and without anger. And he so fully believed in the conclusions he had arrived at that he thought no reasonable man could resist their force or avoid reaching a like result. His platform, as he called it, when he came to announce himself as a candidate at the Court House on the second day of the term of court, in accordance with immemorial custom in that county, was simply one of plain common-sense. He was not an office-holder or a politician. He did not come of an office-holding family, nor did he seek position or emolument. He offered himself for the suffrages of his fellow-citizens simply because no other man among them seemed willing to stand forth and advocate those principles which he believed to be right, expedient, and patriotic.
He was a white man, he said, and had the prejudices and feelings that were common to the white people of the South. He had not believed in the right or the policy of secession, in which he differed from some of his neighbors; but when it came to the decision of that question by force of arms he had yielded his conviction and stood side by side upon the field of battle with the fiercest fire-eaters of the land. No man could accuse him of being remiss in any duty which he owed his State or section. But all that he insisted was past. There was no longer any distinct sectional interest or principle to be maintained. The sword had decided that, whether right or wrong as an abstraction, the doctrine of secession should never be practically asserted in the government. The result of the struggle had been to establish, beyond a peradventure, what had before been an unsettled question: that the Nation had the power and the will to protect itself against any disintegrating movement. It might not have decided what was the meaning of the Constitution, and so not determined upon which side of this question lay the better reasoning; but it had settled the practical fact. This decision he accepted; he believed that they all accepted it–with only this difference, perhaps, that he believed it rendered necessary a change in many of the previous convictions of the Southern people. They had been accustomed to call themselves Southern men; after that, Americans. Hereafter it became their duty and their interest to be no longer Southern men, but Americans only.
“Having these views,” he continued, “it is my sincere conviction that we ought to accept, in spirit as well as in form, the results of this struggle; not in part, but fully.” The first result had been the freeing in the slave. In the main he believed that had been accepted, if not cheerfully, at least finally. The next had been the enfranchisement of the colored man. This he insisted had not been honestly accepted by the mass of the white people of the South. Every means, lawful and unlawful, had been resorted to to prevent the due operation of these laws. He did not speak of this in anger or to blame. Knowing their prejudices and feelings, he could well excuse what had been done; but he insisted that it was not, and could not be, the part of an honest, brave and intelligent people to nullify or evade any portion of the law of the land. He did not mean that it was the duty of any man to submit without opposition to a law which he believed to be wrong; but that opposition should never be manifested by unlawful violence, unmanly evasion, or cowardly fraud.
He realized that, at first, anger might over-bear both patriotism and honor, under the sting of what was regarded as unparalleled wrong, insult, and outrage; but there had been time enough for anger to cool, and for his people to look with calmness to the future that lay before, and let its hopes and duties overbalance the disappointments of the past. He freely admitted that had the question of reconstruction been submitted to him for determination, he would not have adopted the plan which had prevailed; but since it had been adopted and become an integral part of the law of the land, he believed that whoever sought to evade its fair and unhindered operation placed himself in the position of a law-breaker. They had the right, undoubtedly, by fair and open opposition to defeat any party, and to secure the amendment or repeal of any law or system of laws. But they had no right to resist law with violence, or to evade law by fraud.
The right of the colored man to exercise freely and openly his elective franchise, without threat, intimidation, or fear, was the same as that of the whitest man he addressed; and the violation of that right, or the deprivation of that privilege, was, really an assault upon the right and liberty of the white voter also. No rights were safe unless the people had that regard for law which would secure to the weakest and the humblest citizen the free and untrammeled enjoyment and exercise of every privilege which the law conferred. He characterized the laws that had been enacted in regard to the conduct of elections and the selection of local officers as unmanly and shuffling–an assertion of the right to nullify national law by fraud, which the South had failed to maintain by the sword, and had by her surrender virtually acknowledged herself in honor bound to abandon.
He did not believe, he would not believe, that his countrymen of the South, his white fellow-citizens of the good old county of Horsford, had fairly and honestly considered the position in which recent events and legislation had placed them, not only before the eyes of the country, but of the civilized world. It had always been claimed, he said, that a white man is by nature, and not merely by the adventitious circumstances of the past, innately and inherently, and he would almost add infinitely, the superior of the colored man. In intellectual culture, experience, habits of self-government and command, this was unquestionably true. Whether it were true as a natural and scientific fact was, perhaps, yet to be decided. But could it be possible that a people, a race priding itself upon its superiority, should be unwilling or afraid to see the experiment fairly tried? “Have we,” he asked, “so little confidence in our moral and intellectual superiority that we dare not give the colored man an equal right with us to exercise the privilege which the Nation has conferred upon him? Are the white people of the South so poor in intellectual resources that they must resort to fraud or open violence to defeat the ignorant and weak colored man of even the least of his law-given rights?
“We claim,” he continued, “that he is ignorant. It is true. Are we afraid that he will grow wiser than we? We claim that he has not the capacity to acquire or receive a like intellectual development with ourselves. Are we afraid to give him a chance to do so? Could not intelligence cope with ignorance without fraud? Boasting that we could outrun our adversary, would we hamstring him at the starting-post? It was accounted by all men, in all ages, an unmanly thing to steal, and a yet more unmanly thing to steal from the weak; so that it has passed into a proverb, ‘Only a dog would steal the blind man’s dinner.’ And yet,” he said, “we are willing to steal the vote of the ignorant, the blind, the helpless colored man!”
It was not for the sake of the colored man, he said in conclusion, that he appealed to them to pause and think. It was because the honor, the nobility, the intelligence of the white man was being degraded by the course which passion and resentment, and not reason or patriotism, had dictated. He appealed to his hearers as _white men_, not so much to give to the colored man the right to express his sentiments at the ballot-box, as to regard that right as sacred because it rested upon the law, which constituted the foundation and safeguard of their own rights. He would not appeal to them as Southern men, for he hoped the day was at hand when there would no more be any such distinction. But he would appeal to them as men–honest men, honorable men–and as American citizens, to honor the law and thereby honor themselves.
It had been said that the best and surest way to secure the repeal of a bad law was first to secure its unhindered operation. Especially was this true of a people who had boasted of unparalleled devotion to principle, of unbounded honor, and of the highest chivalry. How one of them, or all of them, could claim any of these attributes of which they had so long boasted, and yet be privy to depriving even a single colored man of the right which the Nation had given him, or to making the exercise of that right a mockery, he could not conceive; and he would not believe that they would do it when once the scales of prejudice and resentment had fallen from their eyes. If they had been wronged and outraged as a people, their only fit revenge was to display a manhood and a magnanimity which should attest the superiority upon which they prided themselves.
This address was received by his white hearers with surprised silence; by the colored men with half-appreciative cheers. They recognized that the speaker was their friend, and in favor of their being allowed the free exercise of the rights of citizenship. His white auditors saw that he was assailing with some bitterness and earnest indignation both their conduct and what they had been accustomed to term their principles. There was no immediate display of hostility or anger; and Hesden Le Moyne returned to his home full of hope that the time was at hand for which he had so long yearned, when the people of his native South should abandon the career of prejudice and violence into which they had been betrayed by resentment and passion.
Early the next morning some of his friends waited upon him and adjured him, for his own sake, for the sake of his family and friends, to withdraw from the canvass. This he refused to do. He said that what he advocated was the result of earnest conviction, and he should always despise himself should he abandon the course he had calmly decided to take. Whatever the result, he would continue to the end. Then they cautiously intimated to him that his course was fraught with personal danger. “What!” he cried, “do you expect me to flinch at the thought of danger? I offered my life and gave an arm for a cause in which I did not believe; shall I not brave as much in the endeavor to serve my country in a manner which my mind and conscience approve? I seek for difficulty with no one; but it may as well be understood that Hesden Le Moyne does not turn in his tracks because of any man’s anger. I say to you plainly that I shall neither offer personal insult nor submit to it in this canvass.”
His friends left him with heavy hearts, for they foreboded ill. It was not many days before he found that the storm of detraction and contumely through which he had once passed was but a gentle shower compared with the tornado which now came down upon his head. The newspapers overflowed with threat, denunciation, and abuse. One of them declared:
“The man who thinks that he can lead an opposition against the organized Democracy of Horsford County is not only very presumptuous, but extremely bold. Such a man will require a bodyguard of Democrats in his canvass and a Gibraltar in his rear on the day of the election.”
Another said:
“The Radical candidate would do well to take advice. The white men of the State desire a peaceful summer and autumn. They are wearied of heated political strife. If they are forced to vigorous action it will be exceedingly vigorous, perhaps unpleasantly so. Those who cause the trouble will suffer most from it. Bear that in mind, persons colored and white-skinned. We reiterate our advice to the reflective and argumentative Radical leader, to be careful how he goes, and not stir up the animals too freely; they have teeth and claws.”
Still another said:
“Will our people suffer a covert danger to rankle in their midst until it gains strength to burst into an open enemy? Will they tamely submit while Hesden Le Moyne rallies the colored men to his standard and hands over Horsford to the enemy? Will they stand idly and supinely, and witness the consummation of such an infamous conspiracy? No! a thousand times, No! Awake! stir up your clubs; let the shout go up; put on your red shirts and let the ride begin. Let the young men take the van, or we shall be sold into political slavery.”
Another sounded the key-note of hostility in these words:
“Every white man who dares to avow himself a Radical should be promptly branded as the bitter and malignant enemy of the South; every man who presumes to aspire to office through Republican votes should be saturated with stench. As for the negroes, let them amuse themselves, if they will, by voting the Radical ticket. We have the count. We have a thousand good and true men in Horsford whose brave ballots will be found equal to those of five thousand vile Radicals.”
One of his opponents, in a most virulent speech, called attention to the example of a celebrated Confederate general. “He, too,” said the impassioned orator, “served the Confederacy as bravely as Hesden Le Moyne, and far more ably. But he became impregnated with the virus of Radicalism; he abandoned and betrayed the cause for which he fought; he deserted the Southern people in the hour of need and joined their enemies. He was begged and implored not to persevere in his course, but he drifted on and on, and floundered deeper and deeper into the mire, until he landed fast in the slough where he sticks to-day. And what has he gained? Scorn, ostracism, odiurn, ill-will–worse than all, the contempt of the men who stood by him in the shower of death and destruction. Let Hesden Le Moyne take warning by his example.”
And so it went on, day after day. Personal affront was studiously avoided, but in general terms he was held up to the scorn and contempt of all honest men as a renegade and a traitor. Those who had seemed his friends fell away from him; the home which had been crowded with pleasant associates was desolate, or frequented only by those who came to remonstrate or to threaten. He saw his mistake, but he knew that anger was worse than useless. He did not seek to enrage, but to convince. Failing in this, he simply performed the duty which he had undertaken, as he said he would do it–fearlessly, openly, and faithfully.
The election came, and the result–was what he should have been wise enough to foresee. Nevertheless, it was a great and grievous disappointment to Hesden Le Moyne. Not that he cared about a seat in the Legislature; but it was a demonstration to him that in his estimate of the people of whom he had been so proud he had erred upon the side of charity. He had believed them better than they had shown themselves. The fair future which he had hoped was so near at hand seemed more remote than ever. His hope for his people and his State was crushed, and apprehension of unspeakable evil in the future forced itself upon his heart.
CHAPTER LIX.
THE SHUTTLECOCK OF FATE.
“Marse Hesden, Marse Hesden!” There was a timorous rap upon the window of Hesden Le Moyne’s sleeping-room in the middle of the night, and, waking, he heard his name called in a low, cautious voice.
“Who is there?” he asked.
“Sh–sh! Don’t talk so loud, Marse Hesden. Please come out h’yer a minnit, won’t yer?”
The voice was evidently that of a colored man, and Hesden had no apprehension or hesitancy in complying with the request. In fact, his position as a recognized friend of the colored race had made such appeals to his kindness and protection by no means unusual. He rose at once, and stepped out upon the porch. He was absent for a little while, and when he returned his voice was full of emotion as he said to his wife,
“Mollie, there is a man here who is hungry and weary. I do not wish the servants to know of his presence. Can you get him something to eat without making any stir?”
“Why, what–” began Mollie.
“It will be best not to stop for any questions,” said Hesden hurriedly, as he lighted a lamp and, pouring some liquor into a glass, started to return. “Get whatever you can at once, and bring it to the room above. I will go and make up a fire.”
Mollie rose, and, throwing on a wrapper, proceeded to comply with her husband’s request. But a few moments had elapsed when she went up the stairs bearing a well-laden tray. Her slippered feet made no noise, and when she reached the chamber-door she saw her husband kneeling before the fire, which was just beginning to burn brightly. The light shone also upon a colored man of powerful frame who sat upon a chair a little way back, his hat upon the floor beside him, his gray head inclined upon his breast, and his whole attitude indicating exhaustion.
“Here it is, Hesden,” she said quietly, as she stepped into the room.
The colored man raised his head wearily as she spoke, and turned toward her a gaunt face half hidden by a gray, scraggly beard. No sooner did his eyes rest upon her than they opened wide in amazement. He sprang from his chair, put his hand to his head, as if to assure himself that he was not dreaming, and said,
“What!–yer ain’t–‘fore God it must be–Miss Mollie!”
“Oh, Nimbus!” cried Mollie, with a shriek. Her face was pale as ashes, and she would have fallen had not Hesden sprang to her side and supported her with his arm, while he said,
“Hush! hush! You must not speak so loud. I did not expect you so soon or I would have told you.”
The colored man fell upon his knees, and gazed in wonder on the scene.
“Oh, Marse Hesden!” he cried, “is it–can it be our Miss Mollie, or has Nimbus gone clean crazy wid de rest ob his misfortins?”
“No, indeed!” said Hesden. “It is really Miss Mollie, only I have stolen her away from her old friends and made her mine.”
“There is no mistake about it, Nimbus,” said Mollie, as she extended her hand, which the colored man clasped in both his own and covered with tears and kisses, while he said, between his sobs,
“Tank God! T’ank God! Nimbus don’t keer now! He ain’t afeared ob nuffin’ no mo’, now he’s seen de little angel dat use ter watch ober him, an’ dat he’s been a-dreamin’ on all dese yeahs! Bress God, she’s alive! Dar ain’t no need ter ax fer ‘Gena ner de little ones now; I knows dey’s all right! Miss Mollie’s done tuk keer o’ dem, else she wouldn’t be h’yer now. Bress de Lord, I sees de deah little lamb once mo’.”
“There, there!” said Mollie gently. “You must not talk any more now. I have brought you something to eat. You are tired and hungry. You must eat now. Everything is all right. ‘Gena and the children are well, and have been looking for you every day since you went away.”
“Bress God! Bress God! I don’t want nuffin’ mo’ !” said Nimbus. He would have gone on, in a wild rhapsody of delight, but both Hesden and Mollie interposed and compelled him to desist and eat. Ah! it was a royal meal that the poor fugitive had spread before him. Mollie brought some milk. A coffee-pot was placed upon the fire, and while he ate they told him of some of the changes that had taken place. When at length Hesden took him into the room where Eliab had remained concealed so long, and closed the door and locked it upon him, they could still hear the low tones of thankful prayer coming from within. Hesden knocked upon the door to enjoin silence, and they returned to their room, wondering at the Providence which had justified the faith of the long-widowed colored wife.
The next day Hesden went to the Court House to ascertain what charges there were against Nimbus. He found there were none. The old prosecution for seducing the laborers of Mr. Sykes had long ago been discontinued. Strangely enough, no others had been instituted against him. For some reason the law had not been appealed to to avenge the injuries of the marauders who had devastated Red Wing. On his return, Hesden came by way of Red Wing and brought Eliab home with him.
The meeting between the two old friends was very affecting. Since the disappearance of Nimbus, Eliab had grown more self-reliant. His two years and more of attendance at a Northern school had widened and deepened his manhood as well as increased his knowledge, and the charge of the school at Red Wing had completed the work there begun. His self-consciousness had diminished, and it no longer required the spur of intense excitement to make him forget his affliction. His last injuries had made him even more helpless, when separated from his rolling-chair, but his life had been too full to enable him to dwell upon his weakness so constantly as formerly.