Tºm
B E H 7D L E &
–
... . . . . . . . . . . . . .


º
ºw. º
- º --------
-- - º -
-- -
-
- -


-





/ST
7?s)
Ř
=<ſøe’Eºaeg.<ſeº





An Historical Novel
By
OSCAR MICHEAUX
Author of
%, CASE OFMRSWINGATE
Second Edition
BOOK SUPPLY COMPANY
Publishers
40 MoRNINGSIDE AVENUE
NEW York


7/33-5/0/e
Copyright, 1947. By
OSCAR MICHEAUX
Set up and Electrotyped
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without
the permission of the author.
OTHER BOOKS BY OSCAR MICHEAUX
Unlike Anything You Ever Read!
“THE CASE OF MRS. WINGATE”
By Oscar Micheaux
Nazi activity inside black America; the wealthy Mrs. Wingate; the
strange and bewildered Kermit Early; beautiful Bertha Schultz and her
cunning brother, Heinrich, Negro Nazi spy, and the philosophical Sidney
Wyeth combine to make this a most interesting, unusual and exciting
story.
Illustrated, 519 pages, price $3.00. Eighth Large Printing!
“THE STORY OF DOROTHY STANFIELD’”
Based on a great insurance swindle—and a woman! A stirring novel of
strange adventure, love and absorbing human interest, as intense, sus-
penseful and dynamic as an atomic bomb! Don't fail to read this exciting
novel.
Illustrated, 416 pages, $3.00
“THE WIND FROM NOWHERE”
A truly great novel of contemporary Negro life. The unforgettable
story of Martin Eden, young Negro builder of an agricultural empire
in the Dakota wilderness, wherein he alone was black, and a beautiful
and mysterious girl, to make this the strangest love story ever told.
Tremendous is the word for it!
Illustrated, 400 pages, $2.75. Postage, 8 cents extra each book.
Printed in the United States of America


PS25 2.g.
* Iſs P-5/12
ACKNOWLEDGMENT /???
//////
For a long time I have been desirous of bringing forth
a novel dealing with the conditions our country faced
from about 1855 to 1870. Since retiring from the produc-
tion of Motion Pictures in 1940, and returning to writing,
I have written and caused to be published, three novels,
which plots I was able to select very successfully from
among the stories I filmed while making pictures some
years ago. I had merely to select and rewrite whatever
one of the old stories I liked best, which in fact, was not
nearly so arduous as creating a new theme entirely, and,
due to the fact that the story had been worked out very
carefully when it was filmed, I found that it made a
better and more convincing novel after I had worked
it back to story form.
Accordingly, after deciding to do an historical novel
as my next publication, I went back to my old file of
motion picture scenarios and found one that just fitted
my purpose: a scenario from a novel by Chas. W. Ches-
nutt, published almost fifty years ago. I had filmed the
novel twice. First, as a silent picture in the early twenties,
and as a talking picture early in the thirties. It dealt
with a “free” Negro family in North Carolina. It began
shortly before the outbreak of the Civil War, and ended
shortly after the close of the conflict. The story made no
mention, however, of Abraham Lincoln, the Dred Scott
Decision, John Brown, or the Civil War, all among the
most turbulent, grave and exciting events in our history,
and which events were taking place during the period of


this story. But the story provided a splendid background to
work in these characters and events as I saw fit, and which
I desired to do, and I feel that the reader will be pleased
with the way it has been handled.
I am very happy, in the meantime, for the privilege
of having known Mr. Chas. W. Chesnutt, who died in
1932, and acknowledge with gratitude, the assistance
provided by his book of that period which I have drawn
upon in the rounding out and completion of this novel.
Respectfully,
O scar Miche aux
New York City, New York
January 15, 1947
Dedicated to
those who believe in liberty
and freedom for all.


&aete, one
IT IS THE YEAR 1857. Ever since “Uncle Tom's Cabin,” a
novel by Harriet Beecher Stowe, exposing the horror and
cruelty of slavery began publication in 1851 as a serial
story in the National Era, America had begun to grow
more restless than before regarding the institution of
slavery.
Then, on March 6th, 1857, exactly two days after the
inauguration of James Buchanan, a Southerner, and the
choice of the South as President of the United States,
there was handed down by the Supreme Court of the
United States a document called the DRED Scott DE-
CISION, of which Roger Brooke Taney of Maryland, Chief
Justice of the Supreme Court, at the time, was the author.
This decision shook America from stem to stern—as
the country, especially the North, never had been shaken
before. Since few people know and ever have read the
facts in this case, let us reach back into history—more
than a hundred years—to 1834, in fact, and detail briefly
the facts in the case.
In 1834, Dr. John Emerson, a surgeon in the United
States Army, went from Missouri, a Slave State, to
Illinois and later to Fort Snelling, an outpost in the
Territory of Wisconsin. He took with him a Negro slave
named Dred Scott.
Ordered back to St. Louis, Dr. Emerson left Fort
9


19 MAS QUERADE
Snelling in 1837. With him went Dred Scott and a Negro
woman by the name of Harriet, whom Dred Scott
married while on the steamboat on the Mississippi River
before it reached the boundary of the State of Missouri.
In due time Harriet gave birth to a daughter, and, later,
to another daughter in St. Louis.
Dr. Emerson died in 1844. The Negroes then became
the property of his widow, but Mrs. Emerson moved to
Mass., leaving the Negroes in St. Louis under the care of
Taylor Blow, son of Peter Blow who had been Dred Scott's
master in Virginia.
Taylor Blow was at a loss as to know what to do with
Dred Scott and his family. He finally took Scott to the law
firm of Fields and Hall in St. Louis in the hope of finding
some solution to the problem. After listening to a recital of
the events from the time Scott was taken into Illinois and
Wisconsin, the lawyers being of the Abolition minded sort
advised Scott to sue for his freedom. This, Scott proceeded
to do, setting forth the contention that under the Missouri
Compromise Act (which prohibited slavery in the domain
north of the Compromise line, except in the state of Mis-
souri) he had been emancipated by reason of his residence
in Illinois and Wisconsin.
After years of litigation, the case of Dred Scott came
before the Supreme Court of the United States at the De-
cember term of 1856, on a writ of error.
The paragraph in the decision which brought forth all
of the criticism—the storm of criticism that was to come,
(the italics are the author's) follows:
“They have, for more than a century, been re-
garded as beings of an inferior order, and are alto-
* -i t


MAS QUERADE 11
gether unfit to associate with the white race, either
in social or political relations; and so far inferior in
fact, that they have no rights which the white man is
bound to respect; and he might justly and lawfully be
reduced to slavery for his own benefit. He may be
bought and sold and treated as an ordinary article of
merchandise and traffic wherever a profit might be
made of it.”
Among the countless number of criticisms, by almost
every leading and outstanding man of that day, Abraham
Lincoln said: “It is not only erroneous, but vile and mon-
strous.” As stated above, while the decision was ready and
could have been released in December, 1856, it was not
published until March 6, 1857—two days after the in-
auguration of James Buchanan.
Regarding this, Abraham Lincoln, in a public speech
shortly after, asked: “Why was the decision held up? . . .
Why the delay for reargument? Why the incoming Pres-
ident’s advance exhortation in favor of the decision? And
why the hasty after-endorsement of the decision by the
President and others?”
In March, 1858, Senator Seward, of Ohio, accused Taney
and Buchanan of conspiracy. He charged that Dred Scott
had been used as a mere “dummy” in a political game.
Roger Brooke Taney in his prediction that the decision
would stand the “test of time and the sober judgment of
the Country, and would endure for a hundred years, per-
haps longer,” was decidedly in error and he lived to see
that it added only fuel to the bitter controversy going on
between the North and the South which was not decided
until Lee surrendered to General Grant at Appomatox
z


12 MAS QUERADE
Court House a few years later, after the most viciously
fought war of all time.
We now go back to the year of 1855, to the career of
Abraham Lincoln, and that of an adversary of great abil-
ity; a man whose brilliant intellect not only made him well
known to the people of his time but also intrigues the
reader of today; and because of the events that followed,
his name will be discussed for generations to come.
That man was Stephen A. Douglas. He was born in
Vermont but migrated to Illinois where he engaged in poli-
tics. At this time, 1855, he had just arrived in Springfield,
Illinois, from Washington.
Called the “Little Giant” (he was only five feet two
inches tall), he was powerfully built for a man of his
height, with an unusually large head upon which he wore
a buff of long, carelessly kept hair. One was aware of his
striking personality at a glance—seeing him left no doubt
as to his remarkable genius and influence.
He arrived in the capital of Illinois early one night and
was met at the railroad station by a brass band and torch-
light procession which escorted him to the hotel, where he
was requested to deliver a short address.
“I have come home,” he said, “as I have done so many
times before, to give an account of my stewardship. I know
the democrats of Illinois. I know they always do their duty.
I know, democrats, that you will stand by me as you have
always done. I am not afraid that you will be led off by
those renegades from the Party (he was referring to sev-
eral men who had been prominent in the Democratic Party
but who had recently deserted the ship) “who have formed
an unholy alliance to turn the glorious Democratic Party


MAS QUBRADE 13
over to the Black Abolitionists.” He was striking especially
at Abraham Lincoln. “Democrats of Illinois,” he yelled
loudly. “Will you permit it?” The street shook with voices
en masse: “No! No! Never! Never.”
Douglas’ blue eyes flashed; his lips trembled. “I tell you,”
he went on firmly and passionately, “the time has not yet
come when a hand full of traitors in our camp can turn
the great State of Illinois, with all her glorious history and
tradition, into a Negro worshipping, Negro-Equality Com-
munity! Illinois has always been, and always will be, true
to the constitution and the Union!”
And he gracefully wished them goodnight. The torches,
the brass band, and the crowd vanished; the street was
empty!
On the afternoon of the next day, Douglas spoke; he
talked for almost three hours. Had not the Missouri Com-
promise been practically wiped out by the Omnibus Bill
of 1850? Was not the real question whether the people
should rule, whether the voters in a territory should con-
trol their own affairs?
If the people of Kansas and Nebraska were able to gov-
ern themselves, were they not able to govern a few mis-
erable Negroes? The crowd went along with him. They
seemed to enjoy it, and cries came: “That's so! Hit 'em
again, Stephen, etc., etc., etc.” The speech over, three ring-
ing cheers were given for the “Little Giant,” and he left
the auditorium a very happy and proud man.
Abraham Lincoln, who occupied one of the front seats,
had listened to him carefully and had whispered occa-
sionally in the ears of friends who, judging from their
chuckles, had found his remarks quite amusing. When it


14 M. As QUERADE
was over, Lincoln walked down the main aisle at Douglas'
side, joking with the Senator.
Only a few years before, Douglas had made Lincoln a
loan of $100.00, Lincoln having signed a note and later
repaid it. They had argued together on the streets, in court-
rooms, churches, schools and grocery stores.
To a pretty young woman Abolitionist who told Doug-
las after his speech, that she didn’t like his address, Lincoln
interposed, “Don’t bother young lady. We’ll hang the
judge's hide on the fence tomorrow.” And he did.
When the young woman insisted later to Lincoln that
he had no business laughing and joking during such a
brutal speech, Lincoln answered that maybe he ought to
feel a little guilty. As to Slave-holders’ way of looking at
slavery, it didn’t hurt him so very much. “I have heard it
all my life,” he said, “And as the boy said about skinning
eels, ‘it don’t hurt 'em so very much; it has always been
done. They’re used to it.’”
There had been a saying around the Court-Houses,
“With a good case, Lincoln is the best lawyer; but in a
bad case, Douglas is the best lawyer a State ever produced.”


16 MAS QUERADE
growth of Slavery. “Wherever slavery is, it has first been
introduced without law. The oldest laws we find concern-
ing it, are not laws introducing it, but merely regulating
it as an already existing thing.”
He gave five sound reasons for hating it as a monstrous
injustice. And he added, “Let me say that I think I have no
prejudice against the Southern people. They are just what
we would be in their situation. If Slavery did not now exist
among us, we should not instantly give it up. This I believe
of the masses North and South. Doubtless there are indi-
viduals on both sides who would not hold slaves under any
circumstances, and others who would gladly introduce it
anew if it were out of existence.
“We know that some Southern men do free their slaves,
go North and become tiptop Abolitionists, while some
Northern ones go South and become most cruel Slave-
masters. When Southern people tell us that they are no
more responsible for the origin of Slavery than we are, I
acknowledge the fact. When it is said the institution exists,
and that it is very difficult to get rid of in any satisfactory
way, I can understand and appreciate the saying. I surely
will not blame them for not doing what I should not know
how to do myself.”
Was this oratory? Debating? The man, Abraham Lin-
coln, was speaking to thousands of people as if he and
another man were driving in a buggy across the prairie,
exchanging their thoughts and views. He was saying that,
if all earthly power were given him, he wouldn’t know
what to do as to Slavery.
There were not ships and money to send the slaves any-
where else; and when and if shipped anywhere else out-


MASQUERADE 17
side America they might all perish; might all die. “What
then? Free them all and keep them among us as underlings?
Is it quite certain that this would better their condition?
I think I would not hold one in slavery at any rate, yet the
point is not clear enough for me to denounce people upon.
“What next? Free them and make them politically and
socially our equals? My own feelings will not admit of this,
and if mine would, we well know that the thought of the
great mass of the white people will not. Whether this feel-
ing accords with justice and sound judgment is not the sole
question, if indeed any point of it. A universal feeling
whether well or ill founded, cannot safely be disregarded.
We cannot, then, under the circumstances, make them
equals. It does seem to me that some system of gradual
emancipation might be adopted, but for the tardiness in
this, I will not undertake to judge our brethren of the
South.”
And yet while he could not say what should be done
about slavery, where it was already established and operat-
ing, he was sure it would be wrong to let it spread North.
“Inasmuch as you do not object to my taking my hog to
Nebraska, therefore I must not object to you taking your
slave. Now I admit that this is perfectly logical, if there
is no difference between hogs and Negroes.”
The South had joined the North in making the law that
classified African Slave Traders as pirates and provided
hangings as the punishment. “If you did not feel that it
was wrong, why did you join in providing that men should
be hung for it? The practice was no more than bringing
Negroes from Africa to such as would buy them. But you
never thought of hanging men for catching and sellina


18 MAS QUERADE
wild horses, wild cattle or wild buffaloes or wild bears.”
The speaker at times was, in a way, lost from his audi-
ence, as though language had not been invented for what
he was trying to say. He referred to the man whose busi-
ness it was to operate a sort of “Negro Livery Stable,” buy-
ing and selling slaves. “He watches your necessities and
crawls up to buy your slave, at a speculating price. If you
cannot help it, you sell to him; but if you can help it, you
drive him from your door. You despise him utterly. You
do not recognize him as a friend, or even as an honest
man. Your children must not play with his children, but
they may rollick freely with the little Negroes, but not
with slave dealers’ children.
“If you are obliged to deal with him, you try to get
through the job without so much as touching him; you
hope that he will not offer to shake hands, for if he did,
you would have to refuse to. You instinctively shrink from
the snaky contact. If he grows rich and retires from busi-
ness, you still remember him, and still keep up the ban of
non-intercourse upon him and his family. Now why is
this? You do not so treat the man who deals in corn, cot-
ton, tobacco or potatoes.
“Over the country are 433,643 free black men. At
$500 a head, worth $200,000,000. How comes this vast
amount of property to be running about without own-
ers? We do not see free horses or free cattle running at
large. How is this? All these free blacks are the descend-
ants of slaves, or have been slaves themselves; and they
would be slaves now, but for something which has operated
on their white owners. What is that something? Is there
any mistaking it? In all these cases it is your sense of jus-


MAS QUERADI 19
tice and human sympathy continually telling you that the
poor Negro has some material right to himself—and those
who deny it and make mere merchandise of him, deserve
kickings, contempt—and death! And now why will you
ask us to deny the humanity of the slave, and estimate him
as only the equal of a hog? Why ask us to do what you
will not do yourselves? Why ask us to do for nothing what
two hundred millions of dollars could not induce you to
do?”
He drew a line between his position and that of the
Abolitionists. “Let it not be said that I am contending for
the establishment of political and social equality between
the white and the blacks. I have already said the contrary.”
He reasoned that the application of what Douglas called
the “sacred right of self-government” depended on whe-
ther the Negro was a man. “If he is not a man, in that case
he who is a man, may as a matter of self-government, do
just what he pleases with him. But if the Negro is a man, is
it not to that extent a total destruction of self-government
to say that he, too, shall not govern himself? When the
white man governs, that is self-government; but when he
governs himself and also governs another man, that is more
than self-government—that is despotism. If the Negro is
a man, why, then, my ancient faith teaches me ‘that all
men are created equal!’ And that there can be no moral
right in connection with one man making a slave of an-
other. What I do say is that no man is good enough to gov-
ern another man without the other's consent. I say this is
the leading principle, the sheer anchor of American Re-
publicanism.”
The speech was three hours long. Through most of it,


20 MAS QUERADE
Lincoln spoke as though he were not debating or trying to
beat or crush an opponent, but rather as though he was
examining his own mind, his own facts and views, his own
propositions and the demonstrations of them.
And again he was no philosopher at all; he was a sad, lost
man chanting a rhythm of the sad and lost. “Little by little
but steadily as man's march to the grave, we have been
giving up the old for the new faith. Nearly eighty years
ago we began by declaring that all men are created equal;
but now from that beginning we have run down to an-
other declaration that for some men to enslave others is a
'sacred right of self-government.’” (He was hitting what
Douglas had said and declared loudly, full on the chin.)
“These principles cannot stand together. They are as op-
posite as God and the devil. Whoever holds to the one,
must despise the other.”
He painted the “Liberal party throughout the world,”
watching slavery, fatally violating the noblest political sys-
tem the world ever saw.” And he intimated his knowledge
of the movement on foot to extend slavery from the black
race to certain lower grades of white labor in saying: “Is
there no danger to liberty itself in discarding the earliest
practice and first precept of our ancient faith? In our
greedy chase to make profit of the Negro, let us beware
lest we ‘cancel and tear to pieces' even the white man's
charter of freedom.”
The speech came to an end. The crowd that heard it
scattered out of the State House to their homes. Douglas
felt the sting. He frequently interrupted Lincoln, but to
no avail. The cold logic of the tall man held every man's
and woman's attention who heard it, all of whom went


MAS QUERADE 21
away thinking and talking about what he said. The papers,
North and South, commented on it and the slavery ques-
tion anew, and became more interested in what it would all
come to in time as a result. It was for years the bone of
contention between the North and South, and was by now
obvious to every American that somewhere, sometime and
somehow, it would reach a showdown with such results as
only time could tell, which brings us up to the real begin-
ning of our story.


6%ažte, 7%tee
IN THE LITTLE Town of Fayetteville, North Carolina,
perched on the banks of the Cape Fear River which flowed
to the sea, there lived, among approximately 5,000 other
people, two professional men, who visited the offices of
each other, and who had much interest in common.
One, Archibald Straight, was a lawyer, and had served
at one time as Judge of his county. The other, younger
than the Judge by a few years, was a physician, known as
Doctor Green.
They were, at this hour, as was almost everybody all
over America, especially those who took life seriously, de-
bating the Dred Scott Decision and its effect on the nation
as a whole.
“I tell you, Judge Straight,” Dr. Green was saying, “the
decision was fine and a perfect clarification of the circum-
stances, regardless of what the North insists on calling it.
It put the Negro race, if you can call them a race, in their
place and right where they belong, and I think the coun-
try will quit arguing so much about the Slavery question
from now on and let us Southerners alone; leave us to
attend to it as we best know how, and them to attend to
their own affairs and quit meddling so much in ours.”
“All very well, Dr. Green. That is how you see it, view
it.”
“Naturally. A man has a right to his opinion, hasn’t he?”
22


MAS QUERADE 23
“Oh, of course, Dr. Green, of course.”
“Well?”
“But it is not going to turn out as you say.”
“Then how is it going to turn out?”
“To be frank and honest with you, doctor, I really don't
know.”
“But you have an opinion, don’t you?”
“Of course. By all means, of course.”
“Then what is your opinion?”
“That we are about to face the most serious crisis in the
history of the country.”
“How do you arrive at such an opinion?”
“By several ways—almost every way.”
“You are not clear, Judge Straight. All you imply seems
vague and indefinite. Please try to make it plainer.”
“I will if you’ll agree to face facts and conditions, views
and convictions as they are, and not as you would like to
have them.”
“I agree to that—now shoot.”
As they talked, Judge Straight did not see the door to his
office, or at least he was not looking in that direction, but
Dr. Green was, and as he looked out of the door which was
open, a curly haired mulatto boy of about fifteen years of
age walked up and was about to mount the steps that led
to the entrance when he happened to raise his eyes which
met those of Dr. Green's who looked at him curiously. The
boy bowed lightly and pausing, backed up, hesitated, then
turning, walked away.
Dr. Green watched him, still curiously. Judge Straight,
who was talking, looked at Dr. Green and upon seeing his
eves elsewhere, turned to follow the direction until it


24 MAS QUERADE
rested upon the object. When they did, the boy walked
past his window, turned to look through same, and, upon
finding both men looking at him curiously, quickened his
step and went on his way.
Out of the sight of both men, they turned to look at
each other, a question in the eyes of both. Dr. Green was
the first to speak.
“Who is that boy?”
“That boy?” Judge Straight repeated, then turned to
look in the direction the lad had taken, then turned back
to Dr. Green.
“That was Johnny Northcross, Molly Northcross' son.
You know her, don't you? They live out of town aways,
on the old Wilmington Road in a nice little cottage setting
back quite aways from the road. They call it The House
Behind the Cedars.”
“Yes, I remember now. I’ve seen the lad before, of
course, many times, but just now . . .”
“What?” The Judge was curious.
“He was coming here. Your face was turned the other
way and I knew you didn’t see him, but I did. He started
to enter the office. I think he was coming here to see
you, but noting that I was here, it seemed to—sort of
change his mind.”
“Yes?” The Judge now turned and looked wonderingly
out of the door that opened on the street.
“Yes, I am sure he was on his way to see you—in fact,
I know he was for he seemed to have dressed up for the
occasion.”
“That is rather strange,” the Judge said, musingly, then
turned back to Green.


MAS QUERADE 25
“I wonder what he wanted to see me about?”
“Couldn’t say,” said the Dr., shaking his head, “But he
was coming in the office for that purpose, I am sure.”
“Well,” the Judge went on as if to dismiss any serious
thought about the boy, “If he was, he’ll be back. He'll per-
haps knock around for awhile and come back, so forget
about it and let's get back to what we were talking about.”
“Of course, yet—"
“—Yet, Dr. Green. What now?”
“I’m still thinking about that boy.”
“Johnny Northcross?”
“And that’s his name?”
“Of course. Just a nice little colored boy, very mannerly
and, for a Negro, intelligent too.”
“Who does he belong to?”
“To his mother. He's a free Negro, you know.”
“A free Negro? Yes, come to think of it, I remember.
Now let's see, who's his father, since you say he belongs to
his mother, and is a free issue?” Judge Straight smiled. Dr.
Green was looking at him a bit oddly.
“I thought you knew that, too...”
“Well, if you want the truth, he looks a great deal like
Richard Northcross, one of our wealthier planters, but of
course—”
“He couldn’t be related to Richard. I regret to advise
you, but he is.”
“Now what’re you talking about?”
“About that boy’s father. He’s Richard Northcross, our
wealthy planter.” Dr. Green turned to look at Judge
Straight quickly, then relaxed into a half smile of under-
standing.


26 MAS QUERADE
“Another one of those cases, eh? Well, it's little wonder
that the North is so critical about slavery. What hap-
pened and how? You seem to know. Tell me the story, the
old, old story.”
“This boy's mother belonged to Jefferson Wainright,
you remember him?”
“The plunger who went broke many years ago and
moved away?”
“Exactly. Well, this boy's mother, Molly, belonged to
Wainright's wife, but Wainright knew that she was his
blood daughter by one of his slave women, and he pre-
sented her to his second wife, who was years his junior be-
fore he went broke. When he was sold out at auction to
satisfy his debtors, he had Richard Northcross to bid Molly
in. She was then very young, but old enough to satisfy men
when and if it came to that—and it soon did, shortly after
Northcross bought her. He made his wife a present of her,
and Mrs. Northcross assigned her to the duties of personal
maid. -
“When Molly was eighteen, she turned up pregnant.
Northcross married her off to one of his slave men, whom
she had been sort of going with, so I am told, which is
mostly grapevine gossip and I shouldn’t be telling you
about it.” -
“I’ve asked you to, so, go ahead. I’m finding it interest-
ing.”
“When the baby came, it was as white as snow, and, the
man Northcross had married her off to—a coal black
darkey—knew it wasn’t his, the Negro knew it too, so he
ran away. Northcross never made any effort to track him
down and find him. Sort of guilty around the conscience,


MAS QUERADE 27
I guess. Well, Northcross’ wife knew whose child it was
and as soon as Molly was strong enough, she hustled her
right off that job. She made Northcross provide for Molly
and her child, so he purchased the cottage where she has
lived since, that house behind the Cedars. He has kept her
there since and has continued to be intimate with her, for
she has had two children since, one of whom is still living.
A little girl, I imagine, two or perhaps three or four years
of age, and that's another one of those stories, so common
all over the South.”
Dr. Green suddenly started and consulted his watch.
“Dang it,” he cried, jumping to his feet. “I just remem-
bered that I have an appointment at my office—and I’m
overdue now.” He crossed quickly to the door, where he
turned only long enough to wave at Judge Straight, then
he was gone.
As he left the office, he turned to look up the street in
the direction in which Johnny Northcross had gone, and
saw him, standing on a corner one block away, with his
eyes in his direction. He thought again about the clean.
curly headed lad and since he saw him leaving the Judge’s
office, wondered what it was he wanted to see the Judge
about.


6%aete, 2ew,
ALTHOUGH No PRovisions had been made anywhere in
North Carolina to educate Negroes—not even free ones,
Johnny Northcross possessed a very complete literary
training and was in his second year high school in 1857.
This had been made possible by the wife of Fritz Ober-
mark, who operated a tavern in Fayetteville, and who
had come to America from Germany a few years before,
bringing his wife and children with him.
The Obermarks objected to slavery; objected to it so
much until they refused to send their children to the pub-
lic school, due to the school's refusal to accept even free
Negroes as students. Mrs. Obermark, before her marriage
to Fritz, had been a high school teacher in Germany and
was thorough in her work down to the last detail—in
short, Mrs. Obermark was a good teacher.
So shortly after settling in Fayetteville and opening his
tavern for business, Fritz built a small school on his farm
on the outskirts of Fayetteville and installed his wife as
teacher. She proceeded to teach her own children and
offered to teach Negroes for a small fee; all who wished
to attend. Many free Negroes, therefore, were given an
opportunity to educate their children, among whom was a
Negro family living near, by the name of Fowler, of whom
we will say more about later in this story. Among the
others, was Johnny Northcross.
28


MAS QUERADE 29
The Obermarks, as quickly as they were able to, installed
a library in their little private school and sought all the
books that were available. Since they opposed slavery, they
were soon regarded as Abolitionists, and soon got in touch
with Abolition Societies all over the North. When Mrs.
Obermark wrote of what she was doing, or at least trying
to do, and that she needed funds to develop a library, she
soon got the funds—and no end of books, among which
was more than one copy of “Uncle Tom's Cabin.” Natu-
rally all her pupils, old enough to understand what it was
about, read quickly, and re-read, Mrs. Stowe's immortal
book.
By the time he was fifteen years old, Johnny Northcross
had read it three times, and was terribly moved by it. But
it was not until he read the Dred Scott Decision, which
put him to thinking all out of proportion to what he
had before, and, in the end, made him determined to do
something for himself about it. He decided to talk with
Mrs. Obermark concerning it, since he had heard her ex-
press much indignation regarding the subject. He sought a
time when they were alone, to broach the subject, and he
did one afternoon after school had been dismissed.
“According to the Dred Scott Decision, Mrs. Obermark,
no colored person can ever hope to be anything, regardless
of how hard he may try.”
“Oh, Johnny, that is not true, it is not true at all and
you must not feel that way,” Mrs. Obermark cried, very
much surprised and taken aback. “You are intelligent and
ambitious, and you will be a successful man some day. Just
be patient and after you've finished school, go forth into
the world and prove yourself. That is the way to look at


30 MASQUERADE
life, Johnny.”
“But, according to this decision, that is impossible. It
says in plain words, and seeks to show and prove, that
Negroes are beings of an inferior order and that we are
unfit to associate in any way with white people; that we
may be bought, like they buy cotton and tobacco in town;
and that we may also be sold to the highest bidder. My
mother was sold at auction.”
“But you are free, Johnny. Nobody owns you.”
“That is true, but I am not a citizen; I have no rights
that anybody is bound to respect. Then how can I, under
such circumstances and conditions, ever hope to be any-
thing; ever hope to be anybody—and I do want to be
something. I had hoped to be somebody.” -
“You are something now, Johnny. A very intelligent
and, ambitious boy. In less than two years you will have
learned all that I can teach you. Then—”
“—What?”
“You will go forth into the world and make a name for
yourself; soon become somebody.” Johnny Northcross
shrugged his shoulders.
“You’re very kind, Mrs. Obermark. But according to
Mr. Justice Taney, it just can’t be done. He used up—oh,
so many words to convince everybody who reads that very
long decision, that Negroes can never hope for anything,
free or otherwise.”
“Old Judge Taney is a Southerner, and filled with race
prejudice. Don’t take his vile decision of the Dred Scott
Case seriously. Think more about what brave men—like
Abraham Lincoln say.”
“President Buchanan says the decision is right and prop-


32 MAS QUERADE
“A lawyer, Johnny?”
“Yes, Mrs. Obermark. Do you think I can?”
“Well, if that is what you've made up your mind to be-
come, I—suppose so; but you could succeed in something
clse much quicker, I think, and also much easier than to
become a lawyer.”
“Nevertheless, that’s what I want to become, a lawyer, a
great lawyer.” ~
Mrs. Obermark was taken aback. When she insisted that
Johnny would succeed, she hadn’t thought about his be-
coming a lawyer. It did not take her long to understand
how far fetched was such an ambition; how difficult, how
very difficult this would be for him. She had hoped he
would take up some sort of trade. Negro men—even
though slaves, were often fine carpenters, blacksmiths, me-
chanics. There were some free Negro contractors and
builders. All these lines were open to them, which was why
she had insisted that Johnny could be somebody; could
succeed—but now to want to be a lawyer, well, that was
so different, and so difficult for even a free Negro in the
South, that she hardly knew how to encourage him, or
to even try to encourage him.
“You should, I feel, if you want to be a lawyer, wait
until you have finished your education—that is, the kind
that I can give you, Johnny, before you decide fully about
becoming a lawyer.” - -
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Obermark, but I’ve been thinking
about it for a long time.”
“About what for a long time, Johnny?”
“Of becoming a lawyer.”
“Oh, you have, have you, Johnny?”


MASQUERADE 33
“For a long time, Mrs. Obermark.”
“And that is why—you've been reading into those law
books in the library?”
“That is why, Mrs. Obermark. I could read a whole
library of law books. I feel like I could read all the law
books that I see in Judge Straight's library.”
“Judge Straight's library?”
“Yes, Mrs. Obermark.”
“Do you know Judge Straight.”
“Yes, Ma'am; but I doubt if he knows me. I've run er-
rands for him and he should know me; but he may not.
He is a very great man, Mrs. Obermark, and I am sure he
must be very wise in the ways of men.”
“He is, Johnny. Judge Straight is a very learned man,
and a very good man.”
“That is what I’ve thought, and why I've decided to go
to him and talk to him about my plans.”
“Your plans, Johnny?”
“Yes, Mrs. Obermark. My plans to become a lawyer.”
“Oh.”
“I feel that he will tell me the best way to become one.”
“You think so?”
“That's how I feel. I think he can best tell me how to
go about it; the best way and all that, you know.”
“You think so?”
“I am sure he will. Don’t you think he will?”
“I—I rather feel that he will. At least Judge Straight
will be honest with you, and, since you seem to have made
up your mind about it, I think Judge Straight is just the
man you should see and talk to about it.”


34 MAS QUERADE
“That's what I had decided, and I’m going to see him to-
morrow morning.”
Johnny took his books and went home then, leaving Mrs.
Obermark to close the school and go home, thinking;
thinking about Johnny Northcross and his strange ambi-
tlOn.


6%aete, 7&e
AFTER John NY NorthcRoss reached home, he did the
chores, for his mother had several cows that had to be
milked, hogs that had to be fed and a team that had to be
bedded down each night. He ate his dinner, talked with his
mother and played with his young sister, Rowena; then did
some reading and checking of his studies for the next day,
then it was bed time.
He retired earlier than usual, not to sleep, for he was
not sleepy at all. He wanted to think, and to plan some
more about how to become a lawyer. “Lawyers have first
to be educated,” he surmised. If he studied hard, he would
learn in another year just about all Mrs. Obermark had
said that she could teach him. He had, as has been shown,
decided to call on old Judge Straight the next day and have
the talk, but after further consideration, it would be best
to call and talk with Judge Straight after he had completed
his education; at least all that Mrs. Obermark could teach
him and all that he could secure in Fayetteville.
He lay awake for two hours before he could decide fully
to wait another year before calling on the old Judge and
lay his cards on the table.
During that period, the controversy in the North and
especially in Illinois over the Slavery question, developed
greater intensity, and every week the papers which the
wealthy white ladies of Fayetteville took and would give to
35


36 MAS QUERADE
him when he went to take butter and eggs and vegetables
which they produced, grew more interesting, and he would
read what they said about it with keen interest.
Especially interesting to him, was the series of proposed
political debates between Abraham Lincoln, regarded now
as one of the leading Abolitionists of the country, and
Senator Stephen A. Douglas, of Illinois, whose State Sov-
ereignty favored the South and the perpetuation of Slav-
ery. The first debate was to take place at Ottawa, Illinois,
August 21, 1858.
Johnny Northcross knew that the major part of the
debate at least, would appear in the following week's
papers, so he made himself patient and waited for the
days to go by. In due time he was given the papers that
carried the debate, and chose a time when he would not
be interrupted, and have nothing to do so that he could
read at least one side, perhaps the other later.
He unfolded the paper, and there before him, covering
one entire page, was Senator Douglas’ argument. He read
it with eager anxiety.
“Ladies and gentlemen. I appear before you today for
the purpose of discussing the leading political topics which
now agitate the public mind. By an arrangement between
Mr. Lincoln and myself, we are present here today for
the purpose of having a joint discussion, as the two great
political parties of the state and union, upon the prin-
ciples in issue, between these parties; and this vast con-
course of people gathered here from all over, shows the
deep feeling which pervades the public mind in regards
to the questions dividing us.
“Prior to 1854 this country was divided into two great


MAS QUERADE 37
political parties, known as the Whig and Democratic par-
ties. Both were National and patriotic, advancing prin-
ciples that were universal in their application. An old line
Whig could proclaim his principles in Louisiana and Mass.
alike. Whig principles disregarded boundary or sectional
lines. They were not limited by the Ohio river, nor by the
Potomac, nor by the lines of the Free and Slave states, but
applied and were proclaimed wherever the Constitution
ruled; or the American flag waved over American soil.
So it was and so it is with the great Democratic Party,
which, from the days of Jefferson until this period, has
proven itself to be the historic party of this nation. While
the Whig and Democratic parties differed in regards to a
bank, the tariff, distribution, the specie circular, and the
sub-treasury, they agreed on the great Slavery question,
which now agitates the Union. I say that the Whig party
and the Democratic party agreed on this Slavery Ques-
tion, while they differed on those matters of expediency
to which I have referred. The Whig party and the Demo-
cratic party jointly adopted the compromise measures of
1850 as the basis of a proper and just solution of this Slav-
ery question in all its forms. Henry Clay was the great
leader, with Webster on his right and Cass on his left, and
sustained by the patriots in the Whig and Democratic
ranks who had devised and enacted the compromise meas-
ures of 1850.
“In 1851, the Whig party and the Democratic party
united in Illinois in adopting resolutions endorsing and
approving the principles of the compromise measures of
1850 as the proper adjustment of the question. In 1852,
when the Whig party assembled in convention at Balti-


38 MASQUBRADE
more for the purpose of nominating a candidate for the
Presidency, the first thing it did was to declare the com-
promise measures of 1850 in substance and in principle, a
suitable adjustment of the Slavery question. (applause)
My friends, silence will be more acceptable to me in the
discussion of these questions than applause. I desire to
adjust myself to your judgment, your understanding and
your consciences, and not to your passions or your enthusi-
asm. When the Democratic convention assembled in Bal-
timore in the same year, for the purpose of nominating a
Democratic candidate for the Presidency, it also adopted
the compromise measures of 1850 as the basis of Demo-
cratic action. Thus you see that up to 1853-4, the Whig
party and the Democratic party both stood on the same
platform with regards to the Slavery question. That plat-
form was the right of the people of each State and Terri-
tory to decide their local and domestic institutions for
themselves, subject only to the Federal Constitution.
“During the sessions of Congress of 1853-54, I intro-
duced into the Senate of the United States a bill to or-
ganize the Territories of Kansas and Nebraska on that
principle which had been adopted in the compromise
measures of 1850, approved by the Whig party and the
Democratic party in Illinois in 1851, and endorsed by the
Whig party and the Democratic party in National con-
ventions in 1852. In order that there might be no misun-
derstanding in relation to the principle involved in the
Kansas and Nebraska bill, I put forth the true intent and
meaning of the act in these words: ‘It is the true intent
and meaning of this act not to legislate Slavery into any
State or Territory, or to regulate their domestic institu-


MASQUERADE 39
tions in their own way, subject only to the Federal Consti-
tution.” Thus you see, my friends, that up to 1854, when
the Kansas and Nebraska bill was brought into Congress
for the purpose of carrying out the principles which both
parties had up to that time endorsed and approved, there
had been no division in this country in regard to that prin-
ciple except the opposition of the Abolitionists. In the
house of representatives of the Illinois legislature, upon a
resolution asserting that principle, every Whig and every
Democrat in the house voted in the affirmative, and only
four men voted against it, and those four were old line
Abolitionists.
“In 1854, Mr. Abraham Lincoln and Mr. Trumbull en-
tered into an arrangement, one with the other, and each
with his respective friends, to dissolve the old Whig party
on the one hand, and to dissolve the old Democratic party
on the other, and to connect members of both into an
Abolition party, under the name and disguise of a Repub-
lican party. The terms of that arrangement between Mr.
Lincoln and Mr. Trumbull, have been published to the
world by Mr. Lincoln's special friend, Mr. James H. Math-
eny, Esq., and they were, that Lincoln should have Shield’s
place in the Senate, which was then about to become va-
cant, and that Trumbull should have my seat when my
term expired. Lincoln went to work to Abolitionize the
old Whig party all over the State, pretending that he was
then as good a Whig as ever; and Trumbull went to work
in his part of the State preaching Abolitionism in its milder
and lighter form and trying to Abolitionize the Demo-
cratic party and camp. In pursuance of the arrangement
the parties met in Springfield in Oct. 1854, and proclaimed


40 MAS QUERADE
their new platform. Lincoln was to bring into the Aboli-
tion camp the old line Whigs, and transfer them over to
Giddings, Chase, Fred Douglas and Parson Lovejoy, who
were ready to receive them and christen them in their
new faith. They laid down on that occasion, a platform
for their new Republican party, which was to be thus
constructed. I have the resolutions of their State conven-
tion then held, which was the first mass State convention
ever held in Illinois by the Black Republican party, and I
now hold them in my hands, and will read a part of them
and cause the others to be printed. Here are the most
important and material resolutions of this Abolition plat-
form:—
“‘1. Resolved, That we believe this trust to be self-evi-
dent, that when parties become subversive of the ends for
which they are established or incapable of retaining the
true principles of the Constitution, it is the right and duty
of the people to dissolve the political bands by which they
may have been connected therewith, and to organize new
parties upon which principles and with such views as the
circumstances, and the exigencies of the nation may de-
mand.
“‘2. Resolved, That the times imperatively demand the
reorganization of parties, and repudiating all previous
party attachments, names and predestinations, we unite
ourselves together in defense of the liberty and constitu-
tions of the country, and will hereafter co-operate as the
Republican party, pledged to the accomplishments of the
following purposes: To bring the administration of the
government back to the control of its first principles; to
restore Kansas and Nebraska to the position of Free Terri-


MASQUERADE 41
tories, that as the Constitution of the United States vests
in the States, and not Congress, the power to legislate for
the extradition of fugitives from labor, to repeal and en-
tirely abrogate the Fugitive Slave Law; to restrict Slavery
to those States in which it exists; to prohibit the admission
of any more Slave States into the Union; to abolish Slavery
in the District of Columbia; to exclude Slavery from all
the Territories over which the General government has ex-
clusive jurisdiction; and to resist the acquirement of any
more Territories, unless the prospect of Slavery therein
forever shall have been prohibited.
“‘3. Resolved, That in furtherance of these principles
we will use such Constitutional and lawful means as shall
seem best adapted to the accomplishment and that we will
support no man for office under the General State gov-
ernment who is not positively and fully committed to the
support of these principles, and when personal character
and conduct a guarantee that he is reliable, and who shall
not abjure old party allegiance and ties.’
“Now, gentlemen, your Black Republicans have cheered
one of those propositions, and yet I venture to say that you
cannot get Mr. Lincoln to come out now and say that he
is in favor of each one of them. That these propositions,
one and all, constitute the platform of the Black Republi-
can party of this day, I have no doubt; and when you
were not aware for what purpose I was reading them, your
Black Republicans cheered them as good Black Republi-
can doctrines. My object in reading these resolutions was
to put the question to Abraham Lincoln this day, whether
he now stands, and whether Mr. Lincoln today stands, as he
did in 1854, in favor of the unconditional repeal of the


42 MAS QUERADE
Fugitive Slave law. I desire him to answer whether he
stands pledged today, as he did in 1854, against the admis-
sion of any more Slave States into the Union, even if the
people want them. I want to know whether he stands
pledged against the admission of a new State into the
Union, with such a Constitution as the people of that
State may see fit to make. I want to know whether he to-
day stands pledged to the abolition of Slavery in the Dis-
trict of Columbia. I desire him to answer whether he stands
pledged to the prohibition of the slave trade between the
different States; I desire to know whether he stands pledged
to prohibit Slavery in all the Territories of the United
States, north as well as south of the Missouri Compromise
Line. I desire him to answer whether he is opposed to the
acquisition of any more Territory, unless slavery is pro-
hibited therein. I want his answer to these questions. Your
affirmative cheers in favor of this Abolition platform is not
satisfactory. I ask Abraham Lincoln to answer these ques-
tions in order that when I trot him down to lower Egypt
(he meant Cairo and extreme Southern Illinois) I may put
the same questions to him. My principles are the same
everywhere. I can proclaim them alike in the North, the
South, the East and the West. My principles will apply
wherever the Constitution prevails, and the American
flag waves. I desire to know whether Mr. Lincoln's will
bear transplanting from Ottawa to Jonesboro, Arkansas.
I put these questions to him today distinctly, and ask an
answer. I have a right to an answer for I quote from the
platform of the Republican party, made by himself and
others at the time that party was formed, and the bargain
made by Lincoln to dissolve and kill the old Whig party,


MAS QUERADE 43
and transfer its members, bound hand and foot, to the
Abolition party, under the direction of Giddings and Fred-
erick Douglas.
“In the remarks I have made on the platform, and the
position of Mr. Lincoln upon it, I mean nothing personally
disrespectful or unkind to that gentleman. I have known
him for nearly twenty-five years. There were many points
of sympathy between us when we got acquainted. We were
both comparatively boys, and both struggling with pov-
erty in a strange land. He was more successful in his occu-
pation than I was and hence more fortunate in this world's
goods. Lincoln is one of those peculiar men who perform
with admirable skill everything which they undertake. He
was then just as good at telling an anecdote as now. He
could beat any of the boys wrestling, or running a foot-
race in tossing a copper; could ruin more liquor than all of
the boys of the town together (somebody called loudly
“Liar”) and the dignity and impartiality with which he
presided at a horse race or a fist-fight excited the admira-
tion and won the praise of everybody that was present and
participated. I sympathized with him because he was
struggling with difficulties and so was I. Mr. Lincoln served
with me in the legislature in 1836 and we both retired and
he subsided, or became submerged, and he was lost sight of
as a public man for some years. In 1846 when Wilmot in-
troduced his celebrated proviso, and the Abolition tornado
swept over the country, Lincoln again turned up as a mem-
ber of Congress from the Sangoman district. I was then
in the Senate of the United States and was glad to wel-
come my old friend and companion. Whilst in Congress
he distinguished himself by his opposition to the Mexican


44 MASQUERADE
war, taking the side of the common enemy against his own
country; and when he returned home he found that the
indignation of the people followed him everywhere, and
he was again submerged, or obliged to retire into private
life, forgotten by his former friends. He came up again in
1854, just in time to make the Abolition, or Black Repub-
lican platform, in company with Giddings, Lovejoy, Chase
and Frederick Douglas, for the Republican party to stand
upon. Trumbull, too, was one of our contemporaries. He
was born and raised in old Connecticut, was bred a Federal-
ist, but removing to Georgia, turned nullifier when nullifi-
cation was popular, and as soon as he disposed of his clocks
and wound up his business in Georgia, migrated to Illinois,
turned politician and lawyer here and made his appearance
in 1841 as a member of the legislature. -
“These two men, having formed this combination to
Abolitionize the old Whig party and the old Democratic
party, and put themselves into the Senate of the United
States, in pursuance of their bargain, are now carrying out
that arrangement. Matheny states that Trumbull broke
faith; that the bargain was that Lincoln should be the
Senator in Shields' place, and Trumbull to wait for mine;
and the story goes that Trumbull cheated Lincoln, having
control of four or five Abolitionized Democrats who were
holding over in the Senate, he would not let them vote for
Lincoln, and which obliged the rest of the Abolitionists
to support him in order to secure an Abolition Senator.
There are a number of authorities for the truth of this
besides Matheny, and I suppose Mr. Lincoln will not deny
it. Having formed the new party for the benefit of desert-
ers from Whiggery, and deserters from Democracy, and


MASQUERADE 45
having laid down the Abolition platform, which I have
read, Lincoln now takes his stand and proclaims his Aboli-
tion doctrines, and expressed his opinion anew regarding
slavery. Let me read a part of them. In his speech at
Springfield to the convention which nominated him for
the Senate, he said:
“‘In my opinion it will not cease until a crisis will have
been reached and passed. A house divided against itself can-
not stand. I believe this government cannot endure half
slave and half free. I do not expect the Union to be dis-
solved; I do not expect the house to fall; but I do expect
that it will cease to be divided! It will all become one thing,
or all the other. Either the opponents of Slavery will arrest
the further spread of it, and place it where the public mind
shall rest in the belief that it is in the process of ultimate
extinction, or its advocates will push it forward until it
shall become alike lawful in all the states—old as well as
new, North as well as South.”
(“Good, good!” and cheers)
“I am delighted to hear you black Republicans say
‘good!” I have no doubt that doctrine expresses your sen-
timents, and I will prove to you now, if you will listen
to me, that it is revolutionary and destructive of the exist-
ence of this government. Mr. Lincoln, in the extract from
which I have just read, says that this government cannot
endure permanently in the same condition in which it was
made by its framers—divided into Free and Slave States.
He says that it has existed for about seventy years thus
divided and yet he tells you that it cannot endure per-
manently in the same principles and exist, divided into
Free and Slave States. Hamilton, Jay and the great men of


46 - MAS QUERADE
that day, made this government free to do as it pleased on
the subject of Slavery. Why cannot it exist on the same
principles on which our fathers made it? They knew when
they framed the Constitution that in a country as wide
and broad as this; with such a variety of climate, produc-
tion and interest, the people necessarily required different
laws and institutions in different localities. They knew
that the laws and regulations that would suit the granite
hills of New Hampshire and Vermont, would be unsuited
to the rice plantations of South Carolina, and they there-
fore provided that each State should retain its own legis-
lation and its own sovereignty, with the full and complete
power to do as it pleased within its own limits, in all that
was local and not national. One of the reserved rights of
the states was the right to regulate the relation between
master and servant, on the Slavery question. At the time
the Constitution was framed, there were thirteen states in
the Union, twelve of which were slave-holding States, and
one a Free State. Suppose this doctrine of uniformity,
preached by Mr. Lincoln that the states should all be Free
or all be Slave had prevailed, and what would have been
the results? Of course the twelve Slave-holding states
would have overruled the one Free state, and Slavery
would have been fastened by a constitutional provision on
every inch of the American Republic, instead of being
left, as our fathers wisely left it, to each state to decide
for itself. Here I assert that uniformity in the local laws
and institutions of the different states is neither possible or
desirable. If uniformity had been adopted when the gov-
ernment was established, it must have eventually been
the uniformity of Slavery everywhere, or else this uni-


MAS QUBRADB 47
formity of Negro citizenship and Negro equality every-
where.
“We are told by Lincoln that he is utterly opposed to
the Dred Scott Decision and will not submit to it, for the
reason that he says it deprives the Negro of the rights and
privileges of citizenship. Do you desire to strike out of our
State Constitution that clause that keeps slaves and Free
Negroes out of the state, and allow the Free Negroes to
flow in, and cover your prairies with Black settlements?
Do you desire to turn this beautiful state into a free Negro
colony, in order that when Missouri abolishes Slavery, she
can send one hundred thousand emancipated Slaves into
Illinois, to become citizens and voters on an equality with
yourselves? If you desire Negro citizenship; if you desire
them to come into this state and settle with the white
man, if you desire them to vote on an equality with your-
selves, and to make them eligible to office, to serve on
juries, and to adjudge your rights, then support Mr. Lin-
coln's and the Black Republican party, who are in favor
of the citizenship of the Negro. For one, I am opposed to
Negro citizenship in any and every form. I believe this
government was made on the white basis. I believe it was
made for white men, for the benefit of white men and
their posterity forever, and I am in favor of confining
citizenship to white men, men of European birth and
descent, instead of conferring it on Negroes, Indians and
other inferior races.
“Mr. Lincoln follows the lead and example of all the
little Abolition orators, who go around and lecture in the
basement of schools and churches, reads from the Dec-
laration of Independence that all men were created equal,


48 MAS QUERADE
and then asks: How can you deprive a Negro of that
equality which God and the Declaration of Independence
awards to him? He and they maintain that Negro equality
is guaranteed by the laws of God, and that it is asserted in
the Declaration of Independence. If they think so, of
course they have a right to say so, and so vote. I do not
question Mr. Lincoln's conscientious belief that the Negro
was made equal, and hence is his brother; but for my own
part, I do not regard the Negro as my equal, and positively
deny that he is my brother or any kin to me whatever.
Lincoln has evidently learned by heart Parson Lovejoy's
catechism. He can repeat it as well as Farnsworth, and he
is worthy of a medal from Father Giddings and Frederick
Douglas for his Abolitionism. He holds that the Negro was
born his equal and yours, and that he was endowed with
equality by the Almighty, and that no human can deprive
him of these rights, which were guaranteed to him by the
Supreme Ruler of the universe. Now I don’t believe that
the Almighty ever intended the Negro to be the equal of
the white man. If He did, he has been a long time demon-
strating the fact. For thousands of years the Negro has
been a race upon the earth, and during all that time in all
latitudes and climates wherever he has wandered, or has
been taken, he has been inferior to the race he there met.
He belongs to an inferior race and must always occupy an
inferior position. I do not hold because the Negro is our
inferior that therefore he ought to be a slave. By no means
can such conclusion be drawn from what I have said. On
the contrary, I hold that every right, every privilege, and
immunity consistent with the safety of society in which he
lives. On that point I presume there can be no diversity


MASQUERADE 49
of opinion. You and I are bound to extend to our inferior
and dependent beings every right, every privilege, every
facility and immunity consistent with the public good.
“The question then arises what rights and privileges are
consistent with the public good? This is a question which
each State and each Territory must decide for itself. Illi-
nois has decided it for herself. We have provided that the
Negro shall not be a Slave, and we have also provided that
he shall not be a citizen, but protect him in his civil rights,
his life, his person and his property, only depriving him of
any political rights whatsoever and refusing to put him on
any equality with the white man. That policy of Illinois is
satisfactory to the Democratic party and to me, and if it
was to the Republicans, there would be no question upon
the subject. But the Republicans say that he ought to be
made a citizen, and when he becomes a citizen, he becomes
your equal, with all your rights and privileges. They assert
the Dred Scott Decision to be monstrous because it denies
that the Negro is or can be a citizen under the Constitu-
tion. Now, I hold that Illinois had a right to abolish and
prohibit Slavery as she did, and I hold that Kentucky has
the same right to continue and protect Slavery that Illi-
nois had to abolish it. I hold that New York had as much
right to abolish Slavery that Virginia has to continue it,
and that each and every State of this Union is a sovereign
power, with the right to do as it pleases upon this question
of Slavery and all of its domestic institutions. Slavery is
not the only question which comes up in the controversy.
There is a far more important one to you, and that is, what
shall be done with the Free Negro? We have settled the
Slavery question as far as we are concerned; we have pro-


50 MAS QUERADE
hibited it in Illinois forever; and in doing so I think we
have acted wisely, and there is no man in the state who
would be more strenuous in his opposition to the introduc-
tion of Slavery than I would. But when we settled it for
ourselves, we exhausted all our power over that subject. We
have done our whole duty and can do no more. We must
leave each and every other State to decide for itself the
same question. In relation to the policy to be pursued to-
ward the Free Negroes, we have said that they shall not
vote whilst Maine, on the other hand, has said that they
shall vote. Maine is a Sovereign State, and has the right to
regulate the qualification of votes within her limits. I
would never consent to confer the right of voting and of
citizenship upon a Negro; but still I am not going to quar-
rel with Maine or New York for differing from me in
opinion. Let Maine take care of her own Negroes, and fix
the qualifications of her own voters to suit herself, without
interfering with Illinois, and Illinois will not interfere with
Maine. So with the State of New York. She allows the
Negro to vote, providing he owns two hundred and fifty
dollars worth of property, but not otherwise. I would not
make any distinction whatever between a Negro who held
property and one who did not.
“Now my friends if we will only act conscientiously and
rigidly on this great principle of popular sovereignty,
which guarantees to each State and Territory the right to
do as it pleases on all things local and domestic, instead of
Congress interfering, we will continue at peace with one
another. This doctrine of Mr. Lincoln's among the institu-
tions of the different States, is a 1 ew doctrine, never
dreamed of by Madison, or the framers of this government.


MASQUERADE 51
Mr. Lincoln and the Republican party set themselves up
as wiser than these men who made this government, which
has flourished for seventy years, under the principle of
popular sovereignty, recognizing the right of each State
to do as it pleased. I believe that this new doctrine as
preached by Mr. Lincoln will dissolve the union if it suc-
ceeds. They are trying to array all the Northern States in
one body, against the South to excite a sectional war be-
tween the Free states and Slave states, in order that the
one or the other may be driven to the wall.
“I am told that my time is up. Mr. Lincoln will now ad-
dress you for an hour and a half, and I will then occupy a
half hour in replying to him.”


MAS QUERADE 53
serious. He turned to Judge Straight.
“Just how could this be done. I mean, what procedure
would have to be employed?”
“That's simple enough. Secession.”
“Secession? You mean that the Southern States might—
secede from the Union? That would be dissolution all
right.”
“Exactly.”
“But can they do that?” -
“I see nothing to keep them from seceding but a strong
President.”
“What about Buchanan?”
“Weak as water.”
“Yeah?”
“Couldn’t be weaker.”
“He was the choice of the South. In fact, they seemed
to have forced his election on the country.”
“Because he assured them, and they believed him, that
he wouldn't interfere with the slavery question. Don't
you recall that the Dred Scott Decision was held up until
after he was inaugurated; and that he commended the
decision highly?”
“Of course, but I didn’t know that was the reason it
was held up,” Dr. Green said with a frown.
“That was why—and you see what the public at large
is saying about it.”
“And they don’t ever seem to get through talking about
it, criticising it and tearing it to pieces.”
“And they won't quit talking about it and tearing it to
pieces, either. They'll be doing so long after both you and
I are dead.”


54 MAS QUERADE
“Just what is this country coming to, anyhow—and it
is all about slavery? Will the North ever let us alone and
leave us to handle the Negro in our own way?”
“Never as long as the South insists on holding him in
slavery.”
“Wasn't the Dred Scott Decision supposed to have set-
tled that; the position of the Negro both North and South,
so Chief Justice Taney said?”
“But Abraham Lincoln has just said, ‘A house divided
against itself cannot stand.’”
“Yet Douglas made a very intelligent reply to that, in
his speech which you've just read.”
“But his argument in favor of the most,” he said,
“lacked conviction. The thing failed to get over. After
reading it, what are you thinking, about what Douglas
said or what he quoted Lincoln as saying? In addition to his
‘House Divided’ argument, his "This country cannot en-
dure permanently half slave and half free.” That argu-
ment goes home; it puts you to thinking,” Judge Straight
insisted. “It keeps you thinking, and all Americans who
have heard it and will hear it—and there is everything to
prove it.”
“What, for instance?”
“All this slavery agitation. Lincoln says that it will all
in the end be one way, or the other, meaning it will be ‘all
slave' or ‘all free.’ Well, since the North has freed the slave
of her own volition, and declares over and over again that
slavery is a crime against civilization, and that all men are
created equal, do you believe that any of them are going to
back water and repermit slavery back in their domain?”
“No,” Dr. Green replied, shaking his head.


MASQUERADB 55
“Then there is but one thing left, if the country is to
endure permanently.”
“Slavery will have to go,” Dr. Green ventured.
“And there is where the trouble lay. The South will
never consent to that without a fight, they will secede
from the Union, one by one or in a body.
“There is the greatest problem of it all. President
Buchanan will do nothing to prevent it. As stated, he's a
weak man and should never have been made President of
these United States, but the South put him in. That is
why Lincoln dissolved the old Whig party. It had out-
lived its usefulness. It accepted slavery as an institution,
against the wishes of the tide of Abolitionism, sweeping
the North. In fact, there was little or no difference be-
tween Whiggery as it stood and Democracy, except the
South preferred the Democratic party. So it was easy to
put over Buchanan as they did in 1856, with the result
that we now have the Republican party, a new institution,
that opposes slavery as its main issue, and, take it from me,
they are determined to abolish slavery, one way or the other
in due time—and they have the man at the head of it, with
the will to carry out and put into effect their platform.”
“You mean Abraham Lincoln, of course,” said Dr.
Green nodding his head up and down.
“Well, Judge, let us look forward two years. Both par-
ties will be out in the open to elect a candidate for Pres-
ident. Who will it be? Name the man that will be put for-
ward by the Democrats first.”
“Stephen A. Douglas.”
“Stephen Douglas! But he's a Northerner.”
“Straddling on the slavery issue, designed to hold the


56 Masque RADE
South and hoping to carry some of the Northern states.
After Buchanan, a Southerner is out. The South cannot
elect a president alone. Some Northern states have got to
vote along with her.”
“I can understand that. Then you feel at this time
that it will be Douglas? Versus who?”
“Abraham Lincoln.”
“Good Heavens, no!”
Archibald Straight shook his head sadly, but firmly.
“He’s just as sure to be nominated by the Republican party
as if he were already nominated.”
“And if he is—”
“He is pretty sure to become the next President of these
United States.”
“And in the event that he is elected?”
“The South is liable to secede.”
“And that will be the end of this country under its
present name, the United States of America?”
“It could be, if Abraham Lincoln was another James
Buchanan.”
“Now what do you mean?”
“Just what I say, Dr. Green. If Abraham Lincoln was
no stronger willed than our present Chief Executive, James
Buchanan.”
"Then you think that as president, Lincoln might ob-
ject?”
“I mean more than that.”
“More?”
“That Lincoln will not accept secession.”
“But if they secede, how can he prevent it?”
Straight looked at Green and smiled. Then raising a


MAS QUERADE 57
finger, went on. “Lincoln will declare that they are a part
of the Union and will refuse to recognize secession.”
“Then that means war?”
Straight nodded his head up and down.
“Then, while we are at war, Lincoln may—”
“—Declare the slaves free.”
“But in such an event, it will be a long war, a long and
bitter war, but the South should win.” -
“If war comes, that will be how they feel about it, but
in the history of most wars, perhaps all that stretch over
years, it is always the side with the greatest resources, with
the most money, who win—in the end.”
“But it will be different if the North and South ulti-
mately find themselves at war.”
“Perhaps.” -
“Well,” Dr. Green said, rising to his feet with a deep
sigh. “I hope none of this will happen. Nothing but the
election of Abraham Lincoln and his ideas about the Negro
could cause the South to want to break up the Union.”
Both men were standing now, and Dr. Green turned
toward the door. Straight followed him. At the door both
paused and looked out into the street. It was a beautiful
North Carolina day, as clear as crystal and was pleasant
outside. Turning back to Judge Straight, Dr. Green, his
face very serious, said,
“I certainly hope it won’t happen, Judge. I hate to pic-
ture our great Union being broken up, torn asunder.
Knowing what we do and seeing things as far in advance
as we can, they surely ought to be able to work out some
sort of compromise.” -
“If we had a strong willed President we might be able


58 MAS QUERADE
to. While I don’t want to hear this repeated,” and Straight
paused to glance around, “I think the best way to avoid
what is bound to be the greatest catastrophe of all times,
would be to put through a constitutional amendment to
purchase the slaves from their owners outright and set
them free.”
“That would be the cheapest way in the long run,”
Dr. Green said nodding his head.
“But it would take a strong man in the White House to
work that out. The country needs a President who is a
leader—and Buchanan is only a figurehead—and a mighty
poor one at that.” Both men, as Judge Straight concluded,
shook their heads sadly, and Dr. Green turned to leave the
office. As he stepped forward, both happened to look up
the street and their eyes fell upon Johnny Northcross,
coming in that direction.
“Are you looking at what I see, Judge?”
“I can’t help seeing what you are looking at.”
“Do you recall that about a year ago he came to call
: ) in you?”
“I do, but he never came back.”
“He’s on the way back now,” and with a smile and a slap
on the back, Green left the office and Judge Straight went
back to his desk.


&aete, seven
JUDGE STRAIGHT had no more than got seated and opened
a newspaper when he heard footsteps coming up to his of-
fice, enter, and pause briefly when inside, whereupon he
raised his eyes and met those of Johnny Northcross, look-
ing straight at him with a sort of bold, defiant expression.
“Well,” he began, “Young man, what can I do for you?”
John Northcross crossed the room then and paused.
across the table, at which the Judge sat, looking up at him.
“Sir,” Johnny Northcross began, “I want to be a
lawyer.”
“God bless my soul,” the Judge exclaimed, in shocked
surprise, but somewhat amused, due to the suggestion seem-
ing so far-fetched, coming from a Negro boy.
“It is a singular desire from a singular source and ex-
pressed in a singular way. Who the devil are you that wishes
so strange a thing as to becoming a lawyer—everybody's
servant. Have a seat,” and he pointed to the chair which
Dr. Green had just vacated.
“And everybody’s master,” Johnny replied calmly. “I
refer to becoming a lawyer.” He pulled the chair back
then and sat down, turning as he did so to face the old
Judge.
“That is a matter of opinion and open to argument,
young man,” the Judge now went on. “There may be, I
admit, a small grain of truth in what you say.” As previ-
59


60 MASQUERADE
ously shown, Judge Straight knew Johnny—just knew
him. He had never as far as he could recall, exchanged
words with him. So being, he preferred to reply in words
of apparent ignorance.
“Who are you, anyhow, Mr. would-be-lawyer?”
“John Northcross, sir.”
“John Northcross, eh?” the Judge repeated thought-
fully, thinking the while of Richard Northcross, the boy's
father. He looked at the boy closely now, to compare him
with his father. Then he relaxed and smiled just a little.
The boy was the image of his father. Judge Straight smiled
to himself as he considered the irony of it.
“And, where do you live, Johnny?” He decided not to
let the boy think or feel that he knew who his father was,
nor anything that went with it.
“A short distance out of town. On the old Wilmington
Road in a place they call The House Behind The Cedars.”
“That is near the Obermarks, isn’t it? On the right side
of the road as you go out of town?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve noticed it. Whom do you live with?”
“My mother, Mis’ Molly Northcross.”
“I see,” the Judge mused. “She’s a widow, isn’t she?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you want to be a lawyer?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How'd you let such a-desire, pop into your head?”
“I like the idea. I’ve read some law books. I like it.”
“You want to be a lawyer. You are aware, of course,
that you are a Negro.”
“I am white and I am free, as all of my people have


MAS QUERADE 61
been before me,” Johnny replied, boldly, defiantly. This
is what he had decided to do—be bold and defiant and
claim to be white. He knew Richard Northcross was his
father, that he was illegitimate; born out of wedlock; but
he had thought about all that; had thought it all out
months before. He was looking straight at Judge Straight
now. Long ago he had decided that this was what he should
do. Maybe the bluff would work. In the next moment,
however, he became aware that it wasn't working, still
he decided to continue his defiance.
“You are black, and you are not free,” Judge Straight
exclaimed, and met his effort at defiance and challenged it.
“I say that I am white, and I am free. All my people are
free.”
“Some of them,” the Judge replied calmly. He didn't
intend to tell the boy which ones were free.
“You are black my lad, and you are not free, and it is
just about impossible for you, under those circumstances,
to become a lawyer. No person of African extraction has
ever become a lawyer in Fayetteville, so I'm surprised at
you coming forward with such a suggestion. It is vain.”
“I still want to become a lawyer.”
“But consider the difficulty of realizing such an ambi-
tion in the South. You may be, perhaps, a ‘Free’ Negro;
but at that you are not a citizen. You cannot travel with-
out your papers; you cannot vote. You could not secure
accommodations at an Inn; you cannot be out after nine
o'clock at night without your permit. If a white man
struck you, you dare not return the blow, and you could
not testify against him in a court of justice.”
“If he struck me and I could not return the blow, ac-


62 MAS QUERADE
cording to what you say, and I could not testify against
him in a court of justice, then it would not be a court of
justice. It would be a court of injustice.”
“Perhaps you’re right, but they still call it a court of
justice, and, regardless of what you say about being white,
I repeat, you are black and you are not free.”
“It all sounds so strange; so unlike all that you white
people say, that you write about, what you preach—but
don’t practice.”
“Did you ever hear of the Dred Scott Decision?”
“I read it,” the boy replied calmly. Judge Straight
started, and looked at Johnny with a new expression in
his eyes.
“You read it? Then—”
“It may all be true, what that decision said; but the
Declaration of Independence says that “all men are cre-
ated equal.” What about that?”
“I’m afraid they were not thinking about—colored men
when the framers conceived that, Johnny.”
“Abraham Lincoln says that it meant all men, regard-
less of their color, creed or previous condition of servitude.
What about that?” - *
“That’s what Abraham Lincoln said; but Abraham Lin-
coln is only a politician. Judge Taney, the author of the
Dred Scott Decision, said otherwise. Judge Taney is Chief
Justice of the Inited States Supreme Court—and his word,
and what he said about Dred Scott is law, the law of the
land.”
“Regardless of all that, Judge Taney meant ‘Negroes.' I
still insist that I am white and I am free, and I want to be-
come a lawyer.”


MAS QUERADE 63
“Somewhere, sometime you had a black ancestor. One
touch of Negro blood makes the whole person black and
you won’t be able to get away with claiming to be white.”
“Why shouldn't it be the other way, if the white blood
is so much superior?”
“Because it is more convenient as it is—and more profit-
able.”
“It is not right.”
“I agree with you, but that is the way it is, and, I’m
afraid, the way it's got to stay.”
“I had thought that I might pass for white. There are
lots of white people darker than I am.”
“Humph. Everybody around here knows you; and know
you to be a Negro. Where did you get the becoming a
lawyer idea, anyhow?”
“It is not an idea. It is an ambition.”
“Have you talked to anybody else about—this ambition
of yours?”
“I have,” the boy replied.
“Your mother, perhaps?”
“No,” Johnny replied, shaking his head. Judge Straight
looked very much surprised. “Then pray who?”
“To Mrs. Fritz Obermark.”
“You mean, Fritz Obermark, the tavern keeper's wife?”
“I went to school to her. She taught me all I know.”
“Did she teach you to want to become a lawyer?”
“No sir.”
“If you spoke to her about it, what was her reaction?
What did she say?”
“She didn’t say.”
“What do you mean. You say that you talked to her


64 MAS QUERADE
about it, now you advise that ‘she didn't say.’”
“Mrs. Obermark is a very kind woman.”
“I agree with you. A fine woman, a Christian woman.”
Nodding his head in agreement, Johnny went on to ex-
plain:
“After I read the Dred Scott Decision, and that a Negro
has no right which a white man is due to respect; that we
are no more than a bag of potatoes, a bale of cotton or a
sack of corn, and that we may be bought and sold by
anybody who desired to make a profit, I was very dis-
couraged.”
The Judge nodded his head up and down understand-
ingly, and listened to the boy's story with keen interest.
“But I’ve been reading what Abraham Lincoln has been
saying up there in the North, and I have lived on in the
hope that what Judge Taney decreed in the Dred Scott
Decision, might somewhere, somehow, be wrong, so I de-
cided to talk about it with my teacher.”
“That was the proper thing to do.”
“She said that what Judge Taney said was not true; that
his decision was cruel and inhuman; and that I should not
think about it; that I should, in fact, try to forget it as
much as I could. She said, and has always said, that I could
succeed—that I would succeed and be a very successful
man some day if I tried hard enough.”
“Are you willing to try hard? Very hard?”
“Very hard, Judge. I am willing to do anything to be
somebody.”
“But just why a lawyer? It would be far easier for you
to succeed doing something else. What did Mrs. Obermark
suggest?”


MASQUERADE 65
“She implied that I could in some other way, though she
didn’t say that I couldn’t become what I want to be, a
lawyer.” -
“And that was how it started; you talked with Mrs.
Obermark; you told her that you wanted to be a lawyer.
Well, she must have said something, one way or another.”
“I told her that I was going to talk to you about it.”
“Oh, you did? What did she say to that?”
“She said that was the proper thing to do; that you were
a fine gentleman and a wise man; that you would best tell
me, and to come and talk to you.” The Judge felt flattered,
in spite of himself. He had been inclined from the outset
to regard the boy lightly. Now he looked hard at him, a
slight frown on his face.
“And you are—really serious about what you say, of be-
coming a lawyer?”
“I couldn't be more serious about anything.”
“This is all so strange and unusual, also—impossible. I
hate to tell you to give up such an ambition.” -
“Please don't tell me to give it up.” Thereupon the Judge
looked hard at him again, and rising to his feet, strolled
across by the window and looked out at a huge magnolia
tree that stood in the back yard. Johnny sat where he left
him, staring up at the Judge hopefully.
Judge Straight was in a quandary. Off hand he was ready
to dismiss the whole thing as the insane dream of a fool-
ish boy. He turned to look at the boy, and their eyes
met. Judge Straight was annoyed. He couldn't ignore the
anxiety and expression in the eyes of this boy who wanted
to be a lawyer. He presently returned to his chair and
called the boy by name.


66 MASQUERADE
“Yes, sir, Judge Straight?” anxiously, hopefully.
“I am going to drive out of town tonight to see a man.
What you’ve talked about is right now—well, we won’t
talk about it any more, but if it is convenient, come back
to my office tomorrow and see me—anytime will do.” The
Judge rose to his feet then and waved the boy, who was
trying to shower him with thanks and gratitude, toward
the door and following him to it, closed and locked it be-
hind Johnny.


6%aaten &4e
Not FAR FROM where Molly Northcross lived, out on the
Wilmington Road in The House Behind the Cedars, lived a
family, a Negro family by the name of Fowler, Henry
Fowler and his large family, a wife and twelve children.
Henry Fowler was a tall, black and powerfully built
man and one of the best carpenters and brick and stone
masons in the state. He was so good, in fact, that over
twenty-five years before, when slaves were not priced as
high as at this period of our story, Henry Fowler purchased
and paid for himself. One thousand dollars was the price
he paid, $500 cash and the balance in notes, which he paid
off in less than one year-—and then he bought his wife 2
beautiful, healthy, brown-skinned Slave woman, for whom
he paid (part cash and notes) $600.
So at the time of our story, Henry Fowler had been free
most of twenty-five years and had, during that period,
bred and raised his twelve healthy and strong children,
seven boys and five girls, all of whom were born free, and
so Henry Fowler and family were the most prosperous
and highly respected of the Free Negroes who lived in and
around Fayetteville.
The family and Molly Northcross called themselves
neighbors, although the Fowler's two hundred acre farm
was three miles away from The House Behind the Cedars.
All the Fowler children had attended Mrs. Fritz Ober-
67


33 MAS QUERADE
mark's private school and the older ones had learned all
that she knew how to teach them, and were intelligent,
well raised children.
Fowler was a building contractor, and had been for
many years. They complained that his prices were rather
high; but most preferred to pay them on the grounds that
when Henry Fowler built your house, your barn or any-
thing clse you wanted erected, frame, brick or concrete, it
was built—and would stand the test of storms, wind, rain
—and years!
Henry Fowler and his family were reading people, and
kept themselves well informed on topics of the day, in-
cluding the furious controversy going on all over the
North regarding the slavery question.
“They say,” he said one night at the dinner table, after
they had finished their meal, but had not gotten up from
the table. “They say,” he repeated, “that if Abraham Lin-
coln gets the nomination for President on the Republican
ticket, the South will promptly, if he's elected, secede from
the Union and set up their own government, under the
name of the Confederate States of America.” -
“God help us,” echoed Matilda Fowler, his wife.
“Why do you say that, mama,” said Selena, their oldest
daughter, who had just been graduated from Oberlin Col-
lege, Oberlin, Ohio. The family was very proud of her.
“Why, my dear,” her mother replied. “Can't you see
what will happen to our people; I mean our people still in
slavery? The entire controversy is about the slavery ques-
tion. The North wants slavery abolished; the South wishes
to retain it. If they secede from the Union, the Negro
down here may never be free.”


MAS QUERADE 69
Selena was thoughtful. In all they had talked about at
Oberlin, so very much of which was about slavery, no one
had ever put it that way. Yet—turning to her father.
“What do you think about it, papa?” Fowler lowered
his paper thoughtfully.
“I agree with your mother. Our people's only hope for
an early freedom, if this happens, is for Abraham Lincoln,
if he be elected, and the South secedes, to prevent it—and
he can only do so by force of arms.”
“But if the South should win?” Selena suggested.
“Then it might be a long, long time before the race is
freed, if ever. But that won’t happen.”
“The South says it will,” Selena went on, her face seri-
ous. “All the Southern papers declare that if the states
go to war, the South will win and win quickly.”
“If she wins,” observed her father, judiciously, “it will
have to be quickly, but from what I have learned about
Abraham Lincoln, he is not the kind of man that gives up
quickly. If the South forces a war by attempting to secede,
we are going to learn a great deal more about Abraham
Lincoln than we now know.” -
“You think so?”
“All you've got to do is follow his speeches. I've read all
that Douglas has said, and all that Lincoln says in reply to
him.”
“What do you think of Douglas?”
“A politician, pure and simple, playing both ends against
the middle.”
“What do you mean by 'playing both ends against the
middle’?”
"Trying to satisfy both sides, the North and the South,


70 MAS QUERADE
in the hope of getting enough votes to be elected Pres-
ident.”
“They tear everything he says to pieces at Oberlin.”
“Oberlin is a hot bed of Abolitionism,” her father said
calmly. “We expect that from there.”
“Frederick Douglas spoke there a month ago. I wrote
you about it.”
“Yes, we know. How was he received?”
“They raved about him. People came to hear him from
all over Northern Ohio. He was magnificent. I was proud
of him. Oh, father. He just makes you feel things. He says
that within ten years there will be no slavery anywhere in
the United States. He said that it will have to go. He also
said a great deal about a man he called John Brown.”
“A conscientious Abolitionist. He has been turning Kan-
sas upside down. They say that he is crazy.”
“I don’t believe it,” Selena said, insistently. “The South
wants us to feel that all Abolitionists are crazy. They say
that Harriet Beecher Stowe is crazy—or at least was when
she wrote Uncle Tom's Cabin; they call it a pack of lies.
They say there never was a man as mean as Simon Legree;
that a man just couldn’t be that mean.”
“They also say,” interposed Mrs. Fowler, “that the Dred
Scott Decision was all right.”
“They would liken us to a sack of wheat and a bale of
cotton,” cried Selena indignantly. “Oh, you ought to hear
how they deride it at Oberlin! They say that Roger Brooke
Taney should be impeached for writing it. They call it
the most infamous document ever conceived by the mind
of man.”
“All of this agitation about slavery can’t go on indefi-


MAS QUERADE 71
nitely,” Fowler said. “It’s got to break up somewhere,
somehow.”
“‘A house divided against itself cannot stand,’” Selena
quoted. “Ah, those are words by Abraham Lincoln that
will never be forgotten as long as America lives. Also,
‘this country cannot endure permanently, half slave and
half free.’”
“Immortal words, Selena,” Mrs. Fowler cried, and made
a supplication. “Immortal words. The Lord will not let this
crime against himself and man endure. Someday we will
all be free, now let us pray.” Whereupon she bowed her
head in prayer and Henry Fowler offered the prayer.
When it was over, they rose from the table, just as
Leonard, one of the younger boys of the family, burst into
the room, crying:
“Johnny Northcross has disappeared! Johnny North-
cross has disappeared! Nobody has seen him for three days!
He's disappeared!”
“What do you mean, boy, disappeared?” his father cried,
grabbing him and forcing him to face him.
“That’s what happened. I was by his house. His mother
says he has.” All the family had gathered now around
Leonard and his father. All were excited.
“All his mother will say is that ‘He’s gone. My Johnny's
gone!’ and falls to crying.”
Henry Fowler paused and turned to look in the faces
of his family.
“Well, Henry,” Mrs. Fowler cried. “What are you go-
ing to do, just stand there speechless? Have the boys hitch
horses to the buggy and let's get up to Molly's and see what
this is all about. It must be a mistake.”


72 MAS QUERADE
A half hour later the Fowler family joined others in the
yard of the house behind the Cedars and went into the
house where they found Molly crying. Neighbors who had
arrived sooner were comforting her as she sat crying. Her
small daughter, Rowena, clung to her skirts and she was
crying, too, although she was too young to know what it
was all about. But she understood by the seriousness on
everybody's face that something had happened.
Henry Fowler, who was looked up to by the Negrocs
as a sort of leader, came forward and stood over Molly.
The others moved back respectfully to permit him to ques-
tion her. -
“Is what we hear true, Molly? It must be a mistake.”
“It ain’t a mistake, Mr. Fowler. Johnny's gone, gone, jes'
gone.” And again she lowered her eyes and gave up to
tears, using her apron to dry them.
“But—what do you mean, just gone, Molly? How
could a big boy like Johnny just—disappear?”
“That’s how it happened, Mr. Fowler. Johnny just dis-
appeared. Disappeared three days ago.”
“But maybe he—got lost in the woods. If that's so, we'll
find him. Perhaps he may have gone to visit—old Mose
Allen, the hermit, who lives deep in the woods. Johnny is
sort of—venturesome, you know. If so, we'll go look for
him. We’ll—”
“Tain’t no use, Mr. Fowler. You won’t fin” him.”
“Maybe he—might have gone to see Della, the Conjure
Woman?”
“He didn’t believe in Conjurism. He was afraid of old
Della. He didn’t go there. I don’t know where Johnny
went, 'cept that he's gone. He told me he was going away,


MAS QUERADE 73
and that he'd never come back; that nobody that's living
around here would ever see him again.”
“But why?” Henry Fowler insisted, in amazement.
“Please don't ask me. All he said when he came home the
last time was that because of that old Dred Scott Decision,
a niggah couldn’t be anything and never would be, and
that he couldn’t stand it and was going away for good.
He said goodbye to me and little sister, and said that he'd
never come back. And then—he just walked out the door
and I ain’t seen him since.”
Henry Fowler had listened to her carefully, and saw that
he could learn no more about Johnny from her at the pres-
ent time, so motioning to the others, he went outside and
they followed him. Outside he turned to them and said:
“Johnny was always inclined to dream somewhat, now
that I come to think of it. He has evidently gone away,
but I’m sure that he'll come back soon. It does all seem
strange and peculiar, but I advise you all just to be patient,
and wait and not bother his mother any more for awhile.
She's all upset now, so it’ll only make her suffer more if we
continue to hang around and bother her, so go back to
your homes and wait, just be patient. I’m sure Johnny'll
return soon.”
He left Selena there to help comfort the distracted
Molly, and loading the rest of the family he had brought
with him into the buggy, they returned to their home,
where when alone again with Matilda, he resumed his
query regarding Johnny.
“Why did he go away like that, Henry,” Mrs. Fowler
asked, and looked at him curiously. “He must have had a
reason. What reason?”


74 MAs QUBRADE
“I didn’t say what I thought up there where all could
hear it, Matilda. But Johnny always possessed peculiar-
ities. He is one of these many Negroes that would like to
be white, perhaps he planned to go North somewhere and
pass for white, who knows? I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“He could do that, of course, but why would he leave
like that, his mother to be so unhappy and all that?”
“Negroes like that develop strange ambitions, nobody
knows what kind of an idea they may get.”
“Do you think he’ll ever come back?”
“Some day, maybe, but not soon. I’m sure of that, not
soon,” and Henry Fowler shook his head, rose to his feet
and went outside.
And so it was. Johnny Northcross had disappeared. As
far as those who knew him all his life were concerned, the
earth could have just opened and swallowed him. That was
how completely he disappeared—and was never seen by
those who knew him, except one, in Fayetteville again.


6%aete. 7&ae
WE LEAVE NORTH CAROLINA, Molly Northcross and the
Fowler family, and move Northward, to a small town at
the junction of the Potomac and Shenandoah Rivers, near
where the states of Maryland, Virginia and West Virginia
intersect. It is late in the year of 1859, and a strange event
is taking place.
Abolitionists had been writing, singing and praying for
Negro freedom for thirty years. The sweet tempered Rev-
erend Samuel J. May had long ago tried to slow down his
fellow Abolitionist, William Lloyd Garrison, with saying
at one of their meetings, “Mr. Garrison, you are too ex-
cited—you are on fire.” The reply of the veteran agitator,
was, “I have need to be on fire, for I have icebergs all
around me to melt.”
At the yearly meeting of the Anti-Slave Society in
Framingham Grove, near Boston, on a fourth of July,
Garrison had read the Fugitive Slave Act, had then read
the court order of a Federal Judge, handing a Fugitive
Slave back to its owner, and had then lighted matches to
both documents, crying as they burned, “And let all the
people say Amen!”
The “Amens” were shouted and then Garrison raised
high above his head a copy of the Constitution of the
United States, read its clauses that sanctioned slave prop-
•y .-
/ )


76 MASQUERADE
erty, declared it the source of all other atrocities, termed
it the original “Covenant of death and agreement with
hell,” set a lighted match to it and held it up burning as
he cried, “So perish all compromises with tyranny, and let
all the people say ‘Amen’.”
Henry Ward Beecher had held mock auctions of slave
women in his Brooklyn church; “Uncle Tom's Cabin” was
selling in editions of hundreds of thousands of copies; of
writing, talking and singing there had been much. In
hundreds of runaway slave cases in the North, there had
been little and big riots and clashes; in Kansas, had been
civil war and terrorism.
Now out of Kansas came a man who stole horses, ran
slaves to freedom and for the sake of retaliation and ter-
ror, burned barns, and killed men who dared block his way,
without trial or hearing. Asked why he had killed young
people, he had answered “nits grow to be lice.” He had
come to Kansas from Ohio and New York, a child of May-
flower Pilgrim fathers. Both his grandfathers had fought
in the Revolutionary war; at his house his 19 children had
partaken of prayers and scripture readings morning and
night as they were reared in his solemn household. As he
mixed with the Abolitionists of the Eastern States, he told
them action was wanted, bold deeds! Not a Moses giving
laws, nor a Jeremiah with lamentations, but a Samson not
afraid to pull down a temple if it brought his own death.
A lesson could be taken from Joshua whose Ram's Horn
brought down the walls of Jericho. “One God and man
can overturn the Universe,” he said often.
He was through with talk. Some agreed with him. The
thousands of dollars he wanted for rifles, pikes, wagons


MAS QUERADE 77
and stores were given to him by wealthy and respectable
citizens who secretly agreed to call the affair a “speculation
in wool.” They spoke and wrote to each other, asking
“How is our speculation in wool getting along?”
On Monday, Oct. 15th, 1859, telegraph dispatches to
all parts of the United States carried terror and strange
news. At the junction of the Shenandoah and Potomac
Rivers, where the states of Maryland and Virginia touch
borders in a rocky little town called “Harper's Ferry,” the
telegraph wires had been cut, a United States government
arsenal and rifle factory captured, the gates broken and
the watchman made prisoner, and Virginia Slaveholders
taken prisoners and locked up, and their slaves told they
were free and should spread the word of freedom to all
slaves everywhere.
All this happened between Sunday night and Monday
daybreak. It was a Monday mystery. What was happen-
ing? Was a slave revolt starting? Would the next news tell
of rebellion? Slaves repeating the Nat Turner insurrec-
tion? Only on a wider scale, with a list of men, women and
children butchered in their looted or burned homes? The
country breathed easier on Tuesday, when Captain Robert
E. Lee, commanding 80 Marines, rushed a little Engine
house, where eighteen little men inside had fought till all
were dead or wounded except two.
In a corner of the engine house they found an old man
with a long, flowing beard, who said that his name was
John Brown.
“Who sent you here?” they asked.
“No man sent me here,” he replied, calmly. “It was my
own prompting and that of my maker, or that of the devil,


78 MAS QUERADE
which ever you please. I acknowledge no man in human
form.”
“What was your object in coming?”
“I came to free the slaves,” he said. His gaze into space
made him seem saintly; like a messenger from above.
“And you think you were acting righteously?”
“Yes, my friends, righteously. I think you folks are
guilty of a great wrong against God and humanity. I feel
it right to interfere with you to free those you hold in
bondage. I hold that the Golden Rule applies to the slaves,
too.”
“And do you mean to say that you believe in the Bible?”
“Certainly I do.”
“Don’t you realize that you are a seditionist, a traitor,
and that you have taken up arms against the government
of the United States?”
“I was trying to free the slaves. I have tried moral per-
suasion for the purpose, but I don’t think the people in
the Slave states will ever be convinced that they are
wrong.”
“You are mad and fanatical.”
“And I think you people of the South are mad and even
more fanatical. Is it sane to keep millions of men and wom-
en in Slavery? Is it sane to think that such a system can
last? Is it sane to suppress all who would cry out against
this system? And to execute all who would interfere with
it? Is it sane to talk of war rather than give it up?”
The state of Virginia gave him a fair trial on charges
of murder, treason and inciting slaves to rebellion. North-
ern friends gave him able lawyers; he was found guilty; a


80 MAS QUERADE
ory among young men. It is the young who count. For
himself, he was fifty-nine years old, but the average age
of those who had captured Harper's Ferry with him, and
flamed in a scarlet deed before the world, was twenty years
and five months.
Yes, he would go to his hanging. He would write a last
message; before going to the noose he would hand another
prisoner a scrap of paper with the writing: “I, John Brown
am now quite certain that the crimes of this guilty land
will never be purged away but with blood. I had, as I now
think, vainly flattered myself that without much blood-
shed it might be done.”
On the day of his doom, the Shenandoah Valley was
swept and garnished by sky and weather beyond the 3,000
guardsmen with rifles and bayonets. He could see blue haze
and a shiny sun over the Blue Ridge mountains.
“This is a beautiful country,” he said, smiling as he gazed
out over the timbered mountains. “I never had the pleas-
ure of really seeing it before.”
And he may have thought that he missed many Shenan-
doahs of life, shining valleys that would have lighted him
into pronouncing the word beautiful, wistfully, yet he was
not a wistful man. He was a man of doom; believing in his
right to doom others and the power of God to doom
wrongdoers everlastingly.
Speaking through his bars, he had told one, “All our
actions, even all the follies that led to the disaster, were
decreed to happen ages before the world was made.” It was
all settled for him, so long before and he was only walking
as God had ages ago preordained that he should walk. The


MAS QUERADE 81
Sheriff asked, “Shall I give you the signal when the trap is
to be sprung?”
“No, no,” came the even word from the white beard.
“Just get it over with quickly.”
What John Brown believed came true; his ghost did
walk. The Governor of Virginia, the jailer who had kept
him in the lock-up, talked about the way he died, without
a quaver or a flicker, cool, serene; he died as great Vir-
ginians had died; he was an artist at dying.
Emerson, Thoreau, Victor Hugo, compared him to
Christ, to Socrates, the great martyrs who had met death
bravely, firmly. Wendell Phillips said, “The lesson of the
hour is insurrection.” The Abolitionists chanted halle-
lujahs. The Anti-Slavery men had regrets. Stephen A.
Douglas called for a law to punish conspirators, quoting
Lincoln's House Divided speech and Seward’s Irrepressible
conflict speech to which that Republican politicians and
their “revolutionary doct: ines” had incited John Brown.
Lincoln spoke at Troy, Kansas, on December 2, the day
John Brown was hanged, and made an appeal to Southern
sympathizers. “Old John Brown thought slavery was
wrong, as we do. He attacked slavery contrary to law and
it availed him nothing before the law that he thought him-
self right. He has just been hanged for treason against the
state of Virginia; and we cannot object, though he agreed
with us in calling slavery wrong. Now if you undertake to
destroy the Union contrary to law, if you commit treason
against the United States, our duty will be to deal with
you as John Brown has been dealt with. We shall try to do
our duty.”
The plunge of John Brown into the darker valley be-


82 MAS QUERADE
yond the Shenandoah kept echoing. Sweet Louise Alcott
referred to him as “Saint John the Just,” and Longfellow
whispered to his diary that the hanging of Brown marked
the “Day of a new revolution, quite as much needed as the
old one.”
Brown had been so calmly and so religiously glad to be
hanged publicly before all men and nations, that he could
not be dismissed lightly from the thoughts of men. Even
those who agreed with Stephen A. Douglas, speaking in
the Senate, that Brown was a horse-thief and murderer,
were puzzled at the old man writing to his family: “A
calm peace too, fills my mind by day and by night,” and
to a Clergyman, “Let them have me; I forgive them, and
may God forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
The hanging of John Brown renewed the nationwide
agitation against Slavery. The number of Anti-Slave So-
cieties increased in numbers, uhen somebody conceived the
idea to draw huge paintings, to be displayed along the high-
ways, all over the North. These paintings showed John
Brown on the gallows, the rope around his neck, his long
gray beard flowing all over his breast. His eyes were large
and raised to heaven, his hands outstretched, reminding
one of some strange and saintly patriarch, making appeal
to God. On the same long billboard, was the scene of a
beautiful octoroon slave girl, on her knees, hair down over
her shoulders, eyes down, bent and crying while a brutal
auctioneer stood over her, his mouth wide with the words,
“How much am I bid?” Below, hands up, pointing at the
girl, were a group of slave-traders, some with a string of
blood hounds, held in the other hand, all seeming to bid for
the helpless girl. Beneath these huge paintings that could


MAS QUERADE 83
be seen from a quarter mile away, were these captions:
“This is Slavery.” And under Brown's picture “He gave
his life to end this sin against God and man. Will you join
with us to drive it from the face of the earth?”
The response was terrific. John Brown became a martyr,
and lives as one to this day. Perhaps he will continue as a
martyr until the end of time. Although slavery got started
almost with the first settlement of the country, and had
grown and flourished for a hundred years or more without
many people paying to it so much attention, it now pos-
sessed seemingly, the minds of all the people in the North.
“Down with it, down with it and — long live John
Brown!” rang and echoed louder and louder the country
OVer.
The more conservative people shuddered with fear as
to what it would come to. Lincoln’s “House divided
against itself, cannot stand,” speech became a byword.
Everybody seemed to have learned it by heart and seemed
never to get tired of saying it, repeating it over and over.
Also, “The country cannot endure permanently half slave
and half free.” And the people believed it, they said it, sang
it, preached it, and in this state of excitement, 1859 rolled
out and 1860, the fatal year in the history of America,
came in.


6%aaten 7ee
It is Now THE YEAR 1860. We pass over the early
months of that year with regrets as the nomination of
Abraham Lincoln for President on the young and new
Republican ticket, was most interesting; but if all the
interesting events in Abraham Lincoln's life were chron-
icled, it would take a whole shelf of volumes, so we pass
over the nomination and come directly to the election
campaign in the fall of that year.
The campaign between Lincoln and Stephei, A. Douglas,
nominee for President on the Democratic ticket, was more
interesting, controversial and exciting than their series of
debates in Illinois in 1858.
Douglas was stumping the country; it seemed a losing
fight; he went on, tireless; his friends were amazed at the
way he wore out, went to bed, rested, got up and came
back to the fight again.
He told a Boston crowd: “When you asked your repre-
sentatives why the Pacific Railroad had not been made,
why the mail systems had not been reformed and carried
on with vigor, why you have no overland mail route to the
Pacific and no steam lines, you are told that the slavery
question occupied the whole session. All great measures
that affect the commercial interests, the shipping interests,
the manufacturing interests, the industrial interests of the
country, have been lost for want of time. There never will
84


MASQUERADE 85
be time unless you banish forever the slavery question from
the halls of Congress and remand it to the people of each
State and Territory.”
And he told a New York crowd: “If Lincoln should be
elected, which God in his mercy forbid (a voice “Amen’
and laughter) he must be inaugurated according to the
Constitution and laws of the country. ... Yet if the with-
drawal of my name would tend to defeat Mr. Lincoln, I
would this moment withdraw it.”
Democrats of the Southern wing of the party sent Jef-
ferson Davis to dicker with Douglas; if all contenders
would shake hands and join on one candidate they would
sweep the election; Douglas said it couldn't be done; too
many of his friends would go for Lincoln.
Among business interests in the East, Douglas was able
to stir a fear of what would happen if Lincoln were elected
and the country was split with civil war; trade would go
to pieces.
“I think there will be the most extraordinary efforts
ever made to carry New York for Douglas,” Lincoln
wrote to Thurlow Weed, the New York Republican politi-
cal boss. “You and all others who write me from your state
think the effort cannot succeed and I hope you are right.
Still, it will require close watching.” Replying to a South-
erner, he wrote of receiving many assurances from the
South, “that in no probable event will there be any for-
midable effort to break up the Union.” He hoped and be-
lieved “The people of the South had too much good sense
and good temper to attempt the ruin of their government
rather than see it administered as it was administered by
the men who made it.”


86 MAS QUERADE
Again and again came letters—just precisely what would
he do with slavery if clected? Would it not be wise to say
plainly that he wouldn’t interfere? One he answered,
“Those who will not heed or read what I have already
publicly said would not read or heed a repetition of it.”
He quoted: “If they hear not Moses and the prophets,
neither will they be persuaded though one rose from the
dead.”
Replying to a pro-Douglas Louisville editor, he wrote,
“For the good men of the South—and I regard the major-
ity of them as such—I have no objection to repeat seventy
and seven times. But I have bad men to deal with, both
North and South; men who are eager for something new
upon which to base new misrepresentations; men who
would like to frighten me; or at least fix upon me the char-
acter of timidity and cowardice” (he was hinting at James
Buchanan). What he would write would be seized upon as
an “awful coming down.” The letter closed, “I intend
keeping my eye on these gentlemen and not to unneces-
sarily put any weapon in their hands.”
Dick Yates, who was soon to become Governor of Illi-
nois, and whose son was elected and served a term or two
as such, more than forty years later, was telling of a pretty
young bride who handed a bridegroom a thousand dollars
after their wedding night. And the bridegroom told her,
“Lizzie I like you very much, but this thousand dollars
doesn’t set you back any.” From this Yates went on, “If
Lincoln has all the other qualifications of a statesman, it
doesn’t set him back any with us who know and love him,
to know that he was once a poor hard working boy.
“We know old Abe doesn't look very handsome, and


MASQUERADE 87
some of the papers say he is positively ugly.” Yates was
also saying on the stump, “Well, if all the ugly men in
the United States vote for him, he will surely be elected.”
Enemy newspapers rolled up his past, claiming that he
had said that Thomas Jefferson was a slave-holder who
“brought his own children under the hammer, and made
money out of his debaucheries,” particularizing that “A
daughter of this vaunted champion of Democracy was
sold years ago at public auction in Louisiana, and pur-
chased by a society of gentlemen who wished to testify
by her liberation their admiration of the Statesman who
“dreamt of freedom in a slave-embrace.”
This Lincoln designated as a base forgery, “which my
friends will be entirely safe in denouncing.”
The campaign was in its last week. Millions of people
had by this time read his words of two years ago in The
House Divided speech. They struck the soft, weird key-
note of the hour. “If we could first know where we were,
and whither we are drifting, we could better judge what
to do and how to do it.”
Twice, since he had first spoken, the corn had grown
from seed to the full stalk and had been harvested.
In a book he had carried, it was said, “All rising to power
is by a winding stair.” As he went higher it grew colder
and lonelier.
The last leaves were blowing off the trees, and the final
geese honking South. Winter would come and go before
seed corn went into the ground again.
At last came the day of election, Nov. 6, 1860. From
nine o'clock on, Lincoln sat in the Springfield telegraph
office. Lyman Trumbull arrived from Alton and sum-


88 MASQUERADE
marized reports. “We’ve got 'em, we've got em!” Then
came a telegram. “Hon. A. Lincoln: Pennsylvania 70,000
majority for you. New York safe. Glory enough. S.
Cameron.”
Out in the streets, and up around the State House,
crowds surged, shouting: “New York, 50,000 majority for
Abe Lincoln.” Lines of men locked arms and sang “Ain’t I
glad I joined the Republicans.” They sang and cried until
they were hoarse.
The count showed Lincoln winning by 1,856,452 votes,
a majority of nearly a half million over Douglas. But fif-
teen states gave Lincoln no electoral votes—and in ten
Southern states he didn't get a count of one popular vote!


90 MAS QUERADE
Union than out of it if our people are but wise. Property
suffers in revolutions,” he pointed out. “The institution
is based on conservatism.” Stephens had noted the dimin-
ishing supply of slave labor and wrote his belief that with-
out fresh supplies from Africa, slavery would be replaced
by free competitive wage labor. -
Among the fire-eaters clamoring for secession were those
who made a business of buying, breeding and selling slaves.
A planter from Georgia had told the National Democratic
Convention, “I have had to pay from $1,000 to $2,000 a
head for good niggers, when I could go to Africa and buy
better darkies—all I can bring back for $50 a head. I tell
you and plead with you, gentlemen of the Democratic
party, of which I am a life long member, to put in your
platform at this convention, a promise to restore the slave
trade—and I will subscribe $100,000 to your campaign
fund!” This was too much for Democrats, who upheld
slavery even, and he was hooted down.
A reporter on the New York Tribune dug up a strange
fact in South Carolina. On the tax lists in Charleston, for
the year 1861, he found the names of 132 “colored people”
who paid taxes on 390 slaves which they owned; the class
included eleven Indian families who had consorted with
Negroes.
Secession was the creed of state sovereignty, which
Douglas had said so much about in the years before. It was
now kicking back and proving a boomerang for not even
the learned Douglas had thought or foreseen that it would
give the State the right also to secede from the Union as
they were now doing, and stand by themselves in a separ-
ate existence when it chose to do so.


MAS QUERADE - 91
John C. Calhoun and other figures of austere life and
heroic proportions had taught this with a logic that to
Southerners seemed inexorable and unconquerable. Yet
the fact must be recorded with this, that Davis, Stephens
and other high counselors of the South, in their letters and
speeches at this time, did not advise secession. The leaders
were Yancey, Rhett and others. They cried, “The irre-
pressible conflict is about to be visited upon us by the
Black Republican Lincoln and his fanatical, diabolical Re-
publican party.”
Once secession was accomplished by its radical manipu.
lators, Southerners, till then conservative and advising
against disunion, fell in line as patriots whose first oath of
allegiance was to their sovereign State, their country. They
quoted Decatur:
“Our country! In her intercourse with foreign nations,
may she always be in the right, but our country right or
wrong.” And the Charleston Mercury published dispatches
from Northern cities under the heading “FOREIGN
NEWS.”
Those who demurred, reasoned and lifted warnings
against disunion and secession were many, but their efforts
were useless against the onrush of those who took Lincoln's
election as a signal for a time of change. There were those
who looked on Lincoln as Alexander Stephens did in a
letter to J. Henley Smith, a fellow Georgian, five months
before the election, saying:
“What is to become of the country in case of Lincoln's
election, I do not know. As at present advised, I shall not
be for disunion on the grounds of his election. It may be
that his election will be attended with events that wil:


92 MAS QUERADE
change my present opinion, but his bou-election would
not be sufficient in my judgment to warrant a disruption
—particularly as his election will be the result, if it occurs
at all, of the folly and madness of our own people. If they
do these things in the “green tree,” what will they not do in
the dry? If, without cause, they destroy the present gov-
ernment, the best in the world, what hopes have I that they
would not bring untold hardships upon the people in their
efforts to give us one of their own modeling? Let events
shape their own course. In point of merit as a man, I have
no doubt Lincoln is just as good, as safe and sound, as far
as the South is concerned, as Buchanan, in spite of all the
criticism heaped on Buchanan by the North, and would
administer the government so far as he is individually con-
cerned as safely and as honestly and faithfully in every
particular. I know the man well. He is not a bad man. He
will make as good a President as Fillmore did, and perhaps
better, in my opinion. He has a great deal of practical com-
mon sense. Still, of course, his party might do mischief. If
so, it will be a great misfortune, that our people brought
upon us . . . We have nothing to fear from anything so
much as unnecessary changes and revolution in govern-
ment ... I shall, of course, vote for Douglas.”
The “Green Tree” grew. One by one the six cotton states
of the lower South joined South Carolina in leaving the
Union and declaring their right to self-government and
self-determination, under the “state-sovereignty idea.” A
strange silence met all this. Nothing was heard from Ste-
phen A. Douglas for or against it, at this time. He seemed
to be standing quietly on the sidelines, looking on, won-
dering perhaps, why he hadn't thought that perhaps his


MAS Qt ERADE 93
preachment hadn't encouraged the secession idea, now that
it was here.
The Southern delegates met at Montgomery, Alabama
on Feb. 4th, 1861, 30 days before Abraham Lincoln was
to be inaugurated. They organized a provisional gov-
ernment, called The Confederate States of America, elect-
ing Jefferson Davis, of Mississippi, President and Alexander
Stephens, of Georgia, as Vice-President. Conventions in
North Carolina and Arkansas, deliberated, and joined the
Confederacy. In Tennessee, the voters balloted 105,000 to
47,000 in favor of secession, the Union strength coming
from the Mountainous sections, where there were few and
hardly any slaves, showing that the whole idea of seceding
and breaking up the Union was due to disagreement be-
tween the North and the South with regard to Negro
slavery.
In Virginia, three to one of 130,000 votes, were in favor
of “The Mother Of Presidents” going into the Confeder-
acy. The one third against it were from the western part
of the State, which disagreed so completely that it “se-
ceded” from Virginia, stayed in the Union, and became
West Virginia. -
In Texas, Governor Sam Houston refused to call the
legislature and tried to stop secession—but was bowled
OVer.
Arsenals, supplies, post offices and ships were taken over
by the new government. No one was arrested—as John
Brown had been two years before, tried for treason and
hanged, for capturing one single arsenal. Fort guns fired
on a ship at sea. President Buchanan, the vaciliator, nerv-


94 MASQUERADE
ous, distracted and intoxicated most of the time, pro-
claimed Fast Day publicly, and moaned privately that he
was the “last President of the United States.”
“The Union is falling to pieces all around me and I don’t
know what to do about it” he was quoted as saying.
Well meaning men of splendid intentions and generous
hearts sprang forward with compromises, arrangements,
and suggestions; special committees and conferences of
duly appointed delegates met, spoke, protested, argued and
adjourned. Southern congressmen resigned and left Wash-
ington; there were enough votes one January day to admit
“Bleeding Kansas as a State in the Union.” The Charleston
Mercury, in an editorial, derided, “What a Union!”
While Southern radicals were calling Lincoln a fanatical,
diabolical Abolitionist, Wendell Phillips sneered at him
and called him the “Slave hound” of Illinois. Robert
Toombs read to the new Georgia legislature a defense of
Secession written and published by Horace Greeley. The
advice of Greeley was: “Let the crying sisters depart in
peace.”
Boston heard Phillips declare: “Let the South march
off, with flags and trumpets, and we will speed the parting
guests. Let us not stand upon the order of her going, but
go at once. Give her forts, arsenals and sub-treasuries. Give
her jewels of silver and gold, and rejoice that she has de-
parted. All hail disunion!”
Frederick Douglas, the great Negro Abolitionist, after
a visit to see Lincoln, in Springfield, was asked what he
thought of secession. He replied quietly: “It is not what I
think about it,” and turned his eyes in the direction of


MAS QUERADE 95
Lincoln's home which he had just left. “Wait until that
man back there speaks. It is what he thinks of and about
it, that counts.” Smiling, a smile the reporters did not un-
derstand until Lincoln read his inaugural address on the
facade of the Capitol, one month later, he went on his way.


WHILE ALL THIS was going on, secession and disunion,
let us turn back for a moment, to little Fayetteville, rest-
ing quietly on the banks of the Cape Fear River and see
how our old friends Judge Straight, Dr. Green, and, in the
country, the Fowlers were taking it.
“Well,” sighed Dr. Green, “secession seems about com-
plete now with Texas overriding its Governor and coming
in. I think that just about completes the Confederacy, and
we are no longer a part and parcel of the United States of
America.” Judge Straight smiled, and grunted.
“Says who?” he said, looking hard at Green, who turned
to him in some surprise.
“Says who? What do you mean?”
“Says I, and I mean that all this seceding, grabbing post
offices, arsenals, custom houses and etc., is all very prema-
ture.”
“It has already been done. The Confederate States of
America is now a fact, a Republic within itself. What do
you mean by calling it premature?”
“Just what I said, and which is just what it is, no more.”
“You talk in riddles or parables or—will you explain
why it is not now a government in itself?”
“Wait until Abraham Lincoln speaks.”
“Abraham Lincoln! He's the cause of the whole thing. If
96


MAS QUERADE 97
he hadn't thrust himself into the situation, this—none of
this, would have happened.” -
“Listen to me, Dr. Green. Haven't you studied and
weighed this whole thing, thought it out clearly and with-
out bias?”
“I’ve certainly given it a lot of thought.”
“It’s too bad the whole South didn’t do so, before it went
to such an extreme, by which I mean, seceding from the
Union and setting up this so-called ‘Confederacy, with-
out even waiting to see what Lincoln was going to do.”
“But every effort was put forth to ascertain his views—
what he planned to do and all that, but up to now even,
there has been no answer.”
“There was none due.”
“None due!” Dr. Green exclaimed in shocked surprise,
“Now what do you mean?”
“That Abraham Lincoln was duly elected as fifteen
other presidents have been before him. He said a lot of
things before and during his campaign for the Presidency.
His speeches, the platform and all that had been published
widely, and everybody knew just where he stood, and what
he stood for before they voted for and elected him.”
“He was known as the greatest Abolitionist in the coun-
try.”
“Very true, but he said time and again, that he would,
if elected, uphold the Constitution. He couldn't himself
change that, so why all this breaking up and seceding be-
fore the man is even inaugurated?”
“It’s because they expect him to do something radical
about slavery.”
“The whole country has been against the spreading of


98 MAS QUERADE
it. They haven't permitted a slave State to be admitted in
years. Slavery has long since been confined to where it is.”
“But the South felt sure that if he were elected, he
planned to interfere with it. They have seceded in order
to beat him to the punch.”
“Like a group of children, small children. Why couldn't
they wait until he was inaugurated; wait until they heard
and read his inaugural address; it is most certain that he
will set forth such plans, if any, with regards to the insti-
tution at that time. At least, in all courts it is the rule to
hear a least one side of the case, and both sides most times
before rendering a decision. If the South had to secede, they
could have at least waited until Lincoln was inaugurated,
heard and read his address to the Nation, after which they
could have seceded and broke up the Union just as well
afterwards as before.”
“Well,” Dr. Green sighed, “there is plenty of logic in
what you say, but they have seceded and set up their own
government where the North can no longer bother them
about keeping Negroes in Slavery, so that is that.”
“I have the feeling that the trouble hasn’t really started
yet.” Dr. Green looked quickly and intently at him.
“If Lincoln in his inaugural address, does not recognize
the Confederacy, and these States right to secede, and says
they are still a part and parcel of the Union, the same as
all the States that haven’t seceded, then what?”
“Then it is war.”
“War sure enough, and a real war.”
“The North will then have to conquer the South, and
restore the status quo.”
“Which is exactly what I expect them to do.”


100. MAS QUERADE
“You mean,” her father said, “about the war and—all
that?”
“I mean about, just about everything,” Selena replied,
hardly knowing just where to start.
“Well, I read that there is great activity down there,
preparing for the—expected war.”
“And how!” Selena exclaimed, and shook her head as
if to emphasize how active it was.
“All you see and hear are recruits, drilling, drilling and
drilling everywhere, morning, noon and night.”
“You don’t mean to say so,” her mother exclaimed,
seeming amazed. “Who are they preparing to fight?”
“The North, mother, the North and the Yankees—and
how they seem to want to fight.”
“Well, I declare. Getting all ready to fight with the War
not started?”
“It is in full blast in Charleston—and how badly they
want to fight. Why, they’re just War crazy.”
“It’s an outrage,” her father commented, his face seri-
ous. “The people of the whole State should be ashamed of
themselves. Talking about Lincoln starting the war, when
the man has done nothing but get elected to the Presidency
—and he didn’t do that, even. The people did it.”
“Not the Southern people, and especially not Charles-
tonians. I doubt if he got a hundred votes in that town.”
“How did they manage to reach such a-radical conclu-
sion, anyhow, dear?” her father queried curiously. All eyes
now went to Selena, who, taking her time, started to tell
them how.
“In the first place, Charleston, seemingly, more than
anywhere else in the South, resents, more than any other


MAS QUERADE 101
Southern spot, the North's continued interference with
their slavery question. They argue that the Negroes who
are being held as slaves are not kicking and seem satisfied,
so why has the North got to shed so many tears about the
situation?
“They honestly feel this way about it. Why, would you
believe that there are more than 100 Negro families down
there, free Negroes, who own slaves, Negro slaves?”
“Oh, no!” her mother exclaimed.
“The records show that they paid taxes on almost 400
Negro slaves—owned I tell you, by Negroes themselves.”
“And what kind of people are these Negroes?” from
her father.
“Good looking ones, mostly, almost white with a few
mixed with Indians. They live mostly, these slave owners,
in a very fine section of town and to themselves, and are
as proud as rich Southerners themselves.”
“God help us,” Mrs. Fowler cried, throwing up her
hands.
“Why, they went so far as to try to organize a Negro
Unit to get ready to help the whites there, lick the North.”
“Hush your mouth!” -
“They certainly did. The only thing that seemed to chal-
lenge it was that, they all wanted to be officers.”
“What do you mean?”
“When they reported, it was found that nobody had en-
listed to fight exactly. The set up was: forty-three officers
and one private.” The whole family laughed uproariously.
“What are they saying about Lincoln down there?”
“Just about everything. They say he'll never be inaugu-
rated; that there are at least a half dozen spots where he is


102 MAS QUERADE
to be assassinated on the way to Washington, so he will
never get to be president at all.
“There are other rumors which say he will; and that he
will be inaugurated in Chicago, under the watchful eye of
the Army, and will go to Washington afterwards, but that
he will be killed before he gets to sign a single bill.”
“What do they have to say about his silence; just why he
hasn’t said what he plans to do, if and when he ever be-
comes President?”
“They have an answer for that, too—in fact, they seem
to have an answer for everything in Charleston. One of
the big boasts is, that if they try to force Lincoln on the
country—disregarding the fact that he has been duly
elected, and is due to take his seat, that a Confederate
Army will be waiting just outside Alexandria, Virginia,
and will promptly cross the Potomac, march into Wash-
ington and take over the Capitol and everything else and
install Jeff Davis as President and Alexander Stephens as
Vice-President instead of Lincoln and Hamlin.
“Another thing they are whispering is that Hamlin has
some Negro blood and that he will have to be killed at the
same time with Lincoln, as having a Vice-President with
Negro blood would be a greater disgrace than letting Lin-
coln take his seat.” All of which brought more laughter
from the family, it was so obviously untrue and absurd.
“Charleston is filled with Slave-Traders, and it is talked
around there that after the South has licked the North and
taken the whole country over, the first thing Congress will
do is to repeal the law that prohibits importing any more
Negroes as slaves. They say they will repeal all laws that
confine slavery to slave States, and pass a new one that


MASQUERADE - 103
permits owners to have slaves anywhere and everywhere
in the United States; and that slave-traders will be allowed
to import all the Negroes from Africa for new slaves
that they can bring. They declare that a movement is on
foot to import 50,000 from West Africa to be shipped
to Texas, mostly, and, that after the War is over and the
South has licked and killed off most of the Yankees, the
brave young Confederates who have been responsible for
winning the war, will be given free land in Texas and be
permitted to purchase up to five or six slaves at a top cost
of $500 each as a reward for winning the war.”


IN JUSTIFICATION of SECEssion, the South Carolina con-
vention issued two papers. One, An Address to the People
of the Slave-holding States, reported by R. B. Rhett; the
other, a Declaration of the Causes of Secession, reported
by C. B. Memminger. Respecting the members or the dele-
gates to the convention's point of view, this declaration to
us, seems so interesting that we have decided to reproduce
in full same herewith, with the exception of two long and
early paragraphs, going back to 1787.
“The people of the State of South Carolina in conven-
tion, assembled, on the 2nd day of April, A.D. 1852, de-
clared that the frequent violations of the Constitution of
the United States by the Federal government, and its en-
croachments on the reserved rights of the States, fully jus-
tifies this State in its withdrawal from the Federal Union;
but in deference to the opinions and wishes of the other
slave-holding states, she forbore at that time to exercise
this right. Since that time, however, these encroachments
have continued to increase, and further forbearance ceases
to be a virtue.
“And now the State of South Carolina, having resumed
her separate and equal place among nations, deems it due to
herself, to the remaining United States of America and the
nations of the world that she should declare the immediate
causes which have led to this act.
104


MAS QUERADE - 105
“The Constitution of the United States in its fourth
Article, provides as follows:
“No person held to labor or service in one state under
the laws thereof, escaping into another, shall, in conse-
quence of any law or regulation therein, be discharged
from such service or labor, but shall be delivered up, on
claim of party to whom such service or labor may be due.”
AUTHOR'S NOTE: One of the most unpleasant sights
of that period to Northern people, opposed by sen/iment
and human sympathy to slavery, was the spectacle of see-
ing a helpless Negro, who had run away from bondage,
being turned over by the local sheriff to slave-hunters from
the South, who were invariably wicked and vile of char-
acter and speech. The more such recoveries, the greater the
objection grew toward it, hence the local state laws nulli-
fied the Federal Fugitive Slave Act which was passed
against the will of most Northern legislators, but who ac-
quiesced to keep “peace in the family of States.”
We return now to South Carolina's Cause for Secession.
“This stipulation was so material to the compact, that
without it that compact would not have been made. The
greater number of the contracting parties held slaves and
they had primarily evinced their estimate of the value of
such a stipulation by making it a condition in the Ordi-
nance for the government of the territory ceded by Vir-
ginia, which obligations and the laws of the General gov-
ernment, have ceased to effect the objects of the Consti-
tution.
“The States of Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, Mas-
sachusetts, Connecticut, Pennsylvania, Illinois, Indiana,
Michigan, Wisconsin and Iowa, have enacted laws which


106 MAS QUERADE
either nullify the acts of Congress, or render useless any
attempt to execute them. In many of these States the fugi-
tives are discharged from the service of labor claimed, and
in none of them has the State government complied with
the stipulation made in the Constitution. The State of New
Jersey, at an early day, passed a law in conformity with
her Constitutional obligation; but the current of Anti-
Slavery feeling, running so high, has led her more recently
to enact laws which render inoperative the remedies pro-
vided by her own laws and by the laws of Congress.
In the State of New York, even the right of transit for a
slave has been denied by her tribunals; and the States of
Ohio and Iowa have refused to surrender to justice fugi-
tives charged with murder, and with inciting servile insur-
rection in the State of Virginia. Thus the constitutional
compact has been deliberately broken and disregarded by
the non-slave-holding States; and the consequence follows
that South Carolina is released from her obligation. . . .
We affirm that these ends for which this government was
instituted have been defeated and the government itself
has been destructive of them by the action of the non-
slaveholding States. Those States have assumed the rights of
deciding upon the propriety of our domestic institutions;
and have denied the right of property (property referred
to in all cases was that of human slaves) established in fif-
teen of the States and recognized by the Constitution.
They have denounced as sinful the institution of slavery;
and have permitted the open establishment among them of
societies, whose avowed object is to disturb the peace of,
and eloin the property of the citizens of other States. They
have encouraged and assisted thousands of our slaves to


MAS QUERADE 107
leave their homes; and those who remain, have been incited
by emissaries, books and pictures, to servile insurrection.
For twenty-five years this agitation has been steadily in-
creasing until now it has secured to its aid the power of
the common government. Observing the forms of the
Constitution, a sectional party has found within that arti-
cle establishing the executive department, the means of
subverting the Constitution itself.
A geographical line has been drawn across the Union
(they were referring to the Mason Dixon line) and all of
the states North of that line have united in the election
of a man to the high office of President of the United States
whose opinions and purposes are hostile to slavery. He is to
be entrusted with the administration of the common gov-
ernment because he has declared that "This government
cannot endure permanently half slave and half free,” and
that the public mind must rest in the belief that slavery
is in the course of ultimate extinction.
This sectional combination for the subversion of the
Constitution has been aided in some of the States, by ele-
vating to citizenship, Negroes, persons who, by the su-
preme law of the land, are incapable of becoming citizens.
(Please recall the Dred Scott Decision). And their votes
have been used to inaugurate a new policy, hostile to the
South and destructive of its peace and safety.
On the fourth day of March, next, this party will take
possession of the Government. It has announced that the
South shall be excluded from the common territory; that
the Judicial Tribunal shall be made sectional, and that a
war must be waged against slavery until it shall cease
throughout the United States.


108 MAS QUERADE
The guarantees of the Constitution will then no longer
exist; the equal rights of the States will be lost. The slave-
holding States will no longer have the power of self-gov-
ernment, or self-protection and the Federal government
will have become their enemy.
Sectional interest and animosity will deepen the irrita-
tion; and all hope of remedy is rendered vain, by the fact
that the public opinion at the North has invested a great
political error with the sanctions of a more religious belief.
We, therefore, the people of South Carolina, by our
delegates in convention assembled, appealing to the su-
preme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our inten-
tions, has solemnly declared that the Union heretofore
existing between this State and the other States of North
America is dissolved, and that the State of South Caro-
lina has resumed her position among the nations of the
world, as a separate and independent State, with full
powers to levy war, conclude peace, contract alliances,
establish commerce, and to do all other acts and things
which independent States may of right to do.


6%aaten ?earteen
IN THE MANY stories on the life of Abraham Lincoln,
the story of a plot in Baltimore to assassinate Lincoln as
he passed through that city on his way to Washington,
became so persistent that Alan Pinkerton, the great de-
tective of that period and many decades after, was sent
with a large staff to investigate. He succeeded in arresting
a large number of men, but broke up such a danger if
there ever were any real danger, and accordingly, Lin-
coln reached Washington safely and on the 4th day of
March 1861, in the early afternoon, gave the world the
finished address which follows below. His speech went to
a wide realm of readers, who searched and dug into every
line and phase of it. Reason and emotion wove through it
—and hopes, fears, resolves. It was momentous to Lincoln
and the Country because it told why he would make a war
if he saw a war as justified and inevitable. He read the
address.
“Fellow citizens of the United States. In compliance
with a custom as old as the government itself, I appear
before you to address you briefly, and to take, in your
presence, the oath prescribed by the Constitution of the
United States, to be taken by the President, before he en-
ters on the execution of his office. I do not consider it
necessary at present to discuss those matters of administra-
tion about which there is no special anxiety or excitement.
109


110 MAS QUERADE
“Apprehension seems to exist among the people of the
South that by the accession of a Republican administra-
tion, their property and their peace and personal security
are to be endangered. There has never been any reasonable
cause for such apprehension. Indeed, the most ample evi-
dence to the contrary has all the while existed and been
open to their inspection. It is found in nearly all the pub-
lished speeches of him who now addresses you. I do but
quote from one of these speeches when I declared that ‘I
have no purpose directly or indirectly to interfere with the
institution of slavery in the states where it exists. I believe
I have no lawful right to do so, and I have no inclination
to do so.” Those who nominated and elected me, did so
with full knowledge that I had made this and many sim-
ilar declarations, and had never recanted them. And more
than this, they placed in the platform for my acceptance,
and as a law to themselves, and to me, the clear and em-
phatic resolution, which I now read:
“Resolved, That the maintenance inviolate of the rights
of the States and especially the right of each State, to order
and control its own domestic institutions according to its
own judgment exclusively, is essential to that balance of
power of which the perfection and endurance of our poli-
tical fabric depend, and we denounce the lawless invasion
by assumed forces of the soil of any State or Territory, no
matter under what pretext, as among the gravest of
crimes.”
“I now reiterate those sentiments; and in doing so, I
only press upon the public attention the most conclusive
evidence of which this case is susceptible; that the prop-
erty, peace and security of no section are to be in any wise


MAS QUERADE 111
endangered by the now incoming administration. I add,
too, that all the protection, consistent with the Constitu-
tion, and the laws that can be given, will be cheerfully
given to all the states, when lawfully demanded, for what-
ever cause—as to one section as to another.
“There is much controversy about delivery up of fugi-
tives from service or labor. The clause I now read is as
plainly written in the Constitution as any other of its pro-
visions:
“No person held to service or labor in one State, under
the laws thereof, escaping into another, shall in conse-
quence of any law or regulation therein, be discharged
from such or labor, but shall be delivered up on claim of
the party to whom such service or labor may be done.’
“I take the official oath today, with no mental reserva-
tions, and with no purpose to construe the Constitution
of laws by any hypocritical rules. And while I do not now
choose to specify particular acts of Congress as proper
to be enforced, do suggest that it will be much safer for
all, both in official and private stations, to conform to and
abide by all those acts which stand unrepealed, than to vio-
late any of them, trusting to find impunity in having them
held to be unconstitutional. -
“It is seventy-two years since the first inauguration of
a President under our National Constitution. During that
period, fifteen different and greatly distinguished citizens
have in succession administered the executive branch of
the government. They have conducted it through many
perils, and generally with great success. Yet, with all this
scope of precedent, I now enter upon the same task for the
brief constitutional term of four years, under great and


- *
112 Masquerade
peculiar difficulty. A disruption of the Federal Union,
heretofore only menaced, is now formidably attempted.
“I hold that, in contemplation of Universal law and of
the Constitution, the Union of these States is perpetual.
Perpetuity is implied, if not expressed, in the fundamental
laws of all governments. It is safe to assert that no govern-
ment proper ever had a provision in its organic law for its
own termination. Continue to execute all the express pro-
visions of our National Constitution, and the Union will
endure forever—it being impossible to destroy it, except
by some action not provided for in the instrument itself.
“Again, if the United States be not a government proper
but an association of States in the nature of contract, can
it be peacefully unmade by less than all the parties who
made it? One party to a contract may violate it—break
it, so to speak, but does it not require a vote of all to law-
fully rescind it?
“Descending from the principles, we find the proposi-
tion that, in legal contemplation, the Union is perpetual,
confirmed by the history of the Union itself. The Union is
much older than the Constitution. It was formed, in fact,
by the Articles of Association, in 1774. It was matured and
continued by the Declaration of Independence in 1776.
It was further matured, and the faith of all the then thir-
teen States expressly plighted and engaged, that it should
be perpetual, by the Articles of Confederation in 1778.
And, finally, in 1787 one of the declared objects for or-
daining and establishing the Constitution was to ‘form a
more perfect union.’
“But if the destruction of the Union by one or by a part
only of the States be lawfully possible, the Union is less


MAS QUERADE 113
perfect than before the Constitution, having lost the vital
element of perpetuity.
“It follows from these views that no State upon its own
mere motion can lawfully get out of the Union; that re-
solves and ordinances to that effect are legally void; and
that acts of violence, within State or States, against the
authority of the United States, are insurrectionary or revo-
lutionary, according to Constitution.
: “I therefore consider that, in view of the Constitution
and the laws, the Union is unbroken and to the extent of
my authority I shall take care, as the Constitution expressly
enjoins upon me, that the laws of the Union be faithfully
executed in all the States. Doing this I deem only to be a
simple duty on my part; and I shall perform it, so far as
practicable, unless my respectful masters, the American
people, shall withhold the requisite means, or, in some
authoritative manner direct the contrary. I trust this shall
not be regarded as a menace, but only as the declared pur-
pose of the Union that it will Constitutionally defend
and maintain itself.
“In doing this there need be no bloodshed or violence;
and there shall be none, unless it be forced upon the Na-
tional authority. The power confided to me shall be used
to hold, occupy and possess the property and places bc-
longing to the government, and to collect the duties and
imposts; but beyond what may be necessary for these ob-
jects, there will be no invasion—no using of force against
or among the people anywhere. Where hostility to the
United States, in any interim locality, shall be so great and
universal, as to prevent competent resident citizens from
holding the Federal Offices, there will be no attempt to
N.


114 MASQUERADE
force obnoxious strangers among the people for that ob-
ject. While the strict legal right may exist in the govern-
ment to enforce the exercise of these offices, the attempt to
do so would be so irritating, and so nearly impracticable
withal, that I deem it better to forego, for the time, the
uses of such offices.
“The mails, unless repelled, will continue to be fur-
nished in all parts of the Union. So far as possible, the
people everywhere shall have the sense of perfect security,
which is most favorable to calm thought and reflection.
The course here indicated will be followed unless current
events and experience shall show a modification or change
according to circumstances actually existing, and with a
view and a hope of a peaceful solution of the National
troubles and the restoration of fraternal sympathies and
affection.
“That there are persons in one section or another who
seek to destroy the Union at all events and are glad of any
pretext to do it, I will neither affirm nor deny; but if there
be such, I need address no word to them. To these, how-
ever, who really love the Union, may I speak?
“Before entering upon so grave a matter, as the destruc-
tion of our National fabric, with all its achievements, its
memories, and its hopes, would it not be wise to ascertain
precisely why we do it? Will you hazard so desperate a
step while there is any possibility that any portion of the
ills you fly from have no real existence? Will you, while the
certain ills you fly to are greater than all the real ones you
fly from—will you risk the commission of so fearful a mis-
take?
“All profess to be content in the Union if the Constitu-


MAS QUERADE - 115
tional rights can be maintained. Is it true then, that any
right, plainly written in the Constitution has been de-
nied? I think not. Happily the human mind is so consti-
tuted that no party can reach to the audacity of doing
this. Think, if you can, of a single instance in a plainly
written provision of the Constitution that has ever been
denied. If by the mere force of numbers, a majority
should deprive a minority of any clearly written Constitu-
tional right, it might, from a moral point of view, justify
revolution—certainly would, if such right were a vital
one. But such is not our case. All the vital rights of minori-
ties and of individuals are so plainly assumed to them by af-
firmations and negations, guarantees and prohibitions, in
the Constitution, that controversies never rise concerning
them. But no organic law can ever be framed with a pro-
vision especial to every question which may arise or occur
in its practical administration. No foresight can anticipate
nor any document of reasonable length contain, express
provisions for all possible questions. Shall fugitives from
labor be surrendered by National or State authority? The
Constitution does not expressly say. May Congress prohibit
slavery in the Territories? The Constitution does not ex-
pressly say.
“From questions of this class spring all our Constitu-
tional controversies, and we divide upon them into majori-
ties and minorities. If the minority will not acquiesce, the
majority must, or the government must cease. There is no
other alternative, (The South in seceding, was guilty of
this and they knew it as well as did Lincoln) for continu-
ing the government is acquiescence on one side or the
other.


116 MASQUERADE
“If a minority in such case will secede rather than ac-
quiesce, they make a precedent which will in turn divide
and ruin them; for a minority of their own will secede
from them whenever a majority refuses to be controlled by
such minority. For instance, why may not any portion of a
new Confederacy, a year or two hence, arbitrarily secede
again, precisely as portions of the present Union now claim
to secede from it? All who cherish disunion sentiments are
now being educated to the exact temper of doing this.
“Is there such perfect identity of interests among the
States to compose a new Union, as to produce harmony
only, and prevent renewed secession? Supposing that, in a
State, one county or two or three, decide to secede from
the rest of the counties in that State, where would the
State soon be—any State; every State?
“Plainly the central idea of secession is the essence of
anarchy. A majority held in restraint by Constitutional
checks and limitations, and always changing locality with
deliberate charges of popular opposition and sentiments,
is the only true sovereignty of a free people. Whoever re-
jects it does of necessity fly to anarchy or to despotism.
Unanimity is impossible; the rule of a minority, as a per-
manent arrangement is wholly inadmissible; so that re-
jecting the majority principle, anarchy or despotism in
some form is all that is left.
“I do not forget the position assumed by some, that Con-
stitutional questions are to be decided by the Supreme
Court; nor do I deny that such decisions must be binding,
in any case, upon the parties to a suit, as to the object of
that suit, while they are also entitled to very high respect
and consideration in all parallel cases by all other depart-


Masquerade 117
ments of the government. And while it is obviously pos-
sible that such decisions may be erroneous in any given
case, still the evil effect following it, being limited to that
particular case, with the chance that it may be over-ruled
and never become a precedent for other cases, can better be
borne than could the evils of a different practice. At the
same time the candid citizen must confess that if the policy
of the government upon vital questions affecting the whole
people, is to be irrevocably fixed by the Supreme Court the
instant that they are made, in ordinary litigation between
parties in personal actions, the people will have ceased to be
their own rulers, having to that extent practically resigned
their government into the hands of that eminent tribunal.
Nor is there in this view any assault on the court or the
Judges. It is a duty from which they may not shrink to
decide cases properly brought before them, and it is no
fault of theirs, if others seek to turn their decisions to
political purposes.
“One section of our country believes slavery is right, and
ought to be extended, while the other believes it is wrong
and ought not to be extended. This is the only substantial
dispute. The fugitive slave clause of the Constitution and
the law for the suppression of foreign slave-trade, are each
as well enforced perhaps as any law can ever be in a com-
munity where the moral sense of the people imperfectly
supports the law itself. The great body of the people abide
by the dry legal obligation in both cases and a few break
over in each. This, I think cannot be perfectly cured, and
it would be worse in both cases after the separation of the
sections than before. The foreign slave-trade now imper-
fectly suppressed, would be ultimately revived, without re-


118 MAS QUERADE
striction in one section, while fugitive slaves, now only
partially surrendered, would not be surrendered by the
other.
“Physically speaking, we cannot separate. We cannot re-
move our respective sections from each other, nor build
an impassable wall between them. A husband and wife
may be divorced, and go out of the presence and beyond
the reach of each other; but the different parts of our
Country cannot do this. They cannot but remain face to
face and intercourse, either amicable or hostile, must con-
tinue between them. Is it possible then, to make that inter-
course more advantageous or more satisfactory after sep-
aration than before? Can aliens make treaties easier than
friends can make laws? Can treaties be more faithfully en-
forced between aliens than laws can among friends? Sup-
pose you go to war, you cannot fight always; and when,
after much loss on both sides, and no gain on either you
cease fighting, the identical questions as to terms of inter-
course are again upon you.
“This country with its institutions, belongs to the peo-
ple who inhabit it. Whenever they shall grow weary of the
existing government, they can exercise their constitutional
right of amending it, or their revolutionary right of dis-
membering it or overthrow it. I cannot be ignorant of the
fact that many worthy and patriotic citizens are desirous
of having the National Constitution amended. While I
make no recommendations of amendments, I fully recog-
nize the rightful authority of the people over the whole
subject, to be exercised in either of the modes prescribed in
the instrument itself; and I should, under existing circum-
stances, favor rather than oppose a fair opportunity being


MASQUERADE 119
afforded the people to act upon it. I will venture to add
that to me, the convention mode seems preferable in that.
it allows amendments to originate with the people them-
selves instead of only permitting them to take or reject
propositions originated by others which might not be pre-
cisely what they would wish to either accept or refuse. I
understand that a proposed amendment to the Constitu-
tion—which amendment, however, I have not seen, has
passed Congress to the effect that the Federal government
shall never interfere with the domestic institution of the
States, including that of persons held to service. To avoid
misconstruction of that what I have said, I depart from my
purpose not to speak of particular amendments as far as
to say, that holding such a provision to now be implicd as
constitutional law, I have no objection to it being made
express and irrevocable.
“The chief magistrate derives all his authority from the
people, and they have conferred none upon him to fix
terms for the separation of the States. The people them-
selves can do this also if they chose; but the executive as
such has nothing to do with it. His duty is to administer the
present government, as it comes to his hands, and to trans-
mit it, unimpaired by him, to his successor. -
“Why should there not be a patient confidence in th
ultimate justice of the people? Is there any better or equal
hope in the world? In our present difference is either party
without faith of being in the right? If the Almighty ruler
of nations, with this eternal truth and justice, be on your
side of the North, or on yours of the South, that truth and
that justice will surely prevail by the judgment of this
great tribunal of the American people.


MASQUERADE 121
“I am loath to close. We are not enemies, but friends.
We must not be enemies. Though passion may have
strained, it must not break our bonds of affections. The
mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battle
field, and patriot grave, to every burning heart and hearth-
stone, all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of
the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by
the better angels of our nature.”


eaea, 24teen
ABRAHAM LINcolN FELT strangely relieved when he
completed his address. It had been on his mind for weeks.
He had suspected, before he was elected, that there would
be trouble activity from the South in the event that he
was elected. But he hardly expected it to go as far as it had.
As he watched the States, from his home in Illinois, after
he was elected, proceed to withdraw from the Union stead-
ily, he became fully aware of his position long before the
time came for him to go to Washington.
He all but knew, and hadn’t expected Buchanan to do
anything to discourage it, although as the Southerner's
choice, four years before, he felt that Buchanan might
have held up secession until after he was inaugurated.
However, he realized when he failed to, just how weak and
cowardly Buchanan was; and that if the Union was to be
reconstituted, as it were, it would be up to him, after be-
coming President to restore the status quo.
He was compelled to stand where he was for two and
one half gruelling hours to shake hands with thousands,
most of whom, if not all, wished him well. They studied
him, observed his grave face and were grateful as they
walked away, that they had shaken hands with a man who
would either fail or succeed in the greatest task ever im-
posed on a President.
They loved and admired his speech and told him so,

122


MA8 OUERADE - 123
over and over again as they passed by and clasped his hand.
They admired the logic, the sound reasoning and the time-
liness of all he said; but many realized as well as Lincoln
did, that it would fall on deaf ears in the South, that was
bristling and anxious to be at war. The Mexican War had
been only a skirmish and over with very quickly without
much bloodshed or loss of life. Lincoln was able to foresee
that peculiar and unfortunate mania which make people
crave to fight—especially as the South was viewing it,
when they thought their rights were being interfered with
—the right to maintain and extend slavery as they wished.
While the whole South clamored and succeeded in bring-
ing secession, charged Lincoln and his Abolitionists’ ideas
as the cause of bringing it about, at heart it knew that it
was not Lincoln singly at all. They knew that a wave of
Abolition had been sweeping over the North for years; that
Uncle Tom's Cabin had been the first incident to inspire
it more rapidly than before; and that The Dred Scott
Decision had added fuel to the flames, also that the hanging
of John Brown, a year before election, added the straw
which finally broke the camel's back.
The South knew that it was a house divided against it-
self, and that somewhere, somehow and sometime, the
house would fall. So it chose Lincoln's election as the psy-
chological moment to tear it down.
The South possessed a group who wielded great and al-
most undue influence in rushing her into secession pre-
maturely. This was the same group which had been shap-
ing the policy and destiny of the South, politically, for
years untold. These were the slave-traders and large slave-
OWnerS.


124 MAS QUERADE
In all that has been said or shown with regards to the
relation between the North and the South, there was not
shown any serious difference of opinion on important is-
sues. The dissension was confined exclusively and positively
to the Slave-question and it was the slave-issue that had
now torn the two sections asunder.
Not all the people of the South favored slavery. It was a
problem which they found themselves born into. They
consoled themselves with the feeling, when it annoyed
their consciences too much, to say to themselves that they
never created it, they found it. It was an institution that
the present generation had inherited, and no leader seemed
to come forward with a program or a pattern bold enough
and brave enough to change it.
Meanwhile the slave-traders, breeders and exploiters of
slave-labor, found it profitable, seared their consciences,
if many ever had any, and planned how to make it more
profitable. Naturally it was they who found Northern
sentiment so confounding to their trade. From Southern
Tenn. north, there was growing a larger number of run-
away slaves. They talked, the whole North, of an “Under-
ground Railroad,” stretching all the way from Cairo al-
most to Pittsburgh, where slaves found their way—and
then were helped across the Ohio River by Abolitionists.
In the limited number of cases when they were able to
trace and locate the fugitives, somewhere North of the
Ohio, they were compelled to go to a Federal Judge and
get a court order to carry the slave back. Unless they could
succeed in doing this secretly, and if by any chance those
who were succoring or concealing the runaway, discovered
it, the officer or officers were threatened, and often at-


MAS QUERADE - 125
tacked and forced to run away themselves to avoid being
beaten, not to count being ostracized. Often if those hiding
the runaway had the chance and the time, they frequently
took the runaway to another section—even into Canada
which granted no extradition. On the whole, the North
gave the South no co-operation whatever, in helping to re-
turn runaway slaves.
Behind secession, Lincoln knew, there was much of this,
and, with secession being urged and clamored for by the
slave-traders and heavy slave-owners, was all that, that has
been detailed above. Once free of Northern interference,
the slave-trader and slave-breeder felt that he could oper-
ate without molestation or interference. These men had
planned in the meanwhile, that if and when this finally
happened, they would get a bill through in the Confederate
Congress to restore the slave-trade, after which they could
put headhunters in Africa to work, rounding up thousands
of native Africans to be brought across the seas and placed
in service.
After Lincoln finally completed the two and a half
hours of hand-shaking, he was driven to the White House,
seated beside Buchanan. He sat there quiet and solemn, his
mind occupied with the problems soon to be, and they
exchanged few, if any, words. Buchanan knew that Lin-
coln neither liked nor admired him, and had criticized him
often and roundly because of what Lincoln knew to be
true, that Buchanan was a political pawn and a coward.
So seated side by side as they rode from the Capital to the
White House; the incoming and the retiring President had
little if any interests in common.
Arriving at their destination, Buchanan admitted Mr.


128 MASQUERADE
“That means broken with no slaves to work for them to
make back some of what they are losing, and will continue
to lose.”
“That's it. They are so proud, and so boastful, that it
will be a hard pill to swallow, but swallow it they must.
They asked for it.”
“Do you think, before it is over, that they may call on
us colored people, to help out? That will mean colored
soldiers.”
“I am sure they will have to. It's my belief that it's go-
ing to be a long war, and when wars run into years, they
call on just about every able bodied man available.”
“If that happens, what about—your sons, my brothers?”
“They will have to do their duty. I shall wait and while
waiting, will prepare.”


&aate, sateen
As PREDICTED AND expected, the South got way out in
front during the early months of the war, reporting no
end of victories before the North could even seem to get
organized for war. This made the people back home in the
South very cheerful, buoying their hopes and giving them
reasons to believe that the war would be over very soon
and that the South would come out victorious, in the end,
as was being reported from the front, at the beginning.
And, as was also to be expected, many people of the
North and quite a few from the South whose sympathies
were still with the Union regardless of the fact that the
States in which they lived had seceded from the Union,
began to become very much discouraged and there was no
end to complaint and criticism, much of which was di-
rected at Lincoln himself. Some of the criticism and com-
plaint amounted to downright and unfair abuse.
As early as July, 1862, Lincoln had already prepared
and read an early draft of a proclamation which he had
almost decided to issue. He read it to his Cabinet on July
22, 1862, and it agreed to the document, but a few thought
it would be taken more seriously—in fact, would have
greater effect if it were proclaimed aftër the Union armies,
growing stronger and more effective daily, yet who had
failed to win a major battle thus far, had won a major
battle. Lincoln acquiesced to this suggestion, and turned

129


130 - MAS QUERADE
his eyes back to the battle-fields and shortly after there
was fought the great battle of Anteitam Creek, with all
its slaughter of men and horses. This was the major battle
the Union had been hoping to win, and all the North and
their sympathizers in the South, became imbued with a
great and new hope.
Meanwhile, one of the most influential men of that day
was Horace Greeley, editor and publisher of the New York
Tribune. Greeley had been growing restless by the weeks.
The fact that he had committed himself unfavorably when
secession started, by his words: “Let the erring sisters go in
peace,” kept him earlier from expressing himself, as he
now did, on the progress of the war.
Though not formally allied with the Garrison Abolition-
ists, he had, through the columns of the New York
Tribune, persistently denounced slavery. His criticism was
framed in an open letter to Lincoln, headed by the caption:
THE PRAYER OF TWENTY MILLIONS
In it, he demanded that Lincoln definitely commit him-
self to emancipating the slaves, as the hardest single blow
he could shoot, or that could be shot at Southern Rebellion.
In this attitude, Greeley spoke for a large and powerful
anti-slavery element in the North. Lincoln's reply, justify-
ing the war as one for the preservation of the Union, is
one of the most notable of his pronouncements. Greeley's
Prayer of Twenty Millions follows:
“To Abraham Lincoln
President of the United States
Dear Sir:
I do not intrude to tell you—for you must know al-


MAS QUERADE 131
ready—that a great portion of those who triumphed in
your election, and of all who desire the unqualified suppres-
sion of the Rebellion now desolating our country, are sore-
ly disappointed and deeply pained by the policy you seem
to be pursuing with regards to the slaves of rebels. I write
only to set succinctly and unmistakably before you what
we require, what we think we have a right to expect, and
of what we complain.
I. We require of you, as the First Servant of the Repub-
lic, charged especially and pre-eminently with this duty,
that you execute the laws ...
II. We think you are strangely, and disastrously remiss
in the discharge of your official and imperative duty with
regards to the emancipating provisions of the new Con-
fiscation Act. Those provisions were designed to fight slav-
ery with liberty. They prescribe that men loyal to the
Union, and willing to shed their blood in her behalf, shall
no longer be held, with the nation's consent, in bondage
(he meant the Negro slave) to persistent, malignant trait-
ors, who for twenty years have been plotting and for six-
teen months have been fighting to divide and destroy our
country. Why these traitors should be treated with tender-
ness by you, to the prejudice of the dearest rights of loyal
men, we cannot conceive.
III. We think you are unduly influenced by the coun-
cils, the representations and menaces of certain politicians
hailing from the border slave States. Knowing full well
that the heartily, the unconditionally loyal portion of the
white citizens of those States do not expect nor desire that
slavery shall be upheld to the prejudice of the Union—for
the truth of which we appeal, not only to every Republi-


132 MASQUERADE
can residing in those States, but to such eminent loyalists
as H. Winter Davis, Parson Brownlow, the Union Central
Committee, of Baltimore—and to the Nashville Union—
we ask you to consider that slavery, the inciting cause and
sustaining base of treason. The most slave-holding sections
of Maryland and Delaware being this day, though under
the Union flag, in full sympathy with the rebellion, while
the free labor portions of Tennessee and Texas, though
writhing under the bloody heel of treason, are unconquer-
ably loyal to the Union ... It seems to us the most obvious
truth, that whatever strengthens or fortifies slavery in the
border States, strengthens also treason, and drives home
the wedge intended to divide the Union. Had you from the
beginning, refused to recognize in those States, as here,
any other than unconditional loyalty—that which stands
for the Union—whatever may become of slavery—those
States would have been, and would be far more helpful and
less troublesome to the defenders of the Union, than they
have been, or now are.
IV. We think that timid counsels in such a crisis cal-
culated to prove perilous, and probably disastrous. It is the
duty of a government so wantonly, wickedly assailed by
rebellion, as ours has been to oppose with force, in a defiant,
dauntless spirit. It cannot afford to temporize with trait-
ors. It must not bribe them to behave themselves, nor make
them fair promises in the hope of disarming their causeless
hostility. Representing a brave and high spirited people, it
can’t afford to forfeit anything better than its own self-
respect, or their admiring confidence, for any government,
even to dispel the affected apprehensious armed traitors
that their cherished privileges, may be assailed by it, is to


MAS QUERADE 133
invite, insult and encourage hopes of its own downfall.
This rush to arms of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, is the true
answer at once to the rebel raids of John Morgan and the
traitorous sophystries of Beriah MacGoffin.
V. We complain that the Union cause has suffered, and
is now suffering immensely from mistaken deference to
rebel slavery. Had you, sir, in your inaugural address, un-
mistakenly given notice that, in case the rebellion, already
commenced, were persisted in, and your efforts to preserve
the Union, and enforce laws, should be resisted by armed
force, you would recognize no lawful person as rightfully
held in slavery, by a traitor. We believe the rebellion would
therein have received a staggering, if not fatal blow! At
the moment, according to the returns of the most recent
elections, the Unionists were a large majority of the voters
of the slave States. But they were composed in good part,
of the able, the feeble, the wealthy, the timid—the young,
the reckless, the aspiring and the adventurous, had already
been largely lured by the gamblers and Negro-traders, the
politicians by trade and the conspirators, by the unjust,
into the toils of treason. Had you by then proclaimed that
rebellion would strike the shackles from the slaves of every
traitor, the wealthy and the cautious would have been sup-
plied with a powerful inducement to remain loyal.
VI. We complain that the Confiscation Act which you
approved is habitually disregarded by your generals and
that no word of rebuke for them from you has yet reached
the public's ear. Freemont's proclamation and Hunters:
Order, favoring emancipation were promptly annulled by
you; while Halleck's number three, forbidding fugitives


134 - MASQUERADE
from slavery to rebels to come within his lines—an order
as unmilitary, as inhuman, and which received the hearty
approbation of every traitor in America—with scores of
like tendency—have never provoked even your remon-
strance . . . And finally we complain that you, Mr. Pres-
ident, elected as a Republican, knowing well what an
abomination slavery is, and how emphatically it is the cause
and essence of this atrocious rebellion, seem never to inter-
fere with these atrocities, and never a direction to your
military subordinates which does not seem to have con-
ceived the interests of slavery rather as against that of
Freedom.
VII. On the face of this wide earth, Mr. President,
there is not one disinterested, determined, intelligent cham-
pion of the Union cause who does not feel that all the at-
tempts to put down the rebellion, and at the same time
hold up its exciting cause are preposterous and futile—
that the rebellion if crushed out tomorrow, would be re-
newed within a year if slavery was left in full vigor—
that army officers who remain to this day devoted to slav-
ery can at best be but half-way loyal to the Union—and
that every hour of deference to slavery is an hour of added
and deepened peril to the Union. I appeal to the testimony
of your ambassadors in Europe. It is freely at your service,
not at mine. Ask them to tell you candidly whether the
seeming subserviency of your policy to slave-holding, and
slave upholding is not the perplexity, the despair of states-
men of all parties, and be admonished by the general
anSWer.
VIII. I close as I began with the statement that what an
immense majority of the loyal millions of your country-


MAS QUERADE 135
men require is a frank, declared, unqualified, ungrudging
execution of the laws of the land, more especially, of the
Confiscation Act. That act gives Freedom to the slaves,
coming within our lines, or those who may live at anytime
near—We ask you to render it due obedience by publicly
requiring all your subordinates to recognize and obey it.
The rebels are everywhere using the late Anti-Negro riots
in the North, as they have long used your officers treatment
of Negroes in the South, to convince the slaves that they
have nothing to hope for from a Union success—that we
mean in that case to sell them into a bitter bondage to de-
fray the costs of the war. Let them impress this as a truth
on the great mass of their ignorant and credulous bondmen
—and the Union will never be restored—never! We can-
not conquer ten millions of people united in solid phalanx
against us, powerfully aided by Northern sympathizers
and European allies. We must have scouts, guides, spies,
cooks, teamsters, diggers and choppers from the blacks of
the South, whether we allow them to fight for us or not,
or we shall be baffled and repelled. As one of the millions
who would gladly have avoided this struggle at any sacri-
fice but that of principle and honor, but who feels now
that the triumph of the Union is indispensable, not only
to the existence of our country, but to the well-being of
mankind, I entreat you to render a hearty and unequivocal
obedience to the law of the land.
Yours,
HORACE GREELEY”
President Lincoln saw fit to make reply to the letter
from an old friend, and so, in a few days, Mr. Greeley


136 MAS QUERADE
found the following on his desk at the office of the New
York Tribune in New York:
ExECUTIVE MANSION
WASHINGTON, D. C.
AUGUST 22, 1862
Dear Sir:
I have just read yours of the nineteenth, addressed to
myself through the New York Tribune. If there be in it
any statements or assumptions which I may know to be
erroneous, I do not here and now controvert them. If
there be in it any inferences which I may believe to be
falsely drawn, I do not here and now argue against them.
If there be perceptible in it an impatient and dictatorial
tone, I waive it in deference to an old friend, whose heart
I have always supposed to be right.
As to the policy I seem to be pursuing, as you say, I
have not meant to leave anyone in doubt.
I would save the Union. I would save it the shortest way
under the Constitution. The sooner the National authority
can be restored, the nearer the Union will be “the Union
as it was.” If there be those who would not save the Union
unless they could at the same time save slavery, I do
not agree with them. If there be those who would not save
the Union unless they could at the same time destroy slav-
ery, I do not agree with them. My paramount object in
this struggle is to save the Union, and is not either to save
or destroy slavery. If I could save the Union without free-
ing any slave, I would do it. And if I could do it by freeing
all the slaves, I would do it; and if I could do it by freeing
some and leaving others alone, I would also do that. What


MASQUERADE 137
I do about slavery and the colored race, I do because I be-
lieve it will help to save this Union; and what I forbear, I
forbear because I do not believe it would help to save the
Union. -
I shall do less whenever I shall believe what I am doing
hurts the cause, and I shall do more whenever I shall be-
lieve doing more will help the cause. I shall try to correct
errors when shown to be errors; and I shall adopt new
views so fast as they shall appear to be true views. I have
here stated my purpose, according to my views of official
duty, and I intend no modification of my oft-expressed
personal wish that all men, everywhere could be free.
Yours,
A. LINCOLN
Since Abraham Lincoln and his cabinet had been think-
ing and planning some radical and drastic move to shake
the South from end to end, and, in that way seek to bring
her back to her senses, which she seemed to have lost al-
together, as they saw it, or weaken her in every possible
way they could, and in that way make ultimate defeat so
obvious that they would give up sooner than might other-
wise be the case, Horace Greeley's carefully and thought-
fully as well as thoroughly conceived letter, urging emanci-
pation, had much to do with what very shortly transpired.
Lincoln had long since come to realize that freeing the
slaves was an inevitable step in ending a quarrel that had
been going on for thirty years. North and South had quar-
reled and fought in Congress over the slavery issue until
there was little more to fight about. He knew that if the
South was willing to look at it fairly and squarely, there


138 MASQUERADE
was but one thing left to do—end slavery in one way or
by another.
But because the South claimed such a heavy investment
in human flesh, and since the institution had grown into a
giant before many of the present generation had been born;
endless men, almost, calling themselves ministers of the
gospel, had spent years explaining that God Almighty in-
tended the Negro to be a hewer of wood and a drawer of
water; the white man's slave, and while few actually made
themselves believe it, they acted and pretended so so com-
pletely until many had succeeded in fooling themselves.
Most of all, they resented the North interfering in what
they felt was their Constitutional right, and the Fugitive
Slave Act upheld this assumption, and the North, to get
along with Southern legislators perhaps more than for any
other reason, had acquiesced, and was a party to that law
and other compromises which continued slavery. Dislike
to it in the North had long since become an obsession, so
it was fight, fight, quarrel, quarrel—and fight eternally,
over Negro slavery.


6%aeter seventeen
-
SLAveRY IN AMERICA, Lincoln knew, and every other sober
minded American knew, was older than the Union itself
—much older; almost as old, in fact, as white settlement
itself. To attempt to change it by the mere stroke of a pen,
in spite of what all the North was clamoring for, took
courage, thinking, planning, consideration. Yet, admit-
edly, something serious had to be done. By now, consid-
ered a disease—the very worst a free country could have
saddled into its Constitution, Lincoln finally concluded
to take the move that made history, and is perhaps known
to more people up to this day than any other document
ever conceived.
Accordingly, therefore, on the 22nd day of September,
1862, he issued, effective January 1, 1863, the:
E M A N C IP A TI O N P R O C L A M A T I O N
By THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
A Proclamation
Whereas, on the 22nd day of September, A.D. 1862, a
proclamation was issued by the President of the United
States, containing among other things, the following to
wit:
“That on the 1st day of January, A.D. 1863, all persons
held as slaves, within any State or designated part of a State ,

139


140 MAS QUERADE
the people whereof shall be in rebellion against the United
States, shall be then, thenceforward and forever free; and
the executive government of the United States, including
the military and naval authority thereof, will recognize
and maintain the freedom of such persons and will do no
act or acts to repress such persons, or any of them, in any
efforts they may make for their actual freedom.
“That the executive will on the first day of January
aforesaid, by proclamation designate the States, if any in
which the people thereof, respectively shall then be in re-
bellion against the United States; and the fact that any
State or the people thereof, shall be in good faith, repre-
sented in the Congress of the United States by members
chosen thereto at elections wherein a majority of the quali-
fied voters of such States shall have participated, shall, in
the absence of strong countervailing testimony, be deemed
conclusive evidence that such State and the people thereof
are not then in rebellion against the United States.
“Now, therefore, I, Abraham Lincoln, President of the
United States, by virtue of the power in me vested as
Commander-in-Chief of the Army and Navy of the
United States in time of actual armed rebellion against the
authority and government of the United States, and as fit
and necessary war measures for suppressing said rebellion,
do, on the first day of January, A. D. 1863, and in accord-
ance with my purpose so to do, publicly proclaim for the
full period of one hundred days from the first day of above
mentioned, order and designate as the States and parts of -
States wherein the people thereof, respectively are this day
in rebellion against the United States the following, to wit:
“Arkansas, Texas, Louisiana (except—he named 13 par-


MASQUERADE - 141
ishes, one of which included New Orleans) Mississippi,
Alabama, Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, North Caro-
lina and Virginia (except the forty-eight counties desig-
nated as W. Virginia), and also as Berkeley, Accomac,
Northampton, Elizabeth City, York, Princes Anne, and
Norfolk, including the Cities of Norfolk and Portsmouth
and which excepted parts are for the present left precisely
as if this proclamation were not issued.
“And by virtue of the power and for the purpose afore-
said, I do order and declare that all persons held as slaves
within said designated States and parts of States are, and
henceforward shall be, free; and that the executive gov-
ernment of the United States, including the Military and
the Naval authority thereof will recognize and maintain
freedom of said persons.
“And I hereby enjoin upon the people so declared to be
free to abstain from all violence, unless in necessary self-
defense; and I recommend to them that in all cases when
allowed, they labor faithfully for reasonable wages.
“And I further declare and make known that such per-
sons of suitable condition will be received into the armed
services of the United States to garrison forts, positions,
stations, and other places, and to man vessels of all sorts
in said service. -
“And upon this act, sincerely believed to be an act of
justice, warranted by the Constitution upon Military
necessity, I invoke the conservative judgment of mankind
and the gracious favor of Almighty God.”
Opposition to the Emancipation Proclamation
Naturally the document met with a storm of criticism,


142 MAS QUERADE
derision, defiance and all the angry words the South could
think and hurl at it, but what was most surprising how-
ever, was the opposition it aroused in the North. The
criticism, of course, was mainly from the Democrats,
Northern Democrats. It was left to the legislature of Illi-
nois, Lincoln's own home State, which had gone Demo-
cratic, and was known to be the stronghold of Copper-
headism and a bigoted organization known as the Knights
of the Golden Circle, to advance the most capricious
criticism. They even met and passed the following reso-
lution:
“Resolved: That the Emancipation Proclamation of the
President of the United States is as unwarrantable in mili-
tary as in civil law; a gigantic usurpation at once con-
verting the war, professedly commenced by the adminis-
tration for the vindication of the authority of the Consti-
tution into the crusade for the sudden, unconditional and
violent liberation of millions of Negro slaves; a result
which would not only be a total subversion of the Federal
Union, but a revolution in the social organization of the
Southern states, the immediate and remote, the present
and far-reaching, consequences of which to both races can-
not be contemplated without the most dismal foreboding
of horror and dismay. The proclamation invites servile
insurrection—a means of warfare, the inhumanity of
diabolism of which are without example in civilized war-
fare, and which we denounce, and which the civilized
world, will denounce as an uneffaceable disgrace to the
American people.”


The Strange Case of Johnny Northcross is not exactly
a story of the Civil War; the early events, however, run-
ning concurrently with important events that led up to the
war, and its outbreak, must have brought the reader to feel
that it is in most part, a war story.
It was the author's intention at the outset, however, to
make the war, leading to the issuance of the Emancipation
Proclamation, a part of the story. That having passed, we
now return to the case of Johnny Northcross, the happen-
ings at Fayetteville, the setting of our story, and to the
people and circumstances surrounding it. Before doing so,
however, let us pass briefly over the events which followed
the Emancipation Proclamation, such as the greatest battle
of the war, and Sherman's March to the sea, during which
was fought the battle of Atlanta and the burning of that
city, all for the purpose of splitting the South wide open.
The Northern armies were now converging in Northern
Virginia, planning the ultimate invasion of and capture of
Richmond, the Southern Capital, which had been moved
from Montgomery, Alabama. Lee's army, we find now in
the Valley of Virginia, heading Northward mysteriously,
forcing Hooker's army to hold where they were to block
whatever was Lee's purpose. That purpose was to keen
Hooker's large army from concentrating toward Rich-
mond, and with Lee heading Northward through the Val-

143


144 . MAS QUER ADE
ley of Virginia, presumably for Harrisburg, the Capital of
Pennsylvania, caused Lincoln to retire Hooker, placing
General George E. Meade in charge, who swung the armies
about forthwith to block and intercept Lee's bold attempt
to spread the war by driving on Harrisburg.
Accordingly, the two great armies made contact and
came together at a little town southeast of Harrisburg,
called Gettysburg, where on the morning of July 1st, 1863,
began and was fought, the greatest battle of all times, the
Battle of Gettysburg. All day and late into the night of
July 1st; with reinforcements arriving to assist each army
hourly, the mighty battle raged on. All through July 2nd,
it raged, into the night of the second, into the third day of
July, during which Longstreet's great assault was launched
and finally repulsed.
It was Lee's hope to have caught Meade short of men
and cavalry; and to have crushed his armies before they
could reach full strength. This done, Lee planned to sweep
for the Atlantic Coast, reaching there somewhere between
Wilmington, Delaware and Baltimore, swing South, cap-
ture Baltimore—and then the most important prize of all,
the City of Washington itself.
It was a daring and bold vision which depended on
crushing Meade's army, thereby clearing the way. Robert
E. Lee was too smart a general to leave a Union army be-
hind to catch him in the middle, between Harrisburg and
the East Coast. By nightfall of the third day of July, with
the battlefield by this time an inferno of flying shells, the
dead and the dying, Lee saw that Meade's army had reached
full strength and would be able to hold out—yes, more;
that it would ultimately crush his own armies. When the
-


MAS QUERADE 145
sun rose, therefore, over the hills of the bloody battlefield
the morning of July 4th, the Union scouts brought back
the cheering news. -
Lee was retreating!
And this retreat continued, into the Battle of the Wild-
erness, where he faced the great General Grant for
months; through the remainder of 1863, into 1864 back,
back, Lee continued and was forced to fall until in April
of that year; the two generals met at Appomatox Court-
house and Lee surrendered to Grant, and the war was soon
over; the South had been subdued; the slaves freed, and
the country faced a new problem—to make the Negro a
citizen all over the United States, and reconstruction with
which we will not attempt to deal, but pass over every-
thing and return to Fayetteville—and The House Behind
The Cedars.
It is now the year of 1869, just twelve years since
Johnny Northcross disappeared so mysteriously and had
never been seen or heard of in Fayetteville since. Where
did he go? Was he still living or had he died?
This brings back into our story the Fowler family, via a
younger son whose name was Frank, a playmate and school
mate of Rowena Northcross, who was only a child when
her brother disappeared so mysteriously.
Rowena by now, had grown to young and beautiful
womanhood, and was the belle of Negro Fayetteville—and
Frank Fowler's suitor, although not declared, everybody
seemed to understand that Frank liked Rena and Rena
liked Frank and that some day this fine young couple
would be wed. Everybody but Mis’ Molly, Rena's mother,


146 MAS QUERADE
who had other plans, which we will explain more fully
when we get to them.
Frank was too young to follow his brothers, five of
whom had been sent by their father North to join the
Union army and had fought there. When the war was over
all the boys returned home but one, the middle one, whose
name was Lawrence, and who had fallen at the Fort Pil-
low massacre. Henry Fowler brought the news, a telegram
from the President himself, and Frank, who was then only
old enough to understand a great sorrow, never forgot it.
They were dining. His father and two or three of the
children had gone to Fayetteville and returned while the
balance of the family were dining. He looked up as his
father entered the room and knew there was something
wrong. He stopped eating and waited, which wasn’t long,
for as his father reached his mother's side at the foot of
the table, he burst into tears, the first time Frank had ever
seen his father cry, as he laid the telegram by his mother's
plate and sobbed:
“Lawrence is dead.”
His mother, who had been expecting something
to happen, threw up her arms and burst into tears. Selena
and the other girls gathered around her, crying too, but
sought to calm and pacify their mother. It was the first
death in the family of fourteen and all took it grievously.
All were sad for weeks and months; but that was in 1864.
Now we are relating events of 1869. Most of the older
children had married and moved away to their own homes
where many had children, but Frank near the last of the
twelve children, lived at home with his parents. His father
had taught all his boys industry. He had bought more land


148 MAS QUERADE
dried the dishes and put them away. Molly was seated in
her rocking chair, sewing at something and Rena sat at
the dining room table, figuring out an estimate that Frank
had left with her for a set of buildings which he wanted
back the next day. They heard dogs in the neighborhood
barking, which meant that somebody was near or ap-
proaching, and looked up, askance. Then they heard foot-
steps on their front porch. There was a pause while Molly
and Rena looked at each other, then turned their eyes
toward the front door, where, by this time the footsteps
were directed and a moment later, there was a knock at the
door. Again Molly exchanged glances with Rena, then
nodding, said:
“I’ll answer.” Rising to her feet she crossed into the
hall where she was out of the sight of Rena, who waited
and listened. -
Without opening the front door, but looking out as if
through it, Mis’ Molly called and Rena, hearing her, lis-
tened intently.
“Who’s there?”
“A gentleman,” came back the answer, then a pause.
“Does Mis’ Molly Northcross live here?”
“Yes,” was the guarded answer. “I’m Mis' Molly North-
cross. What do you want?”
“I have a message to you from your son, Johnny.”
"Oh!” Molly exclaimed, in shocked tones. Rena, in the
dining room, heard her and rose quickly and excitedly to
her feet. A key turned, the door was opened, and, swing-
ing it wide, Molly looked up and into the face of a smiling
stranger. -
“You’ve got a message from my son, you say?” she asked


MAS QUERADE 149
with great anticipation. “Is he sick—or in—trouble?” She
was so excited that she forgot to invite the smiling and
pleasant stranger inside for the moment.
“No. He's well and doing well, and sends his love to
you, and hopes you’ve not forgotten him.”
“Forgot him? No, God knows I ain't forgot him! But
come in, Sir, come in and tell me more about my son.”
The stranger entered and Molly closed the door behind
him and after she had closed the door, she chanced to turn
and face the man, who at the same time was in the act of
turning in the lighted hall to face her.
“When did you last see my son?” she inquired of him
now, nervously anxious.
“I have never met your son,” he replied, with a peculiar
twinkle of the eyes which she did not understand. Her face
fell.
“Then the message comes through you from somebody
else?”
“No,” he replied, calmly. “Directly from your son.”
She scanned his face with a puzzled look. This bearded
young gentleman who spoke so politely and was dressed
so well, surely—no, it could not be! and yet—
He was smiling at her now through a mist of tears. An
electric spark of sympathy flashed between them.
“John!” she suddenly cried, raising her arms. “John, my
John! It is Johnny, my son!”
“Mother—my dear old mother!” he cried. The next
moment his arms went out, and into his embrace went
Molly Northcross, his old and happy mother.


&aate. 7&aeteen
WE Now RETURN To 1857—the day Johnny Northcross
visited and had the prolonged conversation with Judge
Straight at the latter's office in Fayetteville just twelve
years before.
It will be recalled that Judge Straight rented a horse and
buggy at the livery stable that night and drove into the
country, presumably to see some one. Whom did Judge
Straight drive into the country to see? He drove out to
the Northcross plantation to see Richard Northcross; and
concerning Northcross' illegitimate son, Johnny.
He found Northcross idle, lounging in the library, read-
ing his papers.
“Well, Judge Straight,” he cried, as the Judge was
ushered into his presence. “I’m glad to see you; a sort of
glad surprise for I was not expecting my old friend.”
After being offered a seat, the Judge requested him to
close the library door as his visit was of confidential nature,
and he wished to be alone with Northcross.
By the serious frown upon the Judge’s face, Northcross
had construed that the visit concerned something serious,
so seated to face the Judge, Northcross went directly to
the point.
“What's up, Judge? By the serious frown you are wear-
ing, and the fact that you've driven this far into the coun-

150


MAS QUERADE 151
try to see me, I am sure it must be something rather seri-
ous, so let's come directly to it.”
As Northcross talked, the Judge's eyes stared into space
before him, thoughtfully. He now turned to Northcross.
“Are we—quite alone?”
“Quite alone, Judge, so you may proceed.”
“I wouldn’t wish Mrs. Northcross to overhear what I
am here to talk about. It would not be best, in fact, if that
be possible, for Mrs. Northcross to know anything about
why I am here to see you.”
“I can relieve your mind on that point, Judge. Mrs.
Northcross is in Raleigh for a short visit.” Relief was
evident promptly on the Judge's face, and, relaxing, he
turned to Northcross, got to his feet and stood over him,
and went on:
“It might prove somewhat embarrassing to you at the
outset, Northcross, but however you accept it, I feel it my
duty to appraise you of a serious fact.”
“All right, Judge, all right,” Northcross exclaimed, ris-
ing now to face the Judge. “Go ahead with whatever it is,
By now I have grown about used to anything that might
pop up in my life, About the only thing I haven’t experi-
enced thus far is death. I haven’t died yet, so go ahead with
what you came to see me about, and have no anxiety about
how I will accept it.”
“Thank you, Richard,” the Judge now said, “for taking
it so philosophically.” He looked back at the chair he had
just risen from. “Well, let’s be seated and I will begin.”
Both took seats again, and, with Northcross' eyes on
him, Judge Straight began.


152 - MAS QUERADE
“I’m here to see you about your son, Richard. Molly's
boy.”
Northcross started, almost violently, his jaw dropped,
his eyes opened wide and he glared at Judge Straight cau-
tiously and sharply.
“My—what?” -
Judge Straight shook his head, patiently. “I was afraid
I would surprise you, Northcross, perhaps shock you.”
Northcross arose, trod the floor back, forth, then sat
down again, his eyes for the moment, on the floor.
Judge Straight, who had remained seated, just waited,
patiently. Finally Richard Northcross raised his eyes to the
Judge, and the Judge went on:
“Shall I explain—how it happened?”
Nodding his head up and down, Northcross said:
“Yes, do Judge Straight. Please do.” He swallowed then,
deeply and Judge Straight went on.
“He came to the office today. I have seen and know him,
as most people have and do in Fayetteville; but I don’t
recall ever having exchanged any words with him. But
from his strange visit, and all he said, it was evident that
he had planned to call on me for a long time. Well, today
he called.”
“Yes?” from Northcross, a bit anxiously.
“Yes. Today he came to see me, and spoke these words
forthwith: 'Sir, I want to be a lawyer.’”
“A lawyer?” Northcross exclaimed, surprised.
“You’re surprised—almost shocked. Well,” the Judge
went on amiably, “so was I. I was inclined to dismiss it as
of no consequence, but he wouldn't let me.”
“Wouldn’t let you?”


MASQUERADE 153
“No,” the Judge replied, shaking his head negatively.
“But—” - -
“You’d better hear me through first, Richard. I think
you'll understand better.”
The Judge paused and adjusted his position, then went
On :
“As I was saying, I was inclined to dismiss the query, but
not him. He apparently had been thinking it out for a
long time, and was determined, now that he was before
me, to see through what was on his mind.”
“Strange—but interesting. Please go on, Judge
Straight.”
“I reminded him that he was a Negro, of course, and
that he was aware of the fact. “I am white,’ he replied,
stoutly. “I am white and I am free,’ he took care to re-
mind me. Still not inclined yet to take him seriously, I
sought nevertheless to discourage him so I replied, as con-
vincingly as I knew how: ‘You are black and you are not
free.” He stuck out his arm, rolled up his sleeve and said:
“There are plenty of white people darker than I am. I want
to be a lawyer!” I reminded him of the Dred Scott Deci-
sion, which he had read and he tore it all to pieces, quoted
from Abraham Lincoln, and kept on insisting that he
wanted to be a lawyer.
“Frankly, Northcross, the boy's persistence annoyed me
at first, but as we talked on and I became convinced more
and more that he was sincere, had thought out all he was
there to see me about, carefully, I tried to show that if he
really was as anxious as he insisted to be somebody, some
trade or industrial pursuit would be far easier to acquire.
He was interested in nothing else but of becoming a law-


154 MAS QUERADE
yer and stuck to it. I got up, walked over by the window
and tried to think of some way to get rid of him. As I
stood there, I turned once to look at him and our eyes met.
And there was where he got me. There was an expression
in that boy's eyes as he looked straight at me that I shall
never forget until the longest day I live.
“I asked him if he had considered how difficult it would
be for him to become a lawyer. His answer was a sugges-
tion which I could see he had thought out carefully. He
said, ‘I have considered that I might pass for white.’”
Judge Straight was silent for a moment as if to let Richard
Northcross think, too. Northcross was thinking, too; he
had been thinking all the while Judge Straight talked.
“Well, there it was,” Judge Straight said and shrugged
his shoulders. “What he suggested was so full of logic that
I was taken aback. He could easily pass for a white boy
anywhere he isn’t known, which put me to thinking. As
you know, Northcross, there is no chance for him to be-
come much of anything as a Negro–even a Free Negro;
but as a white man the boy might manage to become some-
thing, especially when he seems possessed with so much
natural intelligence—so much resolute determination.
“Well, I was cornered; he had touched my human sym-
pathies. All his life is before him. As stated, as a Negro, he
could never become much of anything; but as a white man
—well, who knows what heights he might reach in fifteen
or twenty years?
“I didn’t want to argue any more but I had to tell him
something. So I told him to come back tomorrow. Mean-
while, I had decided when I told him to come back to come
out here and see you and talk it over with you tonight.”


MAS QUERADE 155
“What am I to do about it?” Northcross wanted to
know, speaking for the first time. His question seemed to
Judge Straight rather blunt, and angered him slightly. He
replied, and his reply was as blunt as Northcross' sugges-
tion. -
“What are you to do about it, Northcross? The boy is
your son, isn’t he, though born out of wedlock. You won’t
deny that—to me?”
“No, Archibald,” Richard Northcross replied rising to
his feet. “But you know as well as I do that—matters of
that kind, we try to—”
“—Keep hushed as much as possible. It is not exactly
any concern of mine and I have never said anything to you
about your—past depredations, nor do I come here now as
a condemner.” -
“I know, Judge, I know you have not. The whole thing
is embarrassing when you come to think of it, to con-
sider it, and it is unfortunate that so many of we—slave-
holders allowed ourselves to be so—careless. It is true, my
relations with the boy's mother is as old almost as slavery
itself. Our fathers before us did it—the beautiful and pas-
sionate slave-girls were so tempting; we found having in-
tercourse with them so easy, so convenient. Young, pas-
sionate, many of us found them far more satisfying to the
loins than intercourse with our own wives. I found Molly
so. Even to this day I would rather go see her than offer my
wife sexuality. But all of this is beside the point. The mis-
take is history, Johnny Northcross is my son, the same as
those by the woman I married. It’s all because of this con-
founded thing called slavery.” He seemed to think of
something and while he had been striding back and forth,


156 - MAS QUERADE
he suddenly sat down, leaned toward the Judge and stared
hard at him.
“What do you think about all this agitation going the
rounds about the institution, Judge?” Before the Judge
had time, however, to frame an opinion, Northcross went
On :
“What do you think of Abraham Lincoln and his Aboli-
tion preachments? I think he's going to bring about a big
confusion in regard to it before it's all over. Well, Archi-
bald, I hope he will, or something else will happen to bring
the confounded practice to an end. It is the only way it
will ever end—via some crisis, a war maybe; a war be-
tween the North that is against it, and the South that
wishes it upheld.
“Do you know, Straight,” he went on rising quickly to
his feet, “that I am against slavery—and always have
been?”
Judge Straight looked up at him, and Richard North-
cross met his stare squarely, without a flinch.
“Yes, Archibald, I, a slave-owner and holder, with my
father before me one, and his father before him a slave-
holder—yet I am, and always have been unalterably op-
posed to the institution and between you and me, I have
long prepared for the day when mine would be freed by
me, or by a war that will end the dirty practice all over
these United States—end it for good!”
“Are you sure you know what you are talking about,
Richard?” -
“Just as sure as your visit to me tonight. I am sure that
within four years I shall no longer be a slave-holder; so
sure that I will not, that for the last ten years I have sent


MAS QUERADE 157
thousands of dollars North to New York and Boston, so
that if I am ostracised for taking action according to my
conviction, I won’t have to live as a poor man.”
“This is a revelation!”
“Among the many things I have for years disliked about
it, is these indigent, lying and hypocritical preachers who
are subsidized by slave-breeders and traders, and stand in
our pulpits and spend hours pretending to convince us or
trying to, that it was ordained by the Almighty that the
black man should be a slave—and point to ancient facts,
twisted to fit their lies, to prove it. It is all so terribly
wrong and mistaken. The truth is that the South has been
rocked into a slumber, superinduced by downright lazi-
ness into believing these lies. The fact is, they’re too God-
damned lazy to do anything about it.
“I’ve been following this man Lincoln—and the plan he
has suggested to end it, since a majority of the American
people are so set against it. That plan is a compensated
emancipation by which he would have the Federal Govern-
ment float a huge bond issue and purchase all the slaves
and set them free.” -
“I’ve read his offer, which he repeats as often as pru-
dent,” observed Judge Straight; “but the public doesn’t
seem in the mood to consider it seriously.”
“The South is too lazy to think about it on one hand,
and then, the confounded slave-traders and breeders are
the ones who are most cold to any plan to end slavery, be-
cause it is their way of making money. They know no
other way, and they control the South politically so the
rest of us are just helpless in their hands.”
“That may be true, Northcross,” Judge Straight ob-


158 MAS QUERADE
served judiciously, “but how can you account for the
North's lack of enthusiasm? With a tide of Abolitionism
sweeping the whole country up there, it would seem that
they should show more interest in the plan. How do you
account for this lack?”
“I’ve studied that, too, and here is why they are cold
to it. They don’t like the idea of paying for human be-
ings. In fact, from what I’ve been able to find out, the idea
of paying for a human being, even though the purpose
is to set that person free is revolting to most. They insist
on freedom without compensation—and, as you know,
there is where they disagree. The South has had slav-
ery so long and there is so much propaganda going on
among us that it is right and just, and that the North leave
us alone to handle the slavery question as we feel best, that
there seems little possibility of emancipation on any kind
of terms short of war—and war is destructive and expen-
sive, but through a civil war with the North subduing the
South is the only way I can see it ending.”
“I’m afraid you’re right, Northcross, afraid you are
right and war is such an unhappy and terrible thing to an-
ticipate.”
“Especially when you feel convinced as I do, that it
could be compromised and avoided—but I’ve talked clear
away from the subject.” They were both standing and had
been unconsciously walking the floor.
“Well, let's get back to Molly and the boy, my boy, yes,
my son, and as strange as it may seem, I love the lad just
as much as I do my legitimate children.” This caused the
Judge to perk, and he replied.


MAS QUERADE - 159
“I’m indeed glad to hear you say that, and I hope you
understand my position in the matter.” -
“I understand it fully, Judge Straight, purely an act of
sympathy and a high regard for humanity. Just what more
of we men who have begat children by our slave women
need to possess. Well, I could have done worse. I freed
Molly before the boy was born. At least the boy has never
been a slave, so getting back to what you have called to see
me about—but sit down, Judge Straight,” he broke off
abruptly to say, pointing to a chair. “Sit down.”
Judge Straight obeyed, and Northcross then took a
chair, made himself comfortable and turned to the Judge,
his face serious.
“So the boy wants to be a lawyer, eh? I’m glad to hear
that he desires to. High ambition. I like that.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that, too, Richard. He not
wants merely to become a lawyer. He's determined to be-
come one.” -
“Good,” Northcross exclaimed, and seemed highly
pleased. “How do you feel about it, Archibald?”
“Well, I think he should have assistance in his ambition.
That is why I took it upon myself to call out here and talk
with you about it.”
“I’m agreeable, but how can we go about accomplishing
such an end?”
“By sending him away—far enough away to leave no
connection with his past, his mother, his sister; away some-
where to study law, passing for white as he does so.”
“I see. Our white people won’t like such an idea, you
know, if they found out about it. They are dead set against
bright Negroes passing for whites.”


160 MAs QUERADE
“I understand fully, Northcross; understand so fully
that I wouldn't be a party to it except under these circum-
stances—all because the boy is so determined to be a law-
yer, and you know that would be impossible, almost, if he
continued as a Negro.”
“Of course. Weil, we're in a crack, you because of my
sins of iniquity,” and Northcross smiled wryly. Judge
Straight smiled the same way. “Well, Judge, had you for-
mulated any plans?”
“I have, which follow. I know a law firm in Charleston,
well enough to send the boy to with a letter, and not well
enough for them to inquire too deeply, I hope, about the
boy's parentage. I plan to write them that he is an orphan
but sprang from good stock.” Judge Straight looked at
Northcross, and Northcross found himself raising eyes that
met those of Judge Straight. Both lowered their eyes but
both understood in that exchange of expression just what
each had thought; and what Judge Straight had implied.
“The boy will have to change his name, and I have de-
cided to suggest Walden, Johnny Walden.” Northcross
looked up, nodded agreeably. Judge Straight went on.
“I now suggest that the boy's father advance a limited
sum of money for the education of the boy.”
“A practical idea, Straight. Very practical. I, of course,
am to provide these funds?” .
“You, of course, Richard.”
“Agreeable, Archibald, go ahead.”
“All this is contingent on the boy being willing to fore-
go his past completely. As I mentioned, he must forego his
mother, his sister—he must forget Fayetteville and all the
life and people around here whom he has known. When


MAS QUERADE - - 161
we send him away to Charleston to become this lawyer he
seems so determined to be, he is to go as John Walden
whom nobody here has ever known. Get the idea, Rich-
ard?”
“Fully, though that will be hard on Molly. She loves the
kid so.”
“I’m aware of it, but in taking this step to help the boy,
we are diverting from our whole course of life and that of
our friends. He must be willing to make a sacrifice for so
great an opportunity.”
“I fancy that he will be.”
“That is what I think.”
During the next few minutes they agreed on the sum to
be turned over to Judge Straight to be sent to his friends
in Charleston to defray all the boy's expenses. Judge
Straight agreed to call on Molly and get her consent after
he had laid the plans down to the boy, who needless to say
was agreeable to every term and condition.
So, as we see, it was arranged thusly and Johnny North-
cross quietly disappeared. His mother was not told whence
he was going; just advised by Judge Straight to say that
Johnny had gone—just gone. As we already know, Molly
obeyed.
And now, as we also know, twelve years later Johnny
came back.


6%aaten 7ament,
“I DIDN'T THINK,” Molly sobbed, “That I’d ever see you
again.”
He smoothed her hair and kissed her. “And are you glad
to see me, Mother?” -
“Am I glad to see you? It’s like the dead comin’ to life. I
thought I'd lost you forever. Johnny, my son, my darling
boy!” she answered, hugging him tightly.
“It seems,” he said, his voice coming as if from far away,
“that I couldn’t continue to live without seeing you, so all
of a sudden, dear Mother, I decided to come back—and
here I am,” and he drew her close again, and again he kissed
her.
“You’ve grown so tall,” she said now holding him at
arm's length and looking him up and down. “A fine gentle-
man! And you are a gentleman now, Johnny, ain't you?
Sure enough? Nobody knows the old story. I stuck to what
I promised; I just said 'you wuz gone', but how it hurt
me, son. I cried for years, son, cried for years about you, I
missed you so.”
“I understand, mother, I understand, and how I hated
to hurt you. But it seemed at the time that it just had to be.
Slavery was everywhere; the Dred Scott Decision tried to
convince the world that a Negro was nothing, could never
be anything—and I wanted so to be somebody, mother. I
always wanted to be somebody.”
162


MAS QUERADE 163.
“And now, praise be to the Lord, you are somebody,
ain't you Johnny? I’m sure you are, for you look like some-
body, maybe a fine and outstanding gentleman?”
“Well, mother,” he said, thoughtfully, as if weighing his
words. “I’ve taken a man's chance; and have tried to make
the most of it; and I haven’t felt under any obligation to
spoil it by raking up old stories that are best forgotten.”
He paused now to sweep his eyes around the hall and, in
doing so, they fell and then rested on the old books which
were there when he left. He pointed to them.
“There are the dear old books. Have they been read since
I went away?”
“No, honey,” she replied, shaking her head, “there has
been nobody to read them 'cep'n Rena, and she doesn’t take
to those kind of books as you did. But I’ve kep’’em dusted
clean, and kep' the moths and the bugs out of 'em, for I
hoped you’d come back someday, and knowed you’d lak to
fin' 'em all in their places lak you lef’’em.”
“That’s mighty nice of you, mother. You could have
done no more if you had loved them for themselves. But
where is Rena,”—he paused now to look around. “She must
be grown up by now, a fine and beautiful child, I’ll bet.”
“I’ve been so glad to see you that I’d forgot about her,”
his mother replied a bit embarrassingly. Turning toward
the dining room now, she called: “Rena, oh, Rena!”
The girl was not far away. She had been standing where
her mother left her listening intently to every word of the
conversation, and kept from coming in by a certain con-
straint that made a brother whom she had not met for so
many years seem almost as much a stranger as if he had
not been connected to her by any tie.


164 - MAS QUERADE
“Yes, Mama,” she answered, coming forward.
“Rena, child,” Molly began. “Here's your brother,
Johnny, who's been away for so long. But he's come back
to us at last, so tell him howdy.”
As she came forward Johnny turned to meet her, and
opening his arms, drew hºr to him, looked into her eyes
fondly while she blushed furiously and kissed her affec-
tionately. As had been stated she was a tall girl, but he
towered above her in quite a protecting fashion; and she
thought with a thrill how fine it would be if she could
walk up the street with such a brother by her side! She
could hold up her head before all the world, oblivious to
any glance of pity or contempt. She felt a very pro-
nounced respect for this tall gentleman who held her
blushing face between his hands and looked steadily into
her eyes as if with a well defined purpose.
“You’re the little sister I used to read stories to and
whom I promised to come and see some day. Do you re-
member how you cried when I went away?”
“It seems but yesterday,” she murmured. “I’ve still got
the dime you gave me.”
He kissed her again, then turning they walked into the
dining room and took a seat together on the old couch
which was there when he left. He reached up, took his
mother's hand and drew her down on the other side of him,
then placed an arm around the waist of each. After kissing
each again on the cheek with a loud smack he turned and
looked into Rena's eyes fondly and said:
“You’re a very pretty girl, Rena,” and smiled, a smile in
keeping with his feelings at the moment.
“Now, Johnny,” Molly interposed at this point, with a


MAS QUERADE 1.65
tender frown. “You’ll spile her if you ain't keerful.”
“No, he won’t, Mama,” Rena asserted, stoutly, “He’s
flattering me, I know. He talks as if I was some rich lady
who lives on the Hill,”—(The Hill was the aristocratic
portion of Fayetteville)—“instead of a poor—”
“—Young girl who has “The Hill’ to climb,” Johnny
replied smoothing her hair with his hand. Her hair was
long, silken, glossy and smooth, with a wave like the rip-
ple of a summer breeze upon the surface of still water. It
was the girl's great pride, and had been sedulously cared
for.
“What lovely hair. It has the proper wave to add to your
beauty, Sister.” - -
“Oh, Brother, you must not flatter me so,” she pro-
tested, half seriously. “If you keep on, I can’t promise that
I won’t get spoiled—and I’m sure you don't like spoiled
people.”
“No, I don’t like spoiled people, darling; but I’m not
afraid of spoiling you. Our mother, I can see, has reared
you well.” He smiled at Molly who was made very hap-
py by him doing so. Then turning his eyes back to Rena,
he went on a bit reminiscently:
“I think my little Albert favors his Aunt Rena some-
what.”
“Your little Albert,” both women cried simultaneously,
turning suddenly to him and in anxious surprise. “Then—
you have—a—child?”
“Oh, yes,” he replied calmly, “A very fine baby boy.”
They began then to purr in proud contentment at this
information and made minute inquiries about the boy and
its mother. They inquired more coldly about the child's


166 MAS QUERADE
mother of whom they spoke with greater warmth when
they learned that she was dead. They hung breathlessly on
his words as he related briefly the story of his life since he
left years ago the house behind the Cedars—how with
a stout heart and an abounding hope and self-confidence
he had gone out into a seemingly hostile world and made
fortune stand and deliver. His story had for the women
the charm of an escape from captivity, with all the thrill
of a pirate's tale. With the whole world before him he had
remained in the South, the land of his fathers, where, he
conceived, he had an inalienable birthright.
By some good chance he had escaped military service in
the Confederate Army, and, in default of older and more
experienced men, had undertaken during the rebellion the
management of a large estate which had been left in the
hands of women and slaves. He had filled the place so ac-
ceptably, and employed his leisure to such advantage, that
at the close of the war he found himself—he was modest
enough to think, too, in default of a better man—the hus-
band of the orphan daughter of the man who had owned
the plantation, and who had lost his life upon the battle-
field. -
Johnny's wife was of good family, and in a more settled
condition of society, it would not have been easy for a
young man of no visible antecedents to win her hand.
In due time, after he had been graduated from the law
school in Charleston, he had taken the oath of allegiance
and had been admitted to the South Carolina bar. Rich in
his wife's right, he had been able to practice his profession
upon a high plane without the worry of sordid cares, and
with marked success for one of his age.


MAS QUERADE 167
“I suppose,” he concluded, “That I have gotten along
at the bar for lack of better men. Many of the good law-
yers were killed in the war which almost ruined South
Carolina, because I suppose, they seemed to have taken it
more seriously than the rest of the South. Many of those
who were not killed in battle, were disqualified; while I
had the advantage of being alive and of never having been
in arms against the government. People had to have law-
yers and they gave me their business in preference to the
carpet-baggers. Fortune, you know, favors the available
man.”
His mother drank in with parted lips and glistening eyes
the story of his adventures and the record of his successes.
As Rena listened, the narrow walls that hemmed her in
seemed to draw closer and closer, as though they must
crush her. Her brother watched her keenly. He had been
talking not only to inforin the women, but with a deeper
purpose, conceived since entering the house and deepened
as he had followed during his narrative the changing ex-
pression of Rena's face and noted her intense interest in his
story, her pride in his success, and the occasional wistful
look that indexed her self-pity so completely.
“And I’spose you’re happy, Johnny?” his mother ad-
vanced when he stopped talking.
“Well, Mother, happiness is a relative term and depends,
I imagine, upon how nearly we think we get what we think
we want. I have had my chance and haven't thrown it
away, and I suppose that I ought to be happy. But then, I
have lost my wife whom I loved very dearly and who loved
me just as much, and I'm troubled about my child.”


168 - MAS QUERADE
“Why?” they demanded. “Is there anything the matter
with him?”
“No, not exactly. He's well enough, as babies go, and
has a fairly good nurse. But the nurse is ignorant, and is
not always careful. A child needs some woman of its own
blood to love it and look after it intelligently.”
Mis' Molly's eyes were filled with tearful yearning. She
would have given all the world to have warmed her son's
child upon her bosom; but she knew this could not be.
Up to this time Mis’ Molly had not thought of the chasm
between her son and her. Now it came back with such a
shock that she found herself actually trembling at the
thought of it. Johnny Walden had not been talking about
the success of the boy who had gone away just twelve years
ago. He had been relating the success of another lad—a
white boy. The son who sat between her and his sister was
not a colored boy. He was fully and unattainably white.
All he had talked about was the success of a white boy.
And there lay the chasm; the deep river that could never
be bridged. Johnny Walden had risen and was succeeding
in South Carolina as a white boy, and it was there that the
uncrossable line began. There was no reason under ordi-
nary circumstances why she could not go to Charleston
and take care of Johnny's little boy. Rena was old enough
and responsible enough to look after their home. Then the
boy could have what he needed, a flesh and blood care. But
since her son was living as a white man in Charleston, was
presumed to be a white man by all his friends and clients,
taking her back with him would never do. Oh, of course
it would be understocq that she was just a good old mam-
my looking after the child. But she knew and she under-


MAS QUERADE 169
stood that he would know, that sooner or later, somewhere
and sometime, somebody would begin to suspect the truth.
In due time the truth would become a reality—and soon
John's castle would fall!
No, John could never take her back with him to South
Carolina—but he could take Rena. Yes, because people had
been saying ever since she was born, and were still saying
it. “Oh, Rena, you look just like a white girl.”
“Did your wife leave any kin?” she asked Johnny,
cautiously, carefully, but with some effort.
“No near kin, Mother. She was an only child.”
“You’ll be gettin' married again, maybe?”
“No,” he replied. “I think not.” /
He was still looking at Rena, his purpose becoming more
obvious, the longer he looked. -
“If I had some relation of my own that I could take into
the house with me,” he said reflectively, “the child might
be healthier and happier, and I should be much more at
ease about him.”
The mother looked from son to daughter with a dawn-
ing apprehension and a sudden pallor. When she saw the
yearning in her son's eyes, she threw herself at his feet and
cried out loudly:
“Oh, John! Don’t take her away from me! Johnny,
darlin’ don’t take her away from me for it will surely
break my heart to lose her.”
Rena dropped to her knees and placed arms about her
mother's neck and cried words into Molly's ears:
“There, there, Mother. Never mind. I won’t leave you,
dear, Mama dear. Your Rena’ll stay with you always and
never leave you.”


170 MAS QUERADE
Johnny smoothed his mother's hair with a comforting
touch, patted her cheeks, soothingly, lifted her tenderly to
her place by his side, and put his arm about her.
“You love your children, Mother?” -
“They’re all I’ve got,” she sobbed, “and they cos’ me
all I had. When Rena's gone, I’ll want to go too, for I'll
never see her again, and I can’t bear to think of it. How
would you like to lose your one child?”
“Well, well, Mother. We’ll say no more about it. So let's
change the subject and you tell me about yourself, and
about the neighbors, and how you got through the war,
and whose dead and whose married—and everything!”
The change of subject restored in some degree his moth-
er's equanimity, and with returning calmness caused a
sense of other responsibilities.
“Good gracious, Rena!” Mis’ Molly cried, all of a sud-
den, just recalling. “Johnny's been in the house an hour,
an' ain’t had nothin' tu eat yet! Hurry to the kitchen and
fix him a good dinner.” No sooner spoken than Rena was
up and gone. Turning to her son, “would you like—a
piece of rabbit, John? Frank Fowler brought us two fresh-
killed ones this morning when he left the work on his
way by to have Rena figure out.”
“Rabbit! Why, mother, by all means! I was reared on
rabbit and have never lost my fondness for it. By all means
fix some for me.”
“Rena, oh, Rena?”
From the kitchen, “Yes, Mother?”
“Fix your brother some of the rabbit Frank brought us
this morning; also some of that sweet potato pie we had
for supper.”


MAS QUERADE 171
When Johnny heard the name of Fowler called, his
mind, of course, went back to the large family who lived
three miles away down the road when he went away. He
remembered Frank as being about nine years old when he
left. Now his mother was speaking of Frank, and the work
he left for Rena to figure out when he was by that morn-
ing. What kind of work? From the way she spoke, Frank,
whom he realized must have grown up and was now a man,
must have some interest in common with the family. Per-
haps with Rena. He would say nothing about it right now,
but he would soon; very soon.
Now that he and his mother were alone for a few mo-
ments while Rena was preparing the meal, he decided to re-
turn to the subject that was uppermost in his mind.
“Of course, Mother,” he said, calmly. “I wouldn’t think
of taking Rena away against her or your wishes. A moth-
er's claim upon her child is a high and holy one. Of course
she will have no chance here, where our story is known.
The war has wrought great changes, has put the bottom
rail on top, so to speak, for awhile at least; but it hasn't
wiped that out. Nothing but death can remove that stain,
if it doesn’t follow us even beyond the grave. Here she
must forever be a Negro–a nobody! Think of a pretty
girl like her, living until death the life of a nobody.
“With me, she might have a chance to get on in the
world; be a somebody. With her beauty and intelligence,
she might make a good marriage. I did well, with nobody
to push me forward so that I could meet, as I later in some
way managed to do, the best people. Think of the advan-
tage that she would have right off from scratch. If I mis-
take not, she has intelligence as well as beauty?”


172 MAS QUERADE
“Yes,” Molly sighed, sadly. “She's got good sense, plenty
of good sense. She has been thinking of taking up school
teaching. The Yankees have been starting them every-
where, fo' po’ white people and niggers, too, so she was
sayin' 'tuther day, that she could teach and take care of
Frank's work, too.”
“Now this Frank, you keep talking about, and his work.
Is that the little Frank Fowler who used to play with her,
and, they seemed rather—at so early an age, fond of each
other?”
“Yes, Johnny, that's Frank.”
“M-m. I see,” Johnny said, a bit musingly. “Frank Fow-
ler, eh?”
“Yes. He's a fine big man now and so industrious.”
“Industrious? How?”
“He’s a carpenter and builder.”
“In the footsteps of his father. I hope he is as industri-
ous. His father is a fine man—even if he is a Negro.”
Mis' Molly looked at him quickly. Johnny did not meet
her gaze.
“You spoke about Rena doing some work for him. What
kind of work?”
“She keeps his books, works out his estimates for new
construction. Oh, they are very fond of each other—get
along fine together.”
“What do you mean, get along fine together, Mother?”
“Well, just that, I guess. They seem to agree on and
about everything.”
“You wouldn't infer, that they are possibly—liking each
other?”
“They might be. That's what everybody is saying.”


MAS QUERADE 173
“Please come to the point, Mother. The people are say-
ing—what?”
“That they guess they'll be marrying each other by and
by.”
“Mother!” he exclaimed, and when Mis’ Molly looked
up, she found his eyes flashing fire.
“Why, Johnny! What's the matter?”
“The matter, Mother! What do you suppose I think is
the matter? My sister, perhaps to marry a-black man!”
“Oh, Johnny, of course I understand you now. I’m
sorry.” -
“Sorry? Why have you let it develop? I was just saying
how, if you let her go back with me, she might meet and
marry a gentleman, by that, I meant, of course, a white
man.”
“Yes, Johnny, I know what you mean and I said I was
sorry. But Rena and Frank have been friends since they
were babies; just seemed to take to each other from the
start and they just grew up that way. I didn't want to see
her get to like a dark man, but what could I do? Frank,
even if he is dark, is such a manly fellow—just about
everything a young man should be or could be. So what
could I do? I’ve said nothing for it or against it. It just
grew up and there it is.”
“Well, that decides everything.”
“Decides everything?”
“Rena must go back with me to Charleston when I re-
turn, regardless.”
“Oh, Johnny, my son, please don’t say that.”
“It is said, Mother. But we must say no more now. We
will undertake to get Rena off to bed as early as possible


174 - MAS QUERADE
tonight, then you and I must have a talk, a long and seri-
ous talk—about Rena. That is all—now.”
By the clink of dishes, both knew that the meal Rena
was preparing was about ready, and no sooner had they
thought about it than her cheerful voice called them. They
turned and arm in arm marched into the dining room.


&aaten 7aeet, due
“Now, MOTHER, LISTEN to me closely and very carefully.
I will be patient with you, for I know and understand that
what I am going to talk about seems so far-fetched, strange
and unusual in procedure that I hesitate to start talking.”
“You are my son, Johnny. You have succeeded beyond
my fondest dreams. I admire and appreciate whatever you
plan to say, and I will try to understand you, son.”
“Very well, mother. It is about Rena, my sister, your
daughter. Beautiful, intelligent, sweet and her whole
grown-up life before her.”
Mis' Molly nodded her head understandingly.
“As it stands at this moment, there are two courses that
she might follow, two lanes, as it is, leading into long years
to come. Which shall she choose, that is for you and I to
decide, I hope, tonight, dear.
“You tell me that she is very fond of Frank Fowler, her
colored play and school mate. If she stays in Fayetteville, in
all probability, she will marry him, and, since both are ap-
parently healthy and normal, their marriage would bring
about a new generation in a few years; a generation of Ne-
groes. -
“If she should return with me to Charleston, with her
beauty, her intelligence and charm, she will meet a new
set of people, a superior group of people, God's chosen
175


176 - MASQUERADE
people, white people. She could soon make a place for her-
self, an enduring place. The fact is, the place has already
been made, just waiting for her to come forward and step
into it.”
“If she followed you over there, Johnny, she could never
come back to me. I know what that means and you know
what it means. If Rena steps over there, crosses that line,
there is no returning. She will be gone from me forever—
and I love her so, my las’ one!”
“Yes, that is an unhappy—even a selfish outlook; but
consider it the other way. She can stay near you and
marry Frank Fowler, a black man, have a house full of
brown children to join that long and hopeless brown pro-
cession with their heads bowed, marching away, away and
away under that dark shroud, unknown and unknowing,
but marching onward and away to—God knows where!
Nobody can save them, for they have long since been con-
demned to remain hewers of wood and drawers of water.
Nobody can change this outlook for Negroes—God Him-
self cannot change it!” He paused and drew closer:
“You see, mother. I am on the inside. As a white man I
talk to them, and, thinking I am like themselves, white,
they talk to me. We talk long and often among ourselves—
about Negroes. It is always about Negroes. They talked
about them before the war for years and years and years.
Then when there was nothing left for them to talk any
longer about, they went to war—with each other. The
world knows the result! The North triumphed—for a
while—and now they are trying to make of the Negro
what it took hundreds of years for the white man to be-
come. They think it will work—but the South knows


M A sover Ade 177
otherwise. It will not work and it is not going to work for
they are not going to let it work!
“This is what they talk about between themselves all
the time. How and what to do about the Negro to topple
him from that weak little pinnacle he seems to have at-
tained with the help of carpet-baggers and scalawags. He
talks about it and soon he will have plans ready to shove
the Negro back, they say, where he belongs. I’ve lived as a
white man long enough to learn much about them; South-
ern white people. They nurse their prejudice and hatred—
especially toward the Negro. They’re setting traps for
them, and, sooner or later, watch what happens. He'll be
forced out of politics as quickly as he has been put into it.
He has just been put there. He doesn’t know what it is
all about, so, not knowing, he does not know how to de-
fend himself. They will trick him. In time to come, I
won’t predict how long that will be coming, but he won’t
be able to vote at all. The North is not going to keep sol-
diers down here with loaded guns and drawn bayonets to
protect his so-called rights forever. As soon as they get a
sympathetic President, they'll get close to him; they know
how to get what they want, and they’ll show him that
keeping these white men down South, away from their
homes and their families is a mistake, and then gradually
the troops of occupation will be withdrawn. As quickly as
this has been accomplished, watch these white people get
busy!
“They'll drive the Negro out of politics and the high
places so fast and so completely until he won't be able to
understand how it was done. I mean it, Mother, even if
they have to start a long period of lynching. They are al-


178 MAS QUERADE
ready talking about an order whose members will dress all
in white and carry fiery torches, who will ride through the
night to frighten and drive Negroes out of these places of
power that they have been lifted into.
“Now, beautiful Rena, is that what you want to happen
to her? When she can just as easily return with me to
Charleston, and with a little training etc, she can step out
as a fine lady, marry a rich and fine gentleman in due time
—and be free all her life. Not only her, but her children,
her children's children, into the future, a hundred years
hence, to be remembered and talked about.
“I know it will seem hard at the outset; but in ten, fif-
teen or twenty years at the most, Mother, you will die and
then our last tie with the Negro race will be severed, soon
thereafter, forgotten.”
The tortured mother could endure no more. The one
thing she desired above all others was her daughter's hap-
piness. Her own life had not been governed by the highest
standards, but about her love for her beautiful daughter
there was no taint of selfishness. The life her son had
described had been to her always the ideal but unattainable
life. Circumstances, many beyond her control, and others
for which she was in a measure responsible, had put it for-
ever and inconceivably beyond her reach. It had been
conquered by her son. It now beckoned to her daughter.
The comparison of this free and noble life with the sordid
existence of those around her broke down the last barrier
of opposition.
“O Lord,” she moaned. “What shall I do without her?
It'll be lonely without her, Johnny, so lonely.”
“You’ll have your home, Mother—the house behind the
:


MAS QUERADE 179
Cedars,” Walden said, tenderly, accepting the implied sur-
render. “You’ll have your friends and relatives, and the
knowledge that your children are happy. I’ll let you hear
from us often, and will try to let you see Rena now and
then. But you must let her go, Mother. It would be a sin
against her to refuse.”
“She may go,” the mother replied brokenly. “I’ll not
stand in her way. I’ve got sins enough to answer for al-
ready.”
Walden watched her pityingly. He had stirred her feel-
ings to unwonted depths, and his sympathy went out to
her. If she had sinned, she had been more sinned against,
than sinning, and it was not his part to judge her.
He had yielded to a sentimental weakness in deciding
upon this trip to Fayetteville. A matter of business had
brought him within a day's journey of the town, and an
overmastering impulse had impelled him to seek the moth-
er who had given him birth and the old town where he
had spent the earlier years of his life, although he had de-
clared on leaving it so mysteriously, that he would never
return—and meant it.
They talked and made plans until late into the night,
then both retired. John was happy when he sank into the
deep feather bed that he had slept on before he left home,
and it was late the following morning when he awakened.
His mother and sister had risen at their usual time, and
Rena was just finishing the estimate Frank had left with
her when her mother came to the table and sat down to
face her. Rena folded the estimate and put same into a
catalogue envelope she kept at the house for the purpose,
then turned to face her mother, a question in her eyes.


180 MAS QUERADE
“Rena, how’d you lak to go and pay your brother,
Johnny, a visit? I guess I might spare you for a little
while.”
The girl's eyes lighted up. She would not have gone if
her mother had wished her to stay, but she had always
regarded this as the lost opportunity of her life.
“Are you sure you don't care, Mama?” she asked, hoping
and yet doubting.
“Oh, I’ll manage to get along somehow or other. You
can go and stay until you git homesick, and then Johnny'll
let you come back home.”
Mis' Molly said this with her eyes downcast, for she had
a feeling that if Rena went, she would be like Johnny,
never come back, except under cover of night. She must
lose her daughter as well as her son, and this should be the
penance for her sin. That her children must expiate as well
the sins of their fathers, who had sinned so lightly, after the
manner of men, neither she nor they could foresee, since
they could not read the future.
The next boat by which Walden could take his sister
away left early in the evening of the next day. He left
them and went to a hotel, with the understanding that the
next day would be devoted to getting Rena ready to return
with him to Charleston.


&aate, 7ament, 7ao
----
John NY WALDEN, RECALLING that it was Judge Straight
who had really given him his big chance in life,
felt that it would show the proper gratitude if he called on
the old Judge while in Fayetteville and expressed his thanks
in person.
So, after standing at the front window inside of his
mother's home and watching the road carefully to see
that no one would see him, when he left, he ventured out
and a half hour later called at Judge Straight's office. The
Judge was not in but the door stood open and Walden en-
tered to await his return. There had been few changes in
the office. The dust was a little thicker, the papers in the
pigeon hole of the walnut desk were a little yellower, the
cobwebs in the corner a little more aggressive. The flies
droned as drowsily and the murmur of the brook below
was just as audible. Walden stood at the rear window and
looked out over a familiar view. Directly across the creek
on the low ground beyond, might be seen the dilapidated
stone foundation of the house where once had lived Flora
MacDonald, the Jacobite Refugee, the most romantic
character of North Carolina history. Old Judge Straight
had had a tree cut away from the creek side opposite his
window, so that this historic ruin might be visible from his
office; for the Judge could trace the ties of blood that con-
181


182 - MAS QUERADE
nected him collaterally with this famous personage. His
pamphlet on Flora MacDonald, printed for private circu-
lation, was highly prized by those of his friends who were
fortunate enough to obtain a copy. To the left of the win-
dow a placid mill-pond spread its wide expanse, and to the
right of the creek, disappeared under a canopy of over-
hanging trees.
A footstep sounded in the doorway, and Walden turn-
ing, faced the old judge. Time had left greater marks upon
the lawyer than upon his office. His hair was whiter; his
stoop more pronounced; when he spoke to Walden, his
voice had some of the thrillness of old age; and in his hand,
upon which the veins stood out prominently, a decided
tremor was perceptible.
“Good morning, Judge Straight,” the young man said,
removing his hat with the grateful Southern deference of
the young for the old.
“Good morning, sir,” the Judge replied with equal
courtesy. -
“You don’t remember me, I imagine,” Walden sug-
gested, with a little smile upon his face.
“Your face seems familiar,” the Judge returned cau-
tiously, looking at him closely, “but I cannot for the mo-
ment recall your name. I shall be glad to have you refresh
my memory.”
“I was Johnny Northcross, sir, when you knew me.”
The Judge's face still gave no immediate light of recog-
nition.
“You sent me away to school....”
“Ah, now I remember you full well!” the Judge ex-
claimed of a sudden, extending his hand with great cor-


MAS QUERADE . 183
diality, and inspecting Walden more closely through his
spectacles. “You went away a few years before the war.”
“Yes, sir, to South Carolina.”
“So you did, so you did. Well, I’m glad to see you again
after so many, many years. I would have never known you,
and I doubt if anybody else in this town will remember
you. Meanwhile,” and the Judge paused to point to a chair.
“Sit down and tell me something about what has happened
while you’ve been away.”
Walden told him his story in outline, much as he had
given it to his mother and sister, and the Judge seemed very
much interested.
“And you married into a good family?”
“And have a child.”
“A—boy?”
Walden nodded affirmatively, and smiled with pride.
“And you are visiting your mother?”
“Not exactly. I have seen her, but I am stopping at a
hotel.”
“H-m! Are you staying long?”
“I leave tomorrow.”
“It's well enough. I wouldn't stay too long. The people
of a small town are inquisitive about strangers and some
of them have long memories. I remember your case well,
which was strange and unusual and I was rather appre-
hensive regarding it. That you have been able to surmount
the obstacles, became a lawyer as you so much desired to
be, and have succeeded, is much for you to be thankºul for
and I am very much relieved. But custom is stronger than
law, and in your case, custom is law. It will be worth your
while here to be careful. Don't meet and talk with


MAS QUERADE - - 185
Her mother frowned. She'd rather not see her go away
that way; but soon she would be gone and never come
back. That is what kept popping into her mind regarding
her going back with Johnny. She'd never come back; he'd
never come back; she might not ever see either again, and
to hold back tears and not just break down completely,
taxed all her strength. She had thought about it all the
night through. Passing for white, she knew, was danger-
ous; it was risky and uncertain. The more she stayed away
from their past; away from people she had been reared
with and knew, the better the chance. Anyway it went, it
was risky and dangerous, and she would be thinking about
this for months to come, maybe years.
“Well, you may go with Frank; but don’t stay long
and don’t talk much. Get back as quickly as you can and
we'll put in the time getting you ready to leave on the
next boat which leaves tomorrow night.”
“If you’ll drive me down to where you're going to erect
these buildings, Frank, I'll like that.” -
“Of course, Rena. I’ll be glad to,” Frank replied, and was
thrilled to have her ask him.
“But I can’t stay long, Frank. We’ll have to get back
very shortly.” She said these words for her mother's bene-
fit; loud enough for Molly to hear her from the kitchen.
and then she was relieved.
She was anxious to get away with Frank. Her brother's
return had been such a surprise, and a thrill, that it had
swept her off her feet—and made her at the time, forget
Frank and their plans for the future. But after they pushed
her off to bed, she lay there for hours, thinking about it


186 MAS QUERADE.
and by the time morning arrived, she was in a deep quan-
dary, profoundly disturbed over the outlook.
She realized after her brother had won her mother over
to his plans for her, she would have to go back to
South Carolina with him. He was now a rich man with a
wide range, back there, of influence and friends. And
while she was quite content with her life in Fayetteville,
looking forward a year or two ahead as she was, to the
time she would marry Frank and go live with him, all of
which in one single night had been changed.
It left her upset and greatly excited. It meant her whole
future life would be changed. She was happy and proud
over the thought of her brother's success; of his ability to
pass for white and get away with it; but she had never an-
ticipated or craved such a thing. She was a colored girl,
and had never considered that she might go away and pass
for something that she was not. She could appreciate what
a thrill this might be to some vain creature; to swell them
up and set them to hating Negroes, for that was the way
it always turned out. If they passed for white, they always
hated and shunned Negroes thereafter—and she had never
craved any such thing.
She had therefore been waiting anxiously for Frank to
come by, and had planned to have him take her for a drive
—not a drive for pleasure exactly, but a visit to their little
glade in the forest, where they often went to talk and pass
a happy hour with each other.
As they drove away, she looked back over her shoulder
as if to see if they were being followed, which she knew,
of course, was not true. But she was on the anxious seat
and Frank noticed it. She wanted to talk to Frank, the one


188 MAS QUERADE
into town to see old Judge Straight today. He's stopping
at the Fountain Hotel and will return to our house tonight
again.”
"What mystery here? Johnny Northcross, back.”
“His name is no longer Johnny Northcross, Frank. He is
now John Walden, and has been ever since he left.”
Frank gazed hard at her and in amazement.
“He is also no longer a Negro. Ever since he left here, he
has been passing for white. In Charleston where he lives, he
married a wealthy white man's daughter. The girl's father
was killed in battle, the girl, who married him, is dead. But
he has a little boy. He lives in a mansion in Charleston,
and—oh, Frank, he wants me to go back to South Carolina
with him.”
Rena broke into tears now and did not see Frank's eyes
and mouth open wide. She covered her eyes with her ker-
chief and wept woe-begone for fully a minute before she
could calm herself.
“So he wants to take you back with him, Rena?”
“Yes, Frank, to look after his little boy and meet his
friends.”
“Which means that you will have to pass for white
also . . .”
“That is what I hate about it; I hate everything about
it.”
“But you will have to do as your brother and mother
wish, Rena. Has your mother consented?”
“She had to. She didn’t want to, but my brother is a
great lawyer, convincing and persuasive. He practically
forced mother to consent.”


MAS QUERADE
189
“Well,” said Frank with a deep sigh. “That is that,
Rena.” -
“But I don't want to go, Frank. Don't you understand?
I don't want to go. I don't want to pass for white. I
don't exactly like white people and never did. I don’t want
to go stealing over there like a thief in the night; fright-
ened and scared. I don't want to be white, even if I can
pass without any trouble.”
“But if your mother has consented, and your brother is
expecting you to return with him, it really doesn’t matter
just what you think or how you feel about it.”
“But what about you, Frank? You haven’t consented.
Do you want me to go?”
“Of course not, dear; but what I want or think can’t
matter. You will have to go, Rena.”
“But if I go I’d have to leave you, Frank. I don’t want
to leave you. I don’t want to go. I want to stay right here.”
“I’m sorry, dear. I know how you feel, but look at it
their way.”
“You mean my brother's way.”
Frank shrugged his shoulders resignedly. “You say that
Johnny is a rich and influential man now, has wealthy
friends, all white people. Don't be silly, my dear. This is a
rare and unusual opportunity. You must do as they ask
you to.”
“But what about you, Frank? I am thinking about you.
If you say you don’t want me to, I’ll refuse and stay right
here. After all, that is what I want to do.”
“If you did, they would charge it to me—and hate me.
I don’t want your mother and your brother to hate me,
Rena. You must go with him. I’ll manage somehow.”
º


190 MAS QUERADE
Frank was not an outwardly emotional boy; but his
heart at the moment was paining so; just seemed like it
would break. He was dazed, bewildered. The world, which
had seemed so bright and hopeful an hour ago, was whirl-
ing around him, and he could do nothing but try to be
brave. Rena had hidden her eyes with her kerchief and was
crying again. As he turned to try to comfort her, a large
tear dropped from his eyes and ran down upon his work
Jacket. It was the end of everything for him. His castles
had fallen, Rena was going away and he had to sanction it.
“You see, Rena, over there, with your brother rich and
powerful, life can mean so much to you. Besides, you've
said that he has a little boy that has no mother. The child
needs a mother. You can be that mother. As for me, I'm a
man. Father always told me that I must expect some kind
of trouble in life. And he taught me to prepare for it, so
please don’t cry any more, but just prepare to go to
Charleston with your brother, and don’t worry about me.
I’ll manage to get along somehow. I will be here where I
can comfort your mother. Think of what taking you out
of her life is going to mean. You’re all she has.”
Rena was weeping now without restraint. Frank turned
his mule about and drove her back toward the house behind
the cedars. By the time they reached it, she had become
resigned to her task, and was stronger. He helped her into
the house and as they entered, her mother asked from up-
stairs if it were she, calling that she would be down in a
few minutes. Frank turned to go and Rena grabbed him.
Although they had been schoolmates, playmates, and
everybody was now expecting them to marry, they had
never, in some peculiar way, exchanged a kiss. It was Rena


MAS QUERADE 191
who now broke that virtue, for, with a suppressed little
cry, she threw her arms about him and kissed him, full on
the lips, repeating it one, two and three times, then, as if
she could stand it no longer, after squeezing him to her,
broke and ran away and upstairs. Frank stood where she
had left him a moment, tears welling up in his large, dark
eyes, then as if to let nobody see him cry, turned abruptly
and let the house.


&aaten 7aeat, 7%tee
RENA AND HER BROTHER took the night boat to Wil-
mington, which left Fayetteville at eight p. m. Johnny or-
dered her to “meet him on the boat,” by which Rena knew
that he was taking no chance of them being recognized.
Frank took her to the boat, and helped her aboard, all the
way to her state-room. Inside, and alone, she again fell into
his arms, she wanted to weep all over again but he would
not let her, and took his leave almost immediately after the
embrace.
“If anything goes wrong, dear. Remember. You can al-
ways come back to me. I’ll be waiting.” The next moment
he was gone. Still weeping, but drying her tears, she dared
open a window. She saw him as he crossed the deck below,
walked across the gang plank hurriedly, climbed into his
buggy, in which she had enjoyed the happiest moments of
her life, when he drove her about the countryside—and he
was gone. She waved at him hopelessly, knowing that he
couldn’t see her, drew the shade down and turned—to look
into the eyes of her brother who had opened the state-room
door unheard and was standing looking at her.
“Why, Johnny,” she cried, frightened, “I—didn't hear
you open the door. You frightened me.”
He closed the door, after stepping into the room and
crossed to her. “My state-room is next to this. I heard
you when you—entered, and—”
192


MAS QUERADE 193 -
“You—heard, after I entered?”
He nodded his head affirmatively, looking straight at her
all the while.
“I’m sorry,” she said, simply, and turned away. He came
closer, up behind her and put his arms about her waist and
leaning over, kissed her on her cheek.
“I’m not going to scold you for what you did, dear. I
understand. It is hard to change to a new life overnight;
hard to get away from those you've known—and liked, for
such a long time.” He paused then while she said nothing.
Finally, he squeezed her upper arms which he held.
“I’ll go out on the deck now, if you don’t mind, and you
can draw the curtain and look out if you like. After the
boat leaves, I’ll be back, and then we’ll have a long talk,
sister, a serious talk.”
She turned as he was leaving and their eyes met as he
was going out the door. He smiled at her oddly and closed
the door. She heard his footsteps go down the narrow hall-
way to the deck, and then she sank upon a chair, strangely,
or was it emotionally, exhausted.
A few minutes later the boat pulled out, backing up a
bit, then the engineer reversed the motors, and the large
flat boat swung out into the channel of Cape Fear River
and headed Southeast for Wilmington, where it was due
early the following morning—and Rena had left Fayette-
ville for the first time in her life for a long trip. Would she
ever return? She closed her eyes in a fit of bewilderment
and doubts. Sighing deeply, she rose to her feet and remov-
ing her hat and coat, decided to try and be brave.
Shortly afterward, her brother returned to her cabin,
knocking on the door first. This, of course, was after their


194 MAS QUERADE
tickets had been taken up and they were not likely to be
bothered again. -
“I’ve ordered a light meal brought to your room, dear.
We will eat it here, then—the talk.”
The meal served and the dishes taken away, Walden
turned to her, his face serious for that “talk.”
“Now, dear sister. I didn't attempt to go into this back
there,” jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction
of Fayetteville. “I felt it would be better to wait for this
moment when I knew we would be all alone and sufficient-
ly relaxed to digest everything properly.”
“I agree with you, Johnny. I am sure that was the best.”
“I suppose you understand what is before you, dear?”
“I—hope I do, Johnny, but I am anxious to hear what
you have to say.”
“A very important thing to explain, Rena, is, that your
past life is behind you and that includes—Frank. It even
includes our mother.”
Rena sighed, audibly, and he moved closer, knowing that
it hurt to the quick and she needed consolation.
“I know what I just said hurts, Rena—it even hurt me,
more than twelve years ago, and I wanted to go away. I
was so anxious to become a lawyer that when Judge
Straight informed me that he had made arrangements for
my education; that I must leave my past—even my name
back there in Fayetteville, I was the happiest boy in all the
world. Yet, as I stole away like a thief in the night, I was
sad and unhappy. I kept thinking about mama and you,
kept on and on and it seemed for a long time my heart
would simply break and I would die.
“Yet, as you know, I did not die, but lived on, sur-


MAS QUERADE 195
mounted mighty obstacles and rose in due time to success.
In time I forgot the grief, overcame my sorrow and the
great loneliness that beset me, as it must now beset you, and
—well, you know the rest of the story.”
“It was all so wonderful, so brave on your part,” she said
quietly, “Mama and I are both proud of you. I'm sure that
you know best, even if it does all but break my heart to
leave Fayetteville and go away. I want you to know that in
doing so, however, brother, that I’ve decided to be brave—
and try to see it through as you did.”
“I am happy to hear you say that, Rena; happy and en-
couraged. At least it won’t be as hard for you on the one
hand, as it was for me, for I was alone, on my own, where-
as, everything is prepared for you. Just about all you have
to do is to be brave and strong; resolute and determined—
and forget the past. The future, that is up to me in a great
measure—and I am prepared to see it through.”
“Thank you, brother,” she said, meekly. “I will do my
best.”
“Fine! Now where will we start?”
“Just a word before you do, Johnny,” she said, laying
a hand on his wrist. “I’s saying this because, in anticipa-
tion of what is coming, this is so often on my mind.”
“Go ahead, dear, and by all means tell me what this is
that is so much on your mind.”
“Well,” she began, hesitatingly. “I’ve been told that
meeting and mixing with white people is not as hard as
when you encounter one of us in doing so.”
“Us? What do you mean?”
“That meeting them when one is passing inclines to—
make one self-conscious; un-nerves you. In short, frightens


196 MAS QUERADE
you when you meet their gaze. That is what I mean, and
what is worrying me.” -
“Is that all that is worrying you, Rena? Go ahead, un-
burden yourself, dear.”
“That's the worst of it.”
“I’m so glad you brought that up—and now, dear. I
was trying to find a way to come to it so that you would
know. Now that I see it is on your mind, it relieves me.”
“Thank you, Johnny. I am glad.”
“If you were alone as I was, this could possibly upset you
in the life you are about to step into. But there is where I
can help so much. You see, to begin with, it is more our
self-consciousness that makes us that way than anything
else. We think that what we think they think, and give
ourselves away when if we could just forget all about it, it
wouldn’t matter at all. What you must learn to do, Rena,
is to just think you are a white girl, and it becomes much
easier, so much easier. Now, you must in this case, not do
much thinking at all. Just remember that you are my sis-
ter; and that all Negroes think I am a white man. So think-
ing, they don't turn to look at me the second time, and,
the second time harder. As my sister, you understand, they
will not doubt what you are and will not, therefore, look
again at you with that penetrating expression, see?”
“Yes, I see, brother, and I also understand.”
“Good, Rena, you are catching on readily. Now, I have
not decided all this without doing a lot of thinking also.
I’ve decided to place you in a private boarding school until
next summer, the end of the term to be exact. In that
school, you will meet a lot of white girls, the best white
girls. You will learn through them and with them how


MAS QUERADE 197
white people think, act and do. This should get you ac-
customed to their ways of doing and to a degree, of think-
ing. Then, next June, when you leave the school and come
to live with me, you are my sister, just out of boarding
school. This will do away with much explaining about
your past. When a girl is just out of boarding school, peo-
ple rarely dig further into her past. They just take it for
granted that you’ve been in school and before you went
there, you were too young to know and understand much
, about anything that would interest them—and usually
that is the end of it.
“Meanwhile, before you enter school, I will lay out what
you are to do and say to the nice girls that you will meet
there at the school. Leave that to me for the present. One
of the many things. I like about you, Rena, is your fine
modesty and silence. If you were inclined to talk a lot, this
move I am making would endanger us both, for, sooner or
later your inclination to talk would crab the whole works
for you would most surely say too much. I don't mind tell-
ing you at the outset that you and I both will for a long
time—in fact, almost forever, be trodding on thin ice and
just a slight mistake can and will ruin us. I have never for-
gotten that, but thus far nobody has decided to dig into
my past and demand an accounting. They will be less in-
clined to about my sister, but all the while we must simply
be careful.”
“I agree with you fully, my brother, and I shall be care.
ful at all times. I would be very unhappy if I felt a careless
word or move on my part would upset all that you have
struggled these long years to achieve.”
“Well said, Rena. I will be patient with you at all


198 Masque RADE
times and help you as much as it is possible for me to, to
forget the past. Time only can heal that, and I have al-
lowed for that.” He rose to his feet now, and she followed
suit. He crossed to the door and she came up beside him.
He kissed her goodnight and went to his state-room.
Inside his stateroom and alone, John Walden relaxed
completely—the first time he had permitted himself to do
so since reaching Fayetteville, three days before. Relaxed,
he began to plan his sister's future.
When he went to bed two hours later, he had concluded
just how he would go about and engineer this great mas-
querade.


IF WE WERE using captions at the beginning of each chap-
ter, we would begin this chapter with the caption “The
other side—a Negro no longer!”
Meanwhile, Rena, under the sponsorship of her brother,
begins here and now, her great masquerade as somebody
else, which inspired the title of this story. We will now
proceed with the strange, and often sensational, events that
follow, as the result of this masquerade.
Shortly after Rena finished her preliminary training
at the girl's school, and returned to her brother's old co-
lonial mansion on the outskirts of Charleston to make her
home, the wealthy and aristocrats of the town staged a
tournament, or a sort of pageant which was well attended
by the better class, to some degree by the poor whites, and
even a few Negroes bought seats and watched the activities
from the bleachers.
Rena and her brother attended. At this tournament
Rena was introduced to one of South Carolina's most at-
tractive widows, a young woman by the name of Mrs.
Janie Newberry. Since Mrs. Newberry was attracted to
Rena's brother, she found the sister the exact vehicle to
use for seeing more of Johnny. By showing kindness to
Rena, she saw a means of making John more grateful to
her.

199


200 z MAS QUERADE
At the tournament Rena also met a wealthy young
aristocrat from North Carolina, who happened to be a
client of her brother, by the name of George Wendell Try-
on, scion of an old and wealthy North Carolina family.
George was only 23, tall, athletic and handsome.
Back where Tryon lived, his mother had been planning
his future, which included designs for his ultimate mar-
riage to a beautiful blonde called Blanche—the rest of her
name was Leary. Tryon had found her amusing and tol-
erable, but after meeting his lawyer's sister at the Tourna-
ment, he lost all interest in the girl his mother had selected
for his wife, and had eyes for no other but Rena Walden;
Rena had taken her brother's name when she returned with
him to pass her future life, and to experience new associa-
tions as a white girl.
By this time Rena had begun to come to herself, al-
though the past—her secret she preferred to think of it as
—was almost constantly in her thoughts; and all this meet-
ing white people, dining with them, dancing with them
and listening to their talk, was still bewildering and con-
fusing to her. As yet, however, she had not blundered,
neither talked too much nor embarrassed her brother.
George W. Tryon was a fine fellow, and while Rena
never let herself become infatuated with him, she found it
possible to be nice and agreeable, and thought that if she
were a white girl, and not merely masquerading as one, it
would be quite casy to fall in love with him as he seemed,
from their first meeting, to be falling in love with her.
She let him do the talking, as she allowed just about
everyone she’d become acquainted with do, since “cross-
ing over,” but she had developed the tact of a good listener,
y


MAS QUERADE 201
and her silence and good listening, seemed to have won her
friends. They called her “shy” and this accentuated her
modesty, all of which added to her popularity—especially
with George Tryon, who was soon a regular caller at her
home, and took her out frequently.
By and by George Wendell Tryon told her that he loved
her and asked her to be his wife. She delayed her reply,
but promised to give him her answer in a week.
After George left her that night, she went to her broth-
er, and said: -
“George told me that he loved me tonight, and asked
me to marry him.”
“Oh, how wonderful, dear!” her brother exclaimed with
great enthusiasm. “And did you—consent, dear?”
Rena shook her head negatively, whereupon the happy
approval on her brother's face became clouded with a
frown of anxiety. -
“But Rena, dear, half the girls in Charleston would give
their lives, if George Tryon asked them to marry him. He's
the smartest catch of the season, wealthy, dignified, aristo-
cratic—and a swell fellow. Why did you refuse him?”
“I did not refuse him, Johnny. I merely said that I would
give him my answer in a week.”
“Oh, that is better, much better, and takes a load off my
mind. Why did you wish to wait a week, however?”
“I felt that I should talk to you about it first. The
next reason was, Johnny, I'll try to be frank—I was
afraid.”
“Afraid? Afraid of what?”
“Oh, Johnny,” she cried, bursting into tears. “You know
what I am afraid of.”


202. MAS QUERADE
“There, there, dear. Of course I know; but you must
not let that stand in your way. I've said, repeatedly, “let the
dead past bury its dead.’ I’ve told you that you must think
you are white—and defy all sentiments to the contrary.”
“I’ve tried to, Johnny, and I’m still trying. But it's hard
to forget that I–I am not a white girl. And if George
knew the truth, would he want me then; would he love
me just as much as he says he does?”
Her brother sprang to his feet. She could see that she
had disturbed him; had upset his equilibrium. After a few
strides he paused and stood over her.
“Unless we can forget and live down our ‘skeleton in
the closet,” there is neither future nor happiness for either
of us, Rena, or for my little son, Albert. All our futures
depend upon our being strong and resolute and—”
“—Being successful deceivers, John. I’m sorry, I know
you are right, and I hate to upset you.”
“Then why do you?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know. All I can think of is what
George would say or do if he ever learns the truth.”
“Let’s look at it another way. In whatever move we take,
you’ve got to take a chance. Let's consider if you married
George and ‘took the chance,’ and that if you got through
the first years and had children as a healthy and normal
girl like you must expect.”
“I follow you.”
“After three, four or five years, he in some manner
might find out, then what?”
“Yes, then what?”


MAS QUERADE 203.
“He would be confronted with the future of his own
flesh and blood; his children, his children's children, then
what could he do?”
“I—think he would have to-see it through, yes.”
“That is the way to look at it. Oh, I know how much
you dislike the idea of deceiving a man from the outset, but
George Tryon is a sensible man. He would be shocked and
angry. He would perhaps even hate you for awhile. But
under such circumstances, however, he would have to cool
off—in fact, he would cool off and consider the circum-
stances. He would in due time come to realize that while
you may have deceived him, under the circumstances, he'd
realize that there was no other alternative. He’d under-
stand that you had done nothing wrong; that you were
the nice, modest girl he fell in love with after all, only—”
“—That I was not what he thought I was all the while;
that I was not a white girl and never had been; that I was
a—Negress, the most despicable creature that God in all
his power and glory could create; and that I had deceived
him brazenly and willfully, for all the while I was letting
him make love to me, I knew that I was a Negress, the
daughter of a slave woman, an illegitimate—and a bas-
fard?”
“Oh, my God, Rena, my God—and please hush! Hush
this moment and say not another word.”
“I’m so sorry, John. I hated to hurt you, but what I said
was on my mind. I had to get it off, one time or another;
one way or another. And now that I have, I feel better,
stronger. Go ahead, Johnny, and say what you will.”
“What is there left for me to say, after all you just said?
I'm so shocked and mortified until I am—oh, just beaten.”
|


204 MAS QUERADE
He sat down then, weak and limp, and gazed for a time
straight before him at nothing.
“Don’t be discouraged, brother. I tell you, it was on my
mind and until I could get it off—confess my feelings to
somebody, I couldn't seem to go on. Now, let us look at it
in its real light, after which we can go about making ad-
justments as I feel we should.
“First, I had thought of confessing the truth to George,”
she began, whereupon her brother became taut, sprang
quickly to his feet, his mouth flew open. She raised a hand
and stayed it.
“Please let me finish, dear. Before I had rehearsed the
idea in my own mind, even, I dismissed it, for it would not
have mattered so much to me. It would ruin you however,
so the idea was out. What I am trying to explain, Johnny,
is, that if I go through as you have planned, with this mas-
querade, I must prepare myself. I must, in short, admit to
myself that I am masquerading; keep on thinking of it to
myself in that way until I can feel justified in my act. In
other words, to act, one can’t go on feeling innocent and
modest. They must ‘play at it’ all the while, be at least
partially conscious of what you are doing. That is the way.
I see it. I’ve got to become an actress. Once I am complete
in that role and have crucified my conscience, I might be
able to tell George that I love him, too, and be his wife,
bear his children, and then, if he ever learns the truth, stage
a great scene: tell him cold and hard to his face that I
fooled him; and that it is too late, if we have the children
as we would have every reason to expect, to be mortified
at his discovery and to brand me. I must be able to stand
before him, cold and hard and say: ‘Had I told you the


MAS QUERADE 205
truth before you married me, do you suppose that you ever
would have? You know you wouldn't! I knew it and now
you know it. But, in justice to myself, I was a nice girl,
virtuous, pure and simple. I have made you a good wife,
bore you lovely children, in spite of the fact that I was
born out of wedlock, the daughter of an aristocrat slave-
master, the offspring of a helpless mulatto slave woman.
Knowing all this, and what you would have done had you
known it before making love to, and marrying me, what
do you think that I should have done?
“’What is done, is done. Around us are your children,
my children. If you must hate me, hate them, too; but I
have them to love and caress until I die. There is no law
against what I have done, and if you now wish to leave
me, you must leave your children, too. Now my master,
what?’” - -
“Oh, Rena, my sister, my child. I never knew all this
was in you,” he moaned, his face dejected, upset, bewil-
dered, downcast.
She crossed to him and tried to comfort him.
“I am the same little sister that I have always been,
Johnny. I love you and I love your little boy. I want to
rear him to be—like his father. I can wish no more; but
deceiving a man has been preached against in every novel
of the kind that I ever read. All have pointed that a
woman should “confess’ her sins, her past, to the man
she would marry. You know, and I know, and George
Wendell Tryon knows that I cannot confess our secret to
him, so what? If we go on, I will have to at least harden
myself and marry the man with no thought or intention of
ever telling him the truth. Once that hard, I might be able


MAS QUERADE 207
seem to want to blame us if they fail. According to you,
and logic, I had a chance to better myself by coming
here with you. Surely from the standpoint of logic, any
Negro who could walk into the best white society as you
have installed me in Charleston, is far better off than
continuing through life as a Negro–the best of Negroes.
“Strange, and I didn’t want to; but you sold Mama on
the idea, Mama told me to go. I am ready to go through
with it as has been bargained, clear up until I die, now
that I have started. All I wanted was for you to under-
stand how I felt, brother. Once you know just how I feel,
and realize that I will be playing a role when I do, then I
am sure I can do it better. I wanted you to know just
how I would do it. That is all, Johnny. Now get up and
think it over for a week, until the time is due for me to
give George my answer. Before I do, we will talk again,
see?” -
She got him to his feet then, sad and dejected. Yet, for
Johnny Walden, there was no alternative but to do as she
had asked him to.


MAS QUERADE 209
wealthy family who had owned quite a large number of
slaves before the war, and still possessed all the land which
had been in the family for more than a hundred years.
“This girl, whose name was Gertrude Poray, was sort
of a creole type and as beautiful as any woman you ever
saw. But to make a long story short, somebody had busi-
ness up in the Cane River Country, and while there,
learned the truth about Miss Poray.”
“And what was that?” Mrs. Newberry wanted to know.
The others held their breaths in anxiety.
“Miss Poray—was a Negress!”
“Go away from here!” Mrs. Newberry exclaimed, her
mouth and eyes wide. Rena opened her eyes, too, but only
swallowed. -
“A nigger, so help me God!” Mrs. Milbank reiterated.
Exclamations of surprise were heard throughout the
group, all alike—full of amazement!
“But—what,” Mrs. Newberry said, “Ever possessed her
to think she could get away with—such a fraud?”
“Well, they were rich, they had owned slaves; the
family did not, and never had, associated with Negroes.
Additionally, they were light enough to pass for white, so
it didn’t seem to upset her in the least.”
“You—you mean she stayed on in New Orleans after
they learned the truth about her; that she had nigger-
blood in her veins?”
“Nothing different. She declared that she was just as
white as any white person in New Orleans; that she was
rich; that her parents had sense enough to avoid service in
the civil war, that is, Confederate service, and that all New
Orleans could go to Hades. That she was white, even if she


210 MAS QUERADE
did have Negro blood in her veins, and she'd like to see
what they could do about it. Incidentally, the family.
owned the St. Louis-Royal Hotel where she was staying.
So she stayed on in New Orleans until she was ready to
leave and when she did, it happened to be on the same train
I left on, passing for white, of course, and is in New York
now, waiting to sail for Europe, where, I was told, she
plans to make her future home; and where, no doubt, she
can marry a white man without so many people ob-
jecting.”
“The nerve of her! What did the man she was engaged
to do about it?”
“Oh, he quit her the moment he heard that she had Ne-
gro blood; quit her cold—and ran away.”
Laughter.
“Well, the effects of her masquerade was on when I left
New Orleans. The best white people of New Orleans have
decided to issue a questionnaire. I mean the social and elite.
They are setting up a sort of ‘Social Registry,’ whereby
every desirable person applying for membership, is to fill
out this questionnaire, which will trace their ancestry back,
preferably, to the family's arrival in America. If this can-
not be done so handily, back at least to their great-grand
parents. They are determined hereafter, before they admit
people into their circle, to find out who they are and what
they are, thereby avoiding any possibility of letting any
more mongrels into it. I stopped over in Atlanta on the
way home, and they were talking about doing the same
thing there. They said that since the carpet-baggers had
come down from the North and put the darkies into poli-
tics, there were attempts to do the same thing in Atlanta;


MAS QUERADE 211
bright Negroes with money, intruding themselves into
white society—the nerve of them!”
“I think we should set up something like that right here
in Charleston,” Mrs. Newberry declared, looking around,
to be met by nods of approval from nearly everybody
present, except Rena, who merely opened her eyes in
feigned surprise whenever any of them happened to look
at her.
“The ambition of every nigger who happens to be the
off-spring of some rich white man by a mulatto slave
woman—and all of you present know that Charleston is
over-run with these kind of darkies, is to up and ‘pass for
white' and as I see it, unless we band together here, as you
say they are doing in New Orleans and Atlanta, who
knows how soon we'll wake up to find a lot of light-
skinned Negroes in our midst, passing themselves off as one
of us.”
“The most disgraceful thing that could possibly happen
to the proud people of our fair city,” Mrs. Milbank said.
“Not all of you know it, but we have quite a number
of Negroes right here in Charleston who owned slaves,
and, as far as I have been able to ascertain, they have a little
circle of their own and do not associate with the other
Negroes. I think most of them will bear watching, how-
ever.”
All present agreed with her, and as the meeting broke up,
it was tentatively agreed that at an early date another
meeting would be called with a view to setting up a local
‘Social Registry’ in Charleston, to find out who was who
before accepting unknowns as members.
Mrs. Newberry drove Rena home after the party, talk-


212 MASQUERADE
ing all the while about her plans regarding the Social
Registry.
“Don’t you think it’s a good idea, dear Rena?”
“I’m sure it is,” Rena managed to say, and was relieved
that Mrs. Newberry didn’t look in her direction and had
not looked at her directly during the discussion.
Dazed, after Mrs. Newberry drove away, she went to
her room and went to bed; she was so spent and upset, that
she sent word she had a headache and didn't care for any
dinner.
Alone in her room, she permitted herself to relax and to
think over what had been discussed at the party. She saw
only one solution, if it could be called that; she could wait
and watch to see if the Social Registry plans became a
reality—and if they started to set such a thing up, there
was but one alternative left to her—to disappear quietly
or announce, for the protection of her brother, that she
was leaving to make her home in New York. This, of
course, would be a lie, for she knew nobody in New York
and had never been there. It meant that she would return
to Fayetteville, marry Frank Fowler, and forget as quick-
ly as possible, with great relief, that she had ever tried to
pass for white. Until then, however, she decided not to say
anything about what had occurred to her brother, for the
ordeal they had gone through a few days before was quite
as much as she wished to see him burdened with for the
present. -
The next great problem on her mind, was her reply to
George Tryon's proposal, which would be due in a few
days.
For days following Mrs. Newberry's party in her honor,


MAS QUERADE 213
Rena was beseiged by doubts and fears; misgivings domi-
nated her every thought. Meanwhile, having been placed
on the footing of an accepted lover, Tryon's visits to the
house became more frequent. He wished to fix a time for
the marriage, but at this point Rena developed a strange
reluctance.
“Can we not know each other for a little while?” she
asked. “To be engaged is a pleasure that comes but once; it
would be a pity to cut it too short.”
“It is a pleasure that I would cheerfully dispense with,”
he replied, “for the certainty of possession. I want you all
to myself, and all the time. Things might happen. If I
should die, for instance, before I married you—”
“Oh, don’t imagine such awful things,” she said, brave-
ly, thinking of Mrs. Newberry and the prospect of the
Social Registry. -
“I should consider,” he resumed, completing the sen-
tence, “that my life had been a failure.”
“If I should die,” she went on, boldly, becoming con-
scious that she was beginning to develop her acting ability,
and being able by now to realize that she was acting, “I
should die happy in the knowledge that you had loved me.”
“In three weeks,” he went on, “I shall have finished my
business in Charleston, and then there will be but one thing
to keep me here. When shall it be, dear? I want to take
you home with me.” -
Rena did some fast thinking. If she had to continue this
masquerade; had to, for the sake of her brother, marry
George Wendell Tryon and Mrs. Newberry did not start
her Social Registry action before three weeks, she could


214 MASQUERADE
marry George and go back to North Carolina to live with
him as his wife. In that way she could avoid being checked
as regards her antecedents. Well, she thought to herself,
it is all an act, an act that might have to last a life-time,
so why not play her part as she had planned and make her-
self, for the present at least, agreeable.
“I will let you know,” she replied, with a troubled sigh,
“in a week from today.” It occurred to her only then that
she had promised to give him his answer in a week, four
days before. To her surprise—and relief, he did not com-
plain. Instead, he said very patiently:
“I’ll call your attention to the subject every day. In the
meantime,” he asserted, “I shouldn’t like you to forget it.”
Rena's shrinking from the irrevocable step of marriage
was due to a simple yet complex cause. Stated boldy, it
was the consciousness of her secret; the complexity arose
out of the various ways in which it seemed to bear upon
her future. Our lives are bound in such strange ways, with
the lives of our fellow men. It had not been difficult for
Rena to conform her speech, her manners, and, in a meas-
ure, her mode of thoughts, to those of the people around
her; but when this readjustment went beyond mere ex-
ternals and concerned the vital issues of life, the secret that
oppressed her took on a more serious aspect, with tragic
possibilities.
A discursive imagination was not one of her characteris-
tics, or the danger of a marriage of which perfect frank-
ness was not a condition, might well have presented itself
before her heart had become involved. Under the influence
of doubt, and fear acting upon love, the invisible bar to


MASQUERADE 215
happiness glowed with a lambent flame that threatened
dire disaster. -
“Would he have loved me at all,” she asked herself, over
and over again, “if he knew the story of my past? Or,
having loved me, could he blame me now for what I can-
not help?”
There were two shoals in the channel of her life, upon
either of which her happiness might go to shipwreck. Since
leaving the house behind the cedars where she had been
brought into the world without her own knowledge or
consent, and had drawn the first breath of life by the in-
voluntary contraction of certain muscles, Rena had learned
in a short time, many things; but she was yet to learn, that
the innocent suffer with the guilty, and feel the punish-
ment the more keenly because unmerited. She had yet to
learn that the old Mosiac formula, “the sins of the fathers
shall be visited upon the children,” was graven more in-
delibly upon the heart of the race than upon the tables
of Sinai. -
Then again came to her that question, would George
Tryon still love her if he knew all? The man who loved
the Negress in New Orleans, had thought he loved her un-
til he learned the truth—then he was positive that it was
all one great mistake and ran quickly away. Would George
Tryon do the same things in regards her?
She had read some of the novels in the book-case in her
mother's hall, and others at boarding-school. She had read
that love was a conqueror, that neither life nor death, nor
creed nor caste, could stay its triumphant course. Her
secret was no legal bar to their union. If Rena could forget
the secret, and Tryon should never know it, it would be no


216 MASQUERADE
obstacle to their happiness. But Rena felt, with a sinking of
the heart, that happiness was not a matter of law or of
fact, but lay entirely within the domain of sentiment. We
are happy when we think ourselves happy, and with a
strange perversity, we often differ from others with re-
gards to what should constitute our happiness. Rena's
secret was the worm in the bud, the skeleton in the closet.
“He says that he loves me. He does love me. But would
he love me if he knew?” She stood before an oval mirror
brought from France by one of her brother's wife's an-
cestors, and regarded her image with a coldly critical eye.
She was as little vain as any of her sex who are endowed
with beauty. She tried to place herself, in thus passing
upon her own claims to consideration, in the hostile atti-
tude of society towards her hidden disability. There was no
mark upon her brow to brand her as less pure, less inno-
cent, less desirable, less worthy to be loved, than these
proud women of the past who had admired themselves in
this old mirror.
“I think a man might love me for myself,” she mur-
mured pathetically, “and if he loved me truly, that he
would marry me. If he would not marry me, then it would
be because he didn’t love me.”
She had the sudden impulse again to tell George every-
thing and throw herself upon his mercy. Other than
simply masquerading, she was everything he had built her
up in his mind as being. Then, as quickly as the impulse
had advanced itself, it died. The secret was not hers alone;
it involved her brother's position, to whom she owed every-
thing, and in less degree, the future of her little nephew,
whom she had already learned to love so well. There was


MASQUERADE
217
left to her but two courses of action: to marry Tryon or
to dismiss him.
She let escape a deep and sickly sigh and taking off her
clothes, went to bed, in the hope that sleep would make
her forget, for that night, at least.
Hours passed before she went off to sleep, however. She
kept thinking about George Tryon, trying to draw a pic-
ture of how he would look and how he would feel if he,
in some way, should learn her secret. She also visioned how
Mrs. Janie Newberry and Mrs. Milbank, and the others she
had met at the card party, would look and feel if they, too,
found out. -
She was surprised when she awakened the following
morning, feeling rested, that she had been able to fall asleep
at all.
-
!


&aete, 7aeat, sa
RENA’s HEART was too heavy with these misgivings for
her to keep them to herself indefinitely. She had decided to
keep the matter of the proposed Social Registry to herself
a while longer, but the rest she would take up with
Johnny.
Accordingly, on the morning after the second conver-
sation with Tryon in which he insisted that she give him
her answer and set a date for the wedding, she went into
John's study where he usually spent an hour after break-
fast before going to his office. He looked up amiably
enough, but beneath this attempt at amiability, she was
sure she detected a slight frown. He read trouble in her
face and conjectured, she felt sure, that he was in for an-
other ordeal as of a few days before.
“Well, Rena, dear,” he began, forcing a smile through
his fear. “What is the matter this time? Is there anything
you want—money or what? Understand me when I say
that it is my desire to satisfy your every wish.”
He had found her very backward in asking for things
she needed. Generous with his means, he thought nothing
too good for her. Her success thus far, had gratified his
pride, and justified his course in taking her under his pro-
tection.
“Thank you, Johnny. You've given me already more
than I need. It is something else.” His frown deepened, he
218


MAS QUERADE 219.
steeled himself for another trying ordeal. He hated or-
deals. They upset and annoyed him, left him unfit for
work ahead.
“I am not going to upset you as I did the other day, dear
brother,” she said and forced a smile. “I am sure that I will
have no occasion to upset you that way again.”
“Thank you, Rena,” he said, and she was happy to see
that he breathed a sigh of relief.
“George has been after me again regarding his proposal;
and wants me to set a date for my marriage to him. It wor-
ries me. I'm afraid to marry him without telling him, and,
as we debated the other day, I cannot tell him; I can never
tell him. I suppose that if he found out afterward he would
cast me off. But, as we also agreed, that is the chance I'll
have to take. At the best, if he did, he would cease to love
me, even if he didn’t cast me off.”
She would have liked so much at this point, to have told
him what the man engaged to the creole Gertrude Poray
had done when he found out in New Orleans, that she had
Negro blood, but that would have added to the unpleas-
antness of the situation, which under the best circum-
stances was unpleasant enough.
“If he does not know it, I know I shall be forever think-
ing of what he would do if he should find it out; or, if I
should die without his having learned it, I should not rest
easy in my grave for thinking of what he would have done
if he had found out.” º
Walden had listened with grave and serious face at her
comprehensive statement. He rose and closed the door
carefully, less some one of the servants might overhear the
conversation. In such cases, he was more liberally endowe


220 MASQUERADE
with imagination than Rena, perhaps, and not without a
vein of sentiment, he had nevertheless a practical side that
outweighed them both. With him, the problem that op-
pressed his sister had been in the main a matter of argu-
ment and self-conviction. Once persuaded that he had
certain rights or ought to have them, by virtue of the laws
of nature, in defiance of the customs of mankind, he had
promptly sought to enjoy them. This he had been able
to do by concealing his antecedents and making the most
of his opportunities, with no troublesome qualms of con-
science whatever.
But he had already perceived, in their brief intercourse,
that Rena's emotions, while less easily stirred, touched a
deeper note than his, and dwelt upon it with greater inten-
sity than if they had been spread over the larger field to
which a more ready sympathy would have supplied so
many points of access;—hers was a deep and silent current
flowing between the narrow walls of a self-contained life,
like the spreading river running through a pleasant land-
scape.
Walden's imagination, however, enabled him to put
himself in touch with her mood and recognize its bearings
upon her conduct. He would have preferred her taking
the practical point of view, to bring her round to which
he perceived would be a matter of diplomacy.
“When did he last talk with you about it, dear?”
“Last night, Johnny.”
“My poor, dear child,” he began, with deep sympathy.
“I’m afraid you’re taking too tragic a view of this thing
all around. Marriage is a reciprocal arrangement, by which
the contracting parties give love for love, care for keep-


MAS QUAERADE 221
ing, faith for faith. It is a matter of the future, not of the
past. What a poor soul it is that has not some secret cham-
ber, sacred to itself; where one can file away the things
others have no right to know, as well as things that one
himself, or herself, would fain forget! We are under no
moral obligation to inflict upon others, the history of our
past mistakes, our wayward thoughts, our secret sins, our
desperate hopes, or our heartbreaking disappointments.
Still less are we bound to bring out from the secret cham-
ber the dusty record of our ancestry, whereupon I re-
peat:
Let the dead past bury its dead.
George Tryon loves you for yourself alone; it is not your
ancestors that he seeks to marry.”
Having listened to him carefully, she could appreciate
now why they called him a good lawyer; a great lawyer.
He had summed up her case, their case, and he had done so
eloquently, logically. Unfortunately, she realized that she
was not a lawyer, to be able to answer him in rebuttal, at
which times, the logicalness and the eloquence is often shot
full of holes. She only had one answer, which was a ques-
tion: the same question she was repeating, over and over
again, the question she was sure must have become mo-
notonous to him, but in spite of its many repetitions, it
was still new to her.
“But would he marry me if he knew the truth,” she
again persisted.
Walden paused for reflection. He would have preferred
to argue the question, as he had been, in a general way, but
felt the necessity, and the responsibility of satisfying her
scruples, as far as might be. He had liked Tryon from the
|


222 MAS QUERADE
very beginning of their acquaintance. In all their inter-
course, which had been very close for several months, he
had been impressed by the young man's sunny temper, his
straight-forwardness, his intellectual honesty. Tryon's
deference to Walden as the elder man had very naturally
proved an attraction. Whether the friendship would have
stood the test of utter frankness about his own past was a
merely academic speculation with which Walden did not
trouble himself. With his sister the question had evidently
become a matter of conscience,—a difficult subject with
which to deal in a person of Rena's temperament.
“My dear sister,” he replied. “Why should he know?
We haven’t asked him for his pedigree; we don’t care to
know it.”
Especially when we have a live skeleton, resting in the
closet so close by, she thought and would have liked to have
said, but decided not to interrupt him. Meanwhile, he went
On :
“If he cares for ours, he should ask for it, and it would
then be time enough to raise the question. You will, in
time, learn to love him, I hope, and will in due time, wish
to make him happy if you marry him.”
“Yes, oh, yes,” Rena exclaimed with fervor.
“Well, then,” Walden went on to say, “suppose we
should tell him our secret and put ourselves in his power,
and that he should then conclude that he couldn't marry
you? Do you imagine that he would be any happier than
he is now, or than if he should never know?”
Ah, no! She could not think so. One could not tear love
out of one's heart without pain and suffering.


MASQUERADE - 223
There was a knock at the door. Walden opened it to the
nurse, who stood with little Albert in her arms.
“Please, suh,” the girl said, with a curtsey, “The baby's
been cryin’ fo' Mis’ Rena, and ah 'lowed she mought want
me tu fetch’m, efit wouldn’t 'sturb heh.”
“Give me the darling,” Rena exclaimed, coming for-
ward and taking the child from the nurse. “It wants its
auntie. Come to its auntie, bless its little heart.”
Little Albert crowed with pleasure and lifted its small
lips for a kiss. Walden found the sight a pleasant one. If
he could but quiet his sister's troublesome scruples, he
might ere long see her fondling beautiful children of her
own. Even if Rena were willing to risk her happiness, and
he to endanger his position, by a quixotic frankness, the
future of his child must not be compromised. -
“You shouldn’t want to make George unhappy,” he re-
sumed when the nurse retired. “Very well, would you not
be willing, for his sake—to keep a secret—your secret and
mine and that of the innocent child in your arms? What
ever we do, or are doing what is unethical, it cannot be
blamed on the child. Surely he has had no part in this—
masquerade as you choose to call it. Would you involve all
of us in difficulties merely to secure your own peace of
mind? Doesn’t such a course seem just a wee bit selfish?
Think the matter over from that point of view, and we'll
speak of it later in the week. I shall be with George all the
morning, and I may be able, by a little management, to
find out his views on the subject of birth and family, and
all that. Some men are very liberal, and love is a great
leveler. I’ll sound him at any rate.”
He rose to his feet then, and kissing the baby, left the


224 MAS QUERADE
room to go to his office in downtown Charleston, leaving
Rena to her own reflections, to which his presentation of
the case had given the subject a new turn. It had never be-
fore occurred to her to regard silence in the light of self-
sacrifice. It had seemed a sort of sin; her brother's argu-
ment had made of it a virtue. It was not the first time, nor
the last, that right and wrong had been a matter of view-
point.
Tryon himself furnished the opening for Walden's pro-
posed examination. The younger man could not long re-
main silent upon the subject uppermost in his mind. “I am
anxious, John,” he said, “to have Rowena name the hap-
piest day of my life—our wedding day. When the trial in
Edgecombe County is finished, I shall have no further
business here, and shall be ready to leave for home. I should
like to take my bride with me, and surprise my mother.”
Mothers, Walden thought promptly and decided to
execute an understanding forthwith, are likely to prove
inquisitive about their son's wives, especially when taken
unawares in matters of such importance. This seemed a
good time to test the liberality of his client's views, and to
put forward a shield for his sister's protection.
“Are you sure, George, that your mother will find the
surprise agreeable when you bring home a bride of whom
you know so little and your mother nothing at all?” In ad-
dition to planning a shield for himself and sister, John hap-
pened to know that Mrs. Tryon had built up Blanche
Leary to be her son's bride.
Tryon had felt that it would be best to surprise his
mother. As he viewed it, she would need only to see Rena
to approve of her, but she was so far prejudiced in favor


MASQUERADE 225
of Blanche Leary that it would be wisest to present the
argument after having announced the irrevocable con-
clusion. Rena herself would be a complete justification for
the accomplished deed.
“I think you ought to know, George,” Walden went
on, without waiting for a reply to his question, “that my
sister and I are not of an old family, or a rich family, or a
distinguished family; that she can bring you nothing but
herself; that we have no connection of which you could
boast, and no relatives to whom we would be glad to in-
troduce you. You must take us for ourselves alone. We are
—new people.”
“My dear John,” the younger man replied warmly,
“there is a great deal of nonsense about families. If a man
is noble and brave and strong, if a woman is beautiful and
good and true, what matters it about his or her ancestry?
If an old family can give them these things, then it is valu-
able, indeed. If they possess them without it, then of what
use is it, except as a source of empty pride, which they
would be better without. If all new families were like
yours, there would be no advantage in belonging to an old
one. All I care to know of Rowena's family is that she is
your sister; and you'll pardon me old fellow, if I add that
she hardly needs even you. She carries the stamp of her
descent upon her face and in her heart.”
“It makes me glad to hear you speak in that way,” Wal-
den returned, delighted by the young man's breadth and
earneStriesS.
“Oh, I mean every word of it,” Tryon replied. “Ances-
tors, indeed, for Rowena! I will tell you a family secret,
John, to prove how little I care for ancestors. My maternal


226 MAS QUERADE
great-great-grandfather, a hundred and fifty years ago, WaS
hanged, drawn and quartered for stealing cattle across the
Scottish border. How is that for a pedigree? Behold in me
the lineal descendant of a felon!”
Walden felt 1 much relieved at this avowal. His own state-
ment had not touched the vital point involved; it had been
at the best but a half truth. But Tryon's magnanimity
would doubtless protect Rena from any close inquiry
concerning her past. It even occurred to Walden for a
moment that he might safely disclose the secret to Tryon;
but an appreciation of certain facts of history and certain
traits of human nature constrained him to put the momen-
tary thought aside. It was a great relief, however, to im-
agine that Tryon might think lightly of this thing that he
need never know.
“Well, Rena,” he said to his sister when he went home
at noon: “I’ve sounded George.”
“What did he say?” she asked, eagerly.
“I told him we were people of no family, and that we
had no relatives that we were proud of. He said he loved
you for yourself, and would never ask you about your an-
cestry.”
“Oh, I’m so glad,” she exclaimed joyfully. This report
left er very happy for about three hours, or until she be-
gan to analyze carefully her brother's account of what had
been said. Walden's statement had not been specific, he
had not told Tryon the thing. George's reply, in turn, had
been a mere generality. The concrete fact that oppressed
her remained unrevealed, and her doubt was still unsatis-
fied.
She compared his case of one hundred fifty years ago


MAS QUERADE 227
with hers as of the date. If an ancestor of hers had stolen
over on the white side of society four generations ago, but
had developed through the long years that followed with
credit, she would perhaps be proud to boast of it at this
time, the same as George had boasted of his that morning.
Rena was occupied with this thought when her lover
next came to see her. Tryon came up the sanded walk from
the gate and spoke pleasantly to the nurse, a nice looking
mulatto girl who was seated on the front porch, playing
with little Albert. He took the boy from her arms and she
went to call Miss Walden.
Rena came out, followed by the nurse, who offered to
take the child.
“Never mind, Mimy. Leave him with me,” Tryon said.
The nurse walked discreetly over into the garden, re-
maining within call, but beyond the hearing of conver-
sation in an ordinary tone.
“Rena, darling,” her lover said, “when shall it be? Sure-
ly you won’t ask me to wait a whole week. Why, that's
like a lifetime.”
Rena was struck by a brilliant idea. She would test him
herself, then and now. Love was a very powerful force;
she had found it the greatest, grandest, and sweetest thing
in the world. Tryon had said that he loved her; he had said
scarcely anything else for weeks, surely nothing else worth
remembering. She would test his love by a hypothetical
question. -
“You say you love me,” she said, glancing at him with
a sad thoughtfulness in her large dark eyes. “How much
do you love me?” -


228 MASQUERADE
“I love you all one can love. True love has no degrees:
it is all—or nothing.”
“Would you love me,” she asked, with an air of coquetry
that masked her concern, pointing toward the girl in the
shrubbery, “if I were Albert's nurse yonder?”
After a quick glance at the nurse, and relaxing into a
new smile, he turned back to her:
“If you were Albert's nurse,” he replied, with a joyous
laugh, “he would have to find another quickly, for within
a week we should be married.”
The answer seemed to fit the question, but in fact, Try-
on's mind and hers had not met. That two intelligent per-
sons should each attach a different meaning to a simple
form of words as Rena's question was the best ground for
her misgiving with regard to the marriage. But his love
for the moment, blinded her. She was anxious to be con-
vinced. She interpreted the meaning of his speech by her
own thought and by the ardor of his glance, and was satis-
fied with the answer.
“And now, darling,” Tryon pleaded, “Will you not
fix the day that shall make me happy? I shall be ready to go
away in three weeks. Will you go with me?”
“Yes,” she answered, knowing that she was lying, but
she was by now resigned to whatever was going to happen.
She was at last willing to gamble her future and forget the
past, if she could get away with it. She was also at last on
the great stage of life, and she had started acting. Would
it last until she died?


&aete. 7&eat, sevee
THE MARRIAGE was arranged for the thirtieth of the
month, immediately after which Tryon and his bride were
to set out for North Carolina. Walden would have liked
it much better if Tryon had lived in South Carolina; but
the location of his North Carolina home was at some dis-
tance from Fayetteville, with which it had no connection
by steam or rail, and indeed lay out of line altogether of
travel to Fayetteville. Rena had no acquaintance with peo-
ple of social standing in North Carolina; and with the
added maturity and charm due to her improved oppor-
tunities, it was unlikely that any former resident of Fay-
etteville who might casually meet her would see in the
elegant young woman from South Carolina, more than a
passing resemblance to a poor girl who had once lived in an
obscure part of the old town. It would of course be
necessary for Rena to keep away from Fayetteville; ex-
cept for her mother's sake, however, she would hardly be
tempted to go back.
On the twentieth of the month, Walden set out with
Tryon for the county seat of the adjoining county, to try
one of the lawsuits which had required Tryon's presence in
South Carolina for so long a time. This destination was a
day’s drive from Charleston, behind a good horse and the
tria' was expected to last a week.

229


230 MAS QUERADE
“This week will seem like a year,” Tryon said ruefully,
the evening before their departure, “but I’ll write every
day and shall expect a letter as often.”
“The mail goes only twice a week, George,” Rena re-
plied.
“Then I shall have three letters in each mail.”
Walden and Tryon were to set out in the cool of the
morning, after an early breakfast. Rena was up at day-
break that she might preside at the breakfast-table and bid
the travelers good-by.
“Johnny,” Rena said to her brother that morning. “I
dreamed last night that mother was ill.”
“Dreams, you know, Rena,” her brother answered with
a smile lightly, “go by contraries. Yours undoubtedly sig-
nifies that our mother, God bless her simple soul, is at the
present moment enjoying her usual perfect health. She
was never sick in her life.”
For a few months after leaving Fayetteville with her
brother, Rena had suffered tortures of home-sickness;
those who have felt it know the pang. The severance of old
ties had been abrupt, but complete. At the school where
her brother had taken her, there had been nothing to re-
lieve the strangeness of her surroundings—no schoolmate
from her own town, no relative or friend of the family
nearby. Even the compensation of human sympathy was
in a measure denied her, for Rena was too fresh from her
prison-house to doubt that sympathy would fail before
the revelation of the secret, the consciousness of which op-
pressed her at that time like a nightmare.
It was not strange that Rena, thus isolated, should have
been prostrated by homesickness for several weeks after


MASQUERADE 231
leaving Fayetteville. When the paroxysm had passed, there
followed a dull pain, which gradually subsided into a
resignation as profound in its way, as had been her longing
for home. She loved and she suffered with a quiet intensity
which her outward demeanor gave no adequate expression.
From some ancestral source she had derived a strain of the
passive fatalism by which alone one can submit uncom-
plainingly to the inevitable. By the same token, when once
a thing had been decided, it became with her a finality,
which only some extraordinary stress of emotion could
disturb. She had acquiesced to her brother's plan; for her
there was no withdrawing; her home-sickness was an inci-
dental thing which must be endured as patiently as might
be, until time should have brought a measure of relief.
Walden had made provision for an occasional letter
from Fayetteville, by leaving with his mother a number of
envelopes directed to his address. She could have her let-
ters written, enclose them in these envelopes, and deposit
them in the post-office with her own hand. Thus the place
of Walden's residence would remain within her own
knowledge, and his secret would not be placed at the mercy
of any wandering Fayettevillian who might perchance go
to that part of South Carolina. By this simple means Rena
had kept as closely in touch with her mother as Walden
had considered prudent; any closer intercourse was not
consistent with their present station in life.
The night after Walden and Tryon had ridden away,
Rena dreamed again that her mother was ill. Better taught
people than she, in regions than the South Carolina of that
epoch, are disturbed at times by dreams. Mis’ Molly had a
profound faith in them. If God, in ancient times, had
!.


232 MAS QUERADE
spoken to men in visions of the night, what easier way
could there be for Him to convey His meaning to people
of all ages? Science, which has shattered many an idol and
destroyed many a delusion, has made but slight inroads
upon the shadowy realm of dreams. To Mis' Molly to
whom science would have meant nothing and psychology
would have been a meaningless term, the land of dreams
was carefully mapped and bounded. Each dream had some
special significance, or was at least susceptible to classifi-
cation under some significant head. Dreams, as a general
rule, went by contraries; but a dream three times repeated
was a certain portent of the thing defined. Rena's few
years of schooling at Fayetteville and her months at
Charleston had scarcely disturbed these hoary supersti-
tions which lurk in the dim corners of the brain. No lady
in Charleston, perhaps would have remained undisturbed
by a vivid dream, three times repeated, of some event bear-
ing materially upon her own life.
The first repetition of a dream was decisive of nothing,
for two dreams meant no more than one. The power of the
second lay in the suspense, the uncertainty, to which it
gave rise. Two doubled the chance of a third. The day fol-
lowing this second dream was an anxious one for Rena.
She could not for an instant dismiss her mother from her
thoughts, which were filled, too, with a certain self-re-
proach. She had left her mother alone; if her mother were
really ill, there was no one at home to tend her with loving
care. This feeling grew in force, until by nightfall Rena
had become very unhappy, and went to bed with dis-
mal forebodings. In this state of mind, it is not surprising
that she now dreamed that her mother was lying at the


MAS QUERADE 233
point of death, and that she cried out with heart-rendering
pathos:—
“Rena, my darlin,’ why did you forsake your po'ole'
mother? Come back to me, honey; I’ll die ef I don't see
you soon.”
The stress of subconscious emotion engendered by the
dream was powerful enough to wake Rena, and her moth-
er's utterance seemed to come to her with the force of a
fateful warning and a great reproach. Her mother was sick
and needed her, and would die if she did not come. She
felt that she must see her mother—it would be almost like
murder to remain away from her under such circum-
StanceS.
After breakfast she went into the business part of the
town and inquired what time a train would leave that
would take her towards Fayetteville. Since she had come
away from the town, a railroad had been opened by which
the long river voyage might be avoided, and, making al-
lowances for slow trains, the town of Fayetteville could be
reached by an all-rail route in about twelve hours. Calling
at the Post-Office for the family mail, she found there a
letter from her mother, which she tore open in great ex-
citement. It was written in handwriting she recognized,
and was in effect as follows:—
My Dear Daughter:—I take my pen in hand to let you
know that I am not very well. I have had a kind of misery
in my side for two weeks, with palpitations of the heart,
and I have been in bed for three days. I’m feeling mighty
poorly, but Dr. Green says that I will get over it in a few
days. Old Aunt Zilphy is staying with me, and looking after
things tolerably well. I hope this will find you and Johnny


.
234 MAS QUERADE
enjoying good health. Give my regards to Johnny and I
hope the Lord will bless him and you too. Cousin Billy
Oxendine has had a rising on his neck and has had to have
it lanced. Old man Tom Johnson was killed last week
while trying to whip Black Jim Brown who lived down on
the Wilmington road. Jim has run away. Mary B. has an-
other young one, a boy this time. There has been a big
freshet in the river and it looked for awhile that the new
bridge would be washed away.
Frank comes over every day or two and asks about you.
He says to tell you that he doesn’t believe you are coming
back any more, but he hopes that you remember him. He
is very good to me and brings over shavings and kindle-
wood and made me a new well-bucket for nothing. It is a
comfort to talk to him about you, though I haven’t told
him where you are living.
I hope this will find you and Johnny both well, and do-
ing well. I should like to see you, but if it's the Lord's will
that I shouldn't, I shall be thankful that you have done
the best for yourselves and Johnny's child, and that I have
given you up for your own good.
Your affectionate mother,
MOLLY NORTHCROSS
Rena shed tears over this simple letter, which to her ex-
cited imagination, merely confirmed the warning of her
dreams. At the date of its writing her mother had been
sick in bed with the symptoms of a serious illness. She had
no nurse but a purblind old woman. Three days of pro-
gressive illness had evidently been quite sufficient to reduce
her parent to the condition indicated by the third dream.


MAS QUERADE 235
The thought that her mother might die without the pres-
ence of any one who loved her, pierced Rena's heart like
a knife and lent wings to her feet. She determined to go at
once to Fayetteville.
Returning home, she wrote a letter to her brother, en-
closing their mother's letter, and stated that she had
dreamed an alarming dream for three nights in succession;
that she had left the house in charge of the servants and
gone to Fayetteville; and that she would return as quickly
as her mother was out of danger.
To Tryon she wrote that she had been called away to
visit a sickbed, and would return very soon, perhaps by the
time he got back to Charleston. These letters Rena posted
on her way to the train, which she took at five in the aft-
ernoon. This would bring her to Fayetteville early in the
morning of the following day.
-
l
i


&aea. 7ament, 3.24t
WAR HAS BEEN called the court of last resort. A lawsuit
may with equal aptness be compared to a battle—the
parallel may be drawn very closely all along the line. First
we have the causus belli, the cause of action; then the vari-
ous protocols and proclamations and general orders, by
way of pleas, demurrers, and motions; then the prelimi-
nary skirmishes at the trial table; and then the final strug-
gle, in which might is quite as likely to prevail as right,
victory most often resting with the strongest battalions,
and truth and justice not seldom overborne by the weight
of odds upon the other side. -
The lawsuit which Walden and Tryon had gone to try
did not, however, reach this ultimate stage, but, after a
three day engagement, resulted in a treaty of peace. The
case was compromised and settled, and Tryon and Walden
set out on their homeward drive. They stopped at a farm-
house at noon, and while at the table saw the stage-coach
from the town they had just left, pass, bound for their own
destination. In the mail-bag under the driver's seat were
Rena's two letters; they had been delivered at the town in
the morning, and immediately remailed to Charleston, in
accordance with orders left at the post-office the evening
before. Tryon and Walden drove leisurely home through
the pines, all unconscious of the squares of white paper
moving along the road, a few miles before them, which a
236


MAS QUERADE 237.
mother's yearning and a daughter's love had thrown, like
the apple of discord, into the narrow circle of their happi-
neSS.
They reached Charleston at four o'clock. Walden got
down from the buggy at his office. Tryon drove on to his
hotel, to make a hasty toilet before visiting his sweetheart.
Walden glanced at his mail, tore open the envelope ad-
dressed in his sister's handwriting, and read the contents
with something like dismay. She had gone away on the eve
of her wedding, her lover knew not where, to be gone no
one knew how long, on a mission which could not be
frankly disclosed. A dim foreboding of disaster flashed
across his mind. He thrust the letter into his pocket, with
others yet unopened, and started towards his home. Reach-
ing the gate, he paused a moment and then walked on past
the house. Tryon would probably be there in a few min-
utes, and he did not care to meet him without first having
had the opportunity for some moments of reflection. He
must fix upon some line of action in this emergency. -
Meanwhile Tryon had reached his hotel and opened his
mail. The letter from Rena was read first, with profound
disappointment. He had really made concessions in the set-
tlement of that lawsuit—had yielded several hundred dol-
lars of his just dues, in order that he might get back to
Rena three days earlier. Now he must cool his heels in idle-
ness for at least three days before she would return. It was
annoying, to say the least. He wished to know where she had
gone, that he might follow her and stay near her until she
should be ready to come back. He might ask Walden—no,
she might have had some good reason for not having men-
tioned her destination. She had probably gone to visit some


MAsquer ADE 239
be happier if he knew the note was paid and the money
used as he intended. -
“If you go to Fayetteville, call on my cousin, Dr. Ed
Green, and tell him who you are. Give him my love. I
haven’t seen him for twenty years. He used to be very fond
of the ladies, a very gallant man. He can direct you to a
good lawyer, no doubt. Hoping to see you soon,
Your loving mother, ELIZABETH TRYON
P. S. Blanche joins me in love to you.”
This affectionate and motherly letter did not give Tryon
unalloyed satisfaction. He was glad to hear that his mother
was well, but he had hoped that Blanche Leary might have
finished her visit by this time. The reasonable inference
from the letter was that Blanche meant to await his return.
Her presence would spoil the fine romantic flavor of the
surprise he had planned for his mother. It would never do
to expose his bride to an unannounced meeting with the
woman whom he had tacitly rejected. There would be one
advantage in such a meeting: the comparison of the two
women would be so much in Rena's favor that his mother
could not hesitate for a moment between them. The situa-
tion, however, would have elements of constraint, and he
did not care to expose either Rena or Blanche to any dis-
agreeable contingency. It would be better to take his wife
on a wedding trip, and notify his mother, before he re-
turned home, of his marriage. In the extremely improbable
case that she should disapprove his choice after having seen
his wife, the ice would at least have been broken before his
arrival at home.
“By jove!” he exclaimed suddenly, striking his knee with
his hand, “why shouldn't I run up to Fayetteville while


240 - - MAS QUERADE
Rena's gone? I can leave here at five o’clock, and get there
some time tomorrow morning. I can transact my business
during the day and get back the day after tomorrow; for
Rena might return ahead of time, just as we did, and I shall
want to be here when she comes; I'd rather wait a year for
a legal opinion on a doubtful note than to lose one day with
my love. The train goes in forty minutes. My bag is al-
ready packed. I'll just drop a line to George and tell him
where I’ve gone.”
He put Rena's letter into his breast pocket, and turning
to his trunk, took from it a handful of papers relating to
the claim in reference to which he was going to Fayette-
ville. These he thrust into the same pocket with Rena's let-
ter; he wished to read both letter and papers while on the
train. It would be a pleasure merely to hold the letter be-
fore his eyes and look at the lines traced by her hand. The
papers he wished to study, for the more practical purpose
of examining into the merits of his claim against the estate
of Duncan McSwayne.
When Walden reached home, he inquired if Mr. Tryon
had called.
“No, suh,” the nurse answered, to whom he had put the
question; “He ain’t been heah yet, suh.”
Walden was surprised and much disturbed.
“The baby’s been cryin’ fo’ Mis’ Rena,” the nurse sug-
gested, “an I spec’ he’d lak tu see you, suh. Shall I fetch
him?”
“Yes, bring him to me.”
He took the child in his arms and went out upon the pi-
azza. Several porch pillows lay invitingly near. He pushed
them toward the steps with his foot, sat down on one, and


MAs QUERADE 241
placed little Albert upon another. He was scarcely seated
when a messenger from the hotel came up the walk from
the gate and handed him a note. At the same moment he
heard the long shriek of the afternoon train leaving the
station on the opposite side of the town.
He tore the envelope open anxiously, read the note,
smiled a weak and sickly smile, and clinched the paper in
his hand unconsciously. There was nothing he could do. It
had been done for him—by the strange hand of fate. The
train had gone; there was no telegraph to Fayetteville and
no letter could leave Charleston for twenty-four hours, go-
ing to Fayetteville. The best laid schemes of mice and men
go wrong at times—the staunchest ships are sometimes
wrecked or skirt the breakers perilously. Life is a sea, full
of strange currents and uncharted reefs—whoever leaves
the traveled path must run the danger of destruction. Wal-
den was a lawyer, however, and accustomed to balance
probabilities.
“He may easily be in Fayetteville a day or two without
meeting her. She will spend most of her time at mother's
bedside, and he will be occupied with his own affairs.”
If Tryon should meet her—well, he was very much in
love and he had spoken very nobly of birth and blood.
Walden would have preferred, nevertheless, that Tryon's
theories should not be put to this particular test. Rena's
scruples had so far been successfully combated; the ques-
tion would be open again, and the situation unnecessarily
complicated, if Tryon should meet Rena in Fayetteville.
“Will he or will he not?” Walden asked himself. He took
a coin from his pocket and spun it upon the floor. “Heads,
he sees her; tails, he does not.”


:
:
242 MASQUERADE
The coin spun swiftly and steadily, leaving upon the eye
the impression of a revolving sphere. Little Albert, left for
a moment to his own devices, had crept behind his father
and was watching the whirling disk with great pleasure.
He felt that he would like to possess this interesting object.
The coin began to move more slowly, losing momentum,
and was wabbling to its fall, when the child stretched forth
his chubby fist and caught it ere it touched the floor.


6%aaten 7aeat. 7&ae
TRYoN ARRIVED IN the early morning and put up at the
Fayetteville Hotel, a very comfortable inn. After a bath,
breakfast, and a visit to the barber-shop, he inquired of thc
hotel clerk the way to the office of Dr. Green, his mother's
cousin.
“On the corner, sir,” the clerk replied, “by the market
house just over the drugstore. The doctor drove past here
only half an hour ago. You'll probably catch him in his of
fice.”
Tryon found the office without difficulty. He climbed
the stair but found no one in except a colored boy, seated
in the outer office, who rose promptly as Tryon entered.
“No, suh,” the boy replied to Tryon's question, “he ain’t
in now. He's gone out to see a patient, suh, but he'll be
back soon. Won't you set down in de private office an’ wait
fo’ ‘im, suh?”
Tryon had not slept well during his journey and felt
somewhat fatigued. Through the open door of the next
room he saw an inviting armchair, with a window at onc
side, and upon the other, a table strewn with papers and
magazines.
“Yes,” he replied in answer to the boy's invitation. “I’ll
wait.”
He entered the private office, sank into the armchair, and
looked out of the window upon the square below. The view

243


244 MAS QUERADE
was mildly interesting. The old brick market-house with
the tower was quite picturesque. On a wagon-scale at one
end of the public square, a weightmaster was weighing a
load of hay. In the booths under the wide arches, several old
Negro women were frying fish on little charcoal stoves—
the odor would have been appetizing to one who had not
breakfasted. On the shady-side stood half a dozen two-
wheeled carts, loaded with lightwood and drawn by two
diminutive steers, or superanuated army mules, branded on
the flank with the cabalistic letters “C. S. A.,” which rep-
resented a vanished dream, or “U. S. A.,” which, as any
Negro about the market-house would have borne witness,
signified a very concrete fact. Now and then a lady or a
gentleman passed with leisure step—no one ever hurried
during those days in Fayetteville—or some poor white
sandhiller slouched listlessly along toward a store or bar-
room. -
Tryon mechanically counted the slabs of ginger bread on
the nearest market-stall, and calculated the cubical con-
tents of several of the meagre loads of wood. Having ex-
hausted this view, he turned to the table at his elbow and
picked up a medical journal, in which he read, first, an ac-
count of a marvelous surgical operation. Turning the leaves
idly, he came upon an article by a Southern writer, upon
the perennial race problem that had vexed the country for
a century. The writer maintained that owing to a special
tendency of the Negro blood, however diluted, to revert
to the African type, any future amalgamation of the white
and black races, which foolish and wicked Northern Ne-
grophiles predicted as the ultimate result of the new con-
ditions confronting the South, would therefore be an eth-


MASQUERADE 247
presence would suggest life and hope and healthfullness.
“My dear boy,” the doctor exclaimed cordially, after
Tryon had introduced himself, “I’m delighted to meet you
—or any one of the old blood. Your mother and I were
sweethearts, long ago, when we both were pinafores, and
went to see our grandfather at Christmas; and I met her
more than once, and paid her more than one compliment,
after she had grown to be a fine young woman. You're like
her, too, but not quite so handsome—you've more of what
I suppose to be the Tryon favor, though I never met your
father. So one of old Duncan McSwayne's notes went so
far as that? Well, well, I don’t know where you won’t find
them. One of them turned up here the other day from
New York. -
“The man you want to see,” he added later in the con-
versation, “is old Judge Straight. He's getting somewhat
stiff in the joints, but he knows more law, and more about
the McSwayne estate, than any other two lawyers in town.
If anybody can collect your claim, Judge Straight can. I’ll
send my boy Dave over to his office. Dave,” he turned and
called loudly to the sleepy looking colored office boy.
“Yassuh?” Dave replied, waking quickly and hustling to
his feet, stood before the doctor.
“Run over to Judge Straight's office and see if he's
there.”
“Yassuh,” Dave replied and dashed quickly away, Doc-
tor Green turned back to Tryon and continued.
“There was a freshet here a few weeks ago, and they
had to open the flood-gates and let the water out of the
mill pond, for if the dam had broken, as it did twenty years
ago, it would have washed the pillars from under the


248 MASQUERADE
judge's office and let it down in the creek, and—”
It was Dave, who had been to the judge's office.
“Uh, Dr. Green, Jedge Straight ain’t in his office jes'
now, suh. Naw, suh, he ain’t in his office.”
“Did you inquire of anybody when he'd be back?”
Dave's face fell. He swallowed guiltily, then, shaking his
head:
“Naw, suh. You didn’t tell me to ask dat, suh.”
Dr. Green shook his head hopelessly, looked across at
Tryon, who smiled at the humor of it, then turned back
to Dave with a deep frown on his face.
“Well, go back now and inquire.”
“Yassuh.” Dave replied, as if relieved, and turning
dashed back down the stairs again.
“The niggers,” Dr. Green turned back to Tryon to ex-
plain. “Are getting mighty trifling since they’ve been
freed. Before the war that boy would have been around
there and back before you could have said Jack Robinson.
Now, the lazy rascal takes his time—just like a white
man.”
Dave returned now, more promptly than from his first
trip. “Jedge Straight's dare now, yassuh. ‘E done come in.”
“I’ll take you right around and introduce you,” the doc-
tor said, rising to his feet with Tryon following suit. The
doctor was a talkative man and never seemed to stop long
enough to get his breath. “I don’t know whether the judge
ever met your mother or not, but he knows a gentleman
when he sees one, and will be glad to meet you and look
after your affair.” They were leaving the office and ap-
proaching the stairway, when something seemed to occur
(


MASQUERADE 249
to him and he caught Tryon by the arm, paused, and
turned back. w
“See to the patients, Dave, and say I’ll be back shortly,
and don’t forget any messages left for me. Look sharp
now!” he exclaimed, raising his hand in a gesture of warn-
ing and looking hard at Dave, who just grinned back at
him and sat down in a comfortable seat, preparatory to
taking another nap. “You know your failing!” Again Dave
grinned, and before the men reached the bottom of the
stairway he lay back and was fast asleep.
They found Judge Straight in his office. He was seated
by the rear window and had fallen into a gentle doze. The
air of Fayetteville was conducive to slumber. A visitor
from some hustling city might have rubbed his eyes, on
any but a market-day, and imagined the whole town asleep;
that the people were somnambulists and did not know it.
The judge, an old hand, roused himself so skillfully, at the
sound of approaching footsteps, that his visitors could not
guess but that he had been wide awake. He shook hands
with the doctor, and acknowledged the introduction to
Tryon with a rare, old-fashioned courtesy, which the
young man thought a very charming survival of the man-
ners of a past and happier age.
“No,” the judge replied, in answer to a question by Dr.
Green, “I never met his mother; I was a generation ahead
of her. I was at school with her father, however, fifty years
ago—fifty years ago! No doubt that seems to you a long
time, young man?”
“It is a long time, sir,” Tryon replied. “I must live twice
as long as I have to cover it.”
“A long time and a troubled time,” the judge sighed. “I


250 MAS QUERADr.
could wish that I might see this unhappy land at peace
with itself before I die. Things are in a sad tangle; I can’t
see the way out. But the worst enemy has been slain, in
spite of us. We are well rid of slavery.”
“But the Negro we still have with us,” the doctor re-
marked, his face really serious for the first time. “For here
comes my man, Dave. What is it now, David?” his ques-
tion was sharp and his eyes were hard on the boy. He had
a suspicion. -
“Doctuh Green,” Dave said. “Ah fugot to tell you, suh,
dat dat young ‘oman wuz at de office agin' befo' you come
in, and said fo you to go rat down an’ see uh mammy ez
soon as you could.”
“Ah, yes, and you’ve just remembered it! I'm afraid
you’re entirely too forgetful for a Doctor's office. You for-
got about old Mrs. Latimer, the other day, and when I got
there she had almost choked to death. Now get back to the
office,” he said sharply, waving a threatening finger at
Dave, who shied away with that silly grin as before on his
face. “And remember that the next time you forget any-
thing, I’ll hire another boy; remember that!”
Bowing apologetically, Dave backed out of the office and
in the door, turned and ran away. Doctor Green, with
flashing eyes, had watched him out of sight, now turned
back to his companions.
“That boy's head,” he remarked, touching both his tem-
ples, “reminds me of nothing so much as a dried gourd,
with a hand-full of cow peas rattling around in it, in lieu
of gray matter. An old woman out in Redbank got a fish-
bone in her throat, the other day, and nearly choked to
death before I got there. A white woman, sir, came very


MASQUERADE 251
near losing her life because of a lazy, trifling Negro.”
“I should think you would discharge him, sir,” suggested
Tryon. -
“What would be the use?” the doctor rejoined. “All Ne-
groes are alike, irresponsible, except that now and then
there's a pretty woman along the borderline. Take this pa-
tient of mine, for instant—I’ll call on her after dinner. Her
case is not serious. Thirty years ago she would have made
any man turn his head to look at her. You know who I
mean, don’t you, judge?”
“Yes, I think so,” the judge said promptly. “I transact a
little business for her now and then myself.”
“I don’t know whether you’ve seen the daughter or not
—I’m sure you haven’t for the past year or so, for she's
been away. But she's in town now; and, by jove, the girl
is really beautiful. And I’m a judge of beauty. Do you re-
member my wife thirty years ago, judge?”
“She was a very handsome woman, Ed,” the other re-
plied judicially. “If I had been twenty years younger I
should have cut you out.”
“You mean you would have tried,” the doctor replied
with a laugh, which brought a smile from the other two
men. “But as I was saying,” the doctor went on. “The girl
is a beauty; I reckon we might guess where she got some
of it, eh, Judge? Human nature is human nature, but it’s a
damned shame that a man should beget a child like that
and leave it to live the life open for a Negro. If she had
een born white, the young fellows would be tumbling
over each other to get her. Her mother would have to look
after her very closely as things are, if she stayed here; but
she disappeared mysteriously a year or two ago and has been


252 MAS QUERADE
at the North, I’m told, passing for white. She’ll probably
marry a Yankee; he won’t know any better, and it will
serve him right—she's only too white for them. She has a
very striking figure, something on the Greek order, stately
and slow-moving. She has the manners of a lady, too—a
beautiful woman, if she is a nigger!”
“I quite agree with you, Ed,” the judge remarked dryly,
“that the mother had better look closely after the daugh-
ter.”
“Ah, no, Judge,” the other replied, with a flattered
smile, “my admiration for beauty is purely abstract. Twen-
ty-five years ago when I was young—”
“When you were younger,” the judge corrected, and
smiled enigmatically.
“When you and I were young,” the doctor continued in-
geniously. “Twenty-five years ago I could not have an-
swered for myself. But would advise the girl to stay at the
North, if she can. She's certainly out of place around
here.”
Tryon found the subject a little tiresome, and the doc-
tor's enthusiasm not at all contagious. He could not have
possibly been interested in a colored girl, under any cir-
cumstances. He was sure of that. And he was engaged to
be married to the most beautiful white woman on earth.
To mention a Negro woman in the same room where he
was thinking of Rena seemed little short of profanation.
His friend, the doctor, was a jovial fellow, but it was surely
doubtful taste to refer to his wife in such a conversation.
He was very glad when the doctor dropped the subject and
permitted him to go more into detail about the matter
which formed his business in Fayetteville. He took out of


MAS QUERADE 253
his pocket the papers concerning the McSwayne claim and
laid them on the judge's desk.
“You’ll find everything there, sir, the note, the con-
tract and some correspondence that will give you the hang
of the thing. Will you be able to look them over today? I
should like,” he added, a little nervously, “to go back to-
morrow.”
“What!” Dr. Green exclaimed, vivaciously, “insult our
town by staying only one day? It won't be long enough to
get acquainted with our young ladies. Fayetteville girls are
famous for their beauty. But perhaps there's a loadstone in
South Carolina to draw you back? Ah, you change color!
To my mind there's nothing finer than the ingenuous blush
of youth. But we’ll spare you if you'll answer one question
—is it serious?” -
“I’m to be married in two weeks, sir,” Tryon replied,
blushing deeper. The statement sounded very pleasant, in
spite of the slight embarrassment caused by the inquiry.
“Good boy!” the doctor rejoined, taking his arm famil-
iarly—they were both standing now. “You ought to have
married a Fayetteville girl, but you people down toward
the eastern counties seldom come this way, and we are evi-
dently too late to catch you.”
“I’ll look your papers over this morning,” the judge said,
“and when I come from dinner will stop at the courthouse
and examine the record and see if there's anything we can
get hold of. If you’ll drop in around three or four o'clock,
I may be able to give you an opinion.”
“Now, George,” the doctor exclaimed, “we’ll go back to
the office for a spell, and then I’ll take you home with me
to luncheon.”


254 MASQUERADE
Tryon hesitated.
“Oh, you must come! Mrs. Green would never forgive
me if I didn't bring you. Strangers are rare birds in our so-
ciety, and when they come we make them welcome. Our
enemies may overturn our institutions, and try to put the
bottom rail on top, but they cannot destroy our Southern
hospitality. There are so many carpet-baggers and other
social vermin creeping into the South, with the Yankees
trying to force the niggers on us, that it's a genuine pleas-
ure to get acquainted with another real Southern gentle-
man, whom one can invite into one's house without fear
of contamination, and before whom one can express his
feelings freely and be sure of perfect sympathy.”


256 MAS QUERADE
hand, it dawned upon him slowly that he held also one of
the links in a chain of possible tragedy which he himself,
he became uncomfortably aware, had had a hand in forg-
ing.
“It is the Walden woman's daughter, as sure as fate! Her
name is Rena. Her brother goes by the name of Walden.
She has come to visit her sick mother. My young client,
Green's relation, is her lover—is engaged to marry her! Is
in town, and is likely to meet her!”
The judge was so absorbed in the situation thus suggested
that he laid the papers down and pondered for a moment
the curious problem involved. He was quite aware that two
races had not dwelt together, without their blood in great-
er or less degree; he was old enough, and had seen curious
things enough to know that in this mingling the current
had not always ran in one direction. Certain old decisions
with which he was familiar; old scandals that had crept
along obscure channels; old facts that had come to the
knowledge of an old practitioner, who held in the hollow
of his hand the honor of more than one family, made him
know that there was dark blood among the white people—
not a great deal, and that very much diluted, as, so long as
it was sedulously concealed or vigorously denied, or lost in
the midst of tradition, or ascribed to a foreign or an ab-
original strain, having no perceptible effect upon the ra-
cial type.
Such people were, for the most part, merely on the
ragged edge of the white world, seldom rising above the
level of overseers or slave-catchers, or sheriff officers, who
usually could be relied upon to resent the drop of black
blood that tainted them, and with the zeal of the proselyte


MASQUERADE 257
to visit their hatred of it upon the unfortunate blacks that
fell into their hands. One curse of slavery was, and one
part of its baleful heritage is, that it poisoned the fountains
of human sympathy. Under a system where men might
sell their own children without social reprobation or loss of
prestige, it was not surprising that some of them should
hate their distant cousins. There were not in Fayetteville
half a dozen persons capable of thinking Judge Straight's
thoughts upon the question before him, and perhaps not
another who would have adopted the course he now pur-
sued toward this anomalous family in the house behind the
cedars.
“Well, here we are again, as the clown in the circus re-
marks,” the Judge murmured. “Almost fifteen years ago
in a moment of sentimental weakness, and of quixotic
loyalty to an old friend, who, by the way, had not cared
enough for his own children to take them away from the
South, as he might have done or to provide for them in his
will which he perhaps intended to do, I violated the tradi-
tions of my class and stepped from the beaten path to
help the misbegotten son of my old friend out of the slough
of despond, in which he had learned, in some strange way,
that he was floundering. And now, the ghost of my good
deed returns to haunt me, and makes me doubt whether I
have wrought more evil than good. I wonder,” he mused,
“if he will find her out?”
The judge was a man of imagination; he had read many
books and had personally outlived some prejudices. He let
his mind run on the various phases of the situation.
“If he found her out, would he by any possibility marry
her?”


MAS QUERADE 259
“It may be the unwisest thing I ever did,” he said to
himself, turning to his desk and picking up a quill pen,
“and may result in more harm than good; but I was al-
ways from childhood in sympathy with the under dog.
There is certainly as much reason in my helping the girl
as the boy, for being a woman, she is less able to help her-
self.”
He dipped his pen into the ink and wrote the following
lines:—
Madam:—If you value your daughter's happiness, keep
her at home for the next day or two.
This note he dried by sprinkling it with sand from a box
near at hand, signed with his own name, and with a fine
courtesy, addressed to, “Mrs. Molly Northcross.” Having
first carefully sealed it in an envelope, he stepped to the
open door and spied a group of Negro boys, one of whom
the Judge called by name.
“Here, Billy,” he said, handing the boy the note, “take
this to Mrs. Molly Northcross. Do you know where she
lives—out on the old Wilmington Road, in the house be-
hind the cedars?”
“Yas, suh, ah knows de place.”
“Make haste now. When you come back and tell me
what she says, I’ll give you a dime.” He handed the boy the
note, and then as he was doing so, he had a more considered
thought. He paused, looked at the boy with this thought
in mind.
“On second thought, Billy, I'm afraid I may be gone to
lunch when you come back, so here's your money,” he
added, handing the lad the coin.
Just here, however, the Judge made his mistake. Very


260 - MAS QUERADE
few mortals can spare the spring of hope, the motive force
of expectation. The boy kept the note in his hand, winked
at his companions, who had gathered as near as their awe of
the judge would permit, and started down the street. As
soon as the Judge had disappeared, Billy beckoned to his
friends, who speedily overtook him. When the party
turned the corner of Front street and were safely out of
sight of Judge Straight's office, the capitalist entered a
grocery and invested his unearned increment in ginger-
bread. When the ensuing saturnalia was over, Billy finished
the game of marbles which the Judge had interrupted, and
then set out to execute his commission. He had nearly
reached his objective point when he met upon the street a
young, apparently white lady, whom he did not know, and
for whom, the path being narrow at that point, he stepped
out into the gutter. He reached the house behind the ce-
dars, went round to the back door, and handed the en-
velope to Mis’ Molly, who was seated on the rear piazza,
propped up by pillows in a comfortable rocking chair.
“Laws—a mussey:” she exclaimed weakly, “what is it?”
“It’s a lettuh, ma'am,” and to the boy, whose expanding
nostrils had caught a pleasant odor from the kitchen, and
who was therefore in no hurry to go away.
“Who’s it fer?” she asked.
“Hit’s for’ you, ma'am,” the lad replied.
“Who’s it frum?” she inquired, turning the envelope
over and over, and examining it with the impotent curi-
osity of one who cannot read.
“F”um ole' Jedge Straight, ma'am. He tole me tu fetch it
to yuh.” Then, after another sniff, he turned to Mis’ Molly
solicitously.


MAS QUERADE - 261
“Is you got a roasted ‘tater you could gimme, ma'am?”
“Sholy, chile. I’ll have aunt Zilphy fetch you a piece of
‘tater pone, ef you’ll hole on a minet.”
She called to aunt Zilphy, who soon came hobbling out
of the kitchen with a large square of the delicacy, a flat
cake made of mashed sweet potatoes, mixed with beaten
eggs, sweetened and flavored to suit the taste, and baked in
a dutch oven upon the open hearth. -
The boy took the gratuity, thanked her, and turned to
go. Mis’ Molly was still scanning the superscription of the
letter. “Ah wonduh,” she murmured, “whut ole Jedge
Straight c’n be writin’ tu me ‘bout? Oh, boy!”
“Yes'm?” the messenger answered, looking back.
“Can you read writin’?”
“No’m.”
“All right. Never mind.”
She laid the letter carefully on the chimney piece of the
kitchen.
“I reckon it’s somethin’ mo’ ‘bout the taxes,” she
thought, “or maybe somebody wants to buy one of my
lots. Rena’ll be back ‘terectly, and she'll read it and fin’
out. I’m glad my children have been to school. They never
could have got where they are now if they hadn't.”


6%aate, 7%t, due
MENTION HAS BEEN made of certain addressed envelopes
John Walden, on the occasion of his visit, had left with his
illiterate mother by the use of which she might communi-
cate with her children from time to time. On one occasion
Mis' Molly, having had a letter written, took one of these
envelopes from the chest where she kept her most valued
possessions, and was about to enclose the letter when some
one knocked at the door. She laid the envelope and letter
on a table in her bedroom, and went to answer the knock
on the door. The wind, blowing across the room through
the open windows, picked up the envelope and bore it into
the street. Mis' Molly on her return, missed it, looked for
it, and being unable to find it, took another envelope. An
hour or two later another gust of wind lifted the bit of
paper from the ground and carried it into the open door of
the cooper shop. Frank picked it up, and observing that it
was clean and unused, read the superscription.
In his conversations with Mis’ Molly, which were often
about Rena—the subject uppermost in both their minds,-
he had noted the mystery maintained by Mis’ Molly about
her daughter's whereabouts, and had often wondered at
this peculiar silence. As we know, Frank was an intelligent
fellow, and could put this and that together. The en-
velope was addressed to a place in South Carolina. He was
aware, from her remarks, that Rena had gone to live in
262


MAS QUERADE 263
South Carolina. Her son's name was John—that he had
changed his last name was more than likely. Frank was not
long in reaching the conclusion that Rena was to be found
near the town named on the envelope, which he carefully
preserved for future reference.
For a whole year Frank had yearned for a smile or a kind
word from the only woman in the world that mattered.
Although of a dark complexion, Frank Fowler was little
short of handsome, and there were plenty of girls in and
around Fayetteville who would have welcomed his atten-
tions. After Rena disappeared so mysteriously, and, know-
ing that they had been greatly devoted to each other,
Frank's parents were hoping that he would give up the
thoughts of Rena, whom they had learned enough regard-
ing, to feel that she had gone back with her brother, and
since they knew he was passing for white, could only con-
clude that he had taken her back to do the same thing. This
angered them. There is always a division between dark
colored people and light ones, and the dark ones are for-
ever ready to accuse the other—that is the lighter ones, of
being “stuck-up” and “think they are better than us.” It
also angers the dark ones, this thought.
Convinced that Frank was still thinking about Rena,
and, perhaps living in the hope that something would hap-
pen and that she would return, Frank Fowler's father took
it upon himself to speak seriously to his son about the situa-
tion.
“It’s time now, Frank, for you to be looking around and
considering some nice girl who will appreciate your effort
to better yourself and perhaps make some girl a good hus-
band. While the Northcross' haven’t been bad neighbors,


:
:
º
264 MAS QUERADE
and we were all led for a long time to think that you and
Rena would—find something in common with each other,
it is obvious that her brother has overruled you. So why not
write her off your memory and pay some attention to girls
who are not expecting to “pass for white?”
When Rena came back unexpectedly at the behest of
her dreams, Frank heard again the music of her voice, felt
the joy of her presence and the benison of her smile. There
was, however, a subtle difference in her bearing. Her words
were not less kind, but they seemed to come from a re-
moter source. She was kind as the sun is warm or the rain
refreshing; she was especially kind to Frank, because he had
been good to her mother. If Frank felt the difference in her
attitude, he ascribed it to the fact that she had been white,
and had taken on something of the white attitude toward
the Negro; and Frank, with an equal unconsciousness,
clothed her with the attributes of the superior race. Only
her drop of black blood, he conceived, gave him the right
to feel toward her as he would never have felt without it;
and if Rena guessed her faithful devotee's secret, the same
reason saved his worship from presumption. A smile and a
kind word were little enough to pay for a life's devotion.
On the third day of Rena's presence in Fayetteville,
Frank was driving up Front street in the early afternoon,
when he nearly fell off his cart in astonishment as he saw,
seated in Dr. Green's buggy, which was standing in front
of the Fayetteville Hotel, the young man whom he had
seen, only the day before, at Rena's house, in a photograph
standing beside Rena, and under which he had read, “From
Rena to George with love,” and had concluded rightly,
that this was the man who had come into her life when she


MASQUERADE 265
went to live with her brother; to do as he was doing, pass
for white. He paused to take a closer look at the man, and
then sat back convinced beyond a reasonable doubt. He
tried to figure out the combination, but could reach only
one conclusion: he was Rena's engaged sweetheart, here by
some strange and mysterious train of events, now languish-
ing for a while at least, in Fayetteville!
Frank was quite certain that Rena didn't know of his
- presence in the town. Frank had been over to see Mis’ Mol-
ly in the morning, and had offered his services to the sick
woman, who had rapidly become convalescent upon her
daughter's return. Mis’ Molly had spoken of some camphor
that she needed. Frank had volunteered to get it. Rena had
thanked him and spoken of going to the drugstore during
the afternoon. It was her intention to leave Fayetteville the
next day and return to Charleston.
Frank realized in a flash if Tryon saw Rena, it would
surprise him; surprise her; the situation would very shortly
explain itself—and then! He sighed and shook his head.
Suddenly, then, Frank was assailed by a new thought; a
very strong temptation. Was it the devil working within
him? If, as he surmised, the joint presence of the two lovers
in Fayetteville was a mere coincidence, a meeting between
them would almost surely result in his discovery of Rena's
secret. Meanwhile, the voice of the tempter was whispering
softly into his ear:
“If she's found out,” the voice was saying, “she'll come
back to her mother—and to you. . . .”
He hesitated only briefly, realizing of a sudden that he
had never done anything to be ashamed of. His love for her
was not of the selfish kind. He put temptation aside, and


266 MAS QUERADE
applied the whip quickly to the back of his mule, with a
vigor that astonished the animal and moved him to un-
wonted activity. In an unusually short space of time, he
drew up before Mis' Molly's back-gate, sprang from the
cart, and ran up to Mis' Molly on the back porch.
“Is Rena here?” he demanded breathlessly.
“No, Frank, she went uptown about an hour ago to see
the Doctor and to git me some camphor gum.”
Frank uttered a groan, rushed from the house, sprang
into the cart and goaded the terrified mule into a gallop
which carried him back to the market house in half the
time it had taken him to reach Mis’ Molly's.
“I wonder what in the worl’s the matter with Frank,”
Mis' Molly mused in vague alarm. “Ef he hadn’t been in
such a hurry, I’d a axed him tu read Jedge Straight's let-
ter.” She sighed, and adjusted her position uneasily, and
then said to herself: “Well, Rena’ll be home soon.”
When Frank reached the doctor's office, the first thing
he noted was that the doctor's buggy had moved from in
front of the hotel to the front of the doctor's office, and
Rena's lover was still seated in it as before. We have ex-
plained previously, that the Doctor's office was located
over the drugstore which stood on a corner.
Frank ran upstairs and was met by Dave, whom he asked
if Rena had been there.
“Yeah,” Dave replied, and came forward and paused at
top of steps that led downstairs. Pointing with a finger, he
went on: “She wuz heah a lil' while ago, and said she wuz
gwine downstairs to de drugsto'. I wouldn't be 'sprised ef
you didn’t fin’ helh down dare now.”


268 MAS QUERADE
—footprints of the god of war, one of whose temples had
crowned this height.
For many years before the rebellion, a Federal arsenal
had been located at Fayetteville. Seized by state troops dur-
ing the secession of North Carolina, it had been held by the
Confederates until the approach of Sherman's victorious
army, whereupon it was evacuated and partly destroyed.
The work of destruction begun by the retreating garrison
was completed by the conquerors, and now only ruined
walls and broken cannon remained of what had once been
the chief ornament and pride of Fayetteville.
The front of Dr. Green’s spacious brick house, which
occupied an ideally picturesque site, was overgrown by a
network of clinging vines, contrasting most agreeably with
the mellow red background. A low brick wall, also over-
run with creepers, separated the premises from the street
and shut in a well kept flower garden, in which Tryon,
who knew something of plants, noticed many rare and
beautiful specimens.
Mrs. Green greeted Tryon cordially. He did not have the
doctor's memory with which to fill out the lady's cheeks or
restore the lustre of her hair or the sparkle of her eyes, and
thereby justify her husband's claim to be a judge of beau-
ty; but her kind-hearted hospitality was obvious, and
might have made even a plain woman seem handsome. She
and her two fair daughters, to whom Tryon was duly pre-
sented, looked with much favor upon their handsome
young kinsman; for among the people of Fayetteville, per-
haps by virtue of the prevalence of Scottish blood, the ties
of blood were cherished as things of value, and never for-


MAS QUERADE - 269
gotten except in the case of the unworthy—an exception,
by the way, which one need hardly go far to seek.
The Fayetteville people were not exceptional in the
weaknesses and meanesses which are common to all man-
kind, but for some of the finer social qualities they were
conspicuously above the average. Kindness, hospitality,
loyalty, a chivalrous deference to women,_all these things
might be found in large measure by those who saw Fay-
etteville with the eyes of its best citizens, and accepted
their standard of politics, religion, manners, and morals.
The doctor, after the introductions, excused himself for
a moment. Mrs. Green soon left Tryon with the young
ladies and went to look after luncheon. Her first errand,
however, was to find the doctor.
“Is he well off, Ed?” she asked her husband in an anxious
whisper.
“Lots of land and plenty of money, if he is ever able to
collect it. He has inherited two estates.”
“He’s sure a good-looking fellow,” she mused. “Is he
married?”
“There you go again,” her husband replied, shaking his
forefinger at her in mock reproach. “To a woman with
marriageable daughters, all roads lead to matrimony, the
centre of a woman's universe. All men must be sized up
by their matrimonial availability. No, he isn’t married.”
“That’s nice,” she rejoined reflectively. “I think we
ought to ask him to stay with us while he is in town, don't
you?”
“He’s not married,” the doctor rejoined slyly; “but the
next thing, he's engaged.”


i
270
MAS QUERADE
He noticed his wife start, ever so slightly, and then she
changed, promptly. The next words confirmed the fact
that she had. -
“Come to think of it,” she said, “I’m afraid we wouldn’t
have the room to spare, and the girls would hardly have
time to entertain him. But we’ll have him up several times
while he is here. I like his looks. I wish you had sent me
word that you were bringing him. I'd have had a better
luncheon.”
“Make him a salad,” the doctor suggested, “and get out
a bottle of the best claret. Thank God! The Yankees didn’t
get into my wine cellar. The young man must be treated
with genuine Southern hospitality—even if he were a mor-
mon and married ten times over.”
“Indeed, he would not, Ed—the idea! I’m ashamed of
you. Now, get out, hurry back to the parlor and talk to
him. The girls may want to primp a little before luncheon;
we don’t have a young man to call every day.”
“Beauty unadorned,” the doctor replied, “is adorned the
most. My profession qualifies me to speak upon the subject.
They are the two handsomest young women in Fayette-
ville, and the daughters of the most beautiful—”
“Don’t you dare say the word,” Mrs. Green interrupted,
raising her hand, but with placid good nature. “I shall
never grow old while living with a big boy like you. But I
must go and make the salad.”
At dinner the conversation ran on the family connec-
tions and their varying fortunes in the late war. Some had
died upon the battlefield, and slept in unknown graves;
some had been financially ruined by their faith in the “lost
cause,” having invested their all in the securities of the


MAS QUERADE 271
Confederate government. Few had anything left but land,
and land without slaves to work it was a drug on the mar-
ket.
“I was offered a thousand acres the other day, at twenty-
five cents an acre,” the doctor remarked. “The owner is so
land poor that he can’t pay the taxes. They have taken our
Negroes and our liberties. It may be better for our grand-
children that the Negroes are free, but it was confoundedly
hard on us for the North to free them without giving us
anything for them.”
“I have heard, Dr. Green,” Tryon suggested at this
point, “that while Abraham Lincoln was campaigning for
election, that he often suggested compensating the slave-
holders for the Negroes and setting them free. That seemed
like a fair and reasonable idea, since the North was swept
so by the Abolitionist fever.”
“Yes, you are right, and Abraham Lincoln did say a
great deal about that very thing and often; and now, years
later, when we’ve had a chance to cool off, the war and the
defeat that followed, cooled us all off, but while he was say-
ing it, nobody would listen, and he could get nowhere with
the idea. The South insisted that the North let her alone
about the slave question, but the North had the Abolition
fever and refused to call off her Abolition dogs. I do believe
at this time, however, that if the South hadn’t rushed to
secede and set up the Confederacy even before Lincoln had
a chance to take his seat, that he would have, sooner or
later, gotten the country to listen to reason, do what he
often suggested, floated a big bond issue and paid us for our
niggers, and there would have been no war and we would
have all the money we blowed in trying to beat the Yan-


272 MAS QUERADE
kees—when we never had a chance, the niggers would have
been freed and would now be working for us instead of
trying to boss us as the carpet-baggers have them doing.”
“Well,” Tryon said with a sigh. “I guess it's too late to
cry over spilled milk.”
“We’ve got plenty crying to do and no money to buy
handkerchiefs to wipe the tears,” Dr. Green opined.
“They exalt our slaves, but it is only temporarily. But they
have not broken our spirit and cannot take away our su-
periority of blood and breeding. In due time we shall over-
throw the stupid niggers and regain full control. The Ne-
gro is an inferior creature; God has marked him with the
badge of servitude, and has adjusted his intellect to a servile
condition. We will not long submit to his domination. I
give you a toast, sir:”
Raising his glass, filled with fine claret:
“The Anglo-Saxon Race: may it remain forever, as now,
the head and front of creation, never yielding its rights,
and ready always to die, if need be, in defense of its liber-
ties!”
“With all my heart, sir,” Tryon replied, who felt in this
company a thrill of that pleasure which accompanies con-
scious superiority. “With all my heart, sir, if the ladies will
permit.”
“We will join you,” all three replied in chorus, lifting
their glasses. The toast was drunk with great enthusiasm.
“And now, my dear George,” the doctor exclaimed, “to
change one good subject for another, tell us who is the fav-
ored young lady?”
“A Miss Rowena Walden, sir,” Tryon replied promptly
and proudly, vividly conscious of four pairs of eyes fixed


274 - MASQUERADE
to exclaim, consulting his watch suddenly. “I must be go-
ing!”
He got quickly to his feet, turned to look at Tryon who
stood up, too.
“Will you stay with the ladies awhile, or go back down-
town with me?”
“I think I had better go with you, sir. I shall, if you re-
call, have to see Judge Straight.”
“Very well, but you must come back to supper, and
we'll have a few friends in to meet you. You must see some
of the best people.”
The Doctor's buggy was waiting at the gate. As they
were passing the hotel on their drive downtown, the clerk
came out to the curbstone and called to the Doctor.
“There's a man here, doctor, who's been taken suddenly
ill. Can you come in a minute and look at him, sir?”
“I suppose I’ll have to,” the doctor said with a bit of a
frown. After finding his kit, he turned to Tryon.
“Will you wait for me here, George, or will you drive on
down to the office? I can walk the rest of the way.”
“I think I'll wait here, doctor,” Tryon replied. “I’ll step
up to my room a minute and be back by the time you’re
ready.”
It was while they were standing before the hotel, previ-
ous to alighting from the buggy, that Frank Fowler, pass-
ing by in his cart, saw Tryon and set out as fast as he could
to warn Mis’ Molly and Rena of his presence in the town.
Tryon went up to his room, returned after awhile, and
took his seat in the buggy, where he waited fifteen minutes
before the doctor was ready. When they drew up in front
of the office, the doctor's man, Dave, was standing in the


MAS QUERADE 275
doorway, looking up the street with an anxious expression,
as though struggling hard to keep something upon his
mind. The Doctor got out and approached him.
“Anything wanted, Dave?” he asked.
“Dat young ‘oman's been heah agin', suh, and wants tu
see you bad. She's in de drugsto’ now, suh.”
The doctor, without another word, went into the drug-
Store.
“Bless Gawd!” Dave said to himself with a deep sigh.
“Ah remembered dat. Dis heah recomembrance a mine is
gwine git me intu trouble ef I don't look out, and dats a
fac’ sho’.”
Tryon sat looking at the boy with an amused smile on
his face, wondering to himself if the Negro race was as
stupid as they were accused of being; or if the whites, by
classifying them as inferior for so long that they had sim-
ply convinced them against their will of being stupid. At
this point the Doctor came back to the buggy and touch-
ing Tryon, whispered in an undertone.
“Just keep your seat, George, until I have finished with
the young woman, and then we'll go around to Judge
Straight's. Or, if you’ll drive along a little further, you can
see the girl through the window. She's sure worth looking
at if you like a pretty face.”
Tryon liked one pretty face: moreover, tinted beauty
had never appealed to him. More to show a proper regard
for what interested the doctor than from any curiosity of
his own, he drove forward a few feet, until the side of the
buggy was opposite the drugstore window, and then looked
in through the window. -
Between the colored glass bottles in the window he could


276 MAS QUERADE
sce a young woman, a tall and slender girl, like a lily on its
stem. She stood talking with the doctor, who held his hat
in his hand with as much deference as though she were the
proudest dame in town. Her face was partly turned away
from the window, but as Tryon's eyes fell upon her, he
gave a great start. Surely, no two women could be so much
alike. The height, the graceful droop of the shoulders, the
swan-like poise of the head, the well-turned little ear—
surely, no two women could have them all identical! But,
pshaw! The notion was absurd, it was merely the reflex in-
fluence of his morning dream.
She moved slightly; it was Rena's movement. Surely he
knew the gown, and the style of hair-dressing! She rested
her hand lightly on the back of a chair. The ring that glit-
tered on her finger could be none other than his own.
The doctor bowed. The girl nodded in response, and,
turning, left the store. Tryon leaned forward from the
buggy seat and kept his eyes fixed on the figure that moved
across the floor of the drugstore. As she came out, she
turned her face casually toward the buggy, and there
could no longer be any doubt as to her identity!
When Rena's eyes fell upon the young man in the bug-
by, she saw a face as pale as death, with startling eyes, in
which love, which once had reigned, had now given place
to astonishment and horror. She stood a moment as if
turned to stone. One appealing glance she gave—a look
that might have softened the adamant. When she saw it
brought no answering sign of love, or sorrow or regret, the
color faded from her cheek, the light from her eyes, and
she fell fainting to the ground.


6%aete, 7%tº 7ao
--
THE FIRST EFFECT of Tryon's discovery was, figuratively
speaking, to knock the bottom out of things for him. It
was much as if a boat on which he had been floating
smoothly down the stream of pleasure had sunk suddenly,
and left him struggling in deep waters. The full realization
of the truth, which followed speedily, had for the moment
reversed his mental attitude towards her, and love and
yearning had given place to anger and disgust. His agita-
tion could hardly have escaped notice had not the doctor's
attention, and that of the crowd that quickly gathered,
been absorbed by the young woman who had fallen.
During the time occupied in carrying her into the drug-
store, restoring her to consciousness, and sending her home
in a carriage, Tryon had time to recover in some degree his
self-possession. When Rena had been taken home, he
slipped away for a long walk, after which he called at
Judge Straight's office and received the judge's report upon
the matter presented. Judge Straight had found the claim,
in his opinion, a fairly good one; he had discovered prop-
erty from which, in case the claim was allowed, the
amount might be realized. The Judge, who had already
been informed of the incident at the drugstore, observed
Tryon's preoccupation and guessed shrewdly at its cause,
but gave no sign. Tryon left the matter of the note unre-
- 277


278 MASQUERADE
servedly in the lawyer's hands, with instructions to com-
municate to him, any further developments.
Returning to the doctor's office, Tryon listened to that
genial gentleman's comments on the accident, his own con-
cern in which he, by a great effort, was able to conceal. The
doctor insisted upon his returning to the Hill for supper.
Tryon pleaded illness. The doctor was solicitous, felt his
pulse, pronounced him feverish, and prescribed a sedative.
Tryon sought refuge in his room at the hotel, from which
he did not emerge again until morning.
His emotions were varied and stormy. At first he could
see nothing but the fraud of which he had been made the
victim. A Negro girl had been foisted upon him for a white
woman, and he had almost committed the unpardonable
sin against his race of marrying her. Such a step, he felt,
would have been criminal at any time; it would have been
the most odious treachery of this epoch, when his people
had been subjugated and humiliated by the Northern in-
vaders, who had preached Negro equality and abolished the
wholesome laws decreeing the separation of the races. But
no Southerner who loved his poor, down-trodden country,
or his race, the proud Anglo-Saxon race which traced the
clear stream of its blood to the cavaliers of England, could
tolerate the idea that even in distant generations that un-
sullied current could be polluted by the blood of slaves.
The very thought was an insult to the white people of the
South. Of Tryon's liberalism, of which he had spoken so
nobly and so sincerely, had been confined unconsciously,
and as a matter of course, within the boundaries of his own
race. The Southern mind, in discussing abstract questions,
relative to humanity, makes always, consciously or uncon-
!


MASQUERADE 279
sciously, the mental reservations that the conclusions
reached do not apply to the Negro, unless they can be made
to harmonize with the customs of the country.
But reasoning thus was not upon a mind of nature rea-
sonable above the average. Tryon's race impulse and social
prejudice had carried him too far, and the swing of the
mental pendulum brought his thoughts rapidly back in the
opposite direction. Tossing uneasily on the bed, where he
had thrown himself without undressing, the air of the
room oppressed him, and he threw open the window. The
cool night air calmed his throbbing pulses. The moonlight
streaming through the window, flooded the room with a
soft light, in which he seemed to see Rena standing before
him as she had appeared that afternoon, gazing at him with
eyes that implored charity and forgiveness. He burst into
tears, bitter tears, that strained his heartstrings. He was
only a youth, she was his first love—and he had lost her
forever! She was worse than dead to him; for if he had seen
her lying in her shroud before him, he could at least have
cherished her memory; now, even this consolation was de-
nied him.
The town clock—which so long as it was wound up reg-
ularly, reeked nothing of love or hate, joy or sorrow—sol-
emnly tolled the hour of midnight, and sounded the knell
of his lost love. Lost she was, as though she had never been,
as indeed she had no right to be. He resolutely determined
to banish her from his mind: See her again, he could not; it
would be painful to them both; it could be productive of
no good to either. He had felt the power and charm of love,
and no ordinary shock could have loosened its hold; but
this catastrophe, which had so rudely swept away the


280 MAS QUERADE
ground work of his passion, had stirred into new life, all
the slumbering pride of race and ancestry which charac-
terized his caste. How much of this superiority was essen-
tial and how much accidental; how much of it was due to
the ever-suggested comparison with a servile race; how
much of it was ignorance and self-conceit; to what extent
the boasted purity of his race would have been contami-
nated by the fair woman whose image filled his memory.
Of these things he never thought. He was not influenced
by sordid considerations; he would have denied that his
course was controlled by any narrow prudence. If Rena
had been white (for in his creed there was no compro-
mise), he would have braved any danger for her sake. Had
she been merely of illegitimate birth, he would have over-
looked the bar sinister. Had her people been poor and of
low state, he would have brushed aside mere worldly con-
siderations, and would have bravely sacrificed convention
for love; for his liberality was not a mere form of words.
But the one objection which he could not overlook, was
unhappily, the one that applied to the only woman who
had as yet, moved his heart. He tried to be angry with her,
but after the first hour he found it impossible. He was a
man of too much imagination not to be able to put himself,
in some measure at least, in her place; to perceive for her
the step which had placed her in Tryon's world, was the
working out of nature's great law of self-preservation for
which he could not blame her. But for the sheerest acci-
dent—no, rather, but for a providential interference, he
would have married her, and might have gone to the grave
unconscious that she was other than what she seemed.
The City clock struck the hour of two. With a shiver


282. MASQUERADE
which a boat was due to leave at nine o'clock.
As the hack drove down Front street, Tryon noted idly
the houses that lined the street. When he reached the more
scattered district of the town, there was nothing to attract
his attention until the carriage came abreast of a row of
cedar trees, beyond what could be seen, the upper part of
a large house with dormer windows. Before the gate stood
a horse and buggy, which Tryon thought he recognized as
Doctor Green's. The driver stopped and looked at him.
“Why have you stopped here?”
“Didn't yuh wish tu see de doctuh?” the driver asked.
“I told you to drive me to the boat,” Tryon said to him
a bit sharply. “Will you therefore turn around and drive
me there?”
“Yassuh, yassuh! I guess I made a mistake.” He turned
round then. Meanwhile, Tryon's curiosity was aroused.
“Can you tell me who lives there?” and he jerked his
thumb over his shoulder at the house they were just leav-
ing.
“Yassuh, yas, suh! A cullud 'oman, suh,” the man re-
plied, “A Mis' Molly Northcross and her daughter, Rena,
suh.”
A planned, and all around masquerade—even to chang-
ing her name to fool him, or the white race, perhaps engi-
neered years ago by her brother. Tryon smiled and shook
his head. The vivid impression he received of this house and
the spectre which rose before him of a pale, broken-hearted
girl within its gray walls, weeping for a lost lover and a
vanished dream of happiness, did not argue well for Try-
on's future peace of mind. Rena's image was not to be
easily expelled from his heart.


eaea, 7a, 74.
BACK IN CHARLESTON, Walden awaited events with some
calmness and some philosophy. He could hardly have had
one without the other; and it required much philosophy to
make him wait a week in patience for information upon a
subject in which he was so vitally interested. The delay
pointed to disaster. Bad news being expected, delay at least
put off the evil day. At the end of the week he received two
letters—one addressed in his own handwriting and post-
marked, Fayetteville, N. C.; the other in the handwriting
of George Tryon. He opened the Fayetteville letter first,
which ran as follows:—
My Dean Son, Frank is writing this letter for me. I am
not well, but thank the Lord, I am better than I was.
Rena has had a heap of trouble on account of me and my
sickness. If I could of dreamt that I was going to do so
much harm, I would have died and gone to meet my God
without writing one word to spoil my girl's chances in life;
but I didn’t know what was going to happen, and I hope
the Lord will forgive me.
Frank knows all about it and so I am having him to write
this letter for me as Rena is not well enough yet. Frank has
been very good to me and to Rena. He was even down to
Charleston and saw you and Rena there, and the fine house
you live in, but he didn’t let either of you see him. He

283


284 - MAS QUERADE
never said a word about it to anybody, not even me, until
after what has just happened. He didn’t want to make any
move that might hurt Rena. He is the best friend I have
got in town, because he does so much for me, and won’t
accept anything in return. (He tells me not to put this in
about him, but I want you to know it.)
And now about Rena. She came to see me and I got bet-
ter right away, for it was longing for her as much as any-
thing else that made me sick, and I was mighty miserable.
When she had been here three days and was going back the
next day, she went up town to see the doctor for me, and
while she was up there she fainted and fell down in the
street, and Dr. Green sent her home in a carriage and came
down to see her. He couldn’t tell what was the matter with
her, but she has been sick ever since and out of her head,
some of the time and keeps on calling on somebody by the
name of George, which was the young white man she told
me she was going to marry. It seems that he was in town
the day Rena was took sick, for Frank saw him on the
street and ran all the way down here to tell me, so that she
could keep out of his way, while she was still uptown, wait-
ing for the doctor and getting me some camphor gum for
my camphor bottle. Old Judge Straight must have known
something about it, for he sent me a note to keep Rena in
the house, but the little boy he sent it by didn’t bring it
until Rena was already gone uptown, and, as I couldn't
read, of course I didn’t know what it said. Dr. Green heard
Rena running on while she was out of her head, and I reck-
on he must have suspected something, for he looked kind of
queer and went away without saying anything. Frank says
she met this man on the street and when he found out she


MASQUERADE 285
wasn’t white, he said or did something that broke her heart
and she fainted and fell down.
I am writing you this letter because I know you will be
worrying about Rena not coming back. If it wasn't for
Frank, I hardly know how I could write you. Frank is not
going to say anything about Rena passing for white and
meeting the man, and neither am I; and I don’t suppose
Judge Straight will say anything, because he is our good
friend; and Dr. Green won’t say anything about it, be-
cause Frank says that Dr. Green's cook Nancy, says that
this young man George stopped with him and was some
cousin or relation to the family, and they wouldn’t want
people to know that any of their kin was thinking about
marrying a colored girl. The white folks have all been mad
since J. B. Thompson married his black house-keeper when
she got religion and wouldn’t live with him any more un-
less he married her. The white people was so mad about
what she did that they are preparing a bill, so I hear, to pre-
sent to the legislature, prohibiting whites and colored from
marrying from now on.
All the rest of the connections are well. I have just been
in to see how Rena is. She is feeling some better, I think,
and says give you her love and she will write you a letter in
a few days, as soon as she is well enough. She burst out cry-
ing while she was talking, but I reckon that is better than
being out of her head. I hope this may find you well, and
that this man of Rena's won’t say or do anything down
there to hurt you. He has not written to Rena or sent her
any word. I reckon he is very angry.
Your affectionate mother,
MOLLY NORTHCROSS


MASQUERADE - 287
you as other than a white man, as you may gather from the
tone of this letter; and while I cannot marry your sister, I
wish her every happiness, and I remain
Yours very truly,
GEORGE W. TRYON
Walden could not know that this formal epistle was the
last of a dozen that Tryon had written and destroyed dur-
ing the week since the meeting in Fayetteville. Hot, blister-
ing letters, cold, cutting letters, scornful, crushing letters.
Though none of them was sent, except this last, they had
furnished a safety-valve for his emotions, and had left him
in a state of mind that permitted him to write the forego-
Ing.


6%aete, 7%t, Zaan
RENA was convaLEscING from a two-weeks illness when
her brother came to see her. He arrived in Fayetteville by
an early morning train before the town was awake; and
walked unnoticed from the station to his mother's house.
His meeting with his sister was not without emotion: he
embraced her tenderly, and Rena became for a few min-
utes a very Niobe of grief.
“Oh, it was cruel, cruel!” she sobbed. “I shall never get
over it.”
“I can understand it, my dear, I can understand it full
well,” Johnny replied soothingly. “I can understand it only
too well and I am to blame for it. If I had never taken you
away from here, you would have escaped this painful ex-
perience. But do not despair; all is not lost. Tryon will not
marry you as I had hoped he might, while I feared the con-
trary; but he is a gentleman and will be silent. Come back
and try again.”
“No, Johnny, I couldn’t go through it a second time. I
managed very well before, when I thought our secret was
unknown; but now I could never be sure. It would be
borne on every wind, for aught I know, and every rustling
leaf might whisper it. The law, you said, made us white;
but not the law nor even love, can conquer prejudice. He
spoke of my beauty, my grace, my sweetness: I looked into
288


290 MAS QUERADE
me. I seemed as white as he is. He might have gone any-
where with me, and no one would have started at us curi-
ously; no one need have known. The world is wide—there
must be some place where a man can live happily with the
woman he loves.” -
“Yes, Rena, there is; and the world is wide enough for
you to get along without Tryon. That is what I am think-
ing of now, and what I think that you and I should discuss,
make plans for, and concentrate on doing.”
“For a day or two,” she went on, not seeming to have
heard or taken his last words seriously, “I had hoped he
might come back. But his expression in that awful moment
grew upon me, haunted me day and night, until I shud-
dered at the thought of my ever seeing him again. He
looked at me as though I was not even a human being. I
had grown fond of him, against my will, for I never felt it
was exactly right to fall in love with a white man, but I
no longer admire him. I would not marry him if I were
white, or he were as I am. He did not love me or he would
have acted differently. He might have loved me and have
left me—but he could not have loved me and looked at me
so.”
She began to cry again, and in a few seconds was weep-
ing lysterically. There was little he could say to comfort
her. Presently, as if by force of will, she hushed and dried
her tears. Walden was reluctant to leave her in Fayetteville.
Her childish happiness had been that of ignorance; she
could never be happy there again. She had flowered in the
sunlight; she must not pine away in the shade.
“If you won’t come back with me, Rena, I’ll send you to
some school at the North, where you can acquire a liberal
-


MAS QUERADE 291
education, and prepare yourself for some career of useful-
ness. You may marry a better man even than Tryon.”
“No, if I ever marry, it will not be to a white man. I will
never be able, as I think about it, to forget the look of
hatred, vile contempt and downright cruelty, if he finds
that I am colored. You have been successful in what you
did, and the family will have to be satisfied at that, but I
will never run the risk of having another white man look
at me as Tryon did, never, until the longest day I live! Be-
sides, Johnny, I’ll never leave mother again; she is too in-
nocent and too old to make another sacrifice as she tried to
this time for our benefit. God is against it; I’ll stay with
my own people.”
“God has nothing to do with it,” Walden retorted, a bit
impatiently. “God is too often a stalking horse for human
selfishness. If there is anything to be done, so unjust, so des-
picable, so wicked that human reason revolts at it, there is
always some smug hypocrite to exclaim, ‘It is the will of
God.’”
“God made us all,” Rena continued dreamily, “and for
some good purpose, though we may not always see it. He
made some people white, and strong, and masterful, and—
heartless! He made others black and homely, and poor and
weak—”
“And a lot of others—'poor white' and shiftless,” Wal-
den smiled, and then burst into laughter.
“He made us, too,” continued Rena, intent upon her
own thought, “And He must have had a reason for it. Per-
haps He meant us to bring the others together in his own
good time. A man may make a new place for himself—a
woman is born and bound to hers. God must have meant


292 MAS QUERADE
me to stay here, or He would not have sent me back. I shall
accept things as they are. Why should I seek the society of
people whose friendship—and love—one little word can
turn to scorn? I was right, Johnny; I ought to have told
him. Suppose he had married me and then had found out?”
To Rena's argument of fore-ordination Walden at-
tached no weight whatever. He had seen God's heel planted
for four long years upon the land which had nourished
slavery. Had God ordained the crime that the punishment
might follow? It would have been easier for omnipotence
to prevent the crime. The experience of his sister had
stirred up a certain bitterness against white people—a feel-
ing which he had put aside years ago, with his dark blood,
but which sprang anew into life when the fact of his own
origin was brought home to him so forcibly through his
sister's misfortune. His sworn friend and promised brother-
in-law had thrown him over promptly, upon discovery
of the hidden drop of dark blood. How many others of his
friends would do the same, if they but knew of it? He had
begun to feel a little of the spiritual estrangement from his
associates that he had noticed in Rena during her life at
Charleston. The fact that several persons knew his secret
had spoiled the fine flavor of perfect security hitherto
marking his position. George Tryon was a man of honor
among white men, and had deigned to extend the protec-
tion of his honor to Walden as a man, though no longer as
a friend; to Rena as a woman, but not as a wife. Tryon,
however, was only human, and who could tell when their
paths in life might cross again, or what future temptation
might feel to use a damaging secret to their disadvantage?
Walden had cherished certain ambitions, but these he


294 MASQUERADE
Mis' Molly, in all probability, care to leave home and
friends and the graves of her loved ones. She had no mental
resources to supply the place of these; she was, moreover,
too old to be transplanted; she would not fit into Walden's
scheme for a new life.
“I left her once,” Rena said, “and it brought pain and
sorrow to all three of us. She is not strong and I will not
leave her here to die alone, This shall be my home while she
lives, and if I leave it again, it shall be for only a short time,
to go where I can write to her freely, and hear from her
often. Don’t worry about me, Johnny. I shall do very
well.”
Walden sighed. He was sincerely sorry to leave his sister,
and yet saw that, for the time being, her resolution was not
to be shaken. He must bide his time. Perhaps in a few
months she might tire of the old life. His door would al-
ways be open to her, and he would charge himself with
her future.
“Well, then,” he said, concluding the argument, “we’ll
say no more about it for the present. I’ll write to you later.
I was afraid that you might not care to go back just now,
so I brought your trunk along with me.”
He gave his mother the baggage check. She took it across
to Frank, who during the day, brought the trunk from the
depot. Mis' Molly offered to pay him for doing so, but as
usual, he would accept nothing.
“My son, Johnny is here,” Mis' Molly said, “and he wants
to see you. Come into the settin’ room. We don’t want
folks to know that he's in town; but you know all our
secrets, and we can trust you like one of the family.”


MAS QUERADE - 295
Frank followed Mis’ Molly into the sitting room where
Johnny rose to his feet as they approached, smiling.
“I’m glad to see you again, Frank,” Walden said, extend-
ing his hand and clasping Frank's warmly. “You’ve grown
up since I saw you last, but it seems you are still our good
friend.”
“Our very good friend,” Rena interjected with a happy
smile.
“Thank you, Frank, and I want you to understand how
much I appreciate—”
“—How much we all appreciate it,” Rena corrected,
and seemed more happy still.
“I’m afraid you are all saying too much about nothing.
We've been neighbors all our lives; there are no men
around to help the ladies out, and it costs me nothing but a
little time, which I have to spare, so why shouldn’t I be a
—good neighbor” He looked from one to the other and
bowed astutely. Rena felt proud. Here was the man she
could always trust—always had trusted.
Walden, as if speaking for the family, again thanked him
for his kindness and turned his attention to his mother and
sister, then, Frank, still deprecating the idea, turned and
left. Johnny Walden left by boat the same night; and a
new life lay before Rena Northcross, back in her old home
and to her old name.


MAS QUERADE - 297
deal. With an effort he put the whole matter definitely and
conclusively aside, as he had done a hundred times already.
Yet, no sooner than he had done this, again appeared her
face, as he had seen it before the drug store when she
turned and their eyes met; there was that pathetic and
pitiful expression, touching deep down into his heart and
seeming to say, “Oh, George, I’m so sorry. Now you have
found out, but I didn’t want you to. I would have done
anything to have saved you this. Now you know and you
are going to hate and despise me; yet, I am the same Rena
you have been thinking about all the time. The fact that I
am the same, as you have found out, I am still just as I was
before you found out. Can you not therefore find it in
your heart in this brief and fleeting moment to think of me
as you have and speak to me and call me to you—
only for a little while, George? Afterwards, there will be
such a long time for you to hate me; but I feel that I could
endure it more easily if I could feel in this one look that
you have not begun to scorn and hate me so much.”
Always, it was those eyes that haunted him, those soft
and tender, pitiful and helpless eyes—but afterwards, as
they recurred to him and he could not call her back, it
pained him. And the more he fought to cast this memory
off, the keener the pain. He could only think of her as the
tenderest, the sweetest and the most lovely girl he ever
knew. All that was wrong about her was that which she
could not help; God himself could not help or change it
—a Negress! -
Yet, when he could be reasonable—even with himself,
he found himself arguing: “She is more white than dark;


298. MAs QUERADE
she is more of myself than of that hateful drop of dark
blood that makes marrying her impossible!”
Oh, what a cruel world. The world that the white man,
his race, had made. Some white man, and he must have been
rich, a gentleman and proud, was Rena's father. She could
not have been the offspring of either a slave-catcher, an
over-seer, or a poor white man at all. And yet—“what's
the use” he would conclude and after trying to blank his
mind and imagination, only to find himself living right
through it all, over and over again.
Returning to his home after an absence of several
months in South Carolina it was quite apparent to his
mother's watchful eye that he was in serious trouble. He
was absent-minded, monosyllabic, sighed deeply and often,
and could not always conceal the traces of secret tears.
For Tryon was young and possessed of a sensitive soul—
a source of happiness or misery, as the Fates decree, to those
thus endowed, the heights of rapture are accessible, the
abysses of despair yawn threateningly; only the dull mo-
notony of contentment is denied.
Mrs. Tryon vainly sought by every gentle art a woman
knows, to win her son's confidence. “What is the matter,
George, dear?” she would ask, stroking his hot brow with
her small, cool hand as he sat, nursing his grief. “Tell your
mother, George. Who else could comfort you so well as
she?”
“Oh, it's nothing, mother—nothing at all.”—he would
reply with a forced attempt at lightness. “I guess I am
somewhat on the anxious seat about—our business and es-
tate. People owe us; the country is still unsettled; nobody
seems to know definitely just what is going to happen, po-


300 MASQUERADB
be old enough to marry. A woman less interested than Miss
Leary would have perceived that there was something
wrong with Tryon. Miss Leary had no doubt that there
was a woman at the bottom of it—for over what else
should a youth worry but love? Or, if one's love affairs ran
smoothly, why should one worry about anything at all?
Miss Leary, in the nineteen years of her mundane existence,
had not been without mild experiences of the heart, and
had hovered for some time on the verge of disappointment
with respect to Tryon himself. A sensitive pride would
have driven more than one woman away at the sight of the
man of her preference sighing like a furnace for some ab-
sent fair one. But Mrs. Tryon was so cordial, and insisted
so strenuously on her remaining, that Blanche's love, which
was strong, conquered her pride, which was no more than
a reasonable young woman should do who places success
above mere sentiment. She remained in the house and bided
her opportunity.
If George practically ignored her for a time, she did not
throw herself at all in his way. She went on a visit to some
girls in the neighborhood and remained away a week, hop-
ing that she might be missed. Tryon expressed no regret at
her departure and no particular satisfaction upon her re-
turn. If the house was duller in her absence, he was but
dimly conscious of the difference. He was still fighting a
battle in which a susceptible heart and a reasonable mind
had locked horns in a well-nigh hopeless conflict. Reason,
common sense, the instinctive ready made judgments of his
training and environment—the deep seated prejudices of
race and caste—commanded him to dismiss Rena from his
thoughts. His stubborn heart simply would not let her go.


MAS QUERADE 303
er, in a small way, to do something for the advancement of
those who had just set their feet upon the ladder of prog-
reSS.
The new-born desire to be of service to her re-discovered
people was not long without an opportunity for expres-
sion. Yet the Fates willed that her future should be but an-
other link in a connected chain: she was to be as powerless
to put aside her recent past as she had been to escape from
the influence of her earlier life. There are sordid souls that
eat and drink and breed and die and imagine they have
lived. But Rena's life since her great awakening had been
that of the emotions, and her temperament made of a con-
tinuous life. Her successive states of consciousness were not
detachable, but united to form a single if not harmonious
whole. To her sensitive spirit, today was born of yesterday,
tomorrow would be but the off-spring of today.
One day, along towards noon, her mother received a visit
from Mary B. Pettifoot, a second cousin who lived on Back
Street, only a short distance from the house behind the ce-
dars. Rena had gone out so that the visitor found Mis' Mol-
ly alone.
“I heard you say, Cousin Molly,” Mary B. said (no one
ever knew what the B in Mary's name stood for—it was a
mere ornamental flourish) “that Rena was talkin' 'bout
teachin’ school. I’ve got a good chance for her, if she ceah’s
to take it. My Cousin, Jeff Wain, ‘rived in town dis mawn-
in’, f'm way down in Sampson County, tu git a teachuh
fo' de niggah school in his distric'. I suppose he mighta got
one from ‘round Newbern, ah Goldsboro, ah some ob dem
places East, but he ‘lowed he'd laktu visit some ob his kin
an’ ole' frien's, an’so kill two birds wid one stone.”


306 MAS QUERADE
“Ah’ll fetch him ‘roun’ disebenin’ ‘bout three o'clock,”
the visitor said, rising. “Ah mus' hurry back now and keep
him comp'ny. Tell Rena to put on her bes’ bib and tucker;
fo’ Mistah Wain is puticulah too, an’ I’ve already been
braggin' 'bout heh looks.”
When Mary B., at the appointed hour, knocked on Mis’
Molly's front door—the visit being one of ceremony, she
had taken her cousin round to the Front Street entrance
and through the flower garden where Mis’ Molly was pre-
pared to receive them. After a decent interval, long enough
to suggest that she had not been watching their approach
and was not over-eager about the visit, she answered the
knock and admitted them into the parlor. Mr. Wain was
formally introduced, and seated himself on the ancient
haircloth sofa, under the famed fashion-plate, while Mary
B. sat by the open door and fanned herself with a palm-
leaf fan.
Mis' Molly's impression of Wain was favorable. His com-
plexion was of a light brown—not quite as fair as Mis’
Molly would have preferred; but any deficiency in this re-
gard, or in the matter of the stranger's features, which,
while not unpleasing, leaned toward the broad mulatto
type, was more than compensated in her eyes by very
straight black hair, and, as soon appeared, a great facility
of complimentary speech. On his introduction, Mr. Wain
bowed low, assumed an air of great admiration, and ex-
pressed his extreme delight in making the acquaintance of
so distinguished-looking a lady.
“You’re flatterin’ me, Mr. Wain,” Mis' Molly returned
with a grateful smile. “But you want to meet my daugh-


MAS QUERADE 307
ter befo' you begin thow'in' bokays. Excuse my leavin'
you. I’ll go fetch heh.”
She returned in a moment, followed by Rena. “Mr.
Wain, “low me to introduce you to my daughter, Rena.
Rena, this is Mary B's cousin on her pappy's side, who's
come up fum Sampson County to git a school-teacher.”
Rena bowed gracefully. Wain stared a moment in gen-
uine astonishment, and then bent himself nearly double,
keeping his eyes fixed meanwhile, upon Rena's face. He had
expected to see a pretty yellow girl, but had been prepared
for no such radiant vision of beauty as this which now con-
fronted him.
“Does—does yuh mean tu say, Miz Northcross, dat—dat
dis young lady is yo’ own daughter?”, he stammered, rally-
ing his forces for action.
“Why not, Mr. Wain?” Mis' Molly asked, bridling with
mock resentment. “Does yuh mean tu ‘low that she was
changed in her cradle, er is she too goodlookin’ to be my
daughter?”
Promptly into his fat head, Jeff Wain saw a chance to
drive home a telling blow of flattery, with a view to win-
ning Mis’ Molly over to his side right quickly.
“My deah Miz Northcross! It would be wastin’ wo'ds to
say dat dey ain’ no lady too good-lookin’ tu be yo' daugh-
tah; but youah lookin' so young yo' se’f dat I'd ruther
tookin’ heh fo' yo' sistah.”
That did it! Mis’ Molly was so flattered that she actually
blushed all over, closing her eyes and moving from right to
left, left to right before she was able to go on.
“Yas,” Mis' Molly rejoined, trying very much to be


312 - MASQUERADE
Straight had written, might, it was clear, be viewed in sev-
eral aspects. The judge had written him concerning one of
immediate importance. It would be much easier to discuss
the subject in all its bearings, and clean up the whole mat-
ter, in one comprehensive interview.
The importance of this business, then, seemed very ur-
gent for the first few hours of Tryon's journey. Ordinarily
a careful driver and merciful to his beast, his eagerness to
reach Fayetteville increased gradually until it became
necessary to exercise some self-restraint in order not to
urge his faithful mare beyond her powers; and soon he
could no longer pretend obliviousness of the fact that some
attraction stronger than the whole amount of Duncan
McSwayne's note was urging him irresistibly toward his
destination. The old town beyond the distant river, his
heart told him clamorously, held the object in all the world
to him most dear. Memory brought up in vivid detail every
moment of his brief and joyous court-ship. Each tender
word, each enchanting smile, every fond caress. He lived
his past happiness over again down to the moment of that
fatal discovery. What horrible fate was it that had involved
him—nay, that had caught this sweet, delicate girl in such
a blind alley? A wild hope flashed across his mind; perhaps
the ghastly story might not be true; perhaps, after all, the
girl was no more a Negro than she seemed. He had heard
sad stories of white children, born out of wedlock, aban-
doned by sinful parents to the care or adoption of colored
women, who had reared them as their own, the children's
future basely sacrificed to hide the parent's shame. He
would confront this reputed mother of his darling and
wring the truth from her. He was in a state of mind where


MAS QUERADE - 3.13
any sort of fairy tale would have seemed reasonable. He
would almost have bribed some one to tell him that the
woman he had loved, the woman he still loved (he felt a
thrill of lawless pleasure in the confession), was not the
descendant of slaves—that he might marry her, and not
have to have before his eyes forever anon the gruesome fear
that some one of their children might show even the faint-
est mark of the despised race.
At noon he halted at a convenient hamlet, fed and
watered his mare, and resumed his journey after an hour's
rest. By this time he had about well nigh forgotten the legal
business which formed the ostensible occasion for his jour-
ney, and was conscious only of a wild desire to see the
woman whose image was beckoning him on to Fayetteville
as fast as his horse could take him.
At sundown he stopped again, about ten miles from the
town and cared for his tired beast. He knew her capacity,
however, and calculated that she could stand the additional
ten miles without injury. The mare set out with reluc-
tance but soon settled resignedly into a steady jog.
Memory had hitherto assailed Tryon with the vision of
past joys. As he neared the town, imagination attacked him
with still more moving images. He had left her, this sweet
flower of womankind—white or not, God had never made
one fairer! He had seen her fall to the hard pavement, with
he knew not what resulting injury. He had left her tender
frame—the touch of her finger tips had made him thrill
with happiness—to be lifted by strange hands, while he
with heartless pride had driven deliberately away, without
a word of sorrow or regret. He had ignored her as com-
pletely as if she had never existed. That he had been de-


314 MAS QUERADE
ceived was true. But had he not sided in his own deception?
Had not Walden told him distinctly that they were of no
family, and was it not his fault that he had not followed
up the clue thus given him? Had not Rena compared her-
self to the child's nurse, and had he not assured her that if
she were the nurse, he would marry her the next day? The
deception had been due more to his own blindness than to
any lack of honesty on the part of Rena and her brother.
In the light of his present feelings they seemed to have been
absurdly outspoken. He was glad that he had kept his dis-
covery to himself. He had considered himself very mag-
nanimous not to have exposed the fraud that was being
perpetrated upon society; it was with a very comfortable
feeling that he now realized that the matter was as pro-
found a secret as before.
“She ought to have been born white,” he muttered to
himself, adding weakly, “I would to God that I had never
found her out!”
Drawing near the bridge that crossed the river to the
town, he pictured to himself a pale girl, with sorrowful,
tear-stained eyes, pining away at the old house behind the
cedars for love of him, dying, perhaps, of a broken heart.
He would hasten to her; he would dry her tears with kisses;
he would express sorrow for his cruelty.
The tired mare had crossed the bridge and was toiling
slowly up Front Street; she was near the limit of her en-
durance, and Tryon did not urge her.
They might talk the matter over and if they must part,
part at least they would in peace and friendship. If he could
not marry her, he would never marry any one else; it
would be cruel for him to seek happiness while she was de-


MAS QUERADE 315
nied it, for, having once given her heart to him, she could
never, he was sure—so instinctively fine was her nature—
she could never love any one less worthy than himself, and
would therefore, probably never marry. He knew from a
Charleston acquaintance, who had written him a letter,
that Rena had not reappeared in that town.
He should discover—the chance was one in a thousand—
that she was white; or if he should find it too hard to leave
her, ah, well! he was a white man, one of a race born to
command. He would make her white; no one beyond the
old town would ever know the difference. If, perchance,
their secret should be disclosed, the world was wide; a man
of courage and ambition inspired by love might make a
career anywhere. Circumstances made weak men; strong
men mould circumstances to do their bidding. He would
not let his darling die of grief, whatever the price must be
paid for her salvation. She was only a few rods away from
him now. In a moment he would see her; he would take
her tenderly in his arms, and heart to heart they would
mutually forgive and forget, and, strengthened by their
love, would face the future boldly and bid the world do
its worse.


6%aaten 74&t, 3&4t
THE Evening of the party arrived. The home had been
thoroughly cleaned in preparation for the event, and dec-
orated with the choicest of the garden. By eight o'clock the
guests had gathered. They were all mulattoes. All people
of mixed blood were called “mulattoes” in North Carolina.
There were dark mulattoes and light mulattoes. Mis' Mol-
ly's guests were mostly of the light class, most of them
more than half white, and few of them less. In Mis’ Molly's
small circle, straight hair was the only palliative of a dark
complexion. Many of the guests would not have been cas-
ually distinguishable from white people of the poorer class.
Others bore unmistakable traces of Indian ancestry, for
Cherokee and Tuscarora blood was quite widely diffused
among the Free Negroes of North Carolina, though well-
nigh lost sight of by the curious customs of the white peo-
ple to ignore anything but the Negro blood in those who
were touched by its potent current. Very few of those
present had been slaves. The free colored people of Fay-
etteville were numerous enough before the war to have
their own “society,” and human enough to despise those
who did not possess advantages equal to their own.
Most of the Free Negroes did not become free by pur-
chasing themselves as Henry Fowler did, and later his wife.
They were free because some planter begat a child, or sev-
eral children, by a slave woman, and their consciences irked
316


3.18 MASQUERADE
eye, the full and slightly drooping lower lip—which might
have given a student of physiognomy food for reflection.
But whatever the latent defects of Wain's character, he
proved himself this evening a model of geniality, presum-
ing not at all on his reputed wealth, but winning golden
opinions from those who came to criticize, of whom, of
course, there were a few, the company being composed of
human beings.
When the dance began, Wain extended his large, soft
hand to Mary B., yellow, buxom, thirty, with white and
even teeth, glistening behind her full red lips. A younger
sister of Mary B's was paired with Billy Oxendine, a funny
little tailor, a great gossiper, and therefore a favorite
among the women. Mis’ Molly graciously consented, after
many protestations of lack of skill and want of practice to
stand up opposite Henry Pettifoot, Mary B's husband, a
tall man with a slight stoop, a bald crown and full dreamy
eyes—a man of much imagination and a large fund of
anecdotes. Two other couples completed the set; others
were restrained by bashfulness or religious scruples, which
did not yield until later in the evening.
The perfumed air from the garden without and the cut
roses within, mingled incongruously with the alien odors
of musk and hair oil, of which several young barbers in the
company were especially redolent. There was a play of
sparkling eyes and dancing feet. Mary B. danced with the
danguorous grace of an Eastern odalisque, Mis’ Molly with
the mincing, hesitating step of one long out of practice.
Wain performed salutatory prodigies. This was a golden
opportunity for the display in which his soul found de-
light. He introduced variations hitherto unknown to the


MAS QUERADE 319
dance. His skill and suppleness brought a glow of admira-
tion into the eyes of the women, and spread a cloud of
jealousy over the faces of several of the younger men, who
saw themselves eclipsed.
Rena had announced in advance her intention to take
no active part in the festivities. “I don’t feel like dancing,
Mama—I shall never dance again.”
“Well, now, Rena,” her mother argued, “ob cose you're
too dignified, sence you been sociatin’ wid white folks, to
be hoppin’ ‘roun’ an’ kickin' up lak Ma'y B. an’ these other
yaller gals; but of co’se, too, you can’t slight the comp'ny
entirely, even efit ain’ exactly ouh party—you’ll have to
pay ‘em some little attention, 'specially Mr. Wain, sence
you're goin’ down yonder with him.”
Rena did what, conscientiously, she though politeness re-
quired. She went the round of the guests in the early part
of the evening and exchanged greetings with them. To sev-
eral requests for dances she replied that she was not danc-
ing. She did not hold herself aloof because of pride; any
instinctive shrinking she might have felt by reason of her
recent association with persons of greater refinement was
offset by her still more newly awakened zeal for humanity;
they were her people; she must not despise them. But the
occasion suggested painful memories of other and different
scenes in which she had lately participated. Once or twice
these memories were so vivid as almost to overpower her.
She slipped away from the company and kept in the back-
ground as much as possible without seeming to slight any
One.
The guests as well were dimly conscious of a slight bar-
rier between Mis’ Molly's daughter and themselves. The


320 MAS QUERADE
time she had spent apart from these friends of her youth
had rendered it impossible for her ever to meet them again
on the plane of common interests and common thoughts.
It was much as though one, having acquired the vernacu-
lar of his native country, had lived in a foreign land long
enough to lose the language of his childhood without ac-
quiring that, fully, of his adopted country. Miss Rowena
Walden could never again become the Rena Northcross
who had left the house behind the cedars no more than a
year and a half before. Upon this very difference were
based her noble aspirations for usefulness—one must stoop
in order that one may lift others. Any other young woman
present would have been importuned beyond her powers
of resistance. Rena's reserve was respected.
When supper was announced, somewhat early in the
evening, the dancers found seats in the hall or on the piaz-
za. Aunt Zilphy, assisted by Mis' Molly and Mary B.,
passed around the refreshments, which consisted of fried
chicken, buttered biscuit, pound-cake and egg-nog. When
the first edge of appetite was taken of, the conversation
waxed animatedly. Homer Pettifoot related, with minute
detail, an old, thread-bare hunting lie, dating, in slightly
different forms, from the age of Nimrod, about finding
twenty-five partridges sitting in a row on a rail, and kill-
ing them all with a single buckshot, which passed through
twenty-four and lodged in the body of the twenty-fifth,
from which it was extracted and returned to the shot
pouch for future service.
This story was followed by a murmur of incredulity—
of course, the thing was possible, but Homer's faculty for
exaggeration was so well known that any statement of his


MAS QUERADE - 321
was viewed with suspicion. Homer seemed hurt at this lack
of faith, and was disposed to argue the point; but the sono-
rous voice of Mr. Wain on the other side of the room cut
short his protestations, in much the same way that the ris-
ing sun extinguishes the light of lesser luminaries.
“I wuz a member of de fus’ legislachu after de wah,”
Wain was saying. “When I wuz up fum' Sampson in de
fall, I had to pass th’ough Smithfiel’. I got in town in the
aftuhnoon, and put up at de bes’ hotel. De lan’l'od didn't
hab no 'spicion’ but what I wuz a white man, and he gim-
me a room, an' I had suppuh an’ breakfus', and went on
tu Rolly nex’ mawnin’. When de session wuz ovuh, I come
along back, and when I got tu Smithfiel’ I drive up to de
same hotel. I noticed, as soon as ah got dare, dat de place
had run down conside’able—dare wuz weeds growin' in
de ya'd, de winduhs wuz doity, an’ eve'thing ‘roun’ dare
looked kinda lonesome and shiftless. De lan’lo'd met me at
de do"; he looked mighty down in de mouth, an sezee:—
“Looka heah, w'at made you come and stop at mah
place widout tellin' me you wuz a black man? Befo' you
come th'ough dis town I had a fus' class bizness. But when
fo'kes found out dat a nigger had put up heah, business
drapped rat off, and I’ve had tu shet up mah hotel. You
oughta be 'shamed of yo'se’f fo ruinin’ a po’ man w'at
hadn't never done no ha'm tu you. You've done a mean,
low-lived thing, an' a jes' God’ll punish you fo' hit.
“De po’ man ascually bust intu teahs,” Mr. Wain con-
tinued maganmously. “An’ ah felt so sorry fo' him—he
wuz a po’ white man tryin’ tu get up in de worl’—dat I
hauled out mah pu'se an’gin' him ten dollars, an’ he peahed
monstrous glad to git hit.”


322 MAS QUERADE
“How good hearted! How kin'!” the ladies murmured.
“Hit musta done credit to yo' feelin's.”
“Don’t b'lieve a word ob dem lies,” one young man
muttered to another, sarcastically. “He couldn't pass for
white, onless it wuz a mighty da'k night.”
“Ef he stopped in a white hotel anywhere in No'th
Ca'lina, he slipped in and hid in a closet while the clerk
wuz out,” the other said which brought a laugh from both.
Upon this glorious evening of his life, Mr. Wain had one
distinctly hostile critic, of whose presence he was blissfully
unconscious. Frank Fowler had not been invited to the
party—his family did not belong with Mary B's set. Rena
had suggested to her mother that he be invited, but Mis’
Molly had demurred on the ground that it was not her
party, but Mary B's, and that she had no right to issue in-
vitations. It is quite likely that she would have sought an
invitation from Mary B., but, as we have previously ex-
plained, Frank was dark, that fact would not harmonize
with the rest of the company, who would not have Mis’
Molly's reasons for treating him well. The fact is, Frank
had never been invited to attend a party conceived for
light Negroes only, so was not disappointed, for he did not
or had not expected to be invited. He knew that Rena
would have invited him, but she had explained that they
had simply let Mary B. hold the party at their house be-
cause hers was too small; and to make Frank feel better
about it, Rena informed him that other than greeting the
guests, she would take no part in the festivities. Upon leav-
ing Frank then, Rena had smiled much like she used to, and
when their hands happened to touch as he was turning to


324 MAS QUERADE
and his heart was happy. There was a settee just large
enough for two and as she sat down she patted the seat be-
side her for him to sit there, and he did.
Before Rena came up and while Frank stood outside
looking at the dancers and the party in general, his eyes fell
upon Jeff Wain. He did not know him, and had never seen
him before, but having heard that he had come to Fayette-
ville to get a teacher, he studied Wain unseen. The longer
he looked at Wain, the less he liked him; the less he trusted
him. To his fancy, Wain's style and apparent skill were af-
fectation, his good-nature mere hypocrisy, and his fre-
quent glances at Rena, that of a sly hawk upon it prey or
quarry.
He had heard that Wain was unmarried, and he could
not see how, this being so, he could help wishing Rena for
a wife. Frank had resigned himself to the possibility when
she went to Charleston with her brother, of her probably
marrying a white man—who would have raised her to
a plane worthy of her merits. In Wain's shifty eye, how-
ever, he read the liar—his wealth and standing were prob-
ably as false as his seeming good humor. He doubted Rena's
falling for such a man, but he was chagrined to see Mis’
Molly, prodded on by Mary B., to be completely sold, ap-
parently on this pompous looking creature.
“Nice party. I should think you would be dancing,” he
suggested to Rena as they sat there side by side.
“No, Frank, I don’t feel like it. I don’t plan to dance ºr
tonight.”
This answer was pleasing to Frank. If he could not hope
to dance with her, and he didn't plan to upset the party by


326 MASQUERADE
ing it. “Jest one, darlint. I don't think you're treatin' my
company jes' right, ef you don't.”
“You’re goin’ all the way to Sampson County with him
alone,” her mother interjected, “An' it'd be just as well to
be on friendly terms with him.”
Wain himself had followed the women. “Sholy, Miss
Rena, youah gwine to honah me wid one dance? I'd go
away fum dispahty sad at hea’t ef I had’nt stood up oncet
wid de young lady ob de house.”
As Rena, weakly persuaded, placed her hand on Wain's
arm and entered the house, a buggy came up Front Street,
concealed by the intervening cedars until it reached a point
from which the occupant could view, through the open
front window, the interior of the parlor.


MASQUERADE 329
scious than she of the external contrast between her part-
ners on this and the former occasion. She perceived, too, as
Tryon from the outside had not, the difference between
Wain's wordy flattery (only saved by his cousin's warning
from pointed and fulsome adulation), and the tenderly
graceful compliments, couched in the romantic terms of
chivalry, with which the night of the handkerchief had
charmed her ear. It was only by an immense effort that she
was able to keep her emotions under control until the end
of the dance, when she fled to her chamber and burst into
tears. It was not the cruel Tryon who had blasted her love
with his deadly look that she mourned, but the gallant
young knight who had worn her favor on his lance and
crowned her queen of Love and Beauty.
Tryon's stay in Fayetteville was very brief. He drove to
the hotel and put up for the night. During many sleepless
hours his mind was in a turmoil with a very different set of
thoughts from those which had occupied it on the way to
town. Not the least of them was a profound self-contempt
for his own lack of foresight. How had he been so blind as
not to have read the character of this wretched girl who
had bewitched him? Tonight his eyes had been opened—he
had seen her with the mask thrown off, a true daughter of
a race in which the sensuous enjoyment of the moment
took precedence over taste, or sentiment, or any of the
higher emotions. Her few months of boarding-school, her
brief association with white people, had evidently been a
mere veneer over the under-lying Negro, and their effects
had slipped away as soon as the intercourse had ceased.
With the monkey-like imitativeness of the Negro, she had
copied the manners of white people while she lived among


330 - MAS QUERADE
them, and had dropped them with equal facility when they
ceased to serve a purpose. Who but a Negro, he conceived,
could have recovered so soon from what had seemed a ter-
rible bereavement?—She herself must have felt it at the
time, for otherwise she would not have swooned. A woman
of sensibility as this one seemed to have been, should natu-
rally feel more keenly, and for a longer time than a man,
an injury to the affections; but he, a son of the ruling race,
had been miserable for six weeks about a girl who had so
far forgotten as already to plunge headlong into the child-
ish amusements of her own ignorant and degraded people.
What more, indeed, he asked himself savagely—what more
could be expected of the base-born of the plaything of a
gentleman's idle hour, who to this ignoble origin added the
blood of a servile race? And he, George Tryon had honored
her with his love; he had very nearly linked his fate and
joined his blood to hers by the solemn sanctions of church
and State. Tryon was not a devout man, but he thanked
God with religious fervor that he had been saved a second
time from a mistake which would have wrecked his whole
future. If he had yielded to the momentary weakness of the
past night—the outcome of a sickly sentimentality to
which he recognized now, in the light of reflection, that he
was entirely too prone—he would have regretted it soon
enough. The black streak would have been sure to come
out in some form, sooner or later, if not in the wife, then
in her children. He saw clearly enough in this hour of re-
vulsion, that with his temperament and training, such a
union could never have been happy. If all the world had
been ignorant of the dark secret, it would always have been
in his own thoughts, or at least never far away. Each fault


332 MAS QUERADE
drove around to Mis’ Molly's. Rena's trunk was strapped
behind the buggy, and she set out, in the company of
Wain, for her new field of labor.
“Oh, Mother,” she whispered, as they stood wrapped in
a close embrace, “I’m afraid to leave you. I left you once
and it turned out so miserably.”
“It’ll turn out better this time, Honey,” her mother re-
plied soothingly. “Goodby, child. Take care of yo'se’f an
yo’ money, and write to yore mammy.”
One kiss all around and Rena was lifted into the buggy.
Wain seized the reins and under his skillful touch, the
pretty mare began to prance and curvet with restrained
impatience. Wain could not resist the opportunity to show
off before the party, which included Mary B's entire fam-
ily, and several other neighbors, who had gathered to see
the travelers off.
“Good-by to Fayetteville! Good-by, folkses all!” he
cried, with a wave of his disengaged hand.
“Good-by, Mother! Good-by, all!” Rena cried as with
tears in her heart, and a brave smile on her face she left her
home behind her for the second time.
When they had crossed the river bridge, the travelers
came to a long stretch of rising ground, from the summit
of which they could look back over the white sandy road
for nearly a mile. Neither Rena nor her companion saw
Frank Fowler behind the Chinquapin bush at the foot of
the hill, nor the gaze of mute love and longing with which
he watched the buggy mount the long incline. He had not
been able to trust himself to bid her farewell. He had seen
her go away once before with every prospect of happiness,
and come back, a dove with a wounded wing, to the old


MAS QUERADE 333
nest behind the cedars. She was going away again, with a
man whom he disliked and distrusted. If she had met mis-
fortune before, what were her prospects for happiness
now?
The buggy paused at the top of the hill, and Frank, shad-
ing his eyes with his hand, thought he could see her turn
and look behind. “Look back, dear child, towards your
home and those who love you,” he whispered to himself
with a deep sigh. For who knows more than this faithful
worshiper what threads of the past Fate is weaving into
your future, or whether happiness or misery lies before
you?


&aete, Zoºt,
THE ROAD To Sampson County lay for the most part over
the pine-clad sandhills; an alternation of general rises and
gradual descents, with now and then a swamp of greater or
less extent. Long stretches of the highway led through the
virgin forest, for miles unbroken by a clearing or sign of
human habitation.
They traveled slowly with frequent pauses in shady
places, for the weather was hot. The journey made leisure-
ly, required more than a day and might with slight effort
be prolonged into two. They stopped for the night at a
small village, where Wain found lodging for Rena with an
acquaintance of his, and for himself with another, while a
third took charge of the horse, the accommodations for
travelers being limited. Rena's appearance and manners
were the subject of much comment. It was necessary to ex-
plain to several curious white people that Rena was a wom-
an of color. A white woman might have driven with Wain
without attracting remark—most white ladies had Negro
coachmen. That a woman of Rena's complexion should eat
at a Negro table, or sleep beneath a Negro roof, was a
seeming breach of caste which only black blood could ex-
cuse. The explanation was never questioned. No white per-
son of sound mind would ever claim to be a Negro.
They resumed their journey somewhat late in the morn-
ing. Rena would willingly have hastened, for she was anx-
334


MAS QUERADE 335
ious to plunge into her new work; but Wain seemed dis-
posed to prolong the pleasant drive, and beguiled the way,
for a time, with stories of wonderful things he had done
and strange experiences of a somewhat checkered career.
He was shrewd enough to avoid any subject which would
offend a modest young woman, but too obtuse to perceive
that much of what he said would not commend him to a
person of refinement. He made little reference to his pos-
sessions, concerning which so much had been said at Fay-
etteville; and his reticence was a point in his favor. If he
had not been so much on his guard, and Rena so much ab-
sorbed by thoughts of her future work, such a drive would
have furnished a person of her discernment a very fair
measure of the man's character. To these distractions must
be added the entire absence of any idea that Wain might
have amorous designs on her; and any shortcomings of
manners, or speech were covered by the broad mantle of
charity which Rena in her new found zeal for the welfare
of her people was willing to throw over all their faults.
They were the victims of oppression; they were not re-
sponsible for its results.
Toward the end of the second day, while nearing their
destination, the travelers passed a large white house stand-
ing back from the road at the foot of a lane. Around it
grew wide spreading trees and well-kept shrubbery. The
fences were in good repair. Behind the house and across the
road stretched extensive fields of cotton and waving corn.
They had passed no other place that showed such signs of
thrift and prosperity.
“Oh, what a lovely place,” Rena exclaimed, enthusias-
tically, pointing at it. “That is yours, isn’t it?”


336 MAS QUERADE
“No, we ain't got to my home yit,” he answered. “Dat
house belongs to der richest people 'round heah. Dat house
is ober in de nex’ county. We're right close to de line now.”
Shortly after they turned off from the main highway
they had been pursuing and struck into a narrower road to
the left.
“De main road,” Wain explained, “goes on to Clinton,
‘bout five miles ah mo' away. Dis one we're turnin’ into
now will take us to my place, which is 'bout three miles
further on. We'll git dare now in an houh ah so.”
Wain lived in an old plantation house, somewhat dilapi-
dated, and surrounded by an air of neglect, and shiftless-
ness, but still preserving a remnant of dignity in its outlines
and comfort in its interior arrangements. It had belonged
to a wealthy and successful planter, who had gone off to
war and been killed.
Rena was assigned a large room on the second floor. She
was somewhat surprised at the makeup of the household.
Wain's mother, an old woman, much darker than her son,
kept house for him. A sister with two children lived in the
house. The element of surprise lay in the presence of two
small children left by Wain's wife, of whom Rena now
heard for the first time. He had lost his wife, he informed
Rena sadly, a couple of years before.
“Yas, Miss Rena,” he sighed, “de Lawd give her, and de
Lawd tuck her away. Blessed be de name ob de Lawd.” He
accompanied this sententious quotation with a wicked look
from under his half-closed eyelids that Rena did not see.
The following morning Wain drove her in his buggy
over to the county town, where she took the teacher's ex-
amination. She was given a seat in a room with a number


MAS QUERADE 337
of other candidates for certificates, but the fact, leaking
out from some remark of Wain's that she was a colored
girl, objections were quietly made by several of the would-
be-teachers to her presence in the room, and she was re-
quested to retire until the white teachers should have been
examined. An hour or two later she was given a separate
examination, which she passed without difficulty. The ex-
aminer, a gentleman of local standing, was dimly conscious
that she might not have found her exclusion pleasant, and
was especially polite. It would have been strange, indeed, if
he had not been impressed by her sweet face and air of
modest dignity, which were all the more striking because of
her social disability. He fell into conversation with her, be-
came interested in her hopes and aims, and very cordially
offered to be of service, if at any time he might, in connec-
tion with her school.
“You have the satisfaction,” he said, “of receiving the
only first-grade certificate issued today. You might teach a
higher-grade of pupils than you will find at Sandy Run,
but let us hope that you may in time raise them to your
own level.”
“Which I doubt very much,” he muttered to himself as
she went away with Wain. “What a pity,” he said, watch-
ing her out of sight and shaking his head sadly, “that such
a beautiful and such an intelligent woman, should be a nig-
ger! If she were anything to me, though, I should hate to
trust her anywhere near that saddle-colored scoundrel.
He's a thoroughly bad lot, and will bear close watching.”
Rena, however, was serenely ignorant of any danger
from the accommodating Wain. Absorbed in her own
thoughts and plans, she had not sought to look beneath the


338 MAS QUERADE
surface of his somewhat overdone politeness. In a few days
she began her work as a teacher, and sought to forget, in
the service of others, the dull sorrow that gnawed at her
heart.
While she busied herself with enthusiasm to her new
found work, she was entirely unconscious of the fact that
Jeff Wain was planning also, and secretly, the most practi-
cal and quickest way to a courtship with her, with a pos-
sible view to ultimatc matrimony. She was also uncon-
scious of the fact that almost in sight of the small school-
house wherein she was teaching, had the trees been cleared
away, reposed the great mansion where she would have
now been living, and as mistress, had her masquerade not
been revealed, and the fact that she was not a white girl,
found out by George W. Tryon.


MAS QUBRADE 343
bareheaded, stepped outside and looked at the children
playing. Miss Leary started, opened her lips and, pointing
to Rena, cried:
“Oh, what a pretty girl!” she exclaimed. “There,” she
added, as Tryon turned his head toward her, “you are too
late. She has retired into her castle.”
With a little sigh of disappointment, she turned to look
at Plato, a suggestion in her eyes.
“Oh, Plato?” she asked.
“Yas, Misses?” Plato replied, prancing around the buggy
in great glee, on the strength of his acquaintance with the
white folks.
“Is your teacher white?”
“No, ma'am, she ain’t white; she's black. She looks lak
she's white, but she ain’t.”
Tryon had not seen the teacher's face, but the incident
had jarred the old wound; Miss Leary's description of the
teacher, together with Plato's characterization, had stirred
lightly sleeping memories. He was more or less abstracted
during the remainder of the drive, and did not recur to the
conversation that had been interrupted by coming upon
the schoolhouse.
The teacher, glancing for a moment through the open
door of the schoolhouse, had seen a handsome young lady
staring at her. Miss Leary had a curiously intent look when
she was interested in anything, with no intention whatever
of being rude. Beyond the lady, Rena saw the back and
shoulder of a man, whose face was turned the other way.
There was a vague suggestion of something familiar about
the equipage, but Rena shrank from this close scrutiny and
withdrew out of sight before she had an opportunity to


344 MAS QUERADE
identify the vague resemblance to something she had
known.
Miss Leary had missed by a hairs-breadth the psycho-
logical moment, and felt some resentment toward the lit-
tle Negroes who had interrupted her lover's train of
thought. Negroes have caused a great deal of trouble
among white people. How deeply the shadow of the Ethio-
pian had fallen upon her own happiness, Miss Leary of
course could not guess.


346 MAS QUERADE
ask you something very personal.” She turned and looked
suggestively at the gaping pupils.
“The school may take the morning recess now,” the
teacher announced. The children filed out in an orderly
manner, most of them stationing themselves about the
grounds in such places as would keep the teacher and the
white lady in view. Very few white persons approved of
the colored schools; no other white person had ever visited
this one.
“Are you really colored?” the lady turned to her to ask,
after the last child had left the room.
A year and a half earlier, Rena would have met the ques-
tion by some display of self-consciousness. Now, she re-
plied simply and directly.
“Yes, ma'am, I am colored.”
“Well, it's a shame. No one would ever think it. If you
chose to conceal it, no one would be the wiser. What is
your name, child, and where were you brought up? You
must have a romantic history.” -
Rena gave her name and a few facts in regards to her
past. The lady was so much interested, and put forth so
many and such searching questions, that Rena found it
more difficult to suppress the fact that she had been white,
than she had formerly had in hiding her African origin.
There was about the girl an air of real refinement that
pleased the lady; the refinement not merely of a fine na-
ture, but of contact with cultured people; a certain re-
serve of speech and manner quite inconsistent with Mrs.
Tryon's experiences with colored women. The lady was in-
terested and slightly mystified. A generous, impulsive spirit
—her son's own mother—she made minute inquiries about


MAS QUERADE - --- --- 34]
“Well,” Mrs. Tryon began, pleasantly, “I called on the
girl you were so excited about yesterday, dear Blanche.”
Leaning forward anxiously.
“Oh, you did, Mother? I’m so glad. And, how did you
find her?”
“Just like you said—the most beautiful creature, I
think, that I ever looked at, and just about the nicest; the
most congenial.”
“Oh, really!” Blanche exclaimed, enthusiastically. “I
wish I could have been with you. Did she tell you her
name?”
“She did, for I not only asked her that, but no end of
other questions, I was that interested. Well, her name is
Rowena Northcross.” She paused briefly but neither was
looking at George, or they could not have missed seeing
that he started up, almost violently. He listened then, con-
trolling his breathing and excitement with an effort.
“And she's really a colored girl?” from Blanche.
“The most amazing thing! She admitted it freely, too.”
“That was very sweet of her, I think,” Blanche said.
“That is what I thought, also,” continued Mrs. Tryon.
“She didn’t seem to be uppish in the least, just a nice, love-
ly and sweet girl that no one could help but like. To be
frank with you, I fell in love with her myself, and, if she
hadn’t admitted being colored, I would have invited her
here to be my guest some week end. As it is, I asked her if
she ever happened to pass by, to stop in and see me—and
if she does, I plan to be nice to her, and I want you and
George to be the same way—a perfect lady, even if she
has to be a colored person.”
“I’ll be glad to be nice to her. Mrs. Tryon,” Blanche said,


350 MAS QUERADE
quickly. “I do hope she comes by, too, for I am curious to
talk to her myself.”
“I promised to come to her exhibition, the last day of
school, and I want you, and George too, to go with me.”
“Oh, I’ll be so glad to, Mother.” She turned to George,
who was thinking about Rena. In spite of the fact that he
had put her out of his heart, and had been trying to get her
out of his mind, he was happy to hear what his own mother
was saying—that Rena was a lady, all he had felt she was.
In those moments he was thinking of her brother, too. He
was beginning to see things clearly. He was beginning to
understand that it had not been Rena's plan, or perhaps
desire even, to go to Charleston and pass for white; to fool
people and intrude herself on white people. It had all been
her brother's scheme; he could see through it all now, and
instead of trying to hate Rena, as he had not been very suc-
cessful at doing, he should have been hating John for the
masquerade. He heard Blanche saying something, and with
a start, turned to her with a:
“Did you address me? What were you saying?”
Blanche repeated what she had asked, and he promised
to think about it. The servants were serving their meal
now, and all fell to eating and said no more about Rena,
just then.


&aete, 2ent, 74vee
RENA HAD Found her task not a difficult one so far as dis-
cipline was concerned. Her pupils were of a docile race,
and school to them had all the charm of novelty. The
teacher commanded some awe because she was a stranger,
and some, perhaps, because she was white; for the theory
of blackness as propounded by Plato could not quite coun-
terbalance in the young African mind the evidence of his
own senses. She combined gentleness with firmness; and if
these had not been sufficient, she had reserves of character
which would have given her mastery over much less plastic
material than these ignorant but eager young people. The
work of instruction was simple enough, for most of the
pupils began with the alphabet, which they acquired from
Webster's blue-back spelling book, the palladium of South-
ern education at that epoch. The much abused carpet-bag-
gers had put the spelling book within reach of every child
of school age in North Carolina, a fact which is often over-
looked when the carpet-baggers are held up to odium. Even
the devil should have his due, and is not so black as he is
painted. At the time that she learned that Tryon lived in
the neighborhood, Rena had already been subjected to a
trying ordeal. Wain had begun to persecute her with
marked attentions. She had at first gone to board at his
house, or, by courtesy, with his mother. For a week or two
she had considered his attentions in no other light than
351


352 MAS QUERADE
those of a member of the school committee sharing her
own zcal and being interested in seeing the school success-
fully carried on. In this character Wain had driven her to
the town for her examination; he had busied himself about
putting the schoolhouse in order, and in various matters,
affecting the conduct of the school. He had jocularly of-
fered to come and whip the children for her, and had
found it convenient to drop in occasionally, ostensibly to
see what progress she was making.
“Dese chillun,” he would observe sonorously, in the
presence of the school, “ought to be monst'ous glad tu have
de chance ob settin' unduh yo’ instruction, Miss Rena. I’m
sho' eve’body in de neighbo'd ‘preciates de privilege in
habin' you in ouh midst.”
Though slightly embarrassing to the teacher, these pub-
lic demonstrations were endurable so long as they could be
regarded as mere official appreciation of her work. Sincere-
ly in earnest about her undertaking, she had plunged into
it with all the intensity of a serious nature which love had
stirred to activity. A pessimist might have sighed sadly or
smiled cynically at the notion that a poor, weak girl, with
a dangerous beauty and a sensitive soul, and troubles
enough of her own, should hope to accomplish anything
toward lifting the black mass, still floundering in the mud
where slavery had left them, and where emancipation had
found them—the mud in which, for aught that could be
seen to the contrary, her little feet, too, were hopelessly en-
tangled. It might have seemed like expecting a man to lift
himself by his bootstraps.
But Rena was no philosopher, either sad or cheerful. She
could not even have replied to this argument, that races


MAS QUERADE 353
must lift themselves, and the most that can be done by
others is to give them opportunity and fairplay. This, the
South at that period and for a generation or more after-
ward, was most unwilling to do. The white man himself
had not dipped that deep into philosophical education.
While there were a few like Mrs. Tryon, broadminded
enough to be able to foresee that ultimately an educated
and trained Negro would be in time an asset to the South
helping to raise the general standard to a higher plane of
thought and action, there were too many who thought the
other way and succeeded in holding the whole South back,
themselves included.
Rena's was a simpler reasoning; the logic by which the
world is kept going onward and upward when philosophers
at odds and reformers are not forthcoming. She knew that,
for every child she taught to read and write, she opened,
if ever so little, the door of opportunity, and she was hap-
py in the consciousness of performing a duty which seemed
all the more imperative because newly discovered. Her zeal
indeed, for the time being, was like that of an early Chris-
tian, who was more willing than not, to die for his faith.
Rena had fully and firmly made up her mind to sacrifice
her life upon this altar. Her absorption in the work had not
been without its reward, for thereby she had been able to
keep the spectre of her lost love. Her dreams she could not
control, but she banished Tryon as far as possible from her
waking thoughts.
When Wain's attentions became obviously personal,
Rena's new vestal instincts took alarm, and she began to
apprehend his character more clearly. She had long ago.
learned that his pretensions to wealth were a sham. He was


3.54 MAS QUERADE
a nominal owner of a large plantation, it is true; but the
land was worn out, and mortgaged to the limit of its se-
curity value. His reputed droves of cattle and hogs had
dwindled to a mere handful of lean and listless brutes.
Her clear eye, when once set to take Wain's measure,
soon fathomcd his shallow, selfish soul and detected, or at
least divined, behind his mask of good-nature a lurking
brutality which filled her with vague distrust, needing
only occasion to develop it into active apprehension—oc-
casion which was not long wanting. She avoided being
alone with him at home by keeping carefully with the
women of the house. If she were left alone,—and they soon
showed tendencies to leave her, on any pretext, whenever
Wain came near—she would seek her own room and lock
the door. She preferred not to offend Wain. She was far
away from home and in a measure in his power, but she
dreaded his compliments and sickened at his smile. She was
also compelled to listen to his relations sing his praises.
“My son, Jeff,” old Mrs. Wain would say, “is de bes' man
you eber seed. His fus' wife had de easies’ time an’ de hap-
pies' time ob ary woman in dis settlement. He grieve’ fo'
ch a long time, but I reckon’ ‘es gittin' ovuh hit, an’ de
nex’ ‘oman wat marries 'm 'll git a box ob pyo’ gol’, ef I
does say hit as his own mammy.”
Rena had thought Wain rather harsh with his household,
except in her immediate presence. His mother and sister
seemed more or less afraid of him, and the children often
anxious to avoid him.
One day, he timed his visit to the schoolhouse, so as to
walk home with Rena through the woods. When she be-


MAs QUERADE 357
emotional fires, at the very time when her school duties,
owing to the approaching exhibition, demanded all her
energies, Rena was subjected to a physical and mental
strain that only youth and health could have resisted, and
then only for a short time.
The fault of almost every sensitive and ambitious per-
son, is the burden of imagination, often almost uncurable.
When Rena learned that the fine house and plantation
that she had admired so much on her way to Sampson
County to teach, was the home and property of the Tryon
family; and that is was the place George Tryon planned,
while he was engaged to marry her, to bring her to live as
his wife, her imagination went to work. It continued to
burden her, regardless of all her efforts to throw it off in
the days that followed. What annoyed her most, was the
fear that he would feel that she had taken the school to
be near him, in the hope, no doubt, of involving him, per-
haps, in a new scheme of her own—and which happened
to be the very way he was taking it.


MAS QUERADE 359
confession of the brother, in which he had spoken of the
humble origin of the family, had been, consciously and un-
consciously, the most disingenious feature of the whole
miserable performance. They had tried by a show of frank-
ness to satisfy their own consciences. They doubtless have
enough of white blood to give them a rudimentary trace of
such a moral organ; and by the same act to disarm him
against future recriminations, in the event of possible dis-
covery. How was he to imagine that persons of their ap-
pearances and pretentions were tainted with Negro blood?
The more he dwelt upon the subject, the more angry he
became with those who had surprised his virgin heart and
deflowered it by such low trickery. The man who brought
the first Negro into the British colonies had committed a
crime against humanity and a worse crime against his own
race. The father of this girl had been guilty of a sin against
society for which others—for which he, George Tryon—
must pay the penalty. As slaves, Negroes were tolerable.
As freeman they were excrescences, an alien element in-
capable of absorption into the body politic of white men.
He would like to send them all back to the Africa from
which their fore-fathers had come—unwillingly enough,
he would admit, and he would like, especially to banish this
girl from his own neighborhood; not indeed that her pres-
ence would make any difference to him; except as a humili-
ating reminder of his own folly and weakness with which
he could very well dispense.
Of this state of mind Tryon gave no visible manifesta-
tion beyond a certain taciturnity, so much at variance with
his recent liveliness that the ladies could not fail to notice
it. No effort on the part of either was able to effect his


360 MAS QUERADE
mood and they both resigned themselves to await his lord-
ship's pleasure to be companionable.
For a day or two Tryon sedulously kept away from the
neighborhood of the schoolhouse at Sandy Run. He really
had business which would have taken him in that direction,
but made a detour of five miles rather than go near his .
abandoned and discredited sweetheart.
But George Tryon was wisely distrustful of his own im-
pulses. Driving one day along the road to Clinton, he over-
hauled a diminutive black figure trudging along the road,
occasionally turning a hand spring by way of diversion.
“Hello, Plato,” Tryon called, “do you want a lift?”
“Sure, Mars' Geo'ge. Kin ah ride wid you?”
“Jump up, Plato.”
Plato mounted into the buggy with the agility to be ex-
pected from a lad of his acrobatic accomplishments. The
two almost immediately fell into conversation upon per-
haps the only subject of common interest between both.
Before the town was reached, Tryon knew, so far as Plato
could make it plain, the estimation in which the teacher
was held by pupils and parents. He had learned the hours
of opening and dismissal of the school, where the teacher
lived, her habits of coming to and going from the school-
house, and the road she always followed.
“Does she go to church or anywhere else with Jeff Wain,
Plato?,” Tryon asked.
“No, suh, she don’ go nowhar wid nobody, excep'n ole
Elduh Johnson ah Mis’ Johnson, an’ de chillun. She use to
stop at Mis’ Wain's, but she's stayin' wid Elduh Johnson
now. She allus makes som'a de chillun go home wid heh
fum school,” Plato said, proud to find in George an appre-


MAS QUERADE 3.63
delivered with due secrecy and precaution, ran as fol-
lows:—
Dear Miss Walden:—You may think it strange that I
should address you after what has passed between us; but
learning from my mother of your presence in the neigh-
borhood, I am constrained to believe that you do not find
my proximity embarrassing, and I cannot resist the wish
to meet you at least once more, and talk over the circum-
stances o four former friendship. From a practical point
of view this may seem superfluous, as the matter has been
definitely settled. I have no desire to find fault with you;
on the contrary, I wish to set myself right with regard to
my own actions, and to assure you of my good wishes. In
other words, since we must part, I would rather we parted
friends than enemies. If nature and society—or Fate, to
put it another way—have decreed that we cannot live to-
gether, it is nevertheless possible that we may carry into
the future a pleasant, though somewhat sad memory of a
past friendship. Will you not grant me one interview? I
appreciate the difficulty of arranging it: I have found it
almost as hard to communicate by letter. I will suit myself
to your convenience; and meet you at any time and place
you may designate. Please answer by bearer, whom I think
is trustworthy, and believe me whatever your answer may
be, Respectfully yours,
G. W. T.
Plato gave Rena Tryon's letter at the school. After read-
ing the same carefully, she took it home and read it again,
then decided to mail her reply.


364 MAS QUERADE
The next day but one, Tryon received through the mail,
the following reply to his letter:—
GEORGE TRYON, Esq.
Dear sir:—I have requested your messenger to say that I
will answer your letter by mail, which I shall now proceed
to do. I assure you that I was entirely ignorant of your resi-
dence in this neighborhood, or it would have been the last
place on earth in which I should have set foot.
As to our past relations, they were ended by your own
act. I frankly confess that I deceived you; I have paid the
penalty and have no complaint to make. I appreciate the
delicacy which has made you respect my brother's secret,
and thank you for it. I remember the whole affair with
shame and humiliation, and would willingly forget it.
As to a future interview, I do not see what good it will
do either of us. You are white and you have given me to
understand that I am black. I accept the classification,
however unfair, and the consequences, however unjust,
one of which is that we cannot meet in the same parlor, in
the same church, at the same table, or anywhere, in social
intercourse; upon a steamboat we would not sit at the
same table; we could not walk together on the street, or
meet anywhere publicly and converse, without unkind re-
mark. As a white man this might not mean a great deal
to you; as a woman, shut out already by my color from
much that is desirable, my good name remains my most
valuable possession. I beg of you to let me alone. The best
possible proof you can give me of your good wishes is to
relinquish any desire or attempt to see me. I shall have
finished my work here in a few days. I have other troubles,
of which you know nothing, and my meeting with you


MAS QUERADE 365
would only add to a burden which is already as much as I
can bear. To speak of parting is superfluous—we have al-
ready parted. It was idle to dream of a future friendship
between two people so widely different in station. Such a
relation, if possible in itself, would never be tolerated by
the lady whom you are to marry, with whom you drove
by the schoolhouse the other day. A gentleman so loyal to
his race and tradition as you have shown yourself, could
not be less faithful to the lady to whom he has lost his
heart and his memory in three short months.
No, Mr. Tryon, our romance is ended, and better so.
We could never, under the circumstances later discovered,
have been happy. I have found a work in which I may be
of service to others who have fewer opportunities than
mine have been. Leave me in peace, I beseech you, and I
shall soon pass out of your neighborhood as I have passed
out of your life, and as I hope to pass out of your memory.
Yours very truly,
ROWENA. NORTHCROSS


MAS QUERADE 367
from well; she had never, since her illness, quite recovered
her former vigor—but the inconvenience to others would
be the same, and her self-sacrifice, would have had, at its
very first trial, a lame and impotent conclusion. She had
as yet no fear of personal violence from Wain; but under
the circumstances, his attentions were an insult. He was
evidently bent upon conquest, and vain enough to think he
might achieve it by virtue of his personal attraction. If he
could have understood how she loathed the sight of his nar-
row eyes, with their puffy lids, his thick, tobacco-stained
lips, his doubtful teeth and his unwieldy person, Wain, the
monument of conceit that he was, might have shrunk even
in his own estimation, to something like his real propor-
tions. Rena believed that, to defend herself from persecu-
tion at his hands, it was only necessary that she never let
him find her alone. This, however, required constant
watchfulness. Relying upon his own powers, and upon a
woman’s weakness and aversion to scandal, from which
not even the purest may always escape unscathed, and con-
vinced by her former silence that he had nothing serious
to fear, Wain made it a point to be present at every pub-
lic place where she might be. He assumed, in conversatich
with her which she could not avoid, and stated to others,
that she had left his house because of a previous promise to
divide the time of her stay between Elder Johnson's house
and his own. He volunteered to teach a class in the Sun-
day school, which Rena conducted at the Colored Metho-
dist Church, and when she remained to service, occupied a
seat conspicuously near her own. In addition to these pub-
lic demonstrations, which it was impossible to escape, or,
it seemed, with so thick-skinned an individual as Wain,


MAS QUERADE 369
she knew that she had almost reached the limit, and was
haunted by a fear that she might break down before the
week was over. Now her really fine nature rose to the
emergency, though she mustered her forces with a great
effort. If she could keep Wain at his distance and avoid
Tryon for three days longer, her school labors would be
ended and she might retire in peace and honor.
“Miss Rena,” Plato said to her on Tuesday, “ain’ it ‘bout
time I wuz gwine home wid you?”
“You may see me home tomorrow, Plato, dear,” she said
and smiled upon the boy sweetly. He did a handspring as if
to reward her for the smile.
After school Plato met an anxious-eyed young man in
the woods a short distance from the schoolhouse.
“Well, Plato, what news?”
“I’se gwine tu see her home tu'morrow, Mistah Geo'ge.”
“Tomorrow!” Tryon exclaimed, a deep frown covering
his face. “How very unfortunate! I wanted you to go to
town tomorrow to take an important message for me. I’m
sorry, Plato—you might have earned another dollar.”
To lie is a disgraceful thing, and yet there are times
when, to a lover's mind, love dwarfs all ordinary laws.
Plato scratched his head disconsolately, but suddenly a
bright thought struck him.
“Can't I go to town fo you atter I’ve seed her home,
Mistah Geo'ge?” He waited anxiously to hear Tryon's re-
action to this suggestion.
“N-o, I'm afraid it would be too late,” Tryon returned
doubtfully, shaking his head as he did so.
“Den I’ll have tu ax heb to lemme go nex’ day,” Plato
said with resignation. The honor might be postponed, or, if


MAS QUERADE 371
thing. Plato was proud of the fact that he once belonged
to the Tryon family. He could not conceive of any one so
powerful as George Tryon, unless it might be God, of
whom Plato had heard more or less, and even here the
comparison might not be quite fair to Mr. George, for he
was the younger of the two. It would undoubtedly be a
great honor for the teacher to be escorted home by Mister
George. The teacher was a great woman, no doubt, and
looked white; but George Tryon was the real article. Mr.
George had never been known to go with a colored wom-
an before, and the teacher would doubtless thank Plato for
arranging that so great an honor should fall upon her.
George Tryon had given him fifty cents twice, and would
now give him a whole dollar. Noble Mr. George! Fortu-
nate teacher! Happy Plato!
“Very well, Plato. I think we can arrange it so that you
can kill the two rabbits with one shot. Suppose that we go
over the road that she will take to go home.”
They soon arrived at the schoolhouse. School had been
out an hour, and the clearing was deserted. Plato led the
way by the road through the woods to a point where,
amid somewhat thick underbrush, another path inter-
sected the road they were following.
“Now, Plato,” Tryon said, pausing, “this would be a
good spot for you to leave the teacher, and for me to take
your place. This path leads to the main road, and will take
you to town very quickly. I shouldn't say anything about
it to the teacher at all; but when you and she get here,
drop behind and run along this path until you meet me—
I’ll be waiting a few yards down the road—and then run
to town as fast as your legs will carry you. As soon as you


372 MASQUERADE
are gone, I'll come out and tell the teacher that I’ve sent
you on an errand, and will myself take your place. You
shall have a dollar and I’ll ask her to let you go home with
her the next day. But you mustn't say a word about it,
Plato, or you won’t get the dollar, and I’ll not ask the
teacher to let you go home with her again.”
“All right, Mistah Geo'ge, I ain' gwine tu say no mo'
de’n ef de cat had mah tongue.”


374 MAS QUERADE
ated by a letter which she had that morning received from
her mother, in which Mis’ Molly spoke very highly of
Wain, and plainly expressed the hope that her daughter
might like him so well that she would prefer to remain in
Sampson County.
Having been near this pompous and deceiving creature
for two months; and having learned from personal con-
tact, what a scoundrel he was, having also heard him re-
ferred to as about the worst scoundrel the community
possessed, she sighed unhappily, and tried to forgive her
mother for what she was in no position to know—or even
find out. -
Plato, bright-eyed and alert, was waiting in the school
yard until the teacher should be ready to start. Having
warned several smaller children who had hung around aft-
er school as though to share his prerogative of accompany-
ing the teacher, Plato had swung himself into the low
branches of an oak at the edge of the clearing, from which
he was hanging by his legs, head downward. He dropped
from the reposeful attitude when the teacher appeared at
the door, and took his place at her side.
A strange premonition of impending trouble caused
the teacher to hesitate. She wished for some strange and
unaccountable reason, that she could not understand, that
she had kept more of the pupils behind. Something whis-
pered that danger lurked in the road she customarily fol-
lowed. Plato, as she looked down upon him, seemed insig-
nificantly small and weak, and she felt miserably unable
to cope with any difficult or untoward situation.
“Plato,” she suggested, “I think we'll go around the
other way tonight, if you don’t mind.”


MAS QUERADE - - 375
Visions of George Tryon disappointed, of a dollar un-
earned and unspent flitted through the narrow brain which
some one, with the irony of ignorance or of knowledge,
had mocked with the name of a great philosopher. Plato
was not an untruthful lad, but he seldom had the oppor-
tunity to earn a dollar. His imagination spurred on by the
instinct of self-interest, rose quickly to the present emer-
gency.
“I’se afraid you mought git snake-bit gwine roun’ dat
way, Miss Rena. Mah bre'r Jim, kilt a water-moccasin
down here yistidy ‘bout ten feet long.”
Rena had a horror of snakes, with which the swamp by
which the other road ran was infested. Snakes were a vivid
reality; her presentiment was probably a mere depression of
spirits due to her condition of nervous exhaustion. A cloud
had come up and threatened rain, and the wind was rising
ominously. The old way was the shorter; she wanted,
above all things, to get to Elder Johnson's and go to bed.
Perhaps sleep would rest her tired brain—she could not
imagine herself feeling worse, unless she should break
down all together.
She plunged into the path and hastened forward so as
to reach home before the approaching storm. So complete-
ly was she absorbed in her own thoughts, that she scarcely
noticed that Plato himself seemed preoccupied. Instead of
capering along like a playful kitten or puppy, he walked
by her side unusually silent. When they had gone a short
distance and were approaching a path which intersected
their road at something near a right angle, the teacher
missed Plato. He had dropped behind a moment before;


378 MASQUERADE
thick woods increased the gloom. Suddenly a blinding flash
of lightning pierced the darkness, followed by a sharp clap
of thunder. There was a crash of falling timber. Terror-
stricken, Rena flew forward through the forest, the under-
brush growing closer and closer as she advanced. Suddenly
the earth gave way beneath her feet and she sank into a
concealed morass. By clasping the trunk of a neighboring
sapling she extricated herself with an effort, and realized
with a horrible certainty that she was lost in the swamp!
Turning, she tried to retrace her steps. A flash of light-
ning penetrated the gloom around her, and barring her
path, she saw a huge black snake—harmless enough, in
fact, but to her excited imagination, frightful in appear-
ance. With a wild shriek she turned again, staggered for-
ward a few yards, stumbled over a projecting root, and
fell heavily to the earth.
When Rena disappeared in the underbrush, Tryon and
Wain had instinctively set out in pursuit of her, but owing
to the gathering darkness, the noise of the storm and the
thickness of the underbrush, they missed not only Rena
but each other, and neither was aware of the other's pres-
ence in the forest. Wain kept up the chase until the rain
drove him to shelter. Tryon, after a few minutes, realized
that she had fled to escape him, and that to pursue her
would be to defeat rather than promote his purpose. He
desisted, therefore, and returning to the main road, sta-
tioned himself where he could watch Elder Johnson’s
house, and having waited for awhile without any sign of
Rena, concluded that she had taken refuge in some friend-
ly cabin. Turning home disconsolately as night came on,
he intercepted Plato on his way back from town and


MAS QUERADE 379
pledged him to inviolable secrecy so effectually that Plato,
when subsequently questioned, merely answered that he
had stopped a moment to gather some chinquapins, and
when he had looked around the teacher was gone.
Rena having not appeared at supper time and for an
hour later, the Elder, somewhat anxious, made inquiries
about the neighborhood, and finding his guest at no place
where she might be expected to stop, became very much
alarmed. Wain's home was the last to which he went. He
had surmised that there was some mystery connected with
her leaving Wain's, but had never been given any defini-
tion about the matter. In response to his inquiries, Wain
expressed surprise, but betrayed a certain self-consciouness
which did not escape the elder's eye. Returning home, he
organized a search party from his own family and several
near neighbors, and set out with dogs and torches to scour
the woods for the missing teacher. A couple of hours later,
they found her lying unconscious, only a few rods from
a well defined path which would have soon led her to the
open highway. Strong arms lifted her gently and bore her
home. Mrs. Johnson undressed her and put her to bed, ad-
ministering a home remedy, of which whiskey was the
principal ingredient, to counteract the effects of the ex-
posure. There was a doctor within five miles, but no one
thought of sending for him, nor was it at all likely that it
would have been possible to get him for such a case at such
an hour.
Rena's illness, however, was more deeply seated than her
friends could imagine. A tired body, in sympathy with an
overwrought brain, had left her peculiarly susceptible to
the nerves because of her forest experience. The exposure


380 MAS QUERADE
for several hours in her wet clothing to the damps of
miasma of the swamp had brought on an attack of brain
fever. The next morning, she was delirious. One of the
children took word to the schoolhouse that the teacher
was sick and there would be no school that day. A number
of curious and sympathetic people came from time to time
and suggested various remedies, several of which, old Mrs.
Johnson, with Catholic impartiality, administered to the
helpless teacher, who from delirium gradually sank into a
heavy stupor scarcely distinguishable from sleep. It was
predicted that she would probably be well in the morning;
if not, it would then be time to consider seriously the
question of sending for the doctor.


382 MAS QUERADE
“Hoddy, Mistah Geo'ge. W’at was dat you say?”
“Why are you not at school today?”
“Ain’ got no teacher, Mistah Geo'ge. Teacher's gone!”
“Gone!” Tryon exclaimed, with a sudden leap of the
heart. “Gone where? What do you mean, anyhow?”
“Teacher got los’ in de swamp night befo' las’, ‘cause
Plato wa'nt dere to show her de way out'n de woods. El-
duh Johnson foun' heh wid dawgs and tawches an’ fotch
heh home, an’ put heh tu bed. No school yistidy. She wuz
out'n heh haid las’ night, and dis' mawnin’ she wuz gone.”
“Gone—but where?”
“Dey don’ nobody know wha', suh.”
Leaving Plato abruptly, Tryon hastened down the road
toward Elder Johnson's cabin. This was no time to stand on
punctillo. The girl had been lost in the woods in the storm,
amid the thunder and lightning and the pouring rain. She
was sick with fright and exposure, and he was the cause
of it all, and now he felt the responsibility keenly. She
hadn’t known he lived in the vicinity; had come down to
teach the little Negro school honestly and willingly, to
help her distressed and ignorant people. She was acting in
the best Christian interests and no person had a right to in-
terfere with such work—and he had! By bribery, cor-
ruption and falsehood, he had brought misery and suffer-
ing.
White men of honor and character did not submit to
such low things. Their honor was too high; and they
would, under no circumstances whatever, be guilty of such
an unprincipled thing. As it was, Rena, now at last before
his eyes, the innocent, for she would have never come to
Charleston and deceived him had it not been for her broth-


MAS QUERADE 383
er. He had learned since that she went back to see her sick
mother on an errand of mercy; and it was even on an er-
rand of mercy that took her inadvertently to the drug-
store, where he made the discovery—and acted so beastly
as a result of it. As he rushed to Elder Johnson's to inquire
about her; and to offer his services in the search for her,
George Tryon felt guilty and almost hated himself for the
thing that he knew now he was responsible for. He must
learn at once what became of her.
Reaching Elder Johnson's house, he drew up by the
front fence and gave the customary “halloa,” which sum-
moned a woman to the door.
“Good-morning,” he said, nodding unconsciously, with
the careless politeness of a gentleman to his inferiors. “I’m
Mr. Tryon. I have come to inquire about the sick teacher.”
“Why, suh,” the woman replied respectfully, “she got
los’ in de woods night befo' las', an’ she wuz outen heh
min' mos ob de time yistidy. Las’ night, she musta got outa
bed an’ run away w'en eveh body wuz sound asleep, fo dis
mawning’ she wuz gone, an’ none a us knows wha’ she is.”
“Has any search been made for her?”
“Yas, suh, my husban’ an’ de chillun has been huntin'
roun’ all de mawnin', an' he's gone now to borry a hoss tu
go fudder. But Lawd knows dey ain’ no tellin’ wha’ she'd
go, lessen’ she got heh min’ back atter she lef.”
Tryon's mare was in good condition. He had money in
his pockets and nothing to interfere with his movements.
He set out immediately on the road to Fayetteville, keep-
ing a lookout by the roadside, and stopping each person he
met to inquire if a young woman, apparently ill, had been
seen traveling along the road on foot. No one had met


384 MAS QUERADE
such a traveler. When he had gone two or three miles, he
drove through a shallow branch that crossed the road. The
splashing of his horse's hoofs in the water prevented him
from hearing a low groan that came from the woods by
the roadside.
He drove on, making inquiries of each farmhouse and
of every person whom he encountered. Shortly after
crossing the branch, he met a young Negro with a cart-
load of tubs and buckets and piggins, and asked him if he
had seen on the road a young white woman with dark eyes
and hair, apparently sick or demented. The young man
answered in the negative, and Tryon pushed forward an-
xiously.
At noon he stopped at a farmhouse and swallowed a
hasty meal. His inquiries here elicited no information, and
he was just leaving when a young man came in late to din-
ner and stated, in response to the usual question, that he
had met, some two hours before, a young woman who an-
swered Tryon's description, on the Lillington Road, which
crossed the main road to Fayetteville a short distance be-
yond the farm house. He had spoken to the woman. At
first she had paid no heed to his question. When addressed
a second time, she had answered in a rambling and discon-
nected way, which indicated to his mind that there was
something wrong with her.
Tryon thanked his informant and hastened to the Lil-
lington Road. Stopping as before to inquire, he followed
the woman for several hours, each mile of the distance
taking him farther away from Fayetteville. From time to
time he heard of the woman. Toward nightfall he found
her. She was white enough with the sallowness of the sand-


386 MAS QUERADE
by the white man, had changed Rena very much. While
he was confident that she still cared for him, there was a
change and he had not attempted to intrude himself upon
her, giving her time to come back as nearly as possible, to
what she once was.
He had always known that Mis' Molly hadn’t wanted
him for a son-in-law because he was dark; and he had ob-
served her favoritism toward Jeff Wain, because that one
was brighter, had beautiful straight, or almost straight
black hair, and was a bigger liar, because he had fooled
Mis' Molly into believing that he was rich and powerful
in the county wherein he lived.
When Rena had departed for Sampson County to
teach, Frank had reconciled himself to her absence by the
hope of her speedy return. He often stopped to talk to
Mis' Molly about her. Several letters had passed between
mother and daughter, and in response to Frank's inquiries
Mis' Molly uniformly stated that Rena was well and doing
well, and sent her love to all inquiring friends. But Frank
observed that Mis’ Molly, when pressed for the date of
Rena's return, grew more and more indefinite; and finally
the mother, in a burst of confidential friendship, told
Frank of all her hopes with reference to the stranger from
down the country.
“Yas, Frank,” she concluded, “it’ll be her own fault ef
she don’ become a lady of proputty, fo' Mistah Wain is
rich, an’ owns a big plantation, an' hiahs a lotta hands, an’
is a big man in the county. He's crazy to git heh, an’ it all
lays in her own han’s.”
Frank did not find this news reassuring. He felt that
Wain was a liar and a scoundrel. He had no more than his


MAS QUERADE 387
intuitions upon which to found this belief, but it was none
the less firm. If this estimate of the man's character was
correct, then his wealth might be a fiction, pure and sim-
ple. If so, the truth should be known to Mis' Molly, so that
instead of encouraging a marriage with Wain, she would
see him in his true light, and interpose to rescue her
daughter from his importunities. A day or two after this
conversation, Frank met in the town a Negro from Samp-
son County, made his acquaintance, and inquired if he
knew a man by the name of Jeff Wain.
“Aw, Jeff Wain!” the countryman replied, slightingly.
“Yas, ah knows him, an’ don’ know no good ob ‘im. One
ob dese heah biggity, braggin’ niggahs—talks lak he owns
de whole country, an' ain’ wof no mo'd’n I is—jes' a big
bladder wid a handful ob shot rattlin’ ‘roun’ in it. Had
a wife when I wuz dare, an’ beat heh an’ ‘bused heh so she
had tu run away.”
This was alarming information. Wain had passed in the
town as a single man, and Frank had had no hint that he
had ever been married. There was something wrong some-
where. Frank determined that he would find out the
truth, and, if possible, do something to protect Rena
against the obviously evil designs of the man who had tak-
en her away. In spite of the fact that Mis' Molly had not
told him, and did not seem to want to tell him, when
Rena's school would be out, he had in a round-about way
learned that the term was for only two months, and reck-
oned correctly, that the school should let out the coming
Friday.
He decided to go there and hang around one or two days


MAS QUERADE 3.89
of Rena, young and beautiful, her friendly smile, her pen-
sive dark eyes. He would soon see her now, as he visualized
it, and if she had any cause for fear and unhappiness, he
would place himself at her service—for a day, a week, a
month, a year—a lifetime, if need be.
His reverie was broken by a noise ahead of him, and he
strained his neck to see what it was. Then he started. A
wretched looking old Negro woman stepped out of the
thick underbrush into the road, and paused to look
around, her large white eyes seeming filled with fear and
excitement. The eyes finally rested on him and he started
again.
“Della!” he cried suddenly, for it was no other than
Della, the Conjure Woman, who used to dwell on the edge
of the swamps near where he was born. He recalled as he
looked from the creek up at her, that it had been years
since he had seen her. He thought she had died, but there
was the same wretched looking witch-woman, standing in
the road, looking down at him. His mule had finished
drinking by now, and he urged her forward and upon the
bank of the branch and beside Della.
“Who is you?” she said, peering up at him closely.
“Seems I’ve seen you befo’ somewha.”
“I’m Henry Fowler's son, Frank, Della. What are you
doing here? I haven’t seen you for a long time. I thought
you—were dead.”
The old woman grinned, opened her eyes wider, which
made her seem more wretched still, showed her haggled
teeth, then as quickly became serious.
“I left Fayetteville and came down heah a long time
ago. I had a sister who was older—she has died since, and


390 MAS QUERADE
she lived where I now live. I came to take care of her and
she died, so I’ve lived there alone since. But I’m wasting
time. Something terrible's happened. A putty young gal is
at mah house, sick, terribly sick. I found her on the edge
of the swamp this mawnin’ while I was looking fo' snake
root and grapes. She's awfully sick—terribly sick and
needs a doctuh, boy, the child needs a doctuh. She's out of
heh head, and needs a real doctuh. I cain’ do heh no good.”
“Rena!” Frank cried, “could this be—Rena?”
“That's heb name—she was teaching school down the
road fudder. Ah hurd dem call heh name, and it wuz
Rena, dat's hit, Rena. Well, boy, she's terrible sick, fever,
maybe pneumonia, who knows.”
“Get into my cart and take me to her, Della. I don’t
know what this is all about, but I was on my way to Sandy
Run to take her back to Fayetteville and to her mother.
Come with me and I’ll drive to your cabin. Which way?”
Della pointed to the right. After a few steps they came to
a narrow lane, barely wide enough for the cart, that
wound and twisted through the woods. They must have
gone almost a mile when they came to a little clearing, and
a cabin in the woods. From a mud and stick chimney,
smoke curled upward, indicating habitation.
Frank piled out of the cart and followed Della inside
the cabin, where, in a corner, lay Rena, stretched on a
homemade bed, but on a feather mattress, tossing and
tumbling restlessly, and out of her head as he could see.
Frank leaned over her, placed his hand on her forehead
to find it hot and burning with fever.
“Rena, Rena, my poor child, it is you. How did this
happen?” -


&aate, Zoºt, 3&4e
REALIZING THAT RENA, out of her head, would toss and
tumble, and that Frank would have great difficulty keep-
ing any covering over her, Della pinned the covers around
Rena's body, allowing enough room for her to turn over,
to even toss and still remain covered, after which Della
sent Frank on his way back to Fayetteville with his pre-
cious treasure. They bathed her face and neck with cold
water from a spring, and while Rena continued to talk
wildly at intervals, Frank was relieved to observe that,
after a time, she sank into a restful sleep and continued
that way for many miles on their way back to Fayette-
ville.
As they journeyed on the long trek back to the house
behind the cedars, Frank could hear Rena talking wildly,
but from, which he could gather what had happened—at
least an idea, before she became sick.
“Yes, I know you, Jeff Wain, and I want nothing to do
with you, so go away from here!”
Silence, then, but after a time:
“You wicked creature. I saw you coming down the road
to meet me with a cunning smile on your face. Forcing
yourself on me when I had tried to convince you in every
way I knew how, that I was not interested in you—or
your lies. The people all around you told me about you-
392


396 f MASQUERADE
when he encountered, at the side of the road, Elder John-
son, Della and several other Negroes, whom he went up
to to make inquiry, and who told him that she had been
found and had been taken directly back to Fayetteville
from Della's cabin in the woods.
If anything could have taken more complete possession
of George Tryon at twenty-four than love successful and
triumphant, it was love thwarted and denied. Never in
the few deep, delirious weeks of his courtship had he felt
so strongly drawn to the beautiful sister of the popular
lawyer, as he was now driven by an aching heart toward
the same woman stripped of every adventitious advantage
and placed, by custom, beyond the pale of marriage with
women of his own race. Custom was tyranny. Love was
the only law. Would God have made hearts to yearn for
one another if He had meant them to stay forever apart? If
this girl should die it would be he who killed her, by his
cruelty, no less surely than if with his own hand he had
struck her down. He had been so dazzled by his own su-
periority, so blinded by his own glory, that he had ruth-
lessly spurned and spoiled the image of God in this fair
creature, whom he might have had for his own treasure.
Whom, please God, he would yet have, at any cost, to love
and cherish while they both should live. There were dif-
ficulties—they had seemed insuperable, but love would
surmount them. Sacrifices must be made, but if the world
without love would be nothing, then why not give up the
world for love? He would hasten to Fayetteville. He
would find her; he would tell her that he loved her, that
she was all the world to him, that he had come to marry
her, and take her away where they might be happy to-


MAS QUERADE º 397,
gether. He pictured to himself the joy that would light
up her face; he felt her soft arms around his neck, her
tremulous kisses upon his lips. If she were still ill when
he arrived, his love would woo her back to health. If dis-
appointment and sorrow had contributed to her illness,
joy and gladness should lead to her recovery.
He urged the mare forward; if she would but keep up
her pace, he would reach Fayetteville by nightfall.
Dr. Green came out of the front door of the house be-
hind the cedars, his kit in his hand, his face serious. Wait-
ing on the outside, their faces anxious, stood Mis' Molly,
Frank, Mary B. and Homer Pettifoot and Billy Oxendine,
who, having heard of Rena's illness and return home,
wanted to know more.
“Now, folks,” Dr. Green said, removing his hat and
wiping the perspiration from his forehead. “Rena is an
awfully sick girl. All the exposure and the long ride while
ill from Sampson County back here, has developed into
the most serious attack of typhoid pneumonia, from
which she will be fortunate if she ever recovers. In the
meantime, she must not be allowed to see or talk to any-
body until she passes the crisis, in about ten days. She's a
very, very sick girl. I’ll send my visiting nurse to look aft-
er her as much as she can, otherwise you will have to do
so, Molly. I’ll come to see her twice a day myself. But un-
derstand—and if you fail to do what I say, Rena may
never recover.”
Naturally they all agreed to follow his instructions and
he left. As he came to the crossroads after leaving the
house behind the cedars, he ran into George Tryon, coming


MAS QUERADE 399
now that the idea of crossing over and passing for white,
was impossible. North Carolina is not large enough but
that sometime, somewhere and somehow, paths must cross
and the masquerade would sooner or later be discovered—
as it very quickly was—and the bottom would fall out
of it all—as it did.
“My poor mother, then, who really loves you, but is so
influenced by the customs around her, and which she grew
up under, planned to marry me off to Jeff Wain, down in
Sampson County, not knowing as I suspected all along,
and very quickly found out, that the man was a scoun-
drel, and just abut every other impossible thing that a man
could be. I never would have married him. All the while,
Frank, you—the faithful one, the ambitious one, and the
only unselfish one of them all—has been neglected. I am
happy that I am recovering. When I am fully well again,
I want to do something, even though it be ever so little,
for my people—your people, our people. Meanwhile, what
are your plans, Frank? Before all this started, I am sure
you were about to launch on a career for wider accom-
plishments. Now tell me, dear, and take your time,
just what have you decided, and what do you want to do.
If you are still interested in me as you once were, then
what do you want me to do?”
“I will answer your last suggestion first, Rena. I will
come right to the point. I–want you to-marry me
dear. If you love me.”
“Oh, Frank! I still love you. I have always loved you.
While to please my brother, and to do as I knew he wanted
me to, I–thought I was about to learn to love somebody
else, but I soon discovered that it was only you, Frank,





GENERAL LIBRARY - U.C. BERKELEY
|||||||||||||
BDDD514 elº"